What Lies Beyond

Part 1

I never understood the importance of eyes... until I saw his.

Chapter 1

"The eyes are the windows to the soul". I never believed that. Even from the time I was little, looking into my mother's eyes. Don't get me wrong I could tell they were full of love. But only while she spoke. Something that is given such importance should not have conditions. I've always been able to see beyond people. I've never had much need for connection. I was always fine without it. Or at least I thought I was.

10 years ago, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer. She didn't last long. She fought like hell though. She was able to see my tenth birthday. I had so stupidly wished for a puppy. I should have wished for her life. The day she died, I got that puppy, Bernstein or Bernie, my best friend. I remember looking at him and feeling joy. Then my dad told me the news that mom hadn't made it through the 10th experimental procedure. It's funny. She went through exactly 10 experimental procedures before she died. One for every year of my life. I looked back at Bernie and sobbed into the small thing. It took me a year to stop sobbing. My dad did his best. Anything I wished for magically appeared, except mom. I always knew there was something odd about me. I never could put my finger on it. Until he showed up.

I found solace in painting. I don't remember anything from those years other than my paintings. The only remnant of my childhood were those paintings. I always seemed to draw the same things, slightly varying every time. I distinctly remember being drawn towards painting things with grey eyes. The strangest thing. No matter what it was I painted it always had grey eyes. I'd never seen anyone with grey eyes. Not once. Hundreds of those paintings were stacked in my old room. I moved out of that room, that house where she spent her final months as soon as I could. My dad understood of course. He only ever did what he thought was the best thing for me. I didn't know where I was going or what I would do but I knew I had to get out. I took Bernie, my clothes, computer, cash I had saved, and my painting supplies and left. I wound up in a small town in Maine on the water. For 2 years I've lived above my painting supply shop and made a life for myself. Everyone knows everyone here. Everyone knows what I let them at least.

This place works. I can be alone with Bernie and my paintings for the most part. Dad calls every once in a while. He's never come to visit and I don't blame him. I grew up to be the spitting image of my mother. No one asks about my past here, only my future. Still anything I wish for shows up. In the last few months though, all I can think about is mom. No matter how much I wish I can never bring her back. Believe me, I've tried. When I was younger, I believed that I had some sort of superpower where anything I wished for would just appear. But no matter how many times, how many birthdays I wished for my mom, she never appeared.