Eyes, II

     Suddenly I was the one looking up at my body from my existence on the paper. I watched as the me before me, the me that was so much prettier and completely flawless, smiled a pretty smile, picked up the pencil that was in MY hand mere minutes ago, and slashed it across my flat face in one perfect line, top right to bottom left.

     I screamed. The pain was horrible. But not as much as when the eraser rubbed, chaffed, carved into my skin to hide a mark that could not truly be hidden.

     "The eyes are the windows to the soul," the bodied-me said. She smiled. "And when you add some magic to them," her hand tenderly picked up the crystal on the necklace, "the windows open for anyone to pass through." Her eyes flashed black at me. I would have shivered if I had had a body to shiver.

     She crumpled me and threw me in the recycling bin. I hurt. And I could not do a thing about it.

     I have been thrown away. I have been picked up by someone who loved me, uncrumpled, and hung on a wall. I have been stolen and been etched on with pen marks that bleed my soul. And now I am here. Inside you.

     Thank you, dear reader, for unknowingly placing that magical amulet on me. Thank you for coloring me in with those pretty colored pencils you have. Thank you for the body that you gave me, your body which is so healthy and pliable. I'll use it well. But most of all, thank you for repairing my eyes with that beautiful royal blue pencil, so I could pass into yours.

     I think I'll be using your pencils a lot. They're truly wonderful.

     I appreciate all you've done for me. But now it's time for you to

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