Lonely Eyes
By
Thalia Spinrad
By
Thalia Spinrad
Greg wasn’t sure where he was. Then again, that was hardly surprising given that he had been blindfolded and carried a great distance during the last few hours.
During much of that time, he had been too frantic to think coherently. The kidnapper had first snuck up behind Greg while he was studying for finals in the cavernous recesses of the campus library. He had been pleased when he first heard the footsteps, thinking they belonged to one of his friends, come to rescue him from the purgatory of revisions.
But instead of being rescued, Greg soon found himself blindfolded and slung unceremoniously over the shoulder of his kidnapper. Greg had given off a bloodcurdling yell in the hopes that someone would notice that he was being abducted. However, after only a minute or two, his throat began to get sore. Greg concluded that his fellow students must have already called it a night, as no one could have missed his scream piercing the prevailing silence of the library.
Giving up screaming did give Greg a great deal of time to reflect on his situation. Other than hearing a periodic slight hiss, Greg couldn’t make out too much about the environs through which the kidnapper was carrying him. However, after a few minutes, he did feel the kidnapper step out from the library’s envelope of artificial heat into the cool December night. As the kidnapper walked on, Greg wondered why he, of all people, had been kidnapped. The thing was, Greg was unremarkable. He wasn’t the kind of person whose unremarkability created a vacuum of remarkability that thereby attracted adventure. He was surprised not exactly because something strange and spontaneous had happened to him but rather because he did not understand why someone would go through such an effort to kidnap him.
So he was curious enough that when his kidnapper placed him gently on a chair, he was thinking more about what he would get to see when the kidnapper removed his blindfold than about escape.
Yet as it transpired, the kidnapper did not remove his blindfold. A melodious voice asked, “Would you like some tea? I’ve got a whole range of black and green and quite a few varieties of herbal.”
Greg took a few moments to respond, as he thought at first that the voice—if it was even the voice of his kidnapper and not some hallucination conjured up as a result of the traumas of this bizarre day—must be talking to an accomplice. But when he realized the voice was talking to him after all, he replied, “Do you have chamomile?” It may not generally be a brilliant idea to accept sustenance from a kidnapper (they do have a proclivity to be a bit light on the sugar, heavy on the poison) but he had worn out his throat from screaming.
Seeming to realize what the state of Greg’s throat must be, the voice asked, “Any sugars? Honey?”
Greg went for the honey, and when he received his warm mug, he began to feel if the situation had been slightly different, this experience would have been quite pleasant. He could even feel warm licks of air and small crackles about him, a sure sign of a homey fire.
The kidnapper began to question Greg about a variety of trivialities, even going so far as to ask what board game he liked. Greg was, unsurprisingly, more interested in figuring out why he had been kidnapped, but his kidnapper didn’t seem inclined to divulge any information on the subject. After Greg had noted that his favorite board game was chess, the kidnapper brought it out and they played, although Greg had to play blindfolded—luckily chess is one of the only games that has a system designed for such game play.
After passing a couple of hours in this manner, Greg found himself once again being picked up. He figured that perhaps this had been the prelude to torture—maybe the kidnapper was trying to gain his trust so that she could hurt him all the more easily and thoroughly. But instead, the kidnapper carried Greg out into the cold again and walked for approximately the same length of time as before. When they again entered a building, Greg felt the familiar mustiness of his library surround him. Soon afterwards, he was placed in the same study carrel from which he had been taken; he identified it by running his hand along the graffiti—“Studying sux”—etched into its surface.
Upon being set down, Greg immediately put his hands to his blindfold, hoping that a glimpse of his kidnapper would somehow give him an insight into the day’s events. But the kidnapper grabbed his wrists and said, “You’ve got to wait until I’m gone for that.”
The only plausible response to that statement—“Why?”—popped out of Greg’s mouth before he even had time to think that it might be better to just do what the kidnapper said and to remain as unscathed as he had been throughout this experience.
But the kidnapper seemed unperturbed by his impertinence, and simply answered, “It’s lonely being a gorgon,” before wandering off and leaving Greg to his own devices.
Thalia Spinrad is a college student who hopes to live a life that can't be encapsulated in a brief biographical statement, though as of yet, she doesn't know what sort of life that will be.
During much of that time, he had been too frantic to think coherently. The kidnapper had first snuck up behind Greg while he was studying for finals in the cavernous recesses of the campus library. He had been pleased when he first heard the footsteps, thinking they belonged to one of his friends, come to rescue him from the purgatory of revisions.
But instead of being rescued, Greg soon found himself blindfolded and slung unceremoniously over the shoulder of his kidnapper. Greg had given off a bloodcurdling yell in the hopes that someone would notice that he was being abducted. However, after only a minute or two, his throat began to get sore. Greg concluded that his fellow students must have already called it a night, as no one could have missed his scream piercing the prevailing silence of the library.
Giving up screaming did give Greg a great deal of time to reflect on his situation. Other than hearing a periodic slight hiss, Greg couldn’t make out too much about the environs through which the kidnapper was carrying him. However, after a few minutes, he did feel the kidnapper step out from the library’s envelope of artificial heat into the cool December night. As the kidnapper walked on, Greg wondered why he, of all people, had been kidnapped. The thing was, Greg was unremarkable. He wasn’t the kind of person whose unremarkability created a vacuum of remarkability that thereby attracted adventure. He was surprised not exactly because something strange and spontaneous had happened to him but rather because he did not understand why someone would go through such an effort to kidnap him.
So he was curious enough that when his kidnapper placed him gently on a chair, he was thinking more about what he would get to see when the kidnapper removed his blindfold than about escape.
Yet as it transpired, the kidnapper did not remove his blindfold. A melodious voice asked, “Would you like some tea? I’ve got a whole range of black and green and quite a few varieties of herbal.”
Greg took a few moments to respond, as he thought at first that the voice—if it was even the voice of his kidnapper and not some hallucination conjured up as a result of the traumas of this bizarre day—must be talking to an accomplice. But when he realized the voice was talking to him after all, he replied, “Do you have chamomile?” It may not generally be a brilliant idea to accept sustenance from a kidnapper (they do have a proclivity to be a bit light on the sugar, heavy on the poison) but he had worn out his throat from screaming.
Seeming to realize what the state of Greg’s throat must be, the voice asked, “Any sugars? Honey?”
Greg went for the honey, and when he received his warm mug, he began to feel if the situation had been slightly different, this experience would have been quite pleasant. He could even feel warm licks of air and small crackles about him, a sure sign of a homey fire.
The kidnapper began to question Greg about a variety of trivialities, even going so far as to ask what board game he liked. Greg was, unsurprisingly, more interested in figuring out why he had been kidnapped, but his kidnapper didn’t seem inclined to divulge any information on the subject. After Greg had noted that his favorite board game was chess, the kidnapper brought it out and they played, although Greg had to play blindfolded—luckily chess is one of the only games that has a system designed for such game play.
After passing a couple of hours in this manner, Greg found himself once again being picked up. He figured that perhaps this had been the prelude to torture—maybe the kidnapper was trying to gain his trust so that she could hurt him all the more easily and thoroughly. But instead, the kidnapper carried Greg out into the cold again and walked for approximately the same length of time as before. When they again entered a building, Greg felt the familiar mustiness of his library surround him. Soon afterwards, he was placed in the same study carrel from which he had been taken; he identified it by running his hand along the graffiti—“Studying sux”—etched into its surface.
Upon being set down, Greg immediately put his hands to his blindfold, hoping that a glimpse of his kidnapper would somehow give him an insight into the day’s events. But the kidnapper grabbed his wrists and said, “You’ve got to wait until I’m gone for that.”
The only plausible response to that statement—“Why?”—popped out of Greg’s mouth before he even had time to think that it might be better to just do what the kidnapper said and to remain as unscathed as he had been throughout this experience.
But the kidnapper seemed unperturbed by his impertinence, and simply answered, “It’s lonely being a gorgon,” before wandering off and leaving Greg to his own devices.
Thalia Spinrad is a college student who hopes to live a life that can't be encapsulated in a brief biographical statement, though as of yet, she doesn't know what sort of life that will be.
