The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Eye for an Eye
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

My father rode my ass about finding a summer job.  He even threatened to have me work in fast food, and I’ve heard the horror stories working there.  My friend was forced to clean shit off a toilet seat while the manager ate a burger beside him.  I did not want that to be me, and I did not want to work.  I wanted to enjoy my summer, but my father would not hear any of that.  So, I looked and looked, and I found a job.

Five days a week, I would have to pick up tennis balls from the tennis court.  That was it, and I was off on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which wasn’t bad.  Also, when no one was looking, I would sneak into the locker room and cruise through any locker left unlocked.  Most of the time, I didn’t take anything.  I knew not to take cash because that would raise an alarm, but every now and then, there were other things, things that maybe would not be missed right away.  Maybe, the people would think that they left it at home.  The twenty-five dollar gift card definitely came in handy for a few lunches.  Thank you for not locking your locker, and I’m also enjoying those headphones I found.

One Monday was a really hot day, but the tennis court was busy.  Tennis balls flying back and forth, and I went back and forth too, picking them up from the ground.  I couldn’t complain about the pay, but what a waste of time.  Sometimes, the balls would fly over the fence, and I would have to walk around to get back there to pick them up.  Today was one of those days.

“Ow.”  I dropped the tennis ball on the ground and looked at my finger.  It was bleeding.  “Damn thing had spikes,” I said.

I kicked the tennis ball over with my foot, watching it roll in the dirt.  It had a slit on one side.  Damn thing was defective.

The slit opened, and an eye looked up at me.

“What the hell?”  I jumped back but suddenly felt dizzy, and I fell to the ground.  The ball, if it was a ball rolled back into my hand, piercing my skin, and I yelled, “Get off of me.”  I shook my hand, and the thing rolled back into the dirt.

“Look out!”

I spun around but didn’t see anyone.  The sound of balls flying back and forth filled the air along with people shouting things like “Point” and “Good Game.”  Nothing else.

I stood up from the ground and looked at the object near my feet.  I reached for it, which I shouldn’t have done because it did have spikes, but this time, it rolled away from me.  “Hey, get back here,” and I gave chase.  But the thing moved pretty fast.

I hurried past the fence around the tennis court and saw the creature, I guess I will call it that, pause by the side of the road, its eye fixed on me.  It refused to blink.  I was just within reach when it bounced up into the air as if it were hit by a tennis racket, and it landed smack in the road.

“Shit.”  I moved toward it but then stopped.  “What am I doing?  It’s not a tennis ball.  I don’t know what it is, and I should get back.”

I turned around and headed for the tennis court.  The day was almost over, and I didn’t want to have to stay late because of that thing.  No one would believe me anyway, if I told them about it, and my hand hurt, the skin pierced in multiple spots, oozing blood.  I felt dizzy again, stumbling back into the court area.

“Look out!”

I turned just as a tennis ball flew toward my face, making contact with my right eye.  I fell back, slamming down onto the ground, pain searing into my head.  I realized that people were now surrounding me, paling at my injury, but it couldn’t be that bad.  The ball just hit me in the eye.  It was probably bruised, but why couldn’t I see out of that eye?

“Where’s his eye?”  Someone whispered.  “Did the ball knock it out?”

I sat up from the ground, and my head spun around.  I could hear the ambulance screaming this way.  My hand rose, reaching for my face, but someone grabbed my hand.

“Don’t touch it,” they said.

“Why can’t I see out of my right eye?”  I asked, but no one would answer me.  “Why can’t I see,” I screamed.

“Because,” another person said but paused.  “Because your right eye is not there.”

I quickly felt my face, and my fingers made their way up to where my eye should have been.  There was a large, gaping hole instead, and I could hear that thing laughing as it rolled away.

.

Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is the author of the Sci-Fi Novella, Waken, and the poetry collection, This Will Remain With Us.  She also has two self-published short story collections, Better Off Here and Stories Written Along COVID Walls.  All the books can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: https://linktr.ee/melissarmendelson