Parable 1

Edward's headphones were made of synthetic styrofoam, and conformed to the contours of his inner ear. Their design effectively blocked outside noise, which proved especially convenient on his morning subway commute.

One September, at the end of a long summer, the city buckled and burned under the season's final heat wave. The eyes of the citizenry were tinted rageful red, and exhaustion dueled with fury for atmospheric dominance. On Edward's C train, the air conditioning unit had malfunctioned, and pressing bodies, athrob with discomfort, shared their temperature. Edward wore a large blue backpack, filled with library books to be returned at lunch, and while he dimmed his thoughts in deference to the music, a grinning rider unzipped the bag's small pocket in tentative increments. Inside, he found a cell phone, a pair of keys, and various receipts, all of which he kept. Others on the train saw him, and some began to protest, but the man took a pistol from his left pocket, and his grin increased when he showed them. He brought one finger to his lips, and the gun tilted down.

Edward remained oblivious.

At the next stop, the man with the gun stepped off, and a woman tapped Edward on the shoulders. He removed his earphones, and she told him everything. "Why didn't you stop him?" he asked, and she told him about the gun.

While the train waited in the station, the doors remained ajar. Edward raced out, and another passenger stepped onto the platform. He pointed at a departing figure, and Edward gave chase.

The gunman took his time, and Edward caught up at the turnstiles. Both slowed while they exited the station, and Edward's energy dissipated as he considered his next course of action. "Hey," he said, and the man turned around. "You stole from my backpack."

"And what'll you do?" said the man. His hand drifted. Edward felt compelled to move, and because the man fumbled his weapon, the altercation became immediate. The gun stayed in the man's pocket until a pen had wrenched his eye from the socket, and then he spun around, howling, and shot all six bullets into the ceiling. Edward ducked. Everyone ducked. Soon the gun clicked, empty, and pieces of debris fell from the cement ceiling of the station.

The police questioning lasted two hours, all processes included, and Edward was free. At the desk, he picked up his phone and keys in a plastic bag. The man was arrested.

Afterward, Edward feared the man with one eye. He spent two years worried that they'd meet on a late night, in the subways, where the man would have his revenge and more. He looked over his shoulder with increasing frequency, and anyone who fit the man's build, even slightly, quickened his pulse.

On the second anniversary of the incident, Edward had a breakdown. He moved out of the city, and for a time his life returned to a liveable state. He married and had children, and gradually, as the children grew, his fear returned. He began to worry about revenge on his family, enacted with all the ferocity of satisfaction delayed. He saw the man with one eye wherever he looked, and his sleep was interrupted by nightmares.

The stress ate, and soon his wife left with the children. Edward felt some relief, thinking this cleared them from the one-eyed man's revenge, but his own fear persisted. Soon, he left the country.

This too proved a measure short, and he underwent plastic surgery, changed his name, and moved again.

For twent years he lived this way, until business forced him, one summer, to return to the city.

The trip found Edward distraught, and before he'd been two hours out of the airport, he returned to the police station. There, he explained his history and requested records on the whereabouts of the assailant. This information was confidential, and his request met an official denial, but the clerk followed him outside, and the two struck a deal. An hour later, they reconvened on a nearby street corner, and copies were exchanged for money.

The records said the man had died twelve years prior of a heroin overdose.

Edward considered.

The one-eyed man had faked his own death, he decided. He'd gone underground, dispatching his own identity, and had been hot on Edward's trail since.

Edward had another breakdown, and his wife paid for him to live in a rest home in the country. Drugs kept him mostly sedated, but the image of his pursuer never left, and he never achieved the rest that would let him leave the home.

As he died, old and withered, Edward looked up at the faces of his children, but all he saw was a man with one eye.