Eye Contact

I saw him for the first time through a haze of pollen and dust. It was high spring and the sun was a flood of buttery light over the rough road. At first I could barely make out his figure through the swirl and he seemed suspended above the ground like an angel, as light as the specks of dust in the air. As I grew closer, I could feel a strange sense of foreboding seep into my skin, a sensation that only intensified and threatened to overcome my curiosity with each step. It hardly seemed odd that someone was out in the beautiful, warm weather, but the feeling persisted. I tried to dismiss it, peering out into the dusty fog to try to make him out more clearly.

The first part of him I saw clearly was his shoes. They were rough brown leather, well worn to the point that the soles had almost entirely peeled off. His jeans were next, a faded blue with patches in the knees, and then his t-shirt, a stretched, dirty white that seemed two sizes too big for his stature. His arms hung by his sides, relaxed and open. A wide brimmed hat rested on his head at a jaunty angle and I could feel a small smile spread across my face. I couldn’t yet see his face, but I could tell he was handsome and my heart started to skip. Caution could not hold me back. I picked up the pace, unheeding of the slow crawl of fear in my stomach.

At last I could make out his eyes. The smile slipped from my cheeks. I stopped short, sudden, horror stretching my face into something unnatural. Only then did I spot the thick, splintering cord around his neck, pulling him up above the floor and into the sky. His eyes were the white of death.