The Man of Six EyesA Chapter by Domenic Lucianiintroducing the mutual relations between the imperfects and the people.Rain had filled the cracks and breaks in the stones of the road outside Peter’s residence. He kept to himself as he strolled cautiously past grumbling Englishmen and fancy women in large, feathered hats. Though that’s not to say that a few walking rags hadn’t stumbled out at him from the various alleyways. The skies were gray and threatened rain, but the rain had come and gone during the night. Gypsies in the streets would often say that once rain had come, London would be dry for a few hours before it came again. Further into the city, there was a clear change in his company, as well as the size. The doors of a bar across the street exploded and a tangled mess of brawny arms and curses rolled into the street. Peter cantered out of the way to avoid any association with the drunken men and continued his walk to the marketplace, along the way, passing several beggars, three horse-drawn carriages and one couple flirting awkwardly on a door step. However, none of these mattered to Peter so much as the vicious cries from a crowd that had begun to cluster thickly in the street just outside of the Market Square. Peter quickened his pace and directed his steps toward the crowd, though keeping careful tabs on everyone outside the confines of the cluster. The houses here were all white with wooden trimmings that Peter had always found quite tacky, but then again, He had never bothered himself with neither proper household design, nor modern fashion. He thought about that fact, tugging slightly at straps beneath his favorite brown jacket and creeping closer to the tight knit crowd. “Beat that b*****d!” “Yeah!” Shouts and calls of all kinds were erupting from the mass of people. Peter was slightly put off by the thought of violence, but couldn’t withhold his intense curiosity. He pushed his way through the crowd of voracious people, keeping a wary hand on his newsboy hat. A man was kneeling down on the ground, holding his legs and crying out in pain as the crowd bombarded him with random objects. Food seemed to be the prime choice, apples and cabbage. The bottom of the barrel, Peter thought. One lady pushed through the crowd and let loose a clod of dirt at the back of the poor man’s head. He yelped in pain, looking up at the woman and screaming “Ms. Clyde! I’ve known you for several years, please, call these people off!” He was in tears, which, to Peters surprise , flowed from six eyes, the extra of which, resided on the man’s forehead. An imperfect. “Not a chance in hell, freak!” the woman yelled. The rest of the crowd cheered with agreement. The man simply bowed his head lower and began to sob uncontrollably. Peter rubbed at the lower half of his jaw, the way he always did when he was nervous. He saw part of himself in the poor man. After all, Peter was an imperfect as well. A shrill whistle sounded from down the street, causing the entire crowd to turn confusedly. A black carriage barreled towards them, a policeman was leaning out the window and blowing the whistle. Some of the people broke off from the crowd and returned to their homes, while other’s curiosity got the best of them. Peter backed into a corner, but couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene. He felt some sort of attachment to this man, though the two had never met. No, Peter needed to stay, and envision his possible future. © 2010 Domenic LucianiReviews
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12 Reviews Added on April 25, 2010 Last Updated on April 25, 2010 AuthorDomenic LucianiBuffalo, NYAboutThat is my real name, and that is really me in the picture. Like Patrick says, I'm not in the witness protection program. I mostly write books and stories. I like fantasy, or fiction, but if.. more..Writing
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