I was sitting down and had an idea of story. I thought I’d write down what ran in my head.
There’s a saying that goes “eyes are the window to the soul,” as if one could see every facet of someone’s life through something the size of an iris.
Henry never understood why, but he was different. To describe Henry in one word, most would use ‘observant,’ as he was always looking. Gazing. Searching and staring his way through the world. As a baby, people Henry spoke with would come away feeling a little uncomfortable, a sense of unease seeping into them as if someone had laid them out on a table and dissected them, which wasn’t fully far from the truth.
People tend to wear clothes, put on perfume, smile or scowl to give off an impression, but most of all people try to fit in. For all the oddities in the world (and there are a great many), it seems a main preoccupation is to hide in the crowd. Henry had the strange and altogether unique ability to see past that; to him, quite literally, the eye was a way for him to see people as they truly were. To him it was like seeing a different colour.
Henry, a small boy, gets lost in the city on his own. He’ll experience different adventures relying on people, a collection of short ideas and stories.
Nothing past that; just an idea.