An eye on things/Editor’s
It’s Halloween night. Laughter echoes outside
as my doorbell rings. My eye
snakes around the door, greeted by a chorus of high pitched voices.
“Trick or Treat!”
Chubby hands hold out neon bags. Parents smile
at their little monsters,
princesses, and action figures. My tentacles slither out, wrappers glistening
between their fleshy coils. Teeth shine as candy tumbles into their bags.
“Thank you, Mr. Monster!” each sings
with every drum of candy in their
Older children come—a devil and his band
of vampires and zombies. Where
are their parents?
“Are you real?” the tall devil asks,
shooting his hand forward.
His hand collides with my eye, forcing a high-pitched
squeal from my four,
toothy mouths around the base of my tentacles. I barely see their blurred
shapes disappear into the night. Soft, chubby hands stroke my leathery optic
nerve, tingling from the shock.
“Are you ok, Mr. Monster?” a soft,
disembodied voice asks.
I shake my eye, tears sloshing from side to side.
Cold candy crinkles as
warm hands press into one of my tentacles. A large shadow appears in front of
“Sorry about that. Kids can be real jerks,”
a deep voice remarks. “Look up
and stay still, ok? I’m going to give you some eye drops.”
Cool drops fall into my eye, soothing my nerves.
Looking down, a child’s
face comes into focus, peeking out the mouth of a pink hippo onesie, eyes wide
and watery. Behind her stands a large woman holding a small, white bottle of
contact fluid, her forehead creased. I rumble, and coil my tentacles into the
best ‘thumbs up’ I can muster. If it had a snake’s head, it would look like a
coiled cobra ready to strike.
Smiling, they leave, neon bags swinging in the
“It’s been very nice meeting you,
Mr. Monster!” the little pink hippo girl
calls as she waves back at me.
been nice meeting you too, little pink hippo girl.
Paloma Palacios-Deleon, firstname.lastname@example.org,
who wrote BP #82’s “Monster,” was born in Denver, Colorado. She now lives near
the Gulf of Mexico in Texas with her family.