My eyes are missing. I really don't know what's become of them. I took them out last night and put them on my dresser, as usual, and then when I woke up this morning they weren't there. I bet it's a conspiracy.
At lunchtime I kept expecting to find them in my sandwich. Everyone knows that eye saboteurs generally use jelly sandwiches as contact points, and so every time I bit down I expected to feel a "squuush" and taste an eyeball. It didn't happen. So then I thought they were in my Coke, and I dumped it out to make sure. They weren't. They couldn't have been-- I was drinking fruit juice. This was all part of the conspiracy.
The man on the corner claimed he didn't have them, but he could have been lying. I frisked him, but he could have hidden them in his pants and I never would have known. I interrogated the spy in the park next. She kept insisting she was only a simple bag lady-- and her cover was marvelously consistent, too-- but these eye thieves can't fool me. I couldn't get her to talk, though. So here I am at home, trying to figure out where to go next. I have to make a plan. Oh shit, there goes my pinky! Now I'm really falling apart. Oh well.
More absurdist humor. I wrote this when I was 15, inspired by too much Eugene Ionesco and also a short story in "Again, Dangerous Visions". I wish I still had the French version that I translated for my French class in junior year, because absurdist humor works really well in French.