Date to be Published: 04-09-2024
Publisher: NineStar Press
First they came for his sister’s eye. Now they’re coming for his. And what’s even worse is he deserves it.
Henry has never had anything good happen to him, period. Full stop.
That’s why, after school, he’s going to put on his big-boy pants
and confess his love to his best friend—because the universe owes him
one, dammit, and he needs a win.
But maybe doing it on Drill Day wasn't the best idea—the one day a month that healthcare conglomerate Axiom infiltrates schools across America to select a new candidate to give up one of their eyes, for... research? And if this Drill Day is anything like the last, Henry will never get a chance at a good life. Especially if his past keeps threatening to eat him alive, and especially if his old ways of keeping the darkness at bay refuse to work anymore.
Read an Excerpt Below
About the Author
Jeffrey Haskey-Valerius works in healthcare by day and writes weird fiction and poetry by night. His shorter work has been featured in numerous literary journals and has been nominated for prizes, including Best of the Net. He currently lives in the Midwest with his unbelievably handsome and perfect dog, and also a human whom he loves. The Cyclopes’ Eye is his debut novel.
Contact Links
Twitter: @jeffreyhvwrites
Instagram: @jeffreyhvwrites
TikTok: @jeffreyhvwrites
Excerpt from "The Cyclopes' Eye"
This isn’t what I signed up for, busu0rtt
that seems to be a common thread in my life these
days. So, sure, universe, you do you. Pile something else
on top of the mess.
I can’t see
straight, for starters. I’m on a bus from hell, and everything’s a blur,
and I don’t know what’s worse—keeping my eyes open to watch the
world zip by, or squeezing them shut and letting my stupid, stupid imagination do the
work. When I close them, every bump in the road feels
like I’m being launched into space, so maybe for now I’ll keep them
open. But both options are awful. Both are making me sick.
I’ve been
on the verge of puking all morning, and nothing seems to help. Especially not
this driver. Some tragic car accident blocked the route we normally
take, so we had to go on a long detour. And now that we’re running behind, the
driver’s been speeding and turning corners like this is a rollercoaster and not
a school bus.
Oh god, do
not think about rollercoasters right now, Henry.
No, this is
just a bus. A bus. Sure, we’re going well above the speed limit, but at least
not, like, a thousand miles an hour.
Okay, calm
down. What are the facts? Think of what’s around you. The bus
is almost at full capacity today, with only one person missing:
Judith, who’s been home from school. So, if she’s not here,
that means there are eighty-eight people around you.
God, that’s
so many.
No, that’s
not so many. That’s a normal amount, Henry!
Okay, eighty-eight
people, plus me, is eighty-nine. Double that,
and we get—take your time, Hen; use your fingers if you
have to—a hundred seventy-eight. There should be a hundred and
seventy-eight eyeballs on this bus…except we know there are five patched kids
on our route this year—six if we count…well, no, she’s not here. A
hundred and seventy-eight, minus five stolen eyes, equals a hundred and
seventy-three.
Wait, what
about the driver? Is that why he’s driving so crazy, because
he’s an eye short?
I glance
up to the mirror above him to double check—only I can’t tell because
he’s wearing sunglasses. Even at six-thirty a.m., the California sun is
blinding. But that’s all right; I don’t need to know.
A
hundred and seventy-three. That’s how many eyes are on this bus.
One.
Seven.
Three.
Slowly, the
breaths come. My lungs expand, and the nausea begins to fade. It
helps, knowing a simple statistic like that. But it’s weird, and if people
knew I counted eyeballs in my head, I would die. Actually curl
up and die.
This looks really good. Thanks for sharing.
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