The Lost Eye of Odin, by Adam Casalino
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It began some years ago, on October 13th. Or was it the 31st? Yeah, better make it the 31st, stories like this are always better on Halloween. I was at home, hunkered down to avoid the stormy weather outside. There was a considerable mess in my living room that I was reluctantly cleaning up. Most people said I was stupid for keeping an Alaskan Malamute in a small Brooklyn apartment. But I loved the thing and he seemed happy. I just wished I owned fewer valuables.
I was hunched over on all fours, gathering up the pieces of some electronic–when there came a crash from the other room. It was my bedroom, wherein dwelt my most prized equipment. I groaned, then yelled. A large, gray and white animal padded softly to me. His squeaking duck was proudly clasped in mouth.
“Where did you find it this time, Barabbas?” I asked him. “Behind my computer tower?”
Barabbas answered by squeezing the toy between his teeth. It squeaked happily.
“I built that computer myself, you know. Bought just the right case, hand-picked the processor. It has been my life’s crowning achievement.”
More squeaks. Barabbas looked at me with those wet, blue eyes. You know how the skin around a dog’s eyes can crinkle like eyebrows? It makes them look very sad, apologetic. But I don’t think Barabbas understood anything I was saying.
“Oh, come here you big lug.” I stood up and cradled his enormous face in my hands. That beautiful beast dropped his toy, relishing in the affection of his master. “Let’s go see what new disaster you’ve wrought upon me.”
Barabbas followed as I trepidatiously went to my room. It was a completely uninspiring chamber, with barely enough room for my sad, twin-sized bed and desk. Every spare inch of space was judiciously used to hold books and clothes, the only two things I used frequently and could never seem to put away. A tiny lamp sat atop one of those poorly made plastic bins beside my bed–that was my nightstand. Plastered on the walls were my weak interpretations of art: a few bad movie posters and the diploma I received at that two-year college. It was a room no woman could love–a room no woman has seen.
I discovered Barabbas’ latest catastrophe immediately. It was not the computer tower; I suspect it was quite safe, as it was covered in socks and underwear. No, the thing that my lovable dog had newly destroyed was my 27” computer monitor–my only monitor. It laid face down on the floor, looking every bit the murder victim. I cringed as I lifted it up. Yep, the glass was cracked, shattered in fact. But, in a serendipitous twist, it had stayed in place in the frame. At least I would not have to clean up shards of glass from my floor.
I sat beside my fallen monitor. Barabbas padded up beside me. He nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck, whimpering. He did know what he’d done.
“It’s alright, boy,” I said as I rubbed his head. “It’s my fault, really. I had to buy the big one.”
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