Issue 4

The Eyes of Lester Strange

Lester Strange was not very strange at all. In fact, he was quite the normal man. He stood five foot ten inches tall, drove an old blue Saturn, ate lunch every day at the Subway two blocks away from his office and always wore a tie. The ties were always yellow and the eyes were always blue.


Drip, drip, drip endlessly like clockwork ticking, tick, tick in my head, eating at my brain like a bug in my ears. It had been what, days? Weeks? Years? Perry had lost count, living off of fish and the water flowing between rocks made time run in a strange manner. It smelt odd in the caves as well, but it was hard to tell if it was just him, or the dead fish.


For Alessandro Manzetti: I keep him in the basement. I never let him out. Sometimes he cries, and I let him, because I love him. If I didn’t love him, I would have murdered him already. I hear him, though. The crying I can tune out but the sounds of his pencil… The world knows many things, I have made it my duty to prevent us from knowing.