Fog creeps over the railing from the river below, up my legs and through the gaps in my jacket. Shivering, I scurry across the bridge, toking a joint, wearing my bass guitar like an anchor. I’ve heard about this pea-soup shit and it doesn’t help, the outline of the wheel still visible when I glance behind me, its unforgiving red hot iris pinned to my back.
People insist the London Eye is nothing more than a tourist attraction, a Ferris wheel on steroids, a piece of machinery designed to be deconstructed for public consumption on the Discovery channel back home in the States, but I don’t believe it. I’m no fool. No one’s pulling the wool over my eyes. The Eye is stalking me.
I have to do something about this and soon. It keeps me awake at night, steals my appetite, haunts the corners behind my bed, lurks in the shadows below my toilet.
The Eye’s dark heat nips at my neck. I whip around — hoping to catch it before it retracts, before it rotates back to its original position — but I’m not fast enough. Never am. I shove my big hands into my jean pockets and get the lead out, my bass banging against my back. By the time I make it to Club 66, I’m out of breath and wired on adrenaline.
Even in a thick brick building like the club, I feel The Eye. As if it can distinguish my body from the bodies of others, as if its spindle contains a sensor to find me in any crowd.
Hunched over, I pass the stage where the guys are setting up, ignoring Chas’s hallo, Yank, and head for the john. I twist around to check the mirror for blisters or charring on my neck, my shoulders, but the evidence doesn’t show. Never does.
The damage is deeper than skin, at the molecular level, atoms splintering apart. Splintering me apart. In the mirror, my eyes are blue-bruised, my cheeks hollowed out. This is crazy. Crazy. It’s a machine, for chrissakes. A fucking optical illusion. I’ll confront it, buy a ticket into the belly of the beast. Then I’ll see. Then I’ll know what it knows.
The club is smoky and loud with people, yet The Eye still has me in its sights. On stage I snap open the latches on my bass case, tell the guys we should go to Germany. Soon. On tour like the Beatles.
Chas hoots. “Like the fucking Beatles?” They laugh.
Pete says, “Okay, mate. You set it up, we’ll go. I’d fancy being called Sir Peter.”
I look from one to the other, and tell them how the cables form the iris of the giant Eye. How the hub is the window to its soul. They’ve heard it all before. Chas says we yanks are losing our grip on reality. Look at Iraq. He calls me a bloody arse.
I mutter “I need a pint” and jump from the stage. My tab is more than my share of the house, but I don’t care. I gulp down ale, the tuning notes from Chas’s guitar as jagged as the shaft of The Eye. I flick my fingers across the back of my neck. Shudder. I need to go home and I don’t mean to my ratty old flat. I mean to Texas. But I can never go back. My hands begin to sweat.
You hear the story all the time. How some guys get carried away with sex. How they think doing things a different way will make it better. Like in an elevator or cuffing the girl to the bed. Tightening a scarf around her neck. That kind of thing. I order another pint.
The bartender leaves the money drawer open and I spot the bills sitting there.
“Hey, Yank, get over here.” Chas is lead guitar. Acts like it too.
At the far end of the counter, the bartender’s hitting on some chick. The birds next to me are flirting with each other. I shove out my chair, wooden legs scraping cement, and no one looks around, so I reach in and take a wad. Stow the dough in my shirt.
I’m muscling my way through the mob toward the stage when I begin to feel a smoldering sensation at the back of my neck. A slow heat at first, almost pleasantly warm, my hand reaching back, trying to brush it away. Then halfway across the dance floor, I’m gripped by searing pain.
I lurch back and throw myself to the ground. The crowd moves aside. Chas and the guys gawp from the stage. “What the hell?” But my neck is scalding, my shoulders, my arms, my hands. My hands on fire. I grab a chair to haul myself up, the burning of wood and my own flesh in my nose, and stumble from the club into the darkness.
I can feel the anger of The Eye. Its heat cuts through the black of the city. It follows me into an alley, down a damp street, along the river’s embankment. The stench of skin, the scorching recrimination, I’ve got to get away.
I stagger down to the water, splash in, and dive deep, deep, deep.
The Eye sweeps its deadly beam across the river’s surface, seeking, seeking.
The burn begins to dissipate as I settle onto the bottom. Grasp the doorframe of a drowned car to keep me down. Watch the silt ripple like ribbons of silk in the red glare of the stalking Eye.
If I only can stay hidden long enough, it will give up. Won’t it?
The five-pound notes float out from my shirt and I let them go.
Gay Degani‘s story ‘Spring Melt’ has been nominated by EDF for a Pushcart prize. She’s published on-line at EDF, Flash Fiction Online, and Salt River Review and in print by THEMA, Quality Women’s Fiction, Landmarked for Murder, Little Sisters, Vol. 1, and in the Best of Every Day Fiction. Her blog can be found at http://wordsinplace.blogspot.com/.
[12-Jan-2010] Podcast: “The London Eye” by Gay Degani, read by M.Sherlock
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67 Responses to “THE LONDON EYE • by Gay Degani”
Comments
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February 27th, 2009 at 12:31 am
Cool freakin’ beans!!!
My God, Gay, that blew me away. You nailed the routine and the dismount, Kiddo. Five.
February 27th, 2009 at 1:06 am
You know how much I love this one, Gay. Terrific, stunning imagery and great action. Five, without a doubt.
February 27th, 2009 at 1:32 am
brilliant Gay. Lovely touch those five pound notes..
February 27th, 2009 at 1:53 am
Great stuff! A high five from here.
February 27th, 2009 at 2:00 am
Superb.
February 27th, 2009 at 5:20 am
Love your story! Five stars.
February 27th, 2009 at 5:55 am
Impeccable voice Gay surrounded by a mesmerizing tale…BRAVO!
February 27th, 2009 at 6:03 am
What is the “London Eye”? Is this something real that I have just never heard of? Or is it an invention of the author (in which case there should be more explanation)? And why should it have this effect (ANY effect) on the narrator?
Since I have no idea what the “London Eye” is, I found the story somewhat less than comprehensible.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:09 am
Jim: Do a Google Images search on “London”.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:15 am
Jim, the London Eye is a really big honkin’ Ferris Wheel on the banks of the Thames.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:18 am
I loved the way you’ve built up the mood, Gay. I’ve only seen the London Eye on Discovery’s Travel & Living, and I never thought such a touristy family friendly thing could become this stalking machine! Five from me!
February 27th, 2009 at 6:36 am
Gay – excellent story with a wonderful voice, feel and pace.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:54 am
Wicked!
February 27th, 2009 at 7:07 am
Thanks to all of you. I appreciate your comments. As for the “The London Eye,” I see that it would have been helpful if I’d used the word Ferris wheel somewhere in the early part of the story. I regret I didn’t since clarity is a so important to flash fiction. So Jim thanks for bringing that up. Reader engagement is essential!
February 27th, 2009 at 8:02 am
Gay, you did use ‘Ferris wheel’ in the story:
“People insist the London Eye is nothing more than a tourist attraction, a Ferris wheel on steroids…” (2nd paragraph)
Unless that was added in after these comments have been posted.
Anyway, great story, I love all the implications in it! (And I have been on the London Eye… heh)
February 27th, 2009 at 8:09 am
Excellent story, Gay. As always, you rocked it.
February 27th, 2009 at 8:17 am
“I’ll confront it, buy a ticket into the belly of the beast. Then I’ll see. Then I’ll know what it knows.”
I love that bit.
February 27th, 2009 at 8:35 am
Great story, exceptionally well written.
Sad story of a salmon who decided to do something different, wrong and dangerous, before spoorning. Really different, not just some stupid kinky sex. But–crime doesn’t pay. However, the eye isn’t always right. Now there’s a shortage of money.
February 27th, 2009 at 8:49 am
Haunting. I absolutely love the way you take something so seemingly harmless as a ferris wheel and turn into a thing of pure evil (at least from the narrator’s p.o.v.)–rather like Stephen King with Pennywise in IT. Definitely shades of Poe here, as well.
It was a brief tale, of course, but you managed to intertwine the suspense with any exposition that was necessary and I was never once dislodged from the narrative. Expertly crafted, Gay. I shall be seeking out more of your work and look forward to the possibility of further tales here at EDF.
February 27th, 2009 at 8:53 am
Weird but wonderful. Full of atmosphere and amazing images, that’s what I call writing; and even Roberta agrees – WOW. Five.
February 27th, 2009 at 9:21 am
So atmospheric, Gay! I could feel the fog, hear the guitar – so well done. As usual.
February 27th, 2009 at 9:29 am
This is a really well done piece, Gay! I loved how the surroundings are colored by the narrator’s own guilt and haunted past. I also like how you gave just enough clues, but left room for us to figure things out for ourselves. Nicely written!
February 27th, 2009 at 9:33 am
Gay, you continue to blow me away! And even though I’d never heard “London Eye” in reference to the Ferris wheel, I knew immediately what it was and could visualize the potentially haunting effect it could produce!
February 27th, 2009 at 9:34 am
Masterfully done, Gay.
–dj
February 27th, 2009 at 9:46 am
I kept thinking of Tolkien’s Eye of Sauron–seeing all, penetrating all. Your depiction of a man haunted to insanity by his own guilt is unforgettable. I may have to go listen to some happy music now and bring myself up from the depths, though.
5.
February 27th, 2009 at 10:37 am
Lots of tension and atmosphere. I’ll be looking under my bed tonight for monsters.
February 27th, 2009 at 10:51 am
Superb imagery and depth of detail. Cool story too. You rock.
February 27th, 2009 at 11:24 am
A little too wordy for my taste, causing the scene in the bar to be disjointed as a result.
February 27th, 2009 at 12:44 pm
I didn’t know what the LOndon Eye was eothoer at first, but it didn’t hamper my readding that much. NIce fanciful story. I liked the fact that the Eye was indeed after them.
February 27th, 2009 at 1:38 pm
Makes me want some fish and chips. Wonder if the band is any good?
February 27th, 2009 at 1:44 pm
Very good story, but the guy thinks like a Brit, not a Texan. The voice needs to be Americanized.
February 27th, 2009 at 1:52 pm
[...] it out here. It’s [...]
February 27th, 2009 at 3:04 pm
Intense story with recollection of Poe’s The Telltale Heart. I had heard the term London Eye, but had not looked into it until now. Every city needs and Eiffel Tower! In Vienna it is the Riesenrad (the giant wheel) in the Prater island amusement park.
Five Stars
February 27th, 2009 at 4:07 pm
It’s the Nocebo Effect.
February 27th, 2009 at 5:06 pm
Caught me in your web with the first few sentences Gay. The piece was rich with imagery and captured “Eye’s” relentless haunting of the character. Keep it up girl!
February 27th, 2009 at 5:10 pm
I really enjoyed it!
February 27th, 2009 at 5:34 pm
Gay, success again! Another wonderful, interesting story! I look forward to the next one! You go, girl!
February 27th, 2009 at 5:41 pm
Gay, Another great story. Keep up the good work!!!
February 27th, 2009 at 7:26 pm
I always know it will be a great read. I think you have found a niche in short story writting. Can the anthology be far away?
February 27th, 2009 at 8:00 pm
I wish I would have read it in the daylight. I’m sure ‘The Eye’ is on my balcony waithing until I try to sleep. Help. Great writing, thanks for the chills and thrills.
February 27th, 2009 at 10:25 pm
Great writing, action and desccriptions, but I needed to know more about why he thought the Eye was haunting him to fully enjoy the story.
February 28th, 2009 at 2:24 am
Great stuff. Keep it up, Gay!
February 28th, 2009 at 6:52 am
Gay, you know i love this story…and i still do.
You still remain there at the top of my favourite authors
February 28th, 2009 at 6:54 am
Also i see this thing every freaking week and often walk below it, past it…or facing it on the other side of embankment. Especially when im going to that semen sandwhich shop on the embankment
February 28th, 2009 at 7:59 am
Well done, Gay: Very creepy. You got so much into such a short story. I could see it all in my head as I read. great descriptions … I could feel the rusty cold of the drowned car that he held onto. I could see the soggy five pound notes floating. I got a strong sense of his desperation. One pathetic soul.
February 28th, 2009 at 9:54 am
Thanks guys for all the kind words. This is my last story here for a while so I’m glad it has been well-received. Much gras.
March 1st, 2009 at 10:38 am
Superb. Wonderful voice – and the ending was unexpected (at least for me….)
March 1st, 2009 at 4:36 pm
As usual Gay, you made the fog and the burning and the water all so real…I needed my blanket. Five big stars!!
March 1st, 2009 at 7:09 pm
I’ll never look at the London Eye the same again. It might creep me out.
March 2nd, 2009 at 11:45 am
Well done. I especially love the study in contrasts: the “unforgiving red hot iris” of the Eye against “pea-soup shit” fog, the “anger of the Eye . . . [i]ts heat” against the “damp street[s]” of London, the man alone in a “mob,” and best of all the man who is “out of breath” yet “wired on adrenaline.” Love it.
March 3rd, 2009 at 12:03 pm
Gay. Five stars as per usual, how could it be less? Your wonderful rythmical writing. All so sincere and well thought out. What can I say but BRILLIANT. Sorry, I’ve been away, otherwise would have commented earlier. x
March 4th, 2009 at 6:37 am
Thanks Celeste and everyone else who’s taken the time to read Eye. It’s one of those stories that came out of a crack in my head, maybe one that put together M, memories of an old trip to London, and a little poe.
March 8th, 2009 at 3:33 pm
I so scared I can’t sleep. Will it follow me?
March 12th, 2009 at 7:07 am
Great story, Gay – I’m so glad you branched into short stories!
March 25th, 2009 at 3:54 pm
Gay,–you are really scaring me!! I want to help the guy out of the water and cure him. Maybe even send him back to Texas.
March 26th, 2009 at 11:40 am
You did it again, Gay. You trapped me inside a roller coaster of words while my mind grappled with the eye. Real? Drug induced? And how long can he hold on beneath the water before he, too, floats upward?
Great job!
April 27th, 2009 at 2:26 pm
[...] against? Then you know how Gay Degani’s character feels in the new flash fiction story, The London Eye (warning, contains strong language), published recently at Every Day [...]
July 9th, 2009 at 1:15 pm
What a fun (in a dark way) updated companion for Poe’s “Tell-tale Heart”! Wicked. I especially love the simile about wearing the bass guitar like an anchor . . . and the image of the anchor fits so beautifully with the final scene. Bullseye!
July 30th, 2009 at 2:15 pm
Jim would comprehend more easily if he learned to read more carefully!! I thought it was great.
December 21st, 2009 at 1:01 am
[...] newest podcast (The London Eye by Gay Degani) has been read by our own M.Sherlock, an EDF-published author, talented bass player, and one of [...]
December 21st, 2009 at 7:35 am
M. Sherlock’s reading of The London Eye is amazing. Thank you MMMMMMMMMM!!
December 21st, 2009 at 9:38 am
How do we get the podcasts?
December 21st, 2009 at 2:08 pm
I just listened to this and all I can say is wow wOw WOW. You can take something so striking and awesome and turn it into something that is alive and watching. The lilt is lovely. You just blow me away, Gay.
The narrator was fantastic as well.
December 22nd, 2009 at 8:02 am
Here’s the link, Jen:
Podcast
December 22nd, 2009 at 8:12 am
Thank you!
January 12th, 2010 at 12:17 am
[...] Eye_by_Gay_Degani, read by M.Sherlock. “The London Eye” was originally published in EDF on February [...]
May 14th, 2010 at 1:04 am
[...] “The London Eye ” published in Every Day Fiction, came from one of my own word-string prompts when I was showing a friend on a forum how I use prompts. [...]