This incident happened years ago, back when I was still in Kuwait. It was Biology and we were learning about eyes. Hence, it was only natural for the teacher to get us to dissect an actual eye and try to label the gooey mess inside. Mr. Jackson brought in a bowlful of cow eyeballs and put them in the front. I’m assuming it was cow, since he said it wasn’t sheep. I suppose it could have been a human’s but our class was too psyched to notice. The boys were madly excited about this experiment and couldn’t keep still. We all went to the front to take a closer look at the eyeballs.
They stared up at us, unblinking, unseeing. Our teacher grabbed one, and proceeded to tell us how to scalpel the side.
Eventually, we were all given our respective eyeballs and settled down with a partner. My friend and I were wondering if, once dissected, the eye would look exactly like the diagram.
Our eye looked bloodshot, like the cow had been doing shots of tequila in its misery. And that is completely understandable because today her eyeballs were in the grubby hands of twelve year olds. Wouldn’t you get wasted on your last night? She probably tried to party the night away with the buffalos, but I bet she wasn’t feeling up it.
She must have known she was going to get carted off to get her eyeballs spooned. Did she put up a fight? Or did she just sit there silently, hung-over, and accept her fate? Frankly, I don’t think cows have much power over humans, so it was probably the latter.
Once we’d selected a shiny scalpel from the front, my friend and I headed back to our cow eye. As she gripped the eye, and plunged the scalpel through it viciously, I murmured words of comfort to the eye, which stared back at me forlornly.
“Look,” I said to it, and then immediately regretted it because its optic nerve was severed, so it obviously couldn’t look.
I tried again.
“This will all be over soon. I promise. We just need to open you up for educational purposes. We’ll try not to hurt you. Please bear with us,” And I blew a kiss its way.
Thirty minutes later, our scalpel had broken, and the eye refused to be cut. With sweat dripping off our brows, and the eye looking mockingly at us, we decided.
“We need to take him DOWN!” my friend shouted.
I nodded, a steely resolve inside me, “You, eye. You may be smugly grinning at us now, but wait till we’re through with you.”
She took one end of the eye, and I took one end. On the count of three, we decided, and we pulled. We pulled and pulled, and eventually, the cow eye lost its power.
My friend and I stared at each other in shock. Our uniform shirts which had previously been an immaculate white, were now covered with dark, ugly splodges of cow eye juice.
In our hands remained meaty shreds of what had once been an eye. We couldn’t even identify the pupil, much less anything else. We looked over to our neighbouring table, where two boys had managed to extract a lens in pristine condition. As they gloated over their discovery, we started to clear up.
Later that day, I looked inside my pencil-case and found the lens staring right at me. The culprit looked at me and burst into malicious laughter. The rage inside me spiralled out of control. Here I was, covered in black eye juice and this monkey had the nerve to laugh and play pranks on me?
I wish I could say I’d punched him in the face. I wish I could say I’d given him a slap. Instead, I took the lens from my pencil case and threw it at him. The lens stuck on his gel-spiked hair, and it was my turn to laugh cruelly.
Ah, the sweet taste of vengeance.