Her Father's EyesCaitlin had her father's eyes. She kept them in a jar on the mantelpiece. Most people favoured a clock up there, maybe a nice vase. Something to wedge bills behind. Caitlin liked the eyes better.
You're not really going out like that are you? You're dressed like a w***e. What will people think?
The voice was angry and, simultaneously, heavy with disappointment. It was a particular skill of her father's. He wasn't actually talking of course. After all, only his eyes remained. His eyes and a portion of his cerebral cortex and the two optic nerves connecting them. No, the voice was in Caitlin's head. That was the terrible truth of it. The voice was a part of her, stamped into her mind over the course of her childhood.
For many years she'd believed his words. You had to tru
