Cyanophobia

• Maysa Maarbani, Grade 7, Unity Grammar School
• Short Story
• 2017

Excellence Award in the 'Spread The Word 2017' competition

It was very unfortunate that Mr Warren Winchester was cyanophobic; afraid of the colour blue. And it didn’t help that the 96 year old man for whom he was caring for had 1 blue eye. Of course, this statement seems very strange, but the old man had a normal brown eye and a blue one, which acted upon its own accord. This very blue eye spun around hysterically when the owner laughed his hyena-like laugh. It could see through solid wood, through the back of his head... and the worst of it was that each night, this old man had to pop it out before going to bed, and replace it each morning when he awoke. It gave Mr Winchester the heebie jeebies.
Mr Winchester had coped with this eye for 4 and a half months now. Yet, his fear, instead of decreasing, had increased. He knew he was being stupid, ridiculous even. But if you went to bed each night knowing that what you fear most is not in the control of its master, then you would of course, not have a good night’s sleep, would you?
Every night, before he would go to bed, Mr Winchester would check on the old man. It had been like this for quite some time now. However, with his newly proliferated fear, it was becoming quite unbearable. He knew that the people in the village thought he was a ‘deranged madman’ because he was afraid of a colour. And perhaps now, he was, without knowing it, proving them right.
He’d had enough. He was going to finish the old man off. It wouldn’t exactly be a crime either though; the nonagenarian man’s life would come to a stop soon, anyway, considering his age.
9 o’clock. Mr Winchester crept up the stairs, as usual, but this time, holding the largest knife in the kitchen he could find. He opened the old man’s bedroom door, felt his way through the darkness of the room and struck the blue eye. It shriveled and smoked and vanished. Relief flooded him. Maybe he should leave the old man alone, now that the blue eye was no longer here. He annihilated the idea at once. He raised his arm again, and struck a second time; aiming and achieving to get the old man’s back.
Mr Warren Winchester had succeeded. He felt no guilt (which perhaps added to fact of him being a ‘madman’). He knew he’d won.
That lasted until the next day, when the policemen were called and they arrived in their blue uniform.