The Eyeball Kid
The voice of Spice, the synthetic marijuana, told him to go and surrender himself to the firefighters down the street — then it was the voice of god that echoed down the hallway.
The living room fern transmogrified into a green anole that bit its own tail in half. The smaller tip began to speak in Aramaic — not that he knew Aramaic, but somehow he intuited it was Aramaic.
The tail said, “I have a gun. I will kill you if you don’t turn yourself over to the firemen across the street. Go now, man. Go! Go, before I smite you. Go and repent.”
The tail writhed and grew in to a gherkin that glowed in the blue redeeming light of Jesus. He vomited the Bengali lentils and brown rice he had at lunch. He felt lighter, better now.
He felt compelled to pee on the ficus bonsai on the coffee table, despite the perfectly clean bathroom down the hall. It was Dolores’s day to clean on Wednesday, and it had been freshly cleaned this morning. But he peed on the ficus nonetheless.
He walked across the street to the firehouse and kneeled before the firefighters. He begged forgiveness and eternal fealty to all things firefighter related. The firefighters were surprised in the midst of a late afternoon lunch after a gnarly five alarm wildcat at noon.
“The hand of God compels me,” he cried. “Please!”
As the fire chief came sliding down the pole, Eusebio thought he saw the son of God descending from the heavens…
“Mornings, afternoons, nights… Any time can work. For me it is less so about the time of the day and more about my state of mind. I need to feel balanced and awake. I don’t mean to say that I don’t have an everyday routine. I try to work every day from 9 to 14. But, when an idea traps me I will work on it for the rest of the day. On public transport, in waiting rooms, on planes… sometimes I can even take notes in the restroom in the middle of a party. Writing wherever and whenever I want is my rebel commonplace. It could sound a little dumb, but I love it.”
— Samanta Schweblin