It was late evening when we went outside. Dylan was never really a talkative friend, but he was always so curious about the world, always finding new things to tinker with. One day, we stumbled across an abandoned eye that was left along the road just down the old school we used to go to. "Must've fallen off one of those trucks that always go down into the city," he said as he kicked the thing. The metallic shell rang true and hard like an obsidian bell. Some other people had already graffitied all over it. But the eye was still burning, still staring, like it never stopped watching us.
"Time to go," I told him. I didn't want to hang around any longer, in case the patrol arrived to collect it.