I Live In A Small Town In Rural Ohio, There Are Rules That Must Be Followed.

In a small Ohio farming town of 1,500 people, the rules are not suggestions or superstitions—they are a matter of survival. The narrator, David, has lived there his entire life, and he has seen the rules take his father, his classmates, and his girlfriend. The rules are simple to state but brutal to break: close your eyes from 8:10 to 8:25 twice a day; never look at the second sun that appears from 12:30 to 1:00; never stare at birds, especially raptors; break any mirror whose reflection looks wrong; and never look into the eyes of the eyeless. Break one, and you lose an eye—neatly severed, as if by a surgeon. Break it badly, and you lose more than that.

The Rules and Their Consequences

The first rule is the one David's father broke. Hungover after a celebration, he forgot to close his eyes when the 8:10 bell rang. Within seconds, his left eye was gone, severed cleanly at the optic nerve. The town is prepared for this; most people carry gauze, and the local doctor performs eye-removal surgery with practiced efficiency. But the physical loss was only the beginning. David's father became hollow, then bitter, and finally fled the town entirely, leaving David with his stepmother Navia. "I'm not staying in this death trap any longer," he shouted before driving away, never to return.