Clare Hayes // D1 // FIN

"Don't kids ever use their eyes?"

But where their eyes are on the front of of their head in various colors of blues, browns, and greens, mine are a pale white and placed on either side of my head - but you call them ears, not eyes. So you find me a freak when my dead orbs stare back at you and not at what you are pointing to. Although I do know that you are pointing to the shattered glass vase on the ground.

"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

The way I see is through my ears and believe me, I can hear the inflection in your voice that tells me you are a bit irritated with my apparent stupidity. I don't have to have eyes to see you are looking at me with crinkled eyebrows and a frown. I could tell you that I can't see the way you do, but what's the point? You'll figure out that I don't really want to talk to you eventually.

"Are you stupid or something girl?"

Now their is no doubt that you are not only irritated with me, but have enough pent up anger that you would like to hit me. I hear the shuffle of your feet as you take a step closer to me, as if you could intimidate me with your height or age or maybe even the look of fury in your eyes. You voice is deep but cracks often, which tells me you are much older than me - much older than most of the District 1 residents also. You are my height, if not a bit shorter - as your voice comes from neither above nor below my ears. You drag your feet when you walk, which tells me you probably have old knees plus a hunched back. And because you are just a frail old man and because I can't see the fury in your eyes, you do not intimidate me in the slightest.

"You'll be paying for that! It was my finest piece! Who do you think is going to be cleaning that up?"

Truth is I can pay for anything you want - plus I can pay enough to get some hit man to slice you to pieces and then throw you in a grave without getting caught. But, I can just stick to paying for your stupid vase that you have billions of anyways. You boast to your customers that the vase is a prized possession, a priceless item that you are willing to give them a deal on. But I knew it was nothing more than a cute scam you tried to push upon the stupid rich people that walked into your petty thrift stop. And I will gladly clean up the mess because I have already stolen the only valuable thing in your entire stole. I finger the diamond ring that sits in my jacket pocket and smile.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I was just trying to find a place to sit."

And not only because I find it fun to trick people but also because their is a bit of fun in aimless flailing, I give my best blind girl walk with outstretched arms and feet that trip over most anything on the floor. As if I don't know that the bench is next to the large window where I hear old ladies and pregnant women shuffle themselves and then sigh heavily when they find a bit of relief from standing for so long. And I know it's by a window because I can feel the heat of the sun and rush of the wind from where I stand. I knock down a few more vases because I can still hear the bit of irritation in the man's voice ringing in my ears. Are you stupid or something girl? The diamond in my pocket tells me that I am definitely not the stupid one. I make sure to kick over another table before I crumble to the ground in a mess of shattered glass. I want top laugh, but I resist.

"What the hell!! You think you're going to get pity from me cause your a blind girl? Think again!"

There are two different reactions to my being blind. Pity and treating me like I can't do anything for myself and people who don't care and find my utterly and completely useless. I knew from the beginning that I was dealing with the one that hates me no matter what, and I did plan on dealing with a few sore ribs by the end of the day. But I'm used to that. Almost nothing hurts anymore after years of banging my shins and knees against tables and running face first into walls and years of practicing, or rather getting my ass kicked, in underground fighting rings. You can kick me as hard as you want but no matter how much it hurts, I'm not going to scream. Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm weak. And I will prove it to you.

"Obviously you need to be taught a few lessons! Manners are important! Hear me? Or are you deaf too?"

His foot collides with my rib cage but as he must truly be a frail old man it doesn't hurt too much. I listen to see if there are any others in the store, getting to their feet to help me or gasping in horror as they watch a full grown man kick a blind child but I hear nothing but the wind from the front window of the store. This is where years of getting my ass kicked actually comes in handy. I don't remember how long it was ago that I started fighting behind my family's backs, but it's been long enough that I understand that you can't just let people hit you. You gotta fight back if you wanna win. And because I know his foot is coming again, I wait for it to collide with my side before I grasp it tightly to my body, then twist as sharply as I can until I feel the old man lose his balance and fall to the ground letting out a yelp when his hands meet the sharp edges of the glass that is scattered across the floor.

"I'll think I'll just be going now, before I ruin more of your precious merchandise. Enjoy your day, sir."

And with that, I leave him cursing and groaning on the floor. I find the door with no trouble and walk out onto the sidewalk, letting my fingertips glide along the brick walls that are like a map in my head. I can remember when I was little walking around in my square little room, following the walls around and around and wondering if it would ever end. For years I thought the world was nothing more than a tiny box filled with clothes and toys and voices. For years I thought that mother was making up the rest of my family. For years I thought that brother and sisters where nothing more than voices through the vents, not tangible things. In my little room I knew nothing of a family except the love of a mother - an overprotective love, true - but a love all the same. Much more than I get now. I walk around the house and I hear them but they don't come close - unless they have the need to terrorize someone, and then they are all over me. For years I dreamed of meeting the voices in the vents, but as soon as I had actually met them, I knew they didn't want anything to do with me. It seems my whole life is made up of extremes - neglect or nurture. Why can't I just have the happy medium?

Worthless. Pathetic. Stupid. Weak. Ugly. Why were you even born? No one wants you here.

The words ring in my head. Different voices at so many times with the same verdict - I'm a total waste of life. My mother never told me I was worthless. She said she loved me and I was just different from everyone else and that that was okay. She told me I was so smart, stronger than anyone she knew, more beautiful than my favorite thing to touch or favorite sound to hear. But as soon as I stepped out of the room and lost her protection, I was told the complete opposite, over and over and over. Which means she had to be lying to me. So I guess when she told me she loved me that was a lie too. But that's okay - I figured out quick enough that all her ideals were wrong anyway. Or at least didn't quite apply to a girl like me. Love isn't something I was mean to hand out willingly as she did, but to keep locked away inside only to be seen be me, myself, and I. Helping others and being generous simply doesn't get you anywhere in this world I live in - determination and shoving others to the ground (or in my case beating you at your own game) is what gets you to where you want to be. Deceit is also quite helpful if your willing to use it. Lucky for me, I'm great at it. You think I'm a poor little blind girl and put your arm around my shoulder to guide me to where I need to go and while I thank you for your help, I take your wallet. Pfft, as if I actually needed your help ... I can do anything any regular kid can do - maybe even better.

What do I look like mommy? - Why can't I go and play with the other kids? - Do I have a daddy? Why doesn't he come see me? Why doesn't anyone but you come to see me mommy?

I remember she told me I had brown hair like my father and eyes as blue as the sky (but I'll never know color, so I hope that's at least a decent eye color) and that I looked a lot like her. And for a moment I thought I had a voice as delicate and beautiful as hers, hair as silky smooth as hers, and as smooth a flawless as hers. I've grown to realize that was a lie too because no boys scramble after me like they do Jessalyn or Aine. But that's okay with me considering I can break their arm faster than even Aine can. So I don't much care when you call me ugly as long as you don't care much about having a broken arm.

I could hear their voices, screaming as they ran and played in the yard. And as badly as I wanted to go with them, mom would never let me. She told me it wasn't safe out there for me. She told me the door was saving me from the monsters outside and that if I took one step outside there was no doubt that the monsters would hunt down the sugar and spice that made up my very being. More lies. I'm not made of sugar or spice rather I'm made of the same substance that makes up every monster in this world and proud of it. So the darling, delicate, sophisticated girl that she raised me to be really was really a useless effort. Because there was no way she could ever mold me to be what she wanted. Because a monster is a monster and truly nothing more.

I have only ever met him twice. He doesn't want anything to do with me and never has. After mom disappeared and I threw a tantrum for hours on end, he finally told me that that wouldn't work on him the way it had on mom. And that I really was useless. It took me almost a year to figure out the beautiful family mom had painted in my brain was fake. No one cared had ever cared about me or wanted me around. Seriously, what fun is a blind girl who can barely find her way around her own house by herself? For awhile I tried really hard to get them to like me. But I was too little, too weak, too ... blind. Never mind that I could hear things they never could or solve any problem I had all on my own - all they were worried about was throwing knives and swinging swords. So I decided I would prove them all wrong. I'm not useless. I have a room full of gold and diamonds and, really, everything I want, to prove it. I have beaten so many boys to pulps in underground fights and have become more successful than any of them have.

And one day, when I'm on top of the mountain and they are begging to be there too, I will remember the word 'Useless.' and shove them to the bottom accordingly.