O p e n Y o u r E y e s (Open)

Hearing someone coming up, I spin around to face them.

I book in their hand is immediately obvious. I narrow my eyes. I'm really not in the mood for another braniac telling me what to do.

Honestly, who do they think they are? All high and mighty, thinking that they're smarter than me.

Okay, so maybe they are smarter than me. But only in the world of numbers. Outside of that, they're just a group of egotistical people with no imagination. Unlike me. So when are they going to learn that I don't care for their knowledge. Not interested in becoming one of them.

"It isn't a good idea to throw rocks in area where there is glass. It breaks easily, y'know?"

My eyebrows raise slightly in surprise and sour amusement. Very optimistic. Optimism blinds many people, though.

So, out of many biting remarks, I choose my favorite. "No, duh."

Usually, I'm not like this. Usually, I'm full of life and laughs, with my anger and annoyance buried deep inside. I'm not heartless. I'm not mean. But he caught me on a bad day at a bad time, so he's going to see my bad side.

"You can't really think I did that on accident," I say with a smile on my lips.

I quickly scoop up another pebble, and throw it again. This one hits close to the middle of the window. My smile widens. All anger went into those pebbles, into those cracks...

Uh oh. Peacekeepers nearby. They didn't see, but they will soon.

I turn toward him, an innocent look plastered on my face, although my voice is cruel.

"Isn't it pretty?"

Seeing the Peacekeepers coming toward us from the corner of my eyes, I feel a tiny stab of fear in my stomach. I quickly calm it, though. My sweet, innocent smile can get me out of almost any trouble. My parents' money gets me out of all the other tough stuff.

I narrow my eyes at him. I sicken him? Honestly, I don't care about the rules. Yeah, they're there for a reason. But I break them for a reason, too. I mean, it's not like I go around hurting other people or anything. I don't do anything really serious. Okay, I've probably hurt some feelings. But at least I'm not some weirdo who's always coloring inside the lines. At least I'm not some... some robot!

And now, I'm even angrier than before. And the angrier I get, the more trouble I want to cause. My window opportunity? Not listening to him or the Keepers. I stay planted right where I am, glaring at him.

"No, I don't know why glass cracks the way it does," I say, my voice sickly sweet. "But I do think it's a wonderful image to draw. Just sketch it down, using a million different colors. It's a lot more pretty then."

The Peacekeepers are only several steps away from us. I ignore them. "Inspiration. Something you'll never know."

Then, I turn to face the Peacekeepers, a look of horror on my face. "Oh... oh, no. Y-you'll never believe what happened. I was practicing my pitching for sports, because I'm just so clumsy, and I thought, m-maybe if I made a sport team, I'd actually m-m-make some friends, but the rocks..."

I cut myself off quickly, making my voice crack slightly, and bury my face in my hands. "They hit the window! The poor family! They're gonna hate me!"

My smile is hidden by my hands. This might actually work. I'm a rather good actress, if I do say so myself. If they don't buy it, I'll always have reliable money to fall back on.

Yeah, being rich definitely has its advantages.

For a moment, surprise almost knocks me out of character. I almost frown. He's helping me? But weren't we just arguing?
Then I remember I'm right in the middle of a "preformance". The show must go on. He's obviously not going anywhere. I'll question him later.

I allow my hands to fall, a terrified look my my face. My eyes widen, and I try to look as small and vulnerable as possible. Just an innocent little girl, trying to make some friends, accidentally hitting the window...

I smile inwardly. I almost fooled myself.

"P-please," I whimper, staring at them, "I didn't mean to! I'm so, so s-sorry! D-don't punish me! My parents arent't home yet, and I just know my little sister would b-be so scared if I came home bruised and bleeding!"

I automatically deduct points for that. My sister would be so scared? Cheesy. Dumb. I overdid it a bit. But, you can't take back words. I'll just have to work with it for now.

One of them looks at me, his face impassive. But in his eyes, there is a hint of... sorrow? Pity?

"Can you pay?" he asks, his voice rough, like gravel.

"Yes! Yes, I can pay!" I say eagerly, nodding quickly. I begin to feel in my jacket pocket, and the coins make a loud jingling noise. The other, obviously the more heartless of the two, raises one eyebrow. I jump on the oppurtunity, pulling out a large amount of cash.

"Will this cover it?" I ask innocently enough, holding out the money. There's obviously more than enough.

Now they both look heartless, their eyes glinting with pleasure and greed as they stare at me, then the money. One of them clears his throat, opens his mouth to say something, and then decides against it. I laugh inwardly. They are obviously not actors.

"Where did you get all this?" asks one finally.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "I carry this much money around every day."

At least that's true. My parents insist on it. I don't really mind, though. No one's a saint. We're all drawn in by money. Money is power. And since my parents are some of the richest people in District Ten... well, it makes people respect me, even though it's technically my parents' money.

I haven't been rich all my life, though. I'm not spoiled. I remember when my parents and I would stare at this much money just as desiderating eyes. I remember when I constantly felt an emptiness in my stomache. I remember the days when I wore a thin, beat up coat, and was practically a toothpick. Sure, we were surviving. But we were not in any way, shape, or form, living. And there is a difference.

That was before my mom became an amazing surgeon. After she got her new job, money came in at great speed. And things started looking up.

But I don't forget those nights I spent whimpering softly in my bed as the pains in my stomache became almost unbearable. They are still vivid memories, although they happened a long, long time ago. I still remember my old life.

Great. Now I'm upset, and I still have to act. It takes all my energy not to throw the money at their faces and storm away.

But what would that do? What problems would that solve? The things that happened are over. I'm living in a fantasy, now. There's another fancy party tonight. A big feast. Afterwards, I'll watch movies on the wide, flat screen in my bedroom. Only the best ones, of course.

So what am I complaining about? I watch, hiding my annoyance, as one grabs the payment. "This should be just enough."

"Good," I say, fake relief entering my vioce.

But I'm still annoyed and overwhelmed with awful memories as they walk away.

I'm still mad at him. I still disagree with him. But I now owe him, and I'm curious. So instead of just walking away, I go over by him, and sit down akwardly, wrapping my arms around my legs and become extremely interested in the dead grass near my feet.

"Um... thanks," I mutter, feeling totally stupid. With one finger, I reach down, making invisable swirling patterns on the ground. The images appears in my head. A large circle, with swirls parelell to other swirls, making one huge, beautiful design.

Unsure of what to do next, I stay there, unable to forget the arguement we were just in. After turning it over and over again in my mind, I realize what a big jerk I must have sounded like. And how dump I sounded. I just had to open my big mouth. But he's the one who pushed me towards it. I was angry enough without him there. He pushed me over the edge...

No. I can't go blaming him, when it's my fault. But I'm unwilling to admit to him that I think that. Not this soon. I'll apologize when he does. My hand glides down my arm as I stare at the air in front of me thoughtfully. I'm not a jerk. I'm friendly. Most of the time. But what I said about having no friends is true. I'm too... creative. And of course, in their minds, creativity and stupidity go hand in hand.

"I'm not stupid, you know," I say it quietly, but there's a sharp edge to my voice. "Just because I'm different doesn't mean I'm not smart. It wasn't fair of you to judge me that way."

I bite the inside of my cheek, wishing that I could somehow get out of saying what I know I have to. But my conscious pushes me forward, and I sigh. "And I guess it wasn't really fair for me to judge you, and then act the way I did."

The closest to an apology he'll ever get.

I feel myself flush, and duck my head down, feeling very, very stupid. Even though I just tried to convince him that I'm not. I focus on one single, drooping blade of grass. It creates a perfect arc, bending over to meet the earth, just barely brushing the hard, cold soil with it's tip.

"So, why exactly did you help me if I treated you that way?"

I swallow down my anger, although I can't prevent myself from half glaring at him. One of my hands clings around the other, and I pull my knees up closer and rest my chin inbetween them. "I get a B+ in math. Not exactly the kind of thing that would please my genius parents. Especially when they compare me to my know-it-all little sister. No offense, but math isn't my favorite subject. It has rules you have to follow. Ten plus ten always has to equal twenty."

I close my eyes briefly, and several equations flash on the inside of my eyelids. It's not like I don't know math. It's that I don't want to learn it. I'd rather be dreaming, or entering The World. However, my teachers and parents have attempted to carve every rule of math into my brain. Which, of course, doesn't always work out the way they hope.

My parents once brought in a tutor. He was the most boring thing I had ever known. So I just stopped listening when he talked in his odd, high pitched voice, and eventually, my parents realized he was no help, and made him leave. I guess I owe my parents more than that, considering how much they give me, but I just couldn't go through that torture any longer.

How can they look at numbers and see so much excitement, yet see nothing when they look through my sketch book? The colors, the lines, the people... my favorite thing to draw are eyes. The window to the soul. And flowers are pretty, too. How can they not see what I see when I look at things?

I sigh in frustration. Math and science can't give you all the answers you need. Sometimes, you just have to free yourself from all the grey, and learn to live in a world of beauty instead of calculations.

But then, who would understand that? No one in this district, I'm sure. But sometimes, when I watch the Games, I see teenagers with imaginations as wide as mine. Who are creative and clever. And then I have to watch them die.

I never feel well during the Games. My heart feels broken, I look pale, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I've never enjoyed violence. But the way they set the terrible competition up, you actually get to know the people before they die. It's not entertaining. It's sickening, and cruel. And ever since I was able to understand the Games, I have written the names of all the tributes who died in my notebook and surrounded each one with a circle of flowers.

That's not the sketch book I show my parents, though.

"I see math and science as black and white," I admit. "And I don't see how you stick to that when there's a whole world of colors out there."