Colorless Eyes
(c) Colt S.

For me, so I won't forget.
For you, so you'll remember.

Prolouge

Everything's running away from me.

As I stared out the window, that's all I could see. Familiar things zoomed past, like old friends who pretended not to see me as they moved past. I knew I was the one moving, not them, but I couldn't help but feel that I stood still.

I shifted against the seat uncomfortably against the sticky vinyl, still looking at the glass. I could dimly see my own reflection, dirty brown hair and dirty eyes, set in a hard glare. I wondered if I really looked that angry. I knew for weeks. But some part of me was finally settling after seven months.

As I silently curseed myself, the woman in the front seat looked back at me. "We're almost to the port." Her smile was forced and fake as she continued. "Will you be alright traveling alone?" I clamped my eyes shut, silently counting to ten. The world seemed to stop for those few seconds, before I opened them again to see the huge pair of sea eyes looking down at me. I knew the eyes well, an advertisement for a doctor who could change your eye color with special dye. Lots of people did it nowadays.

"I'll be fine Auntie," I replied once we pasted the peering gaze, looking away from her. She turned to her husband in the driver's seat and whispered something to him under her breath, which he retorted harshly to in a quieted voice. I didn't bother straining to hear them over the music playing, even when he shot me a look in the mirror. I trained my eyes on the window, watching everything run. I didn't want to meet their soft blue eyes, the fake kindness masking their fear. I knew they were scared, no matter how they acted. I knew they were scared.

I played with the strap of my knapsack, carefully running through the cold room I had left behind in my mind. I fit everything I had into it, cramming hard to make sure it all came with me. I had even nicked some of my cousin's stuff and one of his EarWaves. He would never notice - he broke them almost weekly by smashing them under his designer shoe. A song he didn't like - smash. His favorite team lost - smash. Aunt sent him a message to be home on time - smash. He always got new ones, and would never miss one.

The signs advertising the gentlemen's club and the local casino ran past. I spotted a splotch of green between them, and I knew it was the synthetic grass of the playground. School let us play there during our ten minute break. All of it was soft and bright green, except one spot near the monkey bars. The smooth, even blades were stained mauroon where my cousin fell - smash.

That's when I started putting things in my knapsack.

I suddenly remembered the bathroom, and grabbed the seat in front of me. "I forgot my toothbrush!" Uncle glanced at me, annoyed.

"Just buy a new one," he grumbled.

"But it's my toothbrush," I pressed, and recognized the frantic sound somewhere in my mind.

"It's just a toothbrush. Now sit back." At the harsh command, I flopped back against the seat, and it adjusted to my form again. Again, Aunt leaned over and whispered in Uncle's ear. Again he retorted in a hushed voice. They often whispered to each other, behind hands and closed doors. All adults speak in whispers, I had decided that long ago. The only ones who talked loud were bosses and those who stood in the street. I thought that their yells about saving people were funny, but Uncle said they deserved it when they got run over. He said he wished his boss would stand in the street too, and he'd finish the job personally.

I pulled my knapsack closer to me as we pulled off and the port came into view, large blinking signs directing people to where they were told to be like everyone was lost. Uncle, Aunt, and I passed under one. They would pass under another in a few minutes. I would in a few hours, because I didn't know where to go. In front of us, a woman holding a sign in the street leapt out of the way as Uncle swerved at her. She yelled at him, and smacked my window with her sign. All I could read before we zoomed past was 'end'.

I don't know which was worse. The whispering adults, or the ones who yell...