White Eyes

Axel nodded to his guard as casually as he could, squeezing his right fist. His fingers slipped down the length of the stone hidden there, and Axel forced a smile as his guard lazily waved him forward. Hooking his left thumb in his belt loop, he took a step into the Prison Proper. If today went well, this would be the last time he would ever have to step through those doors.

Axel strolled leisurely through the crowd, heading for the doors at the other end of the room. He noted a few new faces as he passed and nearly felt bad for them. But to be here, the vagrants did deserve it in some way or another. After all, no one would be sentenced to this heaven-forsaken place for anything as simple as murder.  

“Oi! Ax!” A hefty man sitting at a nearby table called. “Come over ‘ere, will ya?”

Axel groaned softly, clenching his fist. He had important things to do, and talking to Quip was not at the top of his priority list. Or anywhere close, for that matter. But Axel never had passed up an opportunity to talk with Quip before and he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself now. Sighing, Axel ran his free hand through his hair and casually made his way over to Quip, just as he would’ve on any normal day.

“What is it?” He asked quietly, stopping a few paces from Quip’s table.

Quip raised a hand and shoved a spoonful of mush into his mouth. “I been hearin’ some talk ‘round here,” He said, preparing another bite, “That they's tightinin’ up security on accounts of a new boy jus’ came in.” He paused, swirling his mush with his spoon. “It’s been said that they’s gettin’ The Mechanism ready, Ax.”

The Mechanism. Cold sweat trickled down Axel’s back.

Quip suddenly reached out and grasped Axel’s arm, forcing him to make eye contact. A wave of nausea threatened, and Axel deliberately chose to focus on Quip’s good eye. He didn’t think he would ever get used to that other one. How could he, when scar tissue and swelling played the roles of eyeball and eyelid?

“So, Ax,” Quip continued, his good blue eye staring, “Yous best be bein’ very careful 'round here, understand?” 
Axel grunted in agreement, but Quip didn’t let go. A shudder of revulsion passed through him. What had happened to that eye? He pulled his arm free and crossed it over his chest. It felt odd with the added bulk in his hand. He cleared his throat.“Who’s made them worried?” He asked stiffly, gazing out at the Proper.

“That ‘un right there.” Quip said, pointing his spoon at a young man a few tables away. He stood maybe 5’6 and was skinnier than a beanpole. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Axel raised an eyebrow.

“Him?” Axel scoffed. "What did he do?"

“See, that there’s the thing.” Quip said, shaking his head. “No’ody knows. Alls we know’s that he’s downright dangerous. What, to have gotten them all riled up and firing up the Mechanism and all.”

Axel glanced back at the young man and found himself unable to move. The boy was staring at him. And his eyes... Heavens above, those eyes. White. Completely... Completely white. How...

Axel tore his gaze away, his hands shaking. He blinked hard and rested his hand on the table, trying to shake off the memory. Good heavens, if the kid looked like that, it was no wonder everyone was so worked up about him. Screw it, he could even understand why they were ready to use the Mechanism! He-

Axel cursed and stumbled back, tripping over his feet and swearing like a sailor. The boy was right there.

“Hello.” The boy said, smiling as though he’d found a lost friend. “I think...” His gaze dropped to Axel’s right hand. “Ah. Yes.” He reached out and grasped Axel’s wrist, raising it up slowly. “I think that you have something that belongs to me.” He tilted his head and grinned. "Would you mind giving that back?"

Responsibility

     "It's your responsibility, Cade!" I yelled, swiping some soaked hair from my eyes. "However afraid you are, it's your responsibility. You cannot just leave them behind."
     Cade stopped abruptly. "What? Leave them- I'm not leaving them behind! I'm not- I- You-" He clenched his fists. "I'm doing what's best." 
     "No, you're not. You know you're not." I took a step back from him, pointing back the way we'd come. "You're leaving them there to rot, all because of your own cowardice. Yes, you've messed up. Yes, you have failed in the past, but don't make this another failure!" 
     Cade's eyes flashed. With his fist still clenched, his gaze locked onto mine, and his posture stuck between defensive and defeated, I couldn't decide if I'd gone too far. But everything I'd said had been true. He was afraid of failing, he was being a coward. He was afraid of committing himself to something just to watch it crumble before his eyes again. But I couldn't stand back and let his fear doom hundreds of people to bondage. 
     I blinked rain from my eyelashes, jerking my head a little to unstick some hair from my face. Cade's jaw was still tense, and I began to wonder if he would ever say something. His eyes were a swirling mass of confusion and anger. 
     "You know, you're beginning to sound like my father, Janet."

Marked Different

By the age of three, I was marked different. By age three, I was causing more trouble and turmoil than a teenager. By age three, my parents were terrified of me. Why? Because my eyes weren't changing color, as they should be.

"But that's stupid," You say. "Why would anyone care about that?"
And I laugh.
"Because," I tell you, bitterness in my voice. "Your eye color shows how you feel. It tells people if you're being honest, trustworthy, or deceitful. Without that assurance, how can someone know if you're telling the truth?"
I'll answer that for you. They can't.
At age three, I was marked with the fact that I would never be trusted, because my eyes didn't change with my emotions. They didn't change to deep blue when I was sad, or emerald green when I was jealous. And so, I was immediately isolated from those I may have called friends. One heck of an introduction to life, wasn't it?
"It's just a phase. He'll grow out of it." I remember my mother saying, her eyes slowly turning a deep shade of purple.
  "Yes. He'll be fine." My father reassured, although his eyes acquired the same hue, for they were afraid. Very afraid. Afraid I would be too different.
But they had no need to fear, for my difference was not a curse. It wasn't a problem. Although, I suppose it was something to be very, very afraid of. Just not in the way that they had expected. Oh, no, I had not been cursed. I had been blessed. Blessed with a gift.
Now, I dramatically sweep my arms out before me, and your eyes follow along. "This," I say, looking you dead in the eyes. "Is my story. The story of an abnormal boy in a normal world. A world that was calling – aching – to be changed."