Scars

Stories

It's been days since we got back. I mostly stay in my room, as much as I hate it. I want to do something useful, but I have a strange feeling people don't like me. I have written probably at least five stories by now, and I have made at least twenty sketches of ships, guns, and droids. The rebellion doesn't know I made them, and they also don't know that aside from the stories I write I record everything. Not like a diary or journal though, more like documents. I don't put emotions or personal things in them. I put those in my stories. Each of my stories has some little details about my life, and other things. No one has read any of them though, why would I let them? Besides I never leave my room, so how would they get them? I hear a knock at the door. Should I answer? Might as well.

"Who is it?" I yell. 

"Cassian." Someone says.

"Come in." I say.

"Hello." He says as he comes in. 

"Hey." 

"What are these?" He asks as he walks over to my desk.

"No! Don't look at those!" I nearly yell. Some of those sketches are of my past, the worst parts. /i thought drawing them would get them out of my head.

"Why not?" He's scanning my eyes to see if I'm going to lie.

"Because they're mine. You can look at these if you want." I say grabbing the sketches of droids, ships, and guns. 

"You've had a lot of spare time haven't you?" He says as he looks through them.

"A lot." 

"What's this?" He's holding up of the pictures of my past.

"Nothing. Just a drawing." I try to snatch it out of his hand, but he's too tall.

"Just a drawing? Then why don't you want me to see it.?"

"Because it's mine."

 "It has a story on the back." 

"I know." 

"You wrote this?"

"Yes."

"It's very good."

"Thanks."

"What's the matter with you?"

"What do you mean?" 

"You seem." He pauses. "Distance. Like you don't me to see these things." 

"That's because I don't."

"Why not?"

"Just go through them then." I pause. "All of them." 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, if you want to know so bad then why not?" I turn, "I'm going to get some food."

"Okay."  

I walk out the door. I hope he doesn't bring what's in the pictures and stories up because some of what is in them he was there for. I walk to the cafeteria, and I see that almost no body's there. Well it makes sense it's well past supper time. I grab a bowl of soup and sit down at a table. I eat my soup slowly because I really don't want to go back to my room. By the time I am done eating I am the last person in there. I walk as slowly as humanly possible to my room. When I get there, Cassian is there sitting at my desk looking through everything, as if to connect the dots to something. 

"You're still not done yet?" I try not to sound surprised. 

"I looked over everything at least twice maybe more, but there are a few things that don't add up?"

"Like what?" 

"The girl in this picture and in the stories. The share similar characteristics, but why?" 

"Look at her very closely and read the events in the stories very closely."  He reads everything again, and looks at the pictures again.

"This-This is you." He says.

"Yes."

"The events some of them are just like what happened. With the stormtroopers, and the picture is so detailed I don't know why I didn't see it before."

"That's because you weren't looking for it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why write about it all?" 

"I thought I would forget about it if I did." 

"But you remember everything."

"Exactly." 

"These drawings." He motions to the sketches of droids, guns, and ships. "You made these all from memory?"

"Yes." 

"This picture." He holds one up. "Tell me what this means."

It's a picture of my arm, with all the scars. Across it says another one for the collection. "It means, I will never be safe. I will always feel pain. I will always have scars, memories, of those I cared for." 

"And what does this one mean?" 

It's a picture of my eye. Green, and scared. No, not scared, worried. Worried what will happen if I care for anyone else if they will die. "That is my eye. It is how I see. Look at what emotion the eye shows."

"Scared?" 

"No, worried."

"Worried about what?"

"That if I ever care for someone that they will die." 

"Do you care for someone?"

"Yes, he is like family to me." 

"Who?"

"You."

"You're worried about me dying? Shouldn't be the other way round?" 

"Maybe, but I just don't want to lose anyone else I care for." 

"It makes sense. Is that why you weren't talking to me?"

"No, well maybe. I feel like most people here don't really like me."

"And why is that?"

"The strange looks they give me. I can tell by their eyes they don't like me."

"It's just because you're new. Don't worry they'll warm up to you eventually. Well I'm tired, so I'm going to get going now. If you need anything come find me, okay?"

I nod. "Okay, goodbye." 

I get changed into my pajamas, and I crawl into my bed. I slowly fall into deep sleep.