"This book is red," Mr Peterson declared, holding up a black book. "Do you agree?"

The students replied negatively, shaking their heads.

"It's black," a boy said.

"I say it's red," Mr Peterson argued.

"But it's not," a girl stated.

"Are you all sure it's black?" he asked, and the students nodded. He then turned the book around, showing a red cover. Some chuckled, others let out a few 'ooh's and a good part looked quite unfazed and uninterested, as it was most times.

"You can not argue with someone over something unless you've seen it in their point of view," he concluded. "You can state your opinion, though you should know that unless you've experienced something, you don't know a damn thing about what it's really like."

She saw his gaze flicker to her from the corner of her eye. She knew he was staring at her scar, the one that stretched from the top of her ear down to her jaw. She hated it, but she had no way of covering it.

"Our experiences are permanent," Mr Peterson started loudly, his voice booming trough the class so everyone could hear him clearly. "They leave a mark on us, no matter how big or small, no matter if visible or invisible. They are what makes us who we are. Every single one of them changes our lives. Can you name any experience, no matter life changing or not?"

Almost every hand was in the air. Almost.

"Loss of a loved one," a girl said after he called her out. Nodding, he pointed to a boy.

"Relationships," he said.

"Accidents."

"Skill in a area."

There was many more named, and only one hand was left in the air.

"Yes, Mr Wyatt, I don't see your hand raised often," Mr Peterson said, and everyone turned their heads. Except her.

"Are you inquiring that experiences are like scars?" he asked, his eyes on her at all times.

"Indeed I am. How'd you come to the conclusion?" the teacher asked. Though it was obvious, he always asked how anyone came to any conclusion. Apparently, it opened more topics.

"You said they're permanent."

"But not all scars are permanent, Ace," Mr Peterson pointed out.

"Maybe not always on the skin, but they are," he said.

"If I may point out, I've noticed that you've got one," Mr Peterson said. Ace's eyes flickered to his scar, and then to hers.

"Eden," Mr Peterson said, his gaze following Ace's. "Do you want to contribute to this?"

She shook her head.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she breathed out.

"You don't seem to be following us," Mr Peterson pointed out.

"I am."

"What do you say about experiences and scars then?"

"You get one from the other," she said with a shrug.

"You should talk more often Eden," Mr Peterson said. "Your mind seems like a interesting place."

He had no idea.

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unknown number:  you have a voice. don't whisper. scream.

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unsent message to; unknown:screaming it would damage my lungs. it damages my mind enough.

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