The Compass and the Quill [Under Revision]

1. The Girl and the Giant

Quilla

Seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven...

I kept my head bowed as I walked. The crowd parted around me, staring freely because my eyes were on my feet and nowhere else.

Fifteen...sixteen...seventeen...eighteen...stairs. One...two..three...

I hated stairs. I hated them so much.

Six...seven...eight...main hallway.

I started counting the number of steps to my locker. It was an everyday routine for me; I had memorized the route to every classroom of mine, to my locker, and to a few other spots in school. I could move around with my eyes closed if I wished. There was never a risk of tripping over anyone's feet or bumping into anybody and falling, because nobody ever came in my way.

My gaze left the floor and rose upwards in order to note the room number. But en route to the small bronze plate my eyes met those of a a group of students chatting outside the door. Their eyes widened and then looked away, as if gazing too long into my eyes would sear theirs.

No surprise there. There were freaks in this world, and then there was me. I was pretty sure that someone with blue skin, three eyes and a pair of antennae would fit in this town than I would. I was the type of person you shifted away from; the type that made you push your children behind your back as I pass. Did I freak people out? Infinitely so. But there was more to it than that. I outright scared them.

I - and the small portion of the scientific community that had dared to study me - had no idea how I was born with the features that I had. There were many things about me that made people run in the opposite direction - but the first thing that jumped out and hit you right in the face was my eyes. I did not have violet eyes, nor did I have heterochromia or cataracts or split pupils or any other known deviation from a normal eye. How I wish I did. No, my irises were an intense shade of crimson, like two large drops of blood.

I blamed every painter, author, storyteller and filmmaker in history who had associated red eyes with evil for at least some of my bad reputation. But history and popular culture were not to blame for the other unusual feature I possessed - waist-length locks as white as snow. And I meant that literally - it was not silver, not grey, not ash blonde - but absolutely white. Neither history nor popular culture was responsible for people finding my hair strange - it was just unusual. The braver ones among the townsfolk had asked my parents if I dyed my hair. The false hopes with which they posed those questions were quickly dashed to the ground when my parents promptly replied that I was born with white hair.

Conversation momentarily ceased as I walked into the AP Biology classroom before resuming again. I sat down in my seat, placing my bag in the one next to mine so it would be easier for me to pick it up after class ended. Our school was old enough and stubborn enough that it would not replace the desks that seated two people side-by side for the new single-seater chairs. Fortunately for my classmates, the town was small and the number of students was small enough for there to always remain an empty desk which they could leave so nobody would have to suffer the misfortune of sitting next to me. Consequently, I could spread my things all over my desk if I wanted too - a privilege I took full advantage of.

Mr. Morrison stood up the moment the bell rang. He was an ill-tempered, slightly overweight fellow who seemed to think that high school students existed only to plague his life with bad-quality papers and to make his life miserable in general. He also required everyone to sit in assigned seating because people sitting at the same desk were lab partners and project partners for the rest of the year. I kept my eyes on my doodles as he began the class with his introductory glare and his speech whose take-home message was that today's teenagers were the scour of humanity and were going to be responsible for its downfall. I sighed once he was done, flipping to a blank page and picking up my pen to take notes - but the lecture did not begin.