Oriana's Eyes Read Online Free
Author: Celeste Simone
as though he is better. He is worthless, middle-class, impure!
My hatred is growing now. I struggle to nod in answer to his question. I dare not speak and reveal the anger in my voice. He turns his back to the class. I calm down, but I am trembling with chills of pent-up spite. It’s all I can do to maintain my composure. I breathe. In, then out, control, steady pace, in, then out. The air rushing through my lungs cools my nerves. Eyes straight ahead. I cannot be sent to the Odonian; survival depends on that. I keep myself from looking at his face. Just listen to his words. I must protect myself. I must not show these changes these … emotions.
CHAPTER FOUR
The school day becomes a mindless glaze of incoherent white, so bright that it erases any functions of the mind. I choose not to fight it. Do not think; ease the pain, trust in Odon. Your destiny lies in your success as a pureblood. Write, listen, repeat their information; this is what matters. History class, then Faith, then test —the test that was so important only hours ago.
The teacher walks down the aisle, handing out a packet, neatly clipped together. She passes me, and one finds itself on my desk. I grip the metal pen in my burning palm. My other hand drags the test in front of me. I must not make a mistake, a single mistake, and they would know. They would send me to the Odonian, and then there would be no hope. I would return forever changed, scarred by the same unknown infliction that laid its injury upon Lenora.
I turn the first page over. Have I finished it already? My mind is somewhere else, and I can’t remember the questions. I scan it; yes, it is complete. I begin the next page. Concentrate; I must not make a mistake. Haven’t I studied? Didn’t I prepare? And yet my memories grasp nothing except the fear of not remembering. After I’ve read and answered the last question, I turn it over. But relief at the test’s completion does not wash over me. I am caught in time, trapped in the moment when the packet was placed beside me.
Why couldn’t I have pushed it to the floor ? But it’s done; nothing in the past will change. Somehow I muster the strength to rise from my seat and approach the desk at the front of the room, where the professor sits reading the History book.
I reach the desk and place a hand on it to gain balance. The test is squirming in my hand, all but leaping onto the blank silver surface of the desk. Did I finish first? There are no other tests; mine sits by itself, a white rectangle on the metal. It looks so blatant lying there alone. But it has left my hand, and there is no way to retrieve it from its solitude. I stare at it, wanting to take it back. The professor doesn’t notice me but continues to read, unaware of the crisis that is occurring before her. Her light brown hair is tucked below her neck, a part-blood. My eyes are still upon the abandoned test, as if I am holding it in time or willing it to disappear.
How long I stand there, I can’t tell, but it isn’t until a second student approaches from behind to lay his test over mine that I leave to take a seat. All that waits for me is my metal ink pen on my desk, the pile of books visibly tucked beneath it. Once seated, I take some comfort in the absence of that foreign test and gather the familiar items close. My fingers wrap tightly around the pen, and my arms find safety in hugging the books. Is this the extent of my faith, the need to seek comfort in something known? Odon protect me, keep me safe, and I will love you forever.
Later I’m walking to my locker across the school. I stride quickly; I have to get out of this place before someone stops me. My head is whirring, and I run into someone, apologize, and then collide with someone else; “Sorry” again. They know. I know they know. They are wishing to see me fail, mess up, lose control of myself for just an instant. The lights are burning my eyes, scorching my brain. But the thoughts are still
My hatred is growing now. I struggle to nod in answer to his question. I dare not speak and reveal the anger in my voice. He turns his back to the class. I calm down, but I am trembling with chills of pent-up spite. It’s all I can do to maintain my composure. I breathe. In, then out, control, steady pace, in, then out. The air rushing through my lungs cools my nerves. Eyes straight ahead. I cannot be sent to the Odonian; survival depends on that. I keep myself from looking at his face. Just listen to his words. I must protect myself. I must not show these changes these … emotions.
CHAPTER FOUR
The school day becomes a mindless glaze of incoherent white, so bright that it erases any functions of the mind. I choose not to fight it. Do not think; ease the pain, trust in Odon. Your destiny lies in your success as a pureblood. Write, listen, repeat their information; this is what matters. History class, then Faith, then test —the test that was so important only hours ago.
The teacher walks down the aisle, handing out a packet, neatly clipped together. She passes me, and one finds itself on my desk. I grip the metal pen in my burning palm. My other hand drags the test in front of me. I must not make a mistake, a single mistake, and they would know. They would send me to the Odonian, and then there would be no hope. I would return forever changed, scarred by the same unknown infliction that laid its injury upon Lenora.
I turn the first page over. Have I finished it already? My mind is somewhere else, and I can’t remember the questions. I scan it; yes, it is complete. I begin the next page. Concentrate; I must not make a mistake. Haven’t I studied? Didn’t I prepare? And yet my memories grasp nothing except the fear of not remembering. After I’ve read and answered the last question, I turn it over. But relief at the test’s completion does not wash over me. I am caught in time, trapped in the moment when the packet was placed beside me.
Why couldn’t I have pushed it to the floor ? But it’s done; nothing in the past will change. Somehow I muster the strength to rise from my seat and approach the desk at the front of the room, where the professor sits reading the History book.
I reach the desk and place a hand on it to gain balance. The test is squirming in my hand, all but leaping onto the blank silver surface of the desk. Did I finish first? There are no other tests; mine sits by itself, a white rectangle on the metal. It looks so blatant lying there alone. But it has left my hand, and there is no way to retrieve it from its solitude. I stare at it, wanting to take it back. The professor doesn’t notice me but continues to read, unaware of the crisis that is occurring before her. Her light brown hair is tucked below her neck, a part-blood. My eyes are still upon the abandoned test, as if I am holding it in time or willing it to disappear.
How long I stand there, I can’t tell, but it isn’t until a second student approaches from behind to lay his test over mine that I leave to take a seat. All that waits for me is my metal ink pen on my desk, the pile of books visibly tucked beneath it. Once seated, I take some comfort in the absence of that foreign test and gather the familiar items close. My fingers wrap tightly around the pen, and my arms find safety in hugging the books. Is this the extent of my faith, the need to seek comfort in something known? Odon protect me, keep me safe, and I will love you forever.
Later I’m walking to my locker across the school. I stride quickly; I have to get out of this place before someone stops me. My head is whirring, and I run into someone, apologize, and then collide with someone else; “Sorry” again. They know. I know they know. They are wishing to see me fail, mess up, lose control of myself for just an instant. The lights are burning my eyes, scorching my brain. But the thoughts are still
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