One Year is Long Enough

A False Identity

Thursday, March 7, 2013

7:00 AM, Camp

Rose POV

When I opened my eyes this morning, I knew at once it wasn't a dream.

I gingerly threw the blankets off and rolled off the soft mattress. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I yawned and stretched. My muscles contented for the time being, I walked into the bathroom, not bothered to shut the door. Staring into the mirror carefully while I brushed my teeth, I found there was colour on my cheeks.

These past three days have done wonders to my body, I decided. Not only that, but I have friends for the first time in my entire life.

I dressed quickly in a pale green top and blue denim jeans before walking to the mess hall. When I opened the door and peeked inside, chaos reigned. The chatter of raised voices deafened me in contrast to the peaceful silence of the morning, in which the only sounds were the birdsong and the breeze weaving through the leaves.

I smiled faintly and then made my way to the counter to grab my plate.

"Good morning," I said brightly to the kitchen helper.

"Morning," she replied cheerfully, passing me a plate of freshly scrambled eggs. I took it and sat down, well away from the two bickering boys.

Breakfast and a show, I thought, watching the spectacle while spooning the food into my mouth. I didn't notice another spectator next to me until he spoke.

"Quite a performance, isn't it?"

I almost fell out of my seat, but managed to catch myself in time. He stared at the spot where my head almost hit.

"Whew! That could have done some real damage..."

"Too much for my liking," I said worriedly.

"...To the floor."

His poor head somehow came into contact with my arm.

"What?" he protested.

"You need to get your priorities straight," I told him.

"Sorry," he apologised, but a half grin remained on his face. I stuck my tongue out at him before returning to my deliciously warm meal.

The fight had quieted down somewhat. Grumbles and groans replaced the previous cheers. Another guy now spoke sharply to the subdued teens. The guy stopped speaking for a moment, and then said one word. The boys shook their heads vigorously before leaping at each other's throats. Fortunately, the man intervened before they could resume, and, dragging them to the door by their scruffs, dumped them outside and proceeded to lock the doors and windows.

"My show just went out the door," I said almost regretfully.

"Don't worry, I'll be your entertainer," he said playfully.

I eyed him doubtfully. "I won't appreciate waste of food."

"No worries, it shouldn't offend you."

"Good."

"All right, let's start. Why do we call scrambled eggs scrambled eggs?" His face betrayed no emotion.

"Because we mix them together," I deadpanned. He shook his head, now grinning like a fool.

"No. It's because when the farmers come to collect the eggs, all the chickens fly around in a panic. So all their eggs get scattered!"

I raised my eyebrows at him, fighting to keep a grin off my face. It worked. "Too lame," I told him, trying to convince him with stoicism. It probably failed.