Disclaimer - As usual, I have to point out that I only own the plot and not any of the characters. Although, I have recently become the proud owner of a new pair of biker boots!!!

Chapter 1 - Eyes

The morning sun shone into my face as I opened my eyes groggily. I pushed myself into a sitting position and pushed my long hair out of my face. I sat in bed for a few minutes before clambering out of my warm cocoon and headed into the kitchen. The rest of the house was quiet so I turned the radio on low and made myself a cup of tea and some toast.

I sat at the rickety old table and gazed at the pictures stuck to the fridge. There were so many, I couldn't see the actual white plastic. I smiled as my eyes moved across them, memories assaulting me and making me smile. Good friends and good times made a hell of a photo album.

I gathered my stuff and headed out. It was a beautiful sunny day so I decided to skip getting on the bus which would inevitably be hot and smelly and walked to the park. The rose garden was in my sights; so I pulled out my camera and made my way through the archway. Wandering round the peaceful paths I spotted a silent figure sat on one of the low walls. I couldn't help but notice the colour of his hair, the bronze was enough of a surprise, but the way the sun shone on it made it look almost metallic. His head was bent towards a beaten, well thumbed book. I raised my camera and shot of a few shots, loving the angles of his curved back as he turned the pages slowly. I quietly moved sideways to gather a better view of his face. After shooting a few more shots, I realised his face was tear-stained. Not wanting to intrude, I backed away and began looking for more inspiration.

The roses couldn't hold my attention as my thoughts flitted back to the crying man. I found my way back to where he sat and discovered an empty wall. He'd gone. Sighing, I took a few more random pictures and headed home.

After eating my lunch, I opened the door to my study to upload the photos to my computer. I gasped when I saw the pictures of the crying man. The pain in his eyes was heartbreaking. I was mesmerised, what could cause that kind of anguish in one so young? I messed around with the pictures for a while. I was lazily zooming in on one to see if I needed to airbrush anything when I noticed his eyes. Apart from the fact that they were full of tears and pain, they were the most astonishing green colour. I'd never seen eyes or hair with these colourings before.

My back was starting to seize up, so I left the computer on and went to make a cup of tea. I couldn't get the bronze haired man out of my head. In all my twenty two years, I had never seen anyone so tortured and crying unashamedly in public, least of all a man. While I drank my tea, I flicked through my latest copy of amateur photographer magazine not really taking in the details. Suddenly, something caught my eye.

"Eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul. How much information can we really gather from them? Can they truly tell others of the emotions we are feeling?" It went on to explain that there was a photography competition taking place in which amateur photographer were to enter a picture of someone's eyes that they believed showed the most raw emotion possible. Immediately I thought of exquisite green eyes full of agony. Could I do that with a picture of someone I don't know?