This has been quite extensively reworked, so I'd look through it again. There is one final draft in the works, where I might add in a little more information on the narrator's father. Word count: 1111.
The lips of the man across the compartment from me are cracked and bleeding. He is staring intently out the window at the stars beyond. Their faint light sharpens his already strong features and makes him seem gaunt, though I can't imagine he is more than twenty. His hair is dark and messy, like that of a madman or particularly devoted academic. He is so focused on the emptiness outside that he hardly moves, and for a brief moment I am convinced he has died. When he blinks, I exhale, and become aware that I have been holding my breath.
There is nothing of interest in the compartment, and I have forgotten to bring any reading material with me. He and I are the only two in the section. Few people can afford interplanetary travel these days, and those that can are rarely given permission from their governments. I study him again in an attempt to decipher where he is from and where he could be going. His skin is pale and sallow, telling me much about his diet and little about his home world. Though we are some minutes into our journey and the view outside the window is monotonous, he neither seems inclined to strike up a conversation, nor to even take notice that he has company on the journey. I consider moving and trying my luck in another compartment.
As if on cue, the man at the window turns and looks at me steadily. His eyes, now visible, are ice blue, and do not smile as his mouth does. Something about them is not quite right.
“So, you headed to the University, too?” His voice is reedy.
I clear my throat. “Yes, how did you know?”
He shrugs. “You seem the type.”
“My father wants me to go through officer's training,” I reply.
“I take it you don't agree.” I realize he is not going to tell me what he intends to study.
“I have no interest in arbitrary subservience. Why should I care what someone else wants me to do?”
He turns back to the window. “That's a good question.”
There is a long pause as I try to think of a topic that will keep the conversation going. Nothing comes to mind. My co-passenger seems to be similarly affected; he looks at me again, but says nothing more. A thin trickle of blood is forming at a particularly chapped patch on his lower lip, which makes me wonder how long it has been since he has had a drink. My eyes flicker back and forth between his mouth and his unblinking eyes. It occurs to me that he could be blind, and I suppress a shiver. I have never shared space with a blind man before.
“No,” he murmurs. His expression gives no indication that he realizes he has spoken, so I cannot tell if he is responding to my thought or answering some dark question of his own. Suddenly I realize why his eyes have been bothering me, and what their constant lack of focus signifies. My back muscles tense. There must have been some mix-up, putting me in the same area as this man.
“No,” he repeats.
“Are you talking to me?”
He shrugs. “Not hard to tell what you're thinking.”
“No, I suppose it isn't for you, is it?” I reply.
“How'd you know?”
I point at his face. He raises one hand to his lips, and his eyes widen as he finds blood on his fingers. I cannot understand why they never seem to pay attention to themselves. Looking at his lips makes me wince, but he clearly has been oblivious to the pain. I had assumed that the University would have a normal student body, but his presence here suggests otherwise. My father must not have known.
“Administration doesn't care half as much as you do, that's for sure.”
“A pity,” I snap.
Those pale eyes lock on me again, and this time they actually bring me into focus. His bloody lips draw into a thin line, though I cannot tell if he is channeling my annoyance or experiencing his own. The end result is the same either way.
“People like you and your father are why I had to leave my home.” His voice is louder now.
“I don't see how this applies to me.”
“Oh, it applies. I got sick of feeling other people's fear. Left to get away from all that, and I meet you on the way. Makes me sorry already.”
My jaw clenches. “Stop being such a bleeding heart. All we are doing is making sure you don't get into things you shouldn't.”
“Like government offices?”
It is my turn to shrug. I hope that will stop him from continuing, but he seems determined to carry on.
“Or, say, to keep me away from some richboy who thinks he's too good to breathe my air?” His cheeks are gaining color, and I am too surprised by his passion to respond. It is certainly not my emotion he is expressing, but my father always told me they have no individuality.
“We've got our own feelings,” he continues. “We always do, buried underneath the junk from everyone else.”
“Then why are you mad at me now?”
He snorts. “Because of what you are!”
“What I am.”
“I was in love with a girl. We were planning on getting married, till the new laws passed. Family used it as an excuse to stop the whole thing. In her best interests, and all that.”
“Well, of course it was!” I reply. “Can you imagine what her life would have been like with you crawling around in her head all the time?”
He shuts his eyes and runs his hand across his forehead.
“What happened?” I know the question is cruel.
“She's dead.”
The compartment feels suddenly smaller, and I cannot help but think of my father's thick mustache. If he were here he would mock this man by turning his words against him. My throat feels thick. All I do is swallow.
The man smiles at me. “Your father did a number on you growing up, didn't he?”
I retaliate with a question of my own. “Did she leave a note?”
“Yes.”
I think of my father again. “I hope she did the right thing and saved her family some face by denouncing you.”
His cheeks look fevered, and the lines around his eyes deepen. “What about me scares you so much?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
As one, we turn to the window and gaze out over the void. Very little distance has been covered.
