As she continued to pick at me, other students came over to see what the fuss was about. The boys were rather unconcerned, but the girls, being at that disgustingly catty age, took up with her in the harassment. One by one they continued to call me liar. Change the color on your paper, they said. You're eyes are not blue. They were cloudy like a dull grey day. They looked like the old sink in the downstairs bathroom by the gym. They had no color. They were... ugly. Slowly my eyes began to fill up with tears, and as my face became redder the girls became crueler.
A boy, whose name I had spent the better part of my middle school days scribbling on binders and pages of lined notebooks, caught sight of these happenings and inched his way closer to our group in the corner. He watched as the girls continued to laugh and pick on me, and he noticed the glassy tears welling up in my eyes. He stepped in.
"No. They're right," he said simply, "You're eyes aren't blue".
The girls turned to look. He was one of those people that did and always would demand attention. The girl who had started the attack smiled, but it was quickly wiped off her face.
"They are platinum," he turned back facing me. "You have... Platinum eyes."
And just like that I became acquainted with this strange feeling in my chest...
Created: Jan 19, 2012odddrey Document Media