>Sunlight seeps through the small gap in your curtains as you groan and roll over, hoping to catch a few more moments of blissful slumber.
>These plans are unfortunately cut short as your mother awakes you, insisting that yes; you do have to get up and go to school.
>You are Vincent, GSCE fearing, 15 year old, student extraordinaire.
>You aren't really that extraordinary, in fact you are quite normal.
>Apart from your rampant addiction to the internet, and all the splendor it provides.
>Your mom keeps insisting that escapism isn't healthy, and that I should focus of school and all that boring stuff.
>You can focus on school after you check your regular sites.
>You quickly throw on your uniform, tighten your ugly tie and freshen up for the day.
>Cram all the days books and equipment into your backpack, you really should get a bigger one.
>Cram cornflakes down your gullet.
>All good and ready for another depressing day of ugh... learning.
>Wave goodbyes to over-protective mother.
>Waltz your ass down to the school.
>You stand in your usual spot and wait for your friends.
>Always something exciting going on in your life.
>Eventually your crew arrives.
>Your best bro Jack is here as always. Or as you affectionally refer to him as "Spits"
>A disgusting nickname for a formerly disgusting person.
>The nickname must have made him catch on.
>He didn't spit everywhere anymore, which was nice.
>The ginger fuck.
"Hey spits."
>"Hey vinny"
>That was about as interesting as your conversations get really.
>He shared your enthusiasm for the internet though.
>You share some small talk among your group.
>The bell tolls and you all head off to your respective classes.
 
>It is now 2 hours later.
>Holy shit that maths lesson dragged.
>Time to get something to eat.
>You really need to go to the toilet first.
>You push through the crowded corridors and enter one of the toilets.
>These new unisex toilets are pretty great.
>A lot cleaner than the old ones.
>It even has a mirror too.
>And the hand dryer isn't smashed!
>Piss, wash hands, look at self in mirror.
>Wait.
>Why the hell are your eyes...
>Red?
>That can't possibly be right.
>Nope, they're bright, vibrant blood red.
>You were fine this morning.
>Is this some sort of disease?
>What kind of illness causes eye discolouration?
>You stare deep into your blood red irises for several moments.
>You feel fine! What could it be?
>You don't have time to worry about this, all the good food is going to be sold before you get outside!
>You shake your head and head back into the dining hall.
>You grab some sausage and mash.
>Damn you love a good sunday dinner.
>It isn't even sunday.
>Fuck the police.
>You grab a seat next to Spits and dig in.
>He hasn't seemed to notice your sudden eye colour switch.
>But you have noticed his.
>They are a firey orange.
>You were pretty sure he had brown eyes.
>Okay this is starting to weird you out.
>You take a bite of your sausage and nearly vomit.
>Holy crap, you knew the school's food wasn't great, but this is taking it to an entirely new level.
>Spits seems to share the same sentiment after spitting out a large chunk of meat back
onto his plate, splattering gravy onto the table.
>You both shoot each other a strange look and head outside.
>He strikes first.
>"Okay Vinny, what the hell is wrong with your eyes? They're bright red for christ's sake."
"I could say the same for you Mr. Orange."
>"What?"
"Your eyes are orange, so don't go asking me for answers."
>He raises an eyebrow and rushes into one of the nearby bathrooms.
>He returned dejectedly.
>"Alright what the hell is wrong with us?"
"I feel fine Spits, maybe we'll get better tommorrow."
>"If I don't wake up I'm blaming you."
"From beyond the grave?"
>You chuckle and shake your head.
"Seriously, what's the worst that could happen."
>"whatever man."
>He rolls his eyes and sets off to his next lesson.
>You attention is quickly grabbed by...
>Damn you always forget this guy's name.
>He's one of Reece's friends right? Yeah! he tags along sometimes.
>S-Sam? Shaun! That's it!
>He's waving you down, so you decide to humour him and head over.
>You never did like Shaun.
>He was a pretty awkward guy. He spent most of his time looking at "funny" images he found over the internet, then showing them to you; much to your personal anguish.
>You are fairly certain you saw a couple of my little pony images flash by last time.
>You weren't about to say though.
>That'd be a dick move.
"What's up?"
>He pulls out his iPod and sweeps through his shitty image library, before coming to a peculiar image of...
>An evidently photoshopped picture of a pastel pony. It's pretty well made, almost real.
>You give Shaun your best, Shit son what the fuck look.
>He starts sweating bullets.
"I'm not gonna' ask Shaun."
>"Dude! Seriously? An entire alien species here on Earth!"
"Based on a childrens cartoon show Shaun?"
>"W-well it looks real!"
"Yeah, fantastic."
>The heavy air of sarcasm in your voice was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
>Shaun huffs and storms off.
>What the hell was that about?