He was hideous! She wanted to throw up just looking at him. He had the palest skin she had ever seen, and it was horribly tinged with green. It was as if she could see all of his veins and organs through his skin.
His eyes were lifeless and black, like huge black twisters that had temporarily stopped spinning and were waiting for repair. The whites around the bottomless pits were watery and yellowish. His lips were thin and split. His nose was. not there. He had a neck surrounded with red rings carved into flesh, as if god had mistaken it for the inside of a soggy tree trunk. He was short. His hair was white blonde and dirty. He had no scars, his skin was strangely smooth, and seemed too big for his body, a thin layer falling over his cheekbones. He looked disgustingly hollow.
Hannah had been staring at him for quite some time until he cleared his throat with a loud Hakkhhachk! He said in a surprisingly weak voice, he inquired of Hannah, "Did you drop this?"
It took a moment for her to register what the boy had said. He held her hall pass in his outstretched hand. His hands looked wet and sticky, with short fingernails. The arm he extended had skin hanging over bones, and Hannah was reminded of her grandmother's arm flab, which she and Sarah had chuckled about. She grabbed for the hall pass quickly and apprehensively thanked the boy. As she quickly scooted around the boy to wash her hands, he asked, "What are you doing?"
She turned off the water, puzzled, and said, "I'm washing my hands."
Hannah turned to him while fiercely rubbing her hands with a gray paper towel. He was standing surprisingly close to her.
Suddenly, he tilted his head all the way to the side as if was on a hinge. "Oh!" he said.
Hannah backed away from him, running into the sink. She didn't want to act impolite, but this kid was freaking her out. Reassuring herself that he would leave soon, Hannah took a deep breath. She turned around again and looked at herself in the mirror. She had pale skin, light eyes. She examined her eyes close up. They were not light blue, as you may presume. They were yellow. Her mother called them "amber" but Hannah knew better. There was something wrong with them. Sometimes they would seize up on her, and when she tried to turn them, they would not move. At times, she found herself unable to blink. Sighing, she redid her ponytail, tucking her thin, black hair into a sloppy bun. It was not the cute kind of sloppy that those cheerleaders could pull off. It looked unkempt.
Her head collided with the mirror. A burst of white pain welled up in her forehead and leaked onto her face. She stood, paralyzed, hand trying to reach her head to touch the violated spot, but unable to move her arm. It held fast in midair, a fierce, awkward pose. Her mouth was opened wide. The mirror splintered under the force. She wheeled to face the offender.
He too was paralyzed. His mouth was open- all the way. His tongue hung out to the right and his eyes were shut tight.
"What did you do that for?!" Hannah shrieked as she came to her wits. She felt as if her skull had shifted to the side. He didn't move. Hannah stared at him, fed up with his absurdities. She pushed him.
He screamed something ungodly and wildly swung his arms about. "Who are you?" Hannah screamed over him, "Why did you push me? Do you even go to school here?"
He stopped abruptly. Everything about this boy was abrupt. He was like a newborn baby, unconscious of the world around him. He looked up at the ceiling at blinked. He blinked again. He blinked five more times. "I want to go home!" he yelped disagreeably, spraying her with spit. He walked backwards stiffly and collided with the bathroom wall. He made such a ruckus that Hannah thought the police would burst into the bathroom and arrest her at any second.
"Sshh!" she whispered fiercely. The boy stopped immediately again. What a screwball! She thought. She began to suspect that this was some friend of her sister's playing a trick on her. The boy drooled out of the corner of his mouth and picked at paint on the wall. If this was a trick, this guy was a wonderful actor. "What's your name?" she asked the boy gently, rubbing her forehead. She began to doubt that this was a trick. As much as her sister disliked her, she would never send someone to hurt her.
His dark eyes met her whitish yellow ones. He said quite calmly, "My name is Christopher." He grinned pleasantly at Hannah and asked, "And your name is Hannah."
Whoa. "How did you know my name is Hannah?" she asked, rubbing her thin knuckles against her jeans.
There was something artificial about this boy. He gazed at her blankly. "I don't know," he said dreamily. A few moments later, his eyes sparked up and he said "Oh! It's on your face," he said cheerily. There was an utter change in his disposition and he tensed up as he growled, "Silly!"
She stood, looking at him. Her name was on her face? She turned to face the mirror again, lifting her hand up to feel anything unusual.
A line of fire rapidly whooshed over Hannah's face. She shrieked, feeling it burn her skin. Her eyes grew wide and fearful as the flames soared under her fingers. She choked in her own panic and her sensory neurons had barely reacted to the pain when it was all over. The flames blued and left as if in a swoosh of a magician's fabric. Spindly red lines crawled up her face as Hannah gasped at her reflection in the now broken mirror. Shallow red grooves ran up her pale cheek and formed the word "Hannah" in elaborate Celtic script. The writing lingered for a brief moment and then faded away as quickly as it had come.
She gasped at herself. Her eyes would not move. It was happening again. She smacked herself in the face. Feeling her own hand, she quickly darted it to her cheek, her neck. Nothing was there. Her skin was exactly how she remembered it. After gasping and overcoming the shock of flames sprouting on her very face and her not being burned in the slightest, she wished she could see. She was not blinded. Her eyes had glazed over again. She could not blink and her eyes hurt awfully. She saw herself in the broken mirror, staring eternally. Glasses did not help.
The bathroom door banged behind her. Her eyes quickly rolled back into focus. She turned, ashen faced, only to meet the eyes of a concerned teacher. The old lady questioned her if everything was all right and if she had been yelling. She nodded and shook her head at the appropriate times, gathered her books and hall pass, and walked out the door. Christopher was nowhere to be seen.