The sound of a squeak follows through the halls as aggressive red lights fill the room to its brim.

My breath felt trapped as the light grabbed the ceiling for my throat closed and my nerves started screaming.

An order of children marching straight by as light shines against the tip of their soul.

I feel a cold sensation as each boy gives a stare; they sense that I'm different from their small life of golden blonde hair.

The sources of the dark, the shadow, the light are the blood-colored sketchers that mark up the floor.

They step on the backs of each-others new sneakers scuffing their soul for they call this brotherhood.

The shoes grab my feet the same way as each boy, same color as each boy, same

rights as each boy.

But I didn't feel right; these boys seemed right; their words seemed right; society makes them right.

I glare at the gory shoes as my feet turn vein blue, they gasp for a lonely breath as their oxygen runs out.

The blood drenched shoes squeak and enlarge, my pulse so loud that even the shoes move with it.

For each child moves closer they all look the same, their hair, their face, even the bloodshot red eyes.

But the day has come where red isn't in, the boys now want blue and the so-called pastel sky.

The smell of dark plastics tries to linger in the halls as the cast of blue lights form an evil shadow on each boy.

The evil looks the same; the virus has taken over, each boy, each boy, the same as the other.

For they scream that my fate, my dream is the same as theirs, that I will work in a cube with a Dell and light hair.

but the light can’t block my heart, I know who I am, I know my dreams, and I know my life's plan.

It’s not Neil's,

not Patrick’s,

not Kyle’s,

nor Bob’s,

not Jack’s,

not Jake’s,

and Johnathan’s,

nor Rob’s.

I grab the blue pair and throw them away,

looks like I won't be wearing shoes today.