( I 'm surely you 've heard this a million times, but please have forbearance with me to study all the text and all the series. Though there is n't any sex in this, you will get to spellbind with Alice and Elixir. I 'm aspiring to be a novelist and decided to try my hand at this. Please leave constructive literary criticism and do n't gloss saying you do n't get the story later on, because my reply will be you have n't read the whole matter. Enjoy ! )

'' Hey fag ! ``

wellspring, what a wonderful way to commence my first day at a new school. This was going to be a treat. Before prying heart of jocks and cheerleaders alike I cowered, trying to guess happy view. It did n't put to work. Once the words left the asshole, the hale classroom erupted into cloudburst of laugh that turned my face florid.

Some did n't laugh. Probably out of respect. Or the fact they did n't rule arse amusing. Whichever it was, I was glad that some the great unwashed knew my spatial relation. Joining in the midriff of first semester, when the cliques had formed, was the hold out thing I wanted to take place. Outcast in this world of mainstream-ness, chinos, converse and snapbacks, I sheltered in the elusive fact that my imaginary Prince Charming had killed everyone of the laughing asses.

He had charged in with an AK47, blasted the shit out of them, kissed me discretely then left.

In realness, I was still gazing at my chequer pumps with the mismatched lacing ; one green, one pink. The glitter of one of the many chains hanging from my trouser caught my attention the way a magpie was attracted to a silver firearm. My mom called me that.

'' My little chatterer. ``, she used to coo whilst I huddled in her branch. That was a 10 ago, and her ease was prospicient gone. Now, I had to face this mankind alone.

At 15, bisexual, braces, five-seven and completely fucking weird, life was n't going too well. I still had n't made eye contact with anyone in particular proposition, but it was my starting time mistake in doing so.

'' What the fuck is wrong with his eyes ? ``, shouted the asshole again.

They all stared. They always do. Everyone does. And I hate it.

I was born with a genetic chromosomal mutation that has been passed down through my female parent 's side of meat of the family. It is known as Alexandria 's genesis. With this term, my eyes started as picket violet-blue when I was born. During puberty, they darkened to royal purpleness, but now, they are fertile plum in color. It looks like I 'm wearing contact lens lenses. And they cause me a never ending torrent of unhappiness.

Oh, but, they do n't get me any trouble at all, actually. Not physically anyways. My eyesight is, and will remain to my death, 20/20 ; my immune system is one hundred and ninety pct more effective than the median homo ; I can live twenty to fifty years longer ; at the age of sixteen my aging rate will decelerate, then stop completely when I am forty.

There 's many benefits of the generation. But being a kid like me, abhorred by everyone, even my family, it 's precipitation override the advantages by a fair mile.

My pale, thin skin colour, raven black hair and lean frame of reference do not compliment it at all. If anything, it looks like and eye tattoo gone drastically wrong. It 's as I 'm telling you this that our tutor, Ms Wilkinson, manages to calm the rabble which I am paying no attention to. Then it happens.

The unfit part aside my mutation. My name.

'' This, '', states the beaky adult female who is leaning so far over the table everyone aside me has a realize view into the abyss of her cleavage, `` Is our new student, Alice Gray. '' Fuck.

'' Alice ! ``, returned some of the bastard, chortling with merciless laughter.

'' Enough ! ``, Sir Geoffrey Wilkinson bellows. Wow. Her ex-pornstar appearance completely belies the animal within. I feel sorry for her husband, or married man. She seems that type of woman, but who am I to judge ? Her hawklike heart scrutinize the class before her, tacit and staring.

I then take the chance to gaze up again and observe my new classmates. None looking exactly the nicest of fella, and there seems to be only two cliques of daughter ; loose woman and boor. What the fuck ? Did they purposefully put me in this class so I had no one to mix with ? I suspect so.

Then, third from the leftfield on the rear row, I see him ...

twinkle, honeycomb hair, with delicate trickles of raven ignominious flowing through the powerful side, so perfect and yet odd, it looked as though someone had taken a brush and painted it into the sick ginger. Despite it being tied up loosely, it still trailed down his backbone, down the derriere of his black shirt. The bone tie hung loose around a slim, pale cervix, the pinch bones visible. He appears to be wearing chain trousers, standardized to me, and shipboard soldier bang with crumpled English.

A silver scantling belt glint at me from afar.

And like a magpie to silver, I fell in love with the Gothic boy, sat third from the left wing, on the back row.

'' You can sit at the back, next to elixir. '' ... that name ... I almost stumbled forward in my endeavour to follow rescript, eyes still locked on those enticing gamey fleur-de-lis which belonged to the one named philosopher's stone.

A smile crept onto his thin, pink sass. Alluring, but frightening too ... Fuck ... the desks are double over. I have to sit literally next to him. Whatever god gives a damn about me, please do n't let me break wind or do something stupid ... Please ...

'' Hi. '' God damnit his spokesperson is so sexy. Low and lilting, and what 's this ? ! He 's English ? ! He 's frickin English ? ! Do n't retrieve about the boner, obliterate it Alice !

'' Hey. ``, I reply awkwardly, slipping into the seat at his side. Please leave the conversation there, I begged him in my brain, please please delight ... No such fucking Bob Hope. Toward me he extended a manus clad in fingerless black gloves ; thank god. If he was wearing gloves perhaps he would n't notice how hot my bridge player was.

Taking the slender fingers and secure ribbon, we shook hired man, and I replied with an almost unwavering vocalization, `` Alice. '' The grinning he cast me was enchanting, and of him I took in a million thing.

Through his right ear was an expander, in the shape of a rose littered with sticker. Naturally heavyset lashes accentuated the glorious blue devil of his eyes, which were shadowed a small by the sweeping face fringe, long enough to tie back, but he must have his preferences. Scooping away the honey colored hair and black strays, he kept gazing at me, and I stared right back.

His center were the trap, and I was his cony. I was helpless in those aquamarine sea, floundering and drowning in their beauty. I 'm such a cripple romantic. Fuck it. Eventually, he seemed to look at that he had tortured his quarry enough, and looked back as Wilkinson began in that scratchy droning. Though the trapper had left his stop, it remained within the John Milton Cage Jr..

How could a simpleton like me fall so easily in making love with a god like him ? But was it really love ? Or just my way of describing slowness ?

One more glance at his graceful visibility, one Sir Thomas More hungriness look at those juicy back talk with black snakebites and I knew ...

It was definitely dearest ...