A tall boy stood in line for inspection. Breathing hard, he prayed that somehow the inspector would miss him, or wouldn't look too closely. He was sweating. Terrified. Why was he so worried? Because Oran O'Keefe had bright, green eyes. Dangerously green. The inspector came closer. He didn't know where his eyes came from. His mother, father, grandfather, and grandmother all had those dull, blue eyes that would keep you alive in this place. Somehow, by some cruel joke of fate, he had been gipped. Closer. In this place, everyone was the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes. White skin. He had white skin and blonde hair, but it was his eyes that would kill him today. Here. “O'Keefe, Oran.” “Sir.” “Look at me. Head up, back straight please.” This was not an option. He lifted his head and pointed his chin. His green eyes flashed as he prayed God would strike the officer color blind. The inspector stared at him with his Crayola blue eyes and his hand fell calmly to his belt where he pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Sir, we have a code red.” God, no. He fell to his knees, shaking. In a sudden burst of adrenaline, he tried to bolt past the inspector, but even before he was grabbed four seconds later he knew it would never work. He knew he was going to die. At that moment, a squadron of soldiers flew at him from all sides. They snapped his arms into restraints and Oran felt the blue eyes of the line of children freezing his back. The fleet of men led him forcefully to a metal door. They punched in a code and there was an eerie sound of the door's latch unsealing. Fog poured out from the opening. It was dark where they led him, and it was cold. As cold as their eyes. They made their way through the mist, and just as Oran had started to feel the pain of the restraints, they stopped. A screen was positioned directly in front of them, nearly as big as a house. It flickered ominously as the mist swirled around it. A face slowly materialized on the screen. “O'Keefe. Step closer please.” He did. “I have been informed of our current dilemma.” Yes, and what a dilemma it was, to have green eyes in this sea of blue. “As you are already aware, we have certain guidelines that must be met. And if they aren't, well… We must make use of certain procedures to be sure that these guidelines are kept.” He felt like he was swimming in a pool of italics. Make that drowning. “Yes, sir.” “Wonderful! We are all in agreement. How nice! Now let's cut to the chase, Mr. O'Keefe. We will now commence said procedures. Immediately.” Oran dropped to his knees for the second time today, letting out a cry of terror and anguish. This was it. The despicable face left the screen, leaving him to drown in foggy blackness and italics. …. When Oran woke up, he remembered nothing of how he got here, only that he would die. But he didn't. A man walked in and looked at him with those eyes. He said, “We will begin procedures shortly.” But he should be dead! This was all so wrong! What was happening? No one survived having green eyes. A few moments later, another man walked in and started preparing a syringe. He filled it with a red liquid and inserted it into Oran's arm without warning. Oran let out a yell, and a hand was put over his mouth. He felt his head fog and his thinking became slow. He could not remember what he was here for or why this man was holding him down. All he could think of was… Sleep. …. With a gasp and sweaty palms, Oran woke up. He looked around and he felt different somehow. Something had changed. Something was wrong. He sat up and saw a mirror in front of him that he didn't remember being there before. But it wasn't him staring back. It was a boy with white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. There was no mistake - Oran was now a blonde, blue-eyed copy of every person in this horrible place. He refused to believe this was him. It couldn't be him. They had made him into the exact person he had never wanted to become. But at that moment, he decided that no matter what this place tried to make him become, Oran O'Keefe would always be the boy with the green eyes.