Emo Boy

Looking at his reflection in the scummy bathroom mirror, he frantically searches his person for any remaining flaws. Jet-black hair cuts perfectly over his bright green eyes-it had only taken him an hour to look like he had just gotten out of bed. His eyeliner, used not to make his eyes stand out but to make him fit in with all of his tortured-souled acquaintances, is the same color as his tight black jeans-ripped in seven different places and newly purchased for $150. Smoothing his eyebrows, also dyed black too match, he decides everything, at long last, is perfect. He then goes downstairs, sits on his couch, and turns up his iPod.

By Caitie