2045

Pink.

Why did I let them dye my hair pink? The color looked terrible on me. Hidden underneath the parts of the hair which were pink, you could see the natural black roots. An indication of a terrible bleaching job. Not to mention parts of my hair were a darker shade of pink than others. This was worse than the time I decided to get a bowl cut under shave, all because my cousin had one. I looked like a rejected stick of cotton candy, my body sure was skinny enough and I was wearing all white (for some reason). I could've chosen blue...green...orange...but pink? I was drunk. I meant to point to the red but...

Ugh. I feel sick.

My stomach is flipping more than a gymnast at the Olympics. Why did I agree to drink the vodquila? My mom would kill me if she found out, but I just might die of alcohol poisoning before that could happen. The thought ended before I shoved my head into the porcelain bowl, feeling all my organs – and the remnants of my soul – escape my body.

There was no way a bit of alcohol should make me feel this terrible. Maybe they drugged me again, I should've known not to come here with Luke. It must be his eternal mission to screw me over. Clutching the edge of the bowl, I weakly raised my arm and flushed the toilet. Somehow, I was able to stand up steadily and look at myself in the mirror.

Skinny lanky me. My skin was naturally dead pale, but the nausea painted me green and the alcohol colored my cheeks a light rosy pink. My pink hair shimmered in the light like a cheap Halloween wig and complimented my dark black soulless eyes. I pulled down my lower eyelid to see the bloodshot veins and my black pupils dilated.

I looked as bad as I felt. Great. No way was I going to fool my mother. Now I would have to hear her rant at and insult me. Using such encouraging phrases like: "You're a shame to the family" and "I can't believe I raised such an idiot!"

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind, deciding they weren't worth entertaining, and pushed the door out of the bathroom. Disorientation hit me as the blasting beats continued to rattle my entire body. Each 'wub' from the shitty dubstep sending a vibration up to my spine and to my head, banging on it like a gong. I held my head and looked forward, trying to navigate my way through the crowd.

"I shouldn't have done this..." I groaned. I told Luke and the others that I wanted to stay home tonight, playing on my PlayStation 4 or just resting after a week of tests but they were able to convince me anyway. I had to lie to my mother, telling her I was only going over to hang out with the guys at Luke's apartment. She was suspicious from the get go and now everything would be confirmed.

Slowly, I navigated my way through the crowd. Bright neon shirts sending pulses from my eyes and right to my temples. I could feel it reverberate through my entire body. The club goers would turn to look at me with pitying expressions but I knew they didn't really care. It was more drunk solidarity than anything. Like: "Hey were both fucked up and that's sad but I'm having too much fun to lend a hand."

That's when I closed my eyes and then everything stopped. There was a loud ringing in my ears that was somehow muffled. The music and the feeling of others rubbing up on me...everything ceased. Like one of those action scenes where the loud noise stops and the character turns around slow motion, only to see his car about to explode. I braced myself for...something to happen. And jumped when I heard a voice break through the silence.

"Yes, I'm here," a harsh but feminine voice spoke, "It's 12/09/2045, I have found the culprit." Wait, 2045? She looks directly at me, but it seems like she's looking through me. I don't move a muscle, instead I try to keep my eyes open as much as possible. "His name is Jay Choi, right?" She listens to another person speak through a receiver, shaking her head about ten times per second. "Yes, he has the pink hair. Should I take the shot?"