A stray question floated from the back of the room, hitting the silent air--pieces fall out of place. "I've never seen someone with black eyes before..."
She answered nonchalantly, "Well, what about Ivvan, doesn't he have black eyes?" Our teacher shuffled behind her podium, turned to Ivann.
Then, silence was broken--he says, "No, I have brown eyes." Everybody watched him. They search his face, but he looks away...
He didn't want black eyes. He didn't want dark, coal-colored eyes, like something stolen from a criminal. No, he wanted regular eyes, the brown kind. But one look at his face and you knew his eyes were black. He knew it too.
--But he didn't know.
He didn't know his obsidian eyes were the most beautiful anyone ever seen. He didn't know how they glittered in the light or shined when he laughed. Or that they didn't even resemble the drenched-black orb he imagined--no, more of a darkness resting in an even deeper darkness. He didn't know how his coal black eyes were so beautiful, a unique sunset you could stare into for hours. His eyes burnt with emotion. A glance into his eyes resembled a gaze into a black hole, an emptiness so deep that one could get lost.
Black eyes reflected his heart like a coal-black pool of water. Heart mixed with soul and made a fire that set his eyes ablaze.