Arg. First attempt at writing. EVER. Most likely sucks but hey I was bored and reading the manga and I had the strongest urge to write a depressing story. This is an AU so no fire and flames.

(edit. I forgot to add disclaimers! )Disclaimer: I don't, never have, and never will own -man. If I did, well let's just say I'd only have about 2 fans, cause everything would be drawn with stick figures...

The pain was now running rampant across his snowy scalp. The worn teen bowed his head in submission as the mind numbing pain slowly overtook his now trembling body. Thick droplets of crimson began to slowly roll down his pain contorted features, leaving thin red trails; masking his face. The thick drips of blood started to form a puddle around his body as the once frightening darkness now seemed to welcome him.

Allen walker, a petit fifteen year old, once again woke up at the crack of dawn. Out of sheer willpower, he forced his aching body off of the floor.

The fatigued boy stiffly sauntered to the bathroom across the hallway, quietly, as to not disturb his legal guardian. Allen didn't even want to imagine what his 'master' would do if he was woken by "the waste of perfectly good air."

The boy fumbled with the shower knob to turn the water on, his mind willing the water to be warm.

It wasn't.

His manner-challenged guardian had apparently left the heat bill unpaid. 'Great,' the boy exasperated 'more debts for me to pay off.'

Doing his best to ignore the frigid water, Allen turned his attention to his stiff back. 'One of these days I should really ask for a bed.' Not that he hadn't already, it was only that everytime he built up enough courage to confront his 'father' and asked, the adult would most likely be intoxicated and it would end with the words "Ungrateful waste of space and money."

The young teen cautiously stepped out of the shower, in order to keep from slipping in the rapidly forming pools of water surrounding his feet. He grabbed an old, ratty towel from the hook and began to run it over the oddity that was his hair.

Allen then removed the towel from his hair to wipe the fogged-over mirror. Looking at his reflection, he had scared himself. His heart beating a million a minute as Allen realized the fragile looking resemblance to the undead was his own reflection. Allen poked his empty stomach, tapping his ribs that were clearly visible through his pale, porcelain skin.

Prepared for the worst, Allen wrapped the towel around his waist and took a step back, taking in the current condition of his body. Up and down his chest and arms, his skin was thoroughly laced with scars, some bigger than his fist, and some smaller than a thimble. Each scare reminded Allen of the horror stories that continuously haunted his dreams.

He had dark bags under his eyes, which would only help to draw attention to the gray lifeless color of them. To add to the abnormalities he possessed, his left eye had a unique red mark running straight up through it. The mark started halfway up his chin to the waterline of his eye. Once over the eyeball, it was continued over the eyelid to stop at his thin eyebrows. Above that a perfect pentacle was formed right beneath his hairline.

This brought his line of eyesight to another thing: his hair.

Allen's hair was white as the snow that threatened to fall from the sky. It was soft, but the teen despised it with every aching fiber in his being.

The young teen averted his gaze to a suddenly very interesting soap container. He was frightened to look at himself in the mirror again, for the thing that scared him most was not the multiple scars, strange mark, or white hair, but it was his left arm which he hastened to bandage.

He reached up to open the medicine cabinet and pulled out pain killers and bandages. (AN: It took me forever to remember what you call the thing that you bandage with is. I feel so stupid.) Allen emptied out two pills into his hand and tossed them into his mouth to swallow them dry. With a look of self-disgust on his face, he then wrapped up the uneven, deformed, raw skin, that was his left arm.

Some betraying tears threatened to fall from his steely eyes, as he roughly pulled the clothe around, tightly concealing the thing that condemned him for the rest of his life. They were not tears of weakness or self-pity, but rather they were tears of anger. He resented it with his entire being.

From the naturally black fingernails to a few inches below his shoulder, the skin was rough, scaled, and a deep blood red color. He realized that some of the color began tainting the water that was pattering against the floor. Some of his wounds had opened up. He now let the tears freely flow as he knotted the bandages. This arm that caused him so much pain. This labeled "Devil's arm."

After he wiped away the rolling tears, he finished winding up his limb. Allen then flung the remaining bandages into the cabinet and hurried to get himself dressed. He tip-toed back to the closet he dared call 'his room' and grabbed his bag that his textbooks would inhabit for the next year. The sleepy boy rushed to the kitchen with stealthy haste, still offering an attempt to not disturb the peace.

He knew what he would find in the pantry but searched none the less.

It was empty. It was as barren as it was every other morning since he arrived at the run down building he was all but forced to call home.

With an inward sigh the starving white haired teen pulled his back pack close to make as little noise as possible as he made his way to the door, praying all the while that his guardian, Cross, was still out cold from the previous night of drinking.

Thunk.

Allen heard muffled swearing from the room down the hall to his right, and a tall disgruntled figure appeared and leaned against the doorway.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, you damn brat?" The tilted shadow slurred.

"Ah! M-master-you're awake!" He stuttered, the name he was forced to call his guardian leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. "I was just leaving for school." He averted his eyes to study a fading brown stain on the tiled floor.

The older male grunted and forced himself from his position in the door. "You better not be late. And make sure you bring back money; I'm running out of booze."

The frightened boy nodded and ran out the door with speed that put athletes to shame.

So? What do you think? Good? Bad? As I mentioned, this is my first time ever attempting to write a story so constructive criticism is very welcome! I've already started working on the next chapter if any of you are interested. I'm still not sure where the plot is heading, so It might very well get discontinued if people don't like it very much. Anyway Review! Please I wanna hear from you all! It's really not so hard! Just click the "review" button and shabam! You're all set to go!