Disclaimer: Monsters, Inc. and its characters are owned by Disney and Pixar, not me. The only things I own in this fan fic are Mrs. Gutierrez, Philip, Brittany, and Hal.

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them."

—Jodi Picoult

The loud buzzing of his alarm clock was what jolted him out of yet another dreamless sleep. He groaned in annoyance before slapping his hand on the snooze button, shutting the blasted thing up for the moment. It would start up again in about ten minutes, but he wasn't worried about that now. It was time to get ready for another boring day at work.

He climbed out of bed, stretched his arms up to the ceiling, and yawned loudly before shaking himself a bit. He pattered out of his small bedroom and into the small bathroom down the hall. He rinsed his round body in the shower, brushed his teeth, and used a small pair of scissors to do a little trimming of the soul patch that grew below his bottom lip. He could not remember when he had decided to allow that patch of hair to grow out, or why he allowed it to grow, but he decided that he looked better with it, and it had stayed there ever since. And no matter how many times he received unpleasant remarks about it, he always swore to himself that he would never, ever, ever get rid of it. Ever.

It was one of the few things that Michael Wazowski took for granted in his currently pathetic excuse for a life.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the alarm clock began its infernal buzzing again, and the green monster decided to unplug it from the wall, assuring himself that he would remember to plug it back in and reset the time once he got home. With the alarm clock taken care off, Wazowski went into the kitchen and prepared himself a bowl of Monster Munchies to eat. As he sat in his favorite chair, eating his cereal and watching the news on TV, the telephone rang.

Groaning once more in annoyance, Wazowski placed his bowl carefully on the floor and went to answer it. He did not get many phone calls, and when he did, they were usually about something that he didn't want to listen to. Telemarketers who tried to get him to buy some useless junk in an effort to raise money to fight some disease or support some charity he'd never heard of. An automated voice message from the Monstropolis Police Department, informing citizens about a criminal running loose through the city, or to have them keep an eye out for a schizophrenic patient who'd somehow escaped from the psychiatric hospital that was located only twelve blocks from Wazowski's apartment building. And a monthly call from Anguila Gutierrez, his landlady, informing both him and the other lowly apartment dwellers that their rent was due soon, and they needed to get their money in to her office before it was too late. Those calls came in on the first Thursday of every month, and today happened to be the first Thursday of the month. Lucky him.

He picked up the phone. "Hello?" he asked, trying and failing to sound polite.

"Buenos días, Señor Wazowski." Mrs. Gutierrez's thickly accented voice reached his ears. "I have called to inform you about—"

"My rent," Wazowski finished.

"Sí, the rent. It is due a week from today. You will remember, won't you, Señor Wazowski?"

"Of course I will, Señora Gutierrez," Wazowski replied, though he didn't sound like he meant it.

"I hope so. I do not want a repeat of before. The next time you fail to pay your rent—"

"I'm out on the streets," Wazowski said, in a near-perfect mimicry of her accent.

"Sí, the streets. I'm surprised you remembered that, Señor Wazowski."

Wazowski felt that this phone conversation was getting too long for him. "Can you let me off now, por favor?" he asked, clearly sounding annoyed. "I have to get ready for work." He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Very well. Adíos, Señor Wazowski. Don't forget your rent." Mrs. Gutierrez hung up. Wazowski hung up as well and sighed. He closed his eyes and rubbed the sides of his temples with his fingers. He knew he shouldn't have sounded so nasty on the phone. In spite of how much he disliked Mrs. Gutierrez, she was one of the few monsters he was more than willing to talk to. Here, one may think to themselves, What about his family? Don't they get to talk to them? Well, that was it. The reason Wazowski's family never talked with him on the phone was because he never gave them his phone number when he first moved in here.

He didn't think that they would need it, anyway. Why should they? he thought to himself. I was such a failure to them. They send me off with the hope that I would excel in all my studies and graduate at the top of my class, and I return to them a doleful dropout. He could still remember the looks on their faces when he showed up at the front door of their home that cold winter morning, hungry, exhausted, with a clear and present aura of failure surrounding him...

He scowled and shook himself hard. Why was he still thinking about his parents and what had happened before? The past was in the past, and he couldn't do anything about it. Besides, he had work to get ready for. He turned around and made his way back to his seat, only to bump his bowl of cereal with his toe and knock it over. Milk and soggy cereal pieces spilled across the wooden floor.

Wazowski spent five minutes cursing to himself as he wiped up his ruined breakfast.

Wazowski lived in a seven-story, red-bricked apartment building on Terror Street, which sat in the heart of one of Monstropolis' oldest neighborhoods. The buildings in this particular neighborhood were mostly residential, with a shop here and there. Terror Street only had three shops; a shoe shop and a café sat at one end of the street, while a pharmacy sat at the other end.

Between his apartment and a smaller, white-bricked building was a vacant lot filled with weeds and abandoned, rusted car parts. The kids who lived around here would often be seen playing around in that lot when they weren't in school, often ignoring the shouts of overprotective adults to get out of there. Some time ago, somebody had sent around a petition to turn the lot into a little playground for the children, but as of right now nothing had happened to it. Wazowski didn't know if it was still circulating, or if the petitioner failed to convince others to sign it, or if he had gotten all the signatures he needed, only to get rejected. The lot was still there with its old, rusty car parts strewn amongst the weeds. He recalled that he didn't sign it because he felt it wasn't his business as to question where kids went to play, only that they stayed as far away from him as possible.

No matter what time of the day it was, the block was almost totally empty save for a few pedestrians and children. And aside from its steadily increasing crime rate, the neighborhood seemed perfect for a recluse like him.

Lunch box in hand, Michael Wazowski marched out of his apartment and down the sidewalk towards the bus stop situated on Creeper Street, which was two blocks from his apartment.

He paid no attention to the monsters that were out, especially not to the two young monster children kneeling on the sidewalk up ahead. One of them played with his knucklebones, while his companion, who happened to be his little sister, drew on the sidewalk with colorful pieces of chalk. Wazowski scowled at them. Why were they out here playing without a care in the world? Didn't they know he had to be somewhere?

"Out of the way, out of the way!" he shouted to them. He was fast approaching them.

The monster children heard his shouts and quickly set about gathering up their toys. The littler monster had trouble gathering all her chalk into the plastic bucket that sat next to her, so her brother had to abandon his knucklebones to help her. Before they knew it, Wazowski was upon them in an instant. His foot came down on one of the monster boy's knucklebones, and the sharp pressure against the sole caused the older monster to yell out in pain, jumping up and down on one foot, only to step on another knucklebone. He yowled again and fell backwards on his rump, his lunchbox clattering against the ground, but thankfully not opening to spill its contents everywhere.

"Oh, gosh! Sorry, Mr. Wazowski," said the monster boy. He was only half Wazowski's size, with maroon fur covering his whole body and small bat wings on his back. A white and green baseball cap sat atop his head.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Wazowski exclaimed, incredulous. "Your stupid little jacks could've landed me in the hospital, Philip!" He winced as he pulled the metal things out from under his feet. He felt the eyes of Philip's little sister Brittany on him, and he turned to shoot her a cold look. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Would you like some help, Mr. Wazowski?" Brittany, like her brother, had maroon fur covering her whole body, but she was much smaller than him, and she didn't have any wings. Her four crystal blue eyes studied the round green monster.

"No thank you, Brittany," Wazowski said curtly, pushing himself back to his feet. He then bent down to pick up his lunchbox. "I can take care of myself. Don't need snot-nosed little kids trying to make things worse. Speaking of which, what are you two doing out here? Shouldn't you be in school by now?"

"We would, but it's closed today," said Philip. "And maybe tomorrow, too. The power went out yesterday afternoon, and it hasn't come back on yet."

"We'd get a phone call from Principal Slimer once it came back on," Brittany added. "We'll either go back tomorrow or Monday."

Wazowski snorted. "Typical for schools to close when they should be open, so little brats like you are out of everyone's way. Now get out of my way, you two. I have to go to work." The two children stepped to the side, and he walked past them. But just as he was reaching the end of his street, Brittany called out, "Sorry you had to step on Phil's jacks, Mr. Wazowski."

Wazowski chose not to reply. He kept on walking until he reached the bus stop, then sat himself down on the bench and waited. There was only one other monster with him at the stop; an old lady wearing a large sun hat carrying a large bag of birdseeds. Probably off to the park to feed birds. He ignored her and continued waiting.

Five minutes later, the bus rumbled along to the curve. When it stopped, the door swung open. The old lady in the sun hat stepped on board first, then Wazowski. The bus driver, a swinish being with a mop of unkempt black hair on the top of his head, snorted loudly as Wazowski paid his fare and took his seat behind him.

"Good morning, Mr. Wazowski," he grunted. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine, Hal," Wazowski answered. "Just got a little sidetracked, that's all."

"I see. Where to today, Mr. Wazowski?"

Wazowski didn't answer, but instead looked up into the mirror that hung above the bus driver. Hal was short and plump, with pinkish skin and thick-framed glasses. Wazowski kept reminding himself that Hal's appearance shouldn't matter all that much to him, but it somehow did. Hal reminded him so much of that Don Carlton, the founder and president of...

"Mr. Wazowski?"

At the sound of Hal's voice, Wazowski shook himself. What was the matter with him? Why did his thoughts keep drifting to the past? He shouldn't be thinking of the past at all. Nothing good came out of it, so why was he allowing himself to do such a thing?

"Mr. Wazowski, are you all right?"

"Yes, yes!" Wazowski blurted out. Then, his face reddening from embarrassment, he said, "Yes, I am. What did you say before, Hal?"

"I was asking you where you were going today."

"The usual place, Hal," Wazowski replied. "Monsters, Incorporated."

So this is just the beginning. I apologize if it's short for your liking; the next chapter will hopefully be longer.

Don't forget to leave a review for me to read! ;)