Kageito's POV

He was a shadow; that was all he was. No more, and no less. He could not possibly be anymore than that, and he could not possibly be any less. At least, that's what he had always been told. Ever since he could remember, that was all he had been referred to as; a shadow. But...he was like them, wasn't he? He sang like them- or, at least, he tried to. Didn't that count as something? And he looked like them, didn't he?

Apparently though, that wasn't enough. There was something more to him that separated him from them. A certain darkness about him that he couldn't escape. It wasn't a scary sort of darkness, not really anyway. It was the sort of darkness that lingers about, not a threat, but not comforting either. At first, he hadn't noticed it, yet as time passed and he slowly realized he was more different than he assumed he was, that lingering darkness became more and more noticeable. Now, it was like a companion to him, one that whether it was wanted or not would stay for as long as he still functioned properly.

That wasn't the only difference though; it couldn't be. Perhaps it had to do with his voice. When he was singing, it had this certain deformity to it that made him sound almost broken, like he was trying to communicate from a different dimension. While many of the others assured him that it wasn't such a big deal, he could clearly see that it was. It wasn't normal to have a voice like that, and it frightened some of them. It made them think that he was a darker person than he really was. Maybe it had to do with his mask, or the fact that his scarf had hands, or maybe it was because he was mainly active during the night. It could be any of those reasons, really, but he wasn't sure any of those were the reason why he wasn't normal; even if they were all added together, it still wouldn't allow him to know. He had spent countless nights just staring at the ceiling with his glowing ruby eyes, wondering why he was not accepted, and what about him was so off.

He wasn't evil; anything but. Even so, it seemed that many of the others would like to believe differently. In their eyes, he was something out of a horror movie, or the monster that was always hiding away in your closet, waiting for the lights to go out before appearing. He wasn't though; why couldn't they understand that. He had feelings, and he could hear what they said about them. How they thought he was too dark and creepy for his own good. How his voice was frightening to listen to. How he looked rather like a ghost or a demon, not a Vocaloid like the rest of them. How he was just so different. Somehow, he had trained his emotions to become numb to those sayings, and just smile about it, laughing like it was a joke and he was the punch line. True, it still hurt to hear those words said about him, but he had learned to break apart those inner wounds before they festered and sent him reeling. Those words that were said about him still had the ability to cut through like knives, no matter how prepared to hear them he thought he was. And whenever they found out he had heard, they would apologize as usual, and he would always lie and say he was alright, that it didn't matter. But it did matter; it made him wonder even more, and it did hurt. Everything he said to them now, everything he did around them, was turning into a giant, leering lie that was impossible to shed light on. Sometimes he felt as though even his own smile was a lie. They really had no idea how hard he tried to be like them...and how deeply it cut each time he was rejected again and again and again.

If he tried to voice these thoughts, would they even hear him? He felt as though he could just disappear, and everyone would be okay with that, even he would. But in the end, that was just a lie as well, wasn't it? If he disappeared, then nobody would know about his inner turmoil, and nobody would know how to fix him.

There was one person though...one person who would listen to him, and who actually wasn't frightened by him in the least bit. If he told him about his troubles...would that person care? And...would that person hear him out, if he told that person all about how he felt? Of course not; his feelings would just be brushed off as not knowing enough people to sort his emotions out. Just like usual. Brushing him off was easy for others to do, since he always lied about how it affected him. Though he was sure that even if he didn't lie, he would still be brushed off anyway. That was just how it worked with him.

He stared down at his own pale hands, his midnight black hair falling into his face and hiding his expression. He really did look like a ghost, didn't he? A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that filled the entire pitch dark room, a sound that nobody else was there to hear but him. A terrifying blankness was filling him as he just sat there by himself, letting the darkness pull him in and wrap its cold arms around his pale body. The only light there was to be seen was emitted from his blood red eyes as he stared down upon his hands, wondering if he could somehow wrap them about his own slender neck and keep pressing down until there was nothing left to feel. Normally, these thoughts wouldn't be filling his head. Normally, he would be out and about, savoring the time he had to himself where he was able to move about freely unlike the inky attachment he was.

If he could just cinch those hands of his around his neck, right where his windpipe was...how quickly would he go? Not a single person would be there to stop him, not even his own brothers. Not even...that one person. He had a feeling though, that that one person would somehow know what was happening if he really were to end it all. Thinking about listening to his own life-giving breaths turn short, shallow, and labored all because of his own hands choking himself to death sent shivers down his body. Whether or not they were horrified shivers or apprehensive shivers, he did not know. As if in a daze, he brought both hands up to his neck, closing his eyes slowly as he flinched at his own cold touch. Ever so hesitantly, he wrapped his fingers delicately about his neck. It was a perfect fit; all that was left was to push down. Letting out a sigh, he dropped his hands back down to hang limply by his sides. This wasn't okay for him to be doing; he wasn't supposed to be suicidal. He was meant to be a shadow, one that was slowly losing its light.

Now that he thought about it, did he even have a light to grasp onto?

'No...it was never there to begin with, and most likely will never be there,' a voice inside his head taunted with him. The room seemed to buzz with an eerie life at the moment, the darkness laughing at how pathetic he was.

"Help...somebody...please, help," he choked out, even though he knew all too well that there would be nobody there to hear his desperate plea. He was already dead on the inside, with nothing that could hope to break through the walls set up about him.

He gritted his teeth together, drawing his pants-clad knees up to his chest, then burying his head within the small space left between his legs and the area where his heart beat, a painful reminder of how he was still very alive and still the same dark being he had always been thought to be..and truthfully was. Subconsciously, he reached one hand out to grasp onto somebody, anybody.

There was nobody, nothing but his own drawn out breaths and the darkness about him. He weakly gripped the sheets of the bed he was sitting on, a single tear slipping from his tightly shut eyes and trickling down his ghostly white cheek, dropping off his chin and leaving a dark stain on the white sheets.

All he was was a shadow. A shadow without any light, a shadow that would stay in the dark because that was all it was.

Dark.

A/N: So..this is my first shot at a fanfic written here. Please tell me what you think so far; and, I'm warning you now, my updates may be a little slow -_- But, don't let that stop you from reading! Think of Kageito. OvO