The alarm clock buzzed loudly and forced him awake. Groggily, he straightened, reaching out one arm before banging his wrist angrily in an attempt to hit the snooze button, but not soon enough; the beeping had switched to the morning news report:

"Good morning, everyone!" A woman's painfully cheerful voice exclaimed, "Happy Fourth of July!"

He yanked the clock's cord out of the wall, and the voice fell silent. Irritated, he squeezed his green eyes shut, and pulled the pillow up over his head as if to block out the rest of the world. The fourth…He had been dreading that date for months, and now it was finally here. He threw the pillow against the wall with a grunt, accidently knocking a few things down the ground with a clatter. Letting out an angry sigh, Arthur Kirkland stood stiffly and began to get dressed.

Outside his window it was raining for the hundredth time that week, and he was getting tired of the constant dampness that seemed to seep into the house. Or maybe the constant sense of foreboding he's been feeling lately. Either way, the rain was annoying.

He checked himself in the mirror, eyes glancing meticulously over his straight, short blonde hair, perfectly pressed white dress-shirt, black slacks, and shining shoes. He tightened his dark green tie once more, before deciding that everything was perfect. Turning on his heel sharply, he strode over the calendar that hung by his bed. The date was circled in red, and a hand that wasn't his had written in the corner: The hero's birthday!

Arthur rubbed the date as if he could erase it. The anniversary of that day was hardly one to be celebrated, even if that egotistical, self-centered brat thought so. Sighing, Arthur stooped down to retrieve his pillow and the things it had knocked over. His fingers wrapped around a picture frame, and without thinking, he pulled it up and looked at it.

It was of him, but when he was younger, with his arms wrapped around a small boy with bright blonde hair and blue eyes. The two of them were smiling to the camera, and the little boy in front had his hand on Arthur's, their fingers locked together.

Arthur closes his eyes and willed the image to go away. He set the picture on his dresser, but placed it face down. He did not glance at it as he retrieved his coat; his eyes stayed fixedly forward. Then he left his room, crossing the living and the dining room, before walking out the front door and slamming it behind him.