I'm testing narrative techniques. Please tell me what you think. This one won't be very long. It's three chapters and already completed so... let's get started!

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story © Turtlefreak121

The Forgotten

Chapter One: Fire

The Forgotten One could feel no sympathy for the rage of others for he was consumed by his own. He should have known that it was a mistake for him to leave his home that day. The fire of hurt was still burning in his chest. He was bound to run into something more infuriating the minute he left.

So, of course, he found an excuse to vent not far from there.

Crouched, poised for attack, he was on the very edge of his building perch. He was masked by his own invisibility and using his curse very much to his advantage. The ones he watched from above never noticed his presence.

He was completely Forgotten.

The two dressed as though they were escaped from a gothic circus freak show gathered about a young man. The young man was juvenile, perhaps even younger than the Forgotten One, and while dressed in decent attire was surely not carrying more than the leftovers of the day's lunch money.

That bit of information did not stop the advance of the freak shows, however, for they were local terrorists. Their power and amusement could only come from such horror as was suffered by the juvenile or the pain that was felt by those like the Forgotten One.

That was what truly sealed their fate in his eyes.

"I don't have much money. Leave me alone," the good track child said, flattening his tone to hide the turmoil within.

"We don't give a shit," the tallest of the freak shows responded.

The Forgotten One had to agree. He did not give a shit either.

Before another move could have been made by the three below, the Forgotten One was upon them in a blazing wrath. He ripped through the two circus clowns with solid, well practiced thrusts and sent them flying in opposite directions.

For that moment he was face to face with the juvenile who had been drained of all his face's blood in the meantime. The boy who had once puffed his chest out like a man to face the anticipated muggers was now shriveling like a fetal child.

He aspired for the invisibility that the Forgotten One was so deeply injured and cursed with every day.

"Get the hell out," the Forgotten snapped in response to the cowardice before him. He felt sickened by the hope that this boy so clearly demonstrated. Since he had been Forgotten it was difficult to face anyone who wished such a fate upon themselves.

Fortunately for the boy he was not terrified beyond the ability to move and immediately escaped the presence of the flaming Forgotten One. He was spared from anger raging from his shadow frame.

Instead the Forgotten One turned toward the common variety freaks of the streets. One lay slumped in a pile of his own misery and groaned lowly. He was down for the count and of no use for the Forgotten One's vengeful outburst.

The other, however, stood. He stood and looked around with the bugged out eyes of a frightened bird, a rooster chased by a fox. His talon like fingers curled about, scratching at the brick as the Forgotten approached him. No doubt the scum wished to slither back into the holes of the earth he crawled out of.

The Forgotten was all too willing to assist him.

"You like picking on someone smaller and weaker than you?" the chilling voice of a vengeance bound Forgotten questioned. "Just because you can do it?"

"Please don't hurt me."

Request was ignored.

The Forgotten One grinned a crooked, wide grin. "I like to do things just 'cuz I can, too."

Before another word could be uttered by either party, the bridge of the other's nose found itself crushed between the two knuckles of the Forgotten's fist and it ended the feat with a roaring applause which sounded off with POP. A spew of red blanketed the Forgotten's hand but he did not stop there.

Weapons were not used because it was obvious that they were not necessary. Instead each moment was savored and he took great joy in the fact that they directly came from his actions.

There was more than one time in which the freak show, a kid himself as it would end up, reached for his breast pocket. It was an action not to be trusted because the Forgotten knew that anything could be secreted within it. He imagined hand guns and knives, arsenal of all sorts waited within the pocket.

At one point, the Forgotten One thought that perhaps the boy would not be capable of reaching for anything but it was not enough. He had to pay.

He was a sinful child but not only that but he was a sinful child who was known; something unfair to the Forgotten One who no longer existed despite committing no crime. The gravity of some other deficiency had masked his identity, though, for the life of him, he could not figure out what or why.

Lost in his thoughts, the Forgotten was no longer paying attention to the repercussions of his actions and continued the assault on the villain within his hands.

It was only when another fist came from the back of the alley and met with the beak of the Forgotten did he stop. He fell onto his side, completely caught off guard, but his flame was not quailed. He was more enraged.

He was, at least, until he saw the owner of the fist.

The vigilante pulled the mask off his head and stared coldly at the Forgotten One. He had knowing eyes and, for a moment, the Forgotten One felt as though he was seen rather than seen through. It was unfortunately a feeling that could not make up for his pain.

"What are you doing, Casey?" he demanded.

"Me?" the friend questioned angrily. "What the hell are you doing? Trying to see how far you can grind your fist into that guy's skull?"

The Forgotten stood and stared at the punk below as he reached into his pocket and produced a simple cell phone.

"He was ganging up with his pal over there to beat up a kid just for walking by!" the Forgotten One defended. "And you know why they were going to do it, Casey? Just because it was some kid on the street. Because they could. Because they could do it and then Forget about the kid and everything they had done to him. Like he wasn't even part of their lives."

Then Casey did something unexpected.

Grabbing onto the brim of the Forgotten's shell, he dragged him off, away from the alley and his babbling, and forcing him along. He was going to make the Forgotten remember a similar experience in which the rolls were in reverse.

"You're going too far and you're going to tell me why," Casey stated.

The Forgotten One doubted it highly. His closest friend could never truly understand what was being felt but at least he would be there to talk to.

All the Forgotten One knew was that he needed to vent else he would suffocate in the furious fire that burned at his soul constantly.

He was not initially impressed with Casey's presence. On the midnight raids of the streets it was common to find the vigilante out and about. It was how they met. Usually Casey simply join in and did his best to keep up in the pursuits against crime.

That night, as he had the last several nights, Casey's approach was much more subtle and tender hearted. He was attempting to act like an older brother. The Forgotten One did not need another older brother, though.

There, as they sat on the edge of a building, hiding in the cluster of gargoyles and statues, the pace began to pick up between them. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt like things were the way they were before he was Forgotten.

That was the way Casey intended it to be, though.

"I haven't seen ya go that far in a long time, pal," Casey said lowly. He was doing his best to not come across as scolding but it simply made the realization more harsh. "I mean, that was some serious anger yar showing there. It kinda scared me."

He huffed in reply and leaned back into the shadows of a flightless figure. He mixed into the darkness and became nonexistent yet again. "Yeah. I got a little ticked."

"Only a little?" Casey continued.

"I don't want to talk about it so don't even try."

"You've got to talk about it and y'know it," Casey responded fiercely with a point of an accusing finger. "It's eating you up inside and the only way you're trying to get rid of it really isn't helping. Is it? You've got to talk about it, don't you?"

"What of it?" he asked lowly. "You're expecting me to talk to you? Because last I remember you were sockin' me one."

Somewhat shameful, Casey secreted his grin at the reference. It was not often that he got to sneak up on him and it was even less often that he got one up on the Forgotten. He shrugged it off but could see in the Forgotten's glare that apologies were in order. "Okay, sorry about that one," he said with a certain amount of remorse. "I didn't know how else to get your attention. You were pretty much in the zone of kicking that guy's ass."

"Don't tell me he didn't deserve it either," he defended.

"I won't," Casey continued with a sigh before glancing off. "I'll say you're avoiding talking about it, though. Don't try to deny it either. You've been beating around the bush ever since we got here instead of just telling me how you feel."

The attacks were becoming less and less subtle. The Forgotten, while lost to memory himself, recalled almost immediately how they had been led down this trail before. It was all cultivating in the subject he had been running from for the entire night.

Still, the question was asked, "What exactly am I avoiding then?"

The vigilante sighed and shook his head, placing his own mask back upon his brow, obscuring the brotherly face the Forgotten had leaned upon. "You're avoiding what's going on with Master Splinter. Was today a bad day or something?"

"I'm not avoiding him!" he snapped immediately, surprised himself with how he did not take well to the supposed insult. "Why would you even think that?"

Casey snorted, creating a strange muffled stutter behind his mask, and shook his head. "Because you're not down there with the others right now. That and you're acting like something's been biting at your tail the entire time."

"Huh," was all he could produce, incapable of producing the same fiery rage that he felt beforehand. Once it was pointed out that he had been directing it in the wrong directions an old mental guard returned, calming him.

It was something he learned from his father.

"I'm not gonna corner ya and make you spill your guts," Casey said as gently as he could manage before standing up and heading out. "But if this is over what I think it is you'll need ta talk about it soon. And when you do, I'll be around."

He watched as his friend left and remained quietly on the edge of the building. Casey was not completely right for the Forgotten was surrounded by the shadows and artificial lights of the city about him. The warm glows struck through the darkness with the false promises of removing him from the darkness.

They lied, though. He remained there for the rest of the night and found that he was no more removed from the shadows of obscurity than he was from the time he first arrived.

Still he sat and waited for the rage to strike up the same fire it once contained.

…

A/N: Update Wednesday

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