TMNT © Nick

OCs © MPN

If you guys don't mind, I'd like to finish this fic first so that I could at least one completed story in my profile. So all other things are put on hiatus. I'll get them done soon, but right now, I'm gonna start and finish this one story.

Do you ever feel alone in your own world?

Don't you get that feeling? The feeling that you are all alone? The feeling that nobody likes you? Hope felt that way all the time.

Hope didn't like being alone. Then again, she was only alone because fate wanted her to be. At first, each second that passed felt like a nightmare, felt like hell, but once she got used to it, it seemed like nothing. When you wake up, you couldn't wait to get the day over with, but once it's over, you can't wait for the next one, not thinking about the future.

Hope had plans, so many of them, her mom had plans, so many choices, but that's all they were. Plans. Her dad had plans, but they were plain, boring compared to his daughter and wife, but they were what happened. They weren't just plans, they were steps. They were actions. They were what got Hope to her current status.

Many people looked up to a smart, diligent, active, and sociable person. They had more friends than enemies. They got along with everyone. They made a difference in the world, but no one said it was the difference they wanted. Hope was one of those people. She was devoted, intelligent, active, and sociable. She had a few friends, but more fans than enemies (which didn't have a big number to begin with). People looked up to her perfect appearance. Students would ask her for help, advice, even answers to exams if they were that desperate. Teachers would often make her and her work an example to a class, maybe even the school. Hope Houstone was loved, Hope Houstone was admired, Hope Houstone was known, but it wasn't always like this, and she liked it the way it was before, when she was still Hope Bright.

When Hope was still a little girl, no older than six, she was a nobody. She sat in the corner of the room playing with her little rag doll. Hope had a habit of playing with its long, blond yarn hair, most of the time getting it tangled. She would stick her fingers in the tips and twirl them. She used to do it alone, but one day, someone — some turtle came.

There was a very obvious, very large amount of discrimination laid on him, but he wore a huge grin that made it seem like nothing. He was just as lonely as Hope at that time, maybe even more. Hope didn't take initiative on getting to know him. He did. Hope still remembered.

He walked up to her with that big, goofy grin on his face, hands behind his shell. His big, blue orbs twinkled with hope of sparking at least one friendship before he was kicked out because of ultimate discrimination or something. He held his hand out, stating his name gleefully. Hope stared at his three-fingered hand skeptically, then looked up to his face. After a while, she dropped her gaze and continued playing with her doll's hair. He gave up. He dropped his smile and hung his head before walking to the other corner of the room, where he plopped himself own and stared at the pink, white, and brown blob in his hands.

Hope got curious and stretched her neck to see. She eventually got tired of not seeing anything and quietly scooted closer to the other side of the room. Though nobody cared about what she did, or noticed when she moved, Hope was very cautious with her every movement. She eventually got close enough to see what the blob is, and she was also apparently close enough to hear what the turtle was saying to it.

"I don't get it, Ice Cream Kitty!" he whined, holding up his cat doll, staring up at it with big, teary eyes. "Why won't anyone be my friend? I'm a nice guy, and I'm friendly! Why can't everybody just see that?" Huge drops of water began falling on the floor as he held his cat to his chest tightly.

Hope felt guilty. All he wanted was a friend, and she didn't even try talk to him. She looked down at her toy, as if the rag doll's black button eyes would tell her what to do next.

"Should I help him?" Hope whispered. She looked at her lifeless friend as if it had passed a reply. "But what if I say something wrong? What if he hates me? What if—"

"No way!" Hope froze. He was next to her, looking over her shoulder. "You talk you your toys too?" Hope's heart hammered in her chest from surprise. As she tried to breathe normally again, he watched sheepishly, realizing what he had done. "Whoops, sorry," he apologized, eyes full of guilt, "My brothers told me that if I was gonna make any friends, I have to have a more friendly and less surprising approach, but it can't help myself!"

As she listened, her heart calmed down. This...this guy was just as human as she was, they didn't have much in common, but they didn't have much differences either, not the best friendship material. Well, at least she thought it was that way.

"It's...it's okay," she said, "I just get scared easily. A...and yes, I do talk to my toys." She passed him a small, sheepish smile along with a pink tint going across her cheeks while he exchanged it with a huge grin.

"That's so cool!" he said. "Let's play! Hi, I'm Ice Cream Kitty, what's your name?" He held up his toy cat, the head and torso part in pink, and the bottom part legless and brown, the waist a cream color.

He was going too fast, but it was in a playful, unintentional manner, and Hope didn't mind. "O...Oh me-her? She... doesn't really have a name," she said sheepishly.

"She doesn't have a name? Well no problemo, amigo, for Michelangelo is here to help!" he exclaimed, puffing his chest out proudly. "May I hold her?" he asked, holding out his hand. Hope gingerly put her doll in his hand, and he handled her toy with great care, examining it from every angle. He chuckled, "She kinda looks like you."

"She...she does?" Hope said.

"Kinda," he smiled, stroking her doll's hair and playing with the pleats of her tangerine skirt, "You both have yellow hair, brown eyes. I mean-her eyes would be brown if they weren't buttons. You both wear blue and orange and you have the same shoes."

Hope took hold of some of her straight, platinum blond bangs, and tried to look at it, but they were too short. She tried to look at her eyes in manners unimaginable, and she looked at her clothing: a blue shoulderless short sleeve, a pair of tangerine leggings, white socks, and black leather strap shoes, just like her doll...ish.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Hope...Hope Houston, spelled with an E," she stated.

"Hope's a nice name. I'll remember that, that way whenever I need help, I'll just call you," he said, smiling.

"Couldn't you just call your mom, or your dad?" she asked.

"Do you even know what Hope means?"

"It's my name."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "Hope with a small letter. It's like...when you're in a dark room and you just wish that you could see the light. Then you see a little of it, then it goes away. Then you will wait for it to come back. You expect it to come back, that's hope."

The explanation was way longer, but she couldn't remember most of it. She yawned, "You sound like my dad, boooring!"

"That's what I always say to Donnie!" he said, then his eyes widened in horror, "Wait-I'm boring? I can't be boring! That's Donnie's job!"

Hope chuckled at his horrified face. Each second that passed drew her closer to him. Each minute that passed got them to know each other better. Each day that passed created new memories. Each day that passed drew them closer to a nightmare.

and closer...

and closer...

and closer...

...til they were ten.

Hope was confused, scared. Nurses and doctors rushed here and there, pushing stretchers and beds across the floor. She shook harder as the stressful yells got louder. She watched as a stretcher carried a turtle to the ER.

"Mikey," she breathed, relaxing her grip on her mom's shirt. "Mom, Dad!" she called. "It's Mikey! We have to get to him!" she yelled, pulling her mom's shirt in the direction he went.

Then, it was a blur. She remembered crying. She remembered screaming. She remembered clutching a lifeless hand in hers. She remembered...she remembered making one last promise to him...along with a promise she made to her father.

"Hope..."

"..."

"Hope, we have to go. He's dead, there's nothing you can do about it."

"... You could've done something, dad."

"He's just a mutant. Mutants don't deserve expensive organ transplants."

"He's my friend, dad."

"He's still a mutant."

"..."

"Now, Hope, I don't want you making friends with another mutant ever again. Is that clear?"

"Just because they're mutants doesn't mean that they're any different than us."

"Yes, it does. They revolt against us. They are terrorists. They are animals."

"Pfft, saying that stereotype to my friend is like saying that Aunt Ellen is a terrorist as well."

"That issue is not to made fun of."

"Neither is Mikey's."

"…"

"…"

"Fine. If I give you friend a proper burial, will you promise to be more carful with your friendships."

"Sounds like a deal I could cope with."

That brings us back to the question: Do you ever feel alone in your own world?

Hope silently walked her way to school. The rain beat down on her umbrella, some drops running down her raincoat and dropping on her boots.

It was on gloomy days like this when Hope felt the loneliest. She was isolated from the world. She was left behind to cope with everything, if there ever was anything.

Somehow, even with all this rain, people were still striving for themselves, for their family, for their future. Buses picked up businessmen. Snack salesmen either pushed their sales around or stood with them in one place, yelling or ringing their bells, chimes, or whatever they could get their hands on to get themselves noticed by public. Hope might've seen a news crew trying to hold on to their equipment. Hope never watched too much TV, she preferred newspapers.

Speaking about newspapers, she only found them in either convenient stores or small 24-hour-shops that didn't have TVs. There was this small convenient store a block or two from her school that she would visit before heading to class. She would buy snacks, pens, or newspapers, depending on the headline. Today was one of those days she bought a newspaper.

THE GREEN PRICK STRIKES AGAIN

24 FAMILIES DEAD