The stark and desolate eyes scanned the landscape lifelessly, blindly, and no emotion flickered behind those shuttered orbs, no response to the dazzling light that splayed through the weightless clouds as the sun made its presence known. The light spread across the world quickly, and those eyes followed its progression, not caring. The sunlight reached the base of mountain which held the cave from which those eyes peered, and still the creature remained unmoved. The light climbed up the mountain rapidly, toward the cave, and then suddenly the light spilled across the body of a man. His skin was the color of alabaster, and was silky smooth, flawless. The sun hadn't touched that skin in many years, countless years. The deep, emerald green eyes glinted as the sun spilled across them, and something within him moved. A tuft of raven hair swept across his brow, and he swept it aside, unthinking.

Clasped within his trembling right hand was a hand gun, and his eyes roamed to it absently. He knew what he had to do with it, knew what he wanted to do with it, but somehow, couldn't find it within himself to do it. He shuddered violently, his back clenching, spine aching, arms bunching. He couldn't do it.

Not yet.

The sun was blindingly bright, yet he saw through its overpowering rays, to the world stretched beyond.

That world, untouched by the chaos that tormented him in his every waking thought and even more in his sleep. That world which didn't have the vision of its two best and only true friends being murdered while it watched, while it lived, while it screamed. That world with no knowledge of the rage and pain that swelled within his breast, of the fury and power that surged out of his wand.

His eyes shifted as a small movement erupted off to his left, but he forced those endless green orbs to still. He knew that it was just some kind of field rat, knew that it was just maybe a snake. Nothing that could truly hurt him. Nothing that could cause him more pain than he already resided in.

The thought of his pain brought it crashing down on him in a torrent of memories and thoughts, and as tears filled those emerald windows, the handgun slipped from numbed fingertips to fall with an echoing thud on the cavern floor. His hands came up to cover his face, that hideous face, the face marred by that unseemly scar.

To him it was a monstrosity, a sign of the worst kind of disgust, impossible to be ignored or looked over, impossible to be excused. Yet to you and me, it would be nothing more than a little, white scar, in the shape of a little, white lightening bolt.