I wrote this a little while ago on DeviantART as a Journal, based on my own feelings at 3 in the morning. I've tweaked it slightly is all. I only posted it because I felt bad for having so few stories and being a writer for so long.

Everyone has a dark side. It's those who don't show it who have the blackest hearts.

I gasped, waking with a start. All I knew was the void from which I had escaped. If I took a breath, I'd be sent back, submerged in darkness.

I couldn't recall anything. No name or memory of the past intact. Nothing. Though, the one thing I had salvaged was fear.

And that seemed enough to convince me I was alive.

I came to realize these circumstances weren't normal. When I awoke, there was a void. Was it not custom for one to awake in a realm of clouds, those you missed, waiting for you…? Despair, I perceived by intuition. Hopelessness and death. Death? But what was death? I quizzed myself, unsure.

Slowly, the dark subsided, replaced by something anew. Barely there, yet trenchant and cheerful in the gloom, it was light. Warmth ignited inside of me at the sight of it.

My hand rubbed against something frigid and rough, light all around me now. Without meaning to, my fingers broke through, crackling and snapping. I climbed out onto a plate of porcelain, dripping wet and breathing hard. It was bright out here. Too bright, since my eyes had not yet adjusted. I stood on my own two legs, taking in my surroundings. There were trees, all naked save the snow drooping their branches, and right under my feet, ice.

Above me, the moon showed, huge and round, white. I watched it for a while, unconscious to anything else. It was... entrancing in a way. Reminded me of something I may have once known.

Popping, shifting sounds from behind startled me from my trance. I swung around to see the hole which I had emerged from, now turned back to solid ice. It was as though I had never been there. I didn't understand. A brown cane caught my glance. I ambled toward it, picked it up. The wood was bumpy, twisted all around itself. As I grasped it, something silver and lacy entwined itself with the patterns. I suddenly noticed I was no longer cold, but I still shivered.

I accidentally brushed the wooden cane against the ground; more silver lace appeared. I stared in wonder. It wasn't long before I was dancing around the edges of the frozen pond, touching every tree, twig, and surface in sight. All of it grew silver as the laced pattern formed. I felt so light. It was so easy!

Unable to help myself, I began to grin, chuckle, even.

I was interrupted by a voice.

Ceasing my childish play, I faced the sky, searching for the source.

I found none.

"You will forever be known as Jack Frost," it said simply.

And that was all it said.

My powers weren't only freezing things with pretty designs. Ha, no. If that had been the case, I don't think I could have stayed sane all these years.

I could glide on wind currents, soar above clouds. I could sled and ski at higher speeds than some motorized vehicles, using my feet instead. I could create snow flurries; brew a blizzard in a matter of minutes. I was also impervious to cold. When I came into contact with snow, it felt the same as walking on land. (Well, maybe a bit thicker.) When it became summer, I couldn't stay in the area. During the daytime when the sun was out, I didn't feel quite right. My skin is paler than the morning horizon, and any dwelling in sunlight for long begins to hurt it. I get stiff and everywhere feels raw.

And since I have not yet explained much of my appearance, I will do so now. As I said, my skin is pale, but not yet as pale as my hair. Some would say it's silver; others would say it's white. Me? I say it's both. Or I just don't really care. My eyes are a pale-grayish blue. Most commonly, I wear a comfortable deep blue hoodie, brown pants, and bare feet. And, of course, my cane, curved at the top. For more style, or something.

It's easiest to move around in these clothes, and they fit me best.

Now, this all may seem great and jolly, right? There's a catch.

No one can see me.

If I'm right in front of someone's face, they'll see nothing. No shadow or footprints in the snow. I'm not there.

I'm invisible.

After I was given my name, the village I went to, I tried to communicate with everyone there. I didn't fully comprehend what was happening until someone walked right through me, and didn't notice. What's the point of having a gift if you can't share it with anybody?

I attempted to wave it off, take it as a good thing. Ultimately, that made it worse...

I was fine for a few years or so. I convinced myself I'd get used to it. There was nothing unfamiliar about my situation compared to others'. Until I met the Sand Man. When I learned they could see him, I cracked.

Why could he be seen and not me? It was fairly simple: People believed in him. No one knew I existed.

Am I not good enough? Is there something I'm doing wrong? What can I do to make people notice me? C'mon, think, dammit!

These thoughts pounded in my head the next years. I thought it over again and again, grappling the concept no one believed in me, and how I could make them.

I came to the conclusion there was nothing to be done.

I frolicked among people I could influence, but never actually touch. Filled with virility, zest, and life, I longed for someone to talk to. There were the others, of course. None of which liked me. They had their oh-so-important jobs that make them believed in to tend to. I mean, they aren't bad, just not my style.

Alone. I remained alone.

I began to lose my previous sense of mischievousness. Many days I'd sit by lakes or rivers shrouded with ice, - by my doing - though not in a playful way. Hood pulled down, I'd lean forward and look, study the reflection I came to rue. I watched my shadowed face, lost inquiring pupils, narrow face, pale skin, light hair. Somehow I felt as if that hadn't always been the face I'd seen in my reflection.

I usually smashed the ice table in irritation, bruising my fists. I may not be affected by cold, but force upon a solid hurts no matter which way you hit it.

Whoever that person was, I didn't want to see him. He had no friends; the only ones who noticed him never took him seriously. He didn't know who he truly was.

I'd be embarrassed to admit I'd curl into a ball and sob at times like these.

Though, it was never long until I wanted to forget my pain for a while and have fun again.

Three hundred years; the world was changing. I came to accept things for what they were.

I only wish there was someone I could talk to, someone who was always there, someone who didn't think of me as Jack Frost, the trickster who plays pranks, oblivious to anything except fun and games. I want to be known as Jack Frost, the broken boy who still doesn't know who he is, because no one will give him the chance.

I'm sure if any of the Guardians knew what I told you, they wouldn't leave me to myself.

Yes, reviews are appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!