Hysteria

He searched through a grime-covered dumpster, searching for his next meal. As he dug out a half-eaten loaf of bread covered in moldy spaghetti, he vaguely wondered why he reduced himself to this. Then, with a smirk, he remembered that it was because he had nothing better to do. How pitiful.

Eyes glassy with fatigue and bad memories, he tossed the bread to the side, considering it a bad endeavor. He leaped down, having climbed up in order to reach inside, and dug dirty hands into ratty pockets. There was nothing else to search in that particular alley, so he made his way out and down the sidewalk.

The streets were all too familiar to him, since he had been there for a few months already. He left Amity Park a long while ago, probably a year. The months between it and Princeton was spent walking. In hindsight, he half-heartedly thought that flying would've saved him a great deal of energy and time, but the other half believed that he was giving himself a small portion of his newly formed hell by not making things easier for himself.

He idly flexed his hands. He needed some sort of activity and quickly. He searched around for something to kick, throw, punch, anything. It was then that he noticed a grocery store around the corner. His mouth twitched. He was hungry, there was no denying that, but was he really that desperate? His stomach groaned in anticipation, making him groan along with it. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, flipping them inside out as they went. Nothing. Not even pocket lint.

He bit his lip and turned blue eyes to the store entrance once more. People coming and going, coming and going, and coming and going still. Surely someone would notice if he stole anything...

"You are three sizes too small for your age. You can easily slip by anyone attentive enough to notice."

"No," he said aloud, causing a young couple to stop and stare warily before moving on. "I'm not a thief. Besides, there are too many people to slip around."

"You're also a pretty fast runner. You can outrun anyone, especially a few store clerks."

"You don't know that," he snapped, forgetting that 'you' was himself, even if it included a couple extra voices. "They must have shoplifters at least once a month. They would be able to catch me."

"You can turn yourself invisible."

He froze. That was one thing he couldn't truly argue against. It'd be so easy, going invisible, grabbing a couple of fruits, leaving, and no one in the store noticing until they made inventory at the end of the day. If they did. He had no clue what stores did with their stock. He bit his lip once more, and, cursing whatever demon decided to house itself in his conscience, he triggered the required inner reflex, and made his way unseen through the entrance.

The building was cool, giving him a small amount of relief from the summer heat. He made his way through the aisles, being cautious of bumping into anybody, and quickly found himself in the fruits section of the store. One look at the 'free' food made his eyes cloud even more, his hunger becoming even more apparent. He shook himself out of it just in time to avoid a mother and her daughter pulling a cart his way.

Jeez, he thought, eyes following the pair around the corner. I've got to be more careful. I can't believe I'm actually doing this...

"Oh, please!" said a second voice, more scornful than persuasive, "It's either this or go hungry! And trust me, starving hurts...!"

Fine, fine, he thought, taking care not to say anything aloud.

He walked over to the apple stand, still checking every once in a while to see if anyone was about to run into him. He finally reached them, took one last look around the area, and grabbed two, one in each hand. They were instantly turned invisible by influence, but he could still feel them in his hands. Hell, he could practically taste them already.

Suddenly, there was a pain in his chest, resulting in three things altogether. First, he immediately cried out and nearly dropped the apples. Second, his lapse in concentration caused him to gain visibility. And third, he gained the attention of a passing guard, who saw his ragged appearance and the apples in his hands and jumped to (the right) conclusions.

"Hey!" she shouted, causing him to look up in panic.

"Run, you dolt! Run!" yelled a voice, and he, finally realizing that she could see him, renewed his grip on the fruit and made a mad dash for the exit. Growling, the guard snatched her radio from her belt and bolted after him.

He wasn't thinking straight. He couldn't. But if he did, then he would've noticed the group of teens hanging out in front of the exit. He would've swerved around them and avoided them altogether. But instead he ran between them. And the teens, either annoyed by the sudden intrusion or aware of the situation, did the first thing they could think of. Either through virtue of a good deed or revenge, they tripped the young boy, who consequently toppled onto the pavement.

The guard finally showed up, panting heavily from the impromptu workout, and straightened herself out. She took one look at the groaning teenager and scoffed. "Idiot. Did you really think you could get away with shoplifting?"

He turned his head and faced her, staring her dead in the eye. Or, rather, where he thought her eyes were since his vision was getting blurrier. His attention was also caught by a voice--a different, more angry one--pounding in his head.

"You idiot! You let yourself get caught! Now, not only are you still hungry, but you'll spend the night in the police station 'cause you're too weak to get away! Idiot!"

He opened his mouth, either to answer the guard or his nagging subconscious, but whatever he was about to say was violently cut off with a coughing fit. Throughout the minute-and-a-half that it lasted, the guard's eyes softened considerably. She looked over to the now-bruised and useless apples splayed in the parking lot, and sighed. I don't get paid enough for this... Her gaze whipped back to the boy, and sharpened when she saw red on his chin. "Hey... are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, getting up to walk away, but he immediately lapsed into another fit. It was shorter, but much more violent than the last one. As he started to breathe normally again, the guard took his hand, nearly shivering from the cold temperature, and flipped it over before he could protest. It was covered in blood... and something else.

"What the hell...?" she whispered, before looking back up to the boy. He was about two shades paler than he was before and was attempting to glare at her, but they were extremely out of focus. "Hey, hey kid! Are you alright? Answer me!" He gave a light groan, but didn't respond. "Look, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay? Just sit tight." She let go of his wrist and renewed her hold on the radio.

At the word 'ambulance,' however, the boy's glassy eyes immediately refocused. "No... no! Don't call an ambulance, I can't go to a hospital! I c-can't--" But before he could finish his protest, he cried out once more, reacting to another stabbing pain in his chest. The guard looked over at the noise, seeing him doubled over. "Oh, God!" she cried, before catching him on the shoulders and laying him down.

"Don't worry," she said, not knowing what else to say. "There's an ambulance on its way. You'll be fine."

He looked over at the guard, seeing nothing but foggy colors, but attempted to answer anyway. "No... I c-can't... no doctors... n-no..."

Before he, the guard, or anyone from the inevitable crowd that formed could say anything more, he finally collapsed, the last thing he heard being the blaring siren of what even he couldn't mistake as help.

A story swimming in my head that I just may finish and publish for all to read if the prologue gets a good reception. Can you guess what the cross-over is...? ~Foxxi