Black Triforce: I forgot to mention this in the disclaimer; I also do not own anything else that happens to appear in this story except for one or two original characters. And… the bold stuff in chapter one was D talking about his parents.

So how does it feel
And how does it feel...

I was sitting in the back of a bus heading nowhere, elsewhere, and anywhere but home; listening to one of my drugs. Even with my head turned with my red eyes staring out the dim window, I could feel their stares. Disapproval, hate, and unease; all of them coupled with judgmental thoughts. I didn't care. I had long since hardened myself against people. Their prejudice and stupidity amazes me sometimes.

Haven't they ever seen a run-away before?

Sighing slightly, I reached into my backpack that was sitting beside me and pulled out the book. It's filled with the drawings no one besides me has ever seen. Well… that's not entirely true. I tried to show her, once. It was about a week after I overheard the fight. I didn't want to hate her. I wanted to show her that I was good at something. That there was something she could be proud of.

I remember giving it to her. I had a stupid little grin plastered on my face. She stared at the picture for what seemed like forever, then looked at me and said that it was nice. She was smiling, but it wasn't kind smile or a thank-you-very-much smile. It was a pained smile that asked me why.

Why can't you draw normal things? Why can't you draw cute block people that most children your age do? Like your brother does? Why can't you be normal?

She handed me back my drawing and left the room to return to whatever she was doing before. I glanced at the refrigerator where my brother's scribbles hung. All of them were bad; my brother had admitted it himself. But they thought his art were masterpieces.

They were proud of him.

That was the day I gave up ever getting them to acknowledge me, much less love me. I tore up the drawing. I watched the pieces all fall on the ground along with the remnants of my hope. But that was back when I cared.

Hey mister, what are you drawing? Can I see mister, pretty please?

A small boy's voice pulled me back into reality. He was looking up at me expectantly. I glanced down at the book, unaware that I had been drawing. On my paper was the picture I had done so many years ago. It was a child clutching a stuffed bear with one arm. Their dark hair shadowed their face. The bear was missing one eye and blood oozed from the socket where it belonged. The child was holding the bear's eye in its hand. It was a little boy, much like the one standing next to me. Except…

It was me.

The boy's mother finally noticed whom her son was talking to. She quickly walked over and grabbed him by the arm. She scolded him for bothering me. Then she shot me a hateful glare. 'How dare I enchant her son!' was probably along the lines of what she was thinking. The woman turned and headed for the bus driver while dragging her son behind her. The little boy gave me an apologetic smile.

I liked your picture mister! Honest! My mama's just being silly!

I slumped back down into my seat as the bus slowed to a stop. Had I ever been like that? So trusting? So accepting of others? I just couldn't grasp it. To many years of hiding behind walls I guess. It's not like it mattered. My eyes closed as I tried to empty my mind. But one voice denied me that relief.

Hey, mind if I sit here?

Standing in front of me, with her head cocked to one side, was a girl. She was tall with a black messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail except for some shorter bangs. Figures flew, dance, crawled, and fought up the legs of her ripped jeans. The girl didn't wait for my answer either. She merely sat down in the seat across from me and smiled.

Where're ya going?

I must admit it; she was pretty brave. She sitting near the demon boy, ignoring all the stares from the others on the bus, and was talking to him also. Of course, just because she was didn't mean that she'd get an answer. After a few seconds of silence, I thought she'd give up. But the girl seemed to be studying me.

Oh! I shouldn't go into stuff that isn't my business. Sorry.

Realizing she wasn't going to leave anytime soon, I started studying her. That's when I noticed the marks that were scattered along her arms. All of them were small, like she had been scratched by something. On her left wrist though, there was brown and orange yarn. It seemed to be covering something. Then the girl laughed.

Looking at my scars I see. That's okay, a lot of people do. Wanna hear 'bout 'em?

I nodded. I was interested in learning about a person who, just possibly, might be as fucked up as I am. She told me that some of them actually were scratch marks from her evil possessed cat. The rest of them were marks she made herself. She made them look like scratches also so her parents wouldn't worry.

It's not like I'm suicidal. Don't get me wrong here. It's just… I like the blood and the short moment of pain.

I told her that I didn't think she was suicidal. From the way she was smiling earlier, it was clear she had something to live for. Staring at the girl's scars made me remember the blood soaked toilet paper wrapped around my own wrist. I asked her if see wanted to see it. She happily agreed. I rolled up the black sleeve of my sweatshirt untied the toilet paper.

Under it were two deep cuts in the shape of an X. The girl shivered; obviously impressed. She told me she would never be able to do that. She laughed again. Too much of a wuss, she said. Not crazy and pain driven enough like me.

So… you never did answer my question. Where are you going? Judging from that mark you're a run-away. Is it really that bad at home?

I nodded and told her everything. I told here about them, the fight, my brother, and my drawings. I didn't even know her name, who she was, or where she came from. I only knew about her scars. And you know what?

I didn't care.

It just felt good to tell someone. And the girl just sat there and listened, never interrupting. At that moment it seemed like she was the only person who has ever really listened to me in my entire life. I was happy. For once in my damned life, I was happy.

When I finished my tale the girl leaned back into her seat, staring off in space. She looked at me and then at her bag. Finally, she came to some kind of decision and pulled out a small notepad. The girl tore a page off of it then checked it over before handing it to me. The bus once again slowed to a stop. The girl got up.

It's been very interesting talking to you. I think you'll fit in. Gotta go though, I've got a therapy session. My parents got a hold of some of the things I write. It just had to be poetry about death didn't it? She turned. Oh by the way, the name's Linear. See ya.

With that, she walked down the isle and exited the bus. When the bus started moving again I inspected the paper Linear had given me. This it what it said:

Elsewhere
378 Celtic Guard Lane
The place for those headed nowhere

Soon I was the last person on the bus. How long had I been sitting there in the back? I had didn't know. The driver turned around and looked at me.

It's the end the of the line buddy, hurry up and decide. You gettin' off or what?

Startled a little, I gathered my things and got off. As I watched the bus drive off I realized I had no idea where I was or where I was going. But then it hit me. I was nowhere. A smile formed on my face. And I did know where I was going.

I was headed Elsewhere.

Black Triforce: Okay, that chapter was a little… weird. Anyway please review. Thank you.