Artemis was walking down the hallway, silent as usual. Whispers surrounded him. Silence. He heard his name. He ignored it. He was a hot topic of gossip there. It didn't help him to get involved. "Yeah that's him." Came a whisper, a decibel above the rest
"The vampire?"
"the arrogant snobbish bastard." That hit a nerve.
He walked up to the boy. Everyone was silent. "Ron, Ronald Jonson, am I right?"
He just nodded mutely. "I suggest, that if you value your tongue so much, you keep it safe inside your mouth, because I assure you, if you say one more word, you won't find it tomorrow…" he gave a vampirish smile and walked away. And Ronald was silent. He, and everybody else knew that Artemis Fowl did not have a funny bone. He did not joke or smile or laugh. He COULDN'T joke or smile or laugh. It was like, it had disintegrated or something.
He sat down in his car and butler drove off, humming something. Slowly falling asleep, his mind flashed back to the day he first gave life up, when he was 5.
He had just had a fight with his parents, a major fight. They weren't talking to him, he wasn't talking to them. Sitting down in his room, he thought, I may be a genius, but no body appreciates it. Maybe it's because I act too normal. It's sad really. And then it struck him. His parents wanted a perfect boy, that's what he'd give them. He'd charm all their friends and do everything they wanted him to. He's achieve top marks, not that he didn't already. He'd make them proud, but he wouldn't be human anymore. He would never show his emotions, never. That's it, he thought. That's the end.
Sliding open his drawer, he took out a silver blade. And smiled. It was reflected on the shiny surface of the blade. Testing it on a hair, he was satisfied. It was sharp. Gently lowering it down to the back of his wrist, he slit, and saw a thin trickle of blood flow down his hand. He clenched it. That, was when Artemis, the laughing happy child prodigy, became a hard, cold cruel criminal genius. And the cutting continued. He cut himself once a week, every Friday. His parents were surprised at his good behaviour, but it took them a while to figure out that it was forced.
Meanwhile, his genius was growing, day by day, and then he discovered fairies. And kidnapped one. And after everything that had ever happened to him, at the age of 15 or 16, he was wiped. And soon, in a geography lesson about the artic, he had a relapse.
He sighed and opened his eyes. His life was not fun. Not at all. Reaching home, he wished his mother a Merry Christmas with a fake smile and walked into his room. It was Friday night. Taking out the blade, he sliced his wrist, as he had, every week, for the past 13 years. The blade had long lost its shine, rim caked with some unknown substance. Unknown to him, one of Foaly's camera's was recording this, and was about to be rediscovered by Holly…