Thanks to ElliebearArts for the review and to Amicus Mortis for being my beta! :D Both mean a lot to me.

A/N: See? Daily.

Chapter Two= Social Isolation

By some miracle, you've managed to make it to your school without feeling any dread or fear. In fact, you feel determination for once. You are determined to prove the voice wrong and determined to not let the last few day's… incidents… stop you. You are silently grateful the kind adults at the orphanage let you stay in your bedroom to recover your strength and courage. You also applaud yourself on a job well done as you make it to your seat and take off your backpack. Breathing in deeply, you take in the smell of pencil shavings and absolute boredom.

You glance around at the other students as they wander around, talking with each other. Their laughter fills your ears as you painfully notice the large circle of isolation that they leave you in. Awkwardly, you pull out your school supplies, listening to the heavy thud of the books hitting your desk. It feels almost as if they're all staring at you.

Except, none of them are. They seem too engrossed in each other's conversations to pay attention to you. Their smiles, high pitched laughter, and conversations seem so noticeable to you suddenly as you feel like only a spectator. Only able to watch, but unable to join and be a part of them. You look at the way they stand close to each other, notice some wearing similar clothes, others wearing friendship bracelets; all of it slices into you painfully. You are an outcast.

Suddenly they're quickly running for their seats, pulling out papers and books frantically. They hurriedly whisper to each other and quickly you understand their frenzy. The teacher is coming. They're pretending that they're working instead of being honest that they spent the first few minutes of class socializing. Silently you wonder what that must've felt like. It seems like ages since last time you had a real friend.

You grip your pencil as a lonely feeling creeps into your soul. The teacher comes in and greets the class before quickly starting the lesson without much of a thought. It's math. Something about math. Except you can't seem to focus on it as you notice your pencil shaking with your hand.

It's not like being lonely is a problem to you. You've been alone before. You're used to being alone and in some cases forgotten and left behind. Yet, no matter how hard you convince yourself that it's fine, the longing for a friend grows within you. You just want some person to get you. To understand you. To do the silly things with you that you both enjoy. You want that. You want that so badly.

Maybe people like them don't exist. You frown at the thought as the teacher's words fade away. Only you and your desk seem to exist now as you stare at the graffiti other students left behind on it. There are hurtful words on it, none of which are directed to you at least. With that thought, you lean forward onto the desk and cross your arms, resting your head on them.

In fact, nobody here is rude to you. Not ever. Sure you get some weird looks when you say certain things, but not a single hurtful word has ever been said. You lift your head again and frown as you realize that nobody even notices you exist. You are nothing more than a whisper in the wind in their minds. A forgotten memory when you leave that will never return.

"They don't care about you." The voice returns and you cringe slightly. After so many peaceful days of it being silent while you stayed at home, it feels like the voice is cutting and ripping your soul apart. You grip the pencil tighter. "If you disappeared forever, nobody would notice. And nobody would care either."

You inhale deeply to try to focus on the teacher again and ignore the voice. You look at the teacher's glasses, how they reflect in the light and make it impossible for you to see their eyes. He's wearing a white colored shirt to look important as well as black sacks, the same ones he seems to wear every day. As you focus on the teacher, you are grateful to notice the voice shutting up.

The teacher is explaining something about multiplication with large numbers. He points to the whiteboard and uses various colors to help students in the class understand what he's trying to say. Around you, students are either hurrying to copy it down, stare blankly into space, or talk amongst each other quietly to not get in trouble.

You wonder silently if people think you're the kind of kid to also stare into space. Do they have no idea how hard it is for you just to come to this miserable place? Do they not understand that sometimes you cry yourself to sleep in absolute fear of coming here? To come only to be forgotten about? To be ignored? To be hated? To be unappreciated? To be forgotten?

The pain in your heart is back twice as hard and you grit your teeth.

You take a deep breathe to try to focus your thoughts. Calm down, it isn't that bad. It's all in your head. It's all in your head. You're making this up! It's as easy as that! You need to just breathe and everything will go away and be fine. It's just taking awhile for you to get better. You'll be good again someday.

"We should make them suffer like we have."

And with that, your pencil snaps. You jump in alarm and snap back into attention to watch the top half of your wooden pencil sail across the room. Fear is pounding in your chest as the pencil piece hits another student on the back of the head. You watch in alarm as the child angrily looks back to see who it was. He rubs his head angrily and glares at the student behind him who had been drawing pictures, unaware of the incident. In fact, it looks like nobody even noticed what happened, not even the teacher.

Before you can even react, the student suddenly punches the other one square in the face. "Hit me, and I hit you back!" He yelled to the student he hit. Before your very eyes they're suddenly wrestling and trying to throw each other out of their seats. You feel your heart start to beat wildly as you're helpless to watch, gripping the remains of your pencil. It wasn't his fault! It was yours! And it was completely an accident!

"I didn't hit you!" The other student cries, finally thrown from his seat and onto the ground. He quickly gets to his feet again and lift his fists defensively as the student who hit him stands. His face is red. "It wasn't me, I swear!"

Everyone else in the class is staring at the two as they glare at each other. Quickly, the teacher comes over and steps in between both boys, intensely staring from one to the other. "I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my classroom." He said to both of them sternly. Shamefully, the boy who got hit lowered his head as the one who hit him stared defiantly onward. "Go to the principal so you can explain yourselves this instant." He points to the metal door of the classroom.

Both boys leave, glaring at each other as they go. You wonder how good of an idea it is for the teacher to send them off by themselves without supervision, but you don't want to question. Especially when you can see the top half of your pencil on the floor by the boy's desks. If they found that pencil half and saw your broken other half…

You spend the rest of class dreading the thought of what could happen if anyone realized that you were the one who caused the fight.

-XXXXXXXX-

For lunch, you always hide in the corner of the courtyard, away from other students. Here you feel safe next to the tall oak tree that sits there with you. Its leafy green branches blow in the gentle breeze, bringing you a sense of comfort. Your parents had said that they loved trees and wanted to grow an orchard. You wonder if they were finally able to make one and if they had, were they coming to get you soon?

A lonely feeling settles on your soul again as you look down at the small dirt hill you made. The dirt that is still on your hands feels cool and moist, perfect to grow a garden in. The green grass underneath you is usually full of weird, gross bugs you can poke at or stay away from, whatever you choose. It's hours of endless fun by yourself over here.

Yet, you can't help but wish there was someone here with you. You look out onto the playground on the other side of the field and watch the sea of children your age run around on the set or talk in the hot sunlight. There used to be another group underneath the tree with you, but after a while they left and they now sit in the boring lunchroom.

Bitterly you remind yourself that you don't need friends. You have your weird adventure roommate at home who never comes to school, and when he does it's so you can listen to their feelings instead of your own. You have your books to read, your bugs to hunt, your animals to look at, your trees to climb. Who needs friends anyways?

I do. I need friends. You find yourself answering. The thought makes your heart hurt even more. It's like someone's stabbing into you with a sharp knife. The knife is digging deeper and deeper and twisting as it goes into your soul. You lift a hand to your lucky blue and purple striped shirt and grip at where your heart is at. It makes the feeling go away slightly, but soon it's back just as strong.

Why can't real friendships exist? The kind that seem to exist all around you? The legendary friendships that seem to exist in every TV show or video game? Why isn't there someone who just completes you in friendship? You've heard of soul mates before, but at this point they didn't seem to exist either. You've lost so much and there doesn't seem to be a point to even bother trying again.

"There isn't such thing as real friends. They're just going to hurt you and abandon you like all your other friends did at some point."

For once the voice may be right. You grip at your shirt tighter and pull your knees to your chest. You've gone through so many "friends". All of them have left you to go somewhere else or abandoned you for better friends. It doesn't help that you've moved schools too and the old friends you had forgot about you. What kind of friends were they if they don't even bother to try to remember you?

You put your face in your knees as another lump forms in your throat, but you manage to swallow this one. Friendship is a luxury, but not a necessity, you tell yourself bitterly. A hardness seems to grow within your soul as you grip at a nearby stick that had fallen off the tree.

You lift the stick up after a moment and stare at it as you turn your head on your knees. You look at the strange markings on it. All the markings tell you that this stick has survived countless storms and years of being in the sunlight. It can survive anything. Slowly, you look up at the tree and ask the tree if things will get better.

The tree doesn't answer, but you didn't expect it to.

Your gaze shifts to look past the tree. In the distance you can see Mt. Ebott rising high into the sky. It seems so green and full of life. Everything that lives on it looks to be so peaceful, so happy, and so much better off than here.

You wonder silently what it must be like to be standing on top of the mountain, looking down at all the little people below you. What it must be like to be above the struggles that this place brought upon you. What it may be like to not be held down by this anymore. The thought actually makes you smile as you imagine no longer feeling like this anymore and some part of you longs to climb the mountain.

Too bad everyone that goes up there never comes back, you suddenly remember. The smile fades quickly and is replaced with a faint frown. You look away from the mountain and the sadness from before returns, chilling your soul and making you feel sick again.

For once, the voice is silent and doesn't taunt your thoughts. Some part of you finds relief in the silence, but you are also uneasy. You don't like the voice. It's been here ever since the problems started hitting you and it hasn't gone away since. You wonder if there's a way to get rid of the voice. Perhaps you should talk to someone about it.

"They'll think you're crazy and lock you up in those insane asylums. Then you'll be stuck with just me in the end anyways. At least then, you'll never have to worry about fake, heartless friends!"

So much for the silence.

Your gaze focuses on the stick that is still in your hand. With it, you draw random shapes and spirals in the dirt. Even though you're not the best artist, you still find some relief in focusing on this instead of the pain inside of your soul.