Smile.

That's what he did every day, to hide his pain behind a mask.

He acted like he couldn't hear the insults, pretended he couldn't feel the hateful stares.

He just smiled away, thinking that it might someday be a real smile. Spotting his old friends, he ignored their glares and blocked all of the hate out.

Pulling out his barely-used phone, he started playing the first song on the usual song list. Ironically, it was the perfect song to match his mood.

He felt as if this single song summed up his whole life, filled with people judging him by his long-gone family. All they saw was the rumors that had spread like wild fire, passed on from friend to friend, family to family.

The rumor that he was the one that killed his own parents.

Keeping the fake smile on his face, he continued listening to the lyrics.

As he exited the school campus, he kept the smile in hopes that maybe the bullies would be nice and let him go home free today. But no luck.

Spotting Arlong and his cronies, he turned off his phone quickly. Knowing that he couldn't just walk away, he walked straight up to the bullies.

"Here for your beating, freak?" Arlong snarled. The said boy nodded, still keeping his grin in place. Arlong snorted, which was hard for him to do considering his flat, long nose.

Why did this kid never even try to run away? It was creepy how he seemed to enjoy the bullies hitting him.

Pulling back a fist, Arlong slammed it into the boy's stomach. His cronies caught on quickly, and soon left the victim battered up and bruised on the sidewalk. The boy stood up slowly, pretending he couldn't feel the pain.

Smiling again, he struggled to keep in the tears begging to come out.

Limping away, he realized that Arlong must have busted his head open or something. The familiar red fluid was slowly dripping down his forehead, threatening to get in his eyes.

Wiping away some of the blood with his hoodie sleeve, he reached his house. Living close to the school had advantages and disadvatages. Bullies could reach him easier and almost whenever, but he also never had to go far when he got injured.

Opening the worn-out door, he stepped inside.

"I'm home," he said softly to the empty house, knowing that he wouldn't get an answer. The only other ones here were the ghosts.

Walking into the bathroom, he set about fixing himself up. He knew he would hae to do it by himself. His mother couldn't. Neither could his father.

His parents were gone. Even if he was only a kid, even if he seemed dense, he knew from the moment the knife went into his mother's body that she was never coming back.

Shaking his head suddenly, he tried to get the images out of his mind. Smiling, he didn't notice that the sting in his eyes was gone.

Because the tears had long before started falling.