So, this idea for this story just came to me. I don't know where it's going to go, but I just had to write this. I own nothing.

Chapter 1: Brown and Bruised

I missed my old life.

I missed the life I had, I guess I should say. I missed the smiles they brought, the laughs they contained, the memories they created. I missed the quiet evenings playing bored games with my mom and dad. I missed baking with my mom, talking to my dad, going outside and playing under the warm rays of the sun as my parents laugh and be the wonderful perfectly matched couple they were. I missed waking up to the smell of my dad's homemade chocolate chip pancakes, I missed my mom's soft humming as she cleaned the house, and most of all, I missed the way my parents would say to me, "I love you."

I missed those three words so much, and it has been so long since I've heard them.

My old life wasn't perfect, but I didn't ask for perfect. The little things that my old life contained had made it desirable. The way my mother hugged me when I would get upset, the little laugh my father would give me when I told a joke wrong, the way my parents would hold me tight when we were in a large crowd so they wouldn't loose me. These little things were what I missed the most.

But after my mother died, my father buried his sadness by working himself to the ground. He went to work extra early and stayed at work extra late. He just...forgot about me.

I sighed as my stomach growled loudly. I had just finished my homework, and I was starving. I hadn't eaten all day, and needed to eat or else I would pass out...again.

I walked out of my room and into the kitchen. My feet made no sound on the hard wooden floor. I scanned the shelves but I already knew there would be nothing here. My father rarely ever went grocery shopping. My stomach gave another painful growl.

I checked the fridge. It was practically empty, with only half a gallon of moldy milk and condiments in the door. I checked the drawers in the fridge and found a half eaten apple. I took it in my hands and closed the door. This would have to do.

I started down at it. Half of it was gone, and the other half was brown and bruised. Nobody would want it if they saw it at the store. I bet when it was bought it was shinny and clean and healthy just like all of the other apples. Somebody wanted this apple. And then, it was forgotten. Left, abandoned at the bottom of a fridge drawer.

And then I realized that I was the apple.

Half of me was taken when my mother died. I was wanted in the beginning. I used to be a healthy, happy boy. And then half of me disappeared, and I was abandoned. Left alone in a cornor. Brown and bruised from the fact that I was unwanted.

I took a bite out of the apple, and although the top of the apple was brown and bruised, it was sweet to the core. But that was the difference between us. I was not sweet to the core.

I finished the apple and then threw it in the trash. I started at it, now nothing but a core.

I ran my fingertips along the side of the counter. I closed my eyes and brought myself to a memory.

My mother was covering something in snow white flour. She hummed to herself as she rolled the flour covered something with a rolling pin.

"What are you making, Mommy?" Seven year old me asked.

My mother gave me a warm smile, her beautiful green eyes sparkling as she took my tiny hands into her strong ones.

"I don't know yet." She said to me, lightly placing her index finger on the tip of my nose.

"What do you mean, Mommy?" I asked. I giggled as she wiped the flour off of my nose.

"Well, Hiccup sweetie." She said, picking me up and then sitting me down on the counter. "What do you want it to be?"

"Hmmmm." I thought. "I don't know either."

She laughed at me and then patted my cheek. "Exactly. Some of the best things come out of the worst situations."

"But, then how do you know what you're doing?" I asked with curious eyes.

She smiled at me. "I don't."

I opened my eyes. My mother was the most imaginative person I knew. She always taught me little lessons in the craziest ways. But I loved her, and wouldn't ask for anything else.

But that memory was seven years ago. All of the smiles and laughs I had with my mother had vanished when the doctor came up to my father and I and told us the news.

That happy, healthy boy was long gone, and in his place was a miserable, malnourished boy who wanted to climb into a hole and just disappear.

I looked at the trash can before I closed the lid and started to climb the stairs, the apple on my mind.

It won't be long before I'm thrown away.

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