Just a sad Kames story.

Every slice filled him with something he didn't quite understand. It stung and it burned; it made his eyes well up and his breath quake uncomfortably form his lungs.

But it also lifted a weight off his shoulders.

Only one night set him off, one night where he couldn't take the pressure anymore. That razor blade had been incredibly inviting.

It was like smoking; once he started he couldn't stop.

Another slice. Blood down the drain. Scars thin and pale like spider's legs.

Long sleeves to cover, every day. Wristbands if he couldn't manage that. But it didn't really matter. Nobody noticed.

A scarlet sink lay before him. One more slice. His hand trembled too much to do it; he couldn't see through the tears anymore.

He dropped the blade into the sink. He would clean up when he was bandaged up. When he could make out what was bloody and what wasn't. Not that it mattered.

Nobody ever noticed. Nobody cared.

A punch and he doubled over. His stomach heaved. He coughed, choked on his own fear. On his own terror.

Family was supposed to be something to cherish, not something to bruise until black and blue.

A smack that knocked him to the floor. An impact he barely felt anymore. The face was usually something left pretty clean. He didn't want too much attention drawn to his face at school.

Not that anyone would notice.

A kick to the stomach. He heard names being shouted, names he was being called. He barely heard them anymore; his ears were ringing too much.

It may as well have been a different language.

Why did his family like to see him cry?

He felt ashamed to cry every time it happened. He felt ashamed to have reddened eyes and a purple face.

But nobody ever noticed. Nobody cared.

This is more than a one shot, if anyone's wondering! You can call this a prologue. Review, methinks?