The Shadow

Barefooted and alone, he walked towards the streets where vehicles sped past by him in a mere blur, a grim yet accepting smile tugging at the edges of his dry lips as he felt the wind whip against his skin. No one would notice even if he crossed the street, and no one will care. Everything will be alright, he thought. Without another word, he took a step forward and another. And then he smiled.

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Warning: Self-harm, depression, etc...

A/N: I suck at angst so I hope you bear with me! ^^

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It hurts.

Staring blankly at the photograph which was taken not too long ago when he used to be a part of Teikō, Kuroko could feel his lax grip tighten against his own will, his expression strained and pained. He could remember everything; what they used to be, what they all had, what they could have been, and what they had turned out to be.

It all happened too fast, he couldn't help but think.

Everything that they all had once was in the past.

A memory to be forgotten. A tragic story to be told. A thought to be locked away.

And it hurt Kuroko so much that only he could remember it.

They were unreachable; miracles, as their name entailed. They were far beyond anybody's reach, their talents all but too polished and their potential too sharpened for someone as ordinary as him.

But he didn't give up. He didn't avert his eyes. He didn't feel terrified or scared.

No, Kuroko was stronger than that.

Dropping the photograph on the nightstand situated beside his bed with a soft sigh, the teenager slowly pushed himself away from the wall and sat upright. He pressed his palms against his face and stifled a sob as his eyes fell on the wristbands that he usually wore when they used to have a basketball match and all the injuries that littered his wrists underneath the ornament's surface. Without removing the wristbands, he could tell; he saw them every single day before he lays sleepless on his bed for another night. They existed - hideously ugly and so infuriatingly agonizing - but they remained unseen and concealed from the rest of the world's prying and seeing eyes.

(Just like him, he thought.)

Years and decades of being forgotten and ignored, being one of those people who simply didn't mean anything to you but just existed in the background and being that one person who all the people couldn't seem to remember. It was painful. It was excruciatingly agonizing.

Kuroko was born with the ability to be overlooked; to be unseen and to remain unnoticed. His words, his actions and his identity were nothing to all the other people. They didn't bother to concern themselves with him. It was hard because no one could understand his pain; no one would be there to listen to him. No one would be there to befriend him. No would be there to pat him in the shoulder and assure him that everything is going to be okay.

No one was there for him.

He was alone.

Alone, and always alone.

Living a life of isolation, he thought, might have been what forced him to keep all his thoughts to himself. He knew that no one would be there to listen to him. He knew that no one would bother to just look at him in the eyes and sincerely see him with their own eyes, talk to him, and know him.

No, no one was there. He was alone.

So he kept it all to himself.

Bottled up, screwed tight, thrown ocean deep and forgotten.

But not necessarily non-existent.

It was still there. Waiting.

Waiting for that time when the waves will carry it to the shore, waiting for that time when the bottle floats to the surface and bursts open, waiting for that time when it just breaks.

If I shout, will you hear me?

Or will I be ignored?

Will I remain unnoticed?

Kuroko let his hands fall beside him and glanced at the mirror fixated to his left with a dazed expression. Tears marred his pale face and his eyes were hauntingly empty and blank, as if the tears he had cried had all dried up and he couldn't bring himself to cry anymore. His lips were chapped and dry, and the bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't been sleeping properly for the past few weeks- if not months.

It was a rather depressing sight.

He weakly pushed himself off of the bed with a soft grunt and stood on his own two feet.

It was cold and it was dark outside, but what was the point, if he was going to lie awake yet again for another night?

And so, he opened his door and left.

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No one said that he had to return.