What you are about to see, dear reader, is a look into the life of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third whose mother was killed and his leg was lost. Lo and behold, an in depth look at this moody, melancholy genius. Enjoy

The piano strings moaned and the keys plonked and plunked. The notes that emanated from the piano were strained. Tortured. The music that was supposed to thrill the listener and satisfy the player was now twisted, bent and distorted. The pianist frowned and stopped playing, his fingers no longer touching the ivory keys. The magnificent grand piano was now silent. No sounds touched any ears, no music played, no minds were touched. The pianist that was just a small boy sighed and rested his head against the keys, letting out a long dissonant chord. The boy moaned. He would never master this. He sat up and stared at the sheet music placed in front of him. For minutes or hours, he sat there and read and examined and read and memorized. Until finally, he rested his fingers upon the keys and began to play. Oh! What a feeling that boy had when the notes and chords that emanated from the piano were no longer horrid and instead, they were sweet and touched the ears with a lightness that would rival a feather. His fingers started to flow across the keys and a smile began to touch upon his face. He started to play faster and faster, until the wonderful noise that erupted from the strings of the piano were absolutely, amazingly deafening. His smile grew even larger and he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and all the while, his fingers never left the keys. He soon reached the climax of the piece and he ended with a final, satisfying chord. He ran his fingers through his hair, hardly believing what he had achieved. He had done it. He jumped up and punched the air, hooting and crying out in gleeful victory. Suddenly, he heard his name called and he rushed out the door. His father and mother were taking him out to see an opera, something he had requested. He called out to them and clambered into the car. This was turning out to be a great day!

The boy didn't even see the oncoming truck. Neither did his parents. They had reached a busy intersection and once the light had turned green, they started forward. In a split second, the truck had slammed into the side of the car. The resulting crash killed 3 people. Of these 3 casualties, one of them was the boy's mother. The two other casualties were pedestrians that were caught in the way of the wreck. Of all those that could've survived, the boy did which was, in his words, 'unfortunate'.

- 8 years later -

The room was dark, with only a few swathes of sunlight entering the room through closed blinds. The air in the room had a touch of something horrid. The dark grand piano that sat in the middle of the room was silent and it still had plastic wrapped around its legs. It had just been moved from halfway across the country. The boy, now grown into a healthy 17 year old, hefted the piano's seat into the room and set it in front of the keys. He sighed and sat on the seat, groaning as he did. He pulled up the right leg of his trousers, to examine his new prosthetic. It was a new model that should allow him to move faster and be a tad more agile. Its sleek, black carbon fiber shell was brand new, along with everything else, the joint, the 'bone', everything. He tapped the shell and the sound that reached his ears was dull and short. He flinched involuntarily. He spent a few more minutes examining his new limb before pulling his pants leg down and putting his new foot on the floor. He ran his tongue over his teeth and turned his attention to the piano. He ran his fingers over the keys, gently pressing some to sample the sounds that they made. He then stopped and rested his hands near the center of the keys. Maneuvering his fingers into the right spots, he began to play. Oh, what I would give to make you hear this as well. I wish with all my heart, reader, that you too be able to hear the soft delicate melodies that came from that piano and from that boy. He played with distinct lightness and his tune was happy and fast though his face showed no emotion except a certain melancholy.

Then, after the 3 minute mark into his gay (gay as in happy, dear reader. Music, good music that is, should never be called 'gay') tune, it turned from a wonderful romp into a dark, depressing trudge. His notes became more heavy and deep. His fingers no longer touched the keys and instead, started to press harder on them. His straight mouth now curved downwards at the edges. Now, he started to go faster and every time he increased the pace, the tune would get deeper and harder. That cacophonic, symphony of darkness filled the air and resonated in the pianist's ears. He started to slam on the keys, making the tune even the more louder until it became a deafening, melancholy roar that makes one's heart tremble.

Then the tune slowed and calmed and quieted but that did not make it any less depressing. Instead, the tune got even more miserable. In an unrelated note, should I die tomorrow, I would like this boy to play something at my funeral, preferably this song.

Finally, after 10 minutes, he stopped. His fingers ceased to move and the room was now silent. And tears were springing from his eyes, memories of his mother resurfacing as they often do. He started to sob and he rested his head upon the keys, another dissonant chord ringing out. Behold, fine audience, this boy. The boy who lost his mother and his leg in one tragic accident, 8 years ago. Behold, the sad, disheartened, depressed, moody genius of a boy. What is this boy's name? Hiccup.

Author's note: Please tell me what you think of this. If it does well, I will continue it. If it doesn't do well, f*ck it, I'll continue it anyways.

Thanks for reading,

-Ripley