User:Hunter1034/Through the Eyes of a Nobody

Alone is a fanfic to be made by Hunter that centers around his fursona Dalton the Cat. He'll be working on it as much as possible, and may end up drawing a comic about it. This page is only to be edited by Hunter, unless another has been given permission. Enjoy!

Story
Warning: Contains swearing

Forward thingy
Alone. There are few that truly understand what the word means. Fewer still know the emptiness of being surrounded by others and still feeling alone. I'm one of those few. I'm Dalton, the nobody of Fenton High-School. The people in my SRT (Student Resource Time) class say that an SRT is like a family. They call their classmates their SRT siblings, "brothers and sisters". They call our teacher their "father". Guess what they call me? I'm the illegitimate brother. I'm the bastard who nobody talks to unless they feel like making fun of me, or they need my help with something. I take the insults in "good humor", even help them on the rare occasion they come to me for it, but I'm still the outcast, the one nobody wants. The bastard.

Funny thing about that name is that it's technically true. I was born before my parents wedding, and was almost one when they did get hitched. By the original definition of the word, I am a bastard. They don't know this, probably best they didn't anyway, as it would just be more for them to "poke fun" at. I really don't need that...

Anyway, I'm you're average-looking red mobian cat. Er, I should be anyway. That's what my DNA says. For some reason that science can't explain I've got these purple markings covering my body. My DNA has nothing in it that says for my fur cells to create purple pigment, yet they do all the same. I've gotten plenty of "nicknames" from them. Even worse are the ones I get because of my intelligence and random knowledge of things. I could write a good sized paper on those...

Even worse than the hurt of the names is the hurt of being ignored. They rarely ever talk to me, and when they do its normally some insult or joke that I'm the butt of... Not much I can do about it, though, so I take my face and bash it into a miror, that way I won't have to see the pain, pain, pain.. Just kidding, that was a line from "Here to stay" a song my the group known as "Korn". I do that at times, breaking the fourth wall. It's quite fun, actually, and it keeps me happier than I technically should be given my situation.

Ch1
I wake up before my alarm. Again. Sitting up, I look at the clock. 5:40, twenty minutes before the thing goes into an annoying frenzy of beeping. I spend my 20 minutes of calm trying to figure out my dreams. I only remember a couple, one in which that Cheetah that's almost always in my dreams for some reason fed on my blood, and one that had me getting alone in a dark room, doing nothing but drawing. Drawing the same Cheetah that was draining me. I'm not shure what one I favored... Getting my blood drained felt enjoyable for some reason, and drawing's my only real enjoyment in life. Well, drawing and playing video games...

The alarm begins it's only reason for existance with the presision of a machine, and I climb off my bunk to shut the damn thing up. I slip out of the room and start my morning routine: Shower, eat, occupy myself for around 20 minutes, then gather my things and leave. Same thing every day. Dad usually comes home around the time I'm eating, and we talk about pointless things before he goes to bed. I get to the bus stop and wait for the hunk of yellow metal that makes fat people think of Twinkies, then climb abord. I sit by myself. Nobody talks to the red and purple freak of the Twinkie. A couple of kids thow paper balls at me. One is sopping wet, while the other crackles with static. Kinetics. I use a HB pencil to scrape the wet one of the seat in frount of me, and bat the cracklinig one off my ear.

(more later)