Umbra sat in the back of the classroom, his head down, pretending to pay attention to the teacher's monotonous lecture. He could feel the whispers, the stares, and the occasional snicker. It wasn't unusual. It had been like this for as long as he could remember. No one cared about his pain. No one cared about his struggles. They were content just to point and laugh, to judge and ridicule. His parents had been taken from him, and yet they couldn't find it in themselves to show him any sympathy. The world never had, and the world probably never would.
Behind him, a group of kids started to laugh and snicker again. Umbra fisted his hands under the desk, digging his nails into his palms as they continued to mock him. His head started to pound. They were talking about his parents again, the ones who had been brutally murdered just a few months ago. They didn't even have the decency to let it go. It was as if his grief was nothing more than a joke to them.