The snowflakes blissfuly fall on Lark's dry skin. He looks up. Moving his furry hood out of the way, he spots the goalkeeper. His eyes narrow down. His left foot takes the kick, moving back then accelerating forward and kicking the ball in a perfectly straight line. His team cheer on. The ball files though the air, about to impact. The goalie moves to the left when the wind shifts the ball in the other direction. GOALLL----!

Lark sits up straight, gasping. He looks at the clock. 4:50 am. Haunted by the dream of even having friends makes Lark cry in pitty for him self. He wipes the tears of with his scarred left hand.

He lies back down, covering him self with a thick blanket.

Another day at school in 3 hours, another day of being Alone.

He closes his eyes, and thinks back to the time where he had freinds, where people understood him.

The vast complex of his brain races through the memories.

We begin with the first, memory he recalls.