There are people who naturally stand out in a crowd. They don't try to, or do anything to demand such attention, but whenever they walk into a room all eyes instantly turn toward them. They have an aura of natural charisma about them, and everyone's their friend. They're always in the spotlight, and while they don't exactly welcome it, they don't push it away, either.

Those are the heros, the Yugi Motos and Seto Kaibas of the world. They draw all eyes to them, wrap the world around them like a cloak, all without realizing they're doing it at all.

There are people who work to stand out in a crowd. Maybe they grew up neglected or hurt, but they're generally good people. A lot of them are content to go through life with a few good friends that they'd trust with their life. They work to be heard, and often they are.

Sidekicks, that's what they are. The Joey Wheelers and Mai Valentines of the world. They're loud because they want to be seen, starve to be noticed. They sometimes steal the spotlight, but nobody minds.

There are people who hate to stand out in a crowd, but do anyway. They radiate such an aura of controlled fury or hurt, people instinctively back away and turn to stare. Often they don't look any different than you or I, but they stand out none the less.

Those are the villains, the Malik Ishtars and Pegasus Crawfords of the world. They're so quiet and sharp, they draw silence to them like a moth to flame, and no one can help but notice. They're the darker side of the heros, and the story can't be told without them.

Then, there are people who are always on the edges of things. They never truly belong to any group at all, they shy away from even those who consider them friends, afraid of being burnt. Or maybe, they don't belong to any group because they're simply never seen.

There was a moment like that in a movie I saw once, an American chick flick that I ended up renting because I was bored and badly in need of something to laugh at. A geeky girl with frizzy hair and glasses was sitting on a stone wall and reading a book, and a jock in a letterman's jacket came up and sat down right on her lap, then jumped as if he hadn't seen her there. Later she complained to her friend "Somebody sat on me again..."

People like this are never seen. They're too quiet, they keep their heads ducked too low. Normal people look at them, and their eyes slide right by, seeing nothing more than another bit of life, a piece of living scenery.

Often, these people secretly crave the spotlight, but at the same time work to make themselves smaller and unnoticable. They might get jealous of the heros or sidekicks, but they don't know it. Often they're too nice to realize what they're feeling is actually jealously. Many of them are pacifists, and keep their tempers No Matter What, which accounts for some of why they're never seen. They're too afraid of offending someone or hurting someone's feelings to join into any conversation, no matter how trivial.

At the same time, many of them are scared. They want so much to be seen, to be recognized. Often their inner selves are jumping up and down and screaming to be looked at, to be noticed, screaming so loud that it begins to drive them insane from the inside out...

And no one ever knows. No one cares. Not the heros, not the sidekicks, not even the villains. To those who draw the eyes of the crowd, those in the background have never existed. And so they hunch their shoulders and drop their eyes, and tell themselves that tomorrow, tomorrow they'll go and speak to someone. Tomorrow they'll make a friend. Tomorrow they'll finally be noticed.

And yet, when tomorrow comes, they're content to sit and read a book, or doodle in a sketch book, and no one ever comes near them, because even if they are seen by someone, they're seen as snobbish and aloof, and no one knows how much they crave to be loved...

No one knows why these people are like that, so excessively introverted and passive. Perhaps it's because they know they can never be a hero or a sidekick, even if they spend the rest of their lives trying. They know their hearts are too soft to be villains, and besides, they never get angry. Any hurt they have is cried into the pillow at night when no one can hear. Perhaps these people simply gave up.


And yet the inner mind still screams, begging to do anything that will get them noticed, but the person refuses. Fear, timidity, sadness, who knows what stills their hand and tongue, but they will always be silent, drifting across the margins of life. Never seen, never noticed, and when they're gone, no one will care...

These have no name, they are nothing to hero nor villain.

These are the Mihos of the world.

The Rashid Ishtars of the world.

And me.


I don't own any of the names mentioned, sorry.

Guess who's speaking, it's not that hard, considering who I write about constantly that wasn't mentioned in this fic.

God bless the outcasts.