Originally Posted by StarShine

Why. Was. IT. EVERY. BLOODY. TIME.

Was someone trying to torture him? If so, they accomplished their goal long time ago. Was it like, 'okay you are a wizard, but you cannot be that happy.'? Was it? If so, he wasn't happy AT ALL! He could stop being happy anytime. He could just be sad and never endure this. He was even willing to never meet new people. He would always stick to those who knew. He'd met enough anyway. Really. Because this wasn't funny anymore. He was so sick of worrying every time about the reaction he would get. He was so sick of expecting to be laughed at. If he died early, this was the only reason to it.

So it began. Once that bloody-disgusting-horrible-vomity-stupid animal was mentioned, Forrest's thoughtful face went rigid and he could hold himself only until the boy finished talking. After that, once Forrest was thoroughly polite to wait for him to finish first, he really couldn't help it: his right hand started scratching his left arm, and his left hand had already begun leaving bright red marks on his neck. Obviously, he hadn't really listened to him after the f-animal's name. His neck hurt, and he knelt down, both hands scratching his head now. This was getting worse. So far, this itching frenzy had been limited to his arms and neck. To scratch his head--the boy was surely going to think he had flea.

After five second's scratching, he could finally tuck away his hands between his upper and lower legs as he kept kneeling, and closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to see the boy running away from him. He wanted to cry out of anger, actually. He didn't want any company. He would be happy scratching and crying.