Herman's face smashed against the cheap leather of the bus seat in front of him when the bus hit a large bump. After his body jolted back from the impact and he had enough time to lament the new purple bruise that contrasted his mocha skin, he settled into the seat again... alone as before. Next to him was the green backpack with an assortment of stickers of favorite basketball stars, cartoons, and novel titles. He didn't make much noise, not that it would matter if he did; his voice was so shaky and soft no one would hear him anyway. As the bus came to a stop, he wrestled his tie back into place--if there is one thing he did take pride in, it was his presentation. A mesh black suitcoat decorated his thin frame and made him look sleeker than normal. When the bus halted, he freed himself from the cold leather seat and swung the dual-strap backpack over his shoulders.

	He dragged a suitcase beside him that had some strange elvish looking language scrawled in its oak. He let it scrape along the concrete, a dense rustling screech of wood grated against the thick concrete. The sound didn't bother him, though it may annoy others, he thought. His moment of altruism passed, before him reigned a massive ornate entrance, decorated like one of those old Victorian mansions from an Austen novel. He reveled in it for a moment. Once more his astonishment gave way to indifference, and he proceeded to pull the suitcase behind him until he reached the massive doors. He reached for the large door handle which seemed twice his size--there was no way he was opening this door by himself.

"Hey, can someone help me out?!" Herman huffed, using all the strength in his one minuscule arm, but to no avail. And on top of that, he smelt pancakes. He was starving! [i]Death[/i] his over-dramatic thought began, [i]is sweet.[/i]