A young boy awoke as the sun began to creep over the horizonline. A spottless sky was an indigo color blended with slight pinks of the approching sun. The young boy groaned slightly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked around his... living quaters. A filthy, broken mattress lied in the center of moutains of illgeally dumped trash. With a sigh, the boy rubbed his wrist with callous hands - feeling as his joints hitched from last's night transformation. No, all joints, all muscles in his body held a dull, but searing ache. He stopped his stretches and stared lamely at his dark skinn, spotted with dirty, scars and fresh cuts. He growled - an unatural, inhuman growl - as he stood up shakily on his legs. His legs crouched slightly underneath him, his body hunched over as it took him many moments to readjust to standing. Eventually he straighted his body up, allowing him to clumisly slide off the mattress and walk picarelously on the unsound struture of trash.
He stopped in his tracks though, staring up at the moon that still hung up in the early morning sky. "I wonder. Did I really dream last night?" he asked to the moon, "or was I just imagining that I dreamed?"
There was a pause, as if he waited for the moon to respond, before he sighed. He closed his unnatrual looking golden-amber eyes and held his head with his hand. "Oh why do I ask," he mumbled, "I can't really dream."
With that the boy opened his eyes and marched away from his sleeping quaters - letting unnaturally strong sences of scent and touch lead his down the heap and off to find his breakfast.