The Origin Of Ticci Tobi

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Toby grew up with many mental illnesses that made him difficult to get into society. His illness caused him to be classified as unsuitable for a normal school. Through the permanent bullying, he was taken back from school and taught at home. He grew up with few or no friends. Toby lived with his mother, his older sister Lyra, and his father. When Toby was 17, and his older sister had a heavy car accident that killed Lyra. Shortly thereafter, Toby became more and more problematic and the symptoms of his illness worsened rapidly. He scarcely missed anything, only rarely fell in love with the room and completely departed from the evening. He lost more and more of his memories and underwent the stress by gnawing his flesh from his hands. Soon Toby lost his mind, took his father in the night and fled with a box full of hand axes and a benzine gun. He lit the neighborhood to get cursed in front of the police. However, when he tried to curse, he was locked up by the flames and had to face his own death. Before he became unconscious, however the Slenderman emerged and saved him. When Toby regained consciousness, he had no memories of his past and soon became one of Slenderman Proxies.

The long road home seemed to go on and on. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle endlessly.

The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns, every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes.

The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. The only sound was the sound of the cars engine as it traveled down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling.

Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of 'nice' for both passengers.

The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat short brown hair that fit her complexion quite well. She wore a green v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond stud earrings decorated each of her ears which partially showed from behind her hair cut. She had deep green eyes which where brought out by her shirt, and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any 'average mother' that you'd see on t.v. shows and such, but one thing for sure made her differ from those 'average mothers' and that was the dark bags under her eyes.

Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot.

She would sniffle every once in a while, and occasionally glance back in the rear-view mirror to look back at her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, his arms held tight around his chest, and his head pressed against the cold window.

The boy lacked any normal appearance, anyone could blandly see that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way, and his pale, almost gray skin was brought out by luminescent lighting. His eyes where dark, unlike his mother's and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital. The clothes he had worn before where so shredded and blood stained, that they weren't 'wearable' any more.

The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with his split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged up all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shattered glass.

His injuries appeared to be painful, when really he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. That was just one of the glories about being him. One of the many challenges he had to face growing up, was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Never before had he felt himself get hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. That and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nick names in the short time he attended grade school, before he was moved to home schooling was his Tourette syndrome, which caused him to tic and twitch in ways he couldn't control. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Ticci-Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking, or more like stabbing fun at him.

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