Redhawk Caldera The best ever death metal band out of Denton

Maybe @Fox?

There were days, hard days, in which Whip felt like nothing more than a ghost. A spectral presence, withdrawn and drifting along like a pale shadow beyond the veil of recognition. An invisible, forgotten child among his family, he reasoned. He had seen the anguish in his parents eyes over Ferret, a monster beyond comprehension, and over Jackrabbit (who was not even his real brother, but a replacement, in the first place), but what of him? What of their own silent child? What of Whip's unspoken cries for help and attention? Nothing.

He continued to withdraw, inwardly spiraling out of control with abandon. Yet, all his turmoil went unnoticed to the rest of his family. Instead they spoke of Ferret... Of Jackrabbit... Of Peter -- the children they had already failed, but not of the boy they were actively failing.

He would be invisible no longer. Whip would make them see.

His tattered fore limbs bled freely. His wounds, self-inflicted. A dappled trail of crimson was left in his wake, marking Whip's staggered path though the rendezvous site under the pale light of the moon. He winced, fighting back both the pain and the urge to cry out for help. A sound passed his lips, but it was merely a resigned whimper. He kept moving, biting his lip as he pushed further into the rendezvous site where he knew he would be found.