okay ill try my luck @ this one... 

an owl hooted up in the sky above It's head. The trees whispered goodbyes to It in the slight midnight breeze. It continued on, the sword capturing moonlight when there is a patch of sky that gleams down from a part in the trees. It stops, just for a second, and glances around with his invisible eyes. His invisible mouth whines with a drink of anything, for he is dehydrated. But It's invisible hands cannot see where his mouth is. Any water would go pouring back onto the ground. It's invisible cheeks are an invisible rosy pink, and sweat rolls down his forehead. It stamps his invisible feet impatiently- the faster they get There, the closer he is to using his invisible hands to find his invisible mouth and drink something. It was never easy being an It. But It knows that when he gets There, there will be all kinds of Its, where robes of every color on the rainbow. He will have friends there, people of his kind. For once he will not be the one sticking out. His invisible self laughs a little when he thinks that his sister will always be the one sticking out, because when she was old enough to pick her robe, she chose bright green. Robes can be taken off, ripped to shreds, or buried in a cave, but the color can never be changed for that is what the it who that robe belongs to will always be seperated from the others by. There is not one It that has the same color robe as another.

well this is getting pretty interesting! :D