The Writings of Coyote

[Guest Coyote]

Well, I wanted to give you all a taste of my writing through the years while you wait (patiently, and I hope, not vainly) for Vengence of the Son, my Star Fox fan novelization.

Here, I'll be posting some of my poems, short stories, and maybe even a few songs I've written over the years. Some from my dark period, some pre-dating that, and some more recent. There might even be a Final Fantasy or Mega Man story thrown in there just for kicks.

With each work, I'll start off with a brief introduction to give you the basics . . . and if you're ever curious about something I say or don't understand what I mean (especially in my poems) feel free to ask. I've got nothing to hide (else I wouldn't be posting these for all to see now would I?)

Anyway, for now, we'll start it off with one of three poems I wrote a few years back dedicated to a very special friend of mine, who I, sadly, no longer know. At the time, she had a personal diary online and this was in response to an entry where she recounted how, during a time of great stress, she simply walked out into the rain and stood facing a river. It was one of those storms in the late evening when the sun is still shining low in the horizon despite the rain, and the imagery really inspired me.

Aeryn

One might never know it by sight,

All the pain, the war, the plight,

That washes oer her every day,

For all shell ever ask is pray.

Standing alone against the sun,

Upon a rivers front as one,

Whole, complete, wanting only peace,

And for all of the storms to cease.

Can you see her standing there?

The wind flowing through her soft smooth hair?

The eyes of blue that speak to you,

And tell of beauty strange and new.

Would that I could capture the scene

Upon a canvas that could be seen,

By all who have the heart to answer:

Why, alone, does she stand there?

Will no one comfort her in her need,

Give of your time, plant a seed

Of faith in a soul that has been torn,

By all the sorrows it has borne?

[XG Fox]

Wow... on a scale of 1-10, you've shattered the 10, that's for darn sure. Absolutely amazing, dude.

How does a 6336/10 sound? :lol:

[Guest Coyote]

Only 6336/10? Man, I must be slipping . . .

Heh heh, thanks for the compliment good sir. As always, I am humbled.

By the way, love your new avatar. Any homage to demi-humans and Cloud Strife is awesome in my book.

[XG Fox]

By the way' date=' love your new avatar. Any homage to demi-humans and Cloud Strife is awesome in my book.[/quote']

And/or Jon Talbain... that's just a really awesome sprite edit I found.

[EvolutionSFox]

^ You got that from Arwing Landing didn't you?

Nice by the way Coyote, 10/10.

[Guest Coyote]

Thanks for the good rating ESF. Hope everyone enjoys these.

Today, I bring you a short story I wrote a few years ago about the time I was a freshman in college. This comes from the beginning of my "Dark" period and is, understandibly, fairly dark and gloomy, especially toward the end. It was based off of a dream I had and is directed toward the girl who began what ended up being a seven year descent into the pit of depression and negative emotions. This is one of three unrelated stories that I used as a way of saying "good-bye" to the people I "loved" at the time and this story in particular is, by far, the darkest of the three.

Know that I'm nothing like the character in this story any longer.

Stranger at the Docks

I dont remember consciously deciding where I would go when put on my brown trench coat and stepped out of my house that cold, foggy, winters day; my feet just carried me along until I reached the docks. I walked out onto the concrete ledge and grasped the cold metal guardrail with both hands as I looked out over the water. I watched the mist float gently over the waters surface as I listened to the distant fog horns from the ships coming in from the ocean.

I started thinking about my life; retracing the steps that had brought me to this small fishermans village. Maybe it was the fact that I was tired of trying to earn a useless piece of paper from a college, maybe I was tired of everyone trying to control my life, maybe I was just tired of people. Whatever the reason, it didnt matter any more; I was here in this quiet, coastal village. A peaceful place where one doesnt need a PhD in Psychology to be able to understand its calming effects on ones soul. The people here are kind, and unlike anywhere else Ive ever been, they welcome me here; without hesitation, without fear, and without question. I guess I like the people of this town because they are all like meweve all got our dark pasts weve left behind.

I guess I thought I could just escape the world here in this small Alaskan village away from everywhere and everyone I had ever met. Working as a sailor on a small fishing boat had allowed me to make enough money to survive and friendships to replace those I had left behind. I was truly happy to be here; for the first time in my life, I could truthfully say I was happy. Yet, on that day as I stood looking out over the water, at a time when I had almost forgotten the bad memories of my past, I heard soft footsteps coming down the concrete steps onto the ledge. I somehow knew that those footsteps didnt belong in that place and could nearly see a visible darkness spreading in my minds eye as those steps came closer and closer. Upon turning to face them, I saw the embodiment of one of my worst memories, gloved hands clasped before her, looking at me as though she were seeing an old, dear friend with whom she only shared pleasant memories.

Hello, she said with a smile. I kept silent for a moment and looked at her; I could tell that my narrowed eyes and otherwise emotionless face were beginning to worry her. You . . . do remember me dont you? she asked after a long pause.

Youre hard to forget . . . I finally responded, my voice was deep and raspy; a sign of my anger.

She smiled, obviously either ignorant or uncaring of the way in which I said those words, How are you?

Lets skip the petty small talk . . . why are you here? I asked, rather angrily.

I was on a cruise through the area and I got a boat to bring me here when we stopped off at one of the larger ports.

Why?

Because I wanted to find you . . . I thought I wasnt going to be able to. I was heading back to the boat when I saw you here . . . I knew it was you . . .

I wondered why she wanted to see me; had she not hurt me enough before? How did you even find me in a place like this? I asked.

It wasnt easy . . . Ive been looking for almost four years.

Her words surprised me to the point that I had to ask, What would make you want to see me that much?

I wanted to straighten things out between us . . .

You came all this way just to apologize? I asked as I turned around and looked out at the water once again, You would have helped me more by letting me forget you.

My words finally sparked some anger in her and she walked over to my left side as she said, Youre not the only one whos got bad memories, you know? I just wanted to try and get rid of one of yours and maybe end up helping us both! she said angrily, and when I did not turn toward her she commanded, Look at me . . .

Why? I asked with a near spiteful tone.

Just . . . look at me . . . she repeated, softer now; and when I had done so she asked, What do you see?

Youve lost weight and cut your hair a little shorter . . . I said, although I knew what she wanted me to notice, However, I sense that not all of your recent past is filled with such good news.

Exactly. Im just like you now. Weve both got bad memories that were trying to escape from . . . we just have different ways of accomplishing that, she began. You remove yourself from your past and I run back to mine . . .

I suddenly knew why she had come all this way, but I kept playing along just in case I was wrong, What do you mean?

You saw the sadness in my eyes, right? she asked, My fianc�left me; I guess I wasnt good enough for him. I did everything I could to make myself better, but it wasnt enough . . .

That explains the physical changes . . . I said, looking away once again, That doesnt surprise me . . . football players dont tend to be the brightest or the most loyal of the bunch.

I wish Id known that before I gave him four years of my life . . . her voice trailed off slowly as she looked away.

Heh . . . dont we all . . . I said as I remembered the three years of sorrow she had put me through.

I came here to tell you that Im sorry for not really giving you a chance . . . I realize now, from how Ive been hurt, how you must have felt.

You believe that I felt that strongly for you? I asked, surprised that someone actually understood that despite my age back then, I was mature enough to feel deep love for someone.

From what I remember you telling me and what others told me . . . she paused as she turned toward me, . . . yes.

I see . . . well, you are forgiven of course. I appreciate your concern after all these years.

Thank you, she said, but after a short paused she admitted, But thats not the only reason I wanted to find you . . .

Oh? I said, although I was fairly certain of what she was about to say.

I . . . came here to ask . . . if youd be willing to . . . give me another chance, she said slowly. I could tell that she was as nervous as I was the first time I had spoken to her almost ten years before.

My beliefs confirmed, I simply said, I see . . . and after a long pause, I turned to her, And now I will ask you to look at me . . .

Okay, she said, I could sense her nervousness and could almost hear her heart beating quick and hard.

Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see . . . I said.

I . . . cant see anything out of the ordinary . . . I cant see through people like you can . . .

I thought so . . . I said as I turned away.

What was it? What did you want me to see? she asked, almost pleading me to tell her.

The truth.

What?

I decided against being blunt as I always do when put in such situations, Almost ten years ago, a boy fell in love with a girl. When he finally found the courage to make his feelings known, the girl agreed to give him a chance, but no matter how much the boy tried, he couldnt make himself good enough for her. His devotion did not earn him happiness nor love . . . instead it earned him sorrow and intense, unyielding pain . . . and slowly turning to her with narrowed eyes and a harsh angry tone, I finished, and it is in this pain that he died . . .

She took a step back, her nervousness becoming fear, What do you mean? she asked.

The one who loved you is dead . . . for when two people are in love, they give each other their hearts thus becoming one. However, when ones love is not returned, he gives up his heart and does not receive another back . . . a human cannot live without his heart . . .

Stop being symbolic and just tell me what you mean!

A sneer appeared on my face as I turned back to face the sea once more and let out a short laugh. Very well . . . about seven years ago, I finally realized the uselessness of it all . . . waiting, hoping, longing for the presence of ones love . . . what point does it serve in the end?

Its nice to know that you dont have to face each day alone . . . that you have someone beside you to help you, she said.

Would I have come herethe very edge of human civilizationhad I wanted female company? I asked harshly.

How can you be so cold?! she asked.

Arent all lifeless things cold to the touch?

She was taken back by my words for a moment, then she looked me dead in the eye as she began to weep, How can you just abandon the feelings you had for me?!

Because the one for whom I held those feelings abandoned me . . . I said coldly.

I said I was sorry!

Sorry doesnt erase whats happened! I can and have forgiven you because you are sorry, but I cannot forget the years of pain, isolation, near-madness, and rage . . .

We stood there in silence for a long time, until finally she said, I came here because I wanted to find happiness . . .

I thought it was amusing that one would come to a graveyard to find joy, but I held my tongue about that, Listen to me . . . happiness is a rare and wonderful thing in this world. I believe that one finds happiness when one finds where he or she belongs . . . I said as I turned to the sea, I belong here . . . in this distant, quiet village.

Then where do I belong? she asked as she looked down.

In someones arms . . . I said, but I am not the one, nor do I know who he is.

Do you think I can find someone? she asked.

That is up to you . . . I answered, Your hope and your willingness to pursue your dreams wherever they may lead are the things that will determine your future.

She remained silent for a moment before she lifted her head and smiled, Thank you . . .

No problem, I said with a half-smile, and then I heard a distant boats signal horn, But you had better hurry . . . your new life awaits, and so does your boat.

Oh, youre right! she said as she noticed the time, Im sorry I have to leave so fast, but thanks again, and I know well meet again one day! she said as she darted off towards the end of the pier. I watched her until shortly after she disappeared into the thick fog before turning back to face the sea again and erasing my false smile.

So were you telling the truth? an invisible voice to the left of me began. It was the voice of a boy; a voice I knew all too well.

About what? I asked, not surprised at all by hearing him.

Are you really happy here? asked the voice as it slowly began to take the form of myself ten years before, standing where she had a moment before.

Happier than I would be chasing after a dreams like you . . .

How can you say that?

Think about it. You would have kept suffering had I not finished you . . . I began, When you get a wound, you either dress it or you die from it . . . I just hurried the latter along.

I see . . . said the ghost.

Anyway, its best that she left; she doesnt belong amongst ghosts . . . at least not yet.

What do you mean by that? he asked.

Lets just say she was right about one thing . . . we will meet again one day . . .

So you dont think shell find love?

I sneered as I looked into grey sky above my head, and then closing my eyes and letting out a short laugh I simply said, Ive never been one to believe in fairy-tales . . .

[Guest Panther Caruso]

wow nice job!!

[XG Fox]

*jaw drops*

That's just awesome. 6337/10?

Wow... that's incredible... I don't think I could ever imagine you going through something like that, much less anyone going through that...

[Guest Coyote]

Thanks guys, I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Wow... that's incredible... I don't think I could ever imagine you going through something like that' date=' much less anyone going through that...[/quote']

All that and more. Seven years total, but broken into two main pieces. For three years, it was simply depression because of the girl referred to in this story. After I "got over" that, I had a brief reprieve when I thought everything was going to be okay. I had wasted three good years already and forever lost that time I could have been spending with my friends. I vowed that I would cherish every moment from then on. But, time is a fleeting thing, and I was foolish to think I could simply return after so long to find everything the same.

This next poem examines how I felt when I returned from my depression only to find everyone and everything I knew already gone. In reality, not every one of my friends were "gone" physically, but, over the next few years, they changed emotionally, even spiritually to the point where they were little like the people I once knew.

If you were to take anything from these poems, I pray that you will never long for what you cannot attain. I do not ask that you give up easily, but only that you not neglect the present, what you have now, for a lofty future goal. And when it becomes obvious that you will not attain something (or someone in my case) then do not mourn the loss . . . be thankful for what you still have. Above all, do not waste time you could be spending with loved ones by mourning over the past . . . for all to soon, loved ones may disappear and then you'll only long for the times you might have had with them.

The best advice I've ever given still stands: don't be like I was.

The Guardian of The Past

And he who thought he knew the future

Did return with haste unto the past

To the home of his childhood laughter

But his hopes and dreams were quickly dashed.

No one remained from his memory,

All was left in his leave he assumed.

Dust layered all that his eyes could see,

Once-lively halls were silent as tombs.

The places he knew, courtyards and rooms,

Lay ruined for time to rot away

But there within the midst of the gloom

Upon a table a note did lay.

We waited for as long as we could,

But we could not halt the coming age.

As the sun rose as we knew it would,

We knew it was time to turn the page.

This chapters done, but life must go on,

Perhaps one day we shall meet once more,

When to you does come the final dawn.

And those words did pierce him to the core.

Now he protects this tomb of the past,

Wishing for, his absence, to atone.

He preserves memories; helps them last.

Pray that no one else be so alone.

[XG Fox]

SEVEN years? No way... that's just too long...

Also, another great poem!

[Guest Remus_Lemures]

dude, that's cool.

Krystal is hot!

Out of topic, but pointless. nevertheless

[EvolutionSFox]

*jaw drops*

That's just awesome. 6337/10?

Wow... that's incredible... I don't think I could ever imagine you going through something like that, much less anyone going through that...

Ditto!

[Guest Coyote]

Tonight, I bring you another one of the "Set of Three": the stories I used a few years back to say "good-bye" to the three people I "loved" then and throughout my life. This story, an amalgam of at least two dreams, is directed towards a girl who's gone by many names in my stories and she's unconsciously been the basis for almost every female character I've ever made. Why? Because for fourteen years, from the age of 6 to 20, I adored her. Having met her in the first grade, we were quite old friends. Physical beauty she had, in spades, but it was her sensitivity, her beautiful voice, her persona . . . and the fact that when no one else wanted to be around me . . . she was willing to speak to me.

And if you want to hear the sad part . . . in my senior year of high school, it was painfully obvious that we both liked each other . . . but we were too afraid to let it show. I believed she would never be interested in a guy like me . . . and she believed that I wasn't interested in her. Why couldn't she feel the way my heart pounded when we embraced . . . why couldn't I feel the same from her?

Regardless, high school ended and our paths diverged. I never saw her again, and only spoke to her once in that time over e-mail (I'll post the poem I wrote concerning that event later). Last I heard, she's married and everything's wonderful in her life.

But this doesn't depress me . . . it makes me smile. You see, I realize something now . . . I did love her, and while it was once the love born of passion and selfish lust, it's since transformed into something else: real, true love. The kind of love that isn't selfish, that doesn't seek its own desires. I want the best for her. I always wanted her to be happy. I love her with the love of caring . . . the love that wants to do things for others . . . not for itself. The ultimate in unselfish love that's willing to give everything . . . even it's own life for the one it loves. Now, I'd only want her to be with me if that's what would make her happy . . . but she doesn't need me to find joy, nor do I need her to find joy in my life.

But I digress . . . heh, sometime I really do sound like an old man . . . anyway, this story is a common theme in my work from this period: my desire to be a martyr; to die for a cause or a loved one. It is also the second use of my young "ghost" form. This story also marks the beginning of my trend of making the title of stories and poems either the first or last line in the story. And without further ado . . .

Something Worth Living For

Life tends to get repetitive sometimes. Get up, get ready, go to school, come home, and get ready to do it all over again. Thats all that my life had been for the longest time. Not that getting an education was a bad thing, and its not like I didnt enjoy being around my friends, but it did tend to get monotonous after awhile. But you know, its dangerous to wish too hard for something to break the monotony, because you know what they say, Be careful what you wish for . . .

There wasnt anything particularly different on that warm spring day as I prepared for school, and almost without a thought, I was out of my car and walking toward schooltrumpet case in my right hand and backpack on my back. There was the usual crowd of people out in front of the schools main entrancejocks, cheerleaders, danceline membersthe kind of people I didnt have too much to do with and who didnt have much to do with me either. To the right of the main entrance separated by a two foot layer of bricks that stopped at the base of the last step was the entrance to the music hallthe place where I was most comfortable. There were a few freshman and sophomores playing hacky-sack and a few others standing on the steps and talking. I made my way through them and up to the four band doors at the top of the steps, banging hard on the second door from the right until one of the lazy drummers opened it for me.

Almost always I would have to push my way through the crowd at the door to get to my spot between a collage of pictures of old members of the band and the rectangular box that held the fire extinguisher; today was no different. Several of my friends had already gathered near that spot and once I put my backpack and trumpet down, I joined them. They greeted me warmly as usual and proceeded to have the usual conversations about how stupid the new dress code and I.D. badge rules were and then a few of them talked about amusing things that had happened to them.

Standing as silent as always, I listened intently to their words and threw in a random word or snicker when appropriate. However, my attention was soon garnered by a scene down the hall between both sets of lockers outside the band room doors; one of my peersone who had attained a reputation of being the culmination of the word geekwas being picked on as usual by some of the members of the band. He had been my friend at one point, but because of how he was treated, he began to change for the worst. He had been a Christian at one point but from what I had been hearing of his actions then, he was somewhere between pervert and devil-worshiper. I felt sorry for him, of course, because he reminded me of all the times I had been in his position just because I made good grades and had once worn glasses. However, I noticed that this time was different; he wasnt yelling at them to stop or even trying to fight against them. I remember thinking how strange he looked wearing a thick brown jacket on such a warm day, but also with the look in his eyethe look of madness, a look that I could pick out anywhere.

Finally, one of the bullies shoved him hard into the wall behind him, but instead of yelling in pain, he reached inside of his jacket and a moment later, time seemed to come to a halt as his attackers life was ended at the sound of a gunshota sound that overcame the din of a hundred voices and drew all eyes to the center of the hallway. A few girls screamed out of shock as everyone backed away quickly; the bullys lifeless body fell back onto the blood-splattered wall behind him and then slid down until it came to a rest in a sitting position on the ground. I pushed through the crowd and stood before everyone until I was the closest to this killer who I had once known.

Nobody move! he shouted as he spun around again and again, holding the pistol with both hands as he shook like a leaf in a strong wind.

I had managed to remain virtually level-headed in the face of this violent act and I was the first to speak, Why? was all that I said.

Because Im sick of being treated like c-rap!! he said as he turned to me, Im tired of no one respecting me and I want everyone here to know that Im not some wussy dork!

Yeah . . . now youre a cowardly murderer . . . I said as I glared at him.

Shut-up! he commanded me, his voice high-pitched and trembling.

You think youre the only one who gets picked on? You think no one else understands? Well youre wrong. I know exactly where youre coming from, man. The only difference between our situations is that I found good enough friends to stick by me no matter what and let me know that Ive got better things to do than pay attention to some stupid moron whose only goal each day is to see how many people get upset at his juvenile insults! I answered coldly.

I said shut-up!!! he repeated as he cocked the .44.

Let me ask you something . . . I began as I took a step forward, Was it worth it?

Yeah . . . yeah . . . it was . . . just to see him dead . . . he said as he sneered at the body to his left.

Did that change the past? Did that make all your bad memories go away? Did it prove anything at all? Or did you just decide that your future now only has two options - execution or life in prison?

Dont make me kill you!! he screamed.

Whatdidnt get enough the first time? Need to kill someone else?! Fine, take your best shot!!

Dont push me, man!!!

Why not? Youve killed one person, whats another? I said as I took another step forward.

Ill kill everyone here if I have to!!!

You dont have the guts or the bullets! I shouted, Now give me the gun and maybe theyll be merciful and give you life instead of execution.

Back-off, Fox . . . he said as he leveled the gun on my face, still shaking terribly.

Its over . . . give me the gun . . . I said as I held out my hand and stepped within four feet of him.

Stop! I dont want to kill you!

Shoulda felt that way about him . . . I said as I motioned to the body. As he followed my hand and looked slightly toward the body, he lowered his pistol slightly and I knew this was my chance. I lunged forward and grabbed the gun, moving it quickly to my right. My instincts having taken control of my body, I was hardly even aware that the gun had gone off a second before I pried it from his hands, threw him into the wall to the left, and punched him hard in the face far beyond the point of unconsciousness until he was nearly dead. I finally regained control of myself enough to stop and allow his body to fall to the ground; his bloodied, battered face falling forward as all motion ceased from his unconscious body.

As my adrenaline began to die down and my instincts gave up control, I became aware of a sharp pain on the right side of my chest. I hardly felt anything at first, but when I looked down and found a small hole in my chest, my eyes widened in terror and my mouth fell agape. I was dying. I could feel my life leaving me. The blood that now flowed from my chest quickly spread over and stained my white shirt. Time had come to a stand-still as, in disbelief, I put my left hand over the hole before raising it to my face and examining my blood-soaked finger-tips. A few moments later, without a word, I fell to my knees. As I started to fall forward, one of my friends caught me and laid my body down as he supported my head. A few people tried to keep the crowd away from me while others screamed for help. My vision was starting to blur as I began to loose consciousness, but I slowly turned my head to the right and happened to see an old friend looking down at me with tears in her eyes holding both hands over her mouth in shock. I was surprised to see her in the band hall; I guess she was heading to the choir room early. Regardless of how or why she was there, I was happy to see her. I raised my right hand and signaled for her to come closer. She was apprehensive at first, but finally complied with the wishes of her dying friend. I asked for everyone to stand back and for my friend to prop me up against the wall before he too, stood back.

She knelt next to me and took her hands away from her mouth as she looked at me and said, Dont worry, Fox . . . theyre calling an ambulance now . . . youre gonna be fine, she said as she tried to form a reassuring smile.

A weakly smiled as I looked away from her, Im afraid its too late . . .

Dont say that! Youre gonna . . . but I shook my head and stopped her.

I dont know how much time I have left . . . but . . . theres something . . . that I wantno . . . need to tell you . . .

Go . . . go ahead, she said as she fought her tears.

Weve known each other for a long time . . .

Almost twelve years . . . she said with a teary smile.

After first grade you disappeared for a long time though . . . but unlike anyone else who did the same at some point in my life . . . I never forgot you . . . and when I saw you again six years later . . . I knew instantly that it was you . . .

I thought youd forgotten me . . . she said bashfully as she looked away.

Itd be easier to forget how to breathe . . . I said softly. My words surprised her with their seriousness and she looked into my eyes once more before I slowly, laboriously, continued, Over the years, I finally realized why I could never forget you . . . youre more than just a pretty face or a pretty voice . . . youre the . . . most beautiful thing Ive ever seen. And I finally realize now the truth. I . . . love . . .

But she stopped me, Dont say it . . . she said as she looked away.

Why?

She could no longer fight the tears as she looked me dead in the eye and shouted, Because I love you too and I dont want to think about living without you now!!

We sat in silence for a moment before I sadly said, I . . . wish I could hold you . . . but my hands . . . are too stained . . .

She hesitated for a moment before taking my bloody hand in hers so that each of our fingers was between those of the other person. Then she looked deep into my surprised eyes and said, So are mine . . . as she wrapped her arms around me. We held each other for a long moment as I weakly embraced her and laid my head on her shoulder. Why didnt you tell me before?

I didnt think Id be worthy of the Holy Grail . . . I said softly.

Fox . . . please . . . dont die . . . she softly pleaded after she pulled away a moment later.

I touched her cheek softly with the back of my unstained right hand and gently pushed her long beautiful brown hair from her face, Theres . . . something Ive always wanted to say to the person I truly loved . . . to you: I love you more than life itself . . . I began, I . . . I guess I have to prove it now . . .

She leaned forward suddenly and kissed me. It was the moment I had always dreamed about, the moment I had prayed for; and in the midst of that terrible pain and anguish, we found joy for one, all-too-brief moment. It went on for an eternity, but even eternity wasnt long enough; it ended, and our eyes met as she pulled away.

Youve always . . . been the only one who could ease my pain . . . emotionally and now . . . physically too, I said with a smile as I struggled to keep my eyes open, Thank you . . . for always being there for me . . .

Didnt you realize I wanted to help you because I loved you?

When you spend most of your life . . . experiencing disappointment . . . you learn not to hope for anything . . . because youre pretty sure . . . you wont get it. But, I was wrong . . . wrong about the one thing I wanted most, I said as I touched her face again, . . . you . . .

Dont leave me . . . she softly pleaded as she lowered her head, her tears falling from her cheek onto my shirt.

I . . . love you, and as I slowly said those words, I felt myself slip away and at their conclusion, my eyes closed and the last thing I saw was the face of the one I had loved for so long. It was a fitting end to the story of my life; or at least, it would have been.

I awoke on a black, featureless plain, the boundaries of which were hidden in the darkness. I was lying on my back and staring up into a bright light that illuminated a radius of less than three feet around me and nothing more. I slowly rose to one knee as I looked at my hands and body to notice that all of the blood and even the bullet hole were gone.

This isnt like you, Fox . . . a voice suddenly stabbed out at me from the darkness; his voice was that of a young man. Upon looking forward, I saw a familiar silhouette floating gently a few inches over the ground; a light shone down just in front of where he was so that his lowered face was covered in a shadow. Then the apparition landed on the ground and stepped completely into the light.

You again, I said, now that I knew for certain that it was the younger me.

You never used to give up on anything . . . he said quietly.

I still dont.

Fox, for all your existence youve wanted to be a herono, a martyr . . . because you wanted to give your life to save someone.

And thats what Ive done . . . my life is complete.

You finally have the greatest gift in the world and youre going to throw it away just so you can say that you died for someone!? And you call me a fool?! he shouted with narrowed eyes.

His words angered me, and without even thinking that my hands would not be able to grasp a ghost, I lunged at him; surprisingly, my hands grabbed his shirt and just as I began to lift him higher off of the ground, I stammered, I-I can touch you now . . . and I froze at that realization.

Ever heard the expression takes one to know one? Its true. Welcome to my world, said my ghost.

So . . . i-its really over . . . I slowly admitted as I set him back on the ground.

Not ready after all were you?

I would have been . . . I said, turning around as if looking back on my life, before I had something I didnt want to leave behind.

You dont have to leave anything behind, Fox . . . said my younger form, it doesnt have to end like this.

What are you talking about?

Physical forms are only as weak as the will of their owner. You dont have to die now. But you are because your will is strongyou think you have to die to be a hero, he said with a hint of anger and sadness in his voice. Then, turning his back to me he raised his head and whispered, If I were in your position, Id do whatever it took to keep from leaving someone like her behind . . . thats what I should have done myself when I truly was in your shoes . . .

Youre right . . . I said after a long silence, Im not ready to die . . . not anymore.

Then go to her . . . go back, he began, and this time . . . live.

I will . . . Ill live for both of us . . . I promised.

He smiled as he turned around partially and turned his head toward me, Im counting on you.

In an instant, the scene had faded into the mists of unconsciousness and for a while, I felt a sensation of flight. Eventually however, I felt the sensation of flying end and I came to a halt. I had no idea how much time had passed nor where I was; but my senses were beginning to come around.

The first thing I noticed was a slow, steady beep coming from something near me. Then I heard the sound of distant voices growing closer, a door opening and shutting, and at last, the sound of someone sighing. Then I felt something wrapped around my chest, especially present where the bullet had hit me. The air felt cool, but comfortable. The thing I noticed most, however, was the feeling of something soft gently brushing against my cheek. There was a familiar scent in the air, and that sweet perfume made me anxious for the time when I could at last open my eyes. A single moment passed like an eternity as I struggled to open my eyes to see if, just maybe, she was the one sitting next to me. At last, my eyes opened to reveal a bright world that was quite blurry at first but slowly began to come into focus. I turned my head to the right to see that she was indeed the one sitting next time me, gently brushing my cheek with the backs of her fingers. She noticed immediately that I had come around.

I love you too . . . was the first thing she said to me. She hadn't had a chance to say it before when I blacked out.

Not knowing whether I could speak or not, I simply smiled as a single tear fall from my eye.

There was nothing more that needed to be said or done. She knew, I knew, and even he knew, that this wasnt just a shallow emotion. What she and I had was deep, pure, and one in a million. It was something worth dying for . . . but far more importantly, it is something worth living for.

[Guest Panther Caruso]

wow thats really good

[XG Fox]

*sniff*

That's amazing... you should write a book.

[Guest Coyote]

Thanks guys. Glad you liked it. Actually, I have written two books. They're not published are anything (because one is based on Sonic and the other on Metal Gear Solid), but unfortunately. a computer crash a few years back destroyed them both. Fortunately, I had one saved online. Maybe one day, if anyone here is interested in Metal Gear, I'll post it.

But for now . . . I bring you a short story I wrote a few years back. This is a true story. On the way home from college one day during a torrential downpour, I had what can only be described as a vision. In a matter of moments, I experienced everything you're about to read and more. This story examines my relationship with a person who I once knew as a girlfriend long, long ago, but who became so good a friend following the break-up that she began to call me her "brother." As the years passed, we began to drift apart for a while, and this was written during that time. This story is also one of the first in which I refer to myself by my former nickname, "Fox."

"Never Again"

The rain was pouring down, harder than the driver had seen in a long time. The windshield wipers on his 95 Firebird were set on constant motion, pushing just enough water away before the torrent replaced it to allow the man behind the wheel to see well enough to drive. Suddenly, a thought; a face he hadnt seen in years, a touch he had not known for ages, a scent he could never forget, a voice of innocence calling out his name. A memory of a time long past, when both he and the object of his recollection were different people.

It hasnt rained this hard since that night . . . he thought to himself as the sound of his radio was drowned out both by the downpour of rain and the ensuing flood of memories.

He remembered her voice that night, Fox, I want to do something tonight, there was an urgency in it; Fox knew she needed to get out of her house.

Normally, it wouldnt have been much of a problem to go and get her; her house was about fifteen minutes from his after all. However, on that night, a terrible storm was quickly setting in.

And what a storm it was . . . he thought to himself.

The wind was terrible that night with gusts so strong that he at times wondered if Raven, his Firebird, would literally be thrown from the road. The rain was coming down so hard that not even the wipers on their highest setting could clear the view long enough to see anything but a blur ahead of him before a new sheet of water was thrown over the windshield. There was no point in turning on the radio, the rain was coming down with such a roar that no sound below a shout could be heard. The lightning flashed repeatedly, illuminating the entire earth as though it were day for a few brief moments. Over and over again, the wind blew, the rain fell, the lightning flashed, but through it all and against his mothers wishes, he determined to go to her home and get her. Maybe it was partially because of the urgency in her voice, perhaps the fact that he wanted to see her too, but the true reason was very simply because she had asked. Back then, he had no idea how much of a treasure those times would come to be.

It will never rain like that again, Fox assured himself, but that certainly didnt mean he did not wish otherwise. Quite the contrary.

Once upon a time long before the night of remembrance and even before the night of that great torrential downpour, she had loved Fox with the love of passion and great was her love for him. Most of the memories of that time were locked away deep within Foxs mind, never to be recalled. Many of them were unpleasant as Fox despised looking upon his own carnality and short-sightedness back then; it wasnt the physical realm that drew Fox back to that time, nor truly even the emotional; it was the part of him deep inside that shone brightly enough to pierce even the layers of darkness he had once worn to shield himself from joy: the part of him that wanted the best for this world.

When he arrived at her house that night, the rain was still pouring, the wind still blowing and the lighting still turning the night into day. He found his umbrella and opened it as he got out of his car. She was waiting for him and he sheltered her under his umbrella and brought her to the passenger side. After he had helped her in, he quickly made his way to his side and before long, he was ready to go.

Hi! she said, happy to see him. Fox smiled. He didnt recall whether his face knew it or not, but his eyes and his heart were smiling. He was happy back then . . . happy that she wanted to see him . . . happy that she wanted to be near him . . . happy that something had bloomed from the ashes of their past.

Just a little while before then, Fox had hurt her terribly when, seeing that her love for him was passionate and not eternal, he broke the chains of carnality that bound them and, not by intention but rather by the sheer impact of reality upon her, had cast her into the outer darkness of solitude and loneliness. He had tried to love her as she loved him, but something told him that it was wrong.

Anything that one would prefer no one else to see is wrong at this point in my life, he remembered saying.

And so, weeks passed and months soon followed. But she would not return to him. Then one day, everything was made right and she realized that she did indeed still love him, but no longer with the love of the world, but with something stronger: the love of God. They became Siblings in Christ that day, and Fox, with honor, accepted his distinction as her big brother. Fox didnt say much on the ride home, partially because he was focusing on bringing her safely to his home and partially because she was busy talking to him. He had never been one to speak an abundance of words, but rather enjoyed listening to others. He received much enjoyment when she was around.

Fox saw himself as her guardian as well as her spiritual support. He helped her in every way he could and gave of his time as often as she asked. There were some nights when he had made other plans, but nevertheless laid them aside as often as he was able for her. His love for her was great.

Then, the rain began to slack and with it, the memories as well. Fox was returned to the world as he knew it.

Things had changed before Fox and her. The ties that bound them together had broken and their ends frayed over the years; but they did not break all at once, else Fox would have seen and repaired them. No, they tore loose, one by one, so that by the time Fox saw the broken strands, the last snapped. When she received her drivers license, she no longer needed Fox to come and pick her up as often. The chord of dependance was broken. Then, she began seeking another relationship; the one area in which Fox could do nothing more than give her the advice she would never listen to: wait. The chord of fulfillment was broken. The ties that bound the warrior and the angel together were at their breaking point. Then Fox, incognizant of what his actions would portend, convinced her to join him in karate. Soon after, Fox left the dojo after a dispute with the instructor, but she remained. Loyalty, the last chord was broken.

She disappeared from Foxs life for a time. Then one night, a call, a chance to repair the damaged chords of fate . . . but, the voice on the other line had not called to rebuild their bond, but to inform him that she was dead. Fox wept bitterly, though few tears fell from him eyes. His spirit was heavy and deeply grieved. His sister . . . the one who called him big brother the one who needed him, the one who came to him for everything, the one who stood by his side . . . was gone. And in her place was someone Fox did not know. It wasnt just the inside that was different, even on the outside, the way she looked, her hair, her face, the way she carried herself, her smile . . . all these things were new and foreign.

As Fox recalled all these things, he pulled up one last picture of her in his mind taken when she had come with him to his aunts house to put up their Christmas Tree: she was standing at his left, holding him about the waist with both arms and smiling.

Fox lowered his head as he pulled into his garage and turned off his car. He got out of the car and headed toward the door to his house. Just before he pressed the button to close the garage, he turned around and looked out at the rain one last time. Then he hit it and as the garage door slowly lowered, shutting out the light of the day and the sound of the rain, he said, It will never rain like that again.