Sonmi's Couples, Characters and Writing - Posting Welcome

[Sonmi-451]

Pet's name: Musketeer (m) and Pet's name: Teacup (f)

I touched a paw to my bulging stomach. Pregnant. I still couldn't believe it. At least they were the children of the one I loved, and they would be raised with honor and nobility like the young rulers they would be.

Sprinting, I dodged the arrows raining down like an evil torrent from heaven. The yells, the ring of steel on steel; I was in my element in battle. No swords touched me, no dogs came close, for I cut them down if they were within a yard. I was the lion of England, sometimes called the second Richard, and no one could or would change that.

"Your Majesty, the enemy has broken down the gates."
I had always feared I would and always prayed that I wouldn't ever have to hear those words. I knew what they meant: all hope was lost and we had been defeated, but most importantly, I had let my people down.
"What about Peter?" He couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead...
"I'm sorry Your Majesty, but we found his body right outside of the gates."
I choked back tears. My love was dead, and now my kingdom was lost and my puppies had no father. I prepared myself for the ceremony that would happen later to celebrate my enemies' victory and give my land over to them.

Everywhere I went I got patted on the back, congratulated, almost on the point of being worshiped, for my efforts in England's win against Scotland. There was a feast planned, in which all of Scotland would once again become part of England, and I got to do the honors, and my father the king was even going to appear to praise our victory. This day just kept on getting better and better.

The feast itself was marvelous, the first good food I had tasted in almost a month. There was much laughing and happiness and merriment, and to a passerby, the air would have seemed to be made of joy, or maybe it was just the wine my men were drinking. I, however, found it quite hard to enjoy the evening with them, as I was worried about the ceremony and the potential complications that might arise between myself and my family and the still-living queen of Scotland. The time of my torture came far too soon, and before I knew it, I was waiting politely for the queen to show.

As soon as she stepped into my line of sight, all time seemed to freeze, the only thing moving being her beautiful face. I knew it was obvious I was staring, but I just couldn't help it - she was too amazing to not stare at. She met my gaze; her sorrowful, golden eyes boring into my own mismatched ones. Dully I wondered why such a stunning creature was so incredibly sad, but all of my thoughts were lost in her shimmering fur. I looked down, noticing the bulge in her stomach. She was pregnant, probably with the puppies of her late husband, the one that died in battle. She came directly up to me, stopping a few feet away. I could see from here that she was about 3 inches shorter than me, just the right height to kiss, I noted.
"So you are Musketeer, the lion of England?" she asked me quietly in a soft and melodic but resonating tone.
"Correct," I told her respectfully. "And you, I presume, are Teacup, the queen of Scotland."
"Indeed." She gave me a very analyzing look, and I could tell she knew I was currently in a state of love at first sight. "So, all of the lands of Scotland are yours, as long as you promise to treat my people well. And you may do whatever you like with me, as long as you respect my subjects like your own."
Teacup really was devoted to her subjects.
"It might be to both of our countries' advantages to make connections not just through friendship, but through marriage," my father broke in firmly. "And so, given that he will respect your people, I would like you, my lady, to become Musketeer's wife."
"Hmm," she murmured, looking me up and down.
Please say yes, please say yes...
"Come walk with me Musketeer," she finally replied.
I glanced over at Father, and he gave me a nod.
"Alright," I responded, and held the door to the outside courtyard for her.

I looked over at Musketeer, wondering about this incredible warrior who might become my husband.
"So what are we here to talk about?" he asked after the door had shut, blocking out the rest of the assembly.
"We are here to talk about arrangements if we were to get married," I told him, looking up at his handsome face. He was nice-looking and apparently an excellent soldier and a kind man; a woman could certainly do much worse. But I knew I would never be able to do better than Peter. Oh, Peter. I felt like sitting down and weeping right there.
"What kind of arrangements?"
It was very obvious Musketeer found me attractive. Good. I had another angle I could use now.
"I presume you already know that I am pregnant?" His mismatched eyes bored with longing into my own golden ones.
"Yes, with the children of Peter, the late King of Scotland."
Musketeer looked almost wary now.
"Correct. I also want you to know that I loved and still do love Peter." I wondered how he would react to the fact that two monarchs actually cared about one another.
"That is completely understandable, and I do not intend to take his place."
Musketeer's eyes told a different story, one in which he was my love and I was his.
I was getting tired of his glaring but attempted-to-be-concealed liking of me, so I finally burst out and said brusquely, “I know you find me attractive Musketeer.”
“Well what man wouldn’t?”
Musketeer was not surprised at all.
“Well thank you for the compliment, but flattery will get you nowhere,” I replied flatly. Getting back on topic, I told him, “I hope you realize that if we get married, you will become the father to my children.”
“I know that quite well and look forward to raising our children,” he responded firmly, taking my paw in his.
“And how do you know me so well that we will have children?” I gave him a warm smile, actually liking this man that I might marry.
“I do not right now, but I hope for a time when I do.”
Musketeer kissed my paw, then pulled a ring off of his and got down on one knee.
“I might as well ask you properly, as it is the gentlemanly thing to do,” he told me, answering my unspoken question.
“Will you marry me, Teacup?”
His eyes shined with the hope of a future together and the love of a woman he had just met.
“Yes, Musketeer, yes.” He slipped the ring onto my paw and rose from his kneeling position, wrapping me in a warm embrace.
“Well, we probably should go back and announce our engagement officially,” I murmured, hoping he would heed.
“There’s one more thing I have to do,” Musketeer whispered, then dipped me like the cavalier he was and kissed me.


Pet's name: Shadow (m) and Pet's name: Sabor (f)

The snowflakes seemed musical to me. The beats and patterns they followed, hidden to other creatures' ears, as they hit the ground were a song; rather, a ballad of ice, forever being sung by these miniature musicians that would always fall. As I strode through the field, their music was even more haunting today, their brilliant white crystals shimmering and contrasting against my blue and black fur. The chilling tune made me wonder if something was wrong with the air or the day that made the flakes cry as they did. Wait, what was I thinking? That snowflakes could think and actually knew the sounds they were making? Lord, I really was losing my mind.

Snowflakes; my little and only companions. After all, it's not as though anything living would be my friend; I was just too weird and too odd for something that had a brain. Except for Shadow. The only thing was that we would never be more than just friends, for he was the best and I was the worst, and so I knew we couldn't be together. Oh well; thank God for snowflakes, and thank God that Shadow was at least a friend.

"Hey Sabor," I greeted as she strode beside me, and I slowed for a second to fall into step with her.
"Hi Shadow." She had a shy, timid smile that hid her beautiful face with a mask of bashfulness. Suddenly her grin fell, and the light in my eyes I had whenever I looked upon her dimmed with it.
"What's the matter?" I asked worriedly, hoping it wasn't catastrophic like she was moving away...
"I'm moving away."

Those were the worst words I had ever heard. "What?!" I cried, devastated but still hoping slightly that Sabor was mistaken. "Why?"
"The alphas kicked my family out." Sabor's voice had sunk to a barely a whisper, like a light breeze through the branches of a tree.
I was stunned in realization. The alphas were my parents.

I watched Shadow bound off in the direction of his parents' den, then shook my head. We both knew that the alphas would not change their minds after they had made a decision, but apparently Shadow was foolishly determined to try.
"It's not going to work," I muttered to myself. "Shadow's stupid for trying, but I love him anyways." I thought the last phrase, not daring to admit my crush to the world. But why did the pack matter to me anymore? After all, I wasn't one of them now, and I wouldn't turn back. I would charge full speed ahead, for I knew that if I slowed down I would find myself crying.

I barged into my family's den, causing a stir among my younger siblings.
"Where's Mom and Dad?" I gasped, very out of breath from sprinting the whole distance to my home.
"They're out hunting near the lake," my youngest brother James piped up. "Why do you need them?"
"Thanks James," I told him quickly before setting off again, ignoring his question. My little brothers and sisters did not need to know about Sabor.

I loped around the beach of the icy pool of water, its sterling grey surface unbroken by ripples and acting like a harsh mirror, but finding no parents. Dejected, I turned and was just about to leave and give up hope for good when something landed on my back with the gracefulness of a wounded duck. I rolled over, in fierce pain and shock, to find my mother standing over me with her canines bared. When she realized it was her own son she had mugged, she stepped off me gingerly.
"What are you doing here son?" Her eyes were the same color as the water and regarded me with a flat, uninterested gaze that was mixed with the unmistakable flame of love. What an interesting combination.
"I was actually just looking for you and Dad." I returned her crystal stare with one of my own.
"Oh really? And why?" My dad was just visible leaping down from a pile of boulders. He jumped smoothly down to the bottom to stand beside my mother, yet somehow, even with his large size, he was not nearly as intimidating as she and her steely, contemplating looks.
"Because..." How would I put this? "Because you kicked Sabor and her family out of the pack." I was probably treading on dangerous ground, but I didn't care. All I cared about right now was Sabor.
"What about it?" My father also seemed to be as cold as the liquid behind him.
"Well, I... I care about Sabor," I finally replied. "I care about Sabor a lot." I hope that they would take a hint and realize what I meant.
"Ah." How could they be so uncaring?!
"So that's it?!" I cried. "I tell you that I love Sabor, and you just don't do anything?! Couldn't you like, un-ban her or something?!" I was letting my parents have it, knowing that I would probably get punished but that it was worth it.
"Well, I suppose we could do that." My mom looked over at my dad and he nodded. "We'll leave it up to you to tell Sabor and her family the news."
I couldn't believe it. I was going to be with Sabor, as long as she wanted to be with me. Nothing could ruin this day...

I gave the place I called home for my whole life one last glance.
"See ya Shadow," I murmured, picturing his handsome, laughing blue face. "Take care of this place for me."
Just as I was about to never turn back, I heard that so-familiar voice calling my name.
"Sabor! Sabor, wait!" it came, and I whipped around to see that image so recently in my mind running towards me.
"Yes Shadow?" I questioned as he came within earshot.
"You don't have to go," Shadow gasped, finally able to get the words.
"What?" Warily I eyed him, trying to decide if he was sincere or if this was a cruel joke. But I knew that Shadow would never do something that mean as a trick, and so that meant he was being truthful... "You were able to convince your parents to let us stay?"
"Yep." Shadow looked proud of himself, and gave me that heartmelting signature smile, his crystalline eyes sparkling.
"But... how?" How did he manage to change the alphas' minds?
"Um, I..." Shadow looked uncomfortable. "I told them... I told them the truth."
"What do you mean?" I tilted my head to the side and gave him a curious look.
"I mean... I mean I told them that I love you," Shadow muttered, avoiding my gaze.
"Is this true?" I bent down to look him in the eye and our noses touched. I would have catcalled if the same thing had happened to someone else.
"Yeah, it is." Shadow gained courage, and he lifted his head to look at me directly. I could tell he was struggling with a decision of some sort, for his eyes kept flickering, but finally he leaned forward and gave me a small kiss.
I blushed, and told him, "You know, I feel the same way," then gave him a flirtatious look, a seductive smile slipping across my lips.
Shadow kissed me again, and this time I kissed him back, not believing the boy I loved loved me back. It really was the first day of the rest of my life, this part a whole lot happier than what had come before. It made me wonder what the next miracle to happen in my life would be...

[horchata]

I will get to your suggestion as quickly as possible KitKat2008. I also changed my old poll, as some people weren't being honest.

OK, Thanks

[benderisgreat34]

Nice stories. You have great couples.

[Sonmi-451]

Nice stories. You have great couples.

Thanks! I'm glad you like them!

[Sonmi-451]

Pet's name: Zipper (m) and Pet's name: Opal (f)

"Hey Zipper, can you come help me with this?" I called to him, frowning with distaste upon the painting I was working on. It was supposed to be a crown but it looked more like a pile of rotten bananas, and since Zipper was a really good artist and my best friend, I knew I could turn to him for help.
"Um, sure." Zipper shuffled awkwardly through the art room, trying his best to avoid getting any paint on his fur and failing. "So what's the problem Opal?" he asked as he reached my shoulder.
"Well, I'm trying to make a crown, but it looks like rotten bananas." Admitting my fail at art out loud made me feel even worse, but, actually, the rotten-banana-crown did that all on its own.
"You've got a good crown shape, but you're painting in individual sections so it looks like individual things." Zipper took my brush and gave a few strokes that immediately made my crown actually look like a crown.
"You are my new hero Zipper," I told him gratefully, giving him a squeeze that probably cracked a few ribs. "Well, not new, since you've been my hero for a while, but you just keep on being ninja."
"Well thanks Opal, but it's nothing special." Zipper was almost embarrassed but very obviously pleased at the comment, and seemed glad for me to let go of him. "It's just something I do, just like you do jewelry."
I fingered the multicolored necklace I always wore. "Yeah, I do jewelry and you do art. What a team we make." I gave him a grin and his eyes lit up. For some reason me smiling at him had always made his day, even when we were little.
"Well, thanks for helping me." I met his gaze, and we seemed to be frozen in time for that happy moment.
"Yeah, no problem," Zipper finally muttered, snapping the connection we had. "I should probably get back to working on my own painting so Mr. Boldova doesn't yell at me."
"Probably." I found Zipper so funny when he stated the obvious. "Thanks again." I shot him another smile, and he returned it, then turned to make the long and difficult journey back to the other end of the room through jungles of paintbrushes and rivers of acrylics.

What was my name again? I seemed to have forgotten it in Opal's stunning eyes and bear hug and incredible smile. I was so lucky to have her a friend. But somewhere inside of me, I wanted us to be more than just friends, but what chance did I have if even Jake, the popular, handsome, "good guy" football captain got turned down by Opal? Oh well; at least she loved me like a brother, even if not like a boyfriend. I was snapped out of my thoughts by tripping and face-planting into a can of red paint.
"Really?" I muttered angrily to myself as the rest of the class laughed. Well, everyone except Opal. She jumped out of her seat to grab me a towel to wipe my face with.
"What's going on?" Mr. Boldova boomed, scaring everyone else into silence with his thunderous voice.
"Zipper tripped and landed in a can of paint," Opal told him truthfully, giving me an apologetic smile at having to tell him about my clumsiness that made my mind go numb again. Why was Opal so perfect and me so un-perfect?
"Ok, then Zipper, you will be staying after school to clean up the paint you spilled." Mr. Boldova's judgment was made, and I accepted it even though I didn't like it.
"Can I stay and help Zipper out? After all, it really isn't fair that only he has to clean up all this." Opal was so nice; she would waste her afternoon just to help me, which was more than my sister would ever do.
"Well, of course. You two should be able to clean this up quickly then." Mr. Boldova also seemed to be taken aback my Opal's kindness.
Rubbing my face with the towel, most of the red came out of my fur, but I had to imagine I still looked slightly pink. Oh well; that was what water and a course washcloth was for. The rest of the period went smoothly except for the occasional snicker from the class as they remembered my spectacular display of clumsiness.
As soon as we were dismissed and in the hallway, I told Opal, "You are now my hero 'cause you're going to waste your afternoon with me."
"No problem Zipper. It's only payback for all the times you've helped me with my fail paintings." She gave me an amused grin. "And by the way, your face is still pink."
"Yeah, I figured it would be." I reached a paw up to my cheek then brought it back down to view; it was indeed magenta. I growled silently to myself at my stupidity, since now I would have to walk around for the rest of the day looking like a rose, but oh well. I couldn't do anything about it for now except ignore the taunts.
Opal and I walked down the hall together, me with my head down low in embarrassment and her with her head held high in elegance. When we reached our lockers, one right next to the other, she quickly opened hers and pulled a mirror out for me to examine the damage that had been done. My eyebrows were a brilliant crimson, but the black zigzags across my forehead that had earned me my name were still clearly visible even through the emasculating color my fur had taken on.
"It doesn't look that bad," Opal told me, and I raised an appearing-to-be-bleeding eyebrow at her. "Ok, maybe it does look a little stupid," she confessed, "but I've seen - and worn - a whole lot worse."
"You're too fashionable to look this silly." The Opal I knew had always looked perfect no matter what the situation, so I could even imagine her with a hair out of place.
"No, I'm not." She giggled slightly at the memory. "It was in sixth grade that I first tried to put on makeup, and I insisted on doing it myself. After about an hour of messing with it, I looked in the mirror and found a circus clown staring back. I came in an hour late that day to get cleaned up, and it still makes me laugh thinking about it."
"It's amazing to think sixth grade was six years ago, huh?" I commented, handing Opal her mirror back, and finally opening my locker.
"Yeah, we did everything together back then. And remember that one time Austin came up and asked me out at my locker and I said no but he still tried to kiss me so you broke his nose?" Her golden eyes shone with the sweet glaze of nostalgia.
"Yeah, that jerk deserved every drop of blood he bled out on the tile floor." I thought about how much of a crybaby Mister Football Hero had been when I slugged him. That was quite humorous.
"And remember that time when Jake asked me out in eighth grade and pushed you out of his way and you got so mad you punched him?"
"One of my better memories of middle school." A devious smile crept across my face at the memory of Jake screaming in pain. I had quite the reputation with the football boys, because no one on my watch was going to take advantage of Opal.
"What guy that's asked me out haven't you slugged?" Opal mused, smirking at the visions all of the punches I had thrown at guys trying to win her heart.
I really wanna ask her out I really wanna ask her out... "One."
"Which one?" Her brow furrowed in thought at trying to remember which one I hadn't thrown a punch at.
"Me," I murmured, giving her my best grin. My heart was racing and my mind even more so at this sudden burst of possibly stupid courage, but not guts no glory, right? "Opal, will you be my girlfriend?"
"I thought you'd never ask," she told me, then threw her arms around my neck and put her lips on mine.


Pet's name: Taylor (f) and Pet's name: Cole (m)

I glance up and down the hallway, seeing all the little conversations and remarks and interactions going on. The same people talk to the same people every day. Perhaps it is habit. Perhaps it is preference. Perhaps they are drawn to one another because of similarity, perhaps I do not know. I am good with textbooks and homework, not with people. My high intelligence often makes it hard to communicate, for I use terms they do not know, and they use neologisms I do not know, causing a mutual lack of understanding. And so, every day, instead of talking to friends like a normal teenage girl, I ponder the great questions; the mysteries of the mind; the science of a god, if there is one; and why are we, as creatures, here? Maybe a god created us, perfect and whole, and we became corrupted. But I think that a god may have made us as tiny microorganisms and then let us evolve, to see what those little bacteria he or she made became over the millions of years, and I think somewhere in the natural process of survival of the fittest, one of the fittest became maligned, and did that to others, so the need to hurt is so deeply embedded in our body that is primal in every sense. But why do I, Taylor, 15-year-old nerd, think about these things? Because these things are my only solace, for nothing that lives and breathes wants to be near me, and that in itself is a curse and a blessing.

Her face is unadorned with makeup, her nails unpainted, her hair well-cared-for but not fancy; so unlike the rest of our grade. She is by the door every day, and I have a feeling she knows my name, yet I don't know hers. Her seeming awareness is almost unsettling, as her eyes know all and tell nothing. And so every day I wonder about this mystery girl; who is she and why am I attracted to her? Her blue eyes haunt me, their gaze leaving ghosts wandering around my mind, gathering around her image, around her solemn face. I know she pays attention to me, yet why does she say nothing? Why does she just stare? But I suppose she could ask why I just ponder her actions and don't do anything about them. I have never seen her smile, and I wish every day that she will, for I know she will be even more beautiful if she does. This extreme intelligence she seems to be blessed with makes her very serene and emotionless, even sad, but generally not feeling. Her cold, calculating manner turns many away, and no one, even the teachers, knows her first name, only her last, Hunter. Why is she so elusive? She is like a fox, but she is not sneaky, only shy and seemingly unapproachable. I have never seen her not alone, so perhaps she has no friends, and I think she wants none. She functions almost too well on her own, so why would she add the possible negative influence of outsiders to the equation of her life? There is no reason, for she is not lonely; she has her massive mental capacity to keep her company, and she needs nor wants nothing more, yet I seem to need her, or to at least need to know the identity of this brilliant, radiant, emotionless, reclusive stranger that I know the habits of like the back of my hand.

Cole Hannigan stares intently at me, yet again, but I ignore him, for he is just another one of the popular jerks who drove me to this point of isolation to begin with. Much to my dismay, however, instead of taking a hint and leaving, he begins to approach me, causing a sense of panic inside of me. It has been so long since I have talked to another pupil without being forced to that I am tempted to run, but Taylor Hunter is stronger than that, and no idiotic 15-year-old boy will get the best of her. I hold my head high as he comes closer, and my heart beats faster and faster, too fast for just stress alone. Could I perhaps be attracted to this boy? No, never, the only things I am attracted to are AP classes; I am not so weak as to allow myself to be drawn to something living. I hope.
"Um, hey, I've been noticing you standing here by yourself every day for a while, and since I only know your last name Ms. Hunter, I was hoping I could learn your first one as well." Cole is surprisingly formal, and I eye him curiously. I had him pegged for an ignorant, teasing high school boy, but apparently he isn't as vulgar as I give him credit for.
"Well then you have come here to be denied." I turn away from him, hoping to end the conversation and his pursuit of knowledge I am not willing to give out.
"Why won't you give me your name?" I will give Cole points for persistence, even though he is persistently obnoxious.
"Because it is not knowledge that is vital for you to know." I give him a flat, bored stare, making it clear I am not appreciating that he is wasting my time that I could be using to do Calculus homework.
"No, but it is knowledge I would like to know." Why can't Cole just find me utterly and completely uninteresting like everyone else in the grade? It would certainly make my life easier and take this annoyance out of it.
"Yes, but it is information I am not willing to reveal." I would be ecstatic if he could just accept that not all girls fall head over heels for him and go away.
"Why are you so reclusive? I've had to almost force every word out of you that you've spoken, and why? Am I just that bad to talk to or something?" I pause, staring Cole in the eye, wondering why he even cares. No one ever has before, and I had thought Cole Hannigan would be one of the last to.
Finally I mutter, "It's not anything you have done. It's not something anyone else has done either. It's something I have done to myself so frequently that I have essentially lost the ability to communicate with others, because, as this other thing became more prevalent, me talking decreased, creating a sort of imbalance in the equation that I have come to view my life as." It has been so long since I have faced the truth that I can barely stand to hear it spoken, much less by my own mouth.
"What thing made you act like this?" Cole returns my gaze, and in his shimmering peridot eyes, I see a kindness that has never before been known to me; one of extending a helping hand to a stranger that might not want it but is many, many years overdue.
"Hiding behind my intelligence." It feels as if a steel weight many thousands of pounds heavy has been lifted off my chest, even though those words are some of the toughest I have ever uttered. "Intelligence can take you so far, but I took mine so far that I stopped socializing, and only spoke when the class I was in forced me to. Eventually I completely lost the ability to communicate with others, as they do not understand what I say and I do not comprehend their words, so I just shut myself up to avoid the outside world and all of the things I thought it would harm me with." Tears well up in my eyes, but I ignore them. I am finally revealing the honest truth with the world, and any pause would make this process much harder. "I also was teased by most of the social group you belong to earlier this year, and that accelerated my transgression into myself, but most of the fault for my depressing state of mind lies on my own head, not anyone else's."
"That's really sad, um, Ms. Hunter." Cole takes my hand in his and gives a slight smile. "But I still would like to the name that goes with this beautiful face." I blush, for the first time in a long time, almost not believing that I could actually feel this way about someone, especially about someone I originally associated with the more unpleasant crowd.
"Well, Mr. Cole Hannigan, my name is Taylor, Taylor Hunter." I know there is no going back now, but it has been so long since I have taken a risk or felt adrenaline course through my veins that I feel it is time to change that.
"Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. Hmm..." Cole pulled out his phone, which, according to the logo on the back, was a Blackberry Curve 8900, and then told me, "There are two more things I would like to ask you for."
"Which are?" The person I was a minute ago would be completely tight-lipped and wary in this situation, but, thank God, I am not that person anymore.
"Well, the first one is that I would like to know your phone number." Cole is incredibly handsome - another thing the old me would have never admitted, even just to myself.
"303-135-1313." Cole seems almost surprised that I actually have a phone. To be honest, I am almost shocked myself, as that is too normal a thing for me to have, but I suppose it proves that I am not completely unlike others of my age and gender. "And the second one?"
"The second one is..." Cole is coming closer now, his face only a foot from mine. "A smile." He doesn't notice how close in proximity we are, but I do not complain. Interaction with Cole is a good thing in every sense.
"Well, that should be easy to arrange."
As a completely new person, reinvented from the old that had burned to ash only a few minutes earlier, I smile, for the first time of the rest of my life.

[Sonmi-451]

Pet's name: Sparrow (f) and Pet's name: Kiara (f)

"Ms. Sparrow, could you repeat what I just said?" The teacher's voice broke the calm, kind buzz that had filled the room for the last hour like a frozen knife, and everyone jolted to attention. Everyone except for me. I just kept on talking, not even aware I was treading dangerously close to lunch detention until I literally felt the teacher's breath on my neck and whipped around to see her livid face towering above my own. I wasn't worried though, because I had the uncanny skill to talk and pay half-attention to the teacher at the same time, so I knew exactly what she had been lecturing on.
"Well, Ms. Sparrow?" I swear her fingers were twitching, as if she would have liked to lock them around my neck and not let go until I was dead or at least unconscious.
"What you just said was that, in an isosceles right triangle, if the two sides are whatever length, then the base is that length times the square root of two." I returned the teacher's menacing gaze with a cool, cocky one of my own, and she only seemed to get even more infuriated, mostly because those were her words letter for letter. Why did the teacher even try anymore? Hadn't she already learned that her little interruptions were only going to shut me up for about five seconds? Apparently not, but that was her fault, not mine, because I currently had an A+ in the class, so she couldn't complain that I wasn't doing my work. In fact, the only person who had a better grade than me in this class was my best friend Kiara.

I looked over at Sparrow, my best friend in the whole entire universe, who had just won another battle of wits with Ms. Cronwell. I shook my head almost in amazement at the continued failures of the teacher to thwart Sparrow's constantly moving mouth.
As we walked out of the class a few minutes later, I told Sparrow, "What is the score now? Isn't it like Sparrow 200 Ms. Cronwell zero?"
"Yeah, something like that." Sparrow waved at some of her other friends that passed us in the bustling, locker-lined hallway. She truly seemed to be buddies with everyone, and I envied that, for it was very difficult for me to even talk around someone new, much less make friends. "If I were her, I would have gotten tired of losing after the first week and just shut up instead of continuing to lose, but whatever, Ms. Cronwell can make herself look like an idiot in front us if she wants to."
"Yep. You know, I think she's also biased against us because we're the only seventh-graders in her geometry class, so she expects us to be less mature or something." In fact, we had the best grades and I was one of the most mature in the class, and Sparrow was too on the rare occasions she actually shut her mouth.
"Yeah. This whole schedule thing we have is messed up, and that class really isn't worth it in my mind. I mean, it's just too easy for us, so I think we should be in Algebra 2 right now, because we might actually have something to do in there. After all, if Ms. Cronwell was interesting or the course was challenging, I might not talk as much." At that, I shot Sparrow a flat gaze that made it clear we both knew otherwise.
"Ok, well, that's a lie, but I might at least make it look like I'm paying attention instead of turning my back if we were in Algebra, and also if Cronwell actually got some lipstick on her mouth instead of her teeth, yikes! I seriously think I'm scarred for life about 200 times over because of that horrible makeup job she has every single day." Sparrow and I walked out into the frigid January weather, and I drew my coat closer around me, but, of course, Sparrow threw hers off in the rebellious state of mind she lived in every single day.
"It's invigorating out here, isn't it?" Her sky-blue eyes were even more electric than usual, and she breathed in great gulps of the frigid oxygen. I wondered numbly, since I'm pretty sure my brain was partially frozen, how Sparrow's lungs and brain weren't frozen too.
"If you say so." I just wanted to get my butt back over into the middle school and out of the outside, and I would have hoped that Sparrow at least sort of wanted to not be a Sparrowsicle, but Sparrow was insane, I told her that many times a day and she agreed, so probably not.
"Oh, come on Kiara, toughen up!" Before I could protest, Sparrow had ripped my coat off me and I was left shivering in the high school parking lot while Sparrow ran ahead, daring me to get my coat back. She shouldn't have done that.
I put my left leg a little in front of my right and tensed my muscles, my sprinting stance and a clue to Sparrow that I was serious about getting my jacket back. However, Sparrow didn't look behind her to see if I was coming or not, so, within a few seconds, I was right next to her, attempting to snatch my hoody back while running.
"Give it back, I'm freezing!" I growled, giving her my fluorescent yellow-green death stare.
"I think not!" Sparrow retorted back, keeping warmth and happiness and protection against frostbite just out of my reach.
I needed a rise in temperature, so I tackled Sparrow, causing a mass of limbs and hair and screams to hit the pavement hard. Oh well; Sparrow was on the bottom so she cushioned my fall and probably got some lovely scrapes and bruises. Served her right.
"Ok, ok, I give up," she gasped, clearly in pain. "Here's the jacket, just don't tackle me again."
I stepped gingerly off her, having attained a few landing marks myself, and victoriously slipped my hoody back on and felt its heat radiate throughout my partially-warmed-up body, then offered my hand to help Sparrow back up.
"Hey, you're not completely evil," Sparrow commented as she accepted my hand and nearly leaped to her feet with my help.
"Yeah, unlike some-"
"-but you are naive!"
I found myself staring up at Sparrow from the flat of my back with stars doing the tap dance around my head. "What was that for?" I demanded angrily, sitting up and rubbing the back of my head.
"Well what do you think it was for, Captain Rhetorical?" Sparrow gave me a flat look and pulled me to my feet easily. Due to the fact that she played volleyball, basketball, soccer, lacrosse and softball, she was much stronger than I was, even though we were the exact same height.
"Well I tackled you in self-defense! If I hadn't, I might have become a Kiara Popsicle!" After all, slamming Sparrow to the ground was the best thing my brain-submerged-in-zero-degree-air came up with to get my coat back at the time, although it wasn't looking like such a good idea now.
"You would not get frostbite in just still zero-degree weather while moving; you would have to sit outside naked for about an hour before you started to get frostbite." Grr, I hated it when Sparrow was right on something we disagreed about, since we had just learned about frostbite earlier in the day during science.
To make matters worse, Sparrow leaned over and stole my jacket again, but I was done chasing her, because I would rather be cold than beaten up by Sparrow.
"You suck Sparrow," I told her simply. Screw Sparrow; I would get my coat back when we reached the middle school.
"Well thanks; I love you too buddy." She gave me that signature crooked grin that I knew like the back of my hand, and I couldn't stop a smirk from crossing my own face. No matter how annoying or how much she talked, I would love Sparrow forever, and I knew that no matter how much I was a goody two shoes or how much I was quiet, Sparrow would love me too.


Pet's name: Pinkswirl (f) and Pet's name: Raymond (m)

She smiles at Tanner, her pink shirt perfectly complementing her rose hair and magenta eyes. The belt around her waist and her pants are also shades of flush; everything about her is pink, almost blindingly so. The folder in her hands is the only thing not matching, as it is a neon yellow and decorated with flowers and hearts. I choke back a lump in my throat as Tanner presents her with flowers, beautiful salmon lilies so perfect they seem fake. Why is it always the wealthy that get everything? Shouldn't what's on the inside matter too? Apparently not, for Tanner is as cold as ice and unfeeling as the first winter frost that kills almost all of the plants, yet he is also the most popular kid in school. And I? Well, I am a no one with nothing good on the outside or inside, and that seems to be my eternal occupation.

I slip a flower into my hair, and Tanner smiles, his amber eyes shining. I refuse to believe the stories and gossip about him; how he is cruel, cold, villainous. He cannot be; he is too... perfect.
"You look beautiful Pinkswirl," he tells me, wrapping an arm around my waist, which I relish in. Even though we are not dating, yet, Tanner and I spend a lot of time together and we are mutually attracted to one another.
"Thanks." I hope the blush isn't showing through on my cheeks, even though it might not be that noticeable due to all of the other pink on my body. Averting my eyes down to my hands, I mumble, "Well, I probably should get to class."
"Um, yeah, right." Tanner also seems to snap out of the connection, and I curse myself for breaking the moment. Oh well; it is dead now, never to return thanks to my stupidity. "Well, see ya later." He salutes over his shoulder as he strides away, and only after he is gone am I able to tear my gaze away from where he was.
"Yeah, see ya." My words seem, hollow, empty, like husks drained of emotion just floating aimlessly in the air. I shake my head, wishing I could reverse the loss of that miraculous instant that I had killed. As I turn to leave for math, only about 15 seconds ahead of the bell, I see only one person left in the hallway, a boy with scruffy brown-dyed-lime-green hair and haunting maroon eyes that watch my every move. Who is this boy, and why does he just stare?

In math I cannot take my eyes off of her. The intelligence she exhibits is almost astounding; she is not just beautiful, she is brilliant as well. Another point to add to her list of perfections.
When the teacher hands our tests back, my heart sinks. I got a 79; my dad will kill me. I hear a snicker behind me, and that means only one thing; Tanner is going to tease me for being worse than he is.
"Come on Raymond, can't even a loser like you do better than a C?" he taunts, his whisper piercing my heart and the invisible barrier I had set up to deflect his snide comments.
"At least I have a heart," I mutter back, not really caring anymore. Tanner did this routinely, so I was too used to it to really be bothered.
"Yeah, but that makes you weak, and your little heart's about to be broken." Tanner rises from his seat to stand next to her. Pinkswirl.
"Hey, um, I've wanted to ask you this for a while..." I see the barely-visible nervousness on Tanner's face, and I know what he is about to do.
"Yeah?" The adoration on her face is almost too much to take, as Pinkswirl is so beautiful, so perfect... How can she stand to be contaminated by associating with that monster named Tanner Smith?
"Will you be my girlfriend?" Tanner has regained his icy cold focus after nearly breaking under pressure, and I dread yet am hopeful about the next words to be spoken. A silence of tremendous volume and weight fills the room, and no one seems to breath.
"Yes." Tanner sweeps Pinkswirl off her feet, gives her a short kiss, and shoots me a satisfied, venomous look while wrapping her in an embrace.
Thank you, Tanner Smith, for stealing the main reason for my existence.

I can't believe it. I am finally Tanner's girlfriend!
I walk down the hall, my head held high and my heart elated. I get many evil looks from girls who had been vying for Tanner's attentions, but I am too happy to care. They are just jealous, and that's their problem, not mine.
"So I'll see you at 4:00 for our first date!" he calls as he walks down to his locker. The last bell had just rung, so we are all headed home, and the relief hangs in the air like an infectious cloud. Everywhere I look I see smiling faces, hear laughter, everywhere except... that kid. His eyes are even more morose than usual and some kind of tragedy has made his ghostly appearance even more grim. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, like he has done it many times before, and, shoulders slumped and eyes to the ground, and he starts walking and nearly runs into me.
"Oh, um, sorry about that," he mutters, forced to raise his stare by common courtesy.
What I see amazes me. His eyes are incredible, their maroon depths deeper than any well and far clearer in their sadness. I am almost reluctant to tear my gaze away from his, still stunned by his interesting appearance.
"Oh, no problem," I am finally able to utter, and my words seem as unnecessary as can be. What is my problem? I have a perfect, incredible boyfriend, so why does this boy I don't even know the name of affect me so? Perhaps because a part of me knows some of the accusations about Tanner are true, that not all of them can be false and that he is not as perfect as I would like to believe... But of course he's perfect. He's my amazing boyfriend, not the monster that people make him out to be. I hope.

I contemplate the knife before me, seeing my reflection stare back at me in the perfectly polished steel blade. I could end it all right now, all of my suffering, all of my pain, all of it... I could go, be free forever from all of... this, this life and its shortfalls and injustices. I could finally leave permanently; all it takes is one quick swipe of a blade. But am I willing to leave it all behind, my friends, my family, my life, Pinkswirl? The answer to that question is yes. There aren't any people besides my family that would really care if I I left, and even my own family probably would worry more about the costs of funeral than about their oldest son committing suicide. And my life? Well, it's very messed up to begin with, so I'd gladly leave it. But Pinkswirl... She's really the only reason I haven't killed myself already, but since she started dating Tanner, I have felt like she betrayed me even though she hasn't done anything to hurt me; my misguided love for her does that on its own. Pinkswirl seems oblivious to the looks I give her, the smiles that light up my face whenever she is around; she still seems to think we are just friends, and that neither one of us is attracted to the other. How I wish that were so. But it is not, and instead I have hopelessly fallen for her, with no rhyme or reason or logic to my attraction except for a burning desire to be the one holding her hand, hugging her, laughing with her... All I have are unwanted and unnecessary feelings for a girl that is blind to my interest in her, so yeah, I really don't have anything to live for anymore. And for those experts who say suicide is evil and wrong, well, you just don't know what you're talking about, because sometimes death is the only way out.

I knock on Raymond's door, my heart pounding with the news I have to tell him. To be honest, I'm not really very disappointed about breaking up with Tanner; after all, he did turn out to be the big jerk he is reputed to be, so it's probably all for the better that I left him anyways. I just can't wait to see Raymond's reaction, because he very obviously finds me attractive and I feel the same way about him, so maybe he'll ask me out. I really hope he will, and he might also snap out of the deep depression he's been in for a while too. Raymond's grinning face, one I haven't seen in a very long time, pops into my mind, and I smile dreamily. A girl can always hope, right? But I intend to do more than hope.
Upon getting no answer after waiting at the door for about three minutes, I test the handle and find it unlocked.
Poking my head into the house, I call, "Raymond, are you there? It's Pinkswirl!" I let my words ring through the hallways and rooms for a while before trying again. "Raymond! It's Pinkswirl! I want to talk to you!"
Deciding that just yelling is getting me nowhere, I step inside, the house and it's decorations very familiar to me due to the large amount of time I have been hanging out with Raymond over the last few months. Setting my jacket on the chair just inside the door frame, I wander down the hallway and towards Raymond's room, hoping he is in there and that I did not just break and enter into my best friend's home.
I stop just outside of his abode, attempting and failing to calm my racing heart and jittery nerves.
"You don't even know he's in there, you don't even know he's in there," I chant to myself with no effect. Oh well; at least I tried.
I tap three sets of three beats, Raymond's and my secret knock, and, upon getting nothing in return, I walk into the room to find Raymond sitting on his bed with a wicked steel knife at his throat, which does not exactly do favors for my already exaggerated anticipation and excitement.
"What are you doing?" I scream, not caring that someone in China probably just heard me because of my extreme volume.
"Pinkswirl..." He looks at me with a kind of mute curiosity but does not lower the blade. "It's time for me to go now, I hope you understand..."
I cannot believe the words Raymond is saying. Of all the people to commit suicide, why would it be him? Why did it have to be him? But I should have seen it coming. The depression, anxiety, paranoia, social withdrawal... all signs leading to self-destruction. Oh God, how could I be so stupid?! I don't know, but now I have to stop Raymond from moving that knife one centimeter closer to his throat.
"Raymond, you don't have to go! In fact, I've got some really good news for you..." I start to babble, trying to waste time and give Raymond's sense a chance to kick in and retake his body.
"Which is?" He seems partly interested but the dagger does not move any lower.
"I broke up with Tanner. I'm free now, and I was sort of hoping you would be my new boyfriend." I see a spark catch in his eyes and light them on fire, and relief starts to flood me like torrential rain feeding a dry and hungry ground. I haven't lost Raymond yet, and now that I've got a hold on his attention I don't intend to let go.
"Really?" The blade starts to sink from his throat to his chest and finally into his lap. "Really?"
I give him a greatly comforted smile and repeat what has already been said, only mine with a more definite tone to it. "Really."
Raymond leaps off his bed , the knife falling to the ground, to wrap me in a huge hug accompanied with a short kiss. "It's nice to have you back Pinkswirl, it's nice to have you back."
"And it's nice to not have lost you Raymond, it's really, really nice." I bury my head in his chest, realizing how much I love him and how much I could never let him go.

[Sonmi-451]

Pet's name: Galaxy Moonlight (f) and Pet's name: Deathly Hollow (m)

Blood trickles down her chestnut-brown cheek, an individual crimson tear that alone seems to carry so much more weight than all of the rest of the blood that has been spilled in the fray combined. I wonder numbly why the scarlet fluid of this one enemy bothers me so much when I have killed so many others of her tribe. It is because she is different. You can see the intelligence and grit of her personality as she fights and her moves are far more graceful than anything I have ever seen. But a pain not known to my eternally-damned soul fills her eyes every time she draws blood of an opponent, proving she is not a true devil like me, just one forced to be by her society and pack. And that may be the saddest sight I have ever seen, for she, a creature not destined or even wanting to kill, is obligated to do so for her family. It is different with me, for I was born to and can do nothing else besides kill, but she... She is innocent and pure in her nature and will, but blood has stained her fur and murder clouded her character because of her society.

Another day in this living hell has ended, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The number dead today totaled zero and the number injured three or four. If only the statistics were like that every day. But the horrible reality is that the death count is usually in the tens or twenties and the injured sometimes number in the hundreds. It is only by luck that I have not fallen into one of those categories yet, but I am sure this war will continue far longer than the year that it already has, and I am also sure that many more will fall due to the little skirmish that started this fight to begin with. But this is the horror that my life has become and it is the horror that I am sure I will die from.

Some people complain of life or time passing them by, but I am one of the few damned enough to say death skipped me over, and it would have been much more merciful if it had just taken me completely instead of leaving my soul and a shadow of my earthly body behind to wander the world until I find love. Ah well; I cannot do anything about it now, and I know I will be stuck on this God-forsaken planet long after the last living thing has died, for what could love me, and what could I love? Nothing, for my heart, like my name, is deathly hollow.

I search the ground below for a strategic position to take, and, seeing nothing but dust and dust and more dust with no trees or hills or even grass, I give up. It looks like this battle will be another bloodbath with no upper ground, only dogs falling to the earth as their lives are taken by those that might, in happier times be called kin or friends. I almost hope I will finally join the ranks of the fallen, for I have heard that death is lighter than a feather, while duty heavier than a mountain, and I know the full brunt of duty's weight and almost long for death's release. My pack would be outraged to hear me speaking such words, but they should know that just the face that I am out here fighting is almost suicide and that only luck has kept me alive for so long. But eventually that luck will run out, and I will find myself in hopefully a better place, so I hope that my windfall falls short sooner rather than later.

Excitement and bloodlust fill the air, but I do not understand why these creatures are almost happy about killing one another. I only do because I have been forsaken by death itself and so take it upon myself to fight for I consider right as I won't be leaving the earth anytime soon. But why do the dogs that are usually kin and friends and maybe even family have a drive to see blood spilled or hear bones break or be the cause of someone's life being wasted on the battlefield? Perhaps the fact that I am undead is both a blessing and a curse in itself, for perhaps I was left behind to learn what I had not it my mortal life. But in my heart that is almost nonexistent due to age deterioration and lack of use, I know death would have been far better that the living hell that I happen to be a part of. And the fight begins, just like always, with snapping jaws and scratching claws and yelps and whimpers filling the air. There is a kind of surrealism involved in fighting, for I seem not anchored to my body in the heat of the fray, but rather a being watching from above as I inflict blow upon blow upon blow against the opponent. It is a sobering sight to see the damage I do, and I am not even sure how I get to be in the position of viewing the carnage I cause while it happens, but I do, and it is a far better and far sadder perspective than just down on the ground. And what do we have here? The female fighter whose grace and beauty I have noted upon before has just taken down one of my packmates, his neck snapped in two and his blood staining the ground crimson. I make a beeline for her, intending to make contact but not to kill.

Teeth snap just inches from my ear, and I whip around to give my attacker a quick bite on the nose... Only my fangs go right through his nose. Leaping back, startled, I face the aggressor head-on to see a creature unlike any ever known to my eyes before. His eyes are pure black with no pupils or irises discernible and his body is translucent and not really there, a memory of what used to be or maybe of what never was. He is a ghost, one of those demons of the night I thought only existed in stories made to scare young pups, and now I know these... things are not just fairytales or horror stories, they are real, and I seem to be in the position of the victim. And I cannot do anything about it, for he cannot die again and I can’t even harm him, so the only thing separating death and me in this situation is the possibility of outsmarting him. My intelligence has kept me alive for a very long time, even though I should have died in many of the fixes I have found myself in, but I don’t think pure intellect will save me here, for all I can do is hold off my eminent doom. The ghost will never stop or tire or weaken, but I will, no matter how long it takes, so maybe I shouldn’t even try to fight, as it would be wasted energy to do so.

I laugh slightly at the surprise upon my victim’s face as her canines fall right through my muzzle.
“I am a ghost, my dear. You cannot harm me.” I stare directly into her golden eyes, and I see an innocent dog just doing what she is forced to, not the career soldier that she appears to be.
“Yes, I know, and I also know you will kill me eventually, but do you think that discourages me from fighting?” She is not frightened or scared; her voice is low and clear, and there is almost a sense of relief in her words, as though she has been waiting to die for a long time.
“Why do you sound so relieved at the prospect of taking death by the hand?” I once was like her, mortal and partially sane and whole, but then death threw me away when I tried to go peacefully and now I am the demon that hides under children’s beds and is hated, by myself and others, for it.
“There is nothing for me in this world after my lover fell early in the war, and I have cheated death too many times anyways, so it is time for me to go, and I would be very thankful if you would put out of my misery due to this living hell quickly.” Anger rules her slight accent with an iron fist and I realize this is a perfect example of society’s influences shaping someone’s so much to the point that would like to commit suicide. But why? Why would society push an excelling one of its own to the brink of unwilling life and wanted death? Because society is very fickle and is of such extreme weight that it cracks many that would otherwise do good. Even though civilization has done many great things, it has also caused much death and pain and sacrifice on the personal level. Perhaps I was lucky to be an outcast in my mortal life, for I never had to bear the public’s burden or feel crushed by the demands of my people. Of course, I still am an outcast, an eternal one, so I will never have to feel what this poor girl is.
“Just put me out of it quickly; I don’t want to stay anymore!” Her snarl has risen to a desperate scream, and finally I truly grasp how much she hates this world, this place, possibly even herself although she has done nothing wrong. She is too young to feel so much like me, for at least I have a reason to hate my own nonexistent guts. After all, anyone that even death rejects has to have done something wrong, and I did many, many things that I shouldn’t have, and I bear the literal and mental chains to prove it.
“Life is far more precious than you will ever understand.” My serious tone catches her attention. Good. I will not let someone like her throw away everything now when something might actually be done about her predicament. “I have been dead for almost 100 years now, and I have learned exactly how beautiful and amazing life is in that time. I was never a perfect child like you, but I know how you feel, and I also know it is an eternal hell on earth to be a ghost like me. You are just a fragment of what has been, and your whole time you wonder what you did wrong, what you did to deserve the title of a demon, of something that goes bump in the night.” Tears that will never fall, for they don’t really even exist, come to my eyes, and a great pain fills my chest at all of the memories flooding my mind. The good old days, as I call them now, were when I had an existing body and a generally sound mind and heart. But now I am just deathly hollow inside and out, so the name I adopted so many years ago has finally proven to be the perfect choice.

“But my life isn’t precious or wonderful, it’s not happy or even livable, so why can’t you just kill me and take all of this duty and pressure and horrible reality off my back?” Why am I discussing if I should die with one of my enemies? Isn’t it supposed to be ingrained in his figurative blood to kill me? Apparently not, for I guess this ghost has a soft spot.
“Your individual life may not be a fairytale, but just the fact that you live and breath is magical and awesome and a dream to me. It has been so long since I’ve drawn in a lungful of air that I don’t even remember how to really, so you wishing to be a shadow of what once was like me almost breaks my deathly hollow heart.” The sadness permeating from his voice is almost painful for me to just hear, so I can imagine it is excruciating for him. Something about the way he described his heart carries a certain tone and emphasis…
“That’s your name, isn’t it? Deathly Hollow?” What a bitter, sad name for such a bitter, sad creature. The irony of that is that I probably deserve that title far more than any ghost does, for my years of fighting have caused me to be cynical, pessimistic, deathly hollow. It is the horrible transgression that has happened due to my hatred of my situation and life, but it is what it is, and currently I don’t know or really care to know a way to stop it.
“Indeed.” A bitterness and distaste fills his voice, the black holes for eyes carrying a sad, regretful air if any emotion could be read from them. The atrocity of physical but not mental death has made Deathly Hollow a monster on the outside and an endless abyss of anger and sadness and regret and hatred on the inside, but somehow I do not fear him. I almost pity him, but above all I feel a connection to him, for we are not so different. The intelligence that we both have is conspicuous and our inner bitterness also covers up the fact that we have a slightly nicer side. In our misery we hide, as far from the world as if we were on another planet, and the steel boxes of sadness we build have their walls reinforced every day with more suffering. “Such a truer name was never given to another creature that has walked this damned planet.”
“No. I deserve the title of Deathly Hollow far more than you ever could.” To a normal person, that truth would hurt very much, but to me it is simply a fact, a reality of the life that I have been cursed with living.
He chuckles and shakes his head, and I can tell that he would be crying if he weren’t laughing. “Foolish mortal. Foolish, foolish mortal. You seem almost proud of your bitter nature and you wear it like a suit of armor. Your forbidding personality is your protection against the outside world, for it drives almost all away, exactly what you have intended it to do. But your charisma also serves as a shell of misery made as hard as steel that you, even though you might not realize it, eternally hide in and never feel safe out of.”
I feel as if I have been hit over the head with a brick, but instead I have been clubbed with this little thing called a reality check that I have been greatly overdue for. All this time I have been telling myself that how I live is completely the fault of my society and my situation, not me, but really I am the biggest factor towards my misery. No outwardly thing has as much of an effect on me as I do, and now I see how foolish and misguided I was to blame other things for my state and then hide behind the pain I caused myself. At least I was lead to realize such a fact before it was too late, and now a revolution has started inside me, led by a ghost that hasn’t changed for nearly a hundred years.

I see the realization bloom upon her face like a flower in spring, and a slight smile crosses my face at her beauty, now finally revealed after the mask of despair she wore almost permanently has been destroyed. Wait, ghosts don’t feel attraction, do they? At least I thought we don’t, but apparently I am wrong. Another mislead belief to add to the story of my life... and afterlife.
“So I take it you understand?” I am envious of her open show of emotion, the substance of life, for never again will such a thing inhabit my body, but it is hard to feel anything except goodness and liking towards my once-enemy, now friend.
“Yes, I do. Thank you for enlightening me, Deathly Hollow.” A friendly smile accompanies her grateful words. And what is that I feel? A heart, supposed to be completely rotted away, starts to thump quickly with... excitement?! And for a mortal?! Oh God, what a relief; it proves I’m not just a hollow, dead creature like I was just a few minutes ago. Perhaps the name Deathly Hollow does not fit me like it used to; now I think that finally I have earned the right to go by my given name, Arthur.
“And it is not Deathly Hollow anymore, my dear,” I whisper, returning her grin, “it is Arthur, for you have taught me to feel again just as I have taught you.” Much to my dismay, I feel myself slipping away, fading, and I remember the restriction set upon my ghost existence. Is it possible I have finally found love in a stranger met on the battlefield? “I am passing on, finally, and so, my fair maiden, could I perhaps know your name before I never see your face again?” Eloquence is certainly not necessary at the time being, but for some reason, probably love, I am feeling more Shakespearean even though I am actually dying.
“My name is… Galaxy Moonlight.” I barely catch her uttered words as my senses fade and a great relief at finally getting to leave but also a great pain at having to leave Galaxy fills me and, even though I am about 100 years overdue, I finally pass on.


Pet's name: Gabe (m) and Pet's name: Frost (f)

"You're as cold as ice," Gabe whispers to me, his scruffy hair falling into his eyes as he focuses on his paper and the wonderful drawing he is creating.
"Well, my name is Frost," I reply, a slight smirk at the irony flitting across my face. "But if I'm so ice-cold, then why do you still hang around me?" It is a rhetorical question, as I already know the answer, but for some reason I never get tired of asking it, even though the response is the same every time.
"Because we're best friends." The words are dull, monotonous, lacking emotion, as they have been repeated many times over many years.
"Exactly. We're best friends." I give Gabe a smile and he just shakes his head at the pointlessness of him noticing my nature. That's probably the best part about my friendship with Gabe; it really hasn't changed since we met in second grade and I don't think I want it to ever change.

The bell for fourth period rings, and Frost and I leave the art room side by side, her precariously balancing her textbooks and papers in one arm while texting with the other hand.
"How can you do that?" I am kind of amazed at her coordination, because I know that if I try anything like that, I would have to buy new books and a new phone.
"I'm a girl Gabe." She looks up from her Droid for just a second to give me a knowing smile. "I have balance, while you guys, well... Let's just say you're more prone to trip over your own feet."
"Unfair!" My cry of protest attracts no attention in the already-buzzing hallway. "I have only done that once!" Well, once when Frost was around, as I do it lots at my house, but she doesn't need to know that.
"Once when I've been around. I'm sure you've done it a whole lot more when I haven't been there to tease you about your lack of skill and balance." I swear Frost is some sort of mind-reader that knows exactly what I am thinking a moment after I think it. After all, it seems to be the only logical explanation for her annoying ability to use what I think against me.
My trying to think of a protest to something that is completely true proves futile so I just throw my hands in the air and exclaim, "You're right Frost. Like you always are."
"Like I said Gabe," her golden-yellow eyes lock onto mine, "it's a girl thing." With a slight smirk across her face Frost taps my nose with her finger and walks off in the direction of her next class.

Gabe's incredible violet eyes haunt me through the next period, their shimmering depths always filled with a pain that I know nothing about but desperately wish I could heal. That hurt has been there as long as I can remember, but I am as close to finding out its cause as I was ten years ago when Gabe and I met. Every day, when I look into Gabe's eyes, I hope that the black cloud of agony that has darkened their purple irises for so long will have disappeared, but it never has, and I am starting to fear that it never will. Gabe shows no outward symptoms of his inner struggle, but his eyes reveal the truth. I wonder what causes his plight; depression, family issues, maybe even terminal illness? But the worst part in all of those situations is that, in any of them, Gabe has been keeping secrets from me. Trivial ones about his clumsiness at home don't bother me, but ones that affect his life and therefore mine I feel I need to know, and the only way I can help Gabe is if he will tell me his problem. But Gabe is very stubborn; if he has set his mind on doing anything, including keeping a secret from his best friend, then he will, and probably until the end of time. However, I also happen to be bull-headed, so I won't give up until I extract that secret from him like a bad tooth that has needed to come out.

As I wait outside the math classroom for Frost, I wonder how hard that math test Mr. Boldova wrote is. Maybe I can get Frost to tell me what some of the-
"What secret have you been keeping from me that causes you so much pain?" Frost asks bluntly, grabbing my arm and almost forcing me to look into her eyes. How did she find out?
"And what secret do you think I may be hiding?" I couldn't tell her; she wouldn't understand. Nobody would, and so I suffer in silence.
"Well if I knew then it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" Frost is nearly snarling now, and I know am I busted bigtime.
How do I put this? "Um, well, um... Frost, I am adopted, HIV-postive and am on the brink of having full-blown AIDS." Well, it's out, but now what is she going to do with it?
"How? You're not the kind to sleep around. Just how?" Her golden eyes that always melt my heart are filled with worry and compassion and shock, not the hatred I kind of expected.
"HIV, along with the gift of life, was given to me by my mother when I was born. So no, I didn't sleep around; I've had it all my life and therefore have been doomed to die since the moment I took my first breath." Tears well up in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I won't and don't cry; my immune system may be weak and nearly nonexistent but my heart is made of steel, except in the case of Frost.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Frost's voice is shaky now, and she seems to be on the point of breaking down sobbing.
"Because there was no need for you to know I am a ticking time bomb and become miserable with me." I pause, debating over whether I should tell her everything. Oh, why not? I'm only projected to have a year left anyways. "Frost, I fell in love with you the first time we met ten years ago as five-year-olds, and since then I have only fallen even harder for you. My sadness is not just because of the disease that will eventually be the end of me but also the fact that I will never be able to be with you or marry you or spend a lifetime with you because I have one or two years of life left. I love you Frost, and I wish very desperately that I never got HIV, but I did, and here we are. I understand if you would like to slap me or attempt to knock some sense into me for loving you not as a sibling like I think you love me, but please don't hit too hard; I don't really wanna go home black and blue and then have my friends tease me about getting beaten up by a girl."
"I'm not gonna beat you up Gabe; that would be mean, and, although I can be as cold as my name, I am not violent." She gives me a radiant smile which only enhances her beauty and my pain. "Instead I'm gonna do something that is long overdue."
Dropping her books on the ground, Frost wraps her arms around the back of my neck and kisses me lightly on the lips. "I love you Gabe," she whispers, pressing her head into my chest.
A contented, lovestruck grin crosses my face as I hug her back, and now it doesn't matter if I die tomorrow, because I have Frost, and my life is finally complete.

[horchata]

Yay! Thanks, awesome story! My new favourite. (I'm going to try and find a pet that looks like Lorn AKA Stumphead)

[Riverr Song]

I've read maybe half of your stories and I absolutely love them! XD
I really like Millie and Milo, even though I found Charlie and Cocoa Puff to be pretty good as well!

[Sonmi-451]

I've read maybe half of your stories and I absolutely love them! XD
I really like Millie and Milo, even though I found Charlie and Cocoa Puff to be pretty good as well!

Thanks!