War? Pah.

Bellij never gives up, does he?

 

Mates, he’s back again and he’s only a few days away from our outermost defenses. If he thinks he can beat us this time, he’s mental. We’re short a tactician this time, but it shouldn’t matter much. His troops are poorly trained and most of them have no clue who I am. He might have us outmanned, but one of our soldiers is about equal to twenty of his in terms of skill level. He won’t stand a chance.

 

As for myself, I’m going to wait for our troops to punch a bit of a hole in Bellij’s lines before I join the fray myself. Bellij doesn’t have a clue where I am, after all. There’s no need to ruin the surprise right away. I’m going to let him attack first and lure him into a false sense of security. Just when he thinks that I’m somewhere far, far away, that’s when I’ll show up right in front of the bastard. He may not have done it directly, but the fucker killed s3c0ndh4nd, and if he thinks that I’ve forgotten about that already, he’s got another thing coming.

 

 

 

 

 

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I’m Sorry

It is strange how problems long forgotten can re-enter your life at the most inopportune moment.

Here I am, leading an enemy army towards my home. I am surrounded by people who hate me. The only thing keeping me sane is the thought that perhaps soon I shall return to my friends. The last thing I need is another problem to deal with.

But today I found crumpled up in my bag a piece of paper. A short poem was written on it. It had no title or date, but it was certainly my work, and I vaguely remember writing it. I recall wanting to try out a different style, and having Kid sitting two feet away from me as I wrote. Anyhow, here it is (In 2-D, in fact):

Losers in life find themselves
Entrenched in their own personal hell. You’re
Two feet away. "Everything’s well", you say, but I know it’s not.

My mind is plagued by that one memory.
Everything is razed by that one story.

Onwards! Life waits for no man,
Unless you’ll wait too; I know that you can.
Talk a minute, walk a mile

Open up and pop a smile,
For anything is possible if you stop and take a stand.

Maybe someday
You won’t be so lazy,

But ’til that day comes you’ll be driving me crazy.
Running around, rumors abound, they’re true: I’d do
Anything for you, to get us back to blue.
Illicit, even, if you’d just be explicit. The
Nightmares have stopped, but I’m still horrified.

And after reading this I am reminded of what I did to Kid. I had never really forgotten, but the pain had been far off in the background until now. It has been over a year now, but somehow I can still feel the effects. The nightmares do still occur, albeit they are far rarer than they used to be. Just thinking about him wounds me somewhere deep inside.

I swear upon all that I hold dear that if I survive this ordeal I will find some way to apologize to him. Will he talk to me? Unlikely. But there has to be some way to let him know how I feel.

 

One More Year

That’s all the time I have left, and there’s a simple reason for that: I’m not getting old.

I absolutely, completely, and steadfastly refuse to get old. It’s just not an option for me. So, next year at around this time, I’ll leave and none of you will ever see me alive again.

The question you might be asking is: "What’s wrong with getting old?"

Nothing, for most people. But it’s my worst nightmare.

I’m different than most people, I guess you could say. I haven’t been here very long, but I think you’ve all had a chance to get to know me fairly well, so you know that I love kids. Love. I think that kids are the greatest people alive, and honestly I would much rather spend an afternoon with a twelve year old than with someone my age or older. And, whenever possible, I do that.

But there will come a point when I won’t be able to anymore. Most kids have the "Don’t talk to strangers" rule engraved into their minds. You’ll notice, though, that this rule doesn’t apply to other kids. If a ten year old approaches another ten year old and starts talking to him or her, you’ll never hear one of the kids say "Sorry, I’m not supposed to talk to strangers." It just doesn’t happen that way.

Up to now, I’ve been pretty safe. I don’t look very threatening, and so kids let their guard down around me. They trust me, and I’d die before I’d betray that trust. I love them, like I said, and they respect me.

Eventually I’m going to hit that point where I’ll cease to be someone to respect and start to be someone to fear. Can you imagine how hard that would be for me to accept? Having the people I love fear me? I won’t stand for it.

The other thing is that adults are expected to behave in an adult fashion. Adults aren’t supposed to interact with kids in the way that I want to. I’d be quickly labeled as a pedophile. And in the end, that’s what I am, I guess. Not in the modern, child-molester usage of the word. I’ll go on the record as saying that I believe that sexual abuse of children should be punishable by death, and that’s not an exaggeration. Besides killing a child (which I believe should be punished by torture, followed by a slow, painful death), I believe it is the most foul crime on earth. But I digress. I am a pedophile in the classic Greek sense of the word Paidophilia. Pais (meaning child), and philia (meaning love or friendship). That’s me in essence: A lover of children. I don’t want to molest them, or hurt them in any way. I just want to befriend them. Protect them. Laugh with them. Share their good times and their bad. Hold them close, let them know that I’m there for them. That’s all I want.

And because of my way of thinking, other adults will shun me and cast me aside. I can live with that.

What I can’t live with is the fact that my beloved ones will soon fear me, and will reject me. I refuse to live in such a world.

One year is all I have left to enjoy.

 

 

6/7, and the Race Against the Disney Channel!

"There’s not much to say about this one, is there Mikey?"

 

"The end is in sight, but I can’t let myself get distracted by that. I need to keep focused on the task at hand."

 

"Which is destroying my life, apparently," Cody mused, mulling over the sheets of paper on Mike’s desk.

 

"For now, anyway. We’re coming up to the climax now. It’s funny. I’ve never liked books where all of the action seems to be concentrated into the last 30 or so pages, and I swore that if I were to write a book, I would space the action out more evenly… but here I am, writing out all of the action within the last few chapters. I can’t see any way out of it. It just… happened."

 

"It’s a natural thing. Leave it the way it is for now. Just chill out and finish what you’re doing on your own time."

 

"That’s the other problem." Mike groaned.

 

"Don’t tell me you’re getting worried about being at 100% efficiency again," Cody said, raising an eyebrow. "I only bug you about that for kicks."

 

"No, it’s not that. It’s the Disney Channel."

 

"Your best friends?"

 

"Usually. But see, I finally got around to watching Minutemen this past weekend, and I really don’t like how many themes it seems to sap from our story. It’s not like I copied them or anything, because first of all I starting writing this months before Minutemen was released, and second of all because the themes are still different, they’re just more similar than I would like them to be."

 

"That’s a shame, I’ll agree, but it’s too late to fix it,"

 

"That’s not the worst part though. See, right at the end of Minutemen, a brief conversation between two of the main characters hints that there might just be a sequel, which would use the concept of teleportation as its main plot device. Teleportation is something that I’m planning on using later in the series. I know that it’s been done before, but it still hurts my sense of originality, especially since the Disney Channel and I would be catering to the same approximate audience. Now, personally I think that the little conversation was put in there so that the Disney Channel could keep its options open, but it still concerns me. The problem is that a team of Disney Channel writers can write a screenplay faster than I can write a book."

 

"So it’s a race?"

 

"Yeah, and one I don’t stand much of a chance of winning." Mike sighed. "Man, I can’t believe that the Disney Channel would cause me so much stress. It’s not the first time that this has happened either. Remember when I had that idea for the park to be demolished? And then I watched that Suite Life episode, and that plan went kaput."

 

"That idea was also similar to Max Keeble’s Big Move," Cody pointed out.

 

"Shut up."

 

"I was just pointing out that Disney tends to copy itself sometimes."

 

"Yeah, but when you’re Disney, you can get away with that. When you’re a no-name fledgling writer, you can’t get away with anything."

 

There was silence in the room for a few seconds.

 

"So, when will you be done?" asked Cody.

 

"I don’t know," said Mike. "7/7 doesn’t mean that I’m done. It just means that I’ve hit 70,000 words, which is my goal length. That translates to a little more than 200 Harry Potter sized pages, which I think is a good length. Then I’ll have to start editing, and I can’t get into the publishing stage until September rolls around, so-"

 

"Just give me dates," interrupted Cody impatiently.

 

"At 100%, I’d be done with the first draft in 3 weeks to a month. This summer looks like a busy one though, so I won’t make any promises, except that I’ll be done the first draft by the end of the summer. There, happy?"

 

"As a clam," Cody beamed. "Hey, don’t you have an exam tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be studying?"

 

Mike laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"…Oh. You were serious?"