Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Square Enix and Disney do.

AN: Yes, I'm attempting another chapter story. I plan for this one to have humor, drama, cunning, skill, a dash of romance, maybe even a flick of tragedy, and cooking. Cooking's gotta mean something, right? I mean come on, in the TV shows cooking is the epitome of disaster. I shall play that to my advantage.

Now then, bear with me; the prologue is a bit short (barely 850 words, I think) but only because I couldn't really add more without A.) getting even more sidetracked or B.) revealing everything. Then there's the fact I don't really know what else is going on…. Think sitcom + soap opera.

Onwards!

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introducing

A X E L I S M

The Prologue

(in which Our Stage is Rather Vaguely Set)

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Watching them makes me sick. No seriously, I can feel the vomit rise in my mouth every time I lay eyes on them holding hands or feeling each other up or making out. Seeing that makes me physically sick. I think the whole world will agree with me, too.

I mean, come on. No one wants to see two boys professing undying love for each other in the middle of Tram Commons. Unless, of course, I'm one of those boys.

Keep dreaming, my oh-so-in-touch-with-reality conscience tells me. I ignore the sarcasm and go right along with that advice. Literally. Following popular belief I do indeed dream about that boy. I'll confide in you that these dreams never fall below the rating of NC-17 and are usually full of–

Shit. Soliloquy beside, there they are, walking hand in hand with stupid little smiles on their faces. They make me want to puke up hellfire that'll burn one to a crisp and make the other run to me for sweet, sweet safety.

And damn it, I'd save his cute little ass with a smile on my face. By the time I got through with him, the name "Hayner" would be completely erased from his memory banks and be replaced with mine. How would I go about that feat? Simple. He'd scream it so much–

Okay. I really need to stop. If I don't I'll probably get charged with child molestation or something. Hell, I'm probably being charged with that and various other crimes (I knew I shouldn't have set that kid's pants on fire) at this very moment.

Bring 'em on.

But that's not the point. I keep wandering from the point. The point is this: Roxas is dating Hayner. That phrase alone should bring on the apocalypse, or at least the death of the latter, but damn it that's not happening anytime soon on its own accord so I'm going to have to snatch matters out of fate's hands and put 'em in mine.

Here's the plan: there is no plan. That, my friends, is the plan of all plans. The no plan plan. Improvisation. It's my specialty. I'm the crème de la crème of improvisers and I'm going to play that to my advantage like no other. Some lines here, some blocking there, maybe even some props. Yes. Lots of props. Heck, I may even get myself some supporting actors, a sidekick, a damsel in distress…. But that's getting a bit carried away, isn't it?

Watch and learn theater majors, 'cause this is a once in a lifetime opportunity: a crash course in Axelism. Great. I'm going to have to explain it now that I've brought it up, aren't I? Okay, here it is in a nutshell: the act of being like me. Who is me you ask? Me, mes amis, is me. Axel. The man. How do you be like me? Simple. You become a pyromaniac with a slight obsession for little blonde boys. Y'know, Axelism is kind of a religion if you think about it, but once more that's getting carried away.

Sit back and enjoy people because the ride of a lifetime is getting ready to commence.

Man, I got off subject again didn't I? Y'know, I'm starting to think that doctor or physician or psychologist or whatever who told my mom I had ADD was right. Not that I'm going to start takin' pills or anything. I don't think the citizens of this fair city could deal with a watered down version of me. It'd be like...like it having to deal with that gross Sea Salt Ice Cream shit suddenly becoming discontinued.

Okay, okay I'm not that pronounced or reclaimed or coveted here. And I don't have ADD.

Anyways. Once again I'll state the tiny problem we have going on here: Roxas is dating Hayner. Man every time I so much as think that I want to throttle the kid–Hayner, that is. Not Roxas. I'd never lay so much as a slap on that kid.

I admit it: that's a lie. I really do want to punch him for being stupid enough to date Hayner. Then he'd need another punch for dating that chick Naminé for that oh so long period of time. The little lady was using him, people! She only liked him for the popularity.

Golddigger.

Ahem. Whoever told me calling people names wouldn't help anything was wrong because that made me feel a whole lot better. Back on track. Now, I guess before I plummet into my 'master plan' and all, I should give you the back-story to this madness.

Damn. There goes my dryer. Let's label this fiasco as 'To Be Continued' and don't you dare point out that there's barely anything to continue that all.

Unless, of course, you like yourself flame broiled. Or flambéed. Or even roasted and topped with a light garlic sauce.

Oh. Right. The dryer.

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AN: Woo. So our stage is set, if not…vaguely. Excuse Axel; as you can tell, he's not all there. Anyways, did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Do you want to burn it? Express your opinions in a nice review. Hold the flames please, though.

As stated, pleeaseee review. My doctor warns that a lack of the things may prove fatal for me and this is the only place I know where I can get the prescription filled.