Triple 7: Yo! Here I am, again. I'm still pretty drained from last month, and recuperating is driving me crazy. I can't stay away from my computer for more than a day, apparently. So I'm making up for some lost time by bringing "Wind Chronicles" over here to . I've been meaning to do it, anyway. So, here you are: A prologue of sorts told in Sonic's POV. I haven't writing in 1st-person for...never. Gimme a holler if something's off, or if you've got a question. Otherwise, please enjoy and leave a kind word or two! XD

Event One

The Day My Life Changed…Much to My Chagrin

Have you ever woken up and forgotten where you were sleeping?

Waking up in the morning is a pain. It feels like it's ridiculously early, but it's actually—what?—7:30 in the morning. I was never much of an early bird; I'm still not. But my damned alarm clock keeps waking me up at ungodly intervals.

"Curse you, stupid alarm clock," I mutter crossly, poking the "Snooze" button.

Even though I'm really meaning to press the "Dismiss" button.

Well, I have. Once again.

I could never figure out which one was which on that thing, since it's an analog-style alarm clock.

Because my grandmother and I share an abhorrence for high-pitched beeping sounds that digital alarms have.

The chittering ring of my alarm's bells bring me out of my kinda-sorta light sleep. I finally manage to flick the "Dismiss" switch, but my arm deadens immediately. And before I know it, I'm back asleep.

It works in funny ways, my brain does. It is clearly the strangest creature on Planet Earth. Because soon after, my upper body's being thrown into an upright position and I'm flailing like an idiot. Without the help of those incessant reminders or anything.

"What the—? Huh? Where—? Where the…?" I blink sleepily, a tad stupidly as well. "Oh. Wait…? Room. Yeah. That's a thing that's there."

I'm just…awake again. Stupid brain.

"Sonic-Dear?"

Well, there's my G-ma. Right on cue, as usual.

"Are you up, Sweetie?"

"Aagh, yep," was my playful nasally reply, failing to be nonchalant.

"Then guess what today is…?"

My bedroom door slides open and there she is, with the best-looking breakfast tray I'd ever seen since I was little. It was a breakfast of champions, featuring three servings of hash browns, four strips of turkey bacon, a medley dish of sliced strawberries, kiwi, and blue grapes, two slices of buttered toast, and a tall glass of citrus punch.

Wait. Citrus punch? That crappy watery knockoff of my precious breakfast-classic premium orange juice?

"Instead of my OJ?" I think to myself. Cue my blank stare. "…What is she, crazy?"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart, for bringing you this watered-down version of your favorite morning drink, but I couldn't afford the real thing the other day at the grocer's…so I settled for this instead. I hope you're not-too-mad at me-me-me! La la-la!"

I continue to watch, with my dumbfounded stare, as G-ma prances around my room and sings like a happy little skylark that knows ballet. With my breakfast tray still in hand, mind you.

"Gah! Granma! Be careful, or you'll hurt yourself!" I snap fearfully, flailing my arms at her like a rag doll's. "And all my precious food!"

Then, with sudden composure, Granma presents the tray to me. Blinking a little, I look up at her strangely cute "With Love, Grandma" smile. She even threw a chuckle in with it.

"Do you know what today is?" she asks me again.

I blink at her again before starting to scoff down my awesome breakfast. As I ate a little drowsily, I went on to ponder about an answer. She can obviously see the cogs in my waking brain turning slow as heck. But her patient smile is always reassuring.

Even with my morning-to-morning brain farts, forgetting where I've slept isn't a big deal, really. It's the mini-heart attacks I give myself whenever I do forget that bother me.

"Umm…June 14th?" I reply with a full mouth.

She giggles. "Yes, but not quite what I'm looking for, sweetie." She pats my shoulder, playfully snooty as always.

"Dang it," I complain, pursing my lips childishly. "Huhh…Flag Day?"

"Very good! How attentive you are! …But still, not what I'm looking for." She flicks my nose and starts wagging her snooty-patooty index finger at me.

And my incorrect answers are starting to irritate me. But my next answer quelled it. "Uh…Friday?" My blunt response came with a lifted eyebrow.

"Hurray!" my grandmother squeals. She had leapt from my bedside and was somehow stuck in midair, like a freeze-frame image, with blue-and-white pompoms. She made herself look like a high school cheerleader—only much, much older. It's odd, and oddly entertaining. Her antics are always so crazy, making her an atypical grandmother right off the bat.

I shake my head. "I wonder if that'd be something Mom would do?"

Most likely, I figure, since she is Mom's mom, after all. She's still pretty spry for a sixty-six-year-old woman; she's not to be trifled with, though.

Especially when it comes to cooking. She always wears the pants when it comes to cooking. Never cross her in the kitchen; don't even think about it. She'll gut you like a fish—and it'd better not involve one of her prized stainless-steel kitchen knives, or else she'll go ahead and serve you for dinner. She dominates the cooking turf—and possibly you, if you talk bad about her not having "A-Class" cooking skills.

Like I did, a couple years ago: Egotistical and clueless, fourteen-year-old me tried to be Superman and insisted on cooking some chicken wings for an epic track meet "soirée". And—lo and behold!—I scorch the hell out of G-ma's kitchen. Stove, totally ruined. Chicken wings, definitely ruined. She made me swear myself from using the kitchen because of it, too.

Thus, having friends over will equal definite starvation (unless G-ma says otherwise, like allowing one of my more trustworthy friends fix something).

So instead, she's been the one bringing me champion breakfasts and strongman dinners for the past two years; she also been sending me to school with her awesome homemade "TLC" lunches for the past eight.

"And speaking of it being Friday…" My grandmother had a finger at her chin. She poked at it thoughtfully.

What about it being Friday, now…?

"Have you seen the time, dear?" my grandmother asked, as sweet as can be. Her gray-rimmed walnut eyes were sparkling, in a way that was too super-cute for a woman her age. She was batting her eyelashes at me in the same manner.

I flinch, a little unnerved by how cutely creepy she looked. Her "mum" lips made her look like a snapping turtle. I could feel an awkward sweat drop trailing from my temple.

But then, she gets up, pats my head like I'm some puppy, slips back to my bedroom door, and giggle-sighs before disappearing behind it.

I sensed the hopelessness in her sigh at the end. And as soon as I turn to look at my alarm clock, a deep-seated dread sent more sweat drops springing out of my pores and bolting down my face. "Oh no…! It can't be…!"

7:54 was what the clock face read.

Good thing my breakfast got scoffed down earlier, because I flipped that tray. With me crying big baby tears and screaming like a scared-stiff sissy.

Because I only had six minutes to get to school. Sure didn't help that it was some twenty-odd streets away, either. And I was nowhere near dressed?

"No, not again!" I panic.

God, somebody shoot me!

…Okay, maybe not today. Nah. Got a big test today. In history, to boot. Oh, joy.

"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmbiflob!"

I was in such a hurry I couldn't even panic right!

"Must. Make. Beeline. To…!"

KA-WHUMP!—"Bwah!"

Now is not a good time to bump into somebody, Sonic! Be courteous, and kindly leave them in a frickin' dust cloud, already!

"Oh, hey! I am so so sorry!" I can't help emphasizing. I manage to get to my feet and shake off the accident with an, "I'd love to apologize in full length, but I have to get to school, like right now, so—!"

"So apologize, so I ain't gotta get on you and beat you down."

My hurriedness was frozen by the callous cracking of the knuckles of…well, Knuckles. Surprisingly, he's as late to class as I am for a change. He's always at school really early, training in the gym for a kickboxing match, usually. There must not be anything major scheduled right now?

I lift my hands in defense. "Ahh-bah-bah-hah…? Eh-hem, uhh…? Yeah. Whoops. Sorry. My bad, Knuxster."

"Yeah. That's what I thought I heard." The ballsy echidna narrows his eyes at me. "Right?"

"Hah, yep!" comes another one of my nasally replies. With my hands still up, like I was proving myself to be unarmed. Oddly, my smile feels a whole lot like Granma's "mum" lips.

"Hmph. Whatever. Let's go," the upperclassman says nonchalantly.

I notice, after blinking a little, that he's going on up the street, like I don't even exist. I huff a pouting sigh. "You just told me to go with you…? Don't just go on and ditch me!" An anger vein begins to throb at my temple.

But I ended up deciding to stop caring about my "perfect" attendance record and just walk with the guy.

Good gracious, that exam's finally gone with the wind! Woo-hoot! Everyone in the room is praising to the highest of heavens, cheering ridiculously. Girls are crying and holding each other, guys have formed an ever-growing mosh pit for our history teacher, where he was eventually lifted up and carried around. Much to his confusion, no doubt.

It wasn't even a midterm. Can't wait to see what that'll look like.

And now, the rest of the school day is kicking in. Like in my head.

The halls are as cramped as ever, mostly with seniors—unlike me—because they're all prepping for graduation exams and whatnot. Those don't happen for another couple weeks. I still think they've got it easy, even with the whole "senioritis" epidemic that's going on.

Especially with the head members of the Student Council, namely Wave, Rouge…and even my "little brother", Tails.

The kid's a prodigy. I mean, look at him—exploring the vastness of the big-kids' realm at the tender age of nine (and three-quarters, if you count his birthday being in the fall of the first trimester). He's got wicked-high smarts; wicked shame that I have to ask him to tutor me on the weekends, though. Bweh…!

And then, there are those incorrigible "she-devils", Rouge the Bat and Wave the Swallow. Those two seem to get Tails into the weirdest trouble. Poor kid. I know he's in high school now, but c'mon—he's still nine! You just don't persuade a nine-year-old to go "adventuring" in a girls' bathroom…! Ack, the nerve of those weirdo super-seniors!

There are other friend-classmates that I have, too; even though they're a class under me. I think Silver and Jet are cool guys, and that's all that matters. Although Jet's pretty mouthy and Silver's kind of a klutz, they're awesome. Even the silent exchange student from Japan—Espio, I think?—is super-cool. I think he and Knuckles have a silent martial arts beef with each other…?

Ninjitsu vs. kickboxing: Which style reigns superior?

Hmm…? On a side note, though, there's a relatively new face that I don't see all too often. It seems like this guy is in the same graduating class as me, but I barely see him around. And I'm left to question how his grades are.

I don't really know his name, but the girls love him! They scream it all the livelong day, but it's never stuck with me. How can they be head-over-heels with this guy—how are they seeing him! 'Cause I can't!

So I decide to leave it for the time being, and focus on other stuff. Like eating. And sleeping. Studying. Learning. Actually going to class. Unlike this phantom enigma these clueless girls are swooning over…!

…Okay, I thought I had left it alone. What is wrong with girls nowadays? They'll swoon over anybody they think is "cool" or "popular", "sexy" or "hot", "smoking", just what-the-hell-ever!

Can I please…knock some sense into these girls? Just one good hardy smack on the noggin? C'mon! Please?

Ah, jeez, fine! No violence!

It would appear that our favorite "mystery man" has finally decided to show his face, and it turns out that he's going to attend our school's track meet. It'll be a tournament of sorts—just less "tournament"-y and more "championship"-y. Whatever that means, right? It's coming up this weekend, and I'm the track team's ace in the hole. Because I don't just run; I sprint, too. I'm not sure why he's attending, since he doesn't seem like the type to go to anything sports-related, let alone track and field.

But, the opening ceremonies were getting underway, so I took the liberty of heading off before Granma had a chance to grab her keys.

Running has always been a great love of mine. I think I got that love of "The Rush" from my old man…? That's my Granpa on my dad's side. It's strange that neither my mom nor dad had that hot-bloodedness. Considering the natures of both my grandparents, it makes me wonder if it just skips a generation?

But, there again, I digress.

Holy Bajeebers, this crowd's huge! Looks like everyone and their grandmothers from everywhere are here! And speaking of grandmothers…heh, my G-ma's just getting here, too. Spry and peppy as usual, I see; though with another one of her own usual unusual twists. Sure she's in her normal outdoor clothes…but are the blue-and-white pompoms really necessary? She's totally ready to cheer me and my team on, and I'm so pumped! Yeah!

Representing my high school are me and my seven teammates. We're racing against another team from within the region, but they don't look so tough.

I mean, really, they actually don't. But I can't speak too soon on that; I don't wanna be too bigheaded before the big race, anyway. But knowing me…heh, good luck, you wannabe speedsters! Nyeh nyeh!

The rules are simple: three varied trials, best 2-out-of-3 wins. The first one is the 2×50m dash, where the two teams will alternate between the two halves of the track; meaning our team will run one J-side, and the rival team will run the other. After that is the 100m hurdles, and then the ultimate tie-breaker.

The 3×150m relay. Teamwork is key to winning the best 2-out-of-3, especially if both teams have one event under their belts.

Oh, would you looky here. There's some irony in that last statement. Crap.

"It's time to put the big-boy shorts on, guys," I tell my huddle.

Looks like we're all in good form. Didn't think we'd have an actual problem with this, so let's get serious. They may have scored the second event, but it's time to bust out our signature "Teamwork-style Upper Combi-Cut"! Oh yeah, we've got this in the bag! Although Jared's lookin' a bit blue, like lacking in oxygen. So he's gonna sit this one out. Poor guy; I actually wanted him to run this relay with us. He's a pretty good shot on the track. Can make a beeline like nobody's business.

But he's just under the par with me, myself, and I. Still, he's awesome.

Well, here we go: The relay's getting underway, and my Granma's cheering her socks off—literally. Jeez, I think one of them smacked some girl in the face. As for me and my 'mates Rich and Isaac, we're rearing to go, too.

I can just feel my Granpa's signature Rush boiling out of its simmer. My heart's racing before I even lift my feet. I'm the last leg, as an ace should be. My anticipation is ridiculous, soaring through the roof and into the sky, I'm so pumped! And I've gotta make it count, too. It's the Regional Championships I'm talking about here! I can't let my team down, no matter what!

"Mom…? I can hear you through Granma's cheers…and in my heart." I can feel a solemnity glaze over my eyes as I eagerly await my leg to start.

I'm thinking back to when I was a little tyke to my mom. The play rug in my room was red and white, the most awesome color combination to my seven-year-old self. Sure, I liked toy cars and action figures like the next 1st grader.

But what I loved most of all were the stories Mom would read to me. My favorite book of all time, I had vowed, would have to be "King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table".

"It's the bestest book in the whole wide world!" I can hear myself cheering, kicking and flailing like the happiest little carp Mom had ever seen.

My mother, being a rather calm and sedate soul, only marveled my enthusiasm and chuckled softly. She had her playful moments, though. "You really do, don't you?" she would humor me. And I was always a sucker for answering and rambling on about what happens in the book. "Then what's your favorite part in the book, Sonic?"

"That's easy! I really, really, really like the part where Arthur pulls out Excalibur! That means he's really strong, 'cause the sword was stuck in that big rock for, like, a hundred years or something—and he was able to pull it out like 'Sa-shing!'"—I couldn't help reenacting the scene—"and it was all glowy and stuff, like a light saber! And it's so epic, Mom!" Accompanied by the swooshing sounds that a sword, metal or not, would make.

But Mom was in total delight at the sight and sounds of me being excited. She never got tired of reading that book to me because she never got tired of seeing me happy. My Mom was awesome.

Too bad she's long gone now.

"Sonic?"

I stop my fanboy tirade and all the kicking and chopping motions I was making. I blinked at her in the rocking chair. That royal cherry rocking chair I swore I'd never throw away. Her smile was placid and sweet. "Huh, yeah, Mom?"

"Do you know why Arthur was able to pull Excalibur out of the stone?"

I gaped in surprise. I gasped, "Ah, nope! They never say it in the storybook, so…?" Then, excited all over again. "Wait, do you know why, Mama?"

I rarely called her "Mama", but she never minded it when I did. In fact, she giggled most of the time. I will admit: Mom looked pretty darn adorable when she giggled like that; no wonder Dad married her. But I was seven, so I didn't pay that much attention to it, then.

The brightness in her smiling amber eyes. I had a feeling something important was coming.

"It was because the sword chose him to wield it."

The solemn lilt in her voice. Something made me move closer to her. My own eyes beamed with curiosity and intrigue.

"And Excalibur chose Arthur because Arthur's heart was purest and most valiant, of all the noblest knights, bravest steeds, kindest of all hearts."

I rested my chin against her lap. A motherly hand reached over and stroked my quills. I hummed in comfort and admiration. "I'm gonna be your knight in shining armor someday, Mama. The best one you ever had."

I heard another of her, playful and hopeful, giggles. "You already are, Sonic. You're my precious baby boy, my only baby…my most brave, noble, and kind little sweetheart."

She pulled me up to her lap, and I instantly snuggle against her chest. That warm, caring womanly bosom that always lulled me to sleep whenever I had nightmares, or a bad day at school, or whenever I missed my dad.

But it never did when I missed her; it never could.

A pop of a gunshot fires off, and so does Rich, the runner of the first leg. My feet are itching to run. Sweat's already clinging to my face. I have to wait for Rich and Isaac to finish, though.

Patience was never a real strong point for me. But my suddenly wandering thoughts are making my mind swim through a blissful, yet bittersweet, memory. I know I was seven at the time, but I did promise Mom that I'd be her knight in shining armor someday. Not literally, of course.

"I'll make sure to make you proud, Mom," I promise, with a perk of boyish charm swelling back into my heart. I glance over into the bleachers all around the track, trying to spot two swishing pompoms. "I'll be the greatest knight, and son, you've ever had. I'm gonna make you happy, like Dad must have, and…?"

"You can do it, Sonic-Sweetie! I believe in you! Woo!"

Heh, found them. I can't help smirking to myself. "Just like you and Granma want me to."

The rapid footfalls of the racers were swiftly approaching. My rival and I head out to meet the second leg runners. Our paces are pretty even. For now, of course. It'll all change once that baton is passed.

Speaking of which, it's the moment of truth.

But then, another weird memory flashes before my eyes.

"Here, Sonic. I want you to have this."

A lone piece of emerald was strung on a tiny black cord. My mom wasn't one for glamour or gaudery. "Simple and lovely" was her style, and it always worked for her. 'Cause Dad married her, after all.

"Let this be your pride and joy from now on. Whenever you need some reassurance, hold this close to your heart, and a miracle will happen."

Sadly contradictory on the day of her funeral, though.

The feel of the baton snaps me out of my reveries. I bolt like the wind, outrunning my competitor. Flawlessly. "No problem, no problem," the thought in my head repeats. "I've got this! I've totally got this!"

My feet are on autopilot at this point. My opponent's biting the dust, and the crowd cheering my team on is going crazy-insane. My Granma's no stranger to these events. She's in it with them, and with me and my team. All those after-parties, and get-togethers with my friends, those countless signed fieldtrip slips and chaperoned sporting trips later, it all really paid off.

Now, all I have to do is cross that finish line. Yeah! Almost home free! C'mon, legs, I know you're tired of burning, but I'm so close! I can feel it in your bones!

"C'mon, c'mon, let's go!"

My mother's necklace finds its way out of my track shirt. That Number 1's not there for nothing, you know! That bit of emerald light flickers brightly before I snatch it from my neck and into my hand. I pray and hope, beg and plead, and run with all my might. I don't care if it feels like my heart's gonna explode—as long as I can make across that finish line…!

…Wait. Did "Mystery Man" bail?

But, more importantly…where the hell did the finish line go?!

Oh, Life of Mine…Why You Do?!