A/N: This is a poem I wrote about Billy Weir a while ago, after reading Remnants #2: Destination Unknown and being severely freaked by the whole awake-for-500-years thing.



Born as Ruslan, silent child.
Adopted as William, meek and mild.
Teased as "Weird", the truth not seen.
Average life shattered by secret dreams.

Adoptive child, not part of the crowd.
Adoptive father, wild and loud.
Adoptive mother, quiet and serene.
Adoptive home, only temporary.

Abused at twelve with a broken nose,
Blood saturating no-blood-link clothes.
Billy remains indifferent, no anger or fear.
No time for emotions: the Rock draws near.

Five days left till the end of the Earth,
Five days till Billy is locked in his berth.
Earth shatters: the Rocks voyage is done.
Seventy-eight sleep... except for one.

Five hundred years, and sanity fades.
Black and white madness, and the grey shades.
Awake for five centuries, psychosis sets in.
Billy Weir screams for it all to end.

Paralyzed, chained to his body forever.
Futile existence Billy must endeavor.
Memories of happiness and memories of pain.
And slowly but surely, Billy is driven insane.

Five centuries, twelve days, but who's counting time?
Of life or a planet, there is no sign.
The Eighty still travel, into space so deep.
And still, Billy Weir does not sleep...