AXEL

I've always been able to get by with hardly a penny to my name, sometimes with no roof over my head. None of the necessities of life easily within a short walking distance to the fridge. I've sold myself on the streets just to make enough money to buy a fucking loaf of bread and some watered down juice.

I can remember it like it was fucking yesterday, not by choice though. Fuck no.

Thing's like that just happen to sear themselves into you're mind, whether you want them there or not.

I had been sleeping in a semi-large cardboard box I'd found while rooting around for food in the dumpster behind a Chinese place. Cardboard boxes by the way-? Are way more comfortable than you'd think.

Sure, you fucking loaded people out there cringe at the thought of living under some spider infested tree in some fucked up druggy park. Add on the daily gang raids we had and you could put a rug in front of my box that said 'Home Sweet Fucking Home.'

But besides that.

I was thirteen year's old and had been living in my penthouse box for about two months. I called it that because for one I actually had space to move around, and for another plus I had found a ripped -to-shreds tarp I had thrown on it. Which was very upper-class of me, because the rain only came in if it was pouring, hence penthouse a la bum.

For me, the last ditch effort was giving sexual favors to the damn pervert across the way. I had been able to locate places that had a steady stream of food in their garbage's, just waiting for me. But gradually I had been discovered rummaging in their dumpsters and had been 'politely' threatened.

I was without food for five days before I broke. Pretty goddamn good if I do say so myself.

The first day I arrived and claimed my place under the tree, the neighborly hobos of the park had come to greet me in the only way they knew how. They ransacked my box, grabbed every morsel of food they could, and said "Have a good fucking time here runt."

They never did it again, I figure it was just some homeless way of saying welcome to the neighborhood. Most fucked up way if I ever seen one.

So while they tore apart my crap, holier-than -fucking-thou Marluxia comes along. He had the gayest pink hair you'd ever seen, and seemed like he was commanding the group. He came up to me, shoved me over a truck of the tree, and put his foot right on my crotch.

"I own you now," he said this with a hand flourish which only confirmed my fruitcake suspicions, "if you ever need anything, I'll help you out kid. For a price of course." He'd licked his lips, shoved away from me, and walked off.

I'd known that by giving in and letting him feed me, was losing. Which, in reality, it kind of was, because I just became his toy.

Every time I came and asked for food, he said he'd give me an appetizer while waiting for my meal. Yeah, he made me blowing him the appetizer. The first couple of times I just wanted to bite his fucking dick off, what with the condescending tone he used while I did it. But after awhile, it just became another survival tactic I had to resort to in order to live to my fourteenth birthday.

Whenever he crooned about what a good boy I was, I always thought it was a helluva lot better than where I'd been before. The reason I ran away and ended up in that shit hole of a place.

I hadn't always been a runaway kid on the streets. Once upon a fucking 'happy' time I'd had a home too. A warm and loving home, full of brothers and sisters who cared. I was the youngest of six, I had two other brothers and three sisters. Perfectly even.

My mom and dad had loved each other, and had been together for ten whole years before the shit hit the fan, and did it ever. When my mom found out my dad had been having an affair with the lady down the street-? Well that's when she snapped, later I found out she had been diagnosed as being a sociopath.

It started out with little tiny things. I (or one of my siblings) would accidentally spill some food on the ground, and she'd freak out about how we were slobs. Then it moved onto hitting us when we did this or other things; more yelling. And then she'd just hit us whenever it struck her fancy. My dad didn't do shit about it because, well, he was never around enough to give a fuck.

My mother had taken to beating me more than the others, I figured it was because I was the smallest and easiest to kick and brainwash.

She'd sexually abuse me, and only me. I guess the others didn't do shit about it cuz they were just damn relieved it wasn't them. Which I understand, but still, little fuckers they were.

She'd stick hot pokers on my skin in fascination, hit my head into the concrete till I blacked out, force me to eat the dogs shit. And numerous other fucked up things.

I still have panic attacks when people spill things, I'll just sort of seize up for a moment and start mumbling apologies, even if I didn't do it. I'll clean it up as fast as I can, and when I'm done, I'll act like nothing happened. Bitch engrained these things into my mind so much, they just won't fucking leave.

Once in awhile I'll have enough control to try and stop the impulse , just let it sit there. But eventually I'll break down and pick whatever it is up with the usual apologies.

But past my how my childhood has fucked up my adulthood (there'll be more of that later, I'm sure.)

When I was twelve and a half I realized I needed to just freaking leave. Leave by whatever means I had to. My mom had brainwashed me into believing our house was the best it could get, the only place I would be able to get, because no one gave a shit about little malnourished Axel down the street. So I took it into my own damn hands.

I probably would have never even thought escape was possible if it hadn't been for the movie my mom had been watching. My other siblings were allowed to sit and watch, while I had to face the wall and clean it…with rags.

It was some movie about a guy named Rome and his girl Jewels or something. They were in love and their fucked up parents wouldn't let them see each other, so they killed themselves, I think? To this day I think that's all a fucking lie. No one can fall in love and love someone so much they would kill themselves. It's just not goddamn possible.

For one thing, I don't believe love is real, much less that true love bullshit they were spewing. People just care to much about themselves to truly give a flying rats ass about anyone else.

What people think is love, is actually lust. It's humans natural way to keep the species alive, by inputting in you the need to fuck any thing that gets in your way. People just like to call it 'love' because they feel like they're animals if they put themselves on the level of just total lust.

Now, you might have kids with this person you're in l(ust)ove with. And, amazingly enough, you'll find you actually do care about this life form that has your genes inside of it. That's the whole thing though, it has you inside of it.

From the earlier 'people love themselves' rant, you can see that they care for their kids-truly- because half of that kid is them. Until they realize that the kid has half of their partner in them as well. That's when you become conscious to the fact the child is not so great after all.

You call me a cynical bastard, that of which was brought on from years of being abused and not loved by my own parents? I call it common sense fuckers.

Anyfuckingways….about the commercial that made it clear as day that I needed to get away from that madhouse.

It was a commercial about animals who were abused, and a hotline to call to sell your soul away for some ugly ass pet you don't even know. Yeah animals, that of which I am not. But it wasn't them talking about animals that lead me to believe I could, should, flee. It was just a few words that helped me make my decision that night:

"Nothing, and no one, deserves any type of abuse. Human's don't warrant abusing their own, so why are animals so different? Call this number to contribute and…"

These words, said by a fat lady with a five o'clock shadow, made me realize I didn't have to live there. I deserved something much more than what I was being served in that place. My mom snorted and turned the channel mumbling that animals were useless and that were only put on the planet to be eaten by her. Fat ass words from a fat ass woman, very apt. Kind of ironic though, seeing as she owned a cat that lived like a king.

I started planning all the details of my getaway in a very precise manner in my head. From how I unearth food and water, to my shelter arrangements. But I've gotta admit, I was scared shitless. I wasn't scared because I was planning on venturing into a world I had hardly stepped foot into, thanks to the bitch.

I was afraid that she would find me somehow, no matter how far I ran. She would find me and shove my face into the wall and drag me back to the house, and the hell would start anew. Probably with even more vigor.

Even these day's, when I'm nineteen and I live in a pretty decent foster home, I still get worried she'll find me. Pretty silly, seeing as I'm probably a couple heads taller than her, and stronger too; though I don't look it. Still fucking thin as baby tree stem. What can I say, my body hates looking like it weighs over 100 pounds.

I was planning where I'd go when that woman walked by me and grabbed my red hair and smashed my face into the carpet. I didn't try to wriggle out of her grip, I knew better than that. Eventually she'd get bored.

I got my flaming red hair from my mom you know. Whenever I look in the mirror I get the insane urge to hack it all off and burn it all up, like it would make the past unreal or something. The only reason I haven't done it is so that I can look in the mirror and see that devil red hair. Really see it for what it really signifies.

To most it just signifies hair given in genetics from a parent, or even a shitty ass hair job. But to me it signifies life. It reminds me everyday how I got away from that bitch and managed to survive living on the streets for a year and a half without too many scars to show.

I've never, not once, cut the mass of fire on my noggin. Not even when the foster parents threw a fit, because why the hell would people wanna take some kid with crazy ass hair sticking in every direction? And they still tell me to this day that if I got a haircut when they'd asked me I would be in a family. Well fuck that shit, I don't want no fake ass family that'll pretend I'm the fruit of their loins when I'm not.

Just….No.

So when she finally got bored ,like I knew she would, she shunted me to the side and sauntered into the kitchen for more whiskey.

It took a few day's to formulate a good enough plan that would give me adequate time to slip past her radar, in order to escape. You would think she wouldn't give a fuck what I did, but goddamn she did. She watched me like a hawk because I was her plaything, she wanted to make sure I didn't get away with anything.

Now if my mom was anything, it was predictable. Everyday, without fail, it was the same routine. Wake up, get a shot of whiskey, shove the kids off to school(minus me because I didn't matter, and I was the slave.) Throw me around for a few hours, watch mindless soap opera shows while blubbering how her life sucked. Her life sucked? Fucking cow ,that one was.

But then she would go outside and smoke and sunbathe for close to two hours. Like it even mattered, her skin was white as hell(much like mine) and she only ever burned.

But this is what would be her downfall. Never be predictable to the enemy. And that was exactly what I was, and she sure as hell knew it.

Because you don't just fuck over your kids life and expect them to love you--ever. You should expect them to channel all their hatred and pain into hoping you die a horrible death. At least that's what I've been doing these past seven year's.

If there was anything she actually liked in this godforsaken world, it was her cat Muffy. I hated that cat almost as much as I hated my mom. That damn cat was as much her pet as I was her son.

It was more of her sidekick in making sure my life was complete hell at all times. If my mom was in the other room and couldn't see me, the cat would follow me around and make a yowling racket if I did anything wrong.

I'm pretty damn sure it would mostly just screech to see me get in trouble, even if I hadn't done shit. That cat loathed me, as I did it. So it's only normal that even these day's I have a natural aversion to felines.

So one extremely luminous day, I put my plan into action. My mom had donned her brown bikini that she'd bought from Goodwill for a dollar. Her fat rolls bounced as she swung me into the counter by my ear, and warned me that Muffy would be watching my every move. Then after feeding Muffy some very expensive cat food that could have probably bought me new sneakers, she strode out the door and shut it behind her smartly.

The time started running, and I knew I only had a limited amount of it before she came back, so I put my plan into action.

Muffy was gazing at me with her lips smacking together in an appreciative way, somehow I knew she was mocking me. I took a deep breath and pretended to be nice," Hey there pretty kitty Muffy. Want some more food? I'll give some to you if you be nice and follow me kay?"

Her hatred for me was strong, but her love for food was even stronger, so when I walked into the TV room with another can, she followed faithfully. I set the can on the floor directly under the fan. Muffy sauntered over like she owned the place and started gorging herself. I hated that cat, but I didn't want to be a killer, I really didn't.

That sounds weird, right? Mercy for the thing that was on my moms side and ratted me out as many times as I can remember. Yeah, damn me and my heart, too bad I don't have one.

I grabbed the animal by her tail, making sure to not get scratched by her now flailing claws, and tied her walking chain to it securely. Then, while keeping a safe distance from the claws, I tied her onto the fan and turned the fan setting to medium. I watched in morbid fascination as she squealed with distress. I had almost forgotten this was when I was supposed to be making my grand escape.

My mom raced in when she heard the commotion, all red faced and slurring from to much of the drink. She cursed me when she saw the cat, she was so drunk she didn't think to stop the fan before trying to get the cat down, so she was having a hard time.

I felt she needed to know it was me, and that she should see me one last time before I left.

I cleared my throat soflty, she looked over at me with her red bulging eyes. The last words she spoke to me were-

" I swear to everything holy in this world kid! When I get the damn cat down you're in for a world of hurt!" Her voice rose to a screeching wail, mingling with the cats, " I FUCKING SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO CUT YOUR THROAT KID!"

I stood and waited for her to finish, when she finally did I told her what I knew were going to be my own last words to her. But instead of shouting them, I said them slowly and clearly," Well, good for me there is no such thing in this world as a God." I looked up and smirked for the first time in my life (but without any true humor) ,"Fuck you mother, I hope you rot in the pits of hell. I know hell is real, because it spit you out."

The last thing I saw before I turned and ran as fast as I could out the door, was my moms red face steadily turning a nice shade of puce.

I ran for a long time. I ran until I made it to the next town over, where I used the money I'd stolen from one of my sisters secret stashes and bought a bus ticket to the city. That's where I ended up blowing a "man" with pink hair for food. But better than the hell I'd come from, that was all I could think.

One day while I was trying to sneak into a back alley without getting caught by the restaurant owner (once again,) I ran into Zexion.

You might think I mean fugitively, like he walked up to me and asked if I wanted to come over for crumpets and tea, but no. I was trying so hard not to get caught I hadn't been watching my front and had run smack dab into dear old Zexion's back.

Now it might not've been such a big deal if we hadn't been next to trash cans. I dunno if anyone understands just how loud those bastards are when you knock em' over, but they could brake sound waves with the racket they make.

Anyways, so Zexion is sitting on my chest looking half confused, half pissed off; which isn't a very cute expression by the way. Half your face scrunches into an angry look, while the other half looks slightly innocent. So you end up with someone who looks pissed off in an innocent way…which is just an unnatural thing in itself.

The owner ran out and rampaged about how that was the last straw and he was goin to get his gun…yadda yadda, fuck me sideways. He used that threat on me every chance he could, but he'd never gone through with it…until that day.

I think he went bat shit insane when he saw Zexions hair. His hair was purple and cut in an emo style-yeah you know the type. The type of guy who always has his bangs in his face and every five seconds has to flip his 'em just so he can see who the fuck is talking to him. But the thing is, I've learnt the true secret behind it all.

I'm not sure I understand why the hell they do it, but I noticed that when Zexion thought no one was looking he'd stealthily nudge his hair back over his eyes, just to flip it away when people looked. Yeah I don't get it either, but what the hell ever man, we all got our hobbies or whatever you'd call that.

So besides that. His hair is crazy purple, and mine is flaming red. Put those together and you have an explosion of color, too much for anyone's sensitive eyes. I can almost imagine the fat pizza maker running around clutching at his face yelling, "Nooo! My slutty eyes!" But he wouldn't say that, because that's only something I would say, and the reason he said that in my mind is because he was in my mind at that time and….

What was I talking about?

So our hair combination was most likely what set him off. When he left to go get the gun I reassured Zexion, who was still perched on my chest, that he was joking. But six seconds later he returned, grease stains and all, with his shotgun aimed at my head.

Now really, that's just fucked up. I wasn't the only one who was in the vicinity, now was I? What about emo boy with the purple hair who was on top of me? Sure, I'd all but thrusted him into the cans, but still. Where's the fucking justice for us red heads? Just because we get chucked into the category of having short tempers and being dangerous, (not to mention sexy as hell, well, me at least) because of our red hair, doesn't mean we deserve to be the first chosen to be shot at.

But apparently it does, because that's exactly what he did. He shot at my arm, I still have a gash where it grazed my elbow; pretty kickass.

While we were running, I couldn't help but think this was all my moms fault. She was the one who gave me the damndable hair in the first place. This was just her way of showing me she could still torment me, even from great distances. Bitch.

So we finally stopped a few blocks away from the crazy pizza man, practically wheezing from our sprinting. That, for me was probably from all the smoking I did. Whenever I had the chance to steal one, anywhere, I'd do it, because cigs gave me a calm almost nothing else did.

Who cares if they were cancer sticks that would shorten ones life and make it even more uncomfortable than it would've been originally? Fuck happiness from people or love, or living even. Living sucked how I'd done it so far, so whatever was handed out to me for smoking, I'd gladly take it. Haha, I still smoke. It's been seven and a half years since I started, I'll probably die from a heart attack from walking up the stairs soon. Oh well, I still stick by what I said back then.

After we got our bearings, we introduced ourselves, he was Zexion Ienzo. I pointed out that his last name was just scrambled and rearranged without the X. He told me he didn't have a last name, so he'd made his own.

When I queried as to why he didn't have a last name I didn't expect an answer, after all we all have our dirty little secrets we don't wish to discuss. I was sure he was the same. But he surprised me by saying, cool as you fucking please in his little brooding emo voice, " It's because I don't have a real family. I live in a foster home because my dad threw me out, so I went there."

Hmm, I'd thought, foster home? I'd heard the word on TV but I'd never actually been able to listen long enough without getting beaten around the head for "enjoying myself."

I'd asked him to continue on about what that was, and he told me all about it. I won't bore you all with the details because I'm hella sure you were brought up with an inkling of an education, unlike moi.

It sounded like a place too good to be true. I asked him if I went along with him, if they'd drag me back to my mother. He told me no, they'd never dragged him back, and he'd been living there since he'd been nine years old. I never asked why he lived there, and he didn't ask me why I wanted to live there. But I did find out why, years later. His dad had conducted some kind of underground child porn, and Zexion had starred in a few. Once Zexion was suitably "broken" at nine, he was thrown out. But he'd somehow made his way to the home, and gotten help soon after.

When we arrived I met the foster mother, she told me her name was Tifa Lockheart. She had the biggest tits you'd ever seen, that was my first thought (come on, I was thirteen!) She acted tough, and she was. If any of the parents ever came to try to force the kids back with them, she'd just punch a hole in the wall, and they'd leave. ( Which was dumb because then I'D be the one to patch it up--does it look like this body could do that shit? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes, you're thinking fuuuuuuuuck no.)

Her two helpers were Aerith Gainsborough and Rikku Kaus. If Tifa had the largest boobs you've ever seen, Aerith had the greenest eyes. They're like…toxic moss or something! Okay so I really can't describe things well, so sue me bitches. She was the kindest out of the two and sneaked me candy as much as possible.

Rikku seemed like she was hopped up on drugs all the time, not those drugs that make you sleepy, but hyper. Those drugs that make you really happy, but have you jumping out of you're skin in an almost mania state.

When Tifa asked my name I glanced at Zexion, but he just raised his eyesbrows at me, waiting to hear it too. I never wanted to be associated with my last name again, since it linked me to my past, a past I hated so very much. I decided to take a leaf outta Zexions book…AKA I stole his idea.

"It's Axel m'am. Axel..Lae."

Tifa had raised her eyebrows in suspicion, " Lay? As in 'lay down'?" I realized that was pretty gay sounding, so I changed it, " No, Lae like Lee."

She'd just gazed at me for a moment, glanced at Zexion, and smiled sadly down at me. Without a word those women had taken me in and cared for me like no other human beings had. I think those three, and Zexion, are the closests people I have ever come to loving in my existence.

Did my mother ever come looking for me, you ask? Nah, she never showed up. I don't think she cared enough, not even to find her plaything. I sometimes wonder what she's up too, what my siblings are doing, then I remember I don't give a shit.

But none of this back story is important at all to the story that I'm about to tell you. Yeah, pretty pissed you read it now huh? Axel's sad sob story, didn't wanna hear it didja? Well too damn bad! Hahaa!

So anyways, to begin the actual story-

F-U-C-K M-R S-T-R-I-F-E A-N-D H-I-S G-A-Y C-H-O-C-O-B-O H-A-I-R

That's was he gets for giving me detention again. The reason he gave me detention in the first place is sitting just above it's etched brother.

E-N-G-L-I-S-H S-U-C-K-S A-N-D M-R S-T-R-I-F-E B-L-O-W-S--L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y.

I swear that fucking guy has it out to get me, he's given me detention three times already this week. Whatever, I stuck gum in his pencil sharpener, so screw him.

I'm currently sitting in Senior English class, dawdling my time by carving this stuff into my desk. Not where you expected little old me to be huh? I mean I completely understand and all, I mean I am nineteen fucking years old. Let me tell you, this isn't exactly where I thought I'd be either. I'm supposed to be at the beach fucking lazing around like the bum I am. But nooo, Tifa just had to get me held back.

When she'd seen my senior report card, she'd all but castrated my ass. Zexion, that smartass, had come home with almost straight A's, save one B in art. Yeah I thought that was pretty weird too. How do you get a B in fucking art of all classes? But he'd just shrugged in his moody way and replied that the teacher wouldn't let him express himself in his own way. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean.

So Tifa looks at all my F's and freaks out to the first degree. My ear took two days to return to normal after that one. So she said if I was going to act like a child and take no responsibility for my actions, she would. So that is why I am retaking my Senior year of high school.

I guess I could've threatened to move out, but she would have known it was empty. I have nowhere to go, and without at least a high school diploma, you're seen as shit in this world. Not that I wouldn't be seen as shit anyways, but I digress.

So while I'm here, (again) Zexion is busy at the local college, smarting it up with all the other people who graduated with him. But I'm not lonely or anything, even though he did leave me with absolutely no one to smoke with in between classes. Not that he ever did anyways, he just watched.

Apparently that would make me a Super Senior then? I've always wanted to wear a cape and woosh around like superman, or wonder woman cause she's pretty awesome.

But really, don't get me wrong boys and girls. I'm not a dumb ass, I'm sure you can tell from all the big words I've used in this-teehee. But I just don't care about school. That's all. I don't give a fuck.

If I could go through life without having to have had gone one second through this abomination, I would have. Because I don't think they teach anything of use in school. Like most of math for instance- Bob wants to give pens to his co-workers. There are 15 pens five red pens and ten blue pens. A certain number of people want red and the other want blue…Yadda fuckin blah.

Wanta know what I'd do in this Bob guys situation? I'd tell all my co-workers to shut the fuck up, and take whatever pen their picky ass happens to lay their hands on first. There doesn't need to be any retarded math problem to tell you how to deal with that shit.

Anyfuckinways…

I was busy doodling random curse words on a paper (one of my favorite past times) when Meester Strife strolls to the front of the class and announces that it's Word Of The Day Time.

Yeah, there's another thing. What the fuck is up with that too? No one give a damn what the word of the day is…it's just a waste of everybody's valuable, or not so valuable depending on who you are, time. If you're a geek like Roxas, then you have no problem with wasting your time for something as trivial as a word of the day.

Later on I realized how truly wrong I was about Roxas. He wasn't just someone you can jusge so easily like I did back then. But I was a thick headed mother fucker set in my ways. What do you want an apology? I already gave him one, that of which benefited the both of us…

Ahem, any whosher.

Every single fucking day he get's up and tells us the word of the day, but he doesn't even do it with excitement, like you'd expect from someone who proudly volunteered for the job. Not only that, but he's the one who came up with the idea in the first place. When he gets up to tell us the days word he always looks like the word is going to be everyones doom, and we should take it seriously.

Yeah, kid? I don't take anything serious, much less one fuckin word so screw off.

So, like usual, he trudged over to the front of the class with his gigantic dictionary in hand, holding it like it was the bible or some shit. He never looks anyone in the eyes, just gives our desks that -DOOM- look and tells us the word, definition, and sits right on down. Today was different for some reason though, and I'm not sure why he did it.

He pushed his glassed back up to their perch, seems they'd fallen off from the sweat that had accumulated on his shnoz. Instead of looking at our desks, he looked at me. He looked straight at me with this fucking unrecognizable look blazing in his eyes. Like he was trying to convey some very important message with eye to eye resuscitation or some crap.

He opened the dictionary, but that was just for looks, he never had to look at it, he had all of that tome memorized. He kept gazing at me when he gave us the word and definition-"Forlorn: sad and lonely because deserted, abandoned, or lost."

I don't know why but I kinda snapped when I realized why he'd been staring at me with that intense stare. I freaked out, got really pissed off, more than usual anyways.

Who the hell does this kid think he is? He doesn't know me for shit, so that sure as hell doesn't give him the right to fucking judge me.

So I jumped up, not noticing the surprised looks on the usually bored faces of my classmates. I jumped up and lurched myself on top of the geek with the scruffy blond hair and the glasses.

It wasn't a graceful lurch either, though how anyone would ever be able to get graceful outta a word like that, I dunno. It was me shaking and shivering with my rage and my hatred for this kid, I really did hate him right then. So I lurched over on him and tried to rip his face from his skull.

What I didn't realize at the time was that the kid was just seeing my pain for what it really was. I was lonely, I did feel deserted.

And not just from Zexion, or whatever. But from humanity itself, no one had ever cared enough for the malnourished boy with crazy red hair. That's why I didn't realize the kid wasn't insulting me, he was trying to show me he understood me, and that he wanted to help.

If I wasn't being such an idiot, what with beating up the only kid who'd ever showed a possible sign of wanting to be friends with me, I might've realized that that was the moment I first started falling in love with little, geeky Roxas.

Hah, isn't it funny how just one word can change how everything is?

Yep, that there would be my life kiddies.

I was working on Zombie Lips and I glanced at the "50 odd" list, and my eye landed on dictionary. So I got the whole ending in my mind, the whole word of the day scenario.But when I sat down to write it was just a big long ass story about Axel, then that. To be honest, as cliche as it sounds, this story wrote itself!

Well I hope you guys liked that. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue or not, so I guess we'll see. If I do continue, I dunno if I'll change POV or not. I kinda like writing from Axel's, I feel like I know him more. But, once again, we'll see.

Please review, it might just make my decision on whether I'll continue or not. Haha, yeah I hope this doesn't sound like bribing--(eventhoughitis!)