Ok, well I don't own a lot of things and one of them is cowboy bebop and
all it's characters, they are owned by sum other guy, in some other place
and possibly in some other time.
Just Another Black Strike Melody
Session #1 Remix of a fallen angels ballet
"They say running into you is like running into trouble." "They're right" "This life never had a place for us to belong." "Belonging is just a dream chased by fools." "So, then what am I?" "Just another reason to kill"
A single shot rang throughout the empty church halls. Silence, It is said that, before you die you're life flashes before your eyes, in truth you relive it.
Rain, now there's a word to describe my life. Constant rain. It seems that these days I'm just running from one trouble to find another.
A dull smile faded across the weary face of the young man at the bar. He wondered, how long it has been since he had last smiled. A mixture of bad luck, pain and the experiences of a harsh reality had left Spike Spiegel forever scared, a dejected, cynical shell. This however, he enjoyed. Just sitting here, in the presence of strangers he knew nothing of, and in return knew nothing of him, of his past. Had it been a normal pain he might have even forgotten, if only for a short time, but this, as with so much of his life, he could never fully forget.
Spike slowly stood and turned to leave the bar. "Hey where do you think your going, you haven't paid ye." The barkeeper trailed off as the cowboy turned to dully stared at him, his eyes fathomless, as deep as the oceans of earth. The burly man fell silent, clearly shaken to see such sadness in such young eyes. Instead he just nodded as the door of the bar creaked and then clicked softly as it fell shut once more. Staggering, Spike left the bar into the crowded streets of mars. He was slightly drunk, sure, but this was of only passing interest to him, as it seemed that this was becoming an increasingly more common occurrence. He stopped, as he did several times a day, to reflect on the past. He both hated and pitied himself for his choices. How could he have let his chance pass him by? His chance to be somebody, to exist. And what did his "noble" decisions give him in return for his hopes, his dreams, his future? A sense of self-gratification that even now, seared inside him like white-hot ashes. The cowboy sneered to himself in disgust as he reached what, he supposed, could be called a home. Staggering inside he momentarily blinked, attempting to become fully aware his surroundings once more, after this failed he decided it would be best to sleep, in hopes that his head would be clearer when he awoke. He lay down on the tattered couch that dominate most of the small apartment, where he quickly fell into an uneasy sleep haunted by memories of days long past. Spike awoke with a start. Something had woken him up, something always woke him up, but this was different, he could no longer feel the pain of the past he had become so accustom too. Nor, now he thought about it, did he even feel that throbbing pain of the hangover that normally would have echoed in his mind. No this had all been replace by something entirely different, something that consumed every essence of his being. Fear
Well there you have it, part one of a depressing look into life before Bebop. Adios (no I'm defiantly not going to say space cowboy)
Just Another Black Strike Melody
Session #1 Remix of a fallen angels ballet
"They say running into you is like running into trouble." "They're right" "This life never had a place for us to belong." "Belonging is just a dream chased by fools." "So, then what am I?" "Just another reason to kill"
A single shot rang throughout the empty church halls. Silence, It is said that, before you die you're life flashes before your eyes, in truth you relive it.
Rain, now there's a word to describe my life. Constant rain. It seems that these days I'm just running from one trouble to find another.
A dull smile faded across the weary face of the young man at the bar. He wondered, how long it has been since he had last smiled. A mixture of bad luck, pain and the experiences of a harsh reality had left Spike Spiegel forever scared, a dejected, cynical shell. This however, he enjoyed. Just sitting here, in the presence of strangers he knew nothing of, and in return knew nothing of him, of his past. Had it been a normal pain he might have even forgotten, if only for a short time, but this, as with so much of his life, he could never fully forget.
Spike slowly stood and turned to leave the bar. "Hey where do you think your going, you haven't paid ye." The barkeeper trailed off as the cowboy turned to dully stared at him, his eyes fathomless, as deep as the oceans of earth. The burly man fell silent, clearly shaken to see such sadness in such young eyes. Instead he just nodded as the door of the bar creaked and then clicked softly as it fell shut once more. Staggering, Spike left the bar into the crowded streets of mars. He was slightly drunk, sure, but this was of only passing interest to him, as it seemed that this was becoming an increasingly more common occurrence. He stopped, as he did several times a day, to reflect on the past. He both hated and pitied himself for his choices. How could he have let his chance pass him by? His chance to be somebody, to exist. And what did his "noble" decisions give him in return for his hopes, his dreams, his future? A sense of self-gratification that even now, seared inside him like white-hot ashes. The cowboy sneered to himself in disgust as he reached what, he supposed, could be called a home. Staggering inside he momentarily blinked, attempting to become fully aware his surroundings once more, after this failed he decided it would be best to sleep, in hopes that his head would be clearer when he awoke. He lay down on the tattered couch that dominate most of the small apartment, where he quickly fell into an uneasy sleep haunted by memories of days long past. Spike awoke with a start. Something had woken him up, something always woke him up, but this was different, he could no longer feel the pain of the past he had become so accustom too. Nor, now he thought about it, did he even feel that throbbing pain of the hangover that normally would have echoed in his mind. No this had all been replace by something entirely different, something that consumed every essence of his being. Fear
Well there you have it, part one of a depressing look into life before Bebop. Adios (no I'm defiantly not going to say space cowboy)