Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, nor do I own the Oregon Trail game. The End.

Okay. Time for side notes.

Neori ;) already knows this, but you should all know why I did this fic. So here it is:

I was just playing the original Oregon Trail (yes, I'm outdated). Sometimes, when I play it, I pick the names of characters I don't like and spend the game doing my very best to kill them off. It's my little way of dealing with stress.

So guess what? I chose Gundam Wing characters I hate! And guess who was the leader of this little band, who got to suffer the most? That's right--Relena! And since the leader keeps a trail journal, I decided to...modify it a little.

(The other group members were: Mariemaia, Tubarov, Quinze, and Dekim Barton. Just in case you can't keep track of who dies.)

Another side note: This fic is dedicated to Neori, since she a) read it first, and b) is my sounding board for all of my GW-related fics. :waves to Neori:

Enjoy!

Sieth

Relena's Trail Journal of Pink

(By Sieth Realder)

March 1, 1848

We started down the trail with:

14 oxen

50 sets of clothing (there's no such thing as too many clothes...especially if they're pink)

2000 bullets

3 wagon wheels

3 wagon axles

3 wagon tongues

500 pounds of food

16 million boxes full of panda crap that some guy gave to me for free (:Wufei waves to Neori:)

We decided to ration the food in bare-bones portions. We will now travel at a more grueling pace, because I want to get to San Fran in time to straighten my hair for the Festival of Pink.

Wait a minute...what do you mean, we're not going to San Francisco?

March 4, 1848

I got really trigger-happy and shot 2445 pounds of meat...but because of technicalitites, we were able to carry back only 200 pounds of meat.

Quinze got lost. Then he found us 2 days later. Unharmed, too.

Damn. I tried so hard to lose him, too. He's so fugly, no one would miss him.

March 6, 1848

We have arrived at the Kansas River Crossing. Yay. Now, how do we get across without messing up my hair?

March 7, 1848

We had no trouble floating the wagon across. Damn.

Note to self:Trying to drownpeople doesn't seem to work very well.

March 9, 1848

We have arrived at the Big Blue River Crossing. The moisture's really getting to my hair.

March 10, 1848

The wagon tipped over while floating.

We lost:

4 sets of clothing--God DAMMIT!

Quinze (drowned)

Dekim (drowned)

Oh, well. At least SOMETHING good came out of it. We lost two of the oldest and fugliest guys in our group.

...Now that I think about it, all of the guys in our group are old and fugly. And then there's Mariemaia. She's such a whiny brat, she barely counts. I'm the only pretty one here.

I would have gotten Heero to come, but he simply INSISTED that he would be taking some business trip halfway around the world.

March 13, 1848

We have reached Fort Kearney. We decided to ration the food in meager portions. If I starve Mariemaia, then maybe she'll stop whining, the stupid little...

Tubarov has cholera. Yes!

March 14, 1848

Tubarov has a broken arm. Even better.

March 16, 1848

We shot 11 pounds of meat.

Stupid birds.

March 18, 1848

We have reached Chimney Rock.

I don't see what's such a big deal about it.

March 20, 1848

We took the wrong trail and lost 4 days. I TOLD Tubarov it was a right and not a left, but you know fugly old men...they NEVER stop and ask for directions.

March 21, 1848

We shot 51 pounds of meat. Stupid antelopes. Why do they have to be so fast?

March 22, 1848

Mariemaia has dysentery. I hope she dies, and soon. She's even whinier than she was before.

If that's even possible.

March 25, 1848

We have reached Fort Laramie. I'd have bought new clothes, but none of them were pink. Why buy clothes if they're not pink?

March 26, 1848

Tubarov got sick and died. Finally, all the fugly old men are gone.

Now to start on Mariemaia.

March 31, 1848

Mariemaia died of typhoid. Thank God, I don't have to listen to her anymore.

April 1, 1848

A thief stole 18 sets of my favorite clothing.

At least, he tried to. I shot him 20 times in the back with my shotgun.

And reloaded.

And shot him another 20 times.

...And then I realized that wasn't doing me or my stolen clothes any good. Especially my clothes, since by that point they were all drenched in the bastard's blood.

Oops.

April 2, 1848

I have reached Independence Rock.

I decided to ration the food in filling portions. A girl should always pamper herself, after all, and not the fugly people around her.

April 7, 1848

I decided to drop 288 pounds of food. I'm on a diet, after all.

Bad water. As in, it's all mossy and gross. Ew.

April 8, 1848

Heavy fog. Lost 1 day. Oh, well. It doesn't matter when I get there, now that I know I'm not going to San Francisco.

I decided to drop 96 pounds of food. Still on that diet.

April 12, 1848

I have a fever. I hate this. My face is all puffy and red. Yuck.

What if Heero sees me like this?

April 13, 1848

Have I told everyone how much I suck?

April 16, 1848

I got sick and died. Now I can't see Heero anymore. Damn!

In background, Heero with shovel: Yay! (does the happy dance)

A side note, for any interested: For Relena's epitaph (because you KNOW my goal was to kill her off in the first place) was "Death sucks. Pink isn't allowed here."

So. Didja like? I can do more of these, if anybody out there in the world really wants me to and isn't just humoring the little caffiene-high girl jumping up and down in the corner (i.e. me).