A/n: This is my giftfic to MessengerofDreams, for his birthday! Happy Birthday, bro! Hope you have a great one! :D

The Last One On The Road

The wind is blowing fiercely through my hair, scattering it along my eyes as I stare behind me.

I feel like I'm the lucky one in an accident, the only girl who survived. I feel like I'm the one who got out just in time.

Then why do I feel so dead?

Behind my back, in my past, lays the little town I've lived in my whole life. Before this day I would've never thought of leaving it. The idea was unthinkable. Now I'm wondering why I haven't left yet.

The last leaves of autumn are swirling around me, and I pull up my coat. It would be a profitable winter in my little town, but a blind one for me. I feel like I'm stumbling out of an accident.

Why do I wish I'd died?

The town isn't too far behind me; a few steps and I'd be back within its comforting, misguiding walls. But I'm stealing something out of the town, tying it down in the forbidden woods. I'm not letting it float around my mind like an annoying angel anymore.

It's time I shut it up.

I try to ignore the voices in my mind telling me otherwise. The residents of my little town have a vague idea of what's going on, but I've always been a vague person. I'm an open book of lies. I'm many things, but my dream I was never meant to be.

You don't believe that.

Nevertheless, it's happening, isn't it?

I steal one last glance at my mini-city. How dearly part of me wants to return, the other part saying how terrible it would be if I would. You have no choice.

It seems the voices in my head are just as bipolar as I am.

That thought makes me laugh, but it's shaky and small, getting lost easily in the gale. I sigh, then pause yet again amongst the crisp leaves. I want to look behind me, but instead I gaze at the thing cradled in my cupped palms.

I'm throwing it away and trapping it down.

Far, far away it'll go from me; and though I never want to see it again, I so desperately want to keep it here, close to my heart. But I have to let it go.

Immediately I wonder if I'm being ridiculous. What if I don't really have to let it go? What if I'm being irrational? What if I'm making a mistake?

No, I decide. The time for second-guessing is over. Get a move on.

I turn up my chin and take another step, leaves crinkling underneath my boots. I wrap my arms around my stomach, the thing tucked in them. I want to cry, but I know it would make me turn around. I know it would make me feel sillier.

I pass several people on the road out of town, away from the little town of my dreams. None of them stop for me, but they do wave. I manage a slight smile back at them. I'll never see them again, I realize. I feel faintly sad, but most of me is too sad already to notice.

Then I see someone I've known my whole life, and even though they make eye contact, they hurry away. Tears spring to my eyes, and I swerve to the side of the road, dropping to the grass with shallow breaths. I don't want to cry. Crying is immature.

I know I look absurd, but I don't care. The thing is trying to escape my arms, bobbing on its string; I quickly reel it back in, then wipe my eyes.

I stay there for a while, but of how long I've never been sure. My eyes swivel from my town and the small balloon in my arms. My city's not too far away – but the balloon must be tied down. I can't go back now.

Nobody passes in front of me now. I sigh again, feeling weary. Am I doing this to myself? Am I regretting this already? No. I've never been made for my dream.

"Excuse me? Ma'am?"

The voice peeps into my contemplation, and I raise my head from my hands. In front of me is a short, young man, clothed in green, with a matching hat. His face is kind and concerned, but the thing that strikes me is his confidence. He doesn't seem at all hesitant by my tear-streaked face.

I sniffle, chuckling at my absurdity. "Um, hello. I'm sorry – don't, don't let me bother you. I'm fine, fine."

He tilts his head, observing me silently. Not saying a word. I would have found it eerie, but he seemed to know something.

"I'm sorry, really. If you're wondering about me—" I give an unsteady grin "—don't. I'm fine." As obvious of a lie as this is, I'm hoping he'll understand I don't need help. My mind is made up.

He sighs, like I've let him down. "No, you're not. I'm sorry to be so forward about things, but…what are you holding?"

I'm ashamed to tell him, and instead shake my head.

He pursues his lips, not unhappily, just perplexingly, then offers me his hand, saying, "I'm Luigi." I hesitate for a moment, and then grasp it. As he helps me up, I return, "Nana."

He smiles, gently. "Nana, may I ask you to answer me honestly this time?"

I bite my lip. I've never seen him before, but his sympathetic look makes me nod. I don't trust my voice, clogged as it is.

"What's wrong?"

And out spills my whole story, as if I'd vomited. I feel my face flushing, but he merely listens politely, so I keep speaking. I tell him about my desperation, my confusion, even the conflict in my decision. But I make sure to include my final decision, about how even though there's a small war in my mind, my mind is set. There's no going back now, I tell him, hoping my voice is steady. I'm convinced.

"And there's nothing you can do to change it," I finish, realizing with embarrassment my tone has grown defiant. I soften it, saying, "I'm sorry." But I'm not to whom I'm apologizing.

He's kept his hand on his chin, his eyes to the town, and now he looks at me. Then back at the town. There's a silence, and my face goes red – I can feel it burning.

"I wasn't going to change your mind. I know I can't."

I'm a bit shocked to hear that, so I listen closer. His eyes are to the town – the little town, framed by the twilight.

"You're leaving, and I know that. We both know I can't change your mind – and that's alright. Personally, I'm sad I'll never get to know you, but you're convinced. But let me tell you something, Nana."

Now he's looking at me, and his expression is well-wishing, but sorrowful.

"There's a real world out there, away from the place you're leaving. It's nothing like that town. The real world is not the way you and I imagine it; it's not flexible like that town. It's a wide, yet small, cold world. But there is something to make it bearable."

He unwraps my hands from the balloon I've been hiding from him. It dances in the breeze, and I think, for just a minute, of something impossible. With his words echoing in the evening hush, I think about letting it go.

Silly.

Flicking his gaze at it, he continues. "The dreamers, Nana. We make it bearable. Reality's a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there." He smiles at me, encouraging. "We have something others don't – the ability to make the world any way we want it."

I'm taking his words as they come, trying to make sense of them. It crosses my mind for a moment that he might be right – then I cast the idea way. But then I look at the balloon swaying in the air, and wonder again.

"I haven't known you for long, Nana, but I want you to know something. I want you to remember me; remember who you met on your way out of town, and remember what he said." He takes my hand, unclenches it, puts something in my palm, and covers it with my fingers. I stare at my hand, then back up at him.

"Dreams don't turn to dust."

He smiles sadly, caring and encouraging. I feel a sense of inexplicable relief from his words, and smile faintly back.

He holds my hand for a second longer, pats it, then releases it. His eyes are warm and hopeful, and I can see his farewell in them. Then he's gone.

I watch him continue up the road, my fingers tightened around the object in my palm. I wish I could accompany him back up the street, back to the town of my dreams. I've never seen him there before, but I know he'll be okay, in whatever he's doing. I wish him well, sending a prayer to whoever's listening.

He's the last person I met on the road out of town, and he was content in being so. I wonder why he stopped for me, when my life-long acquaintance didn't. How beautiful that an unknown stranger could offer me such incredible advice on my way out of town.

I gaze at the balloon in my other hand. Then I pull it back to me, and tuck it in my arms again.

I loosen my fingers now, but right before I look at the object, I decide against it. I suppose it's because of how I looked at the balloon; I just know if I see what he gave me, I'll go back to find him.

I shake my head, clearing my vision, then start on again.

As I walk, that familiar feeling of loneliness surrounds me again, the feeling I'm sure sole-survivors feel. It's the feeling of knowing all your friends and family have died, yet you survived. It's the feeling of wishing you had died along with them.

There's a real world out there…but there is something to make it bearable.

I'm not scared of the real world.

Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there.

What am I doing then? I take out the balloon and hold it in front of me, his words ringing in my ears.

Dreams don't turn to dust.

What is this, then? I can't help that my dream is crumbling around me! He didn't know anything at all.

I'm visited by the sudden desire to throw away whatever he gave me, chuck it as far as I can; but instead I nestle it into my pocket. Then I sigh, and continue on.

I go like that for weeks, but my breath is shorter all the time. More and more frequently am I glancing backwards, hoping for a peek of my town, but I know it's useless. A lot of me ponders where the man went, and the more and more I think about it, the more and more unsure I am about tying down the balloon.

Finally, I set my boot down through the gate, and I know I'm here. I'm in the real world.

And what a bleak place it is. The people here are nothing but shadows, flitting from one place to the next. I can't keep my eyes on them for long - it's like watching a flame flicker, or trying to track a firefly. I want to shrink away from them, but they don't seem to notice me.

I go on, looking around me interestedly, hoping for a glimpse of something hopeful. But there's nothing. Everything is grey, cold. It's like a jail cell, like the man said.

The man! I dig through my pockets till I find whatever he gave me – a note.

Dear Nana: everything will be alright.

His words have been in my head for weeks, but never do they have such a force as these. Here, now, in the real world, so far away from him and far away from my town, the words hit me like a train on a track. Everything will be alright. I can make the world any way I want it. I'm a dreamer.

I'm made for my dream.

In the cold grey real world, I take out my balloon. My dream floats on a string, and I've been preparing to keep it down, tie a rock to the twine and keep it in this small world. There, it would have sunk.

Dreams don't turn to dust.

A smile finds its way up my face, and I quickly release my dream into the sky. This dream won't turn to dust, because I'm not giving up.

His smile is briefly in my mind.

I can't help the grin wide on my face, and suddenly I have to run. I need to go back, because my dream is safe in the sky. I need to go back to my home. Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there.

As I make my way back, I wonder how he knew. He was the last one on the road, the only that stopped to help; he's the one who gave me a smile of encouragement on my way out. I knew him for a few minutes, and he changed my life forever.

I'm finally back to my city, but before I can enter, I see someone I thought I'd never see again.

There he is, sitting quietly on a bench outside of the town. A guitar is in his lap, and he's strumming peacefully, humming here and there. The pencil between his cap and ear is used to make marks on a page beside him.

I slow myself, my heart beating loudly in my ears. I try to approach as silently as possible, unsure of myself now that I'm here, but he seems immersed in his work. Finally, I'm close to him, and I cough quietly.

He looks up, and immediately he breaks into a grin.

Before I can say anything, (though I'm not sure what I would say anyway) I'm wrapped in a hug. I laugh, hugging him back.

"Nana!" he cries joyfully, stepping back. "It's so great to see you!"

I blush. "And you." I'm shy all of a sudden, unconfident. I owe him so much, but he acts like I don't. I want to thank him, but I'm uncertain how, so instead I gesture to the guitar on the bench. "You play music?"

He smiles proudly. "Ah, just what I'm capable of."

I don't know what to say, and he seems to see that.

"What brings you back?" he asks. But I detect something in his voice, like he said it knowingly. It's the same way he looked at me when I first met him.

I look away from him, twiddling with my thumbs. "Well, Luigi…you. I – I have to thank you, from my whole heart." I glance up at him now, gauging his reaction. He's polite as ever. "I – I listened to your words as I went on. I kept listening, trying to hear something new in them…then I listened to them for what they were. And…I understood them."

He smiles happily, not smugly, or contemptuously. I smile too, then go on. "I'm not sure if I can thank you enough – you saved my life. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I don't want to exaggerate what you did. I'm just telling the truth. Your words told me everything I needed to hear. And…I'm back," I add lamely, but my words are sincere. I hope he understands.

His smile is soft, welcoming. "I'm glad to see you again. I'll always be here for you, Nana."

"And I you, Luigi."

We grin at each other again, my happiness almost too much to bear. Then, he says,

"So you got my note, then?"

I take it out of my pocket. "Of course."

Then he frowns. "No, no. That was the message last time. Check it again."

I unfold it, then smile in absolute joy.

It's great to have you back.

"How did you know?" I ask, before he holds out his arm, and I take it. As he escorts me back into town, he chuckles.

"Because I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

I smile so wide I feel like I can't handle it. He looks at me, then laughs. "Sometimes that's the best thing you can say."

"And sometimes it's the only thing."

We continue into town, and I know I've made a dear friend out of that last person on the road out of town.

The last one on the road out of town, that last one that made all the difference.

A/N: I just want to say, quickly: this is my loose interpretation of what was said. I'm not trying to credit myself for anything. This is a present for MessengerofDreams, and I tried not to get sappy, because I didn't want it to seem like a romance or anything, ha. How weird would that be…And also, about the topic: Nobody is more regretful than I am for my dramatic hiatus, and when I talk about the people on the road, I want to say thank you to those who did encourage me. This isn't meant to exclude you. This is just for the person who's words had the most profound impact on me.

Honestly, I don't think this is the best work I've ever done, but I put my whole heart into it. Also, it's better than my first draft. It's not perfect because I was very hesitant with the characters; I didn't want Nana to beg for pity and Luigi to seem haughty, and I think that's what held me back. But, that wasn't the main idea of the story. I hope I did alright anyway, and I hope it meant something. I wrote with my soul instead of my brain, and I regret nothing. :)

So, MoD, I hope you enjoyed. Sometimes I think I'm silly for considering you such a dear friend to me, but it's so true. Love you bro, and a very happy birthday to you!

:D

Much love,

~Your dear friend, Araceli L.