Hello again all.

Firstly to my Max's Pain readers: a huge sorry. My maths teacher has confiscated my notebooks for writing in class, and refuses to give them back. I would much rather wait, and give you a good version, than attempt to do it from memory.

This oneshot is very angsty and somewhat confusing. I wanted to break in my new notebook. What I'm gonna do is leave this up for a day, so I can get people's initial response to the story, then tomorrow I will post a new 'chappie' explaining the thing. BUT please reveiw the first time so I can understand how you percieve what I put across.

Thanks.

Love.

mysteryredhead (as crimsonscarz says: a dangerous pen-name for this site, and it is...)

Once again;

Enjoy.


When I wake, I run.

I love to run.

I don't know why exactly.

I know I love the feel of the wind on my face, rippling my clothes around my slim frame.

I know I love the feel of my hair pulling back, the dirty blond tresses knotting in the wind, each strand swishing and flying around another.

I know that I'm good at it. I can run and run and run.

What I don't know is my name.

I have no memories, bar waking in a forest, not a scratch on me, in the same clothes I wear now.

I had no injuries, no illness and no memories.

They found me, and put me in a white room, trying to help me.

When they opened the door I ran.

All I own is the clothes I wear now. And a silver ring. A plain silver band with a word engraved inside;

Fang

I don't know what that is. Or where it is. Or why it is.

They tried talking to me.

I haven't spoken, not that I can remember.

I'm sure I can, but I just haven't tried.

Why do I need to?

There is a path I always run, away from my food site.

I find bread at my food site, at the end of the day, in a dark place behind a bakery.

Then I sleep in the dark place.

When I wake, I run.

Past an old street, into the open.

There is a field, with waving grass and a small road.

No one has ever passed me on this road.

Today is different.

As I run – fast is a word that comes to mind.

It has no meaning for me. When I think 'fast' I think 'moving rapidly'. I have no memories to tell me what 'fast' is.

Should I?

I see a figure, up ahead, just standing. Waiting?

I move towards it, but it does not move, does not step from my path.

I will run past.

The figure looks at me, and I slow, though I will still run past. I love to run, no one can catch me, cage me.

The figure raises a hand, with a silver ring glinting on a finger.

I stop.

"Max?"