Yes, it has seemed like forever since I have last posted a story. So, that being said, I hope I can remember how to do this stuff and I hope you like this story. It's a bit short, but it is the first chapter. I'll be getting more stuff up when I have time :)

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN! Haha :)

Thanks in advance!

The door falls back with a bang, and I realize I have been sleeping. My groggy eyes open and I blink back the sleep to see my brother, Tim Shepard, stomp around the small kitchen.

"What's you're problem?" I say, slightly annoyed that I was woken up.

Dark blue eyes glare at me, and he begins to rustle through the stack of mail. He's too pissed off to talk about it, I figure, and I wonder if I did something wrong, but quickly dismiss that thought. I would have found out by now.

There's nothing to see here, I decide, and turn back towards the living room, when I hear his voice.

"Shit!" Tim hisses, and I turn around. A letter is held in his hand, and he leans on the counter, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, did the dress sale end? I''m sorry, you can catch the one next-"

His eyes flash red, and he looks up at me. "I don't need your fuckin' attitude."

"Temperamental much, today?"

He drops the letter, and takes a staggering step forward. His eyes burn into my skull and cause me to flinch. He continues to step forward until he is right in front of me. Everything seems to stop and linger in the air just for a moment, to see if they witness the death of Curly Shepard.

But nothing happens. The air subsides, and I breathe once again.

"You know, I'm really getting sick of your attitude. You should know better then to mess around with me." He leans his face down and stares into me eyes. "And you ought to know better then to act so stupid. I should-"

A gasp pierces the air. Tim cranes his neck around to see Angela standing where Tim once was, holding that same letter that Tim held. I stare curiously at her, and watch as her face turns to tears, and the letter once again flutters to the floor.

She runs and throws her arms around Tim, and he does not push her away, oddly enough.

My mind races at the speed of light. What's happening?

I walk over to the letter. My heart pounds and leaps in my throat. I slowly pick it up and unfold it. Formal letterhead and nicely typed paragraphs greet me. My stomach and guts twist and make me choke. I read the first line, and I know what it is.

It's Tim's draft letter.

Something propels my feet to run, and I dash out the door. My feet fall into rhythm on the concrete. My mind tries to block out what I had just read. Tim couldn't be drafted, he just couldn't.

Unfamiliar dampness makes my face cold and stiff in the brisk autumn wind. I grow tired of running, and I slow down to a jog. Black ink stirs in my head. Death pieces the air and my world explodes. I begin to shake, and I fall to my knees.

Crunchy grass cushions my fall as I heave out my lunch. Nausea washes over me and leaves me a sobbing mess on the dead earth. I can't think of anything but a foreign war and how much it is about to take from me.

I feel arms pulling me into a sitting position, but my vision is too blurry to see who it is. The voice is shaky and unsure, yet, from the first word I know who it is.

"Hey now, calm down. You're fine."

I pull myself together and become Curly Shepard again. The Curly Shepard who doesn't cry or throw up because his hero practically received his death sentence in the mail. The Curly Shepard who doesn't just run away from his problems. The Curly Shepard who isn't weak.

I am the Curly Shepard who has no feeling again. I'm the Curly Shepard who is once again a hood, a greaser, a menace to society. I am no more then a trace in my brother's shadow, or an autumn wind that rustles the leaves. I am strong again, just like I could be.

"I'm never going to see you again, you know." I say, my voice monotone.

"I'm going to come back, you know. War's not going to take out a Shepard."

I look away. "You have no choice. If you're in the line of fire, you're going to die."

"I don't have an expiration date, Curly." Tim snapped, his voice turning hostile.

"Not until they put one on you."

"Oh my God, you're acting like I fuckin' signed up for this. You think I want to die? You think I want to leave you—leave Tulsa and my gang? Because I don't want to; but guess what? I have to. I have no choice. And I don't get you, Curly. One moment you're crying and throwing up, and the next you're acting like a total hardass-"

"I'm just being strong, like you taught me. Weak gets you no where."

"There are exceptions…"

I turned around to face him. "Well I already broke that exception, okay? Didn't you see me acting like a complete moron? Did you just not call out what I did and then ask why I'm so calm now? I might be a bit stupid, but I can control myself. After all these years, I've learned to do something. I've learned at least enough not to get myself killed."

He falls silent, and I feel that wetness welling up in my eyes. I wouldn't cry… I couldn't cry. I would be strong.

"I'm going to come back. It'll only be a year… and then I'll be here again."

"When do you leave?"

"Three days from now."

The cool air settles my stomach—which was still rolling—and brings me back to the road that lay before me. Things were going to change, I knew that. I didn't even know if I could survive the next year… we barely make it with Tim here… without him… where would we be?

I look over. Tim's jaw is set, his eyes focused on something ahead of him. A tear wells up in his eye, yet it doesn't leave there. It just lingers; a dream forgotten in the coolness of fall. Something told me Tim would be fine… his will to survive was too great and it outweighed all else.

"You know, I've got to appoint a new leader."

"Yeah."

"I'm calling a meeting tonight. We've got lots to discuss before I… before I go."

We only have three days. Three days to do so much. To appoint a leader, settle everything up, and for Tim, well, he had three days to live a life because after that, it was too uncertain what would happen.

"I already know who its going to be." He says, and gets up. He offers his hand to me, and I refuse.

"I think I'm going to stay here a while."

Tim looks distant and confused, but he nods.

"Six o'clock. Be there."

And he's gone. No more then a feather in the wind; a mere echo in the still of the night. And here sit I, staring off into the oblivion that is my life. But it's the only thing I've got.

The only think I've got.

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