Note: If you didn't read Matchstick Houses, I strongly suggest reading it. This will make so little sense if you didn't. I mean, you can try but it's not a good idea.

Or Never

Fairytales

My skin feels like it's burning off, peeling away from my body layer by melted layer. I open my mouth to scream at the top of my lungs, but nothing comes out. The numb stinging runs up and down my nervous system, leaving charred veins wherever its disgusting feet tread. Is my body being pulled apart? Is a saw slicing through my limbs? Is someone going to stop this death? Will no one rescue me?

A small hand rests on my shoulder.

Then the pain stops.

My deep emerald eyes flutter open. Before me stands a lovely brunette with a braid running down her back and bangs that remind me of someone else's in a way. Who was the other girl that wore their bangs that way? Was it... Relane? Yes! Relane had the same bangs only backwards and less attractive. This girl before me is not as bony as Relane and is far more beautiful than Isa's sister ever could be no matter how much make up she slapped on.

"Axel," a motherly voice calls out to me. It does not belong to his mother, though. It positively cannot. My mother is alive and well, unlike me. I suppose you could call me 'dead and just fine'.

I died a year ago.

Well technically it is somewhere between a day and a year. Does it matter? When you are dead time does not matter at all. I have nowhere to go; nothing to do. I could always go bother Roxas, but sometimes he gets irritated with me for randomly popping in on his life.

"Axel, look at me," the woman before me requests sweetly. I comply and stare up into her large blue eyes. "That's better. How are you feeling?"

I groan as I prop myself up on one arm. "That depends. How long have I been dead?" I retort, scratching my ever-spikey, fiery hair. It feels noticeably shorter. Huh. That is weird.

The woman tilts her head and smiles. I realize she looks like no more than a girl. She is long and lean, soft-faced and her hand on my bare shoulder is even softer. "However long you think is probably right," she says sheepishly.

So about a year then…

"Who are you?" I ask the woman, "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

She laughs openly, smiling in a heart-stopping way. "You ask too many questions," she tells me. "I want nothing from you; just to know whether or not you want a second chance at life."

X

Whoa. Did I get hit by a train? I look down at myself—my personal self as if I never died—to find my lanky legs in faded blue jeans and black Converses. When the hell did I get these? When the hell did I come back in the first place? I died. At least I think I died. I have the strangest feeling I died at some point. That might be why this is so awkward. I feel rejuvenated. That must have been some sleep I got. Where am I, anyway?

This room looks really familiar. This is my flat, isn't it? Yeah. I think it is. Everything looks the same as I left it when I left for New Jersey. That's weird. I'm having a hard time remembering everything clearly. It's like I can see the painting, just not the intricate details. I do know where I am though. This room has to be mine—who else would have pages upon pages of crumpled paper scattered around the floor in failed attempts to write. What was I trying to write? I wonder.

I sit up and lean down over the edge of the bed, far too lazy to even consider getting up. I untangle the two clumped sheets of paper and glance of them. One of them is just a blank sheet and the other is a drawing two men. One has fire red hair and bright jade eyes that smile by themselves. The other man has aquamarine locks and golden eyes with kind of pointy ears. They look familiar. Why? I feel like I know both of them.

Then I notice there is a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. I squint and stare into it.

Shit! No wonder the redhead looks familiar! He looks just like me!

That is me!

Damn I look good!

So I know what I look like, with my straight nose and devious eyes, but who am I? What's my name? What am I doing here? I honestly could have sworn I was dead. I mean, it just feels right to say that I was dead. Obviously I'm not sure whether I was or wasn't. I'm here now, aren't I? This is so weird and so… so wrong. But at the same time I feel like I'm supposed to be here. There's something I'm supposed to do, isn't there?

I stare back down at the sheets of paper in my hand. The formerly blank one now has writing all over it. The handwriting is miniscule and sharp. Every letter i is dotted with a daisy. Can you say weird? What the hell?

This might not seem like a lot, but it's all you need to refresh your memory.

Good luck, Axel.

Following girly handwriting is a paragraph of ones and zeros. In an instant, a flash of white light knocks me over and shoves me back down onto my bed. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Images crashing into the dams of my mind, agitated and ambiguous; they smother me. They steal my breath. The back of my skull pounds in pain. My eyes burn as they try to shut out the fluorescence of this white world of recollections. All these memories… are they mine? They flow through my bloodstream.

They seep into the crevices of my brain.

They all become a part of me.

They meld into my body.

X

My eyes open. I am staring at my bedroom ceiling. It's just as dull and gray and shitty as before I died. Wait. I did die, didn't I? Or was that just a dream? No. I'm pretty sure I asked Cloud to light me on fire. Why the hell did I do that? I never did anything to him. What kind of dumbass was I to ask him to blow me up? Shit, man. I should call him and tell him he's an ass for listening to me. But if I died, how am I back in the waking right now?

Huh. Maybe I didn't die?

I turn toward the nightstand when I hear a vibration coming off of the mahogany table. I lean over to look at the screen. Call From Isa, it reads. I grin.

Damn. It feels like I haven't talked to him in forever! I reach over and answer. "Hey man," I greet, smile gracing my face.

He gasps subtly. I decide not to point it out. He says, "I didn't think it was possible, but you're back!" He laughs. "You've been gone for like, six months, man! It's great to hear from you," he says, relief dripping off his voice.

I raise an eyebrow. Six months? How was I gone for six months? Then I remember that I had left to stay with my uncle Xigbar in New Jersey. Maybe I never left. If so, then I have a lot of pseudo-memories. But it doesn't feel right to assume that those are the six months Isa is talking about.

"Where have I been for six months?" I ask him vaguely, trying to sound confused but joking at the same time. If he is about to tell me some bullshit thing I want to be able to play along so I don't seem like an idiot.

"You ask me as if you didn't die dude. You were dead. I was sure of it. But I guess you just dropped off the face of the earth for a while so you could sort things out with yourself," he says. I hear a popping noise. He is probably chewing gum. I know he likes Watermelon Twist Trident better than any other flavor so that must be his chew.

I chuckle awkwardly. This talk of me dying is freaky. "Yep… Guess I did fade away for a little bit. Sorry about that."

"No problem! Oh. And we have our support group today. Are you coming?"

Support group? I do not think I went to one of those since… since… I cannot even remember. There is something important about it, though. There has to be some significance to it. There is someone there, perhaps someone that means something to me? Or was it something that is supposed to happen there? I do not remember. I do not remember at all.

But there has to be something about it. "Sure, why not. Can you give me a ride?" I ask him, pushing myself into a relaxed position sitting up so I no longer feel like a lazy ass for waking up at noon on a… the day is Thursday, according to my bedside alarm clock.

"Of course I can. I don't see why not. I'll be there in an hour. So make sure your lazy ass is out of bed and dressed and all that fun stuff," he warns playfully. I picture his amber eyes gleaming childishly.

"Yeah, Isa, whatever you say," I snort, flipping my shit phone shut.

Déjà vu strikes me. Something about this feels disturbingly familiar, but I elect to push that thought away. Right now I just want to know why I feel so weird. I feel gross. I feel like there is something that I am missing. Frankly, I feel like I am missing a lot of things. Why do I feel this empty? I am not supposed to be like this. I think I remember having more emotion before I sort-of kind-of died. Seriously, what is up with this whole 'I died' thing, anyway? I don't remember dying. Did it happen and I just forgot it? No. There cannot be any such thing as coming back to life. Those are the things left for fairytales and bedtime stories. It is like so much is being expected of me in figuring this entire thing out. I don't want to be the only one to work on the thousand-piece puzzle.

What do they want with me?

I want nothing from you; just to know whether or not you want a second chance at life.

The words echo through my body, gently massaging the knots and tension that have built up within me. For some reason I find comfort in those words. But I also find myself fearing them and holding hatred toward he- or she –who spoke them.

Whose right was it to send me back to this life if I did, in fact, die?

This is an opportunity I doubt I wanted.

There was supposed to be an actual paragraph full of binary code after the anonymous note, but ffn doesn't seem to want to let me use all those ones and zeros. That makes me pretty sad, too, because it was going to add to the effect of the pitifully short first chapter and I was going to tie it into a surprise. That ruined part of it. So I'm not particularly pleased with how it starts, but here it is! I'm just glad I started it at all. This chapter, like the first of Matchstick Houses, sorta sucks and is rather short but the ones to come are to be noticably longer. I'm sorry for what I may or may not do to you guys through the course of this story because it might drive you crazy. Might not, but whatever.

Thank you so much for all your kind words for MH because this never would've been started without you. :3

Scotty.

Oh, and I figure that I should start having a disclaimer so I don't get in trouble.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, but I so own this interpretation of Axel and Roxas.