Hey, guys!

This monologue type-a-thing was actually written after a good friend of mine died. But I decided that it would be a nice Chekov x Sulu fic. Which is funny, considering I blatantly refuse to read any Chekov x Sulu with character death (I love them way too much)! But do with it what you will. No flaming, please. Not my best story, but very close to my heart, considering this story was originally based on true events.

I'm thinking it's Sulu's POV, but it can be from any POV. It can be from any pairing, but I'm just so into Pavel and Heekaru (hehe, gotta love the Chekov accent) right now.

Basically, Sulu decides to send Chekov's now unused PADD/email/spacebook/whatever a message.

Disclaimer: I wish I own, but I don't.

I clicked on the tiny send button under the message box, watching as my letter to no one disappeared and the words "Your message has been sent!" took its stead.

I did nothing for a moment, simply stared at the screen blankly. There were no thoughts, only emotions - grief, guilt, anger, wonder, foolishness. I briefly entertained the fantasy that maybe someone would respond - you, hopefully, not someone who would insensitively say "You do know he's dead, right?" I rejected that idea almost immediately, though - I was only fooling myself. Setting myself up for more heartbreak.

I whispered your name. The word foreign yet familiar. My mouth curved around the syllables like they always have, my tongue tasting the word as it always had when it brushed past my lips to join all of the other words that have been spoken over the history of language. I put emphasis on the first syllable. And then the second, experimentally, reverently.

And I sighed.

And I wondered - do all of our words continue to live after they have been spoken? Does every sound just float away from us, continuing over the mountain and out of sight? I think of every word ever uttered, made with all twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Words like the and and. And more meaningful words like hope and love. There are words of anger like hate and violence, plague and war. And there are sounds that can't even be put into words - like the sound of a mirror shattering, and the sky falling.

That is very much the way it feels now.

There is no way to describe the sky falling. There is no sound you can make to properly sum up the terror that seizes your body, no words to describe the heartbreak of watching such a beautiful thing die - blue skies.

Blue eyes.

Much like the color I would imagine the sky to be as it fell to the ground - the color of rain-clouds, of twilight, of the quickly approaching nighttime. The color of the turbulent sea as the sky fell into its waiting caress. I watch in my minds eye as the ocean gobbled up the sky, allowing it to sink down into the dark abyss.

And then all that is left is black and the sun - how do we reach the sun after the sky falls, though? The sky has fallen, and there is no hope for us. Either we can await the judgement day or...

Meet the sun.

So we will all reach for the sun. Everyday we get closer, striving to be in the light again and forget the shadows left behind when the sky fell. Some will even forget the day that the sky fell, but I'm not sure I ever will.

Because what will happen when the sun burns out? And what will happen when the moon withers away, as will eventually become of us all?

I remembered back to our times spent together - all the words spoken. All of the shared glances, congratulatory smiles, and whispers of good luck.

I ex out of the window, the letter now long lost to cyber space, and turn my face to the sun.

Because where else can we go?

Very short, seeing as it's just a little monologue, but a story non the less. :) R&R