shampoo147: I know, I should be working on my other stories, but I am. I'm trying to finish them, but I won't rush it.

Ayame: Obviously, we don't own the Underland Chronicles, or else Ares would never have died and neither would have the Bane.

shampoo147: Or Twitchtip, for that matter.

I Tried

I walked down the hall in his school. They, my family, had told the principal that due to "family issues" I had been unable to attend his classes. But now those issues were resolved, apparently, and I could settle back into a normal life.

I was trying . . . but that was as far as being normal went.

My friends had tried to be probing, asking where I got these scars and if I was okay. At least they seemed to understand that I really didn't want to answer the questions. That didn't seem to stop them from asking, though.

Anyway, since I got back from the Underland and their war, he noticed that I was attracting a lot of . . . attention.

After bringing this to my friends' attention, they pointed out that I was carrying himself differently, more straight and confident in myself.

Apparently this was attracting a lot of female attention.

And that was attracting a lot of animosity from the maturing boys around me.

Sometimes a girl would approach me, but I would only see Luxa's face and turn her away. None of these girls were like Luxa, the queen of Regalia.

Every time I saw someone bullying someone else, I would feel a throb of reddening anger and I would struggle to control himself; to heed Ripred's advice to keep myself in check. I would separate them and report the bully to the authority figures, but all I see are the gnawers screaming in agony as the Regalian military pour hot oil on them to keep them out of their walls.

Or see the dead diggers, who I had unjustly killed myself; who had been run out of their homes by Sandwich and the human (the killers).

Sometimes I couldn't stop myself, though. When I had been coming home from school (having forgotten to pick Lizzie up again), a mugger had tried to scare me with a little knife and the threat of a beating if I didn't give him my grocery money. I told him to go away, but he persisted.

I know that I was the one that killed him, because all I saw as he came at me were his bits of exposed skin . . . then I heard the police sirens and realized that I was standing in a pool of blood.

I was released as it was a clear-cut case of self-defense and I was still a minor.

I later learned that he was only attacking me because his little sister was sick and they couldn't afford the hospital bill.

I locked myself into my room after that. I still flinch as I recall his sister looking at me, asking me with her eyes why I had taken her older brother away from her. I saw my little sisters crowded around Ripred as they tried to process my supposed death and I turned away.

She died a month later, because they couldn't pay for treatment.

I never asked what she was sick with.

My own family were hesitant with me, as if they thought that if they made a sudden noise or anything remotely threatening, I'd attack them, too.

Only Boots continues to run up to me and lavish me with her toddler love. I return as much as I can, of course.

Everyone has gotten better; my dad is fine and now teaching at the high school again, as happy as he ever was to leave the Underland behind. Boots doesn't even remember any of it anymore, she forgot about the crawlers that would gladly die for and of the languages she had learned with Hazard. Lizzie loves Ripred, but she was young enough that mom managed to convince her that it was all just a dream (the fish ointment had gotten rid of my scars, only confirming the suspicion that it wasn't real). Mom was all too happy to leave the Underland behind and take us to Virginia.

I think I'm the only one who still truly remembers; the only one who's not healing. Miss Cormoci was a relief, but she passed on. I miss her; another friend gone.

I still have the plastic bat Boots gave me; and his claw.

I still cry for him. I still wake up and expect to feel him, to protect and be protected by him. He's still my bond and nothing will ever change that.

Not even death.

But I know he's not here when I dream. I look for him, but all I do is fall down and I scream for him, to catch me as he always does. In my dream, he won't come . . . but the true nightmares are when he does come and I awake to the cruel knowledge that it was truly nothing more than a dream now.

I still have the scars on my chest. The others haven't noticed it because I won't let them. I have Pearlpelt's last little gift for me for all of my life.

Despite the fact that I killed him, I still can't stop the rush of love I feel when I think of the little baby curled into my chest crying, "Ma-ma."

I speak to people, trying to connect with them, but I lose this connection when I realize that they never really experienced what I have. They have hardship, but they are strangers to genocide and torture.

They think I'm simply stuck-up.

My classwork has greatly improved, due to the fact that I now focus myself in the classroom. I only heard Ripred trying to teach me and recalled his frustration when I pushed him away with ingratitude.

I'm surviving, because that's what I do best, but I'm not living.

Everyone can see that. Boots, Lizzie, mom, and dad. They can see that I'm not living and are stressed by it.

I try, though, I tried.