1/08/10 -What?? Weeks? Simply to post this? I had it all written out and everything… I really loathe finals. Well, here it is at last! Hope you enjoy it! :D

12/21/09 - Aargh. Aaaaarrrgh. *bellows like a wounded penguin otter* (for the Avatar: The Last Airbender/ The Legend of Aang fans :D)

WOW, I haven't updated in FOREVER! And I completely screwed up my Document Manager skills last month. I wonder if people are still reading my things. :-/ I don't deserve to have them do so. But I nearly finished this piece "today", the day Sweeney Todd first appeared in theaters in New York, where I live, two years ago. Geesh. It's been two years? Where did the time go?

Many thanks to WishingOne and NellieTodd for the motivating "faves"! And to Woe for that deadline setting Story Alert! And again, to Wishing One for that review :D I felt wonderful getting that from an aspiring filmwriter! If you're interested in perhaps finding a role in WishingOne's Sweeney Todd production, then I recommend you go to WishingOne's profile and look at the information there. It sounds wonderful!

To ramble a bit before I start (in case you haven't noticed my easily distracted thought swings), I feel that Todd is becoming more and more underappreciated these days. It seems only a few people (including my lovely reviewers and myself , of course :]) are still following every day they can. Unfortunately, I can't afford to do that often. If I have time, I'm working or napping, the latter of which I should try to do again. But I feel terrible. How can I claim to start a multi-chapter story if I can't force myself to continue to the "multi-" part?

So this chapter will be slow. Slower than tenacious lil' salt-shriveled snails caught in molasses across a three-legged hundred and two year old Galapagos tortoise's shell. But it is a chapter. And a chapter means I can move on to areas where I would prefer to write about.

Enjoy! Or not :P I like reviews though, offering criticism. Plus, if you could... you know... Tell me where I went wrong, or what seems OOC... Stuff like that? Thanks!

Todd watched in silence from his chair as a cool wind swept across the rooftops of London. His face was tight with thought; the usually pale sheen to his skin glowed nearly blue in the light that came from through the cover of the clouds. His eyes looked, but did not see, as the coal black smoke that belched from the chimneys across the city was whipped away by invisible gusts, or as battered figures on the street below scurried like burned rats into open doorways, as the rain whipped the windows with dulled plops. His pale lips turned downwards at the corners, but to look at him, one would not think he was really frowning in displeasure or sorrow. It was natural with him, and people expected as much from him.

His shoulders were hunched, and his shirt cold with blood. The razor which had last done the deed seemed to hum in its holster, but he did not want to listen today.

Today was a low day. Mrs. Lovett had insisted, when she came up with his dinner, that it was just the weather getting to him. He had pondered this, as he pondered everything, not noticing as she scampered out of his room without giving him the usual abashed peck. His countenance had been dark as well as thoughtful then, and she had not returned yet. She would not enter the shop until the next day, since he routinely popped in downstairs during the closing rush, just to keep neighborly rumors and suspicions quiet.

A muffled but shrill chirrup wafted through the hefty floorboards, a sound Todd had long wished to stomp out as one would a crawler. It was the boy, the blasted one whom Mrs. Lovett doted on so lovingly, the one towards whom she had had the audacity to refuse to allow Todd to kill.

Let them be, advised a voice. She'll turn away from you. She'll worry about the boy.

But he might know. He might guess.

If the boy confronted him, would he slit his throat on the spot? Without a doubt. However, when one stopped to think about it , it was unlikely that the boy would try in the first place. He was dim and uneducated. His perspectives were limited and majorly dependent on Mrs. Lovett and Todd himself. And to think this boy was almost old as his own little Johanna would be now… Little Johanna, who was not so little.

His thoughts turned nostalgic, following the bait he had set up from himself. Sweeney Todd found himself submerged in memories, a silent stream of them, smiles and laughter, times he had lost, laughter than had shook his shoulders until they ached, smiles he could no longer stretch across his face like a banner across a room, tears that had allowed a flow of misery to drain out of him like water from a spout. His stomach twisted nauseatingly as every time he looked up in his mind, in his memory, and he felt the skin at the corners of his mouth burn with the intensity of the grins he felt but could not pull and yet…

Always, he saw no features across the blurred skin of the face across from him. He grit his teeth invisibly, the only sign of his frustration a twitch of his jaw. He had long since perfected the still face, the unmoving rock mask that he could put on anytime, but he could not find a memory strong enough, find a moment kindling enough to stir his mind. Not even the day he had been taken away could give him another mask, another face. It had all been so many years ago… He could remember shouting himself hoarse in the night, that nightmare gripping his mind like a vice does a board. He could remember with such vivid detail; his thrashing though sleeping body constantly slapping the splintering wood and cold metal, calling in fevered dreams for Lucy to find him, to help him, to guide him, to protect him, to wait for him, to call for him, to remember him… And she had gone. She was gone. She had slipped so easily into the call of death, the urge to drop one's troubles and forget it all, to relax all responsibility from one's self… All in all, she had been weak.

The rock mask slipped, for just a second, so quickly that its wearer did not realize this. All it took was a twitch of the eyebrows and a sudden darting of the eyes.

If there was one thing he had learned from his time at Botany Bay, it was to despise weakness. He would not have seen such an extreme error in his ways if he had remained in London. It was the one thing to be thankful for, he supposed.

Hating weakness… It was not quite loving strength, which was similar, but still not exactly the same. From the depths of his heart, with hatred almost as strong as his loathing towards Turpin, came pointless fury that rendered him helpless every time he remembered a scream that had escaped another man's lips, that had bubbled past lips rosy with the blood of life and death. Whips had cracked, pain had seared, fists had thrashed, but it could all be erased over time. Every inhuman sound of pain, fear, or hopelessness, there was something behind it worse than anything physically challenging. He didn't quite have a name for it, but it lingered in his soul, scarred his mind. He hated that. He hated with such a feeling it beat away attempts to bind it to mere words, surpassed the wisest reasoning and logic… It was like a primal instinct that had been instilled within him, a reaction to a cause whose effect was harsher than a physical blow. He had believed that he had quashed all compassion years ago, but just as when a wretched bug was smashed against a wall, the remaining smear was difficult to wash away.

Could she have thought about him, the way he had thought of her? He still did too, even if she could no longer breathe the air he breathed, feel the razors as he felt them, taste cold fury as he could upon his tongue. How it all worked together seamlessly, like a machine. He craved vengeance, he had his razors, and he breathed, he lived.

It wasn't that he did not know how to live without the reassuring weight of the silver within his grasp or how to be happy, how it felt to be happy. Rather, the case was more of one where Sweeney Todd simply did not want to enjoy the sweetness of life. He had seen how fragile a want could be shattered and a need forgotten, and life outside a prison was no different than that of a free barber. To live with Lucy's death peacefully settled into his mind and into some of his nearly non-existent conscience would be worse than living without taking a breath, simply because he knew he could fix it as well as the next man, or even better. She could be avenged, with just a minute movement, a few seconds, and her spirit could move on.

Yes, her spirit. He knew it was there. Somewhere. Following him. It knew. It could see his soul and his heart, and it followed his every movement. He knew it was there, because he could nearly feel love, coming towards him in waves from an unseen source around him. He did not want to open his heart to it, for it was not his time to join her yet. No, he would have to ease her passing, and he would, with all the stubborn doggedness of a terrier after a rat, he would—

He looked at the razor in his hand with the slightest bit of disgust tugging at his mouth. What a life this was, pursuing his clouds, reaching through the mist to part the way… to what? What could he gain? What more was there? He felt the urge to toss the razor aside with petulance, but his fingers would not unclench themselves from the warm carved handle. Rather, the razor seemed to cling to him and whisper his name in a soundless call.

He smirked at it. "And whom do you call for, little friend?" he absentmindedly asked the unanswering tool, "Do you call for Sweeney Todd, or for Benjamin Barker? Choose wisely."

The sunlight caught in the carved swoops and lines of the blade, sending the light dancing across his face.

"Clever," he mumbled. "Quick." His wrist fell down over the armrest, bouncing his arm up and down like a weight hanging from a spring. Almost embarrassed, despite the lack of the presence of others, Todd returned to his brooding silence.

Johanna. Johanna. Once the overlooked family member. Now his object of obsession. That fool sailor was at a loss for words to describe her, no matter how hard he tried. Yellow hair, porcelain skin, eyes that seemed to roil with colors as the clouds moved. This was all Benjamin Barker knew of his daughter. Did she look like him, against her face? Did her eyes have that slight impish lift at the corners?

Never like me, Todd reminded himself bitterly. I am alone. I am no father; Benjamin Barker is a father. Benjamin Barker is dead! So I assume the duties… of a god father.

There was no question in his last thought.

Sweeney Todd was a certain man. He was certain in everything he did. Watching him, you could have sworn he knew where his foot would be in three steps, or which way the fickle wind would suddenly blow, or how many more customers would be coming—and leaving—each day. He knew that he knew this, it was a certainty that lingered in his stomach, telling him that Fate was begging his pardon.

Fate is never to be forgiven. He could tell you this. You must take it by the throat and throttle it, punishing and loving it all at once. In the way that you must teach an incorrigible child, you must teach destiny in the same way. If not, it would sneer… and overwhelm you…

Again, Todd relived his drownings in more than just water. Memories once submerged in time resurfaced, regaining life with a painful sharpness. Lonely bitter mutterings into the darkness tickled his tongue. An emptiness that suffocated the weak, that throttled the helpless, that which he had fought tooth and nail to survive… this hollow heaviness took its place in his mind's eye and heart.

If he still had a heart, that is. Perhaps it had failed him as he fought and now he knew little more than what he was told. Perhaps he had won, but the price of conquering had been his heart. Any way he thought of it though, he had lost so much to it; he let so much fall into its yawning mouth that he had only barely been able to escape. He alone had been able to escape… something seemed to soothingly stroke the tightness in his chest.

He had escaped. He had escaped. And he had escaped.

The nightmare was over. His dawn was approaching.

Sweeney Todd smirked one last time. How heroic that sounded, especially considering how the judge had escaped him yet again. It was no fault of the sailor boy; he was simply the tool of Fate, a puppet under the sway of the heavens above that moved to stop Sweeney Todd in his mission. But look at Todd today, had he not shrugged off the shackles and crossed the obstacles of Fate already? He was back in London, not Botany Bay. He had his razors and a shop, not a hat with which to beg coins. Sweeney Todd was now an individual force waiti—

He froze. His weary mind gratefully ceased its churning. His raised hand dropped limply.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Such a familiar sound. Tingles of familiarity prickled his mind. In an instant, he took in his situation.

Footsteps. Coming up the steps. One entrance: the door. His shirt: soaked with blood. The customer: a

witness. Such bare facts led to but one truth.

Todd rose from the chair, taking one inaudible step forward. Another piercing cry rang out from beneath the floorboards, but he ignored it. His hand was raised once again, but this time, Sweeney Todd was listening intently to the battle hymn the metal hummed, as though it was his wielder, and he, its weapon.

AN 2: If this story sounded totally weird to you, please read the following and try to understand why I use so many commas and 'ands" (look, there I go again! [X ).

I was trying to think about Todd himself and his memories. I try to keep my fan fics apart, but sometimes they overlap, so this applies to Mistakes as well.

… I think that we cannot envision things as easily as people from the past could, because technology has fed us these images we want to see to the point that we can only think about the parts that we really remember. Before today, I think the mind was more of an open canvas, something we could "paint on" with the love and dedication of a true lover of the moment. Now we might think of a memorized image as a photo inside the memory chip of our memories.

Was that dramatic enough for you?

Yeah, I thought it was melodramatic too XD. I'm just so bushed, it's not even funny anymore. I have 3 hours of sleep each day. I'm fourteen. Sleep is like… like… well, not breathing, but at least eating or something! –stares delusionally at pretty swirly patterns on screen that no one else can see- And skiing in a technologically isolated area doesn't sound too productive to me either.

On a tangent, the ending, where Todd feels the sounds are familiar, refers to a scene in the second chapter of my other story. I'll publish that one before February. I have a few friends willing (all too willing, I think) to hit me over the head with textbooks if I fail to. XD

Another side note: for maximum effect, copy and paste the story onto a Microsoft Word 2007 document, change the font so that you are confronted with a 10.5-sized-Sylfaen-mass-of-words, and re-read!

Oh, one last thing, I swear! No, no, I don't know what the tortoise had to do with the snails, but they had to get somewhere SOMEHOW. Gotta love those snails :] Reviews please! Even if you only want to berate me for writing such a short piece (the next one'll be longer, I swear!), I'll take the advice and reviews to heart! Please? :]