HEY! First of all I'm so sorry for the time it took me to post another chapter. It's just that I had a lot of school work recently, but now I could finally get some writing done as you see. I just hope I did it justice and you're not disappointed.

Second of all: Sharpay has still not showed up, but she will; probably already in the next chapter.

There's nothing much to comment on this chapter actually. It's about Troy's memories and past flashbacks he gets in the present. I hope you like it anyway.

So….go ahead…..read away…….and PLEASE SEND REVIEWS !! Have fun!!

REMINISCENCE VEIL 2

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

-William Shakespear; Macbeth

The street lights cut through the darkness that lay thick over Albuquerque like a ray of artificial sun light in an orange color. The town was as cold as it looked like, when it first caught a person's eye; forgotten, forgotten the days of restless youth and dreams of a bigger tomorrow. Youth had shape-shifted into a broken state of mind and dreams had lost the thrill of excitement. Being able to fly had altered to a transitory achievement; to just spread ones wings and take off into the unknown of an adventure. Happy had become just another word in the dictionary; resting imprinted in its pages.

And people had washed their faces from the dirt of yesterday, all liars. All liars.

Troy almost couldn't keep his eyes to pay attention to the road, as they stared meaninglessly through the car window, the vehicle racing down the streets of the abandoned places everywhere. It hurt and it took all of his nerves not to let them fall close. His stiff fingers were wrapped around the stirring wheel, holding onto it for dear life, word for word. Dammit.

What was he doing out so late again? Was it really that late? Wasn't there just seconds ago the sun, the majestic sun that sank behind the edges of the mountains or was his lack of judgment only telling him that to make a fool out of him? Had he always been that naive? Troy had to admit he didn't know and personally, he didn't give a shit.

He stopped at a red light - he had to, on a quiet crossroad, with no one in sight. Not a soul, just his poor excuse of a living being. Sighing, he let his gaze shift down from the view of the street for a moment, when he noticed his left hand, his finger precisely, still propped on the stirring wheel. He hadn't taken it off. He could not take it off. He didn't have the heart to do so. Not since he first put it on, or better said, she put it on…

Flash...The ring slid on perfectly, like it was meant to be worn specifically by him and nobody else; like it belonged to him and only him and so did the gentle hand, which was holding his, while guiding the ring on his finger. The hand trembled a little from excitement, as well as his whole body. His eyes but slowly and respectfully wandered up to the person, who accomplished in making him the happiest man alive, when they met with a pair of brown ones. His lips extended into a huge smile, showing of his while teeth and his deepest happiness, he couldn't suppress.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Troy was to bewildered to even comprehend that he finally got to hear those words; those words, which sounded like an enchanted melody in his ears. Married. They were married. Mr. and Mrs. Bolton. It had a really lovely sound to it. Nothing could ever be put together more beautifully than those words. Finally. She finally became Mrs. Troy Bolton. Gabriella Bolton.

Through the net of his own thoughts he saw her, smiling up at him, as if seeing, feeling, knowing his own world, he was in at the moment. He reasoned with himself that she never looked more beautiful as then. Not when he first met her at the New Year's party he was basically forced to go to. Not when he bumped into her in school accidentally a week later. Not never.

"You may kiss the bride."

Gladly, he got form his significant consciousness, which obviously didn't want to leave him alone, not even in such a personal experience. Then again, it was not as if he had something to object to that. So, he watched her eyes fall shut in delicate slow motion and he leaned in to meet his love in the middle, where their lips would officially seal their ceremony in life…Flash

…The loud noise of a horn, brought Troy back to his senses, where his eyes only saw the dark road, which lay ahead of him – the same as when he last left the scene. Nobody, nothing was there, still the lonely shadow waits hopelessly. Odd, he thought. Was it his imagination that yet again played silly games with him? He first didn't quite get what was happening, until the horn resounded. Noticing only then, that the light turned green and that he blocked the road for the car behind him, he shifted into gear and raised a hand to apologize to the driver for the delay he caused, before he turned into another street. Another shadow.

His truck did not come to complete stop until he arrived at home and parked it in their driveway. When he turned off the engine, he remained still for the sound that reached his ears. Silence. Almost dead silence. He couldn't even hear his own breathing keeping him alive; he did not want to. He shut out practically everything, and everyone, just because he didn't want to.

Dragging himself to the front door, after stepping out of the vehicle, he didn't even stop, even sigh – he didn't waste time, although 'wasting time' stopped bothering him at all. Shadows had no time they could waste. He could've cared less. Unlocking it and closing it afterwards, when he stepped inside, he made his way through the darkness that filled the room. Not that it disturbed him in a way: He preferred it like that now more then ever and he knew the place like he knew himself (literally) – it had been all in all his home for the last 18 years.

Leaving the living room behind him, he came to stop in the kitchen, where he placed his keys on the counter and stepped to the fridge, opening it to get out a carton of orange juice. He didn't eve like orange juice. But he drank it anyway. And after drinking out of it, he didn't even bother putting it back; he just placed it on the counter, right beside his keys and left it there.

From the corner of his eye he spotted a glimpse of an object on the kitchen table. When he turned completely in the direction, there appeared before his eyes a plate, filled with spaghetti and some green lettuce – nothing but his dinner he assumed - , and a small note that rested on the side of it. Knitting his brows, Troy walked to the table and picked the note from its place, bringing it up to read its contents. He knew, but he decided to read it anyway. He went over the perfect Lucida handwriting that was so familiar:

Honey,

You missed dinner. Again. I don't know where you go lately; I don't know where you are anymore. Please, stop these late night trips you that already became a habit of your. Please, I'm scared.

And I'm … I left you something to heat up. I know you like pasta… You must eat something.

Xxx

Troy sighed, when he closed his eyes and let the piece of paper in his hands fall to his side. Late night trips. Scared. Pasta. He didn't like spaghetti, at least not recently. He wasn't hungry; he hadn't been hungry in a while now. He threw only a glance at the food, before he placed the message back on the table and left the kitchen, ascending the stairs he reached in the hallway in no time.

His room was in a close distance, from where he came up the staircase and soon, when he would disappear behind the doors, he would fall on his bed, and hopefully, get some sleep. Sleeping became a real problem the last weeks and he was in dire need of it. Not necessary he would get any the night.

Hi parent's bedroom lay right next to his and passing, floating like not there, he could easily overhear the sobbing coming from behind the closed door. The cries, like every night, came in short periods, but muffled and quiet enough, so the person thought he wouldn't hear them when he came home. He heard though; every time, every evening, just like the last time she cried right beside him…

Flash…He could feel her tears through his shirt, as they cascaded down her pale cheeks and onto his clothes. He could hear her loud cries; everyone could, as she held tightly onto his arm for her life. She could not keep herself on her feet alone; she couldn't even look, so she buried her face into her son's shoulder. Her voice had become hoarse and shallow from the crying. And his heart tore with every sound she brought out.

Troy didn't want to cry, for many reasons. For his mother – she needed a rock for support; for his father, so he would be proud of him at least once in a lifetime; for everybody else; for the world and mostly for himself. Not so easy, he found out 15 minutes ago, when he burst in tears unintentionally, though to his luck behind closed doors. It was only now that his still red and swollen eyes were displayed for them to see. He was too tired to cry at the moment; he believed he would have.

It was a warm summer morning, but he couldn't tell. He felt cold and not even his mother's closeness could prevent the chills running down his spine. He was cold, and he was distant; to all. He didn't listen, he didn't speak. His eyes were fixated but only on the coffin that lay a few feet before him. A simple, cherry wood coffin, with an organized set of sunflowers in the middle of the lid. Sunflowers; they were his favorites. And the small one, he picked in their garden that morning and was at the moment resting in his fist, was nothing compared to them. He didn't have to look around to notice how many came. How many that didn't know. How many that came out of decency and not caring. How many that would of pity him and his family, without a clue of how they felt. Screw their pity and screw them, thought Troy.

"Troy." His ears locating a voice, his eyes fell for a blink of a second on the reverent, an old man, who motioned with a hand towards the coffin. "Will you do the honors, please?"

He didn't know if he really wanted to. It was hard enough to just be there. But he stepped closer, as soon as his mother managed to let go of his arm, with his feet barely able to carry him. Standing before the object, he could feel the people's stares on him. Why? Why did he deserve something like this?

With force, he lifted his hand that held the small flower and leaned a bit forward to place it on the lid with the others. Straitening back up, he took the garment, which was being tightly clutched by the other hand. With both hands he spread the fabric, so that it danced in the light breeze and slowly lowered it on the coffin. After leveling the piece of clothing, he took two steps back, where his mother immediately took a hold of him again.

Troy didn't think it would be so hard to comprehend. So hard to bear. Especially now, when he looked at the letters the jersey on the cover displayed: Coach Bolton…Flash

…Troy couldn't stand hearing his mother's cries through the door anymore, so he took the remaining steps to his bedroom with heavy feet and a heavy heart. He was awful; he was an awful son, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. Anything.

In his room he closed the doors behind him and he closed behind him the veil of reminiscence that seemed to get the better of him.

P.S. Ok, so I got a little reminder from tennisplayerx33; Basically I wrote Ch., because I thought it was a short form for Coach. And I wrote paste instead of pasta - although paste is also very much correct. (I looked it up in a dictionary) The reason why Troy THINKS he is a bad son is because he doesn't do anything to help his mother and is always away instead of being there for her in the time of need. And yeah, I didn't reveal that it was indeed Jack Bolton's funeral in Troy's memory till the last second, but that's the whole point, you know? And I gave some hints. (ex. The way Troy's mom took it so badly.) Thank you for the reminder tennisplayerx33.

Anyway, I apologize for the mistakes and hope you'll still have a pleasant reading.