Chapter Eight
Gumball's P.O.V.
"Memories… misty, watercolour memories… like the corners of my mind…"
I stopped walking. I was wandering down one of the paths that led throught the gumdrop rosebush garden. I heard the angelic voice coming from behind a wall that came roughly up to my shoulder. I stood there for a few minutes until the song ended. I sat with my back against the wall; eyes closed, and listened to the girl's voice as it sang out with something.
'Sorry I don't treat you like a goddess,
Is that what you want me to do?
Sorry I don't treat you like you're perfect
Like all your little loyal subjects do.
Sorry I'm not made of sugar
And I'm not sweet enough for you.
Is that why you always avoid me?
That must be such an inconvinience to you.
Well, I'm just your problem.
I'm just your problem.
It's like I'm not
Even a person, am I?
I'm just your problem.
Well, I-I-I-I-I shouldn't
Have to justify what I do.
I-I-I-I-I shouldn't
Have to prove anything to you.
I'm sorry that
I exist,
I forget that landed me on
Your blacklist.
But I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have
To be the one that makes up with you
So, why do I want to?
Why do I want to…?'
I sprang up to see who this wonderful muse was, backed up and took a running jump at the wall. I cleared it by centimeters, congratulated myself silently, hit the ground running and sprawled on my face, slamming into the ground at somewhere about twenty-five miles an hour.
I rolled onto my back, rubbing my jaw. I opened my eyes to see a very familiar, very shocked, very pissed off girl standing above me.
"Gumball?" She said in disbelief.
"Marceline." I grinned, spitting out a tooth.
