Alright, maintaining story balance is a bit tough, but I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually. It's like managing a see-saw, except not really. Anyhow, back to the story.

Michael Mario: Haha, congrats for pointing that out, you're the first to do that! Nate's mother had some problems of her own, but she seems to have dropped them as she got older.

Jupitergirl132: I'm trying to maintain a balance of chapters that have both Nate and Rosa, chapters with just Nate, and chapters with just Rosa.

TheBlueAlienRobotZombie: I was shooting for a word that I knew people would overlook.

Sith Droideka: He honestly doesn't want to admit that her company has grown on him.

Please review, even if you lurk, it really helps!

Word Count: 373 words.


.49 The Pit

A large hole in the ground.


The girl walks up to one of Nate's favorite places in all of Aspertia, a simple hill with a lone shady tree looming over it. Since he wasn't present with her, it gave her time to do what needed to be done every first day of the month.

The girl rubs her hands in front of her mouth, exhaling into them to calm herself.

It would go without question that each time the boy encounters a female he holds a liking for so dearly, that he would invite them to this very special place so that they could talk of lucrative subjects, about "life" and its meaning and other unnecessary noise.

Of course, she would try as hard as she could to make him late for every single occasion. But not just so that he would be late and that the girl would walk off, heartbroken by his apparent rejection.

No, she stalls for another reason.

She stalls so that they have enough time to wither away within the hour, but more often than not, some leftover fragments get left behind.

"Ugh, every damn month..."

Stepping on a concealed switch on the hill, a patch of grass opens up, revealing a deep and treacherous pit.

Rosa then dons a rather cute miner's helmet, a pickaxe, and a rope. Flicking the helmet's light on and tying the rope around the tree, she gently climbs down, pickaxe safely in her mouth.

Once she makes it to the bottom, she knows to stay clear of the artificial spikes planted there for the victims. Using the pickaxe, she continuously hacks at the brain matter still stuck to each spike without a shred of regret in her mind, whistling an adorable little tune as she does.

"La da, da da dum do do,"

Her pickaxe demolishes a leftover skull on the spike into several billion pieces, scattering what few black strands of hair still attached to it all over the pit.

She scoots her way through the spikes to one that has impaled a head with flesh still on it. Removing it with the pickaxe, she stares at the rotten head, scoffing at the rotten, foul odor emitting from that pale skin.

"Eugh... Get a tan." she mutters.