A/N: Italicized type indicates "actual" writing. You'll see.
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Death Becomes Duo
by Oak
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Duo is spread out lazily on a white couch, one bare foot dangling over the armrest. There is no background, nor foreground, just a blank, white surface.
Duo: So what's it going to be today, Oak? Another pensive character-study about yours truly a la "Shinigami Rising?"
Red block letters reading "WARNING! SHAMELESS AUTHOR PROMOTION!" begin flashing above Duo's head. He ignores them.
Oak: Not today. Today, I think we're doing a [dramatic pause] death-fic.
Duo: A death-fic? You're not serious.
Oak: I am.
Duo: [raises his eyebrows and purses his lips] A death-fic. Alrighty. [whispers] A nice, trite, done-every-way-until-next-Tuesday death-fic. What ever happened to those four years of literary, grammar, poetry, and writing courses, Ms. I'm-so-geeky-I-took- Chauser -in-Middle-English?
Oak: What was that?
Duo: Hmmm? What?
Oak: Oh, nevermind. I have to get this background into place anyway.
There is a click like a slide projector changing images, and a dark, snow-covered road slides into place behind Duo. He turns to look at it.
The road was dark, to say the least. A flickering street lamp cast a halo of yellow light onto the snow-laden street where Duo Maxwell was watching the snow fall into view.
Duo: [makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat] Ugh.
Oak: Ugh?
Duo: If you insist on writing a [shudder] death-fic, could you at least make it a tad bit original? Hmmm?
Oak: [uncertainly] Too predictable?
Duo: Oh no! I've never seen myself die on a dark, deserted country road in the middle of winter. What a unique and inspired idea. I thought you "real" writer types were good at avoiding clichés like this.
Oak: Oh. Well, uh, you see, it's, ah
Duo: And you're writing! Do you realize you used the word snow twice in as many sentences? Your writing professors would die of shame if they saw this drivel.
Oak: That bad, huh? [She hangs her head.]
Duo: No, [Oak looks up] it's worse.
She lets out a small sob.
Duo: What about a change of location? That might help.
There is another click, and a seascape slides into view, replacing the country road. It's sunset, and the dying sun is dipping into the water, sparkling orange light across the waves and white beach.
Duo: Hey! Now this is more like it! [He stretches out on the couch and digs his feet into the sand.] This is the kind of death a guy could get to enjoy.
Oak: But
Duo: But what?
He pulls a pair of sunglasses out f his pocket and puts them on with a flourish.
Oak: It really doesn't have the right--feel--to it for a death-fic, does it?
Another click and the road is back.
Duo: [sighs and takes off his sunglasses] Look, Oak, I like you. Your writing is halfway decent, you keep me more or less in character, you edit. I hate to see you do this to yourself.
Oak: Do what?
Duo: Write a death-fic. Oh sure, it seems like a good idea now, but you're not seeing the big picture here. First it's one little death-fic, then maybe a limerick dedicated to your favorite anime character, then, before you know it, you're experimenting with self-insertion and even [he whispers dramatically] Mary Jane fics.
Oak shakes her head from side to side too horrified to speak.
Duo: Take my word for it. I've seen it happen a million times.
Oak: [hoarsely] No, I couldn't, I mean, I wouldn't
Duo: Oh you could, and you would. Trust me, if you write this death-fic, you'll be dancing with Mary Jane by the end of the week.
Oak's chest is heaving painfully. She falters, looses her balance, and sits down. Her breath is short and ragged.
Duo: Yo, Oakster. You OK there?
Oak: [softly] I--don't--feel-so
Her voice trails off as she faints. Her uneven breathing continues for a few moments, gradually slowing--and then ceases.
Duo: Oak?
There is no response.
Duo: [a bit louder] Oak?
Silence.
Duo: [shouting] Hey OAK!
He shrugs. There is a click, and the scenic seascape slides once again into the background.
Duo: Huh. Third author I've lost this week. No wonder they call me the God of Death.
He smirks, replaces his sunglasses, and lies out on the couch. He stretches his legs, and folds his arms up underneath his head.
Duo: Ahhhhhhhh! Triteness and clichés be damned. I love this ending.
The End.
Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing, nor any of its characters. If I did, I would be a lot richer. I stole, that's right stole, Duo from his rightful owners and forced him into this horrible little story. I am making no profit form this dreary waste of space, nor am I liable for any adverse reactions that may have occurred from the subsequent viewing of said story.
This seemed like a really good story idea at 3 am this morning.