Okay, I wrote this little thing forever and a
day ago, but I didn't have the courage to post it then, and by the time the
Kevin Fawkes Memorial Challenge came out I'd completely forgotten I ever wrote
it. It's too bad too, 'cause it would've worked pretty well. But I
recently found it, and I decided to dust it off, edit it a bit, and finally let
it see the light of day. Translation: I decided to post it. :)
Read on, and I hope you enjoy.
Grave Conversation
Death is so... final, don't you think?
I mean, once you're dead you're dead.
No turning back.
Maybe that's why some people believe in ghosts.
Maybe that's why some people believe in God.
They want to believe that there's a life after death, that after you die you don't just... disappear without a trace.
Who could blame 'em?
You ever heard that saying?
You know, 'Nothing is certain in life except death and taxes?'
I hate that saying.
Death sucks.
I wish you hadn't done that, you know.
You shouldn't have jumped in front of those bullets for me.
It's been a year now since you did.
One year of pain, torture, and misery.
I still haven't caught Arnaud yet.
Oh, I will, don't you worry.
It'll just take time, that's all.
We'll just have to wait.
I hate waiting.
I miss you.
I never really knew you.
Sorry about that.
I should've tried to get to know you a little better, I can see that now.
Everything's always so much clearer when you're looking back on stuff that you can't change.
I can't help but wonder what I'll do when the gland finally comes out.
It will eventually you know, even without your help.
The big question is whether or not I'll be alive when it does.
Okay, let's be optimistic.
Say the gland comes out without any problems.
I'd leave the Agency, that's for sure.
But where would I go?
I can't go back to being a thief, that's for sure.
I've seen too much, experienced too much to be able to go back to that.
And I wouldn't want to lose my friends.
Mostly, I wouldn't want to lose Hobbes.
He's my friend.
Maybe I'd go legitimate.
Find some way that I could pick locks and scale high-rises that wasn't illegal.
Or maybe I'd try my hand at something else.
Maybe I could make a TV show about my experiences, label it as science fiction.
I'm a pretty good rapper; I could try to start a band or something...
Ah, who am I kidding?
The truth is, I don't know what I'd do.
Maybe I'd just curl up in a corner and let myself starve to death.
Nah.
That'd take too long.
I'd probably just steal a gun and blow my head off.
Sorry, don't mean to sound so melancholy.
I've just had a hard day.
Okay, more like a hard year.
It just gets so tiring sometimes, you know?
Sometimes I wish it was all over.
Oh God...
Kevin, I miss you so much.
Why did you have to die, anyway?
Why'd you have to jump in the way?
You could've just yelled at me, or pulled me out of the line of fire.
You could've let me get shot.
Why did you have to die?
This is...
This is too hard.
I can't take it anymore, I gotta go.
Look, I'll come back later.
Maybe I'll talk to you some more then, okay?
I just...
This is too hard.
Bye.
Grave Conversation
Death is so... final, don't you think?
I mean, once you're dead you're dead.
No turning back.
Maybe that's why some people believe in ghosts.
Maybe that's why some people believe in God.
They want to believe that there's a life after death, that after you die you don't just... disappear without a trace.
Who could blame 'em?
You ever heard that saying?
You know, 'Nothing is certain in life except death and taxes?'
I hate that saying.
Death sucks.
I wish you hadn't done that, you know.
You shouldn't have jumped in front of those bullets for me.
It's been a year now since you did.
One year of pain, torture, and misery.
I still haven't caught Arnaud yet.
Oh, I will, don't you worry.
It'll just take time, that's all.
We'll just have to wait.
I hate waiting.
I miss you.
I never really knew you.
Sorry about that.
I should've tried to get to know you a little better, I can see that now.
Everything's always so much clearer when you're looking back on stuff that you can't change.
I can't help but wonder what I'll do when the gland finally comes out.
It will eventually you know, even without your help.
The big question is whether or not I'll be alive when it does.
Okay, let's be optimistic.
Say the gland comes out without any problems.
I'd leave the Agency, that's for sure.
But where would I go?
I can't go back to being a thief, that's for sure.
I've seen too much, experienced too much to be able to go back to that.
And I wouldn't want to lose my friends.
Mostly, I wouldn't want to lose Hobbes.
He's my friend.
Maybe I'd go legitimate.
Find some way that I could pick locks and scale high-rises that wasn't illegal.
Or maybe I'd try my hand at something else.
Maybe I could make a TV show about my experiences, label it as science fiction.
I'm a pretty good rapper; I could try to start a band or something...
Ah, who am I kidding?
The truth is, I don't know what I'd do.
Maybe I'd just curl up in a corner and let myself starve to death.
Nah.
That'd take too long.
I'd probably just steal a gun and blow my head off.
Sorry, don't mean to sound so melancholy.
I've just had a hard day.
Okay, more like a hard year.
It just gets so tiring sometimes, you know?
Sometimes I wish it was all over.
Oh God...
Kevin, I miss you so much.
Why did you have to die, anyway?
Why'd you have to jump in the way?
You could've just yelled at me, or pulled me out of the line of fire.
You could've let me get shot.
Why did you have to die?
This is...
This is too hard.
I can't take it anymore, I gotta go.
Look, I'll come back later.
Maybe I'll talk to you some more then, okay?
I just...
This is too hard.
Bye.