*******************************************************
Authors Notes: Yes, well this is the first piece I've ever
written about Gundam Wing by myself, so I hope you
enjoy it... Anyway, I plan on writing a story about Gundam
Wing when I have a little more time. Perhaps over the
Christmas break??? That is... If anyone bothers to ask
me and proves that anyone read this! And even then, it
might take a year or two. ~_^; But that's really not my
fault... Anyway, the first one goes out to... Everyone who
bothers to read this! Oh, and an author on here who I
happen to admire, EVIL 1. Oh, and a whole other bunch
of people... But you can just go to my favourite authors
list.
Got something you think I'd enjoy? OK! Drop me a line,
becky_sweet_16@hotmail.com
I'm a newbie... so.... I'd love to hear from anyone who's
nice enough to talk back!
*******************************************************
Heero After the War
He hates the way he looks when he smiles. I had always
envied that smile... It was on rare occasion that he would
bless someone with a flashed grin. More so after the war.
What had happened? I'd found him one day staring at an
old, yellowed photograph. It was clenched so tightly in
his hands. A girl's blond locks flew in the wind as she ran
to the garden. Click... A memory immortalized. Ever so
carefully I walked over to him. "Please," I whisper, not
wanting to cause any more initial grief to the poor boy.
Though he turned around, his movements swift, fluid
even, could in no way hide his eyes. His eyes.. They were
so fierce... Fierce and calm at the same time. So close
-yet as close as they were, I could touch them almost-
They had a faraway look. As though he was a lost child.
As if he held no recollection of his past. And maybe he
did not. I barely knew him after all. I spoke up again.
"Please... don't look so sad... It's over." He stood up. His
eyes blazed with intensity. Intensity and determination.
There was no real word for the emotion he felt. The
worst thing was he knew this as well. Slowly, as though
out of fear of being struck, I raised my hand. Gently...
Gently... Until mere inches from his face the pupils in his
beautiful blue eyes contracted. He looked as though he
almost hiccuped. I dared not try again. This pilot... Could
he not cry? Did he not feel? Was it in bare pantomime he
would talk? But no... I couldn't bare it. What I said to
him next almost suprised me as much as him. "It's over...
It... Is... Over." His fists clenched and unclenched, and he
fell to his knees. He let out a sorrowful scream. A
scream so melancholy I wanted to rip my heart out of
it's casing right there and give it to him. So he would not
have to be alone. I wept the tears he could not weep. I
choked on air that he could not. I shivered in cold he
could not feel, and I felt emotions he never had, has, or
ever will feel. My eyes brimmed with tears, and yet as
though I could sense he wished I would not cry... I had to.
I now know true pain. He got to his feet, stumbling
slightly on something unseen, in his mind blaming it not
for poor preparation or footing, but on a glitch. A
mistake. But this boy... He never made mistakes... Try as I
might... I never did understand him.
Authors Notes: Yes, well this is the first piece I've ever
written about Gundam Wing by myself, so I hope you
enjoy it... Anyway, I plan on writing a story about Gundam
Wing when I have a little more time. Perhaps over the
Christmas break??? That is... If anyone bothers to ask
me and proves that anyone read this! And even then, it
might take a year or two. ~_^; But that's really not my
fault... Anyway, the first one goes out to... Everyone who
bothers to read this! Oh, and an author on here who I
happen to admire, EVIL 1. Oh, and a whole other bunch
of people... But you can just go to my favourite authors
list.
Got something you think I'd enjoy? OK! Drop me a line,
becky_sweet_16@hotmail.com
I'm a newbie... so.... I'd love to hear from anyone who's
nice enough to talk back!
*******************************************************
Heero After the War
He hates the way he looks when he smiles. I had always
envied that smile... It was on rare occasion that he would
bless someone with a flashed grin. More so after the war.
What had happened? I'd found him one day staring at an
old, yellowed photograph. It was clenched so tightly in
his hands. A girl's blond locks flew in the wind as she ran
to the garden. Click... A memory immortalized. Ever so
carefully I walked over to him. "Please," I whisper, not
wanting to cause any more initial grief to the poor boy.
Though he turned around, his movements swift, fluid
even, could in no way hide his eyes. His eyes.. They were
so fierce... Fierce and calm at the same time. So close
-yet as close as they were, I could touch them almost-
They had a faraway look. As though he was a lost child.
As if he held no recollection of his past. And maybe he
did not. I barely knew him after all. I spoke up again.
"Please... don't look so sad... It's over." He stood up. His
eyes blazed with intensity. Intensity and determination.
There was no real word for the emotion he felt. The
worst thing was he knew this as well. Slowly, as though
out of fear of being struck, I raised my hand. Gently...
Gently... Until mere inches from his face the pupils in his
beautiful blue eyes contracted. He looked as though he
almost hiccuped. I dared not try again. This pilot... Could
he not cry? Did he not feel? Was it in bare pantomime he
would talk? But no... I couldn't bare it. What I said to
him next almost suprised me as much as him. "It's over...
It... Is... Over." His fists clenched and unclenched, and he
fell to his knees. He let out a sorrowful scream. A
scream so melancholy I wanted to rip my heart out of
it's casing right there and give it to him. So he would not
have to be alone. I wept the tears he could not weep. I
choked on air that he could not. I shivered in cold he
could not feel, and I felt emotions he never had, has, or
ever will feel. My eyes brimmed with tears, and yet as
though I could sense he wished I would not cry... I had to.
I now know true pain. He got to his feet, stumbling
slightly on something unseen, in his mind blaming it not
for poor preparation or footing, but on a glitch. A
mistake. But this boy... He never made mistakes... Try as I
might... I never did understand him.