I told him. Someday, he would understand, if he didn't already. Life
isn't about mere games or living at the spot of the day. Life needs work to
live at the spot of every day, every hour. He was lazing around like
nothing mattered. His grades turned to dung, he made about as many enemies
as Andross, and he got a list of petty crimes the length of the whole
Lylat.
He wasn't going anywhere, but he knew it. He just didn't want to have anything to do with his old life anymore. I missed the old Falco. The old Falco who could laugh and put his arm around my shoulder. But when he joined the Hard Beaks, his laughter turned to the social lowering of others. The only arm he put around people was a half-nelson that threatened to break their necks if they didn't hand over their lunch money. In many ways, it felt like heaven reborn to see him out of that damned group.
I shoved him into back-breaking community service. Oh, he didn't say he liked it, but in his eyes, above that muttering, cursing beak of his, I could see he was enjoying the complements from the old folk who always walk around the beach or the park. He would grumble about it every day to me, but I shrugged his comments off and told him to keep going. You would've thought that he'd just hid from me and not do the work, but I've got enough dirt to blackmail him to Alpha Centauri. I had pictures of our little Falco in a diaper and sucking on a wing. We were neighbours, after all.
I could look back into our past and uncover so many happy and hilarious memories hidden away in the dust. I had once caught him in his bedroom, reading Wolfgang Mozart's biography and listening to a couple of waltzes. He jumped up, screamed, and involuntarily threw the book out the open window and into the garden out front. He later apologized to me (it sounded quite unsincere and forced, but I kissed him in the cheek for it, anyway) and asked me to fetch the book back. He said that he didn't want anybody at school knowing that he could actually read. It was back in second grade, before he joined the gang, but he was still embarassed easily and secretive, not to mention arrogant and strange. I had an open crush on him, so I gladly got it back. I then asked him if he would like to go to the beach with me, but he yelled a bit more and chased me out of his room with a dust bunny from under his bed. That lead to another bit of dirt, and I'll get right to that.
A few weeks after that, I was skipping along the shore, looking for crabs or conch shells, when I bumped into Falco. He was sitting on a solitary rock near the cliff edge (almost nobody went there) when I came along and yelled 'Hi'. He was so surprised that he fell off the rock and got a impression of his beak in the dry sand, away from the tide. He was in a good mood then, so he made a joke about it being there when we were old. We talked for a while, and then he said he had to get home. He made me promise not to tell anyone, but I offered the secrecy in exchange for a date. He refused, and I made a deal of plucking one of his tail feathers away. He agreed in the end (after three more feathers from his head) to just give me a kiss and let it all slide. It was good enough for me, but he deliberately made his sharp-tipped beak (the rest was somehow quite soft and flexible) jab me in the chin. I plucked another tail feather after that. Strangely, I had kept two of those feathers in my shuttle's compartment, which is rather odd.
Now, nearly eighteen years later, I'm here on the beach. It's seven years after the defeat of Andross, and fourteen years before I last saw Falco. Yet, beneath the cliff and near the rock, the faint impression of his beak is still there, although no more than a three-inch, sharp depression in the sand. The cliff and the rock provided just the right wind cover for it, and the water couldn't get anywhere near it. I smile and remember, and wonder if he's remembering me, too.
**
A/N: Oh, this was written on during the time when I had another cap. I think this is relatively shorter than the other one, but I would like all readers to know that they both think this at the same time. Oh, har-de-har- har for me.
He wasn't going anywhere, but he knew it. He just didn't want to have anything to do with his old life anymore. I missed the old Falco. The old Falco who could laugh and put his arm around my shoulder. But when he joined the Hard Beaks, his laughter turned to the social lowering of others. The only arm he put around people was a half-nelson that threatened to break their necks if they didn't hand over their lunch money. In many ways, it felt like heaven reborn to see him out of that damned group.
I shoved him into back-breaking community service. Oh, he didn't say he liked it, but in his eyes, above that muttering, cursing beak of his, I could see he was enjoying the complements from the old folk who always walk around the beach or the park. He would grumble about it every day to me, but I shrugged his comments off and told him to keep going. You would've thought that he'd just hid from me and not do the work, but I've got enough dirt to blackmail him to Alpha Centauri. I had pictures of our little Falco in a diaper and sucking on a wing. We were neighbours, after all.
I could look back into our past and uncover so many happy and hilarious memories hidden away in the dust. I had once caught him in his bedroom, reading Wolfgang Mozart's biography and listening to a couple of waltzes. He jumped up, screamed, and involuntarily threw the book out the open window and into the garden out front. He later apologized to me (it sounded quite unsincere and forced, but I kissed him in the cheek for it, anyway) and asked me to fetch the book back. He said that he didn't want anybody at school knowing that he could actually read. It was back in second grade, before he joined the gang, but he was still embarassed easily and secretive, not to mention arrogant and strange. I had an open crush on him, so I gladly got it back. I then asked him if he would like to go to the beach with me, but he yelled a bit more and chased me out of his room with a dust bunny from under his bed. That lead to another bit of dirt, and I'll get right to that.
A few weeks after that, I was skipping along the shore, looking for crabs or conch shells, when I bumped into Falco. He was sitting on a solitary rock near the cliff edge (almost nobody went there) when I came along and yelled 'Hi'. He was so surprised that he fell off the rock and got a impression of his beak in the dry sand, away from the tide. He was in a good mood then, so he made a joke about it being there when we were old. We talked for a while, and then he said he had to get home. He made me promise not to tell anyone, but I offered the secrecy in exchange for a date. He refused, and I made a deal of plucking one of his tail feathers away. He agreed in the end (after three more feathers from his head) to just give me a kiss and let it all slide. It was good enough for me, but he deliberately made his sharp-tipped beak (the rest was somehow quite soft and flexible) jab me in the chin. I plucked another tail feather after that. Strangely, I had kept two of those feathers in my shuttle's compartment, which is rather odd.
Now, nearly eighteen years later, I'm here on the beach. It's seven years after the defeat of Andross, and fourteen years before I last saw Falco. Yet, beneath the cliff and near the rock, the faint impression of his beak is still there, although no more than a three-inch, sharp depression in the sand. The cliff and the rock provided just the right wind cover for it, and the water couldn't get anywhere near it. I smile and remember, and wonder if he's remembering me, too.
**
A/N: Oh, this was written on during the time when I had another cap. I think this is relatively shorter than the other one, but I would like all readers to know that they both think this at the same time. Oh, har-de-har- har for me.