Warning: Language and other graphic content. NCS later, though really described.
I dont own Gundam Wing and so, I dont own the character. I also do not really own the story. It belongs to Lorenzo Carcaterra who is the author of the origional novel Sleepers. It is a controversial best-seller. If you do end up reading it, as I strongly suggest, you will have to decide whether its true or not. If you have already read it, know that this is different. Some scenes are of my own creation and some are similar to those in the book, but the overal story is the same.
Authors note: Um... please read and reply. I love feedback. ^_^ Also remember that unless other warnings are noted, these apply to all chapters.
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This is the story of my four best friends and the lives we lived. It's about the neighborhood where we grew up and how we were sent to a place that forever changed our lives. About how we managed to ease some of the pain of the memories that place made.
It's more a story about friendship, though, and how true friendship can stand up to anything. The four people who were my best friends were the truest friends anyone could ever find. They would do anything for me, proving it as often as needed, and I would do the same for them. They were my makeshift family. We were inseparable friends as kids and loyal souls as adults. Two of my friends, murderers and the most caring people I knew, made it only to their late twenties. The third who shared in their life's glory, lived not a month past his thirty-second birthday. The fourth, still alive, lives alone in a small apartment on L1.
I am the only one that seems capable of telling our story; someone must because it has to be told. So let's start at the beginning, when the only thing that really mattered was each other.
~June AC 192~
Every summer meant what all of us waited for during the school year - total freedom. Summertime in Seneca Heights, the neighborhood where we grew up on L2, meant carnivals, swimming and doing whatever the hell we wanted. Our fun usually consisted of going to Sam's, the only department store in town, and simply messing around. We filled up shopping carts for no other reason than to leave them in random locations; we rode the bicycles up and down the aisles, claiming we were taking them for test drives; we moved "Wet Floor" signs to carpeted areas; we lounged in the patio furniture for as long as we wanted. We had most of our fun, though, in the bathrooms. But you probably don't want to know the kind of things we did in there.
Today, however, our fun came not from inside Sam's, but from the field. The people of Seneca Heights had pooled their money a few years before and paid to make a playing field out of a large, unused area of the colony. On the 20th of June, every summer, baseball games took over the entire field. Children and adults of all ages gathered on the field to watch different gangs and cliques duke it out with a ball, a bat and a few - if any - mitts.
My team - me, my four best friends and four other kids from the neighborhood - was playing against a group of older boys from the other side of town. The oldest and captain, a Spanish kid named Karlo with thick arms and bushy hair, was nearly a foot taller than me and twice as ugly.
"C'mon," I shouted angrily from the sidelines. Marcus, a mixed boy with black hair, dark eyes and fast legs, had just been called out; I had seen the ball and I had seen when Marcus got to the base. He was safe.
"What kind of shit is that?" Wufei called to the umpire. My Chinese friend, who had been sitting beside me moments ago, stood up and began calling the umpire names that he probably shouldn't have. His jeering, however, was drowned in the sea of shouts from the others. Heero, the captain of our team and the oldest of my friends, was already out on the field.
He wasn't arguing, though. He had gone out to bring back Alex, one of Marcus's friends, which had run out at the umpire in a rush of frustration. We hadn't had a good game so far despite the fact that it was a tie.
Once the ordeal was settled, everyone returned to their seats and it was Trowa's turn to bat.
Walking up the plate, it was easily seen that Trowa was the tallest amongst us. He picked up the old wooden bat and readied himself for the pitch.
He swung and missed. He swung again and missed again. The third time he swung, Trowa finally hit the ball, sending it shooting far into the left field. Being the tallest and leanest of my four best friends, Trowa took off around the bases. My whole team was on their feet, shouting and cheering my friend on as he flew past second base and on to third then in on home.
Trowa skidded to a stop on top of home base, a grand smile across his face; the ball had only reached the third baseman by the time he'd stopped.
The home run finally ended the two-hour game and brought my team victory.
My team ran up to Trowa, yelling in excitement and joy while at the same time, heckling at the opposing team. I looked over at them and jeered with the rest. The look of defeat and embarrassment on their faces was just too good. I laughed and flicked off Karlo - a mistake that I soon regretted.
Having been less than fifteen feet away, Karlo was on top of me in less than a second, punching and hitting at whatever was in the way. My arms flew up to my face in defense and Heero was instantly on Karlo's back. I heard shouts from the other boys, some encouraging, some not. I felt blood on my hands and knew that he'd probably busted my nose. Heero struggled with Karlo, eventually prying him off of me and landing a few quite effective blows of his own.
Quatre, my blond-haired Arabian friend, ran to my side and helped me up. "You ok, Duo?"
"Yeah," I managed to say as blood trickled down my chin.
Heero turned from the fallen Karlo and looked at me, a slight bruise forming on his face. "Ok?" I nodded in response and he walked passed me, leading our group away. "Then let's get out of here."
Two hours later found our group sitting around a table at Calli's Pizza Kitchen, eating the free one we'd earned from winning the game. Calliona Meretta, an Italian woman with a heavy accent and heavier body, always set a free pizza as a prize for us. She liked our group because we were one of the few flocks of kids that didn't bother to steal from or vandalize her small pizza parlor.
I had a tissue shoved up my nose, preventing the blood from flowing down my face and into my food. I took a bite just as Wufei had finished telling Calli the story of how I got my ass kicked. A few theatrics thrown in for good measure and she was all over me in a short second, offering me another slice of free pizza.
It's good to look innocent. Especially when you're thirteen and have no money.
They all laughed at the way Calli was coddling me. I laughed when I got an extra slice of sausage pizza and they sat there with bare plates.
That was the way it usually was. Me and my friends laughing and joking as we got free food. Heero, Trowa, Quatre, Wufei and I ruled the area between 43rd Street and Dorsted Road. It was only about five blocks, but the space was big enough for us to do whatever we pleased. There were plenty other kids in the neighborhood; most were decent people, some weren't, but the five of us pretty much stuck to each other, rarely venturing out without at least one other member of our pack.
We were close; they were the best friends I ever had.
I dont own Gundam Wing and so, I dont own the character. I also do not really own the story. It belongs to Lorenzo Carcaterra who is the author of the origional novel Sleepers. It is a controversial best-seller. If you do end up reading it, as I strongly suggest, you will have to decide whether its true or not. If you have already read it, know that this is different. Some scenes are of my own creation and some are similar to those in the book, but the overal story is the same.
Authors note: Um... please read and reply. I love feedback. ^_^ Also remember that unless other warnings are noted, these apply to all chapters.
-----------------------------------------
This is the story of my four best friends and the lives we lived. It's about the neighborhood where we grew up and how we were sent to a place that forever changed our lives. About how we managed to ease some of the pain of the memories that place made.
It's more a story about friendship, though, and how true friendship can stand up to anything. The four people who were my best friends were the truest friends anyone could ever find. They would do anything for me, proving it as often as needed, and I would do the same for them. They were my makeshift family. We were inseparable friends as kids and loyal souls as adults. Two of my friends, murderers and the most caring people I knew, made it only to their late twenties. The third who shared in their life's glory, lived not a month past his thirty-second birthday. The fourth, still alive, lives alone in a small apartment on L1.
I am the only one that seems capable of telling our story; someone must because it has to be told. So let's start at the beginning, when the only thing that really mattered was each other.
~June AC 192~
Every summer meant what all of us waited for during the school year - total freedom. Summertime in Seneca Heights, the neighborhood where we grew up on L2, meant carnivals, swimming and doing whatever the hell we wanted. Our fun usually consisted of going to Sam's, the only department store in town, and simply messing around. We filled up shopping carts for no other reason than to leave them in random locations; we rode the bicycles up and down the aisles, claiming we were taking them for test drives; we moved "Wet Floor" signs to carpeted areas; we lounged in the patio furniture for as long as we wanted. We had most of our fun, though, in the bathrooms. But you probably don't want to know the kind of things we did in there.
Today, however, our fun came not from inside Sam's, but from the field. The people of Seneca Heights had pooled their money a few years before and paid to make a playing field out of a large, unused area of the colony. On the 20th of June, every summer, baseball games took over the entire field. Children and adults of all ages gathered on the field to watch different gangs and cliques duke it out with a ball, a bat and a few - if any - mitts.
My team - me, my four best friends and four other kids from the neighborhood - was playing against a group of older boys from the other side of town. The oldest and captain, a Spanish kid named Karlo with thick arms and bushy hair, was nearly a foot taller than me and twice as ugly.
"C'mon," I shouted angrily from the sidelines. Marcus, a mixed boy with black hair, dark eyes and fast legs, had just been called out; I had seen the ball and I had seen when Marcus got to the base. He was safe.
"What kind of shit is that?" Wufei called to the umpire. My Chinese friend, who had been sitting beside me moments ago, stood up and began calling the umpire names that he probably shouldn't have. His jeering, however, was drowned in the sea of shouts from the others. Heero, the captain of our team and the oldest of my friends, was already out on the field.
He wasn't arguing, though. He had gone out to bring back Alex, one of Marcus's friends, which had run out at the umpire in a rush of frustration. We hadn't had a good game so far despite the fact that it was a tie.
Once the ordeal was settled, everyone returned to their seats and it was Trowa's turn to bat.
Walking up the plate, it was easily seen that Trowa was the tallest amongst us. He picked up the old wooden bat and readied himself for the pitch.
He swung and missed. He swung again and missed again. The third time he swung, Trowa finally hit the ball, sending it shooting far into the left field. Being the tallest and leanest of my four best friends, Trowa took off around the bases. My whole team was on their feet, shouting and cheering my friend on as he flew past second base and on to third then in on home.
Trowa skidded to a stop on top of home base, a grand smile across his face; the ball had only reached the third baseman by the time he'd stopped.
The home run finally ended the two-hour game and brought my team victory.
My team ran up to Trowa, yelling in excitement and joy while at the same time, heckling at the opposing team. I looked over at them and jeered with the rest. The look of defeat and embarrassment on their faces was just too good. I laughed and flicked off Karlo - a mistake that I soon regretted.
Having been less than fifteen feet away, Karlo was on top of me in less than a second, punching and hitting at whatever was in the way. My arms flew up to my face in defense and Heero was instantly on Karlo's back. I heard shouts from the other boys, some encouraging, some not. I felt blood on my hands and knew that he'd probably busted my nose. Heero struggled with Karlo, eventually prying him off of me and landing a few quite effective blows of his own.
Quatre, my blond-haired Arabian friend, ran to my side and helped me up. "You ok, Duo?"
"Yeah," I managed to say as blood trickled down my chin.
Heero turned from the fallen Karlo and looked at me, a slight bruise forming on his face. "Ok?" I nodded in response and he walked passed me, leading our group away. "Then let's get out of here."
Two hours later found our group sitting around a table at Calli's Pizza Kitchen, eating the free one we'd earned from winning the game. Calliona Meretta, an Italian woman with a heavy accent and heavier body, always set a free pizza as a prize for us. She liked our group because we were one of the few flocks of kids that didn't bother to steal from or vandalize her small pizza parlor.
I had a tissue shoved up my nose, preventing the blood from flowing down my face and into my food. I took a bite just as Wufei had finished telling Calli the story of how I got my ass kicked. A few theatrics thrown in for good measure and she was all over me in a short second, offering me another slice of free pizza.
It's good to look innocent. Especially when you're thirteen and have no money.
They all laughed at the way Calli was coddling me. I laughed when I got an extra slice of sausage pizza and they sat there with bare plates.
That was the way it usually was. Me and my friends laughing and joking as we got free food. Heero, Trowa, Quatre, Wufei and I ruled the area between 43rd Street and Dorsted Road. It was only about five blocks, but the space was big enough for us to do whatever we pleased. There were plenty other kids in the neighborhood; most were decent people, some weren't, but the five of us pretty much stuck to each other, rarely venturing out without at least one other member of our pack.
We were close; they were the best friends I ever had.
