Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Neither of em.
This is that Bil thing. Had to retype it cause somehow it died when I uploaded it. Go to Bil for questions, I know nothing about this. -.-'
I won't become the thing I hate
I won't become the thing I hate
I won't become the thing I hate
I won't become you!
- Stabbing Westward, 'Thing I Hate'
He stood there quietly, at the base of the twisted, withered tree, long since dead, but steadfast and stubborn even in death, rooted so deeply into the damp, bloodless earthen ledge home it had occupied for as long as he could remember, since he'd found it as a small child. Lord, that felt like it was forever and a day ago, so long that he couldn't even even look in a mirror anymore without flinching at how he'd changed, how even though he looked close to the same, something made him completely different, something you'd notice only if you had stuck by him long enough.
It was like he wasn't....him anymore...
Everyone was starting to ask questions now, like they didn't trust him anymore. Hell, he was starting to distrust himself. It seemed like everyone was in danger when he was around. He attracted trouble like honey attracted flies. The world would be safer without him, but at the same time, everything he'd done over the years, all the evil he'd fought in an attempt to help the people who lived here, all he'd ever tried, struggled, and bleed for would be undone...
Would that really make it better? ....or worse...?
Are you alright? Have your eyes changed? Are you getting enough sleep? Have you been eating enough?
Did they worry for him? For themselves...? Both even? There were so many questions, it had all been so easy before, when everything had been simple, before the changes began. If he could stop it all from happeneding, he'd leap at the chance. Sure, there would be a hundred things he'd miss out on, people he'd never meet, but then they would've never been drag into his fight with himself and the evil he faced everyday now.
Thinking about me again...?
He shook his head, trying to ignore the silhoulette that now took its place beside him, the one who was slowly making him change, little by little. His metabolism seemed to have dropped by a long stretch, so far that he barely consumed anything anymore. And he hadn't gone out for any real exercise for a while. Weeks at the very least, whereas before, just standing in one place like this for longer than two moments would've been impossible.
You should stop thinking so hard. You're going to hurt yourself...
He grumbled a reply under his breath and leaned back against the pitch-black bark, revelling in the sound of the wood snapping and groaning beneath his added weight, but somehow, though some strange miracle, the trunk didn't receive a single break, held itself tall, even with the unexpected addition. He smiled then, at the old thing's strange desire for survival, pleased despite the company he was sharing.
What has you so happy, praytell?
His answer was a single shrug, and he relaxed himself, looking out into the distance. His veiw was specatular, one of the things that made him forget everything that ate his insides, the guilt and sorrows that always seemed to tear at his soul in the late night hours.
Strangely enough, out of everything, it wasn't just him changing; everyone was, only he was the one who stuck out in the crowd. That was the thing about life, about reality in general. Nothing could stay the same and live through it without something to keep everything else the same. It was impossible in all aspects of the defintion of nature and science. He was no evironmentalist, but if there was one thing he understood about nature in its worst form is that it really didn't care.
And that everything changes...
Of course, in an odd way, the tree proved and disproved that notion. Here it was, burnt, torn, scarred, and probably dragged through hell and back, but it was still here, still standing, maybe a little worse for the wear, well, yeah it was dead, but....still there. And it would probably remain there for as long as it could manage to hold itself into the ground with its brittle, rotting roots, until the creatures it had kept at bay for so long by pretending to be alive realized the trick and came in hordes to eat away at its insides and feast on it from the inside out.
But until then, it was strong.
Feeding yourself lies, again?
"No...." He pushed himself back up, still smiling when the tree moaned its thank-you and readjusted itself. So many years, but still there.
Then what would you call them?
Laughter, which is often called the purest form of emotion, was suddenly dry and harsh, echoing in his mind and in the air around him as his companion moved forward to look him in the eyes for a truthful answer. He shrugged.
"I guess, hope...." He looked at the tree and ran a hand down the patterned bark fondly.
Hope...? What is there to hope for? You're doomed.
"I dunno about that." He let his smile linger. "We're a lot like this tree, ya'know?" He pressed against it, just to hear the sound it made. "You push, but no matter how hard you try, or how many times you scar me, I'm going to stay. You and I both know we can't get rid of each other, since we are each other, but I'm not going to fall over and let you take over me." He turned a burning gaze on his fellow.
"I'm here to stay, Super..."
And with that, he left his counterpart glaring at his retreating back. The slightly offed creature made its way to the tree's side and pressed his own hand against it, before balling it into a fist and punching the dark wood dead-on. The roar was wonderful, and he was suprised the other didn't hear it. The tree ripped itself out of the ground, the scream of pain echoing and beautiful.
Know this, Sonic, you'll fall just as easily.
Then he looked down at his feet and noticed it, the first scout, on its way to check for dead materials for food and shelter. He reached down and gently plucked it up, before placing it on the fallen tree, smiling as it examined its prize. He left it there, knowing it would find its own way home to the colony and lead them back to gallantry treat and gore themselves on dying and dead wood.
After all, it only took one little crack to down a wall.
That's a wrap, review for Bil, and remember, ask Bil, not me! -waves-