Author's note: Wo0t! I updated! Now, for a good part, when Hot Streak goes to school. Let's see what happens. I'm finally watching Trigun again, thus I'm getting more sayings (thank God!). But thank you for the "pencil" one, I'll be sure to use it.
Later: The First Light
Chapter 4: Break Away
Broken this fragile thing now
And I can't, I can't pick up the pieces
And I've thrown my words all around
But I can't, I can't give you a reason
Only One
..............................
Hot Streak placed his hand on the door of his locker. It was so familiar...and yet so strange. Everything had changed, and even the teachers had changed. He turned around to walk to the office, lost in thought. He shifted the weight of his guitar, staring at the doorknob. He finally opened it and set foot in the office. A few minutes later, he emerged with his schedule, and glanced down at it. Hot Streak was less than perfect, so his classes fit him nicely. History, Science, Algebra, music...he liked the idea of music. Fortunatly that was first period, so he was happy.
At lunch, Virgil noticed Hot Streak wandering around the courtyard, looking a little lost. He walked up to him, along with Richie, and introduced himself.
"I'm Virgil Hawkins. You are?"
"Knives. Just Knives," Hot Streak muttered, not looking at him. "Ur...I'm a little lost. Can ya help a guy out?"
Virgil nodded and showed him around, finally giving into the fact that he was a nice guy. He sounded a lot like Hot Streak however, which made him nervous. But he didn't act like Hot Streak, and his hair wasn't a firey red like his. Hot Streak smiled when Virgil introduced him to Frieda, who didn't seem to change too much in the past year.
"What a lovely woman," he grinned, making the girl blush. "Would ya like me to play a song? Now, I don't mean to brag, but I can play some good tunes."
"Oh..."
For once, he felt at home. As he played the guitar and sang, he felt happy, something he hadn't felt since the death of his mother.
After school, Hot Streak just wandered around, not really having anything to do yet. He decided to go to the junkyard and see if he could still ignite. He didn't really want to, since he was afraid that he was going to be hated again. He was sick of being hated or of being feared. It made him mad...but he always withdrew that anger, kept it balled up inside. As he stood in the junkyard, he concentrated, holding out his hand. A small fire ball appeared, crackling in his palm. He smiled and put it out. Not a moment too soon either, since Static came swinging in. "Well, looky here! The great gunman Knives!" Static grinned.
"Hey. What's up?" Hot Streak grinned in return.
"You know, yesterday when you said the whole, 'reunited with those lost' or whatever. It reminded me of the time a friend said something like that to me. You came from the army right? Did you see a guy named 'Hot Streak' or Francis?" he asked.Hot Streak put on a thoughtful look. "Yah, I think I saw him. I was paired up with him I believe. I dunno where he is right now, or if he's even alive."
He put the last part there because it was true. He didn't know if -Hot Streak- was alive inside of him. He was a new person.
"So, what's your story?"
"Story? Hm...Hope. My search for it."
"Hunh?"
"Static, it's always life for life, hope for hope. Should any hope of any kind be tread on? I would think not. Sometimes people hold onto a false hope because they have no story, they have no life, and their past have vanished into thin air. We are always wishing that one day our past will return to us, even if it's the life we didn't want," Hot Streak sighed. "When I look in the mirror...someone else looks back. I remember a life that I never had, one that cannot be mine. I am piece that doesn't fit, I don't belong in this game. The board has been knocked over, and I shall be swept away."
Hot Streak closed his eyes and sat down on the spot, falling asleep. Static snapped his fingers in front of his face but got no reaction. Deciding to leave the guy alone, he flew off, leaving Hot Streak to dream about whatever it was he was dreaming about.
