DISCLAIMER AND AUTHOR'S NOTE!:
I do not own Mobile Suit Gundam W or its characters, although I wish I did. (Squeezes Wufei doll ruthlessly. 'I am going to hug you and squeeze you and call you George.')
This story contains interactions and romantic feelings between persons of the same gender, if there is a problem with this, stop reading NOW.
There is a character that is original who will POSSIABLY be paired with someone. I am trying very hard not to make her a Mary Sue, in that respect please stop me if you think I am going to far into Sueism.
PLEASE READ THIS!
I know that it has been a LONG time since I have updated this story and for that I do apologize. I have been caught up in a lot of things, both good and bad and now I finally have the time and the desire to write again. With this in mind I am coming back to a story that I started to write and never finished. I do want to finish this but unfortunately I no longer remember just how I planned to do so. So I am starting back at the beginning and doing some editing and rewriting before trying to pick up where I left off. I hope that it turns out ok. Critique is valuable and while not always appreciated is understood in its purpose. So here we go ladies and gentlemen, on with the show.
Life is a Little Funny That Way
By: Tea (I am so addicted to coffee right now.)
"Blah, blah" means speech or sometimes emphasis
(Blah, blah) while people are constantly thinking, we all have some sort of running dialogue in our heads, anything in parentheses is a directed thought.
/ Means time change
PROLOUGE:
As far as she could remember she had a fairly normal childhood. An older sister who tormented her mercilessly then made her lunch, a loving mom and a not-so loving but well-meaning dad, the usual.
During school she had friends who would affectionately call her "odd" and never complained when she felt the need to talk out during class. Proceeding to more often then not, land all of them in detention, and at the mercy of an evil woman.
After graduating high school she had enlisted in the military and had spent the next three and a half years helping her country wage a pointless and stupid and painful, (Why, why, why is this happening, what are they/you doing, why, why, no please, NO!) war. At least that was her opinion and she was sticking to it.
When she had gotten out of the service she had decided to go college. The same people who had taught her how to be a ruthless and efficient killer had paid all of her expenses in full.
Just a bonus to go along with the nightmares, (Running, I remember running, and someone screaming, or was that me who had been screaming?) and scars as their way of saying, "Thanks for a job well done".
Then there was John, (Hey Johnny, will you slow down already! Class hasn't started yet so we're fine. Wait will you?) whom she had served with, who had been "there".
Who remembered just like she did.
(God! What are you doing? Don't slow down now! We have to keep going! Just keep going! GO!)
Sometimes they had held each other when the nightmares got too bad.
He never questioned her seemingly crazy behavior, the outrageous things she said and did. Unlike most other people who thought she belonged in a mental institution or at least on heavy medication, he understood the truth behind her actions.
(Sometimes better then I wanted him to.)
So after four years of hard work she had gotten her degree in Engineering with a minor in Computer Science, which was sort of strange considering she used to hate computers, but that wasn't really the point.
Her life had finally been straightening itself out.
She had been accepted into the police force and by the time she was thirty had been training to be a member of the Bomb Squad. Those wacky people who thought playing with high explosives was fun.
(Did you know that a hollow point round fired from a rifle and a good quality cherry bomb can make a watermelon explode much the same way?)
Some smart-ass young punk wondered if that was what it looked like to get shot in the head.
He laughed at her as she threw up.
The instructor who rubbed her back and offered a napkin was older nearly twice her age, and obviously a veteran of some sort. He saw something in her eyes.
By the end of the day, the punk had stopped laughing.
So life continued.
Then some stupid person had to make a homemade bomb for a physics class.
(Question, if one is on heavy medication for being Bi-Polar, should they be allowed to study Quantum Mechanics?)
No?
She didn't think so.
Bright light flooded through her brain, frying any and all thoughts before they could even begin to be formed. She could hear them as they died, crispy crunchy synapses, SCREAMING their tiny lives away.
Trying not to move too much, she bit back a moan and concentrated on what felt like the remains of her body. (Even now, when I feel as though I should be dead, my sarcasm lives on! ALL HAIL THE SARCASM! Giver of inappropriately timed obscenities and vicious verbal commentary!)
Speaking of dead her body felt as if had been at ground zero for nuclear testing and the bomb had fallen directly on her! All so many heavy tons of it, as it went BOOM!
Giving up she lay back into the pain.
Closing her eyelids against the light that was slowly eating through said eyelids and setting her brain on fire she tried to think, to recall the license plate number of the truck that had hit her.
Biting back another scream as her body protested, she sat bolt upright.
(Oh! Holy Fuck and Sacred Cows!)
Lying in what looked like a hospital room, Anastasia Gabriel Wilder (Call me Ana.) knew something was wrong. She knew she wasn't crazy, at least not completely, and while she made no claims for being sane either, she still knew when there was something really terribly wrong.
She knew with the utmost certainty that she had been dead. The big R.I.P., no hope of survival, no heartbeat, HELL! No body for a heart to beat in!
Running her hands through her hair in an old habit she tried to organize her thoughts.
She distinctly remembered watching as the mass of wires and pretty tubes of different colored liquid and light exploded in her face.
Then came the ultra-bright, blazing hot wave of light that had burned her skin, melted her bones and turned her into a neat pile of ashes. Following that there had been another light, sort of soft and gentle taking away all of the pain.
Then she had been somewhere else, somewhere calm and peaceful, she remembered the peace, the happiness, being with loved ones.
So where the hell was she now and how the hell was she alive?
And why was her hair so damn long?
Ana leaned back in her hospital bed and stared at the doctors, who were all crowded around her, their excitement was palatable. As well it should be if what they had just told her was true, and she could not believe what they had just told her.
Somehow despite the laws of man, nature and God they had brought her back from the dead. (What complete, total and utter freaks.)
Okay, so she was "technically" a clone, but that was not the point.
The point was, when they had breathed life into the "clone's" body somehow her spirit, soul, mental essence, whatever you wanted to call it, had been pulled from its place, wherever that was, ( I was warm and happy and safe…) and thrust into the new body.
Same old soul, brand-spanking-new-and-improved body.
Did she mention that said body was now at least half again younger then her original?
No!
(Again what total and utter freaks.)
But, the big question, and this is what scared her, was why did they bring her back in the first place? And why did they do so after nearly three hundred years?