A/N: My god…I have no Idea what to write. By the way these first notes are always written before I start the story. Neat huh? Right, so expect a rather retarded chapter containing a sort of substance resembling a popsicle after you leave it in the sun for a prolonged period of time. For that is my brain as of late.

Disclaimer: Really now Mister Vasquez, I'll stop doing this if you tell me to, but until you actually come to my house and risk losing your ability to leave, I shall keep this up.

P.S. I've been watching Gankutsuou a lot, it's a wonderful and, if I may say rather amazing, anime based on the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo (an equally great book). Check it out if you get the chance, and if you like anime. Even if you don't it's worth watching, the animation quality is outstanding. That was my rant, and probably no one actually read that.

The point being, I've been influenced by that, so if this chapter seems a little different from the others in style that's the reason. It's called a personal disclaimer, so deal with it.

Chapter Three: Full Circle

Sometimes it's hard to believe that the proverbial wheel has come full circle. Sometimes you just want to keep believing that you control your own life, that you are not in fact condemned to anything that the heavens might have planned for you. However, we must all realize that in this world coincidence is something that does not exist. Everything that happens is meant to happen for one inane reason or another. It's called Fate.

And no matter how much you cry, no matter how loud you scream, or how desperately you pray, there is no avoiding it.

It's all set in stone.

You could try to run from it, like I myself did. Such an ignoble choice on my part I admit.

I suppose I am a coward.

I actually thought my own will could control my destiny, that I was in control.

But I have never been in control, have I?

And my running away only succeeded in making this fate even more tormenting. My vacation has just been one bullet after another straight into my skull.

The chambers were empty now, all but one.

The last round, the pull of the trigger,

Giving way to the finale.

Not that I'm actually dying. Death would be so much more enjoyable. Yes, there are things far worse than death.

The overwhelming feeling of despair, the sort of sadness that will never depart. Bequeath unto a person once they lose what they hold the most dear.

That, is what is worse than death.

But then, what have I to lose? I've spent so long to detach myself from emotion.

Like one of those silk flowers. They never look as good as the real ones, but they will also never rot away.

They just exist; without sun, water, or soil.

A pathetic imitation that lasts longer than the original but without any of the luster.

It's sad in a way, to compare myself to such a thing.

And then I came to realize, the thing I have to lose, is my humanity (my sanity long since lost).

But isn't that what I wanted? I wanted to be different, to not be one of those pathetic little fleas. At what cost though? How far am I…was I ready to go?

And so the wheel has come full circle.

Here I am.

Back "home".

In the same fucking city I tried to leave behind me!

But I was fated to return, and face what I had left behind.

I thought I had burned those bridges.

And we all know that when you burn a bridge you're supposed to move forward and never look back.

I guess the flames of my hatred were not strong enough to destroy this wretched place.

It took me a while to realize where I was. Bit by bit it returned to me, my memories triggered by each passing building and each stinging insult thrown my way. And like some horribly cliché story line, I was thrown into this cesspool once more.

I had been in the city for three days before I found out where the hell I was. And each night had been, as always, a sleepless one.

Normally I experience no fatigue from my insomnia, however since I came here it began to take its toll. Nights once devoted to roaming the streets in search of vermin, were now spent sprawled across a motel chair or floor or whatever it was that was closest at the time. As I lay there I could feel my body ache and groan and plead for sleep. My mind however was stubborn and did not grant the body true slumber. So while my body rested, useless to me, I was left alone to my thoughts. My eyes permanently unclosed as I pondered.

It is a scary thing indeed, the feeling of being mortal.

For you see, when one does not sleep, one does not dream, that does not mean however that the mind is not inclined to wander during the wee hours of the night.

He he, wee hours.

And while I was thinking my brain brought to surface many things. The various people I've murdered, all faceless and all resembling each other. All the exact same piles of shit.

That was fine, the relived violence was no problem for me to deal with, it was my nature, my essence. Each beat of my heart secreted red hot blood that reach every fiber of my being and screamed kill, kill, kill, kill, ki—

Then things got…worse.

The mind ran out of deaths to replay, and began to bring up those troublesome things called memories, brought back from the grave by my current surroundings.

And the people in these memories had distinguishing faces, nameless still in the faded corners of my brain, yet each face was assigned a different meaning and a feeling.

Disgusting.

Not only did I remember what was lost, but also how much it truly affected me.

It reminded me that even though I'd like to believe my heart was stone cold, the very core was still red and warm and receptive to emotions.

I wasn't removed yet, and this was not helping my apathy.

The city was like a microwave, warming my heart from the inside out.

And everyone knows that when you leave something in a microwave for too long it will, eventually, explode.

Just how long will it be until I explode then? Ah, there's the rub…

Oh but anyhow, three days right. Three days of ignorance, then I came to know where I was and have this river of shit flood back into my brain, succeeding in completely mucking it up.

Now, some of you may be asking how exactly this began, again? Well if you had been paying any attention at all you would already know the answer to this.

But I know many of you are slow, so I'll explain it. It's called a story within a story or a flashback side trip thing, and people do it all the time.

Soooo!

It was a dark and stormy night. Except that is was daytime…and bright out because it was sunny. Other than that though, it was a VERY dark and stormy night.

I was leaving the Motel Hell (1) I was currently residing in to go to the 24/7 and get the brainfreezy that was so unjustly denied to me a few days beforehand.

All things considered my spirits were rather lofty.

Then I got that feeling, you know, the one where you think you're being watched. That feeling of someone's eyes trying to drill into the base of your skull to sever your spine, effectively paralyzing you.

Now, I've been stalked before, and needless to say it did not end pleasantly. Quite frankly I really wasn't ready to go through some rube's idiotic worshiping of my mental issues again, so I just hoped I was imagining being followed.

Wouldn't be the first time I fabricated an entity.

There is of course, only one way to know something for sure.

One must, see it to believe it, as the old saying goes. Though I tend to doubt the validity of that claim. For now however the adage will suffice.

So I leaned back on my heel and spun around to face what was probably nothing more than someone who would rather not be walking behind me while they were going off to the important place they needed to be because they were a condescending mortal who could never understand the complexity of the 12 dollar Lattes that they drink, let alone the inner machinations of the human mind or the….oh, never mind.

It was all very dramatic, and cinematic, and any other words with the suffix 'matic' that you might want to add.

I found myself, not facing some horribly malfunctioning clone of myself, but instead a timid boy who seemed vaguely familiar. It was in the eyes, or rather what wasn't in the eyes. Those eyes seemed so empty and sad, and I had the feeling that, were I to look in a mirror I'd find the same expression in my own eyes. Why, it was enough to break my heart. But my heart didn't, couldn't break, and dwelling on something that didn't happen can lead only to nostalgic idiocies and probable decapitation.

Not to mention extreme digression and useless space filling words that have absolutely nothing to do with the plotline, or the overall theme that is trying to be related to the audience; this is a tactic authors use quite frequently in order to avoid any substantial thought processes, and also to procrastinate the development of the story, the future outcome of which they have no idea will be. And so forced to ramble is the author, in a petty attempt to distract the readers and defer logical story building .

This tactic, of course, always fails.

I really must stop allowing my mind to do as it wishes.

Allow me to relay to you the dialogue that took place.

I began by smiling quite sociably (albeit a little spooky), something I rarely choose to do, and greeted the child with a simple

"Hello."

Until this point the young drone in training seemed to be hardly aware that I had acknowledged him, let alone the fact that I was looking

right at him. He jerked slightly and, as if by a habit developed over many years of being dominated by others, adverted his gaze to the ground. In a way I was grateful, his eyes as I've mentioned were very disconcerting, like the blacked out eyes of an infant.

Then he slumped his shoulders and pointed his toes inwards like some kind of ritualistic pose that must be made before talking to anyone, lest something disastrous occur due to being neglectful.

It was obvious to me that these little 'nervous tics' were brought on by the subconscious need to be seen as conciliatory in all situations in order to avoid conflict, and at the same time provide a beginning stance should the need arise to curl into a defensive fetal position.

But I am no psychologist, and all this is based on pure speculation on my humble part. It's not like I'm omnipotent, feh, not even God is all knowing.

Oh…this was supposed to be a progressive recollection of a dialogue, wasn't it? Forgive me, I must be getting senile. Damn it all to hell, I'm too young to be losing my mind…wait…I guess I already lost my mind. Umm…okay, you get what I mean.

Anyhow, by this point I realized where I had seen him before. It was the same kid I helped out a few days previously.

How lovely, I thought. After all, usually when I meet people they're not around long enough to bump into again. Why, this must be what it's like to have a friend!

Well, maybe not quite.

And so lost amongst my musings over whether this child constituted as a friend or not, I almost missed his reply. Which came out in I'm sure coherent words, but the sentence was caught up in the sound of the city and was carried away before I myself could hear them.

I was about to ask him if he would kindly repeat what he had said, when the city fell away.

Now…normally I'm not one to hallucinate things, and that's what this was, a hallucination.

After all, there's no REAL way that thirty-four story bank over there could possibly be floating off into the atmosphere. Right?

I wonder why banks need such large buildings.

Once the debris from the city spun off and gave way to nothing but empty darkness (much like the kind you would find in a Goth poem) I found myself standing on the one bit of sidewalk that remained. And in front of me I saw all those people I had been remembering as of late, and like the missing pieces in a jigsaw puzzle they all clicked in place.

For the first time in ages, I truly remembered something.

Everything.

And I wished to God I hadn't.

Because I now knew what all of this, this abnormality in my daily life, what it all meant.

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that the proverbial wheel has come full circle.

And so I was left all alone again, to drown in the memories I had tried so hard to obliterate.

TBC

A/N: Arrrrrrgh! Sorry, that came out really lame and I lied all over the place with this chapter. Not to mention I made Nny out to be a major drama llama. I fail.

Anyhow, don't hate me, I PROMISE that next time I will do better.

But this chapter was…I guess necessary.

I think Devi will come in later on, just to warn any Devi despisers that may come across this.

I love you my two readers, don't leave me.

(1) It was that or Motel Sex, which I didn't care for, so don't hate me.