Yes, miracles happen! I am once again inspired! How long did it take me? I'm too ashamed to check myself. I hope... that I have learned and that all my reviewers will verbally abuse me as much as they wish, for all know that I deserve it. So, here it is, and I got the inspiration from watching Pirates of the Carribean. I don't know why. Maybe because Anne-Marie reminds me so very much of Abby.

"You - stole - my - boat!" (smack)

Heheeh...

Nigel didn't know why he fought. The machine he was facing was scary, and was without a doubt what had attacked Wally. His new friend had filled him in on everything he could remember about It. His attacker, that is. And Nigel knew, somehow, that this was it. As it stepped towards him slowly, a heavy, synthetic stench filled his mind; he felt like he couldn't breathe. He felt drowsy and weak.

That's exactly how they want you to feel. A voice echoed through his head, a trusted, old voice that had been rusting in the back of his mind for he didn't know how long; a voice that had been in many situations like this, he knew.

Fight. The voice was young, but experienced, and, to Nigel, it was like a second concience.

He opened his eyes as a rubber fist caused the wall next to him to explode. He now noticed that he had been backing away and had closed his eyes.

Not too smart... He thought, glancing over his enemy's shoulder to his lost chance of escape.

Fight.

But I can't fight! Wally has fought this, and he's stronger than I am! I can't take this on! Though the voice was so trusted, he was all too ready to question it as the robot lurched upwards, pulling its fist out of the rubble that was once a wall.

Just fight. You weren't taken by surprise, it isn't as dark as it was when Wally was attacked, and you have me.

Right. He narrowed his eyes at the creature, and stood firm as yet another fist hurtled towards him. At the last minute he swung out of the way, and pushed the arm downwards, rolling between the large robot's legs, pulling the arm through with him. The robot jerked upwards again, but Nigel let the arm go, and his opponent swung backwards too far, losing its balance. Now he pushed downwards on the robot's chest, and it fell. It was stuck in an awkward position as Nigel pinned it down, unable to jump up and checking its information banks for a strategy. Finally it just threw the human away like a rag doll, and stood up quickly, deciding no longer to go for slow and scary, but just to finally get this over with. It jabbed at the organic being with the speed of lightning, but Nigel was fast and dodged them all easily. Uno noticed, though, with no small unease, that all of his movements were natural, almost subconcious; what would happen if this subconcious forsook him?

The moment he doubted himself was the moment he let his guard falter: he was hit in his shoulder and was slammed, once again, down on the floor. His mind was screaming at him: get up, get up, you oaf! What are you waiting for?

He rolled to the side as a large metal foot crashed down on what would've been his bald head. Grabbing the pole-like leg, he scrambled upwards, using his enemy as support. Which must have gotten on its nerves, if it had any.

He groaned as another dizzying blow was dealt to him. He was on the ground again. As the sky swirled and twisted crazily, the robot leaned over him. This is the end... I can't keep fighting... But the robot didn't move. The machine's mouth then clicked open and emitted a long, low, robotic wail as the inside of the mouth began to glow blue. Blue... blue... what is it with that blue? Why is it always blue? He had to do something, anything, so he reached upwards, grabbed whatever was glowing, and jerked it out of his enemy's mouth. The robot was silenced immediately and fell promptly on top of Nigel.

Urrrrgh..." He pushed with all his might. It felt spent. He relaxed; then tried again but the robot didn't budge. He studied the robot's position, then slid easily out from under it sideways. He looked around for whatever it had tried to blast him with just now, but he had dropped it as soon as it had come out. It had been white-hot. Then – there it was. It was a blue sphere, with a small, thin, but extremely hard stick jutting out of it. The stick looked as if it was supposed to serve as a connection between this orb and a second, but it wasn't anywhere in sight. What had happened to it? He had no idea. He pocketed it, deciding to ask it to his friends the next day at school, and walked home.

The sky was a velvety blue speckled with silver stars - or at least, it looked that way to Abby as she walked home with Hoagie. They were talking a relaxed, fun conversation for the first time in a long while. In fact - she couldn't even remember the last time they were talking like this, but it didn't matter. She turned her head to retort to something Hoagie had said concerning Wally and Kuki, but then noticed they had reached - make that passed - Hoagie's house already.

"Hey, Gilligan, what does your house look like?" She questioned jokingly, looking past him through one of the lights in the kitchen window.

"Wha -?" he turned, and saw what she meant. Blushing, he faced her again. "Oh... um, see you... tomorrow?" Abby saw him wince at forming this as a nervous question, but she smiled warmly at him.

"Sure." She turned, not wanting to prolong the conversation with unneeded goodbye's, and walked away. A few footsteps further she felt guilty, having not heard him walk back at all. Looking back over her shoulder she said smilingly, "Bye, Hoagie." She only heard a soft humming sound as a reply.

Soon, though, her good mood evaporated as the sky turned an impenetrable, inky black, and the streetlamps cast two long, eerie shadows on both sides of her and the only sounds beside her footsteps wwere those of dogs barking lazily in the distance. She walked faster, too afraid to break into a run but too anxious to get home to walk normally. There was no sound, no footsteps, no heavy breathing besides hers, she was sure of it, that pattering was only dripping water...

She hugged her poofy jacket closer to her and stopped, catching her breath, holding it to see what that sound had been. Her breathing calmed down.

Just as I expected, she thought calmly, as the spattering of melting snow continued. She walked on. Down the street she continued, past the house with the light yellow walls, bast the brick cottage with the huge garden - she just had to pass that last one, the one with the high wall fence with windows in it -

Rancid breath filled her lungs, soon to be replaced with a pleasant, sweet, pepperminty smell. Something sticky, round and strong, like a pole, pinned her to the fence. Someone had been very smart planning this; they had dropped off of the wall, the nearest street lamp was suddenly extinguished so all she could see was what a brief look at her attacker provided her: it was some short, mad person standing on the cold, wet pavement bare-footed, with pale skin and an almost grotesquely poofy nose. He had pinned her to the wall by her neck. She couldn't breathe. He had a thick, typically French accent.

"Yoo will come wiz me, gurrel," He demanded, gruffly, with a note of arrogance in his voice.

"Si tu as besoin de parler en Francais, je ne t'arreterai pas," She spat back, "enfin, ca cerait plus facile pour moi, ton Anglais est incomprehensible."

"Hon hon hon!" He laughed Frenchely, so familiar, so annoying to her, there was something about that laugh. Abby's blood boiled quicker than it usually did.

"Laisse moi," she said, but then swung her leg forwards and the small man was hurtled backwards, the sticky thing still clinging to her neck. She wrenched it off.

She hurried in the direction of her house, but the attacker got to his feet and she heard him catching up. She slowed down deliberately, and when she heard him get into her range, she kicked out, twisting around while doing so, and the Frenchman caught her leg. Perfect. The momentum of her kick was not yet spent. Lifting her other foot off the ground, she twisted again, smacking the side of his head with her free boot. She thought she heard a crick in his neck; he let go. She rolled gracefully on the ground, she was on the road now, he was lunging at her. She grabbed the front of his filthy white shirt and crouched, rolled onto her back and flung him off her, stood up, and watched him carefully to be able to deflect his next attack.

She watched him getting up, her ears ringing with pain... the asphalt was rough... maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to roll onto her back so fast... the weight of both of them seemed to have driven thousands of tiny, sharp rocks into her spine... a long, slow, distant trumpet-like sound was bringing her back - the Frenchman, the lights in her windows - but she still couldn't hear anything... the man... her - enemy - was grinning - why was he grinning... why - why couldn't she hear? Another trumpet sound came, closer, and something was screeching-

-You hear it all the time on the highway, you dolt-

Something that reached from her waist to her mid-calves collided with her - her knees buckled - someone screamed as she flew over some surface, landing on something that stuck out upwards - it crashed as her sight faded, the ugly face of her enemy glowing in her mind momentarily, from his pale skin to his striped bandana to his thin moustache... then her conciousness, too, faded away.

Hoagie looked up from his cereal as his mother turned on the news in the morning. The anchorman took his stack of papers and tapped them all on his desk so as to get them straight and neat in a businesslike fashion.

"Today's local news, Cleveland, Ohio. First of all, an emergency for all people living in the streets Puckleworth, Evening, Satsuma, Cook, Roosevelt..."

The news reporter conitnued to rattle off names. Hoagie looked up: he lived on number 12, Satsuma street. His mother sat up a little straighter but Tommy continued with his cereal loudly. Hoagie strained his ears to hear above his brother's crunchings.

"... and Ramsitter, be forewarned that a strange anomaly has occured in your streets. A deep groove has been cut into your streets made by and for unknown methods and reasons. Besides this, Sarah Schneider has awoken this morning, the front glass of her car shattered, having no knowledge of how it happened. She has been taken to the Hospital, the doctors inspecting her for any sign of a concussion..." the rest of the broadcast was overridden by Hoagie's mother fussing about seeing Mrs. Schneider to comfort her, the woman being a good friend of hers. When she quieted down the news broadcaster had moved on to less local news.

"Oh dear... poor Sarah... I'll really have to see her mother..." Beth fussed some more. Hoagie hastily finished his breakfast and shouldered his bag. He wanted to poke around a little bit for this 'strange anomaly'. But as he opened his door, he found he wouldn't have had to look very hard. Through his steamy breath he could see a small valley in the street, the asphalt shattered, the earth pushed onto the sidewalk - but something else he found far more interesting and definitely much more worrying. Abby's sister was sobbing on the porch of their house. He walked up to her.

"Excuse me - you're Cree Lincoln, aren't you?"

Cree looked up; nodded. "Hi Hoa -" She sighed. "And... what's your name? You come in familiar."

"I'm Hoagie. I live just down the street -"

"Oh. You're - you - A-Abby's told me a lot about you."

Hoagie could feel himself glowing. "Really? Where is she?"

"Sh-she -" Cree swallowed with difficulty. Hoagie's heart sank. Something told him that Abby had a lot to do with that car crash. "She didn't turn up yesterday night. She was out, and she didn't come back."

"Oh... I'm so-"

"It's all my fault!" She screeched suddenly, making Hoagie jump.

"N-no - no, of course it isn't!" He said desperately, but Cree whent right on wailing.

"I got her into this! It's - all - my - fault!" She sniffled violently, and ran inside.

Hoagie sighed deeply. Girls are strange creatures.

Very far away, Abby's conciousness flickered back to life. The air smelled salty and every inch of her body ached. She opened up her eyes and let them adjust to the darkness. She was lying, presumably, in a hammock, because she was swaying slightly. A little further on, somebody was sitting at a table made of wood in old-fashioned clothes, staring gloomily at a glass in his hand. There wasn't much decor, it was all rough, wooden walls and a steep staicase probably leading out of this basement. As she looked around a little more carefully but she hadn't picked up anything significantly different when she had to adjust her eyes to a new light. It was falling in solid-looking bars across the floor from an open trapdoor. Every trace of winter was gone: the air smelt of sun and heat and the golden rods of sunlight were screaming of summer. And by the shapes cut out of this light she could see someone descending the stairs. Someone with the most mismatched pair of legs she had ever seen...
Inspiration in the most beautiful thing in this universe. Review.

And THANK YOU to those who have come back! Suggestions, questions, etc. are always welcome, for my creativity is limited, etc., etc., and plus, I'll know what I'm still confusing people with. That's important, you know.