Disclaimer: I do not own MÄR.

Warnings: Angst, unnamed OCs, OC death.

Words: 479

Pairing/Character(s): Ginta, OCs

A/N: Yeah, I really don't get inspired much. (Remind me to wail on my Muse when I actually find it.) And I'm lazy, prone to writer's block, and sometimes I just can't get the words down. But more often than not, MÄR just doesn't inspire me. Not enough good characters or fanfiction out there… But it's mostly my practically non-existent Muse.

All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. If you find any, let me know and I'll correct them ASAP. Constructive criticism is wanted, so don't be shy or hold back.

Chapter 2: The Contrast of White on White

IV.

He would sleep forever if the only way he could enter the land of Märchen was through his dreams. And so, Ginta often napped during school whenever he had the chance, but the result was bittersweet every time. He would always wake up, taunted by visions of a far away place that he still could not yet reach.

V.

And when he finally arrived—

"This may be just some fairy-tale to you, but you have to realize that no one is just good and evil. The world ain't black and white, kid."

—reality always comes crashing down on the dream.

VI.

The Chess, the war, and the otherworldly hero—it was all an endless circle of events.

VII.

They act as if this is Dungeons and Dragons, the bartender thought looking at the lot of them drinking away the night in Vestry with the beverages she prepared. They're a bunch of kids. Somehow, the idea that the fate of MÄR lies in the hands of kids who are getting' drunk doesn't seem to give me any hope.

VIII.

"This isn't a game! You don't understand! You can't just play with other people's lives in the name of your brand of 'righteousness'! Of course you can, what am I thinking? You have to return to your world eventually, where you don't have to deal with any of this. You'll wipe the blood off your hands like it never even happened…you bastard."

IX.

There are always two sides to the story. The side always and forever etched into history, made into legend was of the glory and triumph, distorted into grand tales for posterity to stare wide-eyed at with wonder as children.

"And the win goes to Team MÄR!" And the crowd cheered wildly, as if watching a sporting event and not a death match to determine the freedom of the world.

The other side to story was the harsh truth that everyone would like to forget and erase—the one simply left out, never spoken of, until it vanished, eroded by the flow of time.

"Melanie needs you! You can't leave me! You can't die! Open your eyes!"

A boy, no more than twelve, cried, screamed, prayed to whatever god willing to listen, but he wasted breath and voice. The bloody body in his frail arms went limp, dead weight that began to crush his small frame, but he didn't care.

Most of the spectators ignored him. Some jeered, laughing at his tears shed for a filthy Chess Piece.

And he wondered through clouded vision, why? Why! They were the heroes, weren't they? Heroes only kill the bad guys and his brother was always kind to him and his sister. Couldn't they have spared his life? Couldn't they have healed him? He was only fifteen.

All the boy saw in reply to his question were the faces of heroes, staring back at him blankly, uncomprehending.

Notes: (I like to antagonize Team MÄR and Ginta. 8D 'Tis fun and therapeutic.)

IX was a sneak peek at the OCs in my upcoming OC story—To Kill a Mockingbird. In Fool's Mate and here, I'm practicing for To Kill a Mockingbird, which is going to be like an epic version of IX. So I hope you guys aren't sick of the theme already. XDD