"It is better to light one candle than curse the darkness." - American Christopher Society.

The Girl

Have you got a house on a hill and a bed for three?

Do you have a story? Do you have a story for me?

Do you know the one where we all live happily?

Carrying the world on his shoulders was all in a day's work. What was different was putting the world aside, ignoring that it was even there at all, and spending his time kicking a ball in a net. It was stupid and simple and awesome. It's the stuff that got him called a 'Neanderthal' by his missing twin. Which just told Ben that his twin needed to lose the attitude and take it easy. All work and no play made a crazy, violent person like his twin anyway.

Using his knee to bounce the soccer ball a few times, then passing it lower to be cupped on his foot, bounced it once, then kicked it towards the goal. He was the only one playing in the soccer field of the local sports training center. He didn't really check what time the schedule for the state team's practice was. Too busy occupying his mind with practicing his footwork.

He used to be the goalkeeper of his high school team but he didn't really plan on going professional. Too much attention.

Oh, he loved attention; don't get him wrong. He soaked in it when he could. Ever since his Grandpa and parents died, he decided not to call too much limelight. If only to respect what his Grandpa would've wanted, he followed the practical way. Besides, it wasn't cool when the System took too much notice of him. It wasn't the kind of attention he liked.

As he sped down closer to the goal, he kicked the soccer ball again. That was when he heard someone start clapping. A small part of him noticed the ball bounce on the goal post instead when he turned to face the person who was in the field too. He didn't get a good look when the ball slammed on the side of his face.

Ow. It made him dizzy. He clutched his head while he stumbled two steps back.

"Are you okay?" a decidedly feminine voice called out in concern. He could hear the footsteps before he finally focused on the person who was watching him play. Dark brown eyes stared back at him. His brain quickly told him to get his act together.

"Yeah!" he piped up with too much enthusiasm. He stumbled a little again, which made him burst out into a nervous chuckle. He was so retarded with girls.

She started giggling. It didn't sound like she was making fun of him, just joining in on his laughter.

"You're a little early," she said conversationally.

"Huh?" he asked, cluelessness that was extra loser-ish.

"For your team practice," she clarified, pointing a thumb at the schedule at the front door of the indoor soccer field.

"Oh," he said in realization. He started waving his hands. "I'm not part of the state soccer team. I'm just messing around. Playing for fun. That sorta thing." He knew he was losing cookie points admitting that he wasn't one of the athletes. He just told her the truth anyway because she was bound to find out in the end.

"That's cool, too," she said in all honesty.

He blinked. So, he wasn't coming across as a wannabe loser? His lips broke into a smile. "My name's Ben Freeman," he introduced himself, extending his hand out. He hoped his hand wasn't sweating or something.

Her warm, small hand wrapped around his. "Nice to meet you, Ben." Her dark eyes twinkled.

It would be creepy and weird if he accidentally blurted out that he thought she had such nice, soft hands. Instead he just scrunched his eyebrows and pointed out, "You look familiar."

"Really?" she asked.

"I've seen you before. I just can't remember where," he continued to say, racking his brain for the memory that failed him.

Then her watch started to beep, breaking him out of his thoughts. She clicked it to stop the alarm. "Oops! I'll be late for tennis practice. I gotta go," she excused, nudging her head to the direction of the door. "If you want, you can drop over to watch my game when you're finished playing."

"Uh, yeah," he agreed. "Okay. Cool." His brain was slowly clicking in the cog wheels. Tennis practice. He didn't watch it that much other than clicking the TV on the US Open when there was nothing else to watch.

She started to jog out of the soccer field to go to the tennis courts on the other area of the sports center. Just as she was leaving and he'd picked up the soccer ball again, the state players finally arrived for their practice. All of twelve players and their coach hassled him out.

The girl he met hadn't completely left when he was forced to jog after her, away from the aggressive soccer team trying to get rid of the pest sneaking into their territory.

"They don't like you very much?" she asked after him in an amused tone as he caught up.

"The don't like me very much," he confirmed, glancing back at his old varsity team. He turned back to her. He piped in excitedly, "Hey, looks like I'll be watching your game."

"Hope it's not boring for you."

Thoughtfully, he asked, "You said tennis game not chess, right?"

She started laughing in that sweet, tinkling laughter he realized he couldn't get enough of.

They finally arrived in the tennis court, where the girl she was practicing with was already there.

"New boy toy?" the blonde girl asked, using the hand holding the yellow ball to wave at the two of them. "He's cute." His face was probably burning bright red since he could feel the heat that rose on his cheeks.

"That's real funny, Carol," the girl beside him responded, going over the benches to pick up a tennis racket. She fiddled with the strings on it for a while before she let her hand down beside her. "You know I have rules on boy toys and bringing them to practice games."

The two girls started laughing. Julie just gestured at him not worry about it and they were just joking around.

Wait, she didn't disagree about the 'cute' comment. His face was probably burning even more. He really shouldn't get his hope up too much. He barely had girlfriends at all.

As he watched the girls play and focused on the movements of the girl who invited him over, the cogwheels finally clicked. "You're Julie Yamamoto!" he exclaimed, breaking the girls' concentration. She was in the top players of her sport and he somewhat recognized her from the, er, professional modelling magazine spreads.

The ball bounced several times over the blonde girl's side.

"Your boy toy doesn't even know your name?" the blonde girl asked in disbelief.

"I didn't tell you my name?" Julie asked in his direction, looking a little sheepish over her lack of courtesy.

She was a lot of fun to be with. She laughed at his puns, she knew what 'Sumo Slammers' was and she didn't think he was a complete and total loser.

"So, those guys were your team-mates?" she asked curiously, placing the towel on her lap and pausing from drinking the Gatorade in her other hand.

"They used to be, back in college," he explained, fiddling with her tennis ball in his hand. "We used to have a ball back then." One green eye winked in her direction and she couldn't help but laugh at it. It was probably so unfunny that it got back to being funny again. "Now the only thing that happens to balls around me is them wanting to rip mine off." He stared at the white lines on tennis court blankly, eyebrows raised and lips pursed together.

"What in the world happened that would make them hate you so much?" Her thin, delicate eyebrows were scrunched in confusion.

"I know!" he agreed, shrugging. "I'm such a likable, awesome guy-" One of her eyebrows was rising high into her bangs. "I'm just kidding." He put the tennis ball down beside her racket. "I left them at an important season. They were really close, but I had other plans in mind and I got the chance to get into that. They sorta lost because they couldn't get another goalkeeper that was any good and they were used to playing with." He shrugged.

"What did you do instead?" she asked, honestly very interested.

He'd never had someone be so engrossed in what he had to say. He scratched at his cheek shyly. "Well, I had a little business thing I was planning on setting up then. I even got the loan at that time. I couldn't be on soccer practice while I was trying to get the place built."

"Oh my goodness," she gasped in amazement. "That's wonderful! You're really young to be setting up your own business. I'm impressed!" His heart was racing a million miles an hour at the idea that she though he was wonderful and she was impressed with him. "What business did you set up?"

"Well," he tried to introduce the idea without heavily implying how totally nerdy it was that he did something like it. "It's a bar- you know, alcoholic drinks and the works. With smoothies."

She blinked.

"Do you like smoothies?" he asked, eyes wide in trying to get some sign of approval.

There was a little giggle first. "What kind of crazy person wouldn't like smoothies?"

She was the most perfect girl in the whole entire world and no one could convince him otherwise.

Can I be the girl that you met?

Love to Hate pt. 2

She was very, very much against the use of guns to hurt anyone fatally. Since she had no experience with them, it was a risk she usually couldn't make.

Fury. She was so angry and scared and panicked. She was so much of all of these that she, naturally caring and empathic that she usually was, ignored the fact that he looked like he was in so much pain. The doors were pretty stable so far but she could hear the soldiers trying to barge through.

All that repeated in her mind as a kind of self-preservation desire, was to amp up her anger. So she sunk down to where he was lying, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck in as tight a grip that he kept on his leg. He looked panicked when he received a gunshot on his thigh and was desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. They were both on the high of trying to protect their lives. While he was focused entirely on saving his own life, she was focused on saving herself. Otherwise, who would find her babies?

The panicked curses continued as he tore his own clothes to wrap them around his leg. She didn't care that he looked even paler than his usually pale self. He jolted forward with red eyes wide as she pulled him to glare right at him.

"You're not allowed to die, do you understand?" she snapped, gripping his front furiously. The wooden weapon she used as a feeble lock on the door cracked audibly and her head turned to the sound. Then with equal parts pleading and demanding at the man in front of her, she continued to say, "You have no right to leave while my kids are still out there!"

He was breathing hard, barely looking at her. Eyes occasionally flicked to the door that was piled with as much of the furniture, then to his injury, to her, and cycled in a panic.

She couldn't help but scream when there were gunshots delivered to the door to weaken the hinges. It was brief. For the most part, her body decided being scared was stupid and low on the priority list.

"Do something," she said to him, clutching his front in desperation. "Do something!"

A bullet ricocheted at the wall near where the two of them were crouched. In panic, she pulled the gun from her person and turned to point it at the soldiers making their way inside. Her hands trembled, out of fear and inability to coax herself to outright killing somebody. She hoped it was just to injure so that she could run. Where to go without her more navigationally skilled companion, she didn't know.

So much of herself, her own heart, was being destroyed recently. She'd never been forced to answer things like 'would she abandon somebody to die?', 'would she kill someone despite her pacifistic nature if worst came to worst?' It never occurred to her how sheltered she was until then.

Hands reached out from behind her, steadying her trembling hands to almost firm, complete stillness. Quiet, labored breathing was just audible beside her, his chin placed on her shoulder. He slowly guided her hand to point the gun downwards.

"Look at the top of the barrel and focus on the front sight. Tell me what you see," he said, somewhat out of breath. She could hear a few grunts of pain as he moved. "Stop moving." She forced herself to be completely still.

This was incredibly difficult because of the soldier who was managing to get inside and she had to focus lower than where that guy's gun was.

"I see kneecap," she tried to say, holding her body still.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she snapped, nerves too on edge as the soldier nearly went inside. She could see his hand movements at the corner of her eyes.

Her companion stilled the two of them like statues before he pulled the trigger once, twice. The man behind the door lurched in pain, blocking the rest of his companions from properly entering.

She took this as a cue to pull free from her companion and stand up. Grabbing his arm, she coaxed him upwards. "Come on!" All the while, he was trying to be very careful not to induce too much pressure on his injured leg so he wouldn't bleed to death and slowly trying to get himself up. As cruel as it was to keep pulling at him at his state, she knew that he would die faster if he stayed there.

She doubted that the soldiers would take too kindly to him in general. While his plan may be working on the higher ups, the rookies probably considered him a special kind of trouble. If what he was saying about her husband was true, whatever he planned for her was just nothing short of optimistic.

They looked absolutely, mind-bogglingly stupid. Trying to run from the soldiers with her taller - and heavy - companion leaning on her for stability convinced her she was not athletic enough. They tried anyway. Scrambling for shielding in the trees and the geography, he tried to help lead her to the areas that would help them lose their pursuers. All the while, they were being shot at.

Hiding under a ditch, having rolled down the steep from losing footing, she tried to stop breathing altogether when the soldiers tried to find them from there. On the other hand, he was too busy holding his leg after the effort of running had made him bleed even more. But he was quiet. She could see that that probably took a lot of effort. He seemed the kind to make a commotion in frustration.

Sometimes, monsters were made. Other times, they were born. In a universe fashioned to be a mold for monstrosity, one expected the entire population it housed, it bred, to be made completely of monsters. He believed that those stupid schlock films of gore and horror - when they were lacking in substance enough to pass through censors - didn't match for the true monsters that existed. Sometimes, he believed that they could even be beautiful.

More lip biting. Whenever she was nervous, she resorted to biting her bottom lip. He'd never been able to watch her that up close to realize she did that. It was only recently, in the very small quiet moments where they weren't being attacked to be captured, that he could. Her lips were no longer wet with the pinkish hue of her lipstick. Just dry and horribly bitten.

Personally, he honestly didn't know whether the desire to see her conform to his belief was self-destructive or not. He didn't have the open-mindedness to consider that a human being was anything else other than truly horrible. She wasn't family, after all. Not really. He also withheld that knowledge from her pointedly. That way, it would show that people never protected anything else other than their own.

Statistics. He was good with equations, with mechanics and designs. Never people. Statistics were material that he could understand. He could put numbers together in a way that made sense. They always fell logically into place.

People never did that. They were unpredictable and horrible. They made variables confusing and always went a certain way that he never expected. So it was easy to just make assumptions and follow through from there. Of course, educated guesses with people always surprised him when things boiled over.

Behind the statistics were people like her. Distancing himself from people had made it easy for him to look at them as numbers: the numbers that clocked in on government data at the end of the day. Population number, taxation systems, military backup, land area. Just how much and how many. He was a lot more in sync with the calculating government mentality than his brother was, which baffled him why they regarded his twin as somehow better in leading the rebellion. That was one man he was sure couldn't do the math.

He hissed when she wrapped the cloth around his leg too tightly. She looked up. "I'm sorry." Then she looked back down to continue wrapping the pieces of cloth more carefully.

He was not about to make some kind of jaded, tasteless joke about their compromising position. He hated being anywhere near his brother and his company for any length of time. It was probably that disgusting double agent friend of his cousin's that was infecting him with that kind of thought pattern.

There was something very surreal about the woman helping him and saying sorry after what he had just done yesterday. Perhaps he was right that she was finally losing her mind. Or maybe he just wasn't able to reconcile with the idea of someone refusing to be what he expected.

"I don't know how much longer we can stay here. They might look back around here again," she started, worriedly looking around without sticking her head out to far to be seen. "Maybe we should start looking for somewhere else to hide if you feel better."

She was somehow becoming used to the chaos around her. It was as if she coped by being sane and insane at the same time. Sane to help protect herself, insane to deal with the horror.

"This wound won't be closing up with the bullet," he agreed. Grunting as he readied himself to stand, he nudged his head in the general direction of his other end point.

An inspection tower. The cameras. While it may not have other important documentation that the System obsessively and methodically collected, there were videos. It would provide an interesting conversation piece with the System. With all the important pieces to metaphorically hold the balls of every player important in this fight, he was putting himself even higher on the hierarchy than even they expected.

With great effort, still muttering and complaining under his breath not unlike the other assistant Dr. Azmuth had, he stood up. "Let's go."

He was sane. But he was incredibly self-righteous - Gwendolyn and himself were definitely family. It was an extreme enough belief in his own philosophy that it was like twisting reality to see it in a way that made sense to that righteousness. Some of the sanest men in the world would destroy it in the pursuit of a greater good, simply because that belief was real to them. So he was sane.

Besides, it was that same sanity that had laid out his plans in intricate detail. It was a completely reliable aspect of himself. The only thing that really drove him crazy was the marked absence of chili fries. It was a shot in the dark to hope the inspection tower had some.

A Mother's Love

So take my hands and come with me

We will change reality

So take my hands and we will pray

They won't take you away

Sometimes she wondered how she wouldn't just shoot him in the face for what he did.

He was good with calculations, machinery and weaponry. For the short time they were together, she quickly picked up on what he was like. Something about her just easily reached out to people - a simple desire to understand and accept. There was hardly any of that lately. Especially during the war being waged, acceptance and openness to different types of people was hard to find. Villainization and pointing fingers made things easier to justify actions.

She knew it was his inherent practicality and misguided overconfidence that made him give her a handgun. He taught her how to use it. If she was any other woman, the moment he told her how to load the gun, unlock the safety and pull the trigger, she would've put a bullet through his skull.

It was a combination of exhaustion and delusional optimism that saved his life. Enough repetition inside her head and she was convinced her kids were fine- that they just needed looking for. She caused too much of a commotion when told otherwise. He got the hint and shut up; instead focusing on their predicament.

Sometimes, the idea of putting the bullet through her own head became too enticing but she was too cowardly to do it. And who would pick up her kids?

They must have been so scared in the forest. They weren't used to it. Her Kenny was brave though, he would walk through those trees like a real soldier. She hoped there was an adult telling him to watch out for large roots that could trip him. But her little Gwenny would be frightened of all the creepy crawlies. She hoped that someone was carrying her baby girl so she wouldn't have to be scared of the things wriggling in the soil.

It was chance. Completely by chance that they crossed these people. The two of them had been passing by soldiers, criminals, groups of frightened people that her companion pointedly ignored and dead bodies. She never expected it. Despite the desperate desire to believe that it would happen, she never thought it would actually happen.

Two people. A man with glasses which he nervously pushed up and a woman whose jovial face was dotted with freckles. They seemed like nice people and they were. They had been hiding away, the woman holding Julie's baby boy in her arms.

She and her companion were running - he seemed to be getting better from or at least getting better at ignoring his injury. They came across the two while they were being closely followed by the soldiers. Enough information in the inspection tower had made her companion curse as if things weren't going right. Since he wasn't saying anything, she just decided to concede and run.

So they've been running and that was when they encountered the two people who had her son.

They were pretty obscured for those few moments. When she saw it, his dark brown hair and large dark green eyes looking up from where the lady was carrying him. She only saw him mouth the word 'Mommy' rather than heard it. The first thing she heard was herself, bursting to tears.

She ran faster, choking out his name through the tears. It felt like all the strength that had been sapped from her had been returned full force. The world seemed brighter, better. The darkness of that forest seemed less so. All of her fear and desperation completely snuffed out by the overwhelming sense of joy.

Her baby was alive.

And all was finally right in the world.

She was gripping him in her arms as the woman readily gave her child back to her. She barely heard the woman say that her Kenny had been 'such a good boy' and that her 'students were barely as well-behaved.' Rubbing her cheek against his hair, she held him so tightly to confirm what she was seeing was real.

"Mommy, it hurts," Kenny complained.

The man wearing glasses told her that her child needed to recuperate a bit more. He had done his best and removed the bullet as cleanly as he could and now the wound just needed a bit more time to close. Her baby was lucky his vital organs were somehow missed. He was a veterinarian and wasn't entirely used to treating people but he had good enough background to help fix as much of the injury as he could. Her child apparently still needed to be taken to a physician.

She apologized profusely to her baby and noticed the strips of cloth around his middle. Of course, of course. She wanted to turn around to the culprit who had caused her boy that pain and wanted to demand, wanted him to see-

"Hide!" her companion shouted as he pushed past the shrubbery, before the multitude of gunshots were fired.

Instinctively, she gripped her child harder and blindly ran. At the corner of her eyes, she saw the lady who had been carrying her boy fall to the ground. There were more wounds than even that vet could probably salvage. She fell to the ground within the bushes as she covered her boy and she felt something lodge on her shoulder. For a while she couldn't really feel that she was injured.

The way her companion whipped his head removed the red hoodie and revealed the stark white hair on his head. He aimed well and shots were fired. It was probably adrenaline maintaining his endurance.

She closed her eyes when the man with the glasses fell to the forest floor beside her, his eyes unseeing. Meanwhile she kept her child underneath her as she crawled further into the bushes to hide herself. The branches snagged at her dress and her skin but she kept pushing on. The only thing she aimed for was to keep protecting her child.

All the while, her baby boy just whimpered as his hand was stained with her blood.

He looked irritated. While the man looked permanently dissatisfied with the world, there was a special kind of anger that he held for the idea of her son being alive. It was probably time for her to up and leave, now that she had her little boy. All she needed to do was find her little girl and they could escape that horrible place.

While her companion seemed more than happy for her son to go, he looked incredibly angered over the idea of her leaving.

"Don't be stupid," the white-hired man snapped, the expression on his face so very alien on someone who owned her husband's face. This frustrated her even more. "You might as well sign a death warrant, you foolish woman."

"I'm signing my child's if I stay here with you," she said coldly, holding her child closer. Her shoulder was shooting sharp pain all over her arm, increasing her ire towards him more.

"What an astute observation," he reacted snidely.

She pivoted swiftly, ignoring the hurt that accompanied the movement.

"I am losing patience with you," he stated in an even colder tone that actually frightened her. Something about the coolness of it reminded her of her husband's own anger.

She only moved faster to leave.

"Keep going and I will make sure to kill you first so your child can watch," he stated in a monotone. "Then the inevitable happens."

She stopped short and hesitated. Her baby in her arms and the handgun in her pocket. Inexperienced shooter. Injured shoulder and tired legs. Her mind enumerated why she would lose.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Taking in deep breaths and listening to her son make small sounds of fear, she turned back. Blood red eyes. A rifle on his side. He was standing in a much less crooked way than before. In fact, he was standing ramrod straight, chin raised in that intensely arrogant way.

Slowly, she walked back to where he was. Her heart stopped hammering when the rifle on his side lowered in a more lax position.

She was getting so tired. So very sleepy and tired. It was that wound on her shoulder.

"Why don't you try and fix this? You're a doctor, aren't you?" she asked in the general direction of her white haired companion. "It said so in your papers." The one in the suitcase that wasn't there anymore. At some point, he abandoned the suitcase and simply carried his weapons and ammunition. He didn't seem to make a big deal over losing it, which might meant he intended to leave it.

"Unless you're a radioactive substance or a mathematical equation, there's nothing I can do with you," he answered simply, placing his rifle on his lap and staring at her condescendingly.

She felt horrible but she forced her eyes open while Kenny napped against some tree roots in front of her.

Her eyes shot open in surprise. Cold sweat dripped down her nape.

"I said: be quiet, brat," the figure in the red jacket snapped, pointing the barrel of his weapon straight at her son.

Her blood blazed when Kenny cried even more.

The gun found its was easily into her hand as she took the few steps to get close enough to point it directly at his head. Platinum hair parted slightly around the barrel of her hand gun. She was only shoulder height with him, just like her husband. Her mind told her, in its quiet acceptance, that this could very well be her husband's brother. She absolutely couldn't give a damn. The hammer was pulled down with a simple click.

"I watched it once and I will never be forced to watch it again," she said calmly.

For a moment, there was silence. "Tch," he clicked his tongue disbelievingly. "You've never found the courage to pull that gun. Not before, not in any other opportunity. What would convince me you will actually do something this time?"

She wondered in all the world how it was possible for her husband and this man to have been blood related. There was nothing more gut-wrenching than the concept. Though he could have been driven insane by the circumstances of his life. No way was she letting an unstable man waste her child's life. She wasn't going to sit on the sidelines anymore.

"Try me," she said in her same cool tone.

His head moved a small fraction and the rifle, from where she could see, wavered in its position. Then it was lowered down, away from where her child was.

Hurriedly heading over to her son, she scooped him up and cradled him. Wrapping her arms around him and covering him completely, hushing soothingly at him. He made small cries of pain because of his gunshot.

"You caused this anyway, you shouldn't be complaining about why he's crying," she remarked in icy anger.

"I did not expect him to live to cry about it," the man said honestly, but his stiff but not aggressive body posture suggested he wasn't going to be shooting anyone any time soon.

Either way, she held her baby boy so that he couldn't be hurt anymore. When her baby finally fell asleep, she allowed herself the small luxury of joining him in that nap. All in the back of her head, she was reminded of her earlier question. The last thing in her mind as she drifted off was the word desperation.

They will never make me cry, no

They will never make me die