Chapter Fourteen: Viva la Vida

Matthew liked to imagine things about people. He didn't know why. He just did. He would just be looking at a person, and suddenly they had a name and a complete life history. People on the train were failed circus people. His math teacher's mole became a battle wound from a wombat cage match. Occasionally, he would find out that classmates inherited their hair colour from grandmothers instead of nuclear waste in their shower waters.

Nevertheless, he believed it was fortunate of him to imagine such things, as long as he told (and therefore offended) anyone. He was a self-healer, and if he was going to live for at least a few hundred years, it would be nice to keep one's self entertained.

The day was sunny and bright. It was hot, too, and unreasonably humid as the weather people were on strike. He stayed inside, with the air conditioning blowing at his neck as he watched people through his window. There weren't many interesting people, but he did have fun coming up with reasons for wearing that bright green shirt, or what was in that bag that they hugged so tightly.

One man, who lived across the street came out from his stoop and started sweeping the sidewalk. Matthew wondered why for a while, and imagined him to be a madman sweeping at invisible mice. That is, until he noticed that he was trying to sweep the chalk smiley faces and tic-tac-toe boards away.

"Matthew? Matthew!" His mother was calling. "Still inside? Why don't you go out and find something to do? Go out and play, or something!"

Resistance was futile. His mother was entertaining guests today. He went outside and sat on his stoop. He gazed lazily at the people who passed by.

"Hey you there!" A whistle. "Yes, you!"

Matthew sat up straight, alarmed. The man sweeping across the street had stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom. He was calling to him. Never, in months since he first saw the man move in, did he ever socialize with him.

"Did you make these chalk drawings on my sidewalk?" He looked cross.

The child shook his head no. He was telling the truth, and he knew that the man had no reason to be cross. The sidewalk was public, after all.

The man leaned his broom against the wall. He crossed the road without looking either way for traffic. He walked up to Matthew's stoop and looked him in the face."Listen here, boy, when I walk outside in this bloody heat, the last thing I need to see is little pink angels and hopscotch games on my sidewalk! Do you understand?"

The boy nodded a few times, quickly. "Yes, Sir. But I didn't--"

"And I don't need any cheek from little punks like you!" the man shouted. For someone that looked in his early forties, he sure did act like a cranky old man.

"No, Sir. You don't," Matthew swallowed.

"So, when I come back when this bloody sun is set, this sidewalk better be clean! Understand me?"

Matthew spurted. "Sir, I didn't--"

But, the man already responded with a "good!" and a threatening look. He took a cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit it, then proceeded down the street. Matthew watched with his mouth gaping.

Before a minute had past, he was dragging the hose across the street and blasted the little angels and tic-tac-toe boards away.

Adam knew the kid didn't do it. He frankly just didn't care. He didn't mind seeing children in the city, but he did mind when their pathetic little drawings decorated the outside of his apartment building. It was even more satisfaction to scare some kid into doing the work for him while he took a trip down to the pub.

He walked calmly, with his hand in one pocket with the cigarette in the other. He was up to nearly five packs a day now, to make up for lost time. For forty years with Kate, he barely smoke because he was usually with her. Now, he did so freely. It helped him, as well. He wasn't completely over her yet, but doing things he wanted to do made him feel happier. There was something satisfying about drinking from the carton and having a sofa without cushions. For now, being single was just fine for him.

In the face of the blazing sun, he wore sunglasses as well. He was just getting used to the Australian heat when the weather-makers had to go on strike. Now, instead of happy temperatures of a little over twenty, they were forty and more. A few months ago, he decided Melbourne because of the lack of a language barrier. The other options had been Havana, Brasilia, Bombay, Hong Kong, and basically anywhere he hadn't lived yet. He had come to terms with the fact that he never really passed the equator, and perhaps there were many international adventures to be had.

At around noon, he entered the pub with its muggy dim lights and at least ten fans blowing about. It was decently full with people. This was the second reason for choosing Melbourne: a decent culture of alcohol.

"Alright, Hugh?"

Adam acknowledged the barman briefly as he was fetched a pint. When he received it, he drank it as if it was spring water, and as if he had just been crawling through the desert. Every decade, it was increasingly harder to get drunk. If only he didn't have so many red blood cells that were so bloody talented at bringing enough oxygen to his brain...

"Heyo! Peter! How's the wife?"

Adam flinched, coughed, and sputtered in his drink. He looked behind his shoulder, to who the barman was greeting. It was only some fat man with red hair and a thick beard. Definitely not the Peter he knew.

But then again, he could be. It didn't really matter. Peter was somewhere. If not physically, then in... some other form. It made Adam's stomach churn and mouth grimace every time he thought of it, and he hated it. He absolutely hated it.

He had pulled the trigger. He was ready to die. He wanted to die. But, when he pulled it, the gun disappeared. It was laying on the desk, again.

Exasperated, he grabbed it and put it to his head again. He pulled the trigger.

The gun, like an illusion, disappeared from his hand and appeared on the desk, yet again.

He tried once more. Peter was amused.

"Kill me!" he cried. "Please, just kill me!"

Peter said, most simply and with an evil smile:

"No."

"Enough of this! I want to die!" Adam got up from the desk and begged on Peter's leg. "Please, kill me! Kill me! I thought this was what you wanted!"

"It was what I wanted," said Peter. "For a while, I thought it would be the perfect way to end you, but then I had a better idea."

Adam sobbed into Peter's pant leg. "What? You goddamn son of a bitch! What could be worse than death?"

He bent down, but was not sympathetic. "I wanted to make you beg. Beg, like you're doing now, for sweet death. But, you don't deserve hell. You killed eight billion people. You deserve the worst. The absolute worst."

"Then, do it already!" Adam yelled. "I can't stand this! I can't stand living anymore!"

"Adam..." He lifted his chin, and looked into his eyes, but his own were practically glowing with spite. "You may shoot a gun through your head. You may try to saw it off yourself. You may even run yourself through a tree shredder. But, I am going to make sure you survive. I'll make sure you live."

"Please!" he begged. "Please, just make it stop!"

"Don't you feel it? The torture? Wanting to die so badly, but not being able to? Oh, the pain..." he mocked.

Adam tested Peter's promise. He tried shooting himself again, ramming himself into the wall, and even weakly, pathetically trying to snap his own neck.

Nothing...

He ended up curled up in a heap in the corner. He cried his eyes out. Nothing. Nothing could be worse than this. Worse than living, and surviving. The difference was that now, he didn't have a choice. He had to live. For years more. Centuries. Millennia. It wouldn't end. He knew he would have such boredom. Have such torture. He would go mad.

Peter Petrelli was more clever than he gave him credit for.

Adam woke up in the middle of a field. For about fifteen seconds, he had such hope. Such happiness. Then, he read a sign.

"Welcome to Shippington."

Petrelli had some sense of humor.

He remembered that Kate was dead, and everything that Petrelli had said. He found a piece of glass and tried to stab it through the back of his head. The moment it touched his scalp, however, it disappeared and landed on the ground in front of him. He could've sworn he heard the wind carrying laughter.

Now, he drank his pint. He wasn't so much at a loss, but he was still lost. He was still disturbed, still mad at the world and life for still existing. It was terrible. It was mind-numbing. Tedious. He tried crying for days, but no pity. Peter was always watching behind his shoulder. He wasn't a man. There was no free will. He was a prisoner. A pet. On a leash that Peter held with one devious smile.

Somehow, he moved on. How could he not? He picked up a new name, a new home. It was natural to him, like clockwork. As much as he hated the sky and the trees and the people, he tolerated them. He tried to convince himself that he brought this on himself, and that he was strong enough to withstand it. He tried to look forward to visiting new places, meeting new women. Of course, they were the same as old women. Looks and personalities are continuously recycled with a slight twist on the end. So what if his true love was already dead? Isn't plain and normal love good enough?

Never before did circumstance bring him down, even though this circumstance was increasingly peculiar. He had even reanalyzed the situation and realized that Peter had told a lie. There is only nothing when you believe there is nothing.

Otherwise, always. There is always something.

End of Part Four

And The End

Let's face it, you have Coldplay stuck in your head now, don't you? Yes, I do find it quite lame that I stuff in song references wherever I feel it appropriate. xD It's... um... called inspiration?

So. Um. Yeah.

That's the end. I hate to say "the end," since it doesn't quite fit with the storyline, but for the story, yes, it is.

Thank you so so so so so so so very much, all who have read and especially those who have reviewed. Like I said in the beginning, it was just a story that invaded my head one day, and here we are, some 70,000 words later (oh hey, I beat out NaNoWriMo). Yeah, Jesus Christ. I need to get myself a life. Well, indeed, I did finish this a while ago, and now I'm rambling on a story about a textbook definition computer geek who finds out he has a year to lose his virginity before he joins his intensely Russian and vampiric family, in an effort to write something comical and original and to take a hit at Twilight.

Um. Yeah. If anyone is really really bored and would like a chapter or two, you know. No, actually. Don't encourage me. Just tell me if that summary of a sentence is teaser enough, because I'm not really that talented at writing those. :) The important thing is to know that I've moved on. And you should too. Now.

Anyway. Much love most especially to The Famous and Most Completely Awesome Fire Lady M and Liebste Lieb Schnubbi and friend9810, because let's be honest, you're the only ones who are going to be reading this. Thanks, guys. You really have no idea what kind of magic fills my heart once I see my email inbox with review notices. Really, it's wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Lastly, since this is The Monroes, I feel I should tell you what happened to those people. The people you know as "the Monroes" that got their own chapter titles and everything.

Peter appeared both to the Fergusons and the Kenshi, assuring them that Adam Monroe/Joseph Allen was really and truly dead. Their organizations disbanded soon after. Athan backstabbed his friends, turning in all of the Kenshi in the favour of his release. He went on to write a memoir of it all, being very cloudy about the dynamics of Joseph Allen's life/death/time travel, but accurately described each plot of assassination of political figures and the mechanics of the gang. His book ended up a bestseller and is written on the Secondary Schooling Required Historical Reading List.

But, back a while, the only one to not believe Peter was Mei, who didn't bother with it and died in her sleep some ten years later, surrounded by her family. I should also note that in a side story, Charlie was indeed in love with Mark (if you didn't catch that ;) ) and found a way to kill himself before being executed for the murder of a world leader (yeah, that was a while ago). Michael and Dana lived happily enough, though didn't have much to do without Adam to hunt down. Elizabeth became a general in the World Temporal Corps and married a co-worker (er, not Samson), and never bore any children. Ian became a farmer of "exotic plants" and married a power negator, having three girls. Clarisse married Inderpal with a semi-sweet happy marriage and one son. Luke married a fancy girl on one crazy night in Monaco, but they lived very happily and had two girls and one boy.

And Adam lived on, not knowing any of this, and not really caring.

Not that you should care either. Nevermind.

But, well, thanks. And um, thanks some more. And, um, have a good night.

Or, er, morning. :)