Letters To A Certain No One #4

Dear Certain No One,

I'm all for expressing yourself, but you take it beyond what you should. You're too obnoxious, too in-your-face. Independence does not equal alienation and antagonization of the people around you.

Sincerely,

A Certain Other No One

You cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.

-Lang Leav 

Every time you forgive, the universe changes.

-W. Paul Young 

Letters To A Certain No One #3

Dear Certain No One,

Don't give me that "it'll be fine" bullshit line. I know for a fact that it will either turn out okay or I'll get used to it, and I know that it'll happen in the future. Right now, however, the least you could do is let me trust you enough to be a shoulder to cry on, and not an alarm blaring "shut up and stop being a little bitch about it" at me.

They say that chivalry is dead, and guess what? You're just another nail in its coffin and another shovelful of dirt in its grave.

Sincerely

A Certain Other No One

Old Man Elm

There, Old Man Elm stands,

tall and proud,

upon his head,

a golden crown.

And at his feet,

the blades dance,

grass rippling in rhythm,

as if wishing to entrance.

And at his sides,

his arms reach skyward,

gnarled limbs in support of life itself,

leading nature onward.

There, Old Man Elm stands,

tall and proud,

so mighty and majestic,

yet making nary a sound.

---

Happy Fall guys! May your leaves be crunchy and your pumpkin spice lattes be pumpkin spice latte-y!

I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I've become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me.

-Meryl Streep 

Expecting a trouble-free life because you are a good person is like expecting the bull not to charge you because you are a vegetarian.

-Jeffrey R. Holland 

Letters To A Certain No One #2

Dear Certain No One,

Maybe, just maybe, I'm too used to noticing people becoming annoyed by me.

It's the way their eyes slowly drift off, focus elsewhere, or the hollow enthusiasm, or lack thereof, in a person's voice, usually accompanied by concise, one-word answers. It's the way they prop their chin on their palm, with no emotion of any kind etched onto their face.

Maybe I just don't interest them enough as a person, or maybe I'm just too overbearing to be sociable with.

Please, do accept my apology, but do you really deserve it? Do you know how hard it is for me, in situations of social interaction, to be engaged and active, because if there's one thing I hate, it's being the "quiet" one among a group of otherwise acquainted strangers. Never mind among people whose existence I am aware of and my existence theirs, but don't exactly talk or interact often, in which case it's worse. What's even worse than that is that I feel I miss out. I miss out on making friends. I miss out on strengthening my existing friendships. I miss out on all of the great and wonderful things I could be doing, all because I am now afraid.

And really, I have you to thank for that, so thank you.

Sincerely,

A Certain Other No One

It is time that we all see gender as a spectrum instead of two sets of opposing ideals. We should stop defining each other by what we are not, and start defining ourselves by who we are.

-Emma Watson, UN Women Goodwill Ambassador 

Letters To A Certain No One #1

Dear Certain No One,

Lately I find myself in that grey area in between happy and sad. As if I contain a mixture of both, but at the same time, completely devoid of either.

But maybe it's just a telltale sign of exhaustion.

Sincerely,

A Certain Other No One

Grey Area

The world is not cut
in two equal halves
and neither is it
halved in black in white.

Never so strongly
do I feel that than now,
neither happy nor sad,
but in the grey area in between.

Think me not as overjoyed,
and neither am I deeply morose,
think of me as more unsure,
and torn and conflicted.

Like I've been hit
with a wave of static,
the charge enough to upset,
but not enough to last.

Collide And Diminish

The room transforms,
yet it remains the same as ever.

Where there had once been
several warm bodies,
there is now nothing
but time and space,
on the verge of freezing.

Space becomes nonexistent,
and time becomes but
something out of a dream.

But how could it exist in dreams,
for right now, I dream
my greatest and most cherished dream.

Further collision,
and further diminishing
of the concept of space itself.

Space exists not between us.

For we merge.

We are one.

We are whole.

We are here.

I write music for these movies, and I sing songs. I dance in the movies and act in them, and it's not that I'm gifted at all of these things...it's that I'm not afraid to be bad at them until I'm good at them.

-Jason Segel 

Her whole life was governed by her desire not to be blamed, so she never did anything, and got blamed for that.

-Unknown 

Break The Ice

Friendship is much
like water.

When people say
"break the ice,"
it implies separation.
You and the other,
submerged in waters,
and separated only
by a layer of ice.

Though what people neglect to say,
is that you can also create more ice,
create more separation.
Turn one layer
into a completely frozen channel.

By then, "breaking the ice"
is but a means
to turn it all into vapor,
nothing more than invisible water.

Worth Less

Look through the lens
and see what I see.
An idiot, a peasant,
a queen,
a sentimental fool,
and a complete asshole.

Feeling worthless,
feeling like you're worth less
than the penny you have
clutched in dirty,
hypocritical,
narcissistic,
and overbearing hands.

The feeling has won.

It won the moment it showed up.

Think not of me as wanting
pity, attention, or something
so petty.

Think of me as wanting
another soul to spill to,
another channel to flow through.

Though of course,
I myself was the only option.

The one thing that you have, that nobody else has, is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live only as you can.

-Author Unknown 

Broken

Shattered like a mirror,
and crushed like a rose,
you are.

Broken into pieces and
scattered around,
for everyone to see.

But, when I touch you,
I am pricked,
and I am cut.

I try so desperately
to pick up the pieces,
that I am left breaking myself.

Once Strong Men Were We

The Western Front,
unable to advance,
was instead left to defend
and slowly ravage France.

But in the trenches,
our own battle were being fought.
A vicious malice that
Nature herself had wrought.

When the sound of bullets
didn't pierce the air,
it was rent with cries of pain,
as if they had pulled out all of their hair.

Once strong men,
who thought they'd be back
come Christmas,
are still under the same sky black.

Once strong men, reduced to tears,
plagued by Trench Foot and disease,
suffering as much as they did in battle,
unable to be at ease.

Once strong men
were we.
Now, here we stand, half-dead,
in the fight to be free.

Avoid using the word "very," because it is lazy. A man is not "very tired," he is "exhausted." Don't use "very sad," use "morose." Language was invented for one reason, boys-to woo women-and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do.

-Robin Williams as John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989) 

Changing, Going Away

Wash away my shame,
with this gentle rain.
Wash away the pain,
from the winter that came.

Gently caress me,
with these tears from the sky,
flowing in memory
of days gone by.

In the gloom of the gray day,
the rain reflects off the asphalt,
glowing like a sunny May,
or like artist's cobalt.

This gentle downpour
soothes my fears,
and quells my anxieties.
It is much like shedding tears.

Soft rain,
won't you stay?
Though I know,
you must go away.

I look forward again
to when we meet,
for I know that
the next time will be sweet.

Damage

If you could look back
at the damage you've done,
could you, would you,
have dropped the gun?

Turn back around
and walk away,
in between raindrops
that have been falling all day.

Flash a broken smile,
not a bullet to my head,
to make me see tears,
instead of a sea of red.

If I cannot fly, let me sing.

-Stephen Sondheim 

Lesser of Two Evils-Chapter 2: Fight The Future

Though the foliage was dense and the footing treacherous, Locke had no problems whatsoever in navigating through the jungle on the north-east side of Angel Island.

For him, the path was almost second-nature, having been a route often travelled upon, not just by Locke, but a certain other echidna whom the Guardian knew would be at the end of it.

Finally, after jumping over a pit of quicksand, he arrived at his destination.

Before him lay a circular clearing, and on the opposite side of it, the trees stood at quite a distance from one another, providing a stark contrast to the dense jungle behind him. As well, the ground fell completely away at the point opposite Locke; it was the north-eastern edge of the Island.

The space in between the two closest trees would have provided a complete view of the blue sky and occasional clouds that surrounded Angel Island, had there not been an ancient echidna seated there, cross-legged and meditating.

The younger echidna inched towards the elder quietly, not wanting to disturb him. But, before Locke could reach him, he spoke first.

"I take it you have finally realized the legitimacy of your 'dreams?'" he said in a strong voice that was unexpectedly assertive and clear for his age.

"No," the Guardian began nervously, but in an unwavering voice, he continued, "I came to ask for advice...Grandfather Athair."

Locke was not surprised that Athair knew of the dreams that the Ancient Walkers had seemingly sent him, as Athair himself had close ties to the three celestial beings.

Athair then stood up from his seated position, with the same swift agility as a much younger echidna-again, unexpectedly so at his age. In fact, the only thing that really belied his years was his once-brilliant-but-now-dulled maroon fur.

"What you witnessed is the future, Locke," he began, cutting straight to the point, though his gaze was not to his grandson, but to the currently dormant volcano in the middle of the Island.

Locke's heart sank and his stomach churned at the confirmation of his worst nightmare eventually coming true, yet Athair continued unflinchingly, "a future that may yet contain a shred of hope, if you prepare for it."

The younger echidna's heart rate sped up, both in trepidation and excitement at his grandfather's words. Careful not to throw caution and doubt to the wind, he presses Athair further, "And how am I to go about this task, grandfather?"

Finally glancing at the younger echidna, Athair replies, "I cannot tell you much, but I can tell you this: Reconcile the past with the present into the next generation."

At first, Locke was at a loss for words, as his mind processed what Athair had advised him to do. Suddenly, with wide eyes, Locke came to a realization.

"A-are you telling me to...to genetically alter my son?" Locke asked, incredulous. He could not even fathom that Athair, of all people, would even suggest bringing up a method that was not only extremely difficult, but also strictly forbidden.

"As it stands right now, not even you could provide enough training for your son to defend both himself and the world around us from the impending doom," Athair stated gravely, "and none of the world's greatest heroes so far would be a match for the evil that will eventually come."

"But at what cost to him?" Locke struggled to keep himself from yelling, but his voice steadily rose, "What price must he-and his family-pay to ensure the safety of the universe? Can't the Brotherhood do anything?"

"If we could do anything, the Ancient Walkers would have warned the rest of us, and not just you," Athair replied, a little coldly. Seeing his grandson' desperation however, the elder echidna's scowling face softened as he sighed and said, "I had asked the exact same questions when I discussed the matter with the Walkers," Athair placed a hand on his grandson's shoulder, "but, I realized that, to defend an entire universe, we must do what we have to, no matter how much we dislike the means and the methods to do so."

Athair then hardened his face once more as he sat back down again, beginning to meditate further, which was the cue for Locke that their meeting was at an end.

However, even without the non-verbal signal, the Guardian turned away, his face hardening as well, as he steeled himself for what he had to do.

"Though the Brotherhood cannot fight the future," the elder echidna began, which startled the unsuspecting Locke slightly, "you can create its savior."

Locke said nothing, but silently thanked his grandfather, who was now in a trance-like state, and, after giving him the *Guardian's Salute, turned away, back to the dense jungle where he once walked, uncertain and afraid. Walking through it now, the fear may not have diminished much, but his determination was doubled.

---

A/N: I own neither hide nor hair nor circuit nor shard of any of the Mobians/robotic mechs/objects of power mentioned in the above story. SEGA and or Archie Comics do.

*The Guardian's Salute is something completely non-canonical to anything, so I guess I own that. As for what it is, it's basically the act of flexing the knuckles of your right hand by wrapping your left hand around it, and bowing your head so that your lips touch the left index finger knuckle. As the name implies, it is used to respectfully greet, acknowledge, give thanks and say farewell to the current Guardian, as well as the members of the Brotherhood all up in Haven.

You should be angry. You must not be bitter. Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. It doesn’t do anything to the object of its displeasure. So use that anger. You write it. You paint it. You dance it. You march it. You vote it. You do everything about it. You talk it. Never stop talking it.

-Maya Angelou 

Lesser of Two Evils-Chapter 1: Only A Dream

Complete carnage.

Those two words were but a gross understatement. Those two words could not even describe a portion of what lay before him.

Once tall, proud skyscrapers reduced to a pile of concrete, glass and steel. The streets cracked, broken and littered with debris. Even the sky, once so brilliant and blue, was now dark and desolate, so grey it was almost black, with a toxic red tinge.

And it wasn't just the echidna's sight that was being overwhelmed. All five senses were working overtime, attempting to drink in all that was before him. His hearing, pounded on relentlessly by cries; of fear, of pain, of death. His skin, pushed to its limit by the excruciating heat from the raging inferno engulfing almost everything. His sense of smell and taste were being overwhelmed too. His nose so overloaded with the smells of destruction, despair and death, he could practically taste the smoke, soot and blood on his tongue.

Tremors, further adding to the hellish madness, knocked the echidna off-balance. Regaining his footing, he gazed upon a behemoth that towered almost up to the ominous clouds, still hammering missiles upon the city's surface, hell-bent on complete destruction, as if its sole purpose was to send a downpour of death to all within its reach.

And standing in between the echidna and the giant was another, younger echidna.

Recognizing the younger echidna, the elder called him out, but to no avail, for it was as if his voice was lost amongst the armageddon that surrounded them.

Even with the behemoth towering above him, the younger echidna positioned himself into a fighting stance.

The colossus, somehow noticing the comparatively miniscule echidna that foolishly tried to challenge it, began to draw back a gigantic metal fist. Surely, even a tap on the head from a fist that size would induce a major concussion and severe brain damage. However, mechs, particularly enormous, battle-ready weapons of war, unfortunately have no concept of holding back.

Desperately trying to reach the younger echidna, the elder one had tried to run, but with so much debris in his way, he could only manage a frustrating half-jog as he avoided cracks, pieces of buildings and the occasional dead body, in an effort to reach the younger one.

No! Not my son, he pleaded.

But his efforts were in vain, for the titan's hand, heavy though it may be, had started coming down at an alarming rate, faster than what the older echidna could hope the younger one would be able to avoid.

All he could do was scream, and then, a flash of brilliant white light.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Sudden darkness engulfed his vision, though the image of the younger echidna-his son-looking back and smiling at him just as he had cried out, was still burned into his eyes.

"Locke, honey, what's wrong?" asked an apprehensive female voice beside him.

It was then that the echidna named Locke realized that he was sitting bolt upright in his bed, having woken up both him and his wife, Lara-Le from their slumber.

Lara-Le turned on the lamp on her nightstand, gazing at her husband's terrified face with worry.

"Only a dream, Lara," he began, sweating and panting profusely, "yet more than a dream."

Lara-Le knew what he was referring to, for it had been the same dream he had dreamt and woken both of them up with several times for the past few months.

So, without saying anything more, she embraced the love of her life tightly, praying to *Aurora for some sort of relief to Locke's anguish.

---

A/N: I own neither hide nor hair nor circuit nor shard of any of the Mobians/robotic mechs/objects of power mentioned in the above story. SEGA and or Archie Comics do.

*Aurora is one of the apparently numerous celestial beings/deities that exist in the Archie multi-verse, basically existing on the same plane as the Ancient Walkers. She is often portrayed as a pink echidna (she actually used to be a Chaos energy research scientist in Albion, until she and her then-romantic partner Enerjak became servants of the Ancient Walkers, allowing them both to ascend into the Chaos Force and essentially become gods), though she apparently can appear to others as they imagine her to be, no matter the species. Most prominently in the comics, she is portrayed as the deity that most, if not all non-Dark Legion echidnas worship. Places of worship dedicated to her are called "Aurorariums." She would later succeed the Ancient Walkers, along with Athair (Locke's grandfather who also had close ties to the three beings), and Merlin Prower (Tails' uncle who practices magic, having once been the Wizard of the Acorn Kingdom), becoming the Neo Walkers.

Give me your uselessness and I'll give you my back as I walk away.

-Jade Stoddart 

Thunder

Baby eyes, stare into mine,
innocence and wonder,
you'll find under those browns
that yearn to show the world
their thunder.

How I smile inside, six inches wide,
but behind it is sorrow,
for her brow will turn furrowed,
for she will understand and witness pain,
but thankfully, not until tomorrow.

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 6: To Thine Own Self, Be True

"My belongings have already been loaded on the ship," Laertes turns to Ophelia, after he gives his room one last sweeping glance, to find any necessary belonging he may have missed, "And with that, I bid you farewell. As well, dear Ophelia, as the winds give benefit and ships sail, sleep not, but let me hear from you. Please write."

Smirking slightly, the rose-colored hedgehog shot back, "Do you doubt that I will?"

Laertes allowed himself a small smile at his sister's cheek, before setting his mouth into a firm line as he continued, "As for Hamlet and his advances with you," at this, Ophelia inwardly groaned, for they had encroached upon the subject she wanted to avoid discussing most, least of all with Laertes, "consider it playful flirting, a phase brought on by his tempered youth. Something like that cannot last. It is sweet, but it will fade in a minute. Not a second more."

"No more than that?" the maiden asked, half-genuinely. Even though some part of her knew that Laertes' words were only spoken out of feelings of protectiveness and a belief that very few men were worthy enough to court her-funny he should think that even a prince wouldn't be worthy of me; dear brother you flatter me too greatly, she thought-Ophelia felt a twinge of doubt at her supposed lover's musings and affectionate gestures, now that her brother brought the subject forward.

"Try and think of it like so," he stated bluntly, "When boys grow, they grow not just in size and bulk, but their responsibilities grow wide withal," Ophelia considers this, unsure of where he was going and slightly embarassed at his blunt and rather sexually-undertoned analogy, "Perhaps he loves you now, and bears no ill-intent," the teal hedgehog continued, unaware of his sister's mounting discomfort, "but you must stand vigilant. Always remember that, because he belongs to the royal family, his intentions, however good, are meaningless. His will isn't his own, for he is bound to his obligations as heir apparent to the state. He cannot, as common people can, carve for himself and indulge in his own desires, for on his choices depend the health and safety of our nation. Therefore, his choices must be circumscribed around the needs and wants of the country he will eventually lead."

Ophelia's heart sank further as she came to the realization that, no matter how much she disliked it, her brother was right, but still, the teal hedgehog pressed on, "So, if he says he 'loves you,' it would be wise to perceive his words as meaning only as much as the state of Denmark would allow them to mean.

"Moreover, think of what would happen if you caved in to his words and his advances," Ophelia's muzzle grew a blush in the same shade as her fur, not wanting to believe that Laertes would even speak of such a subject, but she still said nothing, allowing her brother to ramble on, "think of the loss your honor would sustain, think of the inevitable loss of your heart, and the mangled state your chaste treasure chest would be in, should you succumb to his 'loving,' greedy fingers," even with her head turned to the side, Laertes could not help but notice the deep shade of crimson his sister's muzzle had adopted, and struggled to reel himself back to the boundaries of appropriate speech and innuendos.

"Fear it, Ophelia," he began again softly after a brief pause, which made Ophelia snap her focus back to her brother, "Please, I beseech you, to keep your love under control, and avoid becoming a target of his lust and desire," Ophelia averts her gaze once more, though Laertes fails to notice and continues, "A maid unmasking her beauty to the moon is risk enough-exposing yourself to him should be out of the question. Virtue cannot outweigh calumny, and even the most virtuous of souls fall prey to vicious slander. Worms scurry around gardens, ruining and killing the infant rose blooms of spring, before they even have a hope of blossoming into the beauty we all know they can achieve. These buds, ripe in the dew of youth, are most susceptible to disease and death.

"Be wary then," the teal hedgehog remarks, grabbing the pink hedgehog's hands with his own, "The greatest safety lies in your fear. Youth will rebel against itself, stripping off self-control though no one else be near to tell them to. Remember this, dear Rose Bud."

Ophelia smirks slightly at her old nickname, given to her due to her apparent resemblance to a pink rose. Her smirk then becomes a small smile, as she contemplates how over-protective Laertes can be.

"I shall keep this good lesson close to my heart, as a watchman for my safety," she retorted, now scowling slightly, "But, dear brother, be not like a blasphemous, ungracious hypocrite of a pastor, who shows me the steep and thorny way to the heavens, and shoves me forward while he frolics like a pompous, uncaring libertine on the primrose path of dalliance and sin."

Laertes could not help but chuckle at his sister's boldness, rebutting his advice with her own.

"Fear me not," he assured her, pulling her into an embrace, as their father comes into the room.

"I have stayed here too long, for here father comes," Laertes notices the affectionate smile that the cobalt blue hedgehog wears, witnessing his children's embrace, "What luck! A double blessing is a double grace."

"Still here, Laertes?" the blue hedgehog asked in a stern voice, though his lips were starting to twist into a smile, "Aboard, aboard, for shame! The winds sit within the sail, awaiting on you to embark and to give them the word to move forward," Laertes shared a light chuckle with his father as he releases Ophelia and they embrace, "There again, my blessing now doubled, and, with what I am about to advise you with, your wisdom hopefully widened.

"Give your thoughts no tongue to speak aloud with, nor any ill thoughts be given hands to carry out their ill intent," Polonius began, brushing his brown fringe back, "Be amiable, but by no means vulgarly affectionate. Test the friends that you have to find out who will never cease to be trustworthy and hold onto them."

Polonius and Ophelia began to escort Laertes outside at this point, as his father rambled on, "But, do not dull your palms shaking hands with every unfledged comrade you meet," the cobalt hedgehog then turned to his son, placing both hands on the younger hedgehog's shoulder, and suddenly hardening his face, "Beware, do not pick any fights, but should you find yourself in a quarrel, be sure to hold your own."

The elder hedgehog's face then softens, as he continues, "Lend to all your ears and take their opinion, but give few your voice and even less your own judgement," Polonius pauses as he smooths out a wrinkle in Laertes' shirt, "Afford yourself some expensive clothing, though none so fancy as to be garish; something rich but not gaudy. The clothes do make a man, especially in France.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," Laertes was now fastening his coat, smiling at the old man's insistence on reinstating his advice again, "Loans often lose both itself and comrade, and borrowing all but neuters husbandry.

"Finally," Polonius paused, making sure Laertes was listening and not fumbling with his coat distractedly, "this above all: to your own self, be true, and follow it through, like the day does night. You cannot then be false to any other man.

"Farewell, my son," the two men embraced again, "My blessing shall hopefully let all this be absorbed into you."

"I humbly take my leave," Laertes remarks, respectfully bowing his head slightly, "Farewell, father."

"Go now, for the time is right!" the cobalt hedgehog urged, "Your servants and the wind await you."

"Farewell, Ophelia," he waved back at the rose hedgehog, "Remember well what I have said to you, dear Rose Bud!"

"It is locked in my memory," she called back, "and it is you yourself who is the keeper of the key."

"Farewell."

And with that, Laertes began his journey to France.

---

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.

Fountain

There again was the familiar sound
of rushing water,
pouring from concrete figures,
and cascading down
into a wide basin that has seen better days
in the hands of more delicate and careful
denizens and fortune-seekers.

There again was the glint
of dulled copper, silver and
sometimes, gold that shone through
the choppy, leaf-and-dust-strewn surface,
signaling the thousands and thousands of souls
that have given up these coins,
not for a wish to be granted,
but to be given hope in things
mundane or morbid.

As kids, we used to say
that we would avoid
wasting away our lives
in front of this fountain,
in the hope that we wouldn't
need to wish for anything.
That we'd have everything
we ever aspired to achieve.

Look at where we are now.

I'm here, alone,
broke as hell,
and you're off a thousand miles away,
probably in the same situation.

Sacrificing coins to gain
an intangible something
that will fill the void
and make you feel
whole and good again.

Morning Lilt

You kiss me softly while
I gently caress your shoulder
to the lilt of the stereo,
set against a backdrop
of a quiet, Sunday morning.

Dust, filtered in morning sunshine,
wafting in the warm air,
and then,
into the spaces between our fingers,
until we clasp them
together tightly.

Your fingers,
interlocking with mine,
an ill-fitting puzzle.

But what more could I ask for?

Nothing that could be better
than this morning
full of stereo, dust and sunshine.

Temptation is horrifyingly beautiful, it can make you forget anything, even who you truly are.

-Brennan Lundie

I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate.

-Nicholas Sparks 

Because You Make Me Happy

Shadow the Hedgehog's mind is full of many thoughts.

Some thoughts are quite basic, like reading comprehension, or flipping a switch to turn the lights on or turning a knob to open doors.

Some thoughts are quite useless, like Sonic's constant chattering and...and, well, not much else actually.

Most of these thoughts however, share one thing in common: they slip back, either forgotten for the time being, or forgotten entirely.

But if there is one constant, enduring thought in Shadow's mind, it was of Maria.

Oh, sweet, innocent, strong-willed, optimistic and kind-hearted Maria.

Before, the mere mention of the girl's name sent Shadow into deep emotional distress, working him and his brain overtime to prevent the emotions from taking over.

In those days, Shadow would go to bed every night, dreading and dreaming the same dream-or rather, memory-that had haunted him since he had woken up in Eggman's lab, 50 years after the ARK incident.

Nowadays, Shadow could see her everywhere. But it didn't bother him as much as it used to. Yes, the memories were still painful, but Shadow reminded himself that before...everything happened, Maria was having the time of her life, and so was he.

It's as if the more he saw her everywhere, the less pain he felt.

He saw her in Amy; her overly optimistic nature being the one thing that bridged the gap between Shadow and the rest of the people beside and all around him, smiling and laughing as they celebrated another victory against the Doctor, very much like how Maria was optimistic that Shadow and Abraham Towers would finally see eye-to-eye, and though her optimism was 50 years too early, it did happen.

He saw her in Tails; his innocence and curiosity in how the world works and how he can make it better mirrors the awe and wonder Maria always felt whenever her and Shadow looked at Earth from the ARK's observation deck, no matter how many times they've been there before.

He saw her in Sonic; the way his determination rarely falters has helped get him out of very tight situations before, and is similar to how Maria was always determined to stay as healthy and positive as possible, for the sake of her optimism and desire to finally reach Earth.

He saw her in Knuckles; the Guardian may be a tad bit gullible and simple-minded, but behind the superhuman strength, hotheadedness and brawn lay a kind-hearted soul who loved nature and never wished to hurt anyone-unless of course you try to steal the Master Emerald or harm his friends-and is, in its own way, reminiscent of Maria's much gentler and more pacifistic nature, for she cared for everyone she loved and would never hurt a fly-if flies had existed back on the ARK, that is.

But Shadow saw her most in Rouge. Shadow turned his head to the right and gazed at the bat in question. He took her left hand in his right and the two exchanged smiles. To Shadow, if he ignored the part about her being a jewel thief and having a bit of a reputation for looking like a maneater, Rouge is the kind of woman Maria would have grown up to be: intelligent, strong, independent, extremely caring, and beyond beautiful.

And he loved both women for that.

Later on, as the pair sat down on the couch in the apartment they shared above Club Rouge, Shadow couldn't help but caress her face.

Rouge blushed slightly at the unexpected gesture, but smiled at the Ultimate Life Form.

Shadow was intially bothered by the thought of courting Rouge and how it would be a bit like betraying Maria, but he decided that Maria would have wanted it for him. He decided that Maria would have wanted him happy.

This puzzled Shadow initially, but he felt that, since it would be useless to ask for forgiveness, as his past sins were so great that he felt he didn't deserve Maria's forgiveness, he decided to make a pact with himself-and by extension Maria-that, to atone for at least some of his past mistakes, he would live out his life and move on, to hopefully find happiness, and to continue working and improving to keep the world and its citizens safe.

So, in deciding to start first with himself, he would have to confess his harbored feelings to Rouge.

It was lucky he did, for Rouge gave Shadow some of the best memories of his life thus far, whether it be during a harrowing mission, or simply strolling around together.

Shadow now pulled Rouge into a soft embrace, and eventually brought his lips to hers.

When they pulled away from each other, Shadow whispered, "I love you," he leans in and pecks her lips, "because you make me," he pecks them again, "happy," he smiles and brings their lips together again, this time for a longer kiss.

Rouge simply melted.

---

Disclaimer here because I don't own Shadow, Rouge and the rest of the gang, which is a shame because if I did, there would be so much sexual tension between these two. I mean-uh-SEGA owns them. Yeah.

Also, I sincerely apologize if this story is in no way romantic and makes your body want to send bile in the wrong direction. I'm not gonna pretend to be some Master of Romantic (Fan)Fiction, but, I tried. I tried hard ok?

The Silence of Snowfall

A blanket of white
I see all around,
is the snow that covers
every square inch of ground.

And on the trees,
Nature placed upon their heads,
a white crown,
majestic, compared to Man's naked brow.

And out of my mouth,
steam billows,
showing signs of life,
against the frosty winter knife.

If you don't wanna be criticized, do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.

-Nigel Lithgoe 

The world teaches me angst when I want to learn joy.

-Camden Connor 

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 5: Foul Deeds Will Rise

"RRRAHHHHHH!"

Without waiting to see if the jaded merry-makers were out of earshot, the prince let loose a scream of pent-up rage that echoed throughout the throne room and were likely heard by the last of the courtiers lagging behind the king's entourage. Hamlet could not have cared less, 'They are too lapped up in the prospect of a happy drunken evening, the blitheringidiots,' he thought, as he panted. Yelling out of pure, uncorked anger and frustration was surprisingly taxing.

"Oh how I wish my rotten, filthy flesh would just melt into a dew, or that the Everlasting had not condemned and made law against self-slaughter!" Hamlet began, in delivery with less volume and shortness of breath but toned with no less frustration, "Oh God. GOD! Life is but a stale, tired and pointless waste to me that ending it all would be sweet, sweet relief.Damn it! Life is just a garden festooned with weeds, and other things so equally rank and vile. Nothing good or beautiful can grow or flourish in its choked, dead soil.

"I cannot believe it has come to this," he continued, "that my father, dead for not even two months, has been replaced by a-" Hamlet stumbled over his word choice for a moment, struggling to come up with a word vulgar enough to describe his wretched uncle, "foolish, cowardly, dishonorable piece of filth!" he spat the last word with particular venom, "Such an honorable, excellent king my father was. So much more superior to my uncle, like a god is to a pathetic rat, and so loving towards my mother that he would keep the wind from blowing too hard in her face. Oh God must I remember? She would cling to him relentlessly, and the more she was with him, the more she wanted to stay with him like so. Yet, within a month of my father's passing-God, I'd rather not think about it; 'Frailty' is the name of woman. Even before the shoes she had worn at the funeral had been broken in, her tears flowing like the Nile-good God, a lowly animal would have mourned far longer than that-she had already spoken an 'I do' to that loathsome sack of slime, my father's brother, who is no more like my father than I to the mighty Hercules. Less than a month! Her cheeks were still damp and tear-stained when she remarried. Such wicked speed, jumping so hastily into incestuous sheets! That is no good and no good shall come of it. But my heartbreak must be in silence, for my tongue must be held for now," he finished, as he 

heard approaching footsteps echoing in the hallway outside the throne room.

"Hail to your lordship," greeted a cobalt blue hedgehog, unaware of the prince's soulful soliloquy moments before.

Pleasantly surprised that Horatio was around, Hamlet replied, "I am glad to see you well-Horatio? Or have I mistakenly addressed you?"

"The very same, my lord. The very same respectful servant," Horatio replied, bowing.

"I'll change that name to 'friend' for you," the black-furred prince smiled as he embraced Horatio, his anger now spent, "But why are you so far from Wittenburg? Ah! Marcellus!" Hamlet said as he noticed the golden-brown coyote.

"My good lord," Marcellus said curtly, bowing as well.

"I am glad to see you," Hamlet said in his direction, "and hello to you too, sir," he addressed to Barnardo, who bowed silently.

"But what brings you away from Wittenburg, Horatio?" the ebony hedgehog inquired again.

"I felt the truant disposition of skipping school sir," the blue hedgehog replied with a smirk.

"I would never allow your enemies to say that," the prince retorted, "and I'd never believe it even if it came from you. You're never one to skip class."

The prince then asked again, this time with a slight smirk, "What brings you to Elsinore? Might it be the drinks? Well, come, I'll teach you to drink hard by the time you leave."

Horatio answered him bluntly, "No my lord, I came to see your father's funeral."

Hamlet's anger flared up again, but he tried his best to keep the mood light, "Please, don't mock me. I know you came here to see my mother's wedding instead."

"Well," Horatio began uncertainly, keenly aware of his friend's stance on the matter, "indeed, they did follow each other closely."

"Well, it was all about thriftiness, Horatio!" Hamlet snapped, letting loose his tongue but still trying to humor the situation, "What was left over from the funeral dinner made for a fine wedding banquet, wouldn't you say so?"

Unable to hold himself back any longer, the prince cried, "Oh how I would rather have met my greatest foe in heaven than have gone through that day, Horatio. My father! I think I see my father!"

"Where, sir?" Horatio asked nervously.

"In my mind's eye, Horatio."

Slowly becoming more alarmed, Horatio said, "I-I have seen him once. He was a most noble king."

"He was a great man," Hamlet sedated himself and said in a more hushed tone, "He was perfect in almost every way. I shall not look upon the likes of him again."

"Sir," Horatio began, even more nervously now, "we think we saw him last night."

"Saw who?" the black hedgehog asked dumbly, momentarily lost, basking in the memories of his late father.

"My lord, the king, your father."

"The king, my father?!" Hamlet cried sharply, half-dubious and half-hopeful.

"Avoid feeling too much excitement for now, sire," Horatio began warningly, "Please listen with attentive ears, while I relay to you the amazing thing I have seen, with these gentlemen as witnesses."

"For God's sake, let me hear!" the prince was getting impatient.

"Two nights in a row had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Barnardo, bore witness to a figure like your father, fully clad in armor from head-quills to toes, as they stood on their watch, some time in the dead waste and middle of the night," Horatio began, gesturing to the sentries behind him, 

"It had appeared before them and marched at a slow, stately and solemn pace, at but a staff's distance from their eyes, while they nearly distilled into jelly out of fear, thereby rendering them speechless. I had been told this and, upon initially dismissing it as folly, they asked me to come with them on their shift, so I could witness it for myself.

"Sure enough, it happened again, just as they had described," the blue hedgehog blanched at the thought, but pressed on nonetheless, "I knew your father. The apparition looked so much like him.

"These hands," he raised said hands up, "could not be more alike than they."

"But where was this?" Hamlet asked, immensely intrigued.

"On ze platform where we stand guard, sire," Marcellus piped up.

"Did you not speak to it?"

"My lord, I did," Horatio stated, "but answer, it did not. Yet once, I thought I saw it raise its head, as if it was about to speak. But alas, the morning cock crowed, and at the sound, it vanished hastily from our sight."

"It is...very strange," Hamlet said, overwhelmed by all of this news.

"As I do live, my lord, I swear it is true," Horatio said, noticing how overwhelmed his friend was, "We thought it our duty to inform you of this."

"Indeed," the prince said weakly, then paused to swallow a lump that had formed in his throat, 

"Indeed, sirs. But this disturbs me.

"Are you on duty again tonight?" he asked the sentries.

"Yes, my lord," replied the purple chameleon, who, up until then had not spoken a word.

"Armed, you say?" the prince turned his attention completely towards Barnardo.

"Armed, sir."

"From head to toe?"

"Fully clad in his proud armor, my lord."

"Then you could not have seen his face?"

"Oh yes we could, my lord. His visor was up."

"Was he frowning?"

"More in sorrow than anger," Horatio chimed in.

"Pale or flushed?" the prince turned to Horatio again.

"Very pale, sire."

"And his eyes were fixed upon you?"

"Constantly."

"How I wish I could've been there," Hamlet replied longingly.

"It would have shocked you beyond reason," warned Horatio.

"I'm sure I would have been," the ebony hedgehog agreed, "Did it stay long?"

"About the equivalent of someone counting to a hundre-"

"No, more than that," the chameleon cut in.

"Not in the time I saw it," Horatio bantered, slightly irritated at the rude interruption.

"His quills were of a shade of cobalt blue, correct?" Hamlet asked quickly, wanting to avert a useless fight.

"The paleness of his fur disguised his color quite a bit, but it was obvious that it would have been a shade of blue with a brown fringe, just as I have seen him in real life," came Horatio's reply.

"I shall stand guard with you tonight," Hamlet declared, "perchance that it will appear again."

"I warrant it will," the blue hedgehog predicted.

"If it resembles my noble father, then I shall speak to it," Hamlet decreed, "even if Hell itself opens and bids me to hold my peace.

"I ask you," he turns to address the other three, "that if you've up to this point kept this secret, to keep it further. Whatever happens tonight shall not be talked about to anyone else besides ourselves, and I shall keep myself restrained as well.

"So fare you all well," he turns, giving them their cue that it was time for them to part ways for now, "I shall see you on the platform within the hour before midnight."

"Our duty to your honor, my lord," the three replied in unison.

"Your love instead, as mine to you," came Hamlet, "Farewell."

The three men then exit the room, leaving Hamlet once more to his thoughts, but this time, rather than the usual constant beration of his mother's incestuous behaviour and his uncle's inferiority, it was the thought of foul play that invaded his mind.

"Foul deeds will rise-though all the earth overwhelm them-to men's naked eyes."

---

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.