* Prelude: Dandelion Wine *

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He wished he could blow them all to bits.

He felt the rage begin in his fist, coursing fast through his veins and exploding in his heart.

Crazy, crazy, crazy.

That's what they fucking called him. That's what they dared to let come out of their disgusting mouths.

Crazy.

They were the crazy ones. They were the ones who tried to find a meaning in life when it was so obvious there wasn't one. Wasn't it obvious? It was to him. Because he was the only un-crazy one.

He was the only one who mattered in this god-forsaken universe. He was the only significant one.

They were worthless. He'd show them one day. They didn't matter. They were nothing. They would be wiped away as pathetically as they had risen from the ashes. They were dissipating entities – he was the only tangible one.

He'd show them one day.

Oh, hell, he'd show them.

.

She rolled her shoulders back, feeling a slight pain in her arm as she did so. The wind cut harshly against her skin, and she closed her eyes and welcomed it. Welcomed every emotion – if only to desert the numbness.

The dark was tantalizing. It was the only escape that life had been merciful enough to provide for her. The night was such a scary thing, but the day was the real demon. It lurched at her every short while, forcing her to exist when she didn't know how.

She was a flower –

not one of those long-lasting, flourescent spring wilders,

But a Welwitschia; stranded in the desert under such deafening conditions that the only thing she could do was breathe, not live. Not really.

She let her mind wander, slowly feeling it travel further and further, making it harder for her to come back. It wasn't healthy; she realized that. But it was the only type of living that she knew how to do. It was safe. It was easy to escape; it was the returning that was always impossible. Especially when she had nothing to come back to.

She remembered her mother's amber gaze, the one that always taught her how to move forward. And it hadn't been enough for her future but she remembered her smile, and the way she always rubbed her back, not patted it, like everyone else had.

She'd always wanted to be a nurse.

Every day of her life, that was she wanted to do – to save people.

And one day when she was four years old, she was playing outside out on the rooftops. She was a hyper child – her energy was too much. Everyone about her was always a little too much.

Every other girl would be indoors, playing with their dolls and pretending to be a mother in a game of "House", but she'd be outside, swinging from one tree to the next, scaling all the rooftops and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Every parent told their child to stay away from her because she was always too much.

Even her father would yell at her to come inside, worried that she'd fall off and hurt herself.

But she didn't listen. She was invincible. Like her mother had always told her – she was everything, and entirely undefeatable. Even by life; the cruellest of all punishers.

But even invincible can be broken, and that was the part that her mother had never told her.

And as she was rushed to the hospital with a broken arm, all she could remember was shrieking at her mother for lying to her. For forgetting to tell her that she was nothing, in a world where even everything was not enough.

And in the hospital, she remembered the nurse's blazing green eyes as she smiled and patched up her arm. She worked with such precision, such delicacy. And the woman had joked about what a trooper she was for not crying.

Her mother was right beside her, stroking her hair, and kissing her head.

"Invincibility can be broken, my dear," She had said in that strong, but soft, throaty voice of hers. "But we can also be saved. There are those that help us – we save each other."

"L-Like Ms. Nurse over there?" Her own voice, just a young, squeaky whisper.

Her mother's golden smile. "Exactly, my dear. Just like the nurse."

She smiled at the memory, quietly holding herself as her mother once had, swaying back and forth and wishing to float away. To become the wind and whisper into an escape. Anywhere but there.

She'd always wanted to be a nurse.

But 'had wanted to' soon became the operative sentence,

because now, standing in the misty air alone, with that damn music blasting behind her,

she wasn't sure if there were anyone that she'd want to save.

Even herself.

A/N: This was a prelude, as stated above. Meaning it was a little snippet, a poem, if you will, to accompany the upcoming story. Please read on, and review:)