06.06.18: Removed extra.

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It's Those Rainy Days

Wind chimes tinkled in the quiet evening. Cars rustling along the asphalt pavement, splashing a sprinkle of water drops on the ground. A telephone ringing in the foreground. Someone running the water faucet. Rain pattered quietly, reducing from a rainstorm to a drizzle. Gray whipped clouds left a soft fog, heavy feeling in the surrounding places.

Silence captured the rainy world.

Shadow wasn't the type to sit broodily by the window. Hell, Rouge gave him a concerned look when she found him staring into the void of rain, drops leaving a trail of water down the window. With that, the pale-bat left their shared apartment, going to her workplace a few floors below. The ebony hedgehog left no twitch of emotion as the door shut quietly.

He wasn't the type of hedgehog to write either.

All remained inside, it wouldn't leak, every emotion was constrained to the most little as possible. Writing was...quite tricky for the hedgehog. Shadow would often look at his work, an outline for a made-up story, just to type down a few paragraphs before quitting for the day. His motivation didn't come quickly as it did for other activities. It would take at least an hour before he would get into the mood. Writing is a pain in the ass, even when everything is entirely constructed, it's the actual writing of the characters, the dialogue, the action he had to put in. Shadow felt it would be better if he became a writer for the synopsis for different types of media. But he worked at GUN. His job is to write accurate statements and jot down every little detail of information on his missions. There's no room for creativity.

Writing was Shadow's haven. It's those days where he wished he didn't have the talent to craft stories.

Knock knock.

Came the door.

How are you?

A cobalt hedgehog kicked down the door with his red and white, yellow buckled shoes.

"Yo Shads! I didn't speed all this way to lift you out of your miseries. You can thank Rouge for that later." The blue blur winked, before plopping himself onto his couch. Damn bat.

The ebony hedgehog let out a sigh, his forehead creasing into an unmistakable emotion: annoyance.

"Faker I don't need your imbecile sunshine and happiness here," he growled, causing the devil speedster to stand up.

"Oh boo. I'm sorry you stuck your head in the wrong place today." It resulted in a book thrown at the blue hedgehog's head. He only smirked, amused to get under the ebony skin. Or fur, Whichever is more suitable for their likings.

Sonic took a sweeping gaze at the living room. Neat. Organized. Everything to perfection, clear of dust, and other un-necessities. "Oh Shadow. What can I do for you?"

The ebony's only reply was a twitch of his triangular ear.

"Sure sure." Sonic plopped himself into Shadow's writing chair, oblivious to Shadow's hackles rising. Him. Sitting at his desk. That is a no-no. Definite emergency. The black red-striped hedgehog stormed over to Sonic and ripped him out of the seat. The blue blur let out a pained noise as he was wrenched by the wrists. Shadow then sat down, quickly closing all notebooks, shoving papers inside, and pencils back into their drawers.

"Shads you didn't have to do that." Sonic groaned, rubbing his wrists tentatively.

"Don't call me that Faker."

"I call you whatever I feel like calling you."

More grumbles and sighs escaped the ebony's lips, as he sat up straight, crossing his arms. Sonic looked up at him, a light smirk painting his face. Chaos, I wish he wasn't here right now.

"Look. I don't want you here right now. Just go." Put a leg over the other, spinning the chair around, facing his desk. Arms uncrossed. Rain continued to fall steadily outside.

"C'mon, please—"

Shadow ignored him. He flipped open a notebook, not caring if the speedy blue decided to peek over and see it. He just needed to write. Fill the pages away with endless words, a plot that stretches to the horizon, anything his imagination called for. The nostalgia packed deep away into his bio-engineered bones. Oh, he wished to write the action and gore. But no.

Shadow is just a mere emotional writer with nothing in between that resembles the plot and action.

The more a pianist pours their emotions and hits the keyboard for all the world to hear, the more pain they begin to feel for themselves. The feelings droned on and silently, begging for the emotions to be out and to be heard, but locked away to what is called music. Some express it that one particular way.

A writer can pour their emotional thoughts and feelings, contrasting it with different characters and a tweak of the plot from their own personal imagination. Or it merely is they decide to take the experiment with research and through observing the world with their own eyes.

An artist can slash the canvas with their paintbrush, pouring their heart and passions into the eyes of the future. Or through a different prescriptive, seeing it is their job, their soul, a critic striving to make them better or doom for all.

A drumming sound brought Shadow out of his focus. In the corners of his peripheral vision, the ebony hedgehog noticed Sonic had reduced to sitting on his couch and staring at him. Watching him write. The furious scribbles of the pencil are anything both heard, besides the rain and light thunder.

"So that's what you do on these days? Write?" The blue blur shattered the ever-lasting silence.

"What do you do Faker?"

The room dropped and fell away.

Sonic laughed. Just laughed. Threw his head to the rainy sky and laughed. The dark hedgehog merely scowled at him. "Really?" the blue speedster was reduced to fits of coughing, wiping away the tears. "All these years and you don't know what I do on those rainy days? And here I am, sitting in your apartment, never knowing that you wrote a world full of your fantasies and imagination."

Shadow didn't know how to respond. All those years spending and training at GUN, he was sure to deliver a quick, witted response. He's now at a loss for words.

"Did I render you mute?"

"Shut up."

Sonic shook his head, muttering a sigh of words Shadow couldn't quite catch. He stood up and strode over to his desk. "Let me write something." He took the pencil out of Shadow's gloved hand.

I wanna know you. I want to see you. But yet, I can't. You are fading far far away. Ha! What is someone so apathetic like me, writing in here something like this. It's probably the dark red-striped hedgehog sitting here right now. I thought I knew a bit more. Those melodramatic scenes he probably writes? It could be the cries from the past. The scenery that he writes so profoundly, cutting like a knife into the imagination that it's like a photograph reborn? Every word flows from the tips of his fingers to the ink and graphite onto the paper below. I only read three paragraphs. How am I supposed to know?

There's just so much more lying underneath.

Maybe those three...types of professions. It takes pain. Dedication. Determination. A song sung vocal cover can churn the meaning of the lyrics to something that resonates more powerfully within the singer. And maybe I don't understand because I'm a hero living a free-care life.

The blue blur dropped the pencil on the notebook, shuffling back to his seat on the couch. He twiddled with a fragment of wood.

A ghost of a smile almost slipped onto the ebony's face, but he forced it down. A sorrowful song sang into his mechanical heart. A blink. Shadow picked up the pencil and continued from where Sonic left off. And then he was speaking out loud.

The bittersweet summer smell in the air. The trees drifting lazily in the breeze, vibrant green leaving a lovely feel of nostalgia and happiness, the children never in their misery, but through their pure care-free innocence. There goes, the hours sitting in a darkened room, filling out the stoic, statements and clear information through the questions and notepads. The forms endlessly stacking up, leaving no freedom.

An exaggeration of some sort.

I pretended, getting used to sitting down and looking at the white flowers. In the evening, where they would glow underneath the moon.

It's a dream.

A dream of parallel happiness.

It's a dream.

A place where I can never escape.

It's a dream.

Summer came and gone.

I'm not good at saying good-byes. This heart thrives nothing but emptiness. I don't want to remember, the face of pain and suffering. I was created this way, who could say no, to rejecting a humble life when slaughtering others. Who would want to keep it all in, draining away life, happiness, leaving a subtle empty feeling behind. Who would want that? Not the innocents. Not those who breathed and protected the presence of others.

This is just dramatic. A pitiful thing to read.

Through the blurs of good-bye, there was only a lack of sorrow.

As the whole world is washed ashore. Mobians grumbling about, some wasting their hours away watching television, others having their faces pressed against the cold, foggy window.

Someday I'll learn how to say good-bye.

The second Shadow finished writing, both stared blankly at the written paragraphs and sentences embedded into the paper. The ebony hedgehog's face lacked an expression of emotion. Sonic mused for a bit.

People say that someone's eyes are always a window to another world. But is it really? What's with the meaning of eyes. Everyone tends to focus else where than the face, a quick brush and then goes to the curves and the shape of the body. Eyes really don't tell everything. Others are uncomfortable looking at one's face. Most are. Sonic didn't know why writers, and artists, tend to fantasize the eyes as if they are another world. Sure, they seem to realm the many hidden deep meanings behind...but he often never stared into another's named.

"That's pretty deep."

Shadow grunted. "Damn it." He quickly snapped the notebook shut. "Out you go Faker. Out."

Just like that the cobalt hedgehog is kicked out of his home, and Shadow was tended to the falling darkness all around. The only light source that was on was his lamp desk. The ebony hedgehog flipped over to the earlier writing session he had with Faker.

He's a decent writer alright. Thoughtful, per too so.

Shadow shook his head and tapped the fountain pen thoughtfully on his chin. Evening had come, draping the world with a blanket filled with a haze of clouds and the dying of rain. Stars shone, one by one in the darkness. Lights flickered on, emulating a yellow, blue, white haze throughout the neighborhood. Rouge would be back from her shift from G.U.N., and probably downstairs tending to customers.

The ebony male shut off his lamp and opened the blinds.

The whole neighborhood seemed so alive. Up ahead, he could see Station Square, alight with a warm atmosphere. Rain really does have a special effect does it not? It can stain the ground whole, running down into gutters and sewer systems, yet, the aftermath contrasts of a beautiful crystal image. Crisp. Electronic billboards could be seen from miles away, displaying advertisements. Shadow has been inside the heart of Station Square once. Everywhere were flashing billboards, lighting up the evening. Employees working overtime in tall buildings built to the atmosphere. Mobians and Overlanders alike were always trying to find a taxi, to take them home. He remembered, that if a light on a taxi is on, it means someone is occupying the cab. If not, then it means you can go ahead and hail for one.

The center was always filled with the disgusting, wrenching smog. Foods of all sorts wafted from restaurants, food stalls, and the occasional open cafe. Tourists of all will always visit. Ha. The city that never sleeps. How ironic. There used to be cities like that in the past too. But those have already died a long time ago after a great war unleashed of when the planet was once called Earth. Now, it's Mobius. Everyone can all blame the group of lab scientists, keeping track of a human, who slowly evolved into a mobian throughout the many years, merging and mixing DNA. Wow, thank natural selection and evolution.

Shadow wasn't created then yet, but it was taught in all schools, to the basics in primary, to secondary and extra education in colleges and universities. Maybe every mobian is still resembled a bit of human.

It's those days he wished he still wasn't here but far away.

She wouldn't like it. She would only want him to be here, because of her promise.

He will keep it.