Legal Disclaimer: We don't own shit. If we did we'd be partying…a lot.

Legal Disclaimer 2: I own everything it's all mine, and fuck you if you think any different.

ITCH

The clock just keeps ticking. Every second a click, the small red hand moves, creating a rhythm to my annoyance. This black, velvet chair itches me like crazy. The striped, teal green wallpaper looks like something straight out of Martha Stewart weekly, and for some odd reason it always smell likes bleach. Always.

I am only here because I have to be.

I hate this; I don't need it.

"So tell me why you're experiencing these feelings Amy."

The yellow squirrel had been my therapist since the government demanded I take bi-monthly visits.

"You wouldn't get it."

"A lot of patients say that," He scribbles something on his notepad and limply tosses it on the desk before him. He looks up at me and leans forward. "But you'd be surprised to find out that we therapists have our ways of making people…better."

"Better huh? What medicine do you really think could help this?"

"Not meds my dear, but a vacation to expand your mind."

His elbows propped up on the desk before him, hands clasped together.

"I am not leaving. You can't make me."

"Please." His voice panged; a small, woven, nasal needlepoint of sarcasm. "You know as well as I that your past lingers too much in Station Square."

"I still don't see the reasoning behind talking to you. I have duty here...Heavy obligations to certain…heroes."

He scoffs. He doesn't understand; he never could. Stupid doctor, give 'em a piece of paper for passing school, and he thinks he knows everything. How could he know what it's like? How could he understand?

"Chasing Sonic around like a crazed school girl is not a 'duty' as you put it. You know that right?"

Hearing his name made me tingle; a spark flickering through my spinal cord. Just to think…I know better than this, but the imagination runs me wild with the same picture, the same daydream. The same fantasy plays itself out through my mind, over and over, with little variation.

I'm in trouble; helpless and scared. Always captured by someone, or something, because whoever or whatever it is thinks it's a surefire way to take Sonic out. It never works. He always jumps in at the last second, a spin dash to victory. That pose he always strikes after saving the day…He stands proudly over his latest opponent. Heaps and heaps of Eggman's junk metal below his red sneakers…two fingers held up with a "v" for victory, the trademark smirk that swoons me, his body just like Apollo's; perfect in everyway imaginable. He wraps his strong arms around me. They're firm, but soft at the same time, like his chest, which I bury my face into, breathing in his scent. His arm reaches around my legs, just between my knees and butt, and the other supports my back. He holds me close to him, and tells me I'll be safe, and I believe him, I really do. He leans in to kiss me, and I can just feel my p-

"Amy?"

Crap, not listening again.

"Y-yeah? What?"

His beady cerulean eyes narrowed.

"You're thinking about him right now aren't you?"

Silence, save for the clock ticking away. He already knew that answer. He already knew a lot of things. Okay, so maybe he does have a good idea.

"Understand this Amy. If you keep going on like this he's going to hate you."

"I know that! God! You think I'm not well aware of what might happen?"

My hands fell over my face. Did it just get hot in here? My heart's pounding in my chest, almost as loudly as the clock that keeps ticking and ticking and ticking.

Damn it all. I want him so bad. A passion I could never explain. Just the sight of him sent me into rapid mind-fucking convulsions. To think of all things we could do together. All the things I yearn to do to him…

"He…wouldn't understand Amy. You've been around him so long now. He still sees you as kid. That's why I am stressing that you need to get out of here. Live life and change a bit. Come back after some time once you think you're ready. Then the pressure will smooth over much easier."

That pisses me off.

"Change? You think I need to change? There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Look, I'm just saying you'll be more mature for it and he'll like that. Adolescent child's play won't get him. Maybe in your dreams, but not here. This is real life."

"How can you be so sure?!" Exalted fury had escaped. He did this to me. "He might…" Now I was hushed, grasping for straws. "Warm up a little bit…"

"If you're trying to convince me here…you're failing. Miserably."

Bitch. He always is so condescending, so cold. Therapists…always throwing…heaving home truths like pails of ice water. I don't like it. I want it to stop.

It needs to stop.

"You don't know what love is like! You're just a stuck up socialite asshole!"

"Big words coming from a thirteen year old!"

Now he's grinning. That little bastard… I want to slap him in the face.

"Because someone of your age and wisdom knows exactly what love is."

"Shut up! Just shut it! You don't even know me!"

"I don't have to. You're not a very deep person…"

Anger. He has no right talking to me like this.

"I mean you're just like every other teenage girl I've ever met; superficial and blinded. You think you have all the answers when you don't know anything."

"That's just a stereotype!"

The nerve of this guy! He tells me I act like I know everything, while acting like he knew everything!

"Is it? Is it really? Then please Ms. Rose! Enlighten me with your vast depth! Let's learn about the 'real' you!"

He had no freaking idea.

The nerve of some people, you know? I'm so sick and tired of people just being ugly. Not ugly face-wise, but ugly on the inside, you know? The inability to accept things we don't understand, and to further it the inability to accept the fact that we can't accept anything. We're all ignorant and stubborn, I suppose.

I just wish it wasn't true. I wish that therapist could accept the fact that he knows nothing about me. I wish Sonic would accept me for whom and what I am. I wish he was...

I wish he loved me. He doesn't love me though. I can tell.

I'm just like an annoying kid sister to him. I'm just the tag-along. I'm just the burden, the anchor dragging him down. I'm just the pain in his ass.

I'll never be what he wants me to be. I'll never be where I want to be. Maybe I should just leave. It would benefit everyone in my vicinity. I wouldn't be in everyone's way. Maybe I could start a brand new life there, instead of coming back. I could meet some guy, my real hero. One who would hold me and love me and never let go of either.

A man who wouldn't see me as some kid. A man who wouldn't hate me because...

Well, I could go on fantasizing about the life I'll never have, but what's the point? It could never happen because I thought of it. It could never happen because it's something I already want. Isn't it funny that the things you really want to happen never work out? Maybe it's just fate proving to us that we can't see the future.

Maybe my brain just likes teasing me. It knows my secrets and weaknesses, so why wouldn't it? It's ugly just like everyone else. I'm ugly. Just like everyone else.

Maybe even more so.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts I almost miss my own apartment building just across the street.

I look up about it, standing tall underneath the night sky. The stars don't show up here, like they did in my home town. It's hard to remember what it's like to look up at the beautiful starry sky. I tighten my thin fur coat a bit, and wrap my arms around each other, trying to generate warmth on this cold January evening.

Yeah, I could leave. I could just go, and never come back. No one would miss me. I doubt hardly anyone would even notice my answer. I could easily just leave right now.

But I can't. Sure, the stars may be beautiful. Sonic is more beautiful than anything under them.

There he is in the distance. I can see him looking out on the lake. We're in this place that I know; one that he shouldn't. Yet there he stands a blue figure in the distance. He's completely still staring off into the tranquil beauty before him. The sun creeps over the horizon from behind us, warming our backs, but the wind keeps us chilled.

He doesn't even see me...

He doesn't even know I exist here.

My breath is visible before me, clouding and dissipating like smoke pouring from my nose and mouth. It's getting colder. I try to call out to him but my voice is coarse and deep. He can't hear me over the howling wind, and even if he could he wouldn't know it was me.

I start to run toward him, but fog barrels into my line of sight from my peripherals, rolling across the green plain before me, and rising up over his head, up over the sight of the lake.

Suddenly I'm lost in the fog, calling out to him. It's still getting colder. I can't see anything but white, and I'm wandering in his direction. Calling his name, I'm scared and alone.

Sonic!

Sonic!

There's no reply. Only dead silence. Only the cold wind occasionally tearing itself through the quiet fog.

Sonic!

I'm starting to cry. I don't want to look this weak in front of him. I don't want to seem so helpless, but I am.

Without him, I'm nothing. Stupid and alone. Cold and scared. Childish and crying. I fall to my knees and sob into my gloved hands.

Something creeps up my back, and I shriek and lurch forward. Roll over to barely see his blue figure smirking at me.

I'm so happy to see him.

Jumping up, he doesn't have time to react. My arms clinging tight around his body, my face buried deep into his chest. This is my heaven on earth. This is my salvation.

This is my spirituality. This is my god.

His finger tips gently run up and down my back, petting me. My back is twitching and shuddering; this is absolutely orgasmic. His face gets close to the right side of my head. I can tell, because his breath gently tickles my ear. He starts whispering something into my ear that I can barely hear.

It's the title I go by.

"Amy" He gently coos in my hear. "Amy..."

"Amy"

Knock, knock, knock.

"Amy"

"Amy!"

Knocking on the door, I finally give up and open it. The light from behind me in the hallway cuts through the darkness, my shadow quickly grows, casting a dark shade over her slowly rising form. She suddenly notices something and yelps, quickly shooting up and stuffing her hands into her lap.

"Are you coming to breakfast?"

She just stares at me, wide eyed and mouth agape. She suddenly registers the question, and begins to stammer.

"Uh, I uh... Y-yeah, I'llbethereinasec!"

"Are you okay?"

She nods rapidly, and just stares at me. Her cute green eyes wide open, and her mouth now clasped shut. As young as she is, I just can't help but find her... I don't know. What would you call it? Infatuating?

She seems a little distant now, though. I've been taking care of her and Tails; they're kind of like my kids. I hate to see them start growing up and rejecting me. Now that Eggman is gone... it's like they're the only thing I'm good for. Like my only purpose.

The only thing that gives my life any kind of meaning, you know? I don't know, maybe it's just stupid.

"Okay, well I'll see you at the table."

The door closes behind me, and my arm drops limply from the knob, swaying gently at my side. Walking back to the table, I can't help but feel sad for some reason.

When I hear the knocking I slowly start to rise, and suddenly the light hits me in the face as I'm groggily sitting up. The silhouette steps forward blocking light from my face, and allowing my eyes to adjust better when I notice-

Oh fuck.

Can't help but let out a squeak as my hands shove into my lap.

Did he see anything? Does he know?

"Are you coming to breakfast?"

Uhh...

I quickly tell him yeah, and he leaves and I look under the covers to see the problem, face to face.

It's probably not what you're thinking at all. Nothing covering me? Please, I was wearing sleep pants. That time of the month? Hardly. I was pitching a tent.

And I hope to god he doesn't suspect anything.

Saturday.

Saturdays are drinking days.

That isn't to say that I drink every Saturday. Not so at all.

Saturdays are usually the same, though. Zero responsibility.

So, I drink. Why not?

I take care of my shit Sunday through Friday.

It's only right I should drink a few times a month. I deserve it.

I must be on my fifth drink. This whiskey is strong; definitely packs a punch.

Reach over to the stand next to my chair, and grab the bottle. Pour another drink.

Drop a few more ice cubes in the drink, and sit back. Leave the cap off. I'll be wanting more.

Suddenly the door opens, as I take a large hit. Coughing and spilling some whiskey on my hands, I set the glass on the table next to me, and I look up.

"Hey, Amy"

She doesn't say anything. She just keeps advancing towards me.

"Hey"

Maybe she didn't hear me she just gets really close and.. sits in my lap?

What?

This is….

"Hey."

"Um… hey there, Amy."

Hard to process.

"Did you need something?"

She doesn't say anything. She just leans in and kisses me,.

He's always drinking on Saturdays.

I've finally decided to go through with it. I'm telling him. No bullshit, this time.

And at least I'll have intoxication on my side.

Her soft lips against mine, she's moaning lightly as I press my body against her.

This is so right. I can feel it in my...

I just know it.

My tongue invades her mouth, and I press her body tight between mine and the couch.

My mouth leaves hers, leaving a trail of kisses from her cheek to her neck when she leans in close to the left side of my head.

And I'm licking her neck when she starts to whisper in my ear. She whispers those words that I will never forget in my life, ever.

The words that haunt me to this day.

"I'm a boy."

This is when our moment comes to a screeching halt.

"What?"

"I didn't know how to tell you!"

"What?!"

"I just thought if I could get you to love me you wouldn't"

This is when she either stops talking, or I stop listening.

My fists tighten. That is so fucking disgusting. I see red. It just makes me sick; sick and mad. I want to fucking kill her.

I want to punch her in the face. I want to grab her by the neck and pound, pound, pound on her face. I want to choke her and scream at her. I want to do this, so I do.

I want her to cry, so she does. I want her to bleed, so she does. I want her to die, but she doesn't.

I just get up, and look at the repulsive bloody heap of deceit on the floor, and I tell her what's on my mind.

"Get out of my apartment, you fucking faggot."

I wanted it to cry, and now I feel bad. I wanted it to leave; now I don't know what I want. I just stand there in silence as it drags itself along the carpeted floor, leaving a trail of little red droplets ranging to big scarlet streaks on my precious floor; the stains of something ugly.

This just makes me angrier. This makes me shake. Sick and confused. I'm not gay. I'm not fucking gay, and you would have the balls to try and RUIN me? I need to distance myself from it.

It looks at me with those sad eyes. Those pleading teary eyes buried under a swollen mess of black and blue. And pink.

And red.

Stop it. Stop looking at me and get away from me, you pillow biter!

Another kick to the side.

"Get out of here!" I say, and kick her again. Its nose is broken and bleeding with one hand over it, as crawls gimpy to the door.

I want it to leave, but refuse to help it. It must be taking five minutes to finally unlock the door, open it, and manage to crawl through a crack about a foot and a half wide. I hear it crying out in the hallway, and decide to shut the door.

Grab the scissors from the drawer in the kitchen and sit on the carpet in the living room, next to the stain.

I always thought a blue carpet would really liven this place up.

Fingers digging into the carpet. My weight is too heavy. Constant stops and breaks are necessary. Constant crying cannot be helped. I hate myself. I do, I fucking hate myself.

I hate myself almost as much as I hate him.

"Oh my god! Are you okay, little girl?"

Can't respond. Can't stop sobbing. So weak. So pathetic.

"Who did this?"

"S-sonic"

"Let's get you inside and call the police, okay?"

"Why are you doing this to me, Amy? Just please tell me why."

I have him in the palm of my hands. If I wanted to crush him all I'd have to do is squeeze, but not now; no. This has to be a long, drawn out process. I want to taste his tears by the end of this.

"You aren't supposed to be anywhere near me outside the courtroom. Would you like another assault charge on your record? Perhaps rape?"

"You bitch!" he seethes. "I understand the assault charges, because I did do that, and I'm sorry, but why did you lie? Why would you tell them I tried to molest you and why in god's name does everyone but me still think you're a girl?"

He has no right to raise his voice at me. I'm not sure this one knows what he's dealing with.

"Why don't you love me?"

"What?" He stares me down in disbelief. "Is THAT what this is about?"

"That's something you won't ever know. An answer, if you please."

"I think it's fairly obvious Amy, if that is your real name."

"No. No it isn't. What's so wrong with me?"

"Oh, I don't know, it might have something to do with YOUR DICK AND BALLS!"

"But if I got an operation..."

"No! No, we aren't going there." He punches the wall, and recoils in pain. What did he expect, hitting a brick wall? "I could never love you after what you've done to me."

My heart breaks all over again. I want to smash in his face like he did mine. I want to make him cry like he made me. I want his ass served to me on a silver platter, so I can devour it without even a thought.

I want him dead.

I want him gone.

I want him suffering.

I want him sad.

"I'll see you in court."

"At least tell them the truth, Amy. Please."

"What? That you tried to molest a thirteen year old boy, and then kicked his ass when you wouldn't cooperate? I'll consider it."

'You bitch!"

"I'll see you in court, Sonic."

Then I turned away, despite his loud cursing, and pleading for a break, and I never looked back.

"We find the defendant..."

And all of a sudden I feel bad. I feel horrible; dirt even. As much as he hurt me, I still love him. I still care bout him so much, I don't want to see him go down like this. My majestic hero; my sweet Apollo. Now, with him staring at me, with his ice cold stare, almost like daggers stabbing me in the eyes.

I want to cry. I can't help but cry. My therapist was right about me. The whole time, he knew what he was talking about. They gave him that little piece of paper for a reason.

The tears streaming down my cheeks, it all hits me at once.

I can't back out now. Not now, not ever.

"Guilty as charged."

The court room is in an uproar of cheering; they finally put that monster where he belongs. That abusive man. That child molester.

I'm so sorry, baby. I wanted you was all. I never wanted this...

Well, okay. Maybe after he kicked my ass, but I wasn't thinking right. Who knows? Maybe he would've... warmed up a bit, you know?

Now all I can do is sit here and cry as my hero is dragged out of the court room in handcuffs. And he's still staring at me. Still looking me in the eyes, all the way from over there, even If I avert them.

I can't escape his gaze. Just like I can't escape his hatred.

I needed something. I needed someone. I can't live with myself right now, so I need to focus on someone else. I need to escape my own mind. I can't be left with these thoughts. Who knows what could happen.

I called my therapist first; for the first time ever. He didn't answer, so here I am, at a bar. A gay bar, and don't even ask how I got in here. It wasn't easy. No fake ID in the world could convince a person I was twenty-one.

I managed to get in through the back, so here I am, watching all the men dance, and hump each other, and all that other nonsense. I just need someone to talk to. I'm walking along the back wall and suddenly a call from the shadows throws me off track.

"Hey"

I stumble a bit, but manage to school myself. I look around for who said that over the loud annoying techno music, but can't find anything. This was a bad idea, I should go.

"What's a cute little girl like you doing at THIS kind of place?"

A shadow emerges from the corner of the room. A black hedgehog.

"I'm not a girl, sir."

"Oh, but you are, aren't you? You're Amy Rose, right?"

"No, I... I don't know her. I'm a boy."

He steps into the pale pink light, and I can see his face somewhat clearly for the first time. He looks just like... him.

Like Sonic.

"You look like a girl, young one."

"You'd be surprised."

"Can you prove it?"

"How would I do that?"

He giggles, and begins to pace in semi-circles around me. Color me confused.

"I can think of a way" he states, his palm brushing against my face, and down the side of my body. "If you're up to it, that is."

I am. I'm up to it. Anything to escape.

"Okay."

"I have a headache"

There he is, with his back facing me, mixing some weird kind of drink.

"I have just the thing for that."

A plop and fizz, and he's mixing with some sort of metal rod. He brings me a glass, sipping his own while handing me mine.

It smells…funny.

"What is it?"

"Just drink it. It's for your headache."

I take a huge gulp, and it's awful. I'm coughing and my eyes are watering after I manage to choke it down.

"This stuff is strong." I let out a tiny burp. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to drink it if you don't want. I only got it for you 'cause it's a really good headache cure."

I eye him warily, and choke down another sip.

I feel...

Uh...

"Wahtz in tihs?"

"Org...c.s.p.l...ts" He says, his speech breaking in and out. "H...do...o...f.el?"

I feel...

…weird….

He's whispering to me unintelligently, and I can faintly hear tearing noises. However, I can't feel anything.

Everything's muffled. My eyes won't open, and the world seems a million miles away. The only thing that presents itself to thought is Sonic. Sonic…

This is the opposite of a spiritual enlightenment.

I'm awake.

I'm awake and my ass hurts; a lot. I'm awake and my face feels raw against the cold cement. I open my eyes, and I've been abandoned somewhere unfamiliar in Station Square. I struggle to my knees, trying to locate myself but it's useless. I've never been here before.

It's hard to stand. It's even harder to walk. My balance is all knocked out of whack because of the immense pain in my...

Oh god. What happened to me..?

Tails is gone. I don't think he wants to talk to me ever again. To make things worse I've been sick. Something is seriously wrong here. Fevers coming and going far too often. Nightly sweats, often accompanied with chills. I've lost twenty pounds in a week, and I don't feel like eating a thing.

This isn't natural. I need something. Meds? No idea really.

"Well, your glands are swollen. Did Sonic have any sexual transmitted diseases you know of?"

"What? Why would that-... Oh. Not that- I don't know."

"Give it to me straight, doctor. Please."

"Okay, but you asked for it." he says flatly while straightening his tie.

"You see, the symptoms of AIDS are primarily the result of conditions that don't normally develop in individuals with healthy immune systems. Most of these conditions are infections caused by bacteria, viruses, fungi and parasites that are normally controlled by the elements of the immune system that HIV damages. Follow?"

"Uh..."

"It means infections are common in people with AIDS. HIV affects nearly every organ system. People with AIDS also have an increased risk of developing various cancers such as Kaposi's sarcoma, cervical cancer and cancers of the immune system known as lymphomas."

"In English, please?"

"Basically it boils down to this. You have AIDS. With treatment, you have about five years left to live, if you're lucky enough not to get some sort of undetected cancer. Without treatment you'll most likely be dead within the year."

"………………….."

"Any more questions?"

"..."

"Right. I'll be on my way then. See the man at the front desk about the bill."

I have to go see Sonic. I have to reconcile with him before I die, I just...

I just have to, okay? I love him, okay?

Oh great. Now I'm crying again.

Here on the bus I spent my last coin to catch. Not worried about the journey back, just the destination.

I know he loves me. He has to still love me. There was something there, I'm sure of it. In fact, it's still there.

I hope.

He's staring at me from the other side of the glass, and I can see my reflection between us, a hopeful look on my face with the phone pressed tightly against my ear.

Please pick up the receiver, Sonic.

Please...

He grabs it, and I can see him sighing before any sound crackles through this ancient earpiece.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Sonic I..."

I can't stop…I can't stop myself from crying.

"I'm sorry, Sonic! I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't save me from the stony lonesome."

"What? Look, you're not the only one who's suffering here!"

"I'm sure you have it very hard out there, in freedom"

"Don't be like this! Sonic!"

"Eat shit"

"I'm dying"

"No shit?"

My hand covering my mouth I nod. The lump in my throat grows with every word spoken.

"Of what?"

"AIDS"

He scoffs.

"What, did I give you that too?"

"Sonic, I…I was…raped after the trial."

And his eyes widen. His gaze locked with mine, he's frozen in shock.

And suddenly he starts laughing. He's laughing and laughing and laughing.

He's wiping away tears of laughter while mascara runs down my cheeks.

He's hanging up on me, and I'm trying to beg for him not to.

Trying to gain his forgiveness.

Trying to earn his love.

Instead, he gets up, and walks away laughing.

I'm left all alone here. I'm all alone in my life.

I'm sobbing my eyes out, now with no one left. I'm wailing loud enough to hear myself, and I hate it. I hate me, I hate Sonic and I hate the world!

"Are you okay, miss?"

I should've gone on that fucking vacation.

Three weeks and you think my life would be over. The only person I ever held onto, the only person cared for, loved, to die for, marry…removed, relocated, and gone. The words keep ringing through my head.

There's a million things I should be doing I guess. Death is getting closer and sulking isn't going to help.

Sonic hates you and he has every right. Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't hate you for what you've done?

I had my reasons.

Today is the first day in a long time that….That I've looked normal. No makeup, no fucking dress, nothing but jeans. They sag a little, so you can see my white underwear a little. At least my killer body is still here. Could have been a model you know, a dancer, an actor, anything really.

All I became is a chaser; a punch-drunk love idiot. Indian style on my surprisingly pink bed the organization of all my thoughts begins.

Where to start?

The biggest question comes first.

How the hell did I end up like this? To stay this way? Like this? A girl? How did I become this freak?

It all happened so fast. The choice wasn't really mine.

Dad was tucking me in.

"Good night Ames. Sweet dreams…"

I told him something. Probably an identical return of what he said. My parents knew me as a good boy who always did what they were told, followed rules, rarely threw a tantrum; the prototypical golden boy.

My mother was…messed up.

She never wanted a son. She wanted a girl, a female, a perfect little version of her to hold and clutch. Instead she got the complete opposite and her world seemingly fell apart. Mom and dad argued so much back then.

My first breath into this world was an immediate disappointment, at least to her.

That's why, that's why her dominant feminist nature, made me a female. If anyone could ever see my baby pictures, you see me always in a dress, always wearing a bow, ears pierced early too…everything about me had to change. It had to change to be accepted by her.

How hard would you try to be accepted by your own mother? My transgender existence didn't sit well with father though. So I was boy, then a girl, every other day of the week.

My original name was Ames.

The next day I changed it to Amy.

Jeans, a baseball cap, a basketball jersey….

The next day replaced by a dress, a bow, and makeup.

My voice played from low to high to low again.

To please two parents I had to be two people. Confusing, but anything for love and acceptance, you've got to have that somewhere in life.

Waking up to the sound of smoke that night wasn't what I expected. Does anybody?

My half-blue, half-pink room was densely covered in a gray haze, jumping out of bed fearfully I made it out to the front door. My room was on the first floor and the fire had originated from the upper level of the house. Stumbling backwards upon the front lawn I fell to my backside staring up at my home. The fire seemed to be raging out of control, raging, orange monsters were eating it, eating my parents. I could hear their screaming. My whole life was crumbling before my eyes. I wasn't thinking about where I was going to live from now on, or how the rest of my life was going to go as an orphan. The only thought that remained was why weren't mommy and daddy coming out? Where were mom and dad? Where were they?

The fire trucks came, the sirens were loud, the news was even there. All came to see the glorious demise. Nobody can get enough of anguish. People love it and revel in it, and soak their dark-crested bones all through it; that was the true joy of misfortune after all.

My parents died that night.

I was four years old.

It was a girl day.

Ever since then I've been playing the solo, the charade, the duet, the game, which died with my dad.

I've started thinking that nothing makes sense anymore. Why couldn't it have been a boy day? Then none of this would have happened.

What to do now?

Mistakes are normal… but to error is divine?

Am I?

Running my hand through my quills I stroll to the mirror again. Soon I'll be gone. To be dissolved from this hell-forsaken world of hate, love, and attention could be everything. What's heaven like? Or hell for that matter? Purgatory would be lucky.

I'm shaking again.

What do I really want?

My fist breaks the mirror. The punching, the striking, the madness ensued can't stop here. Each piece breaks and I decompose them into smaller pieces. I should have fought back. Hit Sonic back, fight back, I should have been a guy, I should have been a guy, why do I keep saying that? Why am I so afraid? Wh—

I stop.

My breathing slows down. There's something written on my arm. I didn't notice it until now. I haven't had a shower in about a week or two, remembering, thinking is hard. Especially with my bouts of not wanting to live, and the general wish-wash of not being wanted; it's written in black marker.

957-345-5645 S.T.H.

My wanting, yearning has officially been defined.

Love, attraction, sex, all itching for another round. And who am I to discourage? Call this living life to the fullest if you want to.

Shadow deserves another call.

Six years. Six years and I'm finally out of here. No more jail, no more anything. If anyone ever endangers this town I'll say screw'em. They put me away with false pretenses…And nobody is going to get a second chance, not from me. Forget this town. I'll be out of here by tomorrow.

But there is something I need to take care of first.

The good old Station Square apartment complex….still exactly the way I left it. Amy should still live here, and when I find him, I'll make sure to give plenty of tough love. Expose the bastard for the fucking liar and thief he is. Let him taste the iron-bar hotel for awhile.

Fifth floor room 2210

Knock.

No answer.

A little more.

No answer.

Banging now.

Nothing.

Amy I know you're in there! Now open the fuck up!

A rolling cart of cleaning supplies stops behind me.

Enough is enough.

The white door falls down from a swift kick.

I swear to god Amy you're going to pay…

What the hell?

Puce colored trash bags and plenty of old items in banker boxes. Lampshades, picture frames, pictures, posters, clothes, dust was everywhere, the wallpaper was peeling off the wall, I even saw a roach crawl by. Amy had really let the place go. Did I break his heart that bad? Seeing the place is such a state just fueled me even more. I was going to break a lot more.

Dashing around the place…he wasn't here. My prison release was on the news after all, he probably was getting ready to split town.

"Sir do you need something?"

A old ram. Gold horns and a gray wrinkly face, washed up overalls, he looks practically homeless, but then again what janitors don't?

"You've seen Amy Rose?"

"Yeah. About a month ago actually."

"Where is he? I need to speak with him immediately…Important business." My voice was cold, stoic, and demanding like a criminal investigator pleading for important answers.

The janitor just glanced at me, cocking a eyebrow up almost in confusion, like there was something I didn't know. Maybe the thought of protecting the crazy bastard seemed logical enough, was that the need for the hesitation?

"5467 Leeds Road. You'll find him there. He recently moved."

"Thanks."

Pushing him aside I leave the complex within seconds. Using the sidewalk as a race track to bump and push people out of the way I find a city map marker. Leeds is over near the landfill and some small-time churches.

Sprinting now…

Why the hell would he pick such a dirty place to live in? He was gay wasn't he? Wasn't he supposed to love cleanliness?

Whatever. I'll be there in a few seconds and—

Stopped…

…………………………..

……………??…..

……!!…….

……!!..

…??

………………………………….

God damn it. I should've realized.

Leeds road is a cemetery.

Which means only one thing.

He's dead. He's actually dead… but how?

The recollection hits me.

AIDS. Damn my memory, but he got what he deserved. The fucking douchebag he is and all. He ruined me. He ruined my life and my purposes. No friends, no family, no money, no glory, not anything to my name.

You know…

I was going to kill him today. My fingernails counted it down 2190 times. He was supposed to pay for the crimes, the bullshit.

It's too bad the grim reaper didn't make a deal with me. Amy would have met him in multiple plastic bags.

The more I think about it the more I feel his death isn't fitting.

Where's his grave? An idea has surfaced and revenge is needed; I want the satisfaction of defacing his final resting place. To disturb his spirit, something has to be done, I won't let this slide, time can't heal this wound. At least not very quickly.

The plots are arranged by surname. Rose shouldn't be that hard to find. The sun is setting and the rays of light are just peering over the headstones. Blinding at first but surprisingly picturesque for such a morbid place. Quietly I saunter among the graves

Ra….

Re….

Rh…

Ri…

Ro…Found the right row.

The line goes on for what looks like miles. A tall, narrow hill eclipses the sun in the distance, casting a shadow where I stand.

Roa…

Rob…

Roh…

Roo…

Rop…

Ror…

Ros…

Rose, Ames

April 12, 1989--June 15, 2008

"Damnant Quod Non Intellegunt"

Here he is. Atop this huge hill he lies and rests. No flowers, not a recent visit either, my footprints seem the only ones to imprint this "hallowed" ground. Ames huh? Was that his real name? What does this quote mean anyway? Latin? The wind slightly picks up and blows my quills back in epic fashion. The sun is just dipping downward.

The sky is pink. That's…strangely ironic. Figures that much, and what really bites is that today is June 20. Only five days and I could have gotten back at him. Made him feel true pain and suffering, AIDS or not.

Guess it's time to give him a makeover.

The ground is soft, fertile almost, as I claw through it. Reaching his casket is the only goal in mind. He probably still looks decently alive.

At least I won't be fuc-.. beating up a skeleton.

Footsteps. Oh shit. If somebody catches me…

….

Fuck it.

I'm fucking Amy. Dead or alive, whether whoever that is likes it or not. Just like it always wanted me to.

Written by cornwallace and Maverick87
Concept by Maverick87

This is not the type of thing I usually write. Far from it.
Writing most of this was a bit of a challenge for me. A step out of my comfort zone(as one Allybalybee inspired me to attempt as much as possible) and a pretty big one at that.

Well, I did it. We did it, rather. Our skills have vastly improved (or at least Maverick's. mine are still lacking, i think) since we started this project oh so many months ago, and even more since we abandoned it, were forced to have sex with its rotting carcass until finally hauling the fucker off the beach, and dragging it out into the vast sea of Sonic fanfictions that plague this website.

With that, I would like to thank Maverick for aiding in the developement in my meager writings, and I would also like to thank the readers, or whatever. You know. For reading it.

-

cornwallace

I'm crazy. Glad cornwallace took this ride with me though, otherwise this would not be posted. He wrote a good part of it, and his writing skills have improved immensely. Then again, I'm glad I chose a good partner to write this with, otherwise I would have lost it.

The real reason behind this story, is that I wanted to break the mold. Cornwallace was up for that, so here we are. Thank cornwallace a lot, he's a badass.

Other thanks...

To the readers, thanks for reading.
To cornwallace, for being amazing and diligent
To the art of writing in general, for without it, I wouldn't have much of a life.

I guess that's it. I don't know if you'll see any more from us, maybe you will, maybe you won't. I'd have to ask cornwallace about it.

Again thanks to all.

Later.

-

Maverick87