Chapter 12 ::  Our Marks Upon This Earth

I couldn't help myself.  I had to let it out no matter how much it hurt.  I 
told him to pull the car over and I was thankful that the court session was 
held in the next town.  When we finally stopped we were along a deserted 
stretch of highway far from any lights.  Not even the moon was 
out...thankfully.

I don't remember ever crying which isn't saying much since I don't 
remember much of anything.   Of the things I do remember I don't 
remember crying even when Debrose did That to me.  My attorney told 
me that I should try to present a sympathetic character to the jury even if 
I didn't have to.  She said a few tears would help the prosecution of the 
defendant.  I didn't cry then.  When the media asked if all this was 
affecting me I just walked away.  After everything that happened...why am 
I crying now?

"Heero?  Heero, answer me."

Go away...please, go away.  I don't want you to see me like this.  

"Heero?"

He sounds so concerned about me...why should he though?  After what 
Debrose did...I feel so worthless.  A muffled sob escapes my throat and I 
curl in on myself hoping to choke the sounds.  I don't want anyone to 
know...Pain is to be suffered alone.  Duo has his own pain and he hasn't 
shared with me so why should I burden him with mine?  

As he put his arm around me everything seemed to crumble.  A concrete 
prison chipped and fell away in blocks as the walls I had so carefully 
constructed during the past months were smashed by that simple touch. 
 Somewhere within my chest I felt a sensation much akin to glass 
breaking under the impact of a fist's blow.  Falling to my knees, I buried 
my head in his shoulder and let my conscious mind recede and take 
refuge in the darkest parts of my being.

I had to let go.  

When I came to we were home again.  It's strange calling this place 
'home' since it doesn't truly feel like it.  I have a slightly inkling that this 
place isn't truly mine, but Duo says it is.  So it must be.  I sit up, finding 
myself in bed, and glance at the cream colored walls.  There are vacant of 
pictures and photographs that one would expect to find on the walls of 
one's bedroom.  Perhaps that is why this place seems so alien to me.

Or perhaps there is no place that I can truly call home.  During the 
months of the trial bits and pieces of my former life drifted back to me.  
It's not enough though.  I have a faint reminder of my childhood and the 
beginnings of my meeting with someone, but nothing more.  I don't 
remember my parents, but I'm not sure if I had them for very long.  My 
earliest memories are of the streets and a man that found me in the 
woods...  The man who was important to me somehow, but whose 
importance escapes me still.

Knowing that I can't remember my past is a frightening thing.  When the 
others come to visit they bring me pictures and I recognize myself, but I 
can never identify the place I'm at.  Quatre and Trowa sent me a packet of 
pictures once showing the inside of what they called the L1 Colony 
Cluster.  They say it is my original home.  I wouldn't know.

"Oh, you're awake."

I turn and see Duo standing in the doorway, masked by shadows.  It's 
early morning and the sun is just beginning to rise.  

"Aa...I just woke up."

He pauses and nods.  "Good...I'll get breakfast."

I bob my head in agreement and dress when he leaves.  At least I didn't 
have any nightmares last night.  I don't think I'd be able to stand it if I did. 
 I haven't slept well lately...the screams of so many people keep haunting 
me - people I don't know.  A little girl and a muddled brown puppy keep 
appearing to me, asking me if I'm lost.  I just shake my head at her, never 
comprehending and then she's gone.  An older man with a clawed hand 
turns to me and asks me a question I can't hear and I shake my head at 
him.  He leaves me alone.

Then there's the Voice.  The quiet melancholy of someone whispering 
that they don't want to be alone.  Someone is calling out for help in the 
depths of my dreams.  Every night it is the same voice and every night it 
is the same conversation.

"Please...help me..."

"Help you with what?"

"...save me..."

"From what?"

"...myself..."

The speaker reveals themselves, but I wake up terrified before seeing who 
it is.  The times I have seen it, the terror washes the image from my 
mind.  All I remember are a sad pair of eyes.  They have no color, no 
shine, no life to them.  They are the eyes of someone who gave up living 
a long time ago.

"Heero, breakfast's ready!"

Walking out to the kitchen, I see Duo sitting down and eating already.  I 
hesitate in the doorway between the living room and where he is, 
watching.  I shamed him last night...by letting down my barriers I shamed 
him.  There is no way that he will ever look at me in the same way.  That 
thought cuts me to my very core.  

"I'm...I'm going to skip breakfast.  I'll see you later."  I don't wait for his 
reponse and quickly bolt out the door.  I can't face him right now.  Not 
when I walked in to his turned back and his downward gaze.  Not when I 
knew, or rather thought I knew what he was so ashamed, or seemingly 
ashamed of.  I ran all the way down to the bus stop five blocks past the 
apartment and stopped to catch my breath.  

When the bus pulled up I stepped on and sat down in a lonely seat at the 
very back.  It was then that I realized I had nowhere to run to.  I had quit 
my job and the only other place I knew was the apartment.  

Damn.

As the stops dragged on and the sky became lighter I decided I'd just ride 
it until I couldn't ride anymore.  That was a good enough plan for me.  
Somehow I knew what would be at the last stop before the junction.  
Somehow I knew that was where I wanted to be.

The bus rolled to a gradual halt and the driver turned to me.  It was now 
late afternoon, early evening.  

"Listen, kid.  I know you've got a sob story, but this is the last--"

"I know.  Sank yuu," I murmured, watching him crinkle his nose at my 
accent.  I watched the bus depart, then turned slowly, surveying the 
scene before me.

The sun casts long, dark shadows on the ground, hiding some things and 
revealing others.  Tall, warped metal structures stand silhouetted against 
the blazing orange and red tinted sky.   A faint breeze runs through them, 
causing their aged bones to creak and groan in protest.  A tree stands off 
to one side with rope hanging off a branch, making it seem like one of the 
gallows they used in the Old West.  

The rope's frayed edges are teased by the wind and it waves to me, 
beckoning me to draw closer.  I obey, but don't go to the rope.  Instead I 
make my way towards the warped metal structures and take their 
protesting bones in my hands.  After a few moments my fingers slip away 
from them, leaving a trail in the rust.  

That is my mark upon this earth - a solitary trail in the rust.

Taking the hanging strands of metal hair in my hands, I listen to them 
crackle slightly under the pressure.  Then I cautiously sit down in one of 
the great beast's many laps and let my feet hang in the air.  My feet 
make indentions in the sand and I can see my footprints leading from the 
grass to here.  Yet another one of my marks upon this earth...that will 
someday be erased.  

Everything we do will someday be erased.  Whether it is from the 
textbooks or from our memories, it will be gone one day.  That is Life 
though.  It makes room for the new by getting rid of the old and there is 
nothing we can do about it.  Still we hope to make an impression that will 
outlive the nemesis that is Father Time.  We hope that our insignificant 
trails will somehow make a mark on someone's life and will continue to 
make their marks upon others.  

Who knows, perhaps we accomplish that and never know.  I, for one, will 
never know as I cannot even remember what all my marks in Life are.  
There are my footprints.  There are my fingerprints.  There is my 
heartbeat.  There is my breath.  Here is what defines me.  

Somewhere back across town in a simple apartment is what defines me 
also.

Reminded of that person I start to sway back and forth in the great 
beast's lap and I listen.  I listen to it protesting to my weight as I swing 
back and forth, back and forth.  This solitary, ancient playground will 
never know, but it has made its mark upon my life just as I have upon its. 

And so I swing alone with the dying sky as my backdrop.

And I try to remember all the things that I had forgotten.

And I fail.