Title: There is Something Terribly Wrong with Duo
Part: 0
Notes: Oh look…another pointless monologue. No wait. This is worse then a monologue..this is an indecent amount of rambling. To quote one of my friends “OooOOooh look at me, I’m a stupid white boy.” Alrighty then. Where was I? Riiiight…this is another part of TiSTWwDM ( wow, a paragraph worth of story, and a sentence worth of title…I knew phil 102 was useful for something). The title says it all…heck, maybe I should change the title, and go with the rest of my _ wonderful_ other titles…they have such meaning….*grumbles like jaded old man*…at least this one tells it how it is. Wonderful. Next I have to figure out what the hell is wrong with him, and I will be set for life.
Duo: don’t mind her, she is PMSing again.
Duo: riiiiight.
Warnings: Ok…I’m just copying and pasting… my creativity has just died. I do not own GW, it is owned by whomever owns it. I am making no money off of this story, in fact, I have no money. Finally, the actual story is mine Please don’t take it without my permission (except for the DHML which has default permission to archive) Well…that is all for now.

Comments? Criticisms? Large amounts of sugar pills (those make me happy)?


There is Something Terribly Wrong with Duo Maxwell Part: 0


It was cold outside. The bitter chill of winter gripping the landscape, her cold fingers dancing over the witness of the barren hills, and the skeletons of the dead trees. Her snowy tears fell softly towards the ground, seemingly never to touch its milky surface, because the jealous wind would tear them from that embrace. Its furious chill picking the flakes off the ground and hurdling them as far as the eyes could see.

The world was white, and outside the white of the dancing snow seemed gray against the milky wet sky, its body heavy and sagging to the earth.

The howling of the cold pierced the air, and clawed at the windows and doors of the small house, pulling at any holes it discovered, filling them, and allowing howls of outrage to escape.

Outside it was cold.

Inside it was colder.

A dark room was illuminated only with the light of the gray noon. The sun had not smiled into the dwelling for days now, and instead the wind and snow had taken over the gloom, filling iy with their likeness. The stark gray light of winter indifferently touched the edge of a single bed, and slowly crawled upon the worn carpeted floor, to grasp at the end of a chair, and a table. It briefly illuminated the face of a young man, as he stared coldly down at the soup that had gone cold hours ago. It faded away, as the evening grasped the last of the light, and threw the milky gray into a milky black, and then into the onyx of night. The howls of the wind continued outside, and the house groaned under the constant onslaught of the weather.

Heero carefully stood and turned up the heating. He moved silently to the table and cleared away his untouched lunch, before sitting once more, this time he opened his laptop, allowing its cold light to illuminate his surroundings.

He had been thinking. The thoughts where all centered around one other, around the glow it his violet eyes, the laugh on his pink lips, and the cross on his long neck. Heero thought of the gun in those pale fingers, and the blood in that cloth. He thought of the strawberry within his hair, and the sweat against the skin.

He thought of the war.

Most of all he thought of the past that he had uncovered.

Never the less, all thoughts returned to that face, that smiling face and those seemingly innocent eyes.

He let his fingers drop to the keys, like they had countless times before.

Journal 540,
There is something terribly wrong with Duo Maxwell.

* * *

Sun: *dryly * the. Suspense. Is. Killing. Me.