Aw... Thank you, Chloe. *hug*
Yes, I have been hesitating to finish for that very reason. What will life be like without On the Dark Side? Will I be good enough to write a satisfying ending? So many questions...
>>>I keep forgetting to come over and comment.<<<
Nah, that's okay. ^^;; I keep procrastinating, so we'll call it even. XD Thank you for commenting, period. You guys keep me going. Let's see, how'd that song go...
"Did you ever know that you're my hero? something something, yada yada... You are the wind beneath my wings."
Yes, editing is coming soon. It probably won't be much fun, but like you said, it's something I need to bite the bullet and do. Curse you, obligations of maturity, curse you!
As for the other questions... even I'm not really sure. Sometimes writing's like that; the story just seems to flow from your fingers, and you're left wondering "where the heck did that come from?" It's crazy, but it's wonderful too. All I know is, the questions will be answered... eventually. >_<
>>>How the scenes do change
To end the pain
Of injustice<<<
XD Nice one, Loch. Thanks for the advice. I'm going to give this last piece my all.
And last, but not least: Happy belated B-day to our favorite winged poet. This one goes out to Icarus, who made the word "swing" into the ultimate expression of admiration. You rock, Icky. (Sorry; couldn't resist taking a leaf out of your sister's book *grin* ).
This story is copyrighted by Kesshin, 2005.
Kern placed his hand on the door. The metal was clean and crisp against his sweaty palms. It seemed to whisper garbled threats at him, repelling his entire being through the regal aura it presented. He had no right to be entering this room. He had no right to put his grubby little mitts on the door handle. Kern pulled away and stared at the entrance, absent-mindedly wiping his palms against a fist-full of shirt. He blinked; once, twice. Then he reached out and opened the door.
It all happened without any real thinking. He pulled the door open and they were all inside; all three grime-covered companions in a normal, office-like chamber. Silence pressed in on their eardrums, broken only by the clicking and whirring of the single fax machine. There were no other noises, not even the muffled sound of breathing. They had stopped doing that altogether the moment they had walked in.
Where the rest of the building had been eerily clean, this one was eerily normal, with a slightly rumpled stack of papers in one corner and a cup of steaming coffee on the desk.
And in the chair behind the desk was a plump little man.
Wrinkles spread like a web along his face, gathering at the corners in pleasant bundles of laugh lines. This showed that he was getting on in years, but he could not yet be very old, as shown by the unimpressive size of his bald spot. All in all he was not particularly menacing, just a pudgy man in his mid-forties with a pleasant smile and a business suit.
“Hello, there.â€