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Falling Mysts, The Ballad of Miles

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Miserable.

 

A word that had so many synonyms; depressed, unhappy, sad, dejected, downcast, downhearted, desolate, but only one word could be used to describe Miles Prower so well. It was a hard life, it was. No one would dare to be friends with a freak of nature, something so....unnatural, different, someone who probably wouldn't accomplish anything if it weren't for his smarts.

Someone with the unfortunate curse of two bushy tails. Deemed useless by his peers, unable to understand normalcy, a curse indeed.

But, it wasn't the poor child's fault. He was conceived into this world by his parents. But it wasn't their fault either. It's not like they wanted a child, nevertheless one with a freak condition like two tails. Pah! What a disgrace to the Prower name! At least, that's what his dear father had said when he was given the miracle of life, and almost had it snatched away, when Daddy Dearest threatened to kill the poor kit, if the mother refused so.

Poor Mommy, faced with the choice of her diseased, tainted child, or her dearly beloved husband, who had treated her like a queen. He always wondered if she made the right choice that day, but, if it wasn't for him, he wouldn't be here, suffering through the curse, the deadly disease, of 'childhood'. A horrid, wretched time when other children strive off of your fear.

Your broken dreams. Your UNLOVABLE TAINTED FREAKINESS.

He couldn't care less though.

Why would he? They were just jealous. At least, that's what she said. Ahh, Rosemary, such a delicate flower, lost in the mist of life, debating and questioning what could of been if she chose him over father. At least, he liked to think of it that way. But, really, could he have blamed her? Not wanting a devil's spawn of a child? Sometimes, he just wished they killed him, in that bare, desolate hospital room, where he wouldn't have to

SUFFER. SUFFER. SUFFER.

Nonetheless, it was life, which was as euclid as whence it began, over millions of eons ago, when humans were the dominant species, reigning over anything and everything with an iron fist. Until the mobiuns appeared, seemingly from nothing, a question he had debated in his mind since his youth of six, his higher intellect allowing such perplexing thoughts to enter his mind, with and without questioning.

The Nightmares began like any other would.

A dark, ominous atmospheric uneasiness, the developing creepiness through his worst fears, but then, they became slightly perturbing.

He could not put his paw on it, how the shift from simple fright to intrigued interest of the dreams caught his attention so dramatically.

 

All those poor animals with those instruments, all with their own quirks and stories to grab on to and tell, the goat with the three eyes and one horn was more then happy to tell the pubescent child about his daring and intriguing mystery solving adventures around the globe, told in song and dance.

He hung on to every word.

 

The bear had his own flaws, with the extra arm, and slightly deafened speech, but loved all creatures and urged him to do the same, and in turn, spoke of delicious conquests filled with sweets and amazing friends.

His mouth watered at every turn.

 

The giraffe was especially interesting, with his short neck and legs, and he told of the stars in the sky, and how patience was a ally, through all means.

He stared at every constellation with delight.

 

The dog was especially talkative, shrieking with joy at anything interesting he told the dog, and always inquired that everyone needs a little push in the right direction, even the ones that insist they don't need it. The dog shrieked that with joy too.

He smiled at every one of his joyful outbursts.

 

Nothing ever stayed the same, everything is always different, but it's everyone involved that really counts, he told himself. Some people need a little push to help them along, so they could find they're own path to victory and success.

Leaving him in the dust, without gratitude.

Yet, he kept his patience, and kept it through five sickening years, filled with anguish, grief, despair, until things began to change. People began to change, turning from ally to foe, foe to enemy, and enemy to rival. Things were in a downward spiral. Humans became unappreciative of Mobius' existence, while others fought to keep it there, believing in the wonders it beheld, and the things it could teach humanity.

BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. ALL FUCKING BULLSHIT.

Every word spoken, every promise made, would soon crumble, leaving him in the mists, trying and trying to find his way out, while wandering in the world, trying to find his place. To get him out of the mists, to help him survive in this unforgiving realm called 'reality', that threatens to drag his very being to the brink of 'insanity', a voided realmscape filled with 'denial' and 'hopelessness', the inabilities to feel sane, the inabilities to feel empathy, sympathy, logic.

He ignored the cries and shrieks, and continued his daily life to life activities, pondering his very existence and wishing that Daddy Dearest would just hunt him down and slit his throat, erasing his broken hopes and downcast pessimism off this sorrow-less heap of rock.

 

But he never came, leaving him in his own sorrows and self-doubt,

 

Leaving him the mess he is, a secluded being that refuses help, not wanting to admit to the fact that he was scum, dirty, rotten scum that needed to be wiped off the floor of the universe, and the problems that, he was convinced, wasn't there at all, hiding behind the stone mask, brimming with words, deceitful words that fall on deaf ears

"No, I'm fine. Nothing's wrong with me. I'm not a loser. I don't need help. Leave me alone. Alone. G-GO AWAY! G-GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

He screamed into the darkness, hoping that his parents would've heard his cries, and rush to his aid, whispering sweet and mellow things into his ears, luring him into the sweet release of rest. But that won't happen. Ever. His parents were worthless excuses, trying to kill their child, with malice and disgust.

Now, look. That petty Hedgehog runs in, consoling him, asking the same question, over and over and over and over and over and over..

And over... And over... And over... And over... And over... And over... And over...

And over... And over... And over... And over... And over... And over... And over...

 

"SHUT UP! GET OUT!" Another shriek, and the 'hero''s eyes widened and shake him, asking;

 

"What's wrong? I'm your best friend, you can tell me."

 

Wrong. He never had any friends, Only me. Isn't that right?

You can't trust anyone, right? Only me. I'll protect you, fox. I always will.

You can only trust me. Only me. Because...

 

IM YOUR BEST FRIEND.
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Miles let out another shriek with his head in his hands.