Hiro sighs in frustration as, yet again, he is chosen last for the baseball team.

Leave your name and...
1. I'll respond with something random about you
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you
3. I'll pick a color that associated with you
4. I'll say something that makes sense only to you and me
5. I'll tell you my first clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your site

If you read this... If your eyes are passing over this right now... Even if we don't speak often...

Please comment to this entry with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FALSE.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your on-line journal and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

Got home last night only to find myself so cold that my teeth were chattering. Anyone who knows me well would be very alarmed to see that because usually I'm never cool enough. Ran a fever of 101 last night, lost my lunch, dinner and everything else and didn't feel warm again until early this morning. On top of this, I had to bring the rental back to Enterprise, so I had to drag my very unhappy ass out. Will only be going out to get orange juice and food for g_shadowslayer since she has to live with me. I won't be going in.

Feel like crap and now I'm too warm.

Have gotten to NY. Have got wi-fi access.

In MD, when it rains, people lose their minds and go 3 miles an hour.

In NY, when it rains, people lose their minds and go 90 miles an hour.

I stuck to the right lane whenever possible.

Did pretty well getting through PA rather than doing the Jersey Tnpk, but there were at least 2 dead cars and 4 accidents once we got past the Throgs Neck bridge. So, it took us 7 hours to do a 5 hour trip. Which actually still doesn't beat the Thanksgiving drive from hell in 3D where the same trip took nearly 12 hours, most of the time wasted between the top of NJ all the way down the Sunrise Highway. We figured that driving ON Thanksgiving would save our asses...

g_shadowslayer's mom is not doing well, so we will be heading to New York this weekend for an undetermined amount of time. We're hoping to get a hotel with wi-fi access so we won't be completely out of touch, but I can't count on it. So, hopefully we'll see you all on the flip side.

He looked down at his torn jacket with despair because he knew he'd never find another one quite like it.

From this.

Hiro stopped being afraid of the dark when he was 6. That night, his sister locked him in a closet and didn't let him out until the next morning. After pounding on the door for what felt like forever, he'd finally fallen asleep, though he'd had the last laugh when she woke up to find he'd pulled all her clothes off their hangers and slept on them.

But the darkness here feels different. It's as if some malevolent shadow has laid claim to everything around it - distorting houses, streets, sidewalks. With a strange unsurprise, Hiro realizes he's in Texas again, looking down the street he walked so many times in the 6 months he lived there. Only the pale moon offers any light. However, even as he continues to walk towards Charlie's house, that scant light begins to dim, taking the last of what is normal away with it. The dark slides towards him, eager to catch him.

Hiro begins to run, his heart rate already picking up. He doesn't know what this force is that seems so intent to capture him, but he doesn't want to wait and find out. Even if it has no breath, no sound, no smell, he can feel that it is just right behind him, ready to trip him and take him down to its lair.

He can't stop, but he feels his body growing so incredibly heavy, useless, and he knows that every step is mired in tar. His lungs ache with every waterlogged breath as the fog from his mouth blends with vapors swirling around his feet. Cold is gripping his mouth and lungs as much as the shadow creature desires to do the same. Panicked, he keeps running, even though he is certain that every step will be his last.

Just as his body begins to fail, light begins to filter through the fog and without a single thought, he directs his feet to go over there, even as his mind wonders why it's appeared now. But he can't help himself. It's instinctive. Humans naturally fear the dark - even if they are 27 and have spent the night in their sister's closet. He finally finds himself in the comfortable circle of light from a lamppost. He clutches it like a child clinging to its mother's hand, turning now to see if his tormentor dares cross the boundary between the light and dark, even if the fog gives it an eerie glow.

Nothing.

Hiro breathes a sigh of relief. Just your imagination running away with you.

"How do you do?" the light says just as it bends down and eats his face.

Hiro shoots out of bed, staring at his bedside lamp like an enemy.

It was one of the few things Kaito recognized early in his son's life. Despite the fact that he could be the obedient son when directly told to do something, Hiro was an imp when left unchecked. No matter how much he tried to stop it, though, it seemed that Hiro could lay his hands on any kind of fireworks he wanted to set off at the most inopportune moments. Not that he actually ever embarrassed his father, but his daughter complained often of phone calls disrupted or friends upset when a firecracker would go off in her vicinity.

He could never find Hiro's stash no matter how many times he searched his son's room. He checked for loose boards, for secret boxes and for false bottoms to drawers. He never suspected that his son had cut open his futon to keep them hidden from his father's sight. The only time it ever concerned Hiro was the one time his father had come into his room, smoking in one of his rare, worried states. He usually smoked outside, but he had been concerned by Hiro's low scores on the standard tests that he'd felt a need to eschew his usual policy of not smelling up the house.

Kaito had sat right next to the stash, leaving his son a stammering wreck. He believed it to be Hiro's concern that he'd scored so low rather than the fact that his son was scared to death that his father would blow them both up. He left, satisfied he'd gotten his point enough, never seeing his son sink to his knees, thankful that his father hadn't killed them both.

Only one thing can sate his hunger - waffles!