Disclaimer: The author dose not own any of the characters in this story, nor is the story affiliated with Sega or Sonic Team in anyway. The ideas and plot of this piece however belong to the author.

I Was There

Amy. Amy? What do I know about Amy? Why would I even want to think about Amy? She's not here, no one has mentioned her to me lately, and I do not just have random thoughts of the girl out of the blue. But there her name is, sticking out in my mind. Amy Rose. I don't really want to think about her right now. Okay, I guess I lied to myself . . . again. I do think about the pink, overly joyful, or is it more overly bubbly, girl that peruses me with a vengeance, but who wouldn't think about a person who jumped on them constantly and professed love every time they saw them. Ugh, if she would only calm down and not be so clingy then maybe she would be tolerable. (Deep down, you cherish the attention she gives, and would miss the hugs sorely if she stopped)

But I know that won't change. I smile, though I don't know why. What else, oh yeah, the way she screams my name out for all to hear, no matter how embarrassing it might be. (You listen for her voice, and you can hear it no matter how loud or soft it maybe) That's it I guess. She sort of embarrasses me. Wait a sec, did I just admit to getting embarrassed. No, I'm in control of that, I don't care what other people think. If I want to do something, no matter how ridicules it may seem to anyone else, then I'll do it. (According to your heart, you do at least care about what she thinks about you, but end up pushing her away . . .) because I'm . . . (what) . . . I don't know. (You chose not to know) It doesn't matter; I need to do something else.

I quickly jump down from the old oak tree that so graciously offered its branches as a temporary bed for my earlier evening cat nap. I revved up my legs and decided to just run aimlessly. My destination would be decided by my feet, my many twists and turns at the speed of . . . oh let's make it 426 MPH. Whenever I get tired, wherever it may be, that will become my new resting place for the night.

Wow! What a rush. This absolutely rocks on! No matter how many times I run, I never tire of the thrill it gives me to accelerate, especially if there's . . . challenges in the way. Nothing like near collisions with trees, boulders, and pedestrians to get the blood pumpin', not to mention making 90 degree turns on a dime at lightning speeds near cliffs or during downtown rush hour, heh heh sweet. Yes, I am in my element, however . . . (You miss her) . . . I slow down. I stop. Amy. Amy!

"What's wrong with me?" I ask aloud this time, seriously distressed as to why I was thinking of 'Miss Rose' . . . again. Geez, not only am I thinking about a certain someone, I actually stopped running, Stopped, to do so. I shook off her name, and the feeling that went with it, and took off again down the narrow back street that I had been traveling. (Go see her, now, you'll miss her) I sprint through alley ways, race down main roads, maneuver around construction sites, and lay off in front of . . . no . . . it can't be. Yes, it had to be her apartment. Darn it, I don't want to be here. (Yes, you do)

I do? I start shifting my weight from left to right. If I'm honest . . . I'm nervous about the way I feel. I don't want to care about Amy that way. She's a friend, at closest, like a sister. Someone I can help when their in trouble. Someone to have adventures with, both fun and dangerous. A person to laugh with, or cheer up when their down. (Yes, but you want more) Well, she's just a friend, easy to deal with. Amy is just a friend, just like Tails and Cream and Knuckles . . . well Knuckles is more of a rival then a friend, but anyway . . . (She is more to you) I do protect her a lot though, heh. She needs a lot more saving than the others. I've had to carry her to safety more times then I can remember. Thank goodness she's not heavy though. (You are also thankful that she's warm to the touch and her heart beats at a rhythm to match your own)

I cough into my right fist and look up at her apartment windows, resisting the strange urge to run up the side of the building to rest on her windowsill. Am I crazy? I must be. (You have to see her) Maybe I can go in and talk to her, but look, the lights are off and . . . wow it's getting late. She's probably asleep, and I would only be bothering her and . . . and why am I going in? What am I doing! I stop my feet from going any further, stopping just in front of the complex's double doors. I crane my neck upwards to look at her room's windows and then proceed to glance to and fro from my position to see if anyone was looking, or coming, or whatever.

I start sweating for no reason as I enter the building. Why am I so jumpy? I try hard to remain calm and collected as my insides are now swirling with feelings I normally have around Amy. Confusion, anger, nervousness, annoyance, skittishness, but under it all rests a . . . (Warm, excited sensation that keeps you wanting for more) Man, there sure is a lot of people up and about for it being so late.

Then I remembered, it was Friday night. Lots of activity took place everywhere on a Friday night. Still I wanted to keep a low profile, and there was no way I could do that with this many people in the foyer. I ducked back out of the place before any one noticed me, which wasn't hard given my particular abilities, heh. Mmm, what was I thinking anyway? But I still wanted to . . . (go) to . . . okay! I needed to see Amy, I don't know why, I don't care why . . . well yes I do. Phht, I don't know. This better make me feel better.

I stand out in front of that complex wondering what in the world I was doing there, starring up at my number one fan's window. At least, I was standing and wondering and staring, until the doors opened up suddenly and I was knocked flat on my butt, as the offenders ran off, oblivious to the blow they dealt me. I stand up, brush myself off, and decide to do a bit of . . . vertical slope racing. I zip up the side of the apartment with speed and grace, landing on Amy's windowsill stealthily. It wasn't that spectacular, being Amy only lived on the forth floor, but hey, who's countin'.

The apartment's dark. Funny thing is Amy might not be so happy to see me. Heck, if I was in her shoes, some guy crouched on my window sill in the middle of the night, a Friday night nonetheless, I wouldn't be too happy either. However, I wasn't greeted with a frightened, shrill cry of surprise, or a flying, blunt object, but by quiet, soft snoring. This was her bedroom? Whoa! I shouldn't be in here, right? I mean of course right, I shouldn't BE here at all. (Steady, stay) No! I'm leaving. This was such a stupid waste of time, such a . . . (stay) . . . I can't. (Yes, you must. Stay)

I sit down on the ledge, one leg hanging off the side, the other drawn up to my chest so I could rest an arm on it. I watch her sleep, and try to keep down the stupid grin that is yanking on the corners of my mouth. She's cute. That was strange, but stranger still is I like it. She is cute, at least when she isn't a gush of girlish, romantic enthusiasm, though her spirit of persistence and determination is admirable. (Notice something) I take in a deep cleansing breath of the crisp night air and notice that it smells like strawberries, like her. This time I sniff the air with the willful intent of taking in the perfumed scent. Wait! My senses become alert as I take in the odor of wood, plaster, and metal under extreme heat, twisting into one unforgettable smell, fire. Fire! Faintly, I hear someone yell:

"Fire!"

I glance over the edge to see people running out of the building, screaming. I jump into Amy's room. I could now feel the heat that seemed to be seeping in from under the floorboards.

"Amy!" I shout, quickly reaching out and shaking her gently. She stirs and opens her eyes groggily as she sits up slightly. Then as if realizing that there shouldn't be anyone in her room to wake her, she begins shouting.

"Who are you? What are you doing in here?!"

"Amy, calm down it's me, Sonic," I say, pulling the sheets away to reveal, to my embarrassment, her short, silk nightgown. Obviously just as embarrassed, she pulled the blanket back up.

"Sonic! What are . . ."

"There's no time to explain, there's a fire-."

As if to highlight my point, flames shoot up through the floor along the walls, surrounding us in a cascade of bright, hot reds and yellows. Amy let out a short scream at the sight, just as I scoop her, and her sheet, up. Our best shot out of here would be to take the open window, though the way I came in now looks like a ring of fire.

"Hold on Amy."

She has no hesitation in grabbing me tighter around my neck and chest as I make a split second dash for the window just when the flames died down enough to permit safe passage. Once out and on the ground a safe distance away, I set her down. She starts crying a bit, and I immediately go into pep talk mode. I really do hate seeing others cry or in pain.

"It's all right Amy. I'll take you to Cream's house . . ."

"Yes, but first, make sure everyone's out safe," she says seriously. I stare at her for a minute trying to judge if she was okay, secretly admiring her care for others, before finally nodding and running back to the building. As I help get a few more people out that night, and carry Amy to Cream's for a temporary living quarters, I think about what I almost lost. Amy's fire detector wasn't working; she never would have woken up, until it was too late. If I wasn't there she would have . . . and to think, I was going to leave. I'm so glad I was there. I thank God I was there. (I Know)

Fin