Nothing is working the way it is supposed to anymore. Learn to forgive, learn to live. Lean on me. This was a failure, this was erronous. Wrong. Wait, no. Clocks are right twice a day. Watches are right twice a day. Time never fails. Time heals. That's all I need just some time. No it won't. It's going to kill me. Maybe if I reflect on it it'll hurt less. But then I'll remember. That's not healing, that's not time. Disregard time. I have all the time in the world. Strapped to a gurney and being wheeled to salvation. Or something. Either way there's hours to burn. Burns. Stop talking about burns. Burning. Focus your mind on something else. Go backwards. Maybe I could have stopped this. But then I'm feeling sorry for myself but that's no reason but that's no reason either fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Deep breaths. To the beginning. The very beginning. I found him and I think he was just a child, or something. I was young and he was well, weird. Not weird as in the head. To look at. Strange. The boy had two tails. He could, I don't know, fling them around, too. I found it novel. He followed me home that night. I tried to tell him, "No, go away." I tried. I did. But he wouldn't go away. Where would he go? Lie in the sewers some place and get shot by one of the street carps? I couldn't stomach that. I had morals. Have. No, had. But I wasn't ready to be a father. Consider me your big brother, I'd tell him. That would be a lie. But it worked. Soon enough I got papers, too. He's a part of me now. My family. But I let him go by his old name before; Only remnant of what he can remember before he was out on the fucking streets. I'm getting long-winded here. Not too long after he turned about eight or nine, I don't know how old he is, the machines were there. Robotnik's squad. He couldn't pronounce that, so we called him what he looked like- an egg man. But his machines, went up and killed. I suppose that's any human's sane reaction to a world full of animals. Well. The worst part is this shit was like, puppetry. Or something. They'd take people in and turn them into one of them. Some of my friends are now just folded up pieces of aluminum and wire. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't. One guy doesn't bring down a fucking army. If someone tells you that, punch them in the face. They're shitfaced liars. Sooner or later I met this girl named Sally. I don't know. She was royalty I guess, one of those upper-class chipmunk families. A frequent smoker, but she was nice. Her parents were apparently killed by the machines. She kept on saying how we could beat them. I thought she was lying. I didn't want to do anything because if I got hurt or killed then that put my brother to square one. But she convinced me somehow. I didn't want this future for him. So I tried to change it. We got some other people too. Coyote named Antoine. I guess he was a frenchie and all. Annoying but he did his job. But he was always kind of keeping to himself and his robot-girl. He shot himself two weeks ago when the wars just got to him. Didn't die, though. Gave himself a pretty good shotgun mouthwash and now he looks like an alien. We just locked him in a asylum and let someone else inject shit into him. I felt sorry for him. No one deserved that. Then there was Amy, some clingy girl, always hitting on me. Knuckles, some native echidna who honestly I didn't give two flying fucks about. Some other mobians and some nameless mobians we got to drone around. That was the freedom fighters. A bunch of patched up nobodies shooting at robots. Yeah, it was good. What else happened? I think we took down a whole lot of his shit. Then everything went downhill. Maybe a half-decade in. Spirits were low. This was becoming akin to chasing the sun on foot. People were dying and hurt, and the Freedom Fighters were associated with futility. But we were chipping away. My brother, after pestering me for who-knows-long was getting in the war. Killed someone. Not someone, a robot. But it used to be someone. Underneath the armor, it might still be someone. Crying, screaming, waiting for someone to get them out of that torture. He was pretty cool about it, though. I was a little, well, surprised about that. Sally was still there. I admit one night I fucker her. No, we loved each other. No doubt. She liked it over a stair rail. So here I am, with her, in the bed, and she tells me he was there last night. In her. Blew me away. We hit the fucking wall. I stormed into his room. Beat him him around and yelled at him. Turned into a screaming match real quick. And he punched me in the mouth. In the face. Shit went downhill and we had to be restrained. Brothers? No, no-o-o. So we hated each other. He's not my brother. He screams, "Fuck you, Sonic!" Fuck him. But we still had to fight. He's not m

"-ade to take hits like that. Seriously, the body's not a good threshold for this shit," someone says. Someone else calls out, "Slow the fuck down, Andre! You're not driving a fucking car!"

"Collapsed lung, some burn wounds, that might be lacerations," someone yells from above. I feel every groove in the ground as the wheels bump and grind and squeal in protest. Jerked over to one side, and someone props my head up and puts something around my mouth. Breathing is now assisted. The mask presses against my cheekbones and gives off a nice, minty scent. I keep getting tired, increasingly so. Sleepy, and every breath is labored. Am I dying?

"wh, wh," I say. Blubber like an idiot.

Someone looks down at me. A canine in medical garb. This must be a hospital. His eyes are bloodshot; Adorned on the right side of his scrubs is a name tag.

"Oh, he's awake," he says.

"Where is, where is he?"

"Who?" He says, as if it's taking him a large deal of braincells to walk and talk at the same time.

"Mys," I say, unable to pronounce the entire name.

He looks at me dumbfounded for a second, but then a look of reflection comes upon his face. "You were in terrible accident, Mr. Hedgehog. I guess a grenade rolled in or some shit. He got you out of the way and shielded you, but..." He pauses. For dramatic effect? "He didn't make it. He was young, too." He stops for a second. "Consider Miles your guardian angel."

So just like that, that was his "sorry, forgive me?" Instead of apologizing to me, he saves my life and dies in the process. He can't say it to my fucking f-

No, that's not it. Why would I say that? He was my brother. He loved me, even when he didn't show it. I protected him, he protected me.

But... No.


He's not my fucking angel.

He's not my brother.

He's not my a

Knothole Times, Morning Edition

Local Freedom Fighter sacrifices self to save brother

Miles "Tails" Prower was buried with full millitary honors yesterday. The young mobian, a member of the resistance group "Knothole Freedom Fighters" was fighting roboticized soldiers in an unnamed area Tuesday when a grenade landed near him and several other soldiers. The grenade is thought to would have killed all if Prower had not used his body to seal off the grenade by falling on it. He was 15 at the time of death.

End article.

some bullshit by radio interference that you shouldn't read, ever ~ 2009