A/N: This story here holds the title of 'The Most Depressing Thing I Have Ever Written'. Back in early September 2008 I was reading a few articles on Sonic and, obviously, got pretty upset and churned this out. what you might not know, however, is that straight afterwards I read a blog post by one of my friends that seemed to say that she hated me (she didn't at all; I just read it the wrong way). After that I was struck with a very severe depression until the morning after. I don't think I would've been nearly as distraught, however, if I hadn't written this before.

So it literally is 'The Most Depressing Thing I Have Ever Written' - because it did the impossible and actually depressed me as well. Even now, any time I glance over this, tears keep threatening to fall.

This piece of writing is also when I started to establish my own interpretation of Sonic's personality and motives, which basically happened by taking the line "Just smile" from Sonic 06 to its emotional conclusion. That's possibly the oddest thing I've ever done, but it works quite well and I'm pretty proud of it.

He'd just heard the news.

A dejected-looking blue hedgehog sat outside the house, his large hands holding his equally large head. His red shoes had been kicked off and thrown in a dustbin three miles down the street. His gloves, torn. A coat thrown over his shoulders in a moment of false sympathy, before the door had slammed in his face. A note pinned to his jacket, stating that he was nameless and homeless and not to be taken home 'lest he poison you too'.

And the passing people still asked why he was crying? The people still prodding him with sticks, the child yelling, "Is he dead, mommy? Is he dead?" and the mother answering yes then dragging her child away because she had read the note?

Three reasons in particular. One, because it was kept from him for all this time. Two, because it had only contradicted everything he had been told the past nine years. Three, because it was about HIM.

The blue hedgehog dug his nails into the sides of his head, drawing his own blood. It was painless.

Totally painless. He didn't even exist now to feel pain. If nobody wanted him, if nobody smiled... he couldn't exist. That was the way things worked around here.

As good as dead, and nobody was to ever come near him again. The way everybody else wanted it to be.

It wasn't his fault. If only they'd let him die earlier, if only they'd let him leave the party when all was good! If only... if only saying the words 'if only' would turn back the clock, change everything to the way he wanted it to be!

Because then, people would remember him fondly instead of hating him.

Then, from across the road, a single man, only just smaller than the hedgehog, walked over in the cold and the snow. There was a bag on his back, richly embroidered with shining gold star patterns. The clothes he was wearing must have cost a fortune - a costume made of a material that was light and stretchy, yet thick enough for the most terrible of weathers. He had a well-cared-for moustache and a red hat on his head. Initialled.

He approached with a hand. The hedgehog slapped it away.

The man had all the luck in the world, had the best family, the best house, made everybody smile no matter what he did, so why spoil his life now? Why go with him and 'poison' him?

The man simply held the hand out again.

The hedgehog glared up at him, then gestured to the shoes in the dustbin. The message was clear. He'd never run again. He didn't need to anymore.

He'd loved running. He'd loved racing around in the enermous back garden with his cute fox friend the first day they'd met. Back when all was looking good and hopeful and the sun shone down on their house. The house they'd used to live in, the big one just a few blocks away. He'd loved the sun, the breeze, the plants, the animals. He'd loved everything.

There was nothing to love now. There was no garden, no grass, no animals. No sun, so the previously cool breeze now chilled him to the bone. The big house had been replaced by a small slum, the people inside working as hard as they could to just make a small bit of money to put food on the table.

Even that cute fox friend was gone. Nobody wanted him, so he had been abandoned outside the house, left to wander until he had one day been discovered dead under the snow. Much like his other friends, until it had been just him.

And now he was outside too? It was true, nobody had liked him in his own house. The only people who had liked him were now gone, thrown aside just like him.

If nobody liked him, he had no home. If he had no home, he had no garden. If he had no garden, he couldn't run. Because there was no room for him to run.

The man came from one of the good places. One of the big houses with the warm fireplace and the big garden in which the sun always shone and the people that all loved him despite anything and took care of him. He came from a family who knew how to look after their children and always made them comfortable. They always had a place to stay.

The hedgehog had a place to stay once, but for a long time now had been darting between homes, looking for somewhere permanent.

Nobody had liked him, no matter where he went.

And when nobody liked somebody here, the somebody was normally destroyed. No point in having something nobody liked in this world, was there? That didn't get you any money here. Nobody would even pay you to go away. And you needed your money to buy you food and produce more work, which got you money again, so the cycle could continue.

The man put down his bag and pulled something out of it. A gold star, just like the ones embroidered on the bag. Maybe... an offering of hope? He had a good family, who would treat him right. Maybe they could take him in, help him back on his feet?

The star was knocked aside. Why did this man continue to try? Nobody wanted him. He was dead anyway. It was like the cat dragging in a dead bird.

In fact, nearly exactly the same. He'd be dead from the cold before he even crossed the road. If he lingered here, on the doorstep, still in people's memory, then he had time. Time to live, just to hope that maybe they'd all smile again.

The man offered that. A smile. If just one person smiled, that would keep him alive. He promised that if he came with him, then he could make that one person smile.

But it was useless, the hedgehog suddenly argued back. Nobody wanted him, nobody had ever really liked him. The people who had said they liked him had turned on him. And his own family had abandoned him. They'd lied to him for years, told him everything was okay, that people still liked him. They'd never told him that they were lacking in money, or that people were beginning to stop smiling. They hadn't even mentioned about his best friend dead in the snow until some time after it had happened!

He had only lived to see people smile, and nobody was smiling. He was dead, there was no point in taking him. Nobody would be able to revive him, not even this man's family. The family that took such good care of everybody. They'd tried it already and look at him now, alone in the cold, every one of his friends dead, nowhere to go and a warning placed upon his own body not to pick him up ever again!

And he was now hating it. He hated them all. His own family, for lying to him. The people of the world, for never smiling, not even in remembrance of the old days. The people in the other families who lived so happily while his own always struggled to survive. His own parents for leaving him with that family!

The man standing before him. He hated him too. How come he had all the luck? How come he got everything? How come everybody smiled at him? It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair!

And it was too late to offer a hand and a home. It was all over. All the failures of their family that stemmed from that one single mistake of cancelling that one game that would have secured their fate forever... they'd all sunk in, and now nobody smiled.

And if nobody smiled and nobody liked him, then he was dead!

The last friend he'd had left, his black duplicate, had given him something when he'd been thrown away. That last gift before he had walked away, proud as ever, into the snowstorm to never return. The present he'd been told to hide because, if somebody had found it, then he would be dead even quicker, and there'd be no hope for him.

He took it out now.

He hated everybody and everybody hated him. How could anybody want him? How could he make anybody smile now?

All his dreams were dead, his friends were dead, he was dead! And his family would die too! They'd pay for everything they'd done to him!

He warned the man to leave. He warned him to go, otherwise he'd be dead too. Only not in the metaphorical sense.

The man pleaded no. The hedgehog scoffed. What, stick around? There was no point, he was already dead! The man had won and he had lost, end of story! He wasn't sticking around to see the man lord it over him! Because then he'd kill the man, and nobody in the world would be happy!

And he only wanted people to smile... so he'd only make it worse if he killed the lucky one everybody liked along with him!

This would make the world happy, right? Of course it would. Nobody wanted him, they'd be glad to see him go! Why stick around any longer? Nobody was going to smile if he stayed!

The gunshot rang out loudly across the street. The weapon dropped from the half-gloved hand, The shivering blue hedgehog fell slowly to the floor. He'd held the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger at such a speed, it was no wonder he used to be the fastest thing alive.

He thought he saw people smile cruelly at him, but he was dead before he could really discern their faces.

The man stayed for a while, sitting in the snow by the body, then walked back to his house in the cold, his bag still open. The one thing he'd ever say about this day, every time he was asked afterwards, was that he knew the truth. That Sonic hadn't killed himself.

Everybody else had.