I remember little things about my sister.

Like that she loved going to rock concerts. She managed to sneak into a lot of over-age shows because of Dad's connections. She was pretty enough that she'd be summoned backstage almost every single time. I know this because she took me to a couple of shows with her and I used to have to sit at one of the tables and wait for her. I'd watch the waitresses make their ways around the club collecting empty bottles from the floor. I'd watch the stage guys take apart all the equipment. I'd watch all this while she was backstage. She was so beautiful. I wanted to be just like her.

There are other things about my sister that I remember. I remember that her favourite colour was green. Like her eyes. I remember that she had great big green eyes like a cat's. And she had a little mouth like a red ribbon tied in a bow. There's a lot of other stuff I remember, too. But I won't bore you with the details.

Of course, I'd certainly know her if I saw her again. I hear stories about how she hasn't changed since the accident. I hope this is true. It wasn't fair what happened to her. The best years of her life and she missed them. I hope she's living a new life. Happy. With a husband maybe. And some kids.

It's weird to think that I may see her soon and she will be younger than me. She was always the big sister. I always looked up to her. I wonder sometimes if I should even be spending all this money to find her. I thought originally that she would want to know that she had some family. So that she wouldn't feel like she was completely alone in the universe. But I've heard that she may not have recovered any memories of life before the accident. Am I just brewing trouble by trying to contact her? I want her to meet my children. My grandchildren.

I want her to know what became of us.

* * *

Laid here

With the advertising sliding past my eyes

Like cartoons from other people's lives

I start to wonder

What it takes to be a man

Well I learned to drink

And I learned to smoke

And I learned to tell a dirty joke

If that's all there is then there's no point for me

So please can I just why we're alive?

`Cos all that you do seems such a waste of time

And if you hang around too long

You'll be a man

Your car can get up to a hundred and ten

You've nowhere to go but you'll go there again

And nothing ever makes no difference

To a man

The water rose and he inhaled the steam deeply. He shouldn't really be taking a bath but he figured it was probably time to change the dressing on his wounds. The gauze was completely solid with dried blood but underneath everything was moist and tender. Skin peeling back and stitches pulled to their extent. A couple of them had popped as he removed the bandages. This was probably a bad idea altogether but he had never been one to question his actions.

He eased himself into the steaming water, wincing as the water ran in and out of his sores. Scalding and turning his skin red almost immediately. But he figured this was a good and cleansing pain. He reached across and picked up his razor from the chair he had set by the bathtub that also had a cigarette, his lighter, and a towel sitting on it. He splashed some water at his face with his free hand and dragged the razor along his jawline. This was sort of nice. No wonder Faye was always in here.

Again. Thinking about her.

The razor slipped out of his grasp and sank to the bottom of the tub. He cursed Faye's name as his hand dipped into the water and felt along the floor of the tub for the lost razor.


He found it.

He looked carefully at the palm of his hand that had landed smack on top of the stupid fucking thing. He stared at it for a few seconds until a tiny spot of red grew so that he could see it. He had seen enough of his blood this past little while to last him a lifetime but...


Suddenly he completely broke down. He threw the razor to the floor, tilted his head back against the lip of the tub and howled. He felt tears stinging his eyes and crushed his hands against them. He sunk down below the water and thought about drowning himself. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling through the distorted view the grey water created for him. This is how things should have looked all the time now that she was gone. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why wasn't he dead yet? This wasn't fucking fair.

Do you hear me? This isn't fucking fair.

And Faye. Faye was the cruellest bit. She wasn't a bad person. But she wasn't the right person. In this story she isn't the one who is supposed to be taking her place. I'm supposed to be dead. That's how this story was supposed to end. With me dying and at peace and possibly sitting up on a fucking cloud with little wings and a fucking harp and Julia sitting beside me. That's how this story was supposed to end. I'm not supposed to be fucking in love with ----

Oh, shit.

***I don't own Cowboy Bebop and I don't own the lyrics from Pulp's 'I'm a Man'