Well, this is my collection of oneshots. I've wanted one for a while, and so here it is. This first one isn't exactly a traditional Bionicle fanfic, but all the same I think you'll enjoy it. Unless you never bought the sets, or indeed made things out of them, in which case you won't. But oh well... Hopefully I'll add more when I write them, and this should include some holiday ones. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bionicle, but all OCs are mine. (Did I really need the last part for this one?)

EDIT: Wow, this seemed a lot longer on Microsoft Word...

The First One

What is my purpose? It is a question I have asked myself before, but once again there is no answer. I am an empty shell, waiting to be filled with the life of another, never my own. I will be Tahu, or Lewa, or some other hero. Or villain. Though I doubt I will be so lucky to be any such thing. I am horrible mutation, a first step to greater things. The forgotten one. The one they're not proud of. The one they might drag up, years later, having gone through many more, better, loved. No tears will be shed over my body as it is broken, no memories will surface when they find the last remnants of my being, a limb or perhaps even my face. I was the first to wear that mask on the faces of my more famous family. But none will remember me. Not that I am worth wasting memory on. I am nothing special. If I dared present myself as even worth seeing the light of day, I have no doubt I would be ridiculed as a shadow of some mightier being that preceded even me. I was your first born, ignored for the younger ones who were more talented than I. My parts were all worn by just one before me, and I am almost certain they will return, the lucky ones. I watched you and my siblings grow, through the ever rising tide of bits and pieces, as I sank ever further down to the bottom, abandoned. And I watch you create other soles like me, but then breathe life into them, give them hope. I was not so lucky. Did I even have a name? It is so hard to remember now... A small part of me still feels my pieces go on to greater things, while my spirit floats somewhere in the back of your mind, clinging on to existence because your mind is grand enough to find some small space for me, even though as years go by there is less and less. Perhaps my place will be taken by another, pretending to be me. Perhaps not. I pray this not to be the case. I was the first forgotten form, but not the last. But unlike most of them, I am the shameful first flurry, the original spark, the first footstep. The roots they'd rather forget. Everyone began with me, but no one will admit to me. They wish to live their delusion that they came onto the scene as gods, looked up to by the mere mortals who still may remember me. Who do they kid? Many people apparently. But everyone started with me. Those who claim otherwise are liars, nothing more. I hope that these last moments of mine are remembered, and that perhaps one day you will smile fondly at the memory of my twisted form, which you once loved so dear, which you once proclaimed as the most beautiful thing in creation. Perhaps you will look at your current pet, and see my spirit live on in them. If I'm lucky. Perhaps I have been lost. But now, I know I am forsaken, no more. Goodbye old friend. Because I know you will forget me. Or remember me with anger because this stubborn link to your early days, when you looked up to people like you are now, remains in the back of your mind. But despite this, I still watch you and your children fondly, and I feel proud of you as I see what you have accomplished. It is too much to ask of you to remember me, or even care for this lament. But I just wanted to tell you, that's all. I'd do anything for one last day with you, but I don't expect I'll get it. So cheerio, farewell, or perhaps au revoir. Though when you knew me, you weren't too good at French, were you? But I must stop this reminiscence, for you are not the child you were when you knew me, not any more. So I'll just fade from your life now, and watch from the back. You'll never see me, but I'll always be there, as you grow older. As you finally pass on the art, and my spirit, to a new generation. And they begin the cycle anew, with their own first creation.