So my first ever Red Dead fanfic! Not going to lie but it will probably be my only. I played Undead Nightmare again recently and somehow this just came to mind! I love Bonnie and the idea of Bonnie and John together. Of course I could have written a story with Jack and Abigail just not existing but I didn't because that was the whole point of both games was it not? To save and be reunited with his family? I just never really saw any chemistry between John and Abigail. She's gone the whole game and when we are introduced to her she just seems to be a bit ungrateful...and the same goes for Jack. I hated the ending(s) and this is my way to deal. If you like Jack and Abigail then I suggest you move on to another fic...THEY DIE! It's a bit too fluffy and John is unrealistically eloquent and perhaps gets over them too easily but...whatever. It's my fic and John and Bonnie belong together! No action for those who are looking. A lot of what he feels and what she does so...yeah. Forgive me for my versions of them. They are OOC and many facts may not vibe with the game. Hope you enjoy! If you don't like it, you can't say I didn't warn you of what lies ahead...

P.S. Undead Nightmare may have been the inspiration but in this story it never happened just so you know. And all my work is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own...

Oooo..DISCLAIMER: If they were actually mine Abigail would have run off with a man as dour as she is and John would have realized that Bonnie complemented him perfectly...and they would have a few kids or whatever in a final cutscene, living the dream!

AN2: March 12, 2014: I've edited the story once again. Nothing of significance has changed, just fixed some grammatical errors that were bugging me on a recent reread of this story and added maybe three sentences...

They were dead and gone. John tried to see past the tears in his eyes, threatening to fall. He blinked angrily. He had never cried in his life and he wasn't about to start now. He allowed himself to wipe the back of his arm across his eyes and forehead. To get rid of the accumulated sweat, that was all. He was digging a grave and he'd been at it for hours. It was already past dark and the wind was howling ominously above his head. He ignored the sound of thunder getting louder with every minute. He needed to get this grave dug, whether it killed him or not. He had a sharp desire for death right then. All he had fought for was gone. All he knew was gone. Abigail and Jack were gone. Three days laying in the cold of his underground cellar, dead from the flu. So simple and so completely benign a death, when there had been so many chances for them to die from a bullet to the head. They had lived in danger so long and then for them to die like this. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The tears would not come now. He had let himself have one moment of weakness, one moment of self-betrayal. Sure he'd loved them, only a monster wouldn't love his wife and child. But they were gone and he was left alone. Barely a year since he had returned home. The crops had just started to yield profit. He hadn't had to hunt in over a month. The income from their crops and their cattle wasn't much but it was honest and they had gotten by, with money saved up for a tough season. Jack and him had just started getting along. Jack had taken to ranching with an eagerness and skill that did John proud. The boy had grown like a shoot in the last year, his shoulders broadening and his voice deepening. He was already only a couple inches shorter than John at 15. He would be big when he grew up. He wouldabeen big when he grew up, John corrected himself angrily. Now he would be nothing but another corpse rotting in a cold grave.

With renewed vigor, fueled by pain and anger, John continued digging. His shoulders burned and his eyes stung but he continued on. No one was going to be able to rob their graves. He was burying them with their most treasured possessions and he was gonna make damn sure no one could take it from them. The thunder started to crash above his head and the first drops splattered heavy onto his shoulders. John ignored them. He ignored the ache that had settled in his bones at the chill of the night air. He wasn't young anymore but he was still strong, and determined as hell. Barely a half hour later the storm had hit his farm hard, the skies opening and pouring onto him. He only smiled grimly as he sloshed in knee-deep water. It was useless to keep digging. The water was filling up the grave too fast, faster than he could dig. Still he chucked mud high above his head and grunted as most fell back down on his head. The thunder boomed and seemed to tell him to give up. Maybe it was time. He looked up and grunted in surprise. He'd wanted a grave at least six feet deep, enough of a deterrent to keep greedy grave diggers away. The grave was at least two feet deeper and wide enough to fit his wife and Jack side by side comfortably. He'd more than accomplished his goal, and probably damned himself in the process. The water had reached his upper thighs now and with the soil wet he wouldn't be able to get a foothold to climb out. Unless the rain stopped miraculously he was gonna drown in the grave he'd dug. Course the thought had been at the back of his mind all night. Making ithisgrave, as much as it was Abigail's and Jack's. But now it would be his and his alone, unless someone came along and was kind enough to throw his family in with him, of course, after they had taken all his family's items of worth.

John laughed at his predicament. Death wasn't something he feared anymore, not after that near miss he'd had last year with the two men who'd set out to kill him after he'd killed so many for them. They'd left him for dead and he'd been happy for it. His little family would have been left alone and Abigail had more than enough spirit and smarts to keep her and Jack well looked after. In truth it had almost been a relief to think that he was gonna die. All he had known was killing and thieving and bounty-hunting. This past year he'd adjusted surprisingly well but at that moment, lying surrounded in a pool of his own blood. John had thought to himself: 'well this is it, and I'm glad'. He'd thought of Jack and Abigail with a measure of content. They would do fine. His only regret, his one secret regret, would be never seeing Bonnie MacFarlane again. The thought had surprised him. So that was the way that his mind had been going, and all without him knowing. Bonnie MacFarlane. He wondered if the freckles on her face covered her entire body. And wasn't that an interesting thought to die to. He'd closed his eyes with her image in his mind and a smile on his face.

That was until he woke up in a burning pit of hell. His entire body had screamed at him. He didn't remember much of the next few days after his wake from death but the pain was the clearest memory he had; that and Bonnie's voice, soothing him. He'd reached out to her instinctively and he was sure that he'd clenched her hand hard enough to fracture some bones. She hadn't complained. In fact her hand had clenched his back with just as much desperation. Her voice had brought him back from the pain, from the fear he hid so well. She'd stayed with his family for a week, along with her father Drew MacFarlane. Abigail had stayed by his side at every moment and after those first confused moments when he'd awakened it was her hand he held. He made sure to be gentle with her hand. But he never did feel that shock he had felt in those few minutes he had clenched Bonnie's hand. In the too-short time that Bonnie had stayed with him they never touched skin to skin again. She barely spoke a word to him beyond the occasional query as to how he was feeling. He wondered if he had imagined the desperation of her grip and the terror in her voice as she called his name. John wondered if he had imagined when she had begged him to come back to her. She would wait. He had tried to brush aside his own whispered answer, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "I'm here, Bonnie" The first and last time he'd called her by her first name.

Whatever the truth of those half-remembered moments, they never brought them up again. She was as cheerful as ever, gently teasing him about the last time she'd found him near-death. And he was as much of a gentleman as he knew how to be, sticking with calling her Miss MacFarlane and thanking her for all her care. She'd brushed him off but he had seen her pleased blush and he had wondered at the racing of his own pulse. Time had moved too fast, and too soon she had been preparing to leave. John had stood at the doorway watching her as she readying her horse. Abigail and Jack had left to town that morning and had already said their goodbyes. Her father had ridden ahead; a pressing matter at their own ranch had been left alone too long already. She mounted her horse and he marveled at her grace. Abigail had never been much good at horse riding despite the years of necessity. Bonnie rode a horse like they were some mythical hybrid of woman and beast and John had always admired that. He told himself to merely answer her wave goodbye with one of his own and turn back into the house but something stopped him. Maybe it was the defeated slope of her shoulders or the way she tilted her head back and let the sun's rays warm her face, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had to touch her one more time.

"Hold up, Miss MacFarlane." He'd jogged over, hobbling as fast as his aching limbs would let him. She'd raised a disapproving eyebrow at him but waited for him patiently.

He'd traveled the ten or so feet to her side and his chest was heaving by the time he met her and took the reins from her hand with a shaking hand.

"Stubborn man, you should be in bed John. What was so god damn important that you had to chase after me? I would have waited if you had to crawl." Nothing was mentioned about coming to him rather than him going to her but he understood. Mirth lightened the tight corners of her mouth and he found himself awkward under her studied gaze. "I'm waiting, John?" Her blush made his mouth turn up even as he coughed awkwardly at the memory her words brought.

He made sure to phrase his words carefully, feeling that one wrong step and she would shy and run like some wild horse. "Miss MacFarlane, I just wanted to thank you."

Her eyes had dimmed, losing some of the mirth and nervous energy he had seen. He regretted the loss immediately. "You already thanked me so many times John. And I already told you that I don't need it. That's what friends do for each other."

His gaze had gone to hers sharply. "Friends?"

Her own eyes seemed to shy away from his gaze. "Of course, John. We've helped each other these last few months, saved each other's lives even. What would we be then, other than friends? Unless you don't consider me…" Her voice trailed off awkwardly and she looked ready to spit fire and punch him…or cry.

John reacted instinctively. He grabbed her hand and jolted at the same energy that coursed through his arm, his entire being. Still he made sure to hold on, even as her hand tried to jerk away. "You misunderstand me, Miss MacFarlane. I meant only that I would be surprised you would want to claim a friend like me, but glad."

Her hand relaxed in his and she smiled softly. "Of course."

Her smile made his hand tighten and it was an unbearable reminder of all that would remain unsaid. There was too much in the way. He had Abigail and Jack and he would never leave them and she knew that. He would never want to leave them. He might not love Abigail or lust for her with as much passion as he had in his youth but he still regarded her with affection and desire and he would never hurt her. He regretted the understanding nod Bonnie gave him and wished for her a love that would make her happy. It wasn't him. He damned them both with his next words.

"Maybe in another life, Bonnie."

She pulled her hand from his sharply and turned her head. He thought she was angry. When he heard her voice waver, he knew that he had hurt her.

"You should never have said that, Mr. Marston. We both know what is, in this life and in any other. I have to go."

His hand fell limp at his side at the certainty in her words, at her determination to push him away. He wanted to grab her back, to hold her to him, to follow her. Instead he forced himself to smile with forced mirth.

"It was good to see you Miss MacFarlane. I guess you should be going before your father wonders where you are."

She turned back to him, the trace of tears he had heard in her voice gone from her eyes. "Yes it was good to see you. You should…you should bring Abigail and Jack to the ranch sometime. I sure could use your help once and awhile." They both knew that that would never happen. "I really better go. Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye, Bonnie." Four times he had spoken her name. And this would be the last. He knew that when she said goodbye, she had meant it. He didn't blame her. He wanted her to move on. And how could she, if he remained a presence in her life?

She turned her horse in the direction of her ranch, far to the south and urged her horse into a fast gallop without so much as a glance behind. John remained watching her departure long after the dust had settled. Abigail found him there an hour later when she returned. She looked down the road and back at him with a grim set to her mouth but she didn't say anything as she helped him to the house. Jack looked with concern between the troubled gazes of his parents but shrugged his shoulders. Adult problems were hard enough for him to grasp and easy enough to ignore.

John remained faithful to Abigail for all the years of their marriage and he had never once thought of straying, until Bonnie. So Abigail forgave him and much went back to normal. Soon Jack and Abigail seemed to forget Bonnie entirely. John remained silent about his thoughts.

And now he was close to death again and once again Bonnie was on his mind. As the water climbed to his waist he made a decision. He would not stall the inevitable. He closed his eyes and started to sit down. The water was already deep enough that it would cover the top of his head. His feet had already sunk so far he was sure it would be an easy enough thing to drown. Mud covered his clothes and weighed him down. Sitting would be a relief.

"John? John, what are you doing?"

He had already dropped to his knees and water dipped into his nose and made him sputter. He opened his mouth in surprise and struggled to his feet as he did his best to cough out the mud and water that slid down his throat and choked him.

"Mi-Miss MacFarlane. What are you doing here?" His teeth were chattering so hard he had a hard time talking.

"John we need to get you out of there, before you drown." He could hear the panic in her voice and he looked up and tried to wipe enough mud out of his eyes to see her. She was soaked and wearing her familiar vest and pant-skirt combo, which made him want to laugh, or cry. She looked exactly the same, just waterlogged and worried. He should be more worried he realized. The water had risen almost to his chest and he was just standing there staring dumbly at Bonnie. He couldn't grasp the fact that she was there, standing above him with a panicked expression.

She disappeared from his view and he called her name. "Miss MacFarlane?"

Her answer was almost drowned out by the wind and rain and thunder. "Don't worry John. I'm getting a rope to pull you out!"

A moment later he heard her cursing, which she rarely did and her horse whinnying in fright. A rope was thrown down and hit the water beside him. He reached it and tried to grasp it firmly. It was wet and heavy and he was shivering so bad his hands were shaking.

"Can you tie it around you?" Her voice was urgent and he could hear her fear.

John would try and do this for her. He wrapped it around him and pulled the ends around each other. His hands shook as he tried to knot it and tighten it to knot it again. Finally he was able to signal that he was good to go. Bonnie nodded and moved out of sight again. He heard nickering and whinnies and felt the pull on his waist as the horse began to move. He struggled and shook and cursed as the horse attempted to pull him out of the mess of the grave. He dug his fingers into the wall of mud, desperate to find a hold. His feet sunk and stuck and were pulled out as the horse dragged him out. The process repeated as his eyes filled with mud and his mouth and nose dug into the side of the wall. He held his breath and wondered how much longer he could last. Bonnie was trying to save him. He was certain he might suffocate before she could. The horse must have been younger or a mare and not as strong. A few times he was dropped down as the horse slid back. He swallowed some mud, trying to breathe in air and was finally pulled out gasping. He collapsed on the ground and rolled onto his stomach, his body heaving in an attempt to vomit out the mud. Bonnie was there in a moment, clapping him hard on the back and yelling at him to breathe.

Finally he choked most of it out and rolled on his side gasping. Bonnie seemed ready to collapse beside him but instead she tugged at his arm and urged him to get up. He shook his head, indicating he needed a moment so she began to work on the rope he had tightened painfully around his waist. By now she was as soaked as he was and her hands were shaking just as hard.

"Mi-Miss MacFarlane…Th-There's a knife in my boot, I-I think"

She pulled back and pulled his pant leg up. Her fingers were beginning to ache from the cold but she managed to slip them into the tight space between his boot and leg. Her fingers searched and grasped the knife and slowly she tugged it out. It was a painstaking process as her fingers slipped a couple times and she had a hard time holding onto the knife. Once it was out of his boot she began to saw at the rope. It was thick and originally used as a lasso before she'd pulled it apart due to it's general wear and tear. The rope was in her horse's saddle bag for the simple reason that she had forgotten to take it out. She was glad it was an old rope. When wet it was harder to cut but it was also thinner as it had begun to unravel. She was surprised and thankful that it had held together long enough to get John out of the hole he was digging.

When he was free Bonnie helped John to his feet with some difficulty. He was heavy and exhausted. She moved towards the house and tried to ignore the stitch in her side. John followed her lead for the first few feet and then stopped. She tried to tug him forward but he was immovable. "John?"

"I have to bu-bury them."

Her breath caught and she almost cried at the thought of Jack and Abigail's shroud-covered bodies, lying so innocuous on the front porch. She'd heard of the flu that had been moving from town to town, leaving too many deaths in its wake. A doctor had passed through her ranch and he'd mentioned Abigail and Jack in passing merely as a topic of conversation. He'd been particularly saddened by Jack's death seeing as he was so young and strong. Bonnie's father had barely been able to restrain her from rushing out the door. He'd convinced her to wait until she'd at least dressed warmly in the chilled weather. She was infinitely grateful that she'd arrived in time. But looking at John now, her heart sank, both at the determination in his voice and the pain she sensed hidden behind his words. She loved him, that she could never deny, and it hurt to know that he held onto them so intensely. He felt something for her, she knew he did. But with the loss of the only family he had ever known it was going to be a long and difficult road to try and build something between them with Jack and Abigail's deaths hanging between them. She mourned the loss of Jack, so bright and eager and she even felt anguish at the loss of Abigail, so strong and crass. Abigail had known John much longer than she had and she had helped to shape him into the man he was. Bonnie would be forever grateful, but that jealous, selfish side she tried to bury deep was glad she was gone. She could never be happy at her death, but she was glad she was no longer with John. Abigail was always going to be the woman that kept John from her and probably deserved him a lot more. She had never so much as gloated at the knowledge that Bonnie loved her husband and that she would never have him. She was a good woman, if a little rough in language and manners. Abigail Marston would never be accused of being a lady, and thankfully neither would Bonnie. She owed Abigail for all her hospitality and her tolerance of Bonnie's feelings. Laying her to rest seemed to be the only way Bonnie was capable of beginning to repay her.

"John, I'm so sorry, but I don't think that we're capable of burying them in this weather. All the rain and the ground so wet. You're barely standing."

John gripped her arm so hard she winced. She dared to look at him and shivered at his eyes. They were dark and filled with pain and anger. He stared back at her and yet seemed not to see her. "I have to bury them. Now."

Bonnie nodded mutely, all resistance gone. They were both in danger of hypothermia setting in but she would not leave him now, not when she had saved him so many times from his death.

They moved towards the front steps and the shrouded bodies protected thus far from most of the rain. The porch overhang was leaking but only in certain spots and none of them situated directly above the bodies. Bonnie wondered for a moment how they would be able to carry them. John was clearly not at his best, when slinging bodies over his shoulder would have been no issue. She might not have the experience of bounty hunting that he had, but she had been forced to wrestle cattle to the ground on occasion and ranch work did not favor the weak. However she was fighting exhaustion and the task seemed daunting.

"John…how are we…?"

"Call your mare over here." His tone was curt and impatient. Bonnie tried not to be hurt by it. He was grieving the only way he knew how.

Somehow they managed to get both bodies on the mare. She shied a few times but it wasn't the first time she had carried a body and it might not be the last. John was breathing heavily by now and his cough had gotten more pronounced from the physical exertion. He was bent over, his hands braced on his thighs as he coughed. Bonnie patted his back and spoke to him softly, like she would to a jittery horse or wounded animal. John didn't seem to hear her but his coughing slowed and he grabbed the mare's reins. The rain had surprisingly slowed, if not stopped. Bonnie wondered at John's intent. He was determined to bury them but to bury them he would have to put them in the hole that was still filled with water. Would they float, she wondered fleetingly and knew she would be damned for the thought.

He moved towards the hole he had dug with an expression that could have frightened her if she hadn't known him. He looked ready to kill. Maybe it was foolish of her but she really wanted to comfort him in that moment. He was hurting and she doubted that he had let himself cry. Anger would always be his fall-back. Bonnie followed him and spoke softly to her mare to keep her calm.

They reached the hole and John seemed to realize that it was filled with water. He swore as he stared down into it.


He gestured at the bodies impatiently. "We need to put them in. We need to bury them."

She nodded and reached towards Abigail with shaking hands. She really didn't want to touch her. Not when the blasphemous feeling of relief at her absence was still fresh in her mind. Abigail deserved better than this; better than an early death, buried in a waterlogged grave. She deserved to be alive, living happily with Jack and John until she died naturally of old age. So she hesitated and John pushed her aside to reach for Abigail himself. Bonnie sighed and reached for Jack. She realized at once that he had gotten a lot heavier since she'd seen him last the year before. It hit her then that he was dead. Of course she'd known that they were dead but to face it so clearly, to notice all the changes in him since she'd seen him alive was overwhelming. He would have been a big man, strong-willed like his father and it broke her heart.

"Oh Jack." Her hand went to his hair and his face, cold skin covered in a couple of days growth of stubble. At that moment she could almost believe he was merely unconscious.

John placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. "We need to put Jack in the grave."

She blinked back her tears. "He's so young John. He didn't deserve this."

"And Abigail did?"

Bonnie gasped at the accusation, outrage warring with guilt. "John! How could you even say that? I liked Abigail. She was nice to me…even when she had reason not to be."

"So you knew she knew? About…" he cleared his throat.

Bonnie's eyes teared up as she thought of it. "Of course I knew. She told me." John's eyes widened in disbelief. "She told me she knew that I was…enamored with you. But that it was okay, because you were a good man that would never leave your family. She told me she was sorry. I cried John. I cried because I knew she was telling the truth."

"I'm sorry, Bonnie. I'm sorry you ever found me on that road and brought me home. Abigail's idea of a good man is probably not the same as yours. I would never leave them but I've killed and slaughtered and stole from many an innocent person. I reckon I don't deserve redemption or even the life that was given to me. Abigail looked past what I was because I was all she had. Because deep down she knew I would kill for her and Jack and with a life like ours, that was all the security she needed."

Bonnie placed her hand hesitantly on his shoulder. "Don't say that John. You are a good man. You made some mistakes but that doesn't mean you've deserved all the bad that has happened. You helped so many out when you didn't have to. You helped me out so many times."

John shrugged her hand off in anger and frustration. "And look where that got you. Hung up high, the life being choked right out of you. Don't try to be putting me in boots I don't belong in. I'm not a hero or saint, merely the illusion of a good man. I am what I want you to see, nothing more."

Bonnie sighed in defeat. It would take a lot of argument and bull-headedness all around before she could get John to see what she did. And now was not the time. Not when he was dead-set on blaming himself for everything that went wrong in his life. Jack and Abigail were still waiting to be buried. And the chill had begun to set deep into her bones and caused an ache that would stay with her most of the night. They both needed to get somewhere warm and dry if they wanted to avoid getting the flu that had taken Jack and Abigail's lives so suddenly.

So Bonnie set her shoulders and let herself smooth Jack's hair one more time. John seemed to realize their argument had been set aside for the time being. His haunted eyes said that this was just one more thing to blame himself about. He had sat here arguing while his son lay rotting beside him. Still he picked Jack up and dropped him as carefully as he could into the pit where his Abigail already lay. He flinched at the sound of his deadweight hitting the water. They would not be placed how he wanted but they were side by side and laid out mostly flat as far as he could tell, so deep was the water. It was all he could hope for in this weather and under these conditions.

Bonnie's quiet inquiry startled him as he stood watching them. This would be the last he saw of them. It wasn't a sight he wanted to remember. "Do you want to say some words?"

He shook his head. "Preacher was already around. Said some stuff. Abigail wasn't much for religion but she woulda wanted it that way, at least for Jack's sake. I already said my goodbye. Just want to bury them proper now. Where no one can get at them and with all that they loved."

Bonnie nodded and shifted uncertainly as John remained staring down at them. Finally he grabbed the sack of belongings that lay near the grave. He had also wanted to place these around them but now he merely dropped the dripping sack into the grave, ready to be rid of it and the memories it brought. Jack's first gun was in there, as well as Abigail's wedding veil, torn and faded lace. It had been not much more than a shotgun wedding, with Abigail already a few months along but it was still at one time a treasured memory, a happy one.

He grabbed his shovel and started to throw the mud into the pit as fast as he could. His body ached and he was cold. Maybe he was a bastard but he only wanted to bury them and then maybe drink away their memories, at least for the night. He was so heartsick at the thought of all he had fought for and lost. Was it so awful to want to forget? Bonnie was gone for a moment and he wondered if she had had enough. He wouldn't be very surprised. He had put a lot of his own problems on her shoulders. Shared too much of his anger and guilt and pain and tried hard to push her away.

Still she came back with a shovel in hand and a silent question in her eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly and she began to shovel the mud into the grave almost as fast as he did. He knew she was weary and cold but he was grateful for the help, selfish bastard that he was.

They finished as the rain stopped and the sun began to peak above the horizon. He felt a little lighter, closer to content than he had felt since they had died three days before. The clouds had long lost their angry black mass and become thin and gray and almost fluffy. He wanted to laugh at the irony of it. He wished for the forbidding black as the sky seemed to tell him that it was okay to feel something other than grief. He should be feeling more than he was. But still Bonnie seemed to feel it as well. It wasn't exactly optimism or anticipation so much as acceptance. He loved her and he couldn't help it. Abigail's death hadn't changed that. Maybe nothing could. And he would burn in hell as he thought of what the future might bring; too soon for them to be anything more than friends. She would never be his shoulder to cry on, because his tears were long gone. She would be what she had come to be: a trusted friend. She would help him past his grief and guilt and he would help her past hers. Neither one of them was perfect, or even as purely good a person as they should be and John felt he had tainted Bonnie and changed her. She was still better a person than him and he would selfishly look forward to the day that looking at her wasn't tainted by thoughts of what could have been or what might not have been. He could already see a glimpse of what would be, if he so chose.

So when the last muddy shovelful hit the mound he took a moment to say goodbye. To Jack and Abigail and the life he had expected to lead. He shoved the shovel deep into the muddy soil and sighed. He turned and Bonnie was there waiting. Guilt made him wary of the hand she held out to him. He shook his head and she nodded in understanding. Too soon. Her hand dropped and she motioned with a tilt of the head towards the house. They walked side by side, the quiet of the morning keeping them company. Yes this was a road that he didn't deserve to travel but a road he would willingly take. As long as Bonnie was there beside him.

So what did you think? Loved it? Hated it? I would love to hear either way! Reviews make me giddy, even when you tell me I have no imagination, my grammar sucks and my portrayal of above characters was weak! (Trust me I've heard it before!) Anyone that has read this PLEASE REVIEW.