(A fashionably villainous Brit stumbles upon a blonde teen with no memories.)
The anniversary was last week... It never really got easier. Sure, he could sometimes feel so numb that his pain didn't register, but that didn't make things any better.
This anniversary had not been a numb day. In fact, his pain was just as strong today.
There was no telling how long this would last. He couldn't allow himself to spiral into despair. Not again.
He needed some air, something to clear his head.
Donning his helmet and mounting his trusty Vespa, Mad Mod took to the road. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He didn’t really care. He just needed to get away.
The sound of his motor and the wind rushing past him became a white noise of sorts. It gave him a sense of calm, trance breaking only when he heard a car horn or had to pause at a stoplight. This only prompted him to keep going.
The further the Brit traveled, the longer the trance lasted. Fewer and fewer cars passed him, traffic lights becoming a thing of the past, and there was nary a pedestrian.
The trance was ultimately broken by the increasing roughness of the road… or lack thereof.
By the time he’d stopped, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and purple.
As he dismounted his Vespa, Mod stumbled a bit, realizing just how long he’d been driving. His legs were stiff and his rear was sore. He’d need to stand a while before he even thought about driving back.
Deciding to stretch his legs, he started walking.
As he walked, he took in the scenery, admiring the view of nature in such an untouched state.
“You would ‘ave loved this…” Mod broke his silence for the first time in hours, smiling wistfully at the sky. “It’s so pretty and clear. Not often we got that in London, uh?”
He took in a deep breath of the clean fresh air. A little brisk as the day was ending, just enough to make him feel truly alive.
“Haven’t been there in… blimey… over a decade now. Sure, I feel ‘omesick from time to time, but that feeling will never be remedied without you there. You truly were the heart to my home.”
A light sigh.
“...Do you ever wonder wot it might ‘ave been like… to grow old together? I mean,” he chuckled, “we weren’t exactly young when all this happened, but, grow older together, perhaps?
A happy healthy family. You, me, and little Jubilee. Perhaps we would ‘ave given her a sibling someday?”
He chuckled.
“Probably not. Was ‘ard enough to make one child at our age. It’s not like we were getting any younger.”
His smile fell as his gaze drifted to his feet.
“Well, now I am… I ‘ope you aren’t too disappointed in me,” his gaze returned to the sky. “I know you wouldn’t be proud of my villainous acts… but I do ‘ave my rules! No murder, no permanent brain damage, no maiming… I would never do something truly evil.”
Mad Mod let out a large sigh.
“That doesn’t excuse anything... but I only do these things to keep me sane! If I lose my mind, my memories, I might lose you. All of you.”
Another gaze at the sky.
“I know I’m talking to you right now. At least, I hope I am. But I can’t be sure. I can never be sure. If my memories are all that is left of you, I refuse to let them go. I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was a brief pause before the Brit continued.
“I’ll just assume you do. Let’s talk about something else.”
He looked around at his surroundings.
“I’m almost at a forest. Or woods. Or perhaps a thicket. I can’t claim to know the classification of tree groups. Wotever it may be, lets take a look, shall we?”
His legs carried him further still, ultimately taking the Brit through the trees and shrubbery. Under the little bit of sunlight that remained, he was able to see the various shades of green, as well as the little pops of color in the form of flowers.
Mad Mod continued to talk as he made his way a bit deeper into the forest, deep enough to see the plants and wildlife, but shallow enough to see the way out. The topics jumped from the beauty of his surroundings to the animals he spotted to the pets he once owned and on and on.
His voice was growing hoarse as he made it to the memories he’d shared with his loved ones. Either he was losing his voice from talking so much or swallowing the lump in his throat was making his voice crack.
Turned out it was both.
Despite his efforts, the tears came once more. He found himself crying silently, barely even noticing the light drizzle that had begun.
He should head home.
As he started to make his way to his Vespa, he heard something that shocked him out of his sorrow. It wasn’t thunder, nor was it wind.
It was a voice. And not his own.
