Hmmm.  To avoid the pressure of making a spectacular fiftieth piece of
short fiction, I have rummaged through my archives to finally put to
rest these three UNFINISHED pieces.  I am sure that many more pieces will
never ever see finishing (including some pieces which I had chosen to
extend but have not been able to do much).

Many questions have arisen from my over three years (three years!) of
fan fiction writing - most have been about whether or not I could indeed
finish a story.  This considering the fact that my second and longest
work, my namesake, has not finished yet.

The first piece I did finish, however, was a work which came from the 
newbie list of '97 (his to Gary Kleppe, Josh [how is he?], Cindy... hey,
where are you all?) dedicated to our youngest member, Mako.  Not soon
after, the first of my short pieces came out (a post with the subject
header "Learn to Stop Reading Into Everything You Read") which, to some
surprise, was well received.

My love affair with the short form took different aspects - stories ranging
from the romantic, to the gory, to the dark and surreal, finally to the
concept stories, and the character sketches.  Admittedly, I have always
leaned towards Ranma, but I have had my share of Tenchi, SailorMoon, 
3X3 Eyes, Oh My Goddess!, Fushigi Yuugi, Please Save My Earth, GoldenBoy,
Saber Marionette J, Neon Genesis Evangelion (no, not the weird ones - those
are Mayhem's), Indiana Jones, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Verotik, The Real 
Ghostbusters, Phantom Quest, Darkstalkers, Slayers, Star Trek, and even a
bit of self-insertion.

They were not all well-received, and some passed uncommented upon.  Some
were reviled, some were sweetly applauded.

In these fifty efforts, I would be glad to say that I had learned anything.

============================================================================

[Here is the first of the three, the title track, a grim Ranma story called
"Anniversary".  I was planning to explore the folly of assumption, by
putting forth the possibility that, in fact, Ranma would not be happy with
any of his fiancees.  The fact is that none of them are perfect, and that
Ranma does not have a complete and firm idea of love.  He could well fall
into a marital trap the wrong way.]

I would like to take this off my chest.  The characters are nearly chosen
by chance, mostly by preference - they are the ones dearest to me in the
last three years.  They are, of course, Ranma and friends, who sparked from
the pen and mind of the great Rumiko Takahashi.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma woke up.

"What the - ?"  He couldn't finish the expletive as his head signalled pain
in waves.  "Oww..."

Akane looked down, worry washing over her face.  "Are you okay?"

He sat up, not a wise maneuver, but one that subtly  pushed hte point of
his health.  "Why'dya hafta hit me so hard, you - ?"  Again, the expletive
was cut off, this time by a well-placed fist.

"Dummy."  All apologies dissolved as the cloud of irritation covered
Akane's eyes.  She left the prone Ranma in the futon as noises from the
kitchen told of mayhem.


She came back as Ranma was continuing the fight - by stubbornly pressing
the sore point of the early conversation.

"Why are you packing up?"

Ranma ignored her.  "I've got to go."  He firmly pushed the bottom drawer
in place.

Akane held the soup ladle tightly.  "You can't leave."

"Akane," this time, he stood up and turned to look her in the eye, "we both
know that your food's starting to be inedible again.  You can't stand to be
around me - and I've gotten bored of teaching at the dojo."

"Well," she bristled - then bustled - then sighed.  Reopening her eyes, she
focussed her calm.  "I know, but... I know.  Ranma," she said, in that way
that tugged at him so, "you don't have to leave.  I'll get over this."

"No," he said silently, but firmly, "you won't."  He put down the backpack,
took a step forward and took her shoulders gently.  She tried not to tense
them.  "Ever since the kids left the house, you've been restless."

"But it's only for a few years," she interrupted.  "When they finish
college -"

"- they'll try to find work, lives of their own."  He let slip some of his
own distress - none of their progeny would represent the Anything Goes
School.  "And we'll be back here."

"But what about me?"  She knew it was useless to hope.  "I'll be all alone."

"You could live with Kasumi, or Nabiki," he suggested.

"No."  She hugged him fiercely, suddenly.  "I can't -"

He held her - and pulled away, two moments later.  "We can't let it go on
like this."

She held her head down.  In a whisper, a deadly whisper - she said, "who is
it?"

"What?  Who's - ?"

She stared into his eyes, her own suddenly sharp and cold.  "The other woman."

"What?"

"You're leaving me for another woman," she said.

"What?"  Ranma was flabbergasted.  "Akane -"

"Have you been seeing Ukyo?  Maybe Kodachi..."  She began circling away
from him.  "It's Shampoo, isn't it?"

"Akane," Ranma said in his firmest voice, "we haven't seen them -"

"You have."

"We," he stressed, "haven't seen Ucchan, Kodachi or Shampoo since the
wedding."

She flung her arms up.  "Fine, then, who?  Another woman in your past?  A
student?"

"Akane," Ranma started dangerously, "that's not funny."

"Isn't it?"  She began a hollow laugh, but could not muster the energy to
maintain the irony.  "How about our twenty-four years?  Was that funny to
you?"

"Akane!"  He was starting to fear for her sanity.

"I loved you!"  She wiped at tears that pooled at her cheeks and dripped on
her apron.  "I gave my life to you!  My best years!"

"You gave your life to me?"  He felt the deep burn beginning, and he did
not like it.  "It's OUR life, Akane!  We chose this life together!"  He
impulsively punched the cabinet - a drawer caved in.  "How about MY life?"

"I knew it," she sniffled, "I knew it."

"What do you know?"  The heat was still there; he paced his wife.  "What do
you know about my life, huh?  You've been that way since we first met!"

"What?!  What way?"

"Paranoid!  Too scared to know anyone else!"  He crinkled his brow - the
pain was beginning to clutch his chest.  "How could you have loved me?!"


"I did!  I thought about you all the time!" "You never CARED!"  His fists
shook, the aura already high.

"I - !"  She stopped cold.  "You NEVER loved me!"  Akane punctuated her
feelings of betrayal, accusing him with a sharp finger.

Ranma felt the wound open at the blow, and struck a counterblow.

In the twenty-odd years of marriage, and the time they were together, Ranma
had always held back, never countered her blows, never swung a punch at
her.  Until now.

Smoke came from hisn fist, a charring smell of improperly-used ki, but only
the metallic odor of blood came to his nostrils, and death.

Akane's lifeless body slid along the side of the cabinet, the unharmed top
corner smeared with blood.

"I love you..." he whispered, eyes wide open.  He saw the odd pool under
slightly graying hairs on her head.  "I love you, you idiot - I loved only
you..."

The energy of grief unbridled was enough to bathe the room in hellish black
light.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma woke up.

When he had noticed that he was, indeed, awake, he was breathing hard,
sitting up in bed staring at the darkness that was silent for years.

"Hey," Ukyo said, now also sitting up and holding him.  A moment more, and
a light bathed them.  She wiped at the cold sweat on his brow.

"Ukyo," he said, calming his heartbeat in sync with hers.  "I had this...
dream."

"A nightmare," she clarified, unconcerned with the way her hair was
bedraggled and tousled everywhere on the head of the bed.  She arranged the
sheet between them and turned her shoulders just so - all the while running
a hand through his hair.  "What was it about, sugar?"

"Akane."  The name slipped before he had full control of his tongue - he
only hoped she did not understand.

She made no movement, her silhouette rested on his on the far wall.  "It
was..."

"I heard."  She pursed her lips, closed her eyes, and cleared whatever
tempest was there.  "Ranma... it wasn't your fault..."

"No..."  Unfinished pains crawled inches into his weakened heart.  "Not
about Saffron... she, she was alive, and..." he felt his throat dry up, "we
got married, and..." Ukyo's eyes widened, noticing something, "I... killed
her."  He stared at his hands, still aghast at the rough and unburnt palms.
 "I... let go..."

Ukyo was still confused - it still sounded like he was pounding on the same
wounds.  His and hers.

"Akane was a friend," she said, running her hand from his scalp to his nape
and down his back and back up to the broad part.  "Akane was... a good
friend."

[I think Ukyo's problem was that they were better friends than lovers.  It
sometimes happens that way.]

============================================================================

[Here is the second, an untitled Neon Genesis Evangelion WAFF piece that
was to be the sample of the De-WAFF project.  Only Henry Cobb sent in his
"Future Goddess" to be played upon.  Unfortunate that I cannot find myself
reworking the project.]

Brown leaves rustled as the wind ran its sharp fingers across the trees, 
letting loose a jigsaw puzzle of dead hands.  He watched the sun stream 

down through the shifting shade.  The wind whistled keenly, through the 
branches, across his jacket, and in his ears.

He felt, before he heard, the presence that took a tenuous step backward 
into a clump of twigs and leaves.

She stood, transfixed by the fluidity of his neck, as it slowly twisted,
allowing him to peer over his shoulder and behind the tree trunk he 
leaned on.

"Class rep," he said, almost whispered.

"Su-Suzuhara-kun," Horaki Hikari shakily replied.

For heartbeats, they stayed that way, him languidly peering, her caught 
in mid-stride, holding a bento box wrapped in cloth at mid-waist.

When she blinked, he was wiping his hands on the sides of his waist.

"Guess the bell rang," he muttered.  Pushing off from the base of the
tree, he awkwardly swiped at the pieces of bark which clung to his back.

"Sorry to keep ya th-"  Touji felt her hand soften after stopping him
from standing.

"No... no rush."  And, with that, she folded into a seat beside him.

---

She let the entirety of the autumn-like weather occupy her, a concerted 
effort to widen her mood - transient, mobile, lazy, almost comfortable.

"You wond'rin' about Eva?"  He seemed loose-lipped, yet uneager to talk.
"'Bout NERV?  Can't say much.  Was only there f'r a day, in'n'out."

"No."  She shook her brown 'tails, hands and eyes never leaving the 
packed lunch on her lap.  In half-a-moment's skip, she asked in a 
careful voice, "actually, I wanted... I, uh, wonder... how's your 
sister?"

"Uh."  His mouth flapped uselessly and soundlessly for a while.  He 
frowned it closed.

"I'm sorry!"  She felt the cloth whip out of her grasp in a sudden,
stilling gust.  She turned to him, "I'm s-!"

"Aw, don't sweat it, Rep."  Touji even managed a smile.  "The doc said
she'd be back up by weekend."  He saw her brighten at this.  "Yep, she
even said she'd..."  He trailed off awkwardly.

Her grin turned unsure, and her mouth had the better of her.  "What?"

Touji shook his head, but he was already cracking into a widening smile.
"She... um, she said, she was going to give Ikari-kun a big kiss."

Hikari giggled, and he laughed.  They both stopped when she started to
blush fiercely.

He slapped his knee, and told her, "Aida and Ikari went to the hospital 
the week after the first attack, and even gave her flowers.  Liked'm so 
much, she had the nurse put'm in a vase 'n water'm."
"Better not tell Asuka..."  She made 

[Hmmmm... the trick here was that, in the De-WAFFing, Kensuke was supposed 
to be slumped over his seat in the classroom, assumed to be asleep, while 
Touji pleasantly opens the packed lunch to see Aida-kun's eyeballs in soy 
sauce.  Definitely not the way to write a WAFF story - and it was hard to
make the opening in the story so that the gory inclusions would be easy.]

============================================================================

[The third and last is something I cooked up before the most recent of the
sF i had written (have you read it yet?), which I include here because I
think that this first person perspective thing (after "The Title is the Key"
and "Song of the Villain" and, indeed, "Call to Love") wears thin upon a 

self-esteem, not to mention the reader's imagination :)  I fear that this 
is finished, and a Ranma fic, which is entitled "Abusing the Muses".]

Whose barbaric idea was it to rape the muses to gain literary
insight?  Did anyone hear of courting?

'Tis a loss, then.  I must have of my inspiration body, and
soul, for I am a true poet, mocked and ridiculed.

I would not have lost focus upon my pen, and the organ of my
imagination would not dry had I been a woman.  I would have
need only to bathe in their waters - and they say it is such
in the locker rooms.

Alas, I by my gender must be parted from them by the largest
of divides.

Can they not see that it is to them that I dedicate my words,
replenishing the resource of my own happiness?  Can they not
see that it only them that I wish to seranade with their voice?

They ask apology in their anger - they seek lapse in my course.
How could I spare their dilemma sympathy when it is evident
that the gods have made them mortal for me to achieve the purest
of worship, the most sacred of song?

It is true - their mortal forms are indeed finite, at times
unaware of their niche in the cycle.  Indeed, one was not born
of female flesh - more indication of their divinity.  They may
even be in love with each other.  I respect that - only to that
effect.

Make no mistake - they were brought each for my love, my 
protection.  I will have one, and I will have the other.

Is it not delicious irony, truly a comedy of the gods, that I
must be cursed to fail, time and again to gain their favors?
Does not the hero of the comedy fall each time to difficulty
and circumstance, in the end finally to be delivered by the
machine of the gods?

Perhaps it is not I who art hero.

A misguided antagonist, with heavensent intentions, blockading
the protagonists with his ego, and his wit, and his talent?

It is to laugh.  It is to guffaw.  It is to lose sight of breath.

How could I see it any other way, when any other way would paint
me as the idiot, the typecast self-absorbed overbear, to be 
thrown away?  How can I throw my sanity to appease another's
story, when my own story needs much of it to see conclusion?

[The trick in writing antagonist-centered first-person fiction, like
this for Kuno, and "Damned Fool" for Masamichi Hanagata, "Fledgling
Wings" and "Dead Cinema" for Nobuyuki Masaki, "Fractionally Incorrect" 
for Tsubasa Kurenai, "Her Loss" for Azusa Shiratori, "Heronin" for 
Gendo Ikari, and "Song of the Villain" for Kagato, is to find motivation
and to humanize their situations.  I think the closest actual story I can 
remember that does exactly this is the last part of Fushigi Yuugi, where 
they explain Nakago.  It ruined a perfectly-made bad-guy, to say the least.]

============================================================================

Whereas I do not have any double entendre stuff here, which I so love doing
(ecchi lure?  well, when I feel a little limey, myself... :), I hope to
more than compensate by finishing the first book of Switch within the year.

Maybe.

Switch (it's been surreal) 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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