Adrian Dakota

An aspiring writer's writings and pieces.

Category: Other Pieces

Memory Capsule

“And that’s basically how we started dating,” she said, her eyes wet with desperation.

Kingsley remembered.

He remembered how long it had taken for him to con those words out of her. He was not proud of it; he could not be proud of having to coerce her into saying it. But he needed to know. He needed to know.

Kingsley swirled his foot through the cold seawater. Hell, he wanted to know.

“Kingsley? You okay?”

The voice broke through the thin sands of silence that Kingsley had erected, the only voice that was capable of breaking through. Kingsley did not respond. He did not need to look up to see who it was; the only person that could find him here was Sky.

The stupid, worthless, adorable thing that Kingsley had unwilling fallen in love with.

He heard Sky approach, scrambling unsteadily down the soft sands. “Kingsley?”


His voice was bland and emotionless, and it hurt Kingsley to even hear it. It hurt him how similar he sounded to the beginning. Before everything began, back when life was simpler but a lot less bright than it was now.

“Kingsley,” said Sky softly, repeating the name. “Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley. Kingsley.”

Kingsley simply dragged his foot through the water, watching the interesting formations in the moonlight. “Yes?”

“Why are you here?” asked Sky softly.

“Why can’t I be here, Sky?” retorted Kingsley.

“You’re only ever here when you’re sad or depressed. And you haven’t been here for over a year.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Kingsley, looking around through the darkness. He saw Sky’s thin, outlined figure, but let his fire-bright eyes gloss past them easily, taking in the night trees and evening sea breeze. “It’s changed.”

“I know. I watched it change.”

“Like how I watched you change, Sky?” said Kingsley harshly. He didn’t mean it, but the words tumbled out of his mouth. And he regretted it. He shouldn’t be mad at Sky, since it was Kingsley’s own fault that he had fallen for him. Not Sky’s.

Kingsley saw Sky’s face fall in the darkness. “You found out?”

“It wasn’t hard.”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Everything,” said Kingsley heavily.

He saw Sky raise his eyebrows. “Eventually,” added Kingsley.

Sky sat down on the edge of the water line and splashed the saltwater quietly. “I remember when you used to sit here,” he whispered. “All day. Just looking out toward the stars. And I remember how you told me how terrible it was that there was no one to see them.”

“Yeah, I did.” Kingsley turned his eyes to the horizon, and realised how terrible it was now. He could pick out the individual houses on the distant island, even count the trees lining the originally invisible shoreline. But the stars, the wonderful, bright lights on the dark canvas that Kingsley had memorised, were gone. Washed out by that glow.

“You can’t see them anymore, can you?” asked Sky.

“No. They’ve lost their glow to artificial human lighting.”

“Do you regret it?”

The answer came easily to Kingsley’s lips.



“I’d willingly pay this price for the advantages it brings me,” said Kingsley. “Given that choice of enhanced night vision again and I’d still take it.”


“Because… I never really thought about it. Back then, everything was just so confusing, people were dying, fights were going on, and I simply wanted all the fighting to stop. All the suffering to end.”

“Or did you just do it for me?”

Kingsley looked at Sky sharply. Sky didn’t have night vision; he couldn’t possibly have seen Kingsley’s face, worked out Kingsley’s emotions…

“I realised you were in love with me a long time ago, Kingsley,” said Sky quietly.

A large silence fell between them. Kingsley could see it; a shimmering glass of awkwardness that Sky would not break. If Sky knew…

“Why?” growled Kingsley. “Why didn’t you say anything if you knew?”

“Because I didn’t want to see your reaction. I didn’t know how you were going to respond.”

“Respond to what?” demanded Kingsley. He began to feel the energy bubble inside him again; a bad sign, but he failed to find the self-control needed to stifle it. Why? Why did Sky betray him so? Why had Sky not said anything to him, and let Kingsley suffer through all that pain alone?


“You were going to reject me, weren’t you?” said Kingsley emotionlessly. “You were going to outright reject me since you loved her instead.”

“I don’t love her, Kingsley,” said Sky defensively. “It’s just I feel inclined to date her more than I want to date you. You know, with you being a guy and all-”

“So it’s fear,” smashed Kingsley. “Simply fear of losing with your so-called friends. Since you know that they’re going to laugh at you and ridicule you and bully you once they find out that you were going out with another boy. Fine. Fine!”

Kingsley jumped up and ripped the small vial from its chain around his neck. Inside, the poison boiled away dangerously, reminding him of the potential effects — but Kingsley didn’t care about it anymore.

“Remember this?” demanded Kingsley, holding it up in front of Sky.

“Your memory capsule.” Sky’s face grew pale. “That holds your personal memories from the past two years -”

“I know,” said Kingsley. The grey liquid was bubbling in his stomach more than ever. “The past two years that I’ve been secretly going after you. And you know what? I don’t want to remember.”

He crushed the vial slowly and purposefully, feeling the silver of memories trail down his arm and dribble onto the ground, until it was washed away by a sudden wave.

“You’ve changed a lot, Kingsley,” said Sky sadly. “I didn’t know you would ever throw a rage like that.”

“Yeah?” said Kingsley venomously. “Or maybe it’s simply because you know nothing about me. Nothing.”

Kingsley turned away, feeling the tear-wetted sand curdle slowly under his feet.

“I regret ever calling you a friend, Sky.”

Lifesaving Embrace

The blood trickling from his finger told Kingsley everything he needed to know.

“Hell,” he swore, crossing the bland kitchen for the towels. “What where you doing?”

His eyes were hard from holding in signs of the pain. “Trying to cook,” he said softly.

“Why the hell would you do that?” snapped Kingsley, tearing large pads of the paper up into smaller sections. “You know how terrible you are with kitchens. And knives. And anything that could be a weapon.”

Kingsley set out the paper on the kitchen table and motioned. “Rex, sit.”

Rex sat. And Kingsley drew up a chair and settled next to him, dabbing at the wound.

“Please,” said Kingsley, hiding his eyes behind his long fringe of hair. “Don’t try again.”

When Rex spoke, his voice was filled with hurt. “I was trying to help, Kingsley. I feel so useless. I’m supposed to be older than you, and yet it’s you that worries about everything, both in this house and out. I feel so guilty… I feel like I’m leeching off you.”

Kingsley crunched the tissue into a tight ball, and took up one of the torn pieces. “So you can’t work out your place in this relationship, is that it?” he said.

“I just can’t work out why it is that you picked me. You must have terrible taste. You, Kingsley Corcoran, head of the Universal Peace Command Post, could have had anyone in this world, and probably several others. Why me?” said Rex softly.

“It had to be someone, hadn’t it?” laughed Kingsley playfully, carefully wrapping the paper around Rex’s finger.

“I suppose… Kingsley… why was it me? How am I contributing to this relationship?”

“How are you not?”

Rex laughed, but it was a cold laugh, with no emotion in it. “How am I contributing?” he said sadly. “You’re the Universal Peace officer. You’re the one that wakes up earlier in the morning to cook breakfast. You’re the one that goes out every morning and spend the day making big decisions that affect entire galaxies. Then you’re the one that comes home every evening and makes the most amazing suppers ever. And you’ve always got a lunchbox waiting for me, even on the busiest of times when you have civilisations to save. And what do I do? You care for me, but I… I can’t even do the simplest of things for you. I can’t even share the burdens with you.”

Kingsley knew what was wrong. Rex was blaming himself, blaming himself for all the troubles Kingsley was going through. Kingsley didn’t want him to know the truth, since he knew that it would only cause the other boy distress. No wonder Rex was in the kitchen, trying to cook. He saw himself lacking a place in this relationship, realised Kingsley, and he was trying to change it.

“Rex…” began Kingsley, letting the name slide on his lips. The same way he’d said it for the past two months. Since even before the Starway Wars.

Rex shook his head dismissively. “Kingsley, I can’t work out the ways in our relationship. I keep feeling as if I’m taking advantage of you. You’re too nice. You’re too good. You’re too pure, you know what I mean?”

“I’m not pure,” said Kingsley. “You know it. I can’t even count the number of individuals I’ve killed to date. All in the name of justice.”

“You know it was necessary,” said Rex. “And I know how much it kills you. That’s why… I think you deserve much better than me. I don’t even know how to comfort you when it’s too much for you to bear.”

Kingsley tied off the makeshift bandage with a small knot, and looked up into Rex’s brown eyes. The same, deep, dark velvety eyes that he had fallen in love with. The same eyes that took him out of the darkness of his emotions. The same eyes that protected him from the dark spears of guilt.

“Rex, it’s never been too much for me to bear,” said Kingsley evenly.

“It will be,” said Rex. “And then I won’t know how to handle it. And I’m scared… I’m scared I’ll hurt you more. And then I’d feel the guilt, I’d feel the guilt that I couldn’t help you, and I’d just have to stand there watching your own guilt eat you up, helpless, unable to even do the tiniest thing to help you out of your misery.”

Kingsley got it now. He leaned forward and rested his head against Rex’s chest, hearing the heart beat rapidly inside.

Badump. Badump. Badump.

“You don’t know it,” whispered Kingsley, “but you help me every single day.”

Kingsley heard Rex take a sharp breath.

“It does hurt,” continued Kingsley. “I felt the guilt prickle on my heart, more than once. I was about to succumb, about to go insane. But then that was the day you confronted me and demanded to know what was making me act so weird, as you put it.”

Kingsley closed his eyes.

“I remember your face,” he said. “You were so… so concerned at that point. And I was so weak at that point. Emotionally. I knew I was on the verge of being unfit to command. The papers were already on my desk when you came up to me.”

Rex didn’t say anything, but Kingsley heard his pulse quicken.

Badump badump. Badump badump.

“I thought you knew after I spilled everything to you,” pressed Kingsley. “I thought you knew that the way you helped was by protecting me.”

“I don’t protect you-”

“You do,” said Kingsley. “You don’t protect me physically, but you protected me from the harsh knives of my own emotions. Something even I wasn’t able to do.”

Kingsley pulled back.

“Just promise me that you won’t touch knives again,” he said sternly.

“Fine,” said Rex.

Kingsley smiled as he let himself be drawn into one of Rex’s lifesaving embraces.


Searing, white-hot pain erupted as the sharp-edged blade cut neatly through my skin.

“One,” he said, his face a supreme, set calm. It was the same calm I’ve seen before; the total control, the utmost rationality. It was the calmness of a war.

I breathed in deeply, clutching onto my right arm and trying to stench the bleeding. Blood was dripping onto the floor uncontrollably.

My palm tightened around the hilt of the sword.

Without warning, I lashed out with my arm, feeling the stretched his left temple. At the last second, I twisted my wrist. The blade whistled through the air.

Clang. Yellow sparks erupted from where our blades scratched. My blade quivered in the air and I flicked my wrist, the tip notching against his cheek.

Blood poured from the new cut.

“Two,” I said.

He didn’t say anything — just put on a face of grimace and attacked.

Stay calm. Don’t let the power get to your head — thrust, parry.

His supreme strength was beginning to set in — if I wanted to win this, I had to end it before I tired. And quickly.

Watch. Eyes flicker — finger twitch. Right swing.

Clang. Metal screeched against metal as I dragged my sword across the edge of his blade.

Blink. Direct engage.

I bent backwards as the tip of his sword came rushing up to my chest, and used this opportunity to swing my sword underneath, balancing my position. For one second, I was perfectly balanced; then.

Return to neutral. Clenched palms — there! Left!

The silvery metal came sailing up toward my head, and I ducked.

Loosed legs. Slight positioning — up!

I didn’t even bother to look — I simply collapsed flat on the ground as the metal came rushing across, and pushed myself right through his outstretched legs. Jumped up the other side, arms poised.

Let’s end this. Slight bite of the lips, so right thrust. Parry, sidestep.

His blade appeared on my left and I swung my sword, clanging the metals in the air. Methodically, I took a simple step to the left, then flipped my sword around the hilt of his and wrenched it easily out of his arm.


I spun and my blade rushed up to point at his throat.

“Dead,” I said confidently.


“Perhaps, if we’d actually cared about him, it might have turned out differently. But like all machines, we completely disregarded what he wanted and only cared about our own.”

He couldn’t believe it – it couldn’t be happening – but there it was. The inevitable truth.

Raymond couldn’t believe what he knew his eyes were telling him. He had heard it himself.

“The system’s now ghosting,” said Cody softly. “Soon Ivan’s internal programming will completely disintegrate. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Raymond just stumbled, unsure, forward, standing next to Ivan’s side. Shouldn’t he be crying? Feeling sad over the fact that his friend was dying? But he wasn’t. Why? What was he feeling?

Ivan’s voice issued out of one of speakers. His body was dying, now.

“Hey, Raymond.”

Raymond choked on his own laugh of despair. Ivan never changed. Not across the years that Raymond had known him, and he still didn’t when his entire system began to ghost. Raymond had only begun to know what that term meant.

“Hey, Ivan,” he said, trying to inject a sense of optimism into his voice. “You’re ghosting, then?”

He hadn’t meant for it to be so blunt.

“Yeah,” said Ivan cheerfully. “Finally, after so long. How far am I?”

Cody poked Ivan and pointed at a screen. “Uh, about a quarter of the way in,” said Raymond truthfully. “Why?”

“Just wanted to know. So, what’s up?”

His vision clouded, and Raymond felt his face getting hot. Why? Why didn’t Ivan care? What was wrong with him?

“Raymond, you okay? You seem awfully quiet.”

“Ivan, seriously!” yelled Raymond. “You’re ghosting and you don’t even care about it?”

Static of surprise issued out of the speakers. When Ivan returned, his voice was warm and comforting.

“Hey, Raymond, it’s fine! I’d known it was coming along for ages. It’s not like I didn’t prepare for it. Why, you missing me already?”

Raymond looked down at the small, lifeless body lying down next to him. There were no instruments wired up to the body, nothing that the movies so loved to stick in whenever someone died. Then again, Ivan wouldn’t need them. Why would a software program need them?

“Maybe,” choked Raymond, half-laughing.

Ivan laughed. “It’s okay, Raymond. I’ll be back before you know it. Perhaps after a body change.”

Raymond cast a look at Cody, who seemed surprised.

“Ivan, you’ve prepared for a body change?” said Cody. “How?”

“Oh, hey, Cod! I’d wondered where you went. Yeah, it should be ready now. Weren’t you informed?”

“Cody was telling me how your program had disintegrated so much that it would be impossible to stick it in another interface system,” said Raymond. “Or something along those lines.”

“So he has been educating you well,” said Ivan interestedly. “I’d be interested in taking over after I get better.”

“When you do, Ivan,” said Raymond, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “When you do.”

“I love you too, Raymond.”

How do you say…?

They always said the hardest three words to say was "I love you."
For me, the hardest words to say are, "I'm sorry."
Because I know, I know I have to say it, but… everything single time I can, I should, I could have… I can't. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I try to force myself to make those three simple syllables, the three syllables that would at least make everything better, but… I just can't. 
It really hurts me to know that.
Know that the wounds inflicted on me will never heal.
And… I still can't say it.
How do you do it?

The Passage of Time. The Unravelling of Thoughts.

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Y9 messages

For everyone else who missed out on the original one because they weren’t in my class.

Do have a nice day.

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9.5 messages

Can you believe it? It’s nearly the end of the year. Now, everyone else (i.e., all of 9.3) has been doing this some kind of weird thank-you/last-messages kinda thing, so I was bored, I had time, I’m weird, and I’m doing one for the most-awesome-class-of-the-year, 9.5.

I’m going down by the order I can remember everyone, which is, coincidentally, the order in which everyone’s listed on my contacts.

i stopped using capitals and stuff cause i got tired.

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Fate. Destiny. Life.

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Will you do so too?

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