Post by Blue Jay Sparrow on Jul 23, 2005 21:20:14 GMT -5
*Sands's POV*
Darkness. That was the only thing that Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands of the C.I.A. knew. What had gone wrong? He had been the one throwing shapes. He was the one who had been setting them up. Wasn't he supposed to be watching them falling at this moment? But living la vida loca had taken over him and now there was no way that he could watch them fall. Darkness had indeed taken over him.
After all this time, wasn't he supposed to be living happily ever after? They say every dog has his day. Sands knew this wasn't true. Not once. No. Not once had he even thought it might be.
Sands was alone. Chewing gum boy was gone now. After bidding Agent Ramirez goodbye, Sands had managed to drag himself to a hospital. The gun wounds were healing, but the hospital could not and did not do anything about his sight. In fact, Sands had begun to realize that he would have to live his life in darkness.
The hospital had been kind. They had even offered to help him get a Seeing Eye dog. Sands had refused. There was no way he was going to get some dog to help him see. He could handle everything perfectly fine with his…other four senses.
Over time, Sands had managed to train himself. He could function as well as any other normal person. In fact, he was better than some. There was nothing wrong with him other than the fact that he had no eyes.
The C.I.A., merciless as they were, forced him to continue to stay in Mexico. This made Sands laugh. It was almost crazy. The C.I.A. was scared of him. Why else would they force him to stay down there for all of eternity until he died? It wasn't like he minded. Mexico had become like a home. And it wasn't like he had anything to go back to in America, anyway.
At the moment, Sands was sitting in a bar. He had absolutely nothing better to do. He very well couldn't read the paper anymore, could he? He couldn't see any girls to hit on. So here he was, being bored…and lonely.
A familiar sound greeted Sands's ears, and he turned, automatically towards the sound. The entire bar went silent. Sands grinned to himself and adjusted the black shades covering his…eyes. Something familiar. Even if it was him.
The chinking and tinkling sound stopped, but then it resumed again, coming in the direction of Sands, accompanied by footsteps. The bar resumed normal talk again. The chinking sound sat down to Sands's left.
'I wonder if he even knows it's me.'
"Well, Sands, I didn't expect to see you here."
"You know me, El. Can't leave Mexico."
The Mexican man next to Sands scoffed. Silence fell between the two of them. The last encounter they had had was when Sands had told El Mariachi that he was going to shoot a cook and Mariachi would have to shoot Gen. Marquez.
Sands almost…almost…wondered what El had been up to over the past six months since The Day of the Dead. Had he had as difficult of a time as Sands had been having? What was he doing now?
*Mariachi's POV*
As a matter of fact, El Mariachi had not had as difficult a time as Sands, but that didn't mean he hadn't had a hard time at all. After splitting up with Lorenzo and Fideo, Mariachi had wandered the country. He wasn't exactly an outlaw anymore, but he wasn't good either. He killed people who did wrong in his eyes. He was even more renowned than he had been before T.D.D. (The Day of the Dead)
Mariachi's wanderings had taken him all the way to the southern border of Mexico, and so he had decided to head back up. He passed through the town in which so many memories lay dormant, waiting for him to pass through again. So, Mariachi had decided to stop at a few of his old haunts, remembering once again the revenge he had received and what it had taken to get that revenge.
Now, El Mariachi was silently watching the blind man sitting next to him. What was he thinking? Was Sands planning to shoot Mariachi? Did the crazy man still have a gun? Thoughts ran rapidly through the Mexican guitar fighter's head, and he reached for the gun inside of his Scorpion jacket (just in case).
* * *
Little did Sands know, a couple of miles north of the town in which he was having a face-off with Mariachi, something would turn his life and everything in it inside out, upside down, and round and round.
* * * * *
Sorry it was so short, guys. But please R&R. It's not very interesting yet, but it will get there fast (I hope). Blue Jay Sparrow signing off, I guess, until the next chapter.
Darkness. That was the only thing that Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands of the C.I.A. knew. What had gone wrong? He had been the one throwing shapes. He was the one who had been setting them up. Wasn't he supposed to be watching them falling at this moment? But living la vida loca had taken over him and now there was no way that he could watch them fall. Darkness had indeed taken over him.
After all this time, wasn't he supposed to be living happily ever after? They say every dog has his day. Sands knew this wasn't true. Not once. No. Not once had he even thought it might be.
Sands was alone. Chewing gum boy was gone now. After bidding Agent Ramirez goodbye, Sands had managed to drag himself to a hospital. The gun wounds were healing, but the hospital could not and did not do anything about his sight. In fact, Sands had begun to realize that he would have to live his life in darkness.
The hospital had been kind. They had even offered to help him get a Seeing Eye dog. Sands had refused. There was no way he was going to get some dog to help him see. He could handle everything perfectly fine with his…other four senses.
Over time, Sands had managed to train himself. He could function as well as any other normal person. In fact, he was better than some. There was nothing wrong with him other than the fact that he had no eyes.
The C.I.A., merciless as they were, forced him to continue to stay in Mexico. This made Sands laugh. It was almost crazy. The C.I.A. was scared of him. Why else would they force him to stay down there for all of eternity until he died? It wasn't like he minded. Mexico had become like a home. And it wasn't like he had anything to go back to in America, anyway.
At the moment, Sands was sitting in a bar. He had absolutely nothing better to do. He very well couldn't read the paper anymore, could he? He couldn't see any girls to hit on. So here he was, being bored…and lonely.
A familiar sound greeted Sands's ears, and he turned, automatically towards the sound. The entire bar went silent. Sands grinned to himself and adjusted the black shades covering his…eyes. Something familiar. Even if it was him.
The chinking and tinkling sound stopped, but then it resumed again, coming in the direction of Sands, accompanied by footsteps. The bar resumed normal talk again. The chinking sound sat down to Sands's left.
'I wonder if he even knows it's me.'
"Well, Sands, I didn't expect to see you here."
"You know me, El. Can't leave Mexico."
The Mexican man next to Sands scoffed. Silence fell between the two of them. The last encounter they had had was when Sands had told El Mariachi that he was going to shoot a cook and Mariachi would have to shoot Gen. Marquez.
Sands almost…almost…wondered what El had been up to over the past six months since The Day of the Dead. Had he had as difficult of a time as Sands had been having? What was he doing now?
*Mariachi's POV*
As a matter of fact, El Mariachi had not had as difficult a time as Sands, but that didn't mean he hadn't had a hard time at all. After splitting up with Lorenzo and Fideo, Mariachi had wandered the country. He wasn't exactly an outlaw anymore, but he wasn't good either. He killed people who did wrong in his eyes. He was even more renowned than he had been before T.D.D. (The Day of the Dead)
Mariachi's wanderings had taken him all the way to the southern border of Mexico, and so he had decided to head back up. He passed through the town in which so many memories lay dormant, waiting for him to pass through again. So, Mariachi had decided to stop at a few of his old haunts, remembering once again the revenge he had received and what it had taken to get that revenge.
Now, El Mariachi was silently watching the blind man sitting next to him. What was he thinking? Was Sands planning to shoot Mariachi? Did the crazy man still have a gun? Thoughts ran rapidly through the Mexican guitar fighter's head, and he reached for the gun inside of his Scorpion jacket (just in case).
* * *
Little did Sands know, a couple of miles north of the town in which he was having a face-off with Mariachi, something would turn his life and everything in it inside out, upside down, and round and round.
* * * * *
Sorry it was so short, guys. But please R&R. It's not very interesting yet, but it will get there fast (I hope). Blue Jay Sparrow signing off, I guess, until the next chapter.