**
The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains thrust toward the sky
Never revealing their depth
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above


Chorus
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be love suicide
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life


Rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed
You're my survival, you're my living proof
My love is alive not dead
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache, that hang from above


Repeat Chorus


I've been dropped out, burned up, fought my way back from the dead
Tuned in, turned on, Remembered the things that you said

Repeat Chorus
(Edwin Mccain from Misguided Roses: "I'll Be"; yes, I am aware that this is everyone's favorite song, it's mine too!)
**


(From Lucky)

My brain registered the cold seeping through my skin, but I steadfastly ignored it. When Liz began shivering violently, I stopped walking abruptly. She almost toppled. I caught her shoulders in my hands and pulled her close.

< I should say something. >

"We have to keep warm," I mumbled, my eyes searching the forest for any kind of shelter. Absently, I rubbed Liz's shoulders.

She reached around my waist, clinging to me, holding desperately on. I wanted to shout my frustrations, but knowing that it would do us no good, I kept silent.

< Liz is still shivering. >

I was doing my best to hold her even closer when my eyes detected something that might be of help to us. I briefly loosened my grip on Liz. She looked up at me, still holding tightly to me.

"What is it?"

< What isn't it? >

"There might be something over there."

"Something?"

"Something to shelter us from the rain. Come on, let's go see."

< What if it isn't anything? >

I held Liz up and helped her step over the sticks and leaves and rocks that made walking for her almost an impossibility. She winced once or twice, but then would go on as if nothing had happened.

< She's acting brave. >

We approaced the giant tree carefully. It must have been nine feet wide, at least. It was leaning at a sixty degree angle, supported at the top by another group of trees. Its roots had been ripped from the ground, and now formed a sort of canopy. A tin roof had been secured on top of them at some point in time, and was now rusted and covered with deep green moss, although it did serve its purpose. Wooden walls were held sloppily together with large nails. A rough window had been cut out of one, alongside a small door.

I peeked in the window, holding Liz at an odd angle behind me.

**

(From Liz)

< He's always protecting me. >

Lucky kept me away from the structure, blocking my body with his own. I couldn't help but smile.

"It's a playhouse," he said, turning toward me, relief in his voice.

< A what? >

"A playhouse?" I asked softly, gingerly holding my hurt foot off of the ground. I had one arm wrapped around Lucky for support, the other wrapped around myself, trying to keep warm.

"Yeah, like a fort, you know, for kids to play in..."

< Oh... >

"Ah, I think I understand now. Way out here, in the boondocks*?"

Lucky, however, wasn't waiting for me. He was maneuvering the two of us through the doorway. He backed inside, bringing me with him. I hopped, trying not to put any weight on my one foot. Inside, Lucky kicked aside a rotting log, and cleared a spot, where he promptly lowered me to the ground. He walked around the closed in space of approximately 6 by 6 feet, kicking and nudging the piles of leaves and shards of broken pottery with his feet. The little room was dry, for the most part, only slightly damp in the corners.

< What's he looking for? >

I hesitated to ask, not wanting to know the answer to that. I was shivering even more now, having lost Lucky's closeness. He finished his perusal of the "playhouse" and knelt down in front of me, taking off his pack as he squatted.

"You still all right?" he asked anxiously, his face nearly hidden in shadow.

< As long as I'm with you. >

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little cold."

"Well, we can fix that in a hurry," Lucky murmured, unzipping his pack. He sifted through the contents and came up with two plastic wrapped packages. "You can never be too prepared." His head was down, as he was unwrapping one of the packages, and I couldn't get a glimpse of his face.

< Prepared is good. >

I watched his hands rip the plastic. Underneath, was what looked like a sweatshirt. He held it up for me to see. It *was* a sweatshirt, one of Lucky's.

"Lucky, where in the world did you get that?"

"I packed it."

"Why?"

"In case of emergency."

I sighed.

"Put it on," Lucky went on, pushing the material into my hands.

"But, Lucky-"

"You need it more than I do. And take off your wet shirt first."

"I-"

Lucky was already turned the other direction, fiddling with his other package.

< There is just no arguing with him. >

I pulled my soaked t-shirt over my head, and slid the sweatshirt on, all in a matter of seconds. The warmth the dry shirt provided was soaked up by my skin.

"Ok, I'm done."

"Are you sure?" Lucky asked, keeping his back turned.

"Of course I'm sure," I replied, a hint of a grin appearing on my face.

Lucky turned back around, a few sticks and a dry piece of paper in his hands. A box of matches rested by his right knee.

"Lucky, how did you manage to get all that stuff in your backpack?"

He grinned, his face creasing. "Practice. Lots of practice. My dad..." he swallowed. "Used to go over it all with me."

I nodded slowly, and allowed Lucky to scoot me back just a tiny bit. I watched as he built the base for the fire, then lit a single match and held it to the paper. It caught quickly, and soon we had a nice little fire going.

"It might get a little smoky in here," Lucky commented, settling back on his heels. But he seemed relieved when the smoke was sucked right out the window.

"Are you okay?" he asked me again, searching my face. He moved closer to me, and I noticed he was still shaking with the cold.

"Lucky, I'm fine, but you need to get warm," I said, seriously. I couldn't tell if my voice betrayed my concern.



*"boondocks" - a technical term (in Oklahoma) for "the sticks".

---

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