New Beginnings Ė A Psuedo-Essay

By Neal C.

The church was empty. Everyone who wanted to had already paid their Ďrespectsí. There werenít many, but there were more than she would have expected. She lay there, looking much like she did in life. There was no makeup to give the pretension of life, as she had requested. There was no beautiful gown, she wore what she would have had she been in attendance at the funeral. Her boots were firmly on her feet and her jacked was zipped halfway up. She looked like she was sleeping. But something was missing.

Out of the darkness on one side of the church stepped a young man. He was her age, or thereabouts. At first glance he may have been mistaken for her best friendís older brother. But if you looked closer, his hair was purple and his eyes were intense behind his small wire rimmed glasses. He wore a black t-shirt, blue jeans that had obviously seen better days and heavy Doc Martin work boots. Topping it all off was a large leather trench-coat.

With a determined stride he approached the pulpit and the casket it contained. Looking down on her his eyes misted slightly. He steeled his gaze and silently reprimanded himself. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and pulled out a pair of glasses with thick round black frames. Carefully and gently he set them in their proper place on her face.

"There." He said quietly in a tired voice. "Perfect." Then he turned to face the empty pews.

"Were you all so blind?" He sneered, quietly. "If you had stayed and listened she might still be with us. But no. You say itís time to pack up and move on. Well, I canít argue with that logic. But we donít have to completely abandon her. I have a life, with other things to do. But. Iím. Still. Here! Beside her. Where are you? Sheís only truly gone if we donít take the time. To watch and to write."

"Iím as cynical as all of you. I know that once ĎIs it College Yetí rolls its ending credits itís the end. After that we have slightly less than a snowballís chance in hell of seeing her on television ever again. But here." He pulled out a notebook. "Here she still lives. And she will live as long as we want her to. I know I came into this," He points at the notebook. "Pretty late in the game. And Iím not saying we shouldnít move on. But I am saying we can always come back, always visit. Itís not hard and it doesnít cut in to our time that much."

"Iím also a realist, however. And Iíve accepted the inevitable loss. I know that most of you will run like roaches with the lights on as soon as the series ends. On to Bigger and Better things. As will I, but Iíll remember and I will watch and I will keep writing. And for me, sheíll always be here. To those of you who will leave and not look back, I say goodbye, Iím disappointed but I didnít expect any better. To those of you who will come back and write some when you can, Iíll see you around. And finally to those who donít want to change, who want to stay instead of just visiting. We do have to move on, just donít move too far or youíll lose sight."

He looked around and shook his head at the silence. He sat on the pulpit steps and hung his head. Emotionally exhausted. Then he looked at his notebook and tilted his head in thought. Producing a pen and opening the notebook, he wrote a few sentences.

The clapping startled him. Looking up he saw her. She was sitting in the front pew and smirking. He smirked back and stood up. Sitting down next to her, he looked over at her.

"So, how did I do?"

She gazed into the middle distance, deep in thought. Finally she answered. "I donít know, but Iím up and talking. So it couldnít have been bad."

He shook his head. "Yeah, but how long will it last?"

"How long will you keep writing?"

He shrugged. "As long as I can, I guess."

She nodded. He stood and offered her his arm. She stood and took it. Together they walked towards the door.

"Címon," He said. "Lets get you some sunlight, you look like a ghost." He smirked

She quirked an eyebrow. "Iím not sure I want you writing for me if all your jokes are as bad as that one."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "So, you up for pizza?"


"Good, then go meet Jane. If Iím not mistaken thereís money in your pocket."

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out some money. Then she looked up with dawning realization. "Arenít you coming with us?"

He looked down at her a smirked, sadly. "Nah. Iíve said what I had to say, so I canít really hang around much longer. Besides donít you want to know what happens when you get to the Pizza King?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but donít you?"

He nodded. "Thatís why I have to go write it."

She looked thoughtful. "So whoís writing now?"

"I dunnoí my subconscious I guess."

"So youíre dreaming."

He seemed to think about it. "Yeah, I guess thatís as good an explanation as any."

She shrugged. "Then let your subconscious do its work. Hang around as long as you can."

He sighed. "Okay, Iíll meet you at the Pizza King, but I have to do something first."

She fell into her usual affable sarcasm. "Itís not another woman is it?"

He looked at her, then quirked his eyebrow.

She smirked. "Okay, Iíll see you later thenÖ right?"

He nodded. "I promise."

She nodded and walked up the street. He turned back toward the cemetery and looked for the grave marker. When he didnít find it, he walked into the church. There was no casket, no trace anything had happened. He nodded his head subtly.

"Perfect." He turned and walked out of the church. He had to meet an old friend for lunch and he wasnít going to be late. "Hmmm. Better end things right here." He mumbled to himself. Then stopped and pulled out his notebook and pen. The two words wouldnít come. But nine others did.

"What have I gotten myself into?" He looked down at his notebook and the nine words. They were at the top of the page and written boldly.


Stuck in Lawndale

By Neal C.





Authorís Notes: I wrote the beginning of this in response to Ruthless Bunnyís essays. It wasnít supposed to go where it went but my muse hit me in the head with a shovel, now Iím stuck in Lawndale. This could be interesting. As for me looking like Trent, SBBED .D suggested that I did when I did my Daria Force poster. And I suppose I do, whatever. But watch out for the next fic in this series and Degaís Irregulars #2. Please E-mail me at because I Really, Really want to hear what you have to say about this one

As always Daria and any other Daria cast member belong to Mtv which belongs to Viacom which belongs to Satan. So Please donít sue me, I donít have anything to make it worthwhile anyway.