NOTE: I offer my apologies for the most insidious delay, but due to an unforeseen combination of pink eye and season one of Monk on DVD, I was unable to bring you this chapter sooner. I’ll try to bring the next one quickly to make up for lost time. Thank you.
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The palms swayed in the breeze, as if dancing, and a gentle wind quietly brushed the sandy floor. Dawn had come, and the denizens of the natural garden began to go about their daily routine. Bees hummed melodiously through the air, and birds chirped sonnets to each other.
Needless to say, Virgil hated it; all of it; every last gleam of natural joy.
It had been a few months since his initial exile to the jungle swamp, and he had vaguely managed to settle in, but he still couldn’t get over those infernally beautiful sunrises. Perhaps the walls of steel and advertisements back home and melded his view of the world. It didn’t really matter.
The first order of business had been to secure transportation. His pants robbed from him on the day of judgment, Virgil put his limited motor skills to use and constructed a sort of wheelchair. It was made of wood, bound with twine, and got terrible mileage; but it was still preferable to the disgusting alternative, despite the lack of parking spaces. Wheels in hand, he roamed throughout the wilderness, a bit happier and cleaner, and decided he must keep himself busy for an eventual return to civilization. He set about undertaking seemingly impossible tasks to cure his boredom. At first, he attempted to clean the jungle (He had always been slightly Germaphobic). He fashioned a broom of sorts and did as he had seen the Muds do. He spent a few days in a desperate delirium, which would have explained his lack of acknowledging that he was sweeping dirt off of a dirt ground, but eventually his sense returned to him accompanied by the sniggering of some of his primal neighbors, the fauna of the jungle. Having become himself again, he discovered it to be a far more interesting use of his time to use his broom to beat the snot out of his aforementioned neighbors; and more practical to boot (Not to mention a superb stress reliever).
After a long while, Virgil managed to create basic plans for what would be his temporary home. Drawing in the sand with sticks, he laid a basic design for a house. He would never build it, of course, but it was nice to imagine. In the mean time, he spent his days chasing various creatures off his property with a rather large stick, and cursing at them. Unfortunately for him, they learned to be considerate and left him alone. Every man needs a hobby, and Virgil had just lost his. He tried keeping a journal to compensate, but after the first few pages he grew rather apathetic.
On fine day, he wheeled his way up a rock onto a bizarre rock-hill that jutted above all the surrounding trees. He sat there, viewing the lavender sky. Suddenly, the tedium was too much, and he began to argue with Odd. Virgil had always considered himself to be slightly open-minded in terms of religion, and decided that now might be an excellent time to give a higher being a peace of his mind (That is, if there was one). He had never been positive as to how the universe had come into being, be it accident or divine intervention, but there was one thing he was certain of: Someone, somewhere, had lost a bet. And so he ranted on to the clouds, the stars, the heavens, anything above the trees really, and not about anything in particular; just in general. He complained about the dust, the creatures, the loneliness, lack of proper resting facilities, the economy, his jackass of an older brother, golf, television, the justice system, heavy rains, light rains, morons, fanatics, poison ivy, bloodthirsty Paramites, and why he didn’t have a girlfriend (He was just getting warmed up). He was about to continue, when the clouds turned menacing and a thunder began. Virgil concluded that this was adequate rebuttal, and scurried off just as a lightning bolt shocked past the rock. For the next few days, it rained. It wasn’t, however, a heavy or a light rain of which Virgil had moaned endlessly about; it was a very pleasant, mediocre, mild rain. The best kind of rain, as some would say. From then on, Virgil always took to arguing about the weather, and (Be it a bizarre coincidence or perhaps something more) he was usually greeted with what he wanted in terms of aerial climate control. It was rather nice. Then he grew apathetic again. Another hobby down the drain (And a pity, for he fancied passing himself off as a weather man for his return).
Having no one to talk to, Virgil went about collecting stones of various shapes and sizes, and naming them. Insane? Perhaps, but he desperately needed to address someone. He gave each one a fitting name, based on its color or size or whatnot. So far, he had Gary, Farzad, Leorne, Sherry, Alf, Kristen, Xavier, Will, and Atushi. They had many, “Interesting discussions,” and Virgil enjoyed experiencing his, “Friends,” and their various opinions, such as they were.
Virgil hobbled off to sleep that night, forgoing the urge to chat with the almighty again, and leaned back in his wheelchair and sighed. Tomorrow would be boring again. None of his hobbies lasted. He’d most likely dash the stones and turn to other interests. Yes, tomorrow would be painfully dull. He drifted off to sleep, unaware of how very wrong he was.
To Be Continued…
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Reports of my death have been somewhat exaggerated.
"Is my species of consequence to you now, Mustang? Did you really want my position that badly? Although I can appreciate the vanity of ambition, you should have spent more time planing. Even if you had somehow pulled this off, the counsil would have found you out, and they'd never let an assassin back into their fold." - Pride, FullMetal Alchemist
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I, too, am looking forward to the next part. 
