[i]Jace was kicking himself in the rear as he sprinted down the streets of the town, weaving through the crowds in his mad haste. He was late for his visit with Basil as he always had a set time to visit him and was afraid he would think he had forgotten about him. In his failing health, Basil's mind sometimes slipped and forgot certain details about something or conversations, so Jace had given him a specific time that he would show up everyday to visit him so he'd never forget. His obligation to get there on time was a small part of his responsibilities and yet he couldn't even get that right.
	It hadn't been his fault that he was late, though. A few of the town's kid's decided to get the jump on him just outside the general store while he was buying some gumdrops for Basil. Although Jace was one to never pass up a fight, he actually tried to avoid this one because of the time, but there was no chance of escape he went straight through the group. He'd been beaten pretty badly and still managed escape quickly, but had wasted too much time. Now he sprinted down the road to Basil's home as if he would die himself if he didn't get there fast enough. 
	With each passing day, Jace felt that he was that much closer to losing his best and only friend he'd ever had. Now that he was late, he felt as if he was going to lose him in those last ten minutes and waste away the last moments of his friend's life. If only he had been there with him that day like he'd promised, then none of this would have happened! He could have pulled him to safety before suffering too much damage. But he had failed him just as he'd failed everyone else he'd ever known.
	He skidded to a halt just outside the small house's door, panting for breath. Jace wanted to calm down a bit before going inside and getting Basil more anxious than he already was. What did Basil ever see in him, anyways? Why did he insist on sticking around when he was nothing but trouble, the useless kid of even more useless parents who had the potential of becoming the town's next drunk to carry on the legacy of the Colkin's family name?
	Once his pulse returned close to normal, he rapped his bruised knuckles on the door and waited, head lowered. 
[/i]