Ranma 1/2: Angel's Spit
			By: Charles Lewis
			    clewis@virtu.sar.usf.edu

Foreword:  I'm not sure if this even counts as an entire fanfic.  It's 
really nothing more than a sketch.  I'll leave the setting and context as 
an excercise for the reader.  I think most of you will get it.
	Feel free to send comments to the address listed above, or to the 
fanfic mailing list.

	CHL, 5/30/96





	"But why, Akane!  I just don't understand..."
 	"Ranma," she replied, "please don't make this any harder than it is 
already."
	"Is it another guy?  Is it Ryouga?"
	"No," she replied.
 	They sat very still for an awkward moment.  He stared at her 
desperately, as if some greater degree of concentration might change 
things.  She stared off into the distance, scuffling her feet in the 
dust.  She noted that the paint on the bench they were sharing was 
flaking off.  She absentmindedly scraped some off with a fingernail.
	"Then what?  I just don't get it..." He repeated, with growing 
exasperation, "Did I do something wrong?"
	"Maybe it's just not about you, Ranma.  Have you even considered that 
maybe it's just about me?"
	"Didn't you hear what I said earlier?  I told you I loved you, and 
that I wanted to marry you."    
	"Doesn't that mean anything?" he queried, a note of desperation 
creeping into his voice.  His knuckles turned white as he balled his 
fists in frustration.
	"Of course it does, Ranma," she replied, almost distractedly.  
Abstractly, she noted a man in the distance carrying a briefcase.  She 
wondered why he was carrying a briefcase in the park on a Saturday 
afternoon.
	"Damn it!" he cried, "Look at me!" he grabbed her shoulder.  She 
turned to him, watching him purposefully unclench his fist.
	"Isn't this what you wanted, Akane?" Ranma continued, "After all 
we've been through, I finally open up and tell you how I feel ... Damn 
it ... I said I was sorry for all the times I called you a tomboy!"
	She briefly reflected on him.  Here he was.  Ranma.  The guy of her 
dreams, and she was dumping him.  It was strange to see him with this 
look on his face.  He seemed ... afraid ... yes, that was it.  For the 
first time in the years she had known him, he looked genuinely afraid.  
Perhaps more surprisingly, she noted, she felt nothing in response. 
	"Ranma..." she began, "I don't think I can explain it, but I 
just can't be with you."
	"Is it Shinnosuke again?" he asked hopefully, "Does he need saving?  
I'll help you this time!"
	"No, Ranma, it's nothing like that..."
	"Did Shampoo do something to you?" he began to peer at her 
suspiciously.
	"No, Ranma, I'm perfectly fine."
	"Is there some sort of  challenge?  Did another fiancee challenge 
you?!"  He continued, the note of desperation rising in his voice.
	"Look!" she burst out, "Can't you just accept it?  I've been trying to 
be nice about this, but you just won't LISTEN," she shouted in frustration.
	"OK, I'm listening!" he answered, somewhat cowed by her outburst.
	"I'm sorry I yelled," she said.  Taking a deep breath, she began to
speak in slow, measured syllables, as if addressing a child, "Look... I'll
put this as plainly as I can, and I hope that you can accept what I'm
about to say.  The fact of the matter is that I don't love you.  It's not
about loving someone else, about martial arts, challenges or anything
else.  I'm just not in love ... with you, or anyone else.  A while ago, I
thought I was ... but things have changed.  I think I've just realized
that I need more from life than this.  I don't know what I need, but I
just know I need more."
	"But.." Ranma interjected.
	"Please," she continued, "this is hard enough.  Just let me
finish...  We never really had a relationship, you know.  All we've ever
really done is fight.  There have been some nice moments, but the fact is
that we've known each other for three years now and the fighting is now
just a tired routine.  I just can't live this way any more.  I'm sorry.  I
hope we can still be friends..." 
 	They sat quietly, each staring off into space.  The man with the 
briefcase was gone now.  Akane felt a bead of sweat roll down her cheek.  




Finis.