Only way to describe this is… weirdfic. Not a sillyfic, not a seriousfic, but a nicely angsty weirdfic. Have I butchered enough dictionary words for one intro?
Disclaimer: OK, Frances belongs to me. Everyone else belongs to marvel comics, and the infallible Stan Lee.
Alone Together
11:00 PM, our dimension.
The night enveloped her like a second skin, and she was grateful for the small protection that it gave to her. A cool night breeze softly brushed her superficially with its fingertips, causing the hairs at the nape of her slender neck to rise, hoping in vain to try and recapture some of the valuable heat that had been lost.
Flopping down on top of the stones and twigs that littered the lake shore, she futilely tugged at her black t-shirt, hoping to cover up some of the bare midriff which had been exposed through the executing of her action. A notepad was pulled from the pocket of her floppy cargo pants, and a pen was tweaked into existence from behind an ear.
She wrote.
Moonlight glanced off of the water, while the water itself burbled happily at her toes, like a newborn child. Here, she was herself. Away from the stress and strain of life, she could be herself. No one judged here, there was just the moon on the water, wind in the pine trees, and the luscious scent of balsam in the air. Here, it was girl and nature, nothing and no-one else.
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11:00 PM, dimension of mutant discrimination:
Kurt Wagner crouched on his balcony, melancholy overwhelming him. He watched the water lapping at the shore, happy and free as a newborn child. Oh, to be like the water.
With a rush of imploding air, he disappeared from the balcony, and reappeared a quarter mile out to sea. His clothes weighed him down, so he stripped down to his boxers, and watched his humanity float to the ocean floor. Yellow eyes shone with tears that needed to be shed, that had needed to be shed from the moment that the first person had pointed at him, and yelled, 'demon.' Those were tears that would not fall today, or tomorrow. Perchance the demon one day would let those tears of pain fall from his body, shedding it as a butterfly would shed that cocoon which had held it for those many days in solitude. Perchance one day, the demon would learn of love's touch, of joy, and of acceptance.
One day.
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This was a prologue, which by nature is short, and hopefully sweet. Please review and tell me whether or not I should tear up these words and scatter them to the four winds. Or not.