Same intro, different story.
Before I get any 'what the heck?' reviews, please read the following notes:
no wait! Don't run away
Disclaim!
I do not own Scott Summers. Ye gads, if I owned the man...well, anyway. Marvel owns him and lots of other cool things too.
"As if anything in my life has ever happened that I can use as I guideline for normal...In so many ways the world has changed completely...and in other ways it hasn't changed at all."
-Scott Summers, UXM #337.
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing a little. The point is, the X-men lead these far-out fantastical lives. Now there's nothing wrong with that, it makes for interesting reading, but it also leaves me snorting and saying 'That'd never happen in real life.'
So what would happen in real life? This 'Normal' series are my ideas.
Some things have changed a lot; some things are the same.
Yes, I've screwed with some of the ages to fit my twisted little mind. It's not a lot though, and I think it's for good purpose.
Also, I've (hopefully) written them in such a way that though they are numbered, any one story should be readable on it's own.
If you like this scenario go to www.geocities.com/BourbonStreet/Bayou/8406/ordinary/ordinary/ordinary.html
for an archive of other writers idea of 'ordinary' X-Men.
Thanks for reading! Kevin Spacey loves me! (I don't get it either...)
!Zil!
Sparks
Big thanx to evenstar for all her help
Archive if you want (please tell me where)
Marvel owns characters, ect. I make no money
Feedback is fantastic
!
"When a candle burns so bright, surely it cannot burn for so long."
-proverb(not by me!)
The tiles of the floor are still slightly sticky with the dampness of my shower. I rub a place on the mirror clean, and look at myself. My hair is very black. Chinese black, like my Chinese mother's was. I went blonde for a while, but Dr. X's kinda uptight about hair colour. Maybe he'd loosen up if he took the time to grow some of his own.
I wrap my towel tighter under my arms. This is what it's all come down to. Next to the sink is my weapon of choice. I stay in front of the mirror, but ignore my reflection, looking instead at the way the metal becomes clearer and clearer as the fog beads up into water droplets. If I'm gonna do this, it has to be now. Tomorrow Tabby's coming home. Back from rehab. Lucky girl. If I were in charge I don't know if I'd be letting a crack addicted little whore back in my school, no matter how freakin' bright she was. Don't know as I'd be lookin' in the gutters of New York at all for students, so I guess I wouldn't be here either.
Oh God, I wish I could talk to Ms. Munroe again, she may be a self-righteous bitch most of the time, but she at least seems to understand. I switch on the overhead fan and flip the lid of the toilet down and sit on it. I'm not mad at Tabby. Not really. I know how she feels. I hurt inside too. Clarrie was MY roommate, but I didn't start binge drinking. No, instead I'm locked in a bathroom with a sharp object. That's really a whole lot better.
The air's thinned now; I walk back to the mirror, and run my hands through my hair. It's way past my shoulders, and so dark. I miss Tabby. I miss Clarrie too, but she's never coming back. Dead as a doornail, dead as dirt, dead, dead, dead. Tears start welling up and I fight the urge to hit the mirror. Tabby's coming home tomorrow though. She'll be wanting her old bed back. Good for her, she can have her spot with the perfect little Russian Princess. My nightmares have almost stopped anyway. I'll probably be moved in to a room by myself until another rich brat from some exotic land prances in, or another brilliant little street punk is discovered by the back door.
I used to be like a firecracker. Vibrant, alive, full of sparkle and shine, I thought nothing could change that. Not losing my parents, not all the foster homes, not even living on the streets of New York after I ran away. Tabby and I were the loud, explosive ones; Clarrie was nothing, just the silence in between fireworks I guessed. I was wrong. Clarice was the oxygen that fed us. She was the spark that lit us. She kept us going, she made us keep on changing colour and shape against the dark world. Without her I feel like a sparkler on somebody's cake, burning furiously, desperate to give light, but only drawing myself closer to the end.
I close my eyes and lean forward. My hand dances across the counter of it's own accord. I tilt my head closer to the sink. This'll be messy, but someone else will clean it up. The metal is cool and hard against my neck. Am I sure this is what I really want? I dare not look in the mirror again. When I close my eyes I can see Tabitha and Clarice and I sitting on the lawn, Clarrie standing up and dancing, her milk chocolate coloured hair reaching down her back and shining in the sun. My hand lifts and comes down again, brushing my neck. I can feel the sharp smoothness against the pulse under my chin.
There's a banging on the door.
"Jubilee, are you in there? I really need to go." Illyana, my temporary roomie, so perfect and annoying. I have more of an accent then her. I work the scissors around my head a few more times and open the door and walk out. Illyana catches my arm.
"Wow, what'd you do?"
"It's called a hair cut." My voice surprises me by being more tired then sarcastic.
"It looks nice, really cool. You and Clarice had the longest hair at school though." I reach up and pull on my short locks, just barely curling around my ears now.
"Yeah." There's nothing I can do but agree. I don't think I can explain to Yana. She smiles, and for once I don't feel all patronized.
"Do you think I'd look okay with short hair?" she asks, examining the ends of her own butter-blond hair, cut bluntly at shoulder length.
"You'd look gorgeous if you stuck your head in a blender." Again, it doesn't come out as harsh as I mean it to.
"Thanks. I think I'll put off that experiment for a while though." I turn to leave and she starts heading into the bathroom. "Jubilee?" she sounds timid, but not hesitant. "We're going into town tonight; me, Jono and Everett. To do some shopping for Tabby's welcome back party, and we'll probably catch a movie. Would you like to come?"
"There's a party for Tabs?"
"I told you last week, but you did seem a little preoccupied." Oh. I don't know how I feel about having a party. It's only been a month since Clarice was killed. Illyana's waiting for an answer.
"Okay." I can feel a small grin starting, and condemn myself for going soft. She smiles back.
"Great! Meet you at the front doors in half an hour." She whirls away into the bathroom. "Good grief Jubilation!" Her voice filters through the door quite well. "Did you have to leave all your hair in the sink!?"
My grin widens as I head back to my room.
Before I get any 'what the heck?' reviews, please read the following notes:
no wait! Don't run away
Disclaim!
I do not own Scott Summers. Ye gads, if I owned the man...well, anyway. Marvel owns him and lots of other cool things too.
"As if anything in my life has ever happened that I can use as I guideline for normal...In so many ways the world has changed completely...and in other ways it hasn't changed at all."
-Scott Summers, UXM #337.
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing a little. The point is, the X-men lead these far-out fantastical lives. Now there's nothing wrong with that, it makes for interesting reading, but it also leaves me snorting and saying 'That'd never happen in real life.'
So what would happen in real life? This 'Normal' series are my ideas.
Some things have changed a lot; some things are the same.
Yes, I've screwed with some of the ages to fit my twisted little mind. It's not a lot though, and I think it's for good purpose.
Also, I've (hopefully) written them in such a way that though they are numbered, any one story should be readable on it's own.
If you like this scenario go to www.geocities.com/BourbonStreet/Bayou/8406/ordinary/ordinary/ordinary.html
for an archive of other writers idea of 'ordinary' X-Men.
Thanks for reading! Kevin Spacey loves me! (I don't get it either...)
!Zil!
Sparks
Big thanx to evenstar for all her help
Archive if you want (please tell me where)
Marvel owns characters, ect. I make no money
Feedback is fantastic
!
"When a candle burns so bright, surely it cannot burn for so long."
-proverb(not by me!)
The tiles of the floor are still slightly sticky with the dampness of my shower. I rub a place on the mirror clean, and look at myself. My hair is very black. Chinese black, like my Chinese mother's was. I went blonde for a while, but Dr. X's kinda uptight about hair colour. Maybe he'd loosen up if he took the time to grow some of his own.
I wrap my towel tighter under my arms. This is what it's all come down to. Next to the sink is my weapon of choice. I stay in front of the mirror, but ignore my reflection, looking instead at the way the metal becomes clearer and clearer as the fog beads up into water droplets. If I'm gonna do this, it has to be now. Tomorrow Tabby's coming home. Back from rehab. Lucky girl. If I were in charge I don't know if I'd be letting a crack addicted little whore back in my school, no matter how freakin' bright she was. Don't know as I'd be lookin' in the gutters of New York at all for students, so I guess I wouldn't be here either.
Oh God, I wish I could talk to Ms. Munroe again, she may be a self-righteous bitch most of the time, but she at least seems to understand. I switch on the overhead fan and flip the lid of the toilet down and sit on it. I'm not mad at Tabby. Not really. I know how she feels. I hurt inside too. Clarrie was MY roommate, but I didn't start binge drinking. No, instead I'm locked in a bathroom with a sharp object. That's really a whole lot better.
The air's thinned now; I walk back to the mirror, and run my hands through my hair. It's way past my shoulders, and so dark. I miss Tabby. I miss Clarrie too, but she's never coming back. Dead as a doornail, dead as dirt, dead, dead, dead. Tears start welling up and I fight the urge to hit the mirror. Tabby's coming home tomorrow though. She'll be wanting her old bed back. Good for her, she can have her spot with the perfect little Russian Princess. My nightmares have almost stopped anyway. I'll probably be moved in to a room by myself until another rich brat from some exotic land prances in, or another brilliant little street punk is discovered by the back door.
I used to be like a firecracker. Vibrant, alive, full of sparkle and shine, I thought nothing could change that. Not losing my parents, not all the foster homes, not even living on the streets of New York after I ran away. Tabby and I were the loud, explosive ones; Clarrie was nothing, just the silence in between fireworks I guessed. I was wrong. Clarice was the oxygen that fed us. She was the spark that lit us. She kept us going, she made us keep on changing colour and shape against the dark world. Without her I feel like a sparkler on somebody's cake, burning furiously, desperate to give light, but only drawing myself closer to the end.
I close my eyes and lean forward. My hand dances across the counter of it's own accord. I tilt my head closer to the sink. This'll be messy, but someone else will clean it up. The metal is cool and hard against my neck. Am I sure this is what I really want? I dare not look in the mirror again. When I close my eyes I can see Tabitha and Clarice and I sitting on the lawn, Clarrie standing up and dancing, her milk chocolate coloured hair reaching down her back and shining in the sun. My hand lifts and comes down again, brushing my neck. I can feel the sharp smoothness against the pulse under my chin.
There's a banging on the door.
"Jubilee, are you in there? I really need to go." Illyana, my temporary roomie, so perfect and annoying. I have more of an accent then her. I work the scissors around my head a few more times and open the door and walk out. Illyana catches my arm.
"Wow, what'd you do?"
"It's called a hair cut." My voice surprises me by being more tired then sarcastic.
"It looks nice, really cool. You and Clarice had the longest hair at school though." I reach up and pull on my short locks, just barely curling around my ears now.
"Yeah." There's nothing I can do but agree. I don't think I can explain to Yana. She smiles, and for once I don't feel all patronized.
"Do you think I'd look okay with short hair?" she asks, examining the ends of her own butter-blond hair, cut bluntly at shoulder length.
"You'd look gorgeous if you stuck your head in a blender." Again, it doesn't come out as harsh as I mean it to.
"Thanks. I think I'll put off that experiment for a while though." I turn to leave and she starts heading into the bathroom. "Jubilee?" she sounds timid, but not hesitant. "We're going into town tonight; me, Jono and Everett. To do some shopping for Tabby's welcome back party, and we'll probably catch a movie. Would you like to come?"
"There's a party for Tabs?"
"I told you last week, but you did seem a little preoccupied." Oh. I don't know how I feel about having a party. It's only been a month since Clarice was killed. Illyana's waiting for an answer.
"Okay." I can feel a small grin starting, and condemn myself for going soft. She smiles back.
"Great! Meet you at the front doors in half an hour." She whirls away into the bathroom. "Good grief Jubilation!" Her voice filters through the door quite well. "Did you have to leave all your hair in the sink!?"
My grin widens as I head back to my room.