Title: Contemplation's of An Outcast
Author: Natalia Melissa Vronsky
Email: blackqueenphoenix@yahoo.com or sputiehead@aol.com
Part: one/one
Category: Rogue Evolution-verse
Rating: PG
Summary: The title kinda says it all... but, Rogue thinks about things. (nice summary, huh?)
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me... they're Marvel's, kids WB... whoever's... not mine, okay? Don't sue me.
Author's Notes: it's kinda strange... I'm suffering from writers block and depression... so, if this sucks... you know why!
Thanks: to Cassie and Daisy for being the worlds bestest beta's. :)
Archive: If you have my consent... go ahead if you want to archive it. Otherwise, feel free, just ask and lemme know where it's going!
Feedback: PLEASE! I don't care if'n you flame me... just respond... it's nice to know what others think of my work. PLEASE!
Rogue slammed her bedroom door shut and lay down on her bed, burying her face in the pillows. Even then, she could hear the hum of voices from below. Enjoying themselves. Happy.
She pushed the pillow tighter against her ears, trying so hard to block off the sound. She didn't really care that she was having trouble breathing. If she suffocated, so what? Who would cry for her? Who would honestly miss the soul sucking goth girl if she died?
No one. She had no one she could really call a friend. Risty... but the girl was nosy. So nosy Rogue was beginning to get suspicious of her.
There was Scott. He might miss her. But, Jean would bat her eyes... and he'd forget all about her.
Rogue sat up and tossed the pillow against a wall. She hated her life. It was unfair.
Her misery and angst wasn't the normal teenage angst. And, it never would be. She was a freak. She couldn't and would never be able to touch people. It just wasn't fair.
She remembered being happy. But, she'd been young. The young are always happy. Until life and reality slap them hard across the face.
On her tenth birthday, Irene had informed the young Rogue that she had a skin condition. Sensitivity to the sun. She'd have to keep covered up at all times.
Sadly, Rogue did so. Every inch of her skin covered, save her face.
Children can be so cruel, as Rogue would soon learn. Her best friends began mocking her. Calling her names. Ostracizing her from them.
Then, the change happened so fast, no one knew what hit them.
When Rogue was twelve, her body began changing. Given the body of a goddess while her classmates were still unfamiliar with puberty.
Irene insisted Rogue buy new clothes. Rogue did. The only colors in any of the many bags; black, green, red and blue. Mostly black. Combat boots. A huge bag full of makeup. Several different colors of hair dye. Silver jewelry, collars with spikes, dozen of rings... and naturally, dozens of gloves.
If she was going to be treated as an outcast, she was going to give them a valid reason to pick on her. A skin condition she couldn't control was no reason to mock her.
When she returned to school, everyone was so shocked, all they could do was stare. They recovered from their shock the next day, and began making fun of her again.
Rogue snapped back. Pointing out everyone else's faults. Telling the brutally honest truth. It was no surprise to her that it stopped.
People still looked at her like she was an alien from outer-space and bad-mouthed her behind her back. But, never again to her face.
Rogue couldn't help but think how funny it was that people were still like that with her.
Her house-mates... her teammates and supposed friends. She didn't know for certain, but she got the feeling that they talked about her behind her back. Good, bad, she wasn't sure and didn't care.
She knew she'd never fit in anywhere. Well, she fit in with the Brotherhood. She loved that she was wanted by them... even if they were losers. Mystique had always treated her like she was a princess. But, she didn't want to be a part of that.
She wanted to be the "good-guy" for once in her life. And, even if she didn't fit in... maybe she could be accepted. Maybe find someone who understood.
Then, maybe one day she could be downstairs... laughing and having fun with the others. Instead of up in her room, crying, feeling like she'd never belong.
"You can have my isolation
you can have the hate that it brings
you can have my absence of faith
you can have my everything" Trent Reznor "Closer"
Author: Natalia Melissa Vronsky
Email: blackqueenphoenix@yahoo.com or sputiehead@aol.com
Part: one/one
Category: Rogue Evolution-verse
Rating: PG
Summary: The title kinda says it all... but, Rogue thinks about things. (nice summary, huh?)
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me... they're Marvel's, kids WB... whoever's... not mine, okay? Don't sue me.
Author's Notes: it's kinda strange... I'm suffering from writers block and depression... so, if this sucks... you know why!
Thanks: to Cassie and Daisy for being the worlds bestest beta's. :)
Archive: If you have my consent... go ahead if you want to archive it. Otherwise, feel free, just ask and lemme know where it's going!
Feedback: PLEASE! I don't care if'n you flame me... just respond... it's nice to know what others think of my work. PLEASE!
Rogue slammed her bedroom door shut and lay down on her bed, burying her face in the pillows. Even then, she could hear the hum of voices from below. Enjoying themselves. Happy.
She pushed the pillow tighter against her ears, trying so hard to block off the sound. She didn't really care that she was having trouble breathing. If she suffocated, so what? Who would cry for her? Who would honestly miss the soul sucking goth girl if she died?
No one. She had no one she could really call a friend. Risty... but the girl was nosy. So nosy Rogue was beginning to get suspicious of her.
There was Scott. He might miss her. But, Jean would bat her eyes... and he'd forget all about her.
Rogue sat up and tossed the pillow against a wall. She hated her life. It was unfair.
Her misery and angst wasn't the normal teenage angst. And, it never would be. She was a freak. She couldn't and would never be able to touch people. It just wasn't fair.
She remembered being happy. But, she'd been young. The young are always happy. Until life and reality slap them hard across the face.
On her tenth birthday, Irene had informed the young Rogue that she had a skin condition. Sensitivity to the sun. She'd have to keep covered up at all times.
Sadly, Rogue did so. Every inch of her skin covered, save her face.
Children can be so cruel, as Rogue would soon learn. Her best friends began mocking her. Calling her names. Ostracizing her from them.
Then, the change happened so fast, no one knew what hit them.
When Rogue was twelve, her body began changing. Given the body of a goddess while her classmates were still unfamiliar with puberty.
Irene insisted Rogue buy new clothes. Rogue did. The only colors in any of the many bags; black, green, red and blue. Mostly black. Combat boots. A huge bag full of makeup. Several different colors of hair dye. Silver jewelry, collars with spikes, dozen of rings... and naturally, dozens of gloves.
If she was going to be treated as an outcast, she was going to give them a valid reason to pick on her. A skin condition she couldn't control was no reason to mock her.
When she returned to school, everyone was so shocked, all they could do was stare. They recovered from their shock the next day, and began making fun of her again.
Rogue snapped back. Pointing out everyone else's faults. Telling the brutally honest truth. It was no surprise to her that it stopped.
People still looked at her like she was an alien from outer-space and bad-mouthed her behind her back. But, never again to her face.
Rogue couldn't help but think how funny it was that people were still like that with her.
Her house-mates... her teammates and supposed friends. She didn't know for certain, but she got the feeling that they talked about her behind her back. Good, bad, she wasn't sure and didn't care.
She knew she'd never fit in anywhere. Well, she fit in with the Brotherhood. She loved that she was wanted by them... even if they were losers. Mystique had always treated her like she was a princess. But, she didn't want to be a part of that.
She wanted to be the "good-guy" for once in her life. And, even if she didn't fit in... maybe she could be accepted. Maybe find someone who understood.
Then, maybe one day she could be downstairs... laughing and having fun with the others. Instead of up in her room, crying, feeling like she'd never belong.
"You can have my isolation
you can have the hate that it brings
you can have my absence of faith
you can have my everything" Trent Reznor "Closer"