I couldn't stand thinking so deep about everything anymore. It's too much stress. There are so many things I can never get right, so many options I never take into account. No matter how much I try to make sense of myself, I never have a straight answer. So, I barricaded myself in the sludge of an un-kept mass of gray matter that was never refreshed with the miracle of sleep. My consciousness is in a daze, and with that, I think shallower. With that, I have escaped.
As many mutants have done before me I have figured out a way to suppress my abnormalities while living amongst the humans. How about my way was a mental block from sleep. I couldn't stand thinking so deep about everything anymore, that I just…barricaded myself in the sludge of an un-kept mass of gray matter that was never refreshed or cleaned out. My consciousness is in a daze, and with that, I think shallower. I walk into his long office. The room I enter is a rich mahogany. I think vaguely that I've always loved dark red wood, that it's always made me comfortable. I feel safe in the color and I smile inwardly. I'm dressed in a turtleneck sweater, gray, with black jeans and my black boots. My hair is shoulder-length, as it is now, and wavy. It smells good, I think…I can't remember my last shower but I know I'm clean. I feel a swell of self-satisfaction. Even when I'm mentally absent I can take care of myself. I hear his voice begin from across the room. My sense of timing is off, so I have to listen carefully. "Greetings. My name is Professor Charles Xavier" his hand has reached over the desk as I meet it with my easy stride. I aim the handshake smoothly and have to focus on his words or I'll get lost. It's alright though. I'm good at it. I've been doing this for days. I actually don't know how long…don't remember much anymore. Other people always think I'm doing fantastic because I always appear so calm and chill about everything…but they don't know why I'm doing this to myself. Oh shoot he's talking again—
"…school for the gifted and talented. What brings you here on such a lovely day?" He slowed down the last bits because something felt very wrong. He usually heard a certain buzz in his head, a comforting hum, when people were near him. The hum simply existed without clarity, so he wasn't reading their minds he was…just…feeling them. Yes, feeling was accurate. He eyed her, trying to size her up. She looked innocent enough, 'round 17. She was 5 6'', with shoulder-length blonde hair. Possibly human, possibly mutant…but there was no buzz coming from this person. With telepathy-blockers, it was a loud silence that slammed into his mind, silencing him as well as his tendrils of influence. This wasn't a loud silence, a forced silence—this was an empty room. Her voice sounded normal—fine, with a pleasant calmness to it. "I've developed a certain interest in your institute, Professor" she began carefully. Her tone was even, and her light eyes held his gaze. Her pupils were slightly anisocoric, and both irises were perfect examples of central heterochromia iridum. The black pits were circled by a mix of green and gold dust in a gaseous state, which was in turn circled by arctic blue. The rims were dark, contrasting in a hypnotizing fashion with the apparent lightness. Xavier blinked. There was something. Something he couldn't quite—wait, she was talking again, "…and I know that I'm different, but I'm not positive if I am a mutant. How can you be so sure of your students?"
"In time, each of my pupils prove themselves to be above and beyond what they imagined." He smiled politely. "Tell me: why are you different from the others?"
I noticed the way he looks into you when you're in a room. The way he tries to read you…is he…that'd be too incredible. Poor soul. How is he coping? I noticed he didn't question the existence of my difference… "I can stop everything right where it is and walk around like I'm in a museum. I can alter people's visual perception with my mind, and I can hear their thoughts. I can reach into people's minds and sift through their memories like flipping through a picture book, but I can feel them too. I can feel their connection to each memory, and I can introduce memories as well as change ones they already have[AC1] ."
Tears began to well in Charles' eyes, so he rose from his chair and gazed out the window onto the emerald grounds. Another one. There was another one, possibly exactly like him. He looked down, trying to make his voice work around the lump in his throat and the fierce elation beginning to smolder in his chest. "And how do you change their memories?" he managed, his voice only sounding slightly opposed.
I can hear something in his voice, but I can't recognize it. I'm so hazy…standing probably wouldn't be smart, but I do anyway. "I make things hurt less. I make the actions of other people easier to accept when nothing can be done to change them. I've taken pain and pushed joy."
I seem to float across the study until I'm beside him at the window.
I look down, at the immediate sill. "Though I don't actually know if I'm doing any of these things. I can hear voices all the time," her voice strained the slightest bit as she emphasized the last of the phrase, "but I have no way of knowing if I'm making them up. Sometimes I think I am making them up." She faced him with a hollow smile that reached her odd eyes. "Do I need a mentor or a therapist?"
He leaned against the sill and faced her, finally allowing his joy to show. He lowered his voice and admitted gently, "I can hear people's thoughts too. I can hear them all at once, all at the same time. I can make them see things, and I can see their lives if I look close enough. They are all incredible stories just waiting to be told." She seemed confused. Disillusioned.
"How do you cope? There are so many things going on all at once…"
"Hang on." He stood straight up, snapping back to focus. "Why can't I hear you? Why can't I hear your thoughts? I usually feel a mind, but with you I have nothing…"
The smile she gave him made his stomach turn to ice. Charles was in full alert mode. "What have you done."
The girl made to turn away, an expression he didn't like one bit plastering her face, but he stepped forward and repeated himself with a greater demand.
I turned to face him. I think I can stop running now. Finally…
I smiled through the prickle and burn of forming tears. It'd been so long. Finally…
"Couldn't shut them out, couldn't deal with all of them any longer so I…I stopped it."
"How do you mean? This is important. You need to tell me." He thought the worst, maybe some kind of chemical experimentation—WHAM! His knees buckled and his hands balled into fists as a torrent assaulted his mind. It was unlike any psychological force he'd been in contact with before. He was an ant, and she was a boot.
She was laughing. Her mind retracted from his completely, like a boxer withdrawing his fist at the same lightning speed with which he struck. It wasn't the right kind of laughter either.
"Oh gosh no, nothing like that." She swayed drunkenly as she shuffled backwards, still chuckling lowly. She was clearly delirious. "I just stopped sleeping. That's all, that's it." She rose her hands in mock exaggeration. "No winks for me—" her laughing became less controlled and she began to tip backwards.
At that moment, Erik opened the doors. He saw Charles rising to his feet, wincing, while a manic, laughing girl stumbled backwards. He caught her fall when her knees buckled. He recognized madness immediately. She needed to be put under; the sooner the better.
"Erik, bring her here, now!" Charles ordered with urgency. Another wave of her mind crashed over him, and he vocally lashed out under the strain. The mind withdrew as fast as the last time, but he sensed she didn't mean this, not really. She couldn't patch the dam. The walls were creaking and popping louder and louder, closer and closer…
"CHARLES!" The volume of Erik's voice brought her wrath upon him next. He suddenly couldn't breathe, it felt like his heart would pump out of his chest—and he saw Charles reach carefully for the sides of the lunatic's head.
Immediately, the pain was gone. He had opened the floodgates of my mind, and put me to sleep. To sleep…perchance to dream.
Finally.
[AC1]Hey, that's a lovely thought
A Giver mutation J yes, I could make a Giver and a Shifter…does that mean authors are Givers?