Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any of this; I own Marc Maseon and any other unfamiliar characters, but nothing else.
A.p.R. (A Pyro's Rage): This Chapter is not that great do not judge the story by this. I just finish corrections on the first two chapters…man it's kind of weird looking back at my old work and then running in fear at their horrible grammar and spelling and punctuation and wrong word usage…my writing style sure has change…now I'll shut up so you can read…Peace.
Please Review.
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Foreword: Death Levels All Things
When Marc Maseon was born in 1988, a surgical complication caused him to lose most of the blood in his body, an immediate blood transfusion was necessary. His mother, Marie, was to weak from the birth and his father, Max, was out of town at the time. Luckily a mysterious emergency donor, who disappeared before the transfusion was complete and a miracle, Marc was saved; the blood however was 'different.'
At 15, he and his parents were celebrating his high school basketball team's state championship victory with a trip to a Phoenix Suns game, when a drunk driver ran a red light and t-boned their car. Do to Marc's emerging healing abilities he survived, but sadly his mother was killed on impact and his father was left in critical condition and losing blood rapidly. When no other relatives could be reach, Marc agreed to an emergency blood transfusion.
--------Hospital lobby (Past)---------
Was life so fragile, so fickle, that a single sentence, a few words, could break a person…ruin their beliefs and slowly, agonizingly, whittle away at one's soul?
Marc sat in a waiting room chair, slightly bent over, head in hands.
A man in a white coat walked out from the back. "I'm so sorry, son, your…your father has passed away."
"No…no! How? They said…they said that..." Marc struggled to form a full sentence as millions of thoughts crossed his mind in a spit-second.
"We did all we could do."
"Liars, your all liars...you did nothing!" Marc sobbed. 'You said he'd be okay, you said…he…you bastards." He said collapsing onto his knees bawling.
Why God? What have I done? I thought you cared about us. I must have been crazy to believe those stupid stories I hear in church! I have done everything that you wanted and you do this to me…to them?
----------- 5 Days Later (Present)-------------
"Marc are you ready, sweetie?" She said peaking into the room
"Almost Tí a Halley." He replied struggling with his tie.
"Need help with your tie, Marc?"
"No thanks…I got it."
Marc looked at himself in the mirror before him, everything was perfect just five days ago, in five short days his world was torn to shreds. He had all he ever wanted, loving parents and family, his basketball team had just won the state championship, a normal life. Now he was putting on a black suit so he could go off to see his parents for the last time.
"Meet me in the car, okay."
"Yeah…okay Halley"
-
The man who said, "A person's death is more the survivors' affair than their own." was, now more then ever, right.
The funeral was painful…seeing the roses and pictures and reading the eulogy to all of his relatives. It was bearing down on him, couldn't he just forget about everything. Marc watched the coffins as they were lowered into the opening in the ground, his tears damming up in his eyes as he tried to force them back. He started to have flashbacks he could not battle the tears any longer and gave in an let the warn tears flow down his face. He felt his emotions and rage building, becoming too much to handle. His hand were burning, it felt like his brain was combusting.
He started get short of breathe, he felt dizzy.
"What's happening to me?" he thought. "What's going on?"
-
He pulled it together made it through the funeral, for them he knew they wouldn't want him to be like this. He kneeled over their head stone and read the inscription, 'Death is the golden key to eternity.' Marc wiped a loose tear that trickled down his face. He pulled a white rose from a large bouquet that was left by another mourner. He kissed the flower and placed the blossom atop the stone. "You two were the best parents I could've ever asked for. I'm lost without you…you guys know that right?" With those tearful words he rose and slowly walk away from their final resting place.
-
The ride home he couldn't help but cry until he couldn't.
"Damn it! Damn it!" Marc said pounding his clenched fist onto the armrest."
"Calm down Marc, don't hurt yourself." Halley said.
"Calm Down?! Is that all you could say to me? I'll never see my parents again and I have to calm down?!" Marc snapped.
"Honey, please calm down?!" Halley Pleaded.
"I'll calm down…when this pain goes away."
-
When they arrived at Halley's apartment complex and pulled into her parking spot, Marc quickly got out of the car and dashed over to a 'Starbucks' across the street.
"Marc?! Where are you going?!" She yelled after him, but he ignored her plea.
She walked into her apartment, sat at the dining table, and put her hands over her face.
Ring Ring
She reached over to her left and answered the phone.
"Hello."
"Hello this is Dr. O'Hara. May I speak to Ms. Halley Gonzalez, Please?"
"This is she."
"Well I'm calling about some strange autopsy reports."
"What do you mean?"
"Well all findings on Mrs. Maseon were normal, but Mr. Maseon's was odd. It shows that the blood transfer is what killed him."
"I'm sorry Doctor, I don't understand?"
Well the blood that was transferred was mutated."
"Mutated?"
"Ms. Gonzalez, the donor was a mutant. Your nephew is a mutant."
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in awe, at this revelation, she dropped the phone. As the phone dangled there, you could hear still the Doctor on the other line,
Ms. Gonzalez, Ms. Gonzalez, Ms. Gonzalez
-
Marc returned a few minutes later with two Cappuccinos.
"Halley I'm sorry about earlier, I just got carried away, it's hard….." Marc started.
"God damn mutie." She mumbled under her breathe.
"What?" he asked, handing her a cappuccino.
"You heard me," she slapped the cup out of his hands, "You God damn mutie!"
"What are you talking about?!"
"The Doctor just called you know what she said?! She said it was your 'mutie' blood that killed your father, my brother! Get out of my house mutant scum."
"Tì a Halley?" He pleaded with tears in his eyes.
-
He quickly grabbed some of his things and headed to a nearby pawnshop. There he pawned the autographed baseballs that his mother got for him along with the watch his father had given to him on his fourteenth birthday as well as other sentimental items.
"Hey! Kid give me that money." A man demanded as Marc exited the shop.
The man looked relatively old, probably in his fifties, though it was difficult for Marc to tell through the man's scruffy ash-white beard and the dirt that masked his face. The man was probably homeless.
"No man, just back off, leave me alone." Marc replied
"Wanna change that answer?" The man unveiled a gun from his coat.
"Shit!" Marc shouted trying to run away but tripped himself up and fell to the ground.
"Okay Kid."
Bang
As the bullet came at him fire exploded from his body annihilate the bullet and catching to the man's beard.
Marc ran off, frightened, as the man panicked to put his beard out.
-
For the next two months, Marc went from sleazy motel to sleazy motel, worrying about how to afford a meal a night. He slowly learned to control his powers to a certain extent, he still could not control some of them though. He learned to forgive himself in part for his fathers death but still considered himself to be a murderer. His parents taught him to always pray…he stopped praying the day they died.
Marc decided that he had to talk to someone familiar…he wanted to talk to someone. It really isn't the best social environment on the streets, so he searched for and found his good friend Bobby Drake's number. He called only to find out that he no longer lives in Boston he lives in a New York boarding school now. He received the number from Mrs. Drake but never used it.
After about two months, his aunt sent the police looking for him. Not wanting to be found, Marc sold all of his possessions except a few pairs of clothes and bought a one-way ticket to New York.
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I added some small parts, changed some words, and added more description…That's what television people would call digitally re-mastered…Please Review.
