Disclaimer: Any recognized characters are the exclusive property of Marvel. The author is in no way or form earning financial profit from this story.
The only beta for this story is you!Any mistake found, please report to me. Grammar, plot, character…any flaw, I want to know and fix. (Almost) nothing is too small.
Summary: "In Flanders fields the poppies blow/Between the crosses, row on row/That mark our place; and in the sky/The larks, still bravely singing, fly/Scarce heard amid the guns below." For Remembrance Day.
Dedication: the Dead, who lived, loved, and were loved; just not by all of us.
Please, somebody, just care.
Red Flowers
"So weird!"
"Are you sure that's even Wolverine?"
"Flowers? What the heck?"
Logan ignored the whispers as he strode into the Danger Room.
"Alright bubs, got into yer squads," he growled.
"Uh, Mister Logan?" asked one of the kids asked. Jamie Madrox. Cute.
"Problem, kid?" Logan drawled, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
"No sir…just wondering why you're wearing a…a…"
"Never seen a man wear a flower before?"
"Well…uh…no?" Jamie said. Logan huffed.
"It's a poppy," he explained gruffly. "People wear them to honor veterans and soldiers."
"Wow! Tell us about it, Mister Logan!" Bobby begged. Maybe looking for a story, maybe just looking for an excuse to escape the Danger Room.
Logan blinked as a memory hit him. A beautiful woman, a log cabin, a cozy fire…
"What's so great about today?" Logan rasped as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled up closer to him.
"It's Remembrance Day, silly," she smiled. "Remember? You were there when the holiday was created!"
"Oh yeah," Logan grinned. "Sorry, darling. So many memories."
"I'm sure you've got room for one more," she purred—
"Uh, sure, kid," Logan said, shaking himself from the memory. "See, it started out after World War One…"
"Jean-Paul!" a voice called through the apartment. "Have you seen my poppies?"
"I don't even know why you bother," Jean-Paul snorted as he leaned against his sister's doorway. "It's just one day, nobody cares anymore!"
"I do," Jeanne-Marie insisted, digging through another box. "Now where are they?"
"Here take this." Jean-Paul rolled his eyes as he tossed the small red flower pin at her.
"Thanks!" Jeanne-Marie grinned as she caught the poppy. "Where'd you get this?"
"I…got them this morning," Jean-Paul admitted, rubbing his neck. His sister threw her arms around him.
"Thanks, little brother," she whispered.
"Little brother!"
The people screamed and ran. He didn't try to chase after them. They were scrawny little food-bites, not much of a meal. He was more interested in what they had brought.
His massive paws shredded through the abandoned backpacks. Pathetic sticks that made light. Pieces of human-food. Soft things that humans wore. And what was this?
He pawed at the flimsy paper thing. It seemed familiar, almost comforting. A human item had never caused such a feeling of…of…
The Wendigo picked up the red flower in his massive paws and lumbered off to find something worthy of his stomach.
"Happy Remembrance Day, sir," the officer said cheerfully, handing him a red poppy.
"You too, kid," James Hudson said, pinning the flower to his uniform.
The two entered the building where officers were laughing and chatting uproariously.
"Happy Remembrance Day, sir!" the group bellowed, raising mugs of steaming coffee.
"Happy Remembrance day to you too, fellows," Hudson replied. "Sorry I can't give you a day off."
"Hey, there's hardly any rest for the soldiers," one of the men said grimly. "Why should we get any better?"
"Well said, Harvey," Hudson said, clapping him on the back. "Now, where'd you get—"
Alarms blared through the building, interrupting the men.
"You were right," Hudson said. "There's no rest for Department H either."
Domino raised an eyebrow when she saw what Deadpool was wearing.
"Wade," she asked. "Why are you wearing a flower?"
Deadpool looked up from cleaning his gun, offended. "It's not just a flower, Dom, it's a poppy."
"Excuse me," Domino said sarcastically. "Why are you wearing a poppy?"
"It's Remembrance Day," Deadpool replied casually, turning back to his gun.
"And…?"
"And you're s'posed to wear poppies on Remembrance Day to honor the soldiers!" Deadpool exclaimed, waving his arms wildly. His gun clattered to the ground. "Gosh, Dom, every good Canadian knows that!"
"I'm not Canadian," Domino said, turning to leave. "By the way, where do you get those?"
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Hank McCoy sipped his cocoa as he read the words. He gently folded the worn paper and tucked it away in his desk.
Left untouched until next year.
I know it's not much compared to what the others have done. It's a rushed work. I wrote it in an hour. I just wanted to do something for them.
If you enjoyed this, please review.
If you despised this, please review.
If you know a veteran or soldier, please review.
If you live, love and are loved, please review.
—Jangling Bacon