Title: Santé d'esprit (1)
Author: DannyPhantomFan06
Rating: T
Summary: Sanity is a fragile thing. It can be a hindrance or necessity. When events occur that make you question it, you realize how precious it really is.
A/N: This is an attempt at a fic unlike any I have done before. I'm posting this little bit (a teaser if you will) to see what kind of response I get. If it's good, I'll continue and you will all figure out what Rogue is talking about, if not, well, I'll figure something out.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used within.
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Sanity is a fragile thing. I have learned this from many experiences in my life. It can hold you back or it can save you. This is the story of how I began to question this little thing called sanity.
For you to understand my story, you must know a little of my background. I am a mutant. This means that I posses an X-gene somewhere in my DNA. In a world where being normal is desired, I am a freak. Yes, I know that this simple difference does not make me a freak, but you have not heard the rest of who I am.
My mutation isn't purely physical, as that of some mutants. There are outward signs that could label me a mutant, or I could merely be a rebellious teenager. The stripes in my hair could be natural, or could be a result of dye. The Gothic garb could be to hide my mutation, or it could be an expression of my individuality. Until mutants were revealed, I was considered a freak because of my hair, my makeup, and my clothing.
Of course, my name was always in question. "What is your last name?" everyone would ask. I would ignore them, because I truly don't know. I don't even know my first name. I've always been known simply as Rogue.
My parents are a mystery to me. I was adopted at the age of four, or so I'm told. I've never seen the documents and I cannot remember events that early in my life. Information regarding my parents has never been offered and I have never asked. I imagine that they're dead. Some days, I wish I could join them.
I had a typical Southern upbringing in rural Mississippi. Like most Southern children, I attended the Southern Baptist church services on Sunday mornings with the only woman who has ever come close to being a maternal figure to me. I spent my days at the local public schools and my afternoons climbing trees in the humid atmosphere. As I grew older, I began to attend parties and dances with my classmates. It was at one such party that my mutation was revealed.
This is where the main factor in my string of problems came in. She claimed that she wanted to help me. She betrayed me and nearly broke me. She is the one person that I hate more than anyone. She is the reason I first began to question my sanity. She is my mother.
Enough of my background. Any more and I would be straying from my point. The rest isn't relevant to my story. The real story starts after the release and defeat of a mutant named Apocalypse.
I had been a main factor in Apocalypse's release. I had also been a main factor in his defeat. I really don't know why I played major roles in both, but fate is not for me to question.
The solution to the problem of the world was the start of mine. Apocalypse had done something to my mind. Rather than my powers working as they had for the years that I'd had them, they seemed to be malfunctioning. Shorting out, if you will. I could go for days with my skin exposed, brushing up against everyone I encountered and nothing would happen. Or I could accidentally brush against one person for a split second and have a headache for the next few days, as well as the memories of whoever was unlucky enough to touch me. It was impossible to predict and even more impossible to control.
Professor Xavier had no idea what was going on. Neither did Hank McCoy. They spent mass amounts of time looking for a solution, or even trying to find the cause. There was no evidence whatsoever. It was as if Apocalypse had done something undetectable to the part of my brain that is responsible for my mutation. If they had been able to find something, they may have saved me from the pain that I have experienced.
Many of the mutants at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters thought that I was gaining control. After all, I was able to walk around in whatever I desired for days at a time. I was far from control. I know that walking around like someone normal was irresponsible, but it felt so great to not be constricted by layers.
As time wore on, my powers continued to act sporadically. I began to recognize a pattern in the flare ups. They happened around certain mutants. Powerful mutants. Mutants with nearly unlimited potential. No one was aware just how powerful these teenagers would become.
I began avoiding the mutants that caused these flare ups. As long as I didn't come within a certain distance of them, my powers would remain latent. I could be normal. I was able to wear whatever I so desired. It was a great feeling.
As I look back now, I realize that it was a moment of teenage stupidity that caused all my problems. A 'why did I do that' moment. Even now I question why I thought it was a good idea. I guess it was part of my fascination with being a normal (how I loathe that word) teenager. I now realize I am far from normal. I am extraordinary. But then, I was insecure and looking for acceptance.
It was a boring Friday night in Bayville. My ex-roommate, Kitty was whining about something in her valley girl way of speaking. Most likely her boyfriend, though I can't be sure. I told her to go find something else to do, that I didn't want to hear it. She pouted, but phased through the wall to find someone who was willing to hold a conversation. I heaved a sigh a relief. The girl was my friend, but I could only take so much.
I went back to working on my homework. After all, being a mutant in your senior year meant keeping your grades up to ensure graduation. I had barely turned back to my work before she was back.
"What do you want?" I snapped. She recoiled, but didn't leave.
"I was totally thinking that we should go into the city and go clubbing or something to celebrate." As I said, she speaks like a valley girl. It pains me to hear al the likes and totallys in her sentences.
"Ah don't do clubbing." I believe that I have mentioned that I'm from the South. I speak with an accent, though it has faded from so much time in the North.
"Come on, just go this once." Kitty began to give me the puppy dog eyes. I can resist them, but I knew she would refuse to leave me alone until I agreed.
"Fine." Satisfied, she left me to work in peace. If only I had known what price I would pay for that small concession to her.
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Postscript
(1) Santé d'esprit is French for sanity. I needed a name and this one seemed to fit. If you have any suggestions for a better name, please let me know.