Disclaimer: My dad is writing this story, and he does not own X-Men.
He walked every day to the park to play chess with "no one." He played both sides, one day playing the black pieces, the next white. It seemed only normal to him. No one ever tried to join him in the game. As a matter of fact, they seemed to ignore him; or at most, they never paid attention to him. He preferred it that way. No one ever bothered the chess board, so he left it in place. The pieces were metal and heavy. It would take a strong wind to knock them over. He "played" the only one he ever called friend, at least the one who he remembered as a friend. That friend was dead, killed unnecessarily.
He missed his friend.
Today he was playing the black pieces. He had been sitting for hours observing the board, planning his next move. He grinned and put his hand ever so slightly above a pawn.
The chess piece wobbled.
The old man eyed it, his hand still hovering just above the piece.
Did I just see what I think I saw? He thought. He concentrated. The piece moved again.
More concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead.Move, he thought, closing his eyes.
The chess piece slid to the next space. He opened his eyes. Wide.
He smiled.
It was still a maximum security women's prison. Even though she had helped the government arrest and subdue the world's most dangerous man, they still sentenced her to life behind bars without any chance for parole. It stunned her. Surely she should've been given a more decent sentence! "No," the judge had said, "You're lucky the death penalty isn't being invoked for your crimes against mutants and humans alike." With that, he banged the gavel, ending her trial and what was definitely the rest of her life.
To her it seemed as if it had been years that had passed when, in reality, it had only been a few months. Still, though, solitary confinement was driving her crazy. The warden had decided to "punish" her for her role in the deaths of so many. She recalled his words, "A piece of filth like you deserves no better. You can rot in that little room for the rest of your life for all I care." He turned to leave, saying, "And don't expect any sympathy from anyone here."
Day after day it was the same. There was a sink, a toilet, in the one-room cell, and her bunk. Nothing else. The only "window" was down low in the door, where they passed her food in. She could hear the others as they passed by. How she wanted out! Just to see someone, anyone. The matron that brought her food today appeared to be in a jovial mood. Out of curiosity (and desperation), she said, "Please? May I ask a favor?"
The guard bent down and frowned at her. "What do you want. Slime?"
"Please," she said. "I haven't seen my face or been able to comb my hair decently since I've been in. I'm only asking for a compact mirror to see myself. Please?"
The guard hesitated.
"Please? I'll only keep it long enough to comb my hair, then you can have it back."
The guard sighed. "Well, I'm feeling pretty good today. This is against the rules, but…five minutes. No more. Anymore than that and I'll come in there and beat it out of your hands."
"Five minutes, thank you."
The guard looked around. Nobody was watching. She passed the mirror into the woman. She took it with excitement. Finally! Someone to look at, even if it is her own reflection. She grabbed her brush and started fixing her hair. Outside the cell, the guard was talking. "Hurry up, Slime. I ain't got all day. If I get caught, you're really gonna get it."
"Okay, okay," she said, starting to hand it back. Something in the mirror caught her eye. She stopped, looking at her neck. She moved her head a bit, glancing down with her eyes. It was obvious. They were definitely there. She smiled, handing the mirror back. "Thank you."
The guard snagged the mirror from her. "You're not welcome."
She glanced out the opening, eyed the guard.
"Bitch," she said, her hand caressing the small blue nodules forming on her neck.
Where am I? he thought. And how did I get here? His head hurt. Bad. He tried to open his eyes. When he did there was a burst of red light. Not sure where it came from, he closed his eyes. He tried again. The same red burst of light again. That light seemed to intensify the pain in his head. Might as well keep 'im closed, he thought. he thought. His head hurt. Bad. He tried to open his eyes. When he did there was a burst of red light. Not sure where it came from, he closed his eyes. He tried again. The same red burst of light again. That light seemed to intensify the pain in his head. he thought.
He felt the cool grass beneath him. It felt good on his skin. Then he realized his clothes were torn. What happened to my clothes? Ow. Boy, my head is killing me. Feel like I've been on a drinking binge. But had he? He didn't remember drinking. Where the hell am I? It's definitely out in the open, or, at least, in the woods. I remember. . . looking for someone. Who was it? Damn. I wish I could open my eyes and look around. But that light hurts. It feels like it's inside my head.
How long have I been here? I remember. . . leaving the school. When was that? What day is it? Come on, think! Why am I out here? I came looking for . . .
The name flashed through his mind.
Jean.
