To dream a dream
Back in Juvie again. Damn cops, must have put somebody with brains on the force. They
never should have caught me. Then again maybe I am getting too predictable. I gotta
move on to a new town and a new life. I guess I don't because it would mean leaving my
parents. I still visit them when I can. It's a great spot on a hill overlooking the city, side
by side now and forever. Sometimes I lay down between their headstones and pretend
that they are still with me, holding my hands. But eventually it gets cold and dark and
my daydreams fade. Before I leave them, I trace the outline of their names caressing
them as you would a loved one, hoping they can feel my love. That's how the cops
finally caught me. I was up there after running away from my last foster home. There's
just no good place to hide in a cemetery.
So here I am serving the last six months of my sentence because a parole violation. I
tried to plead my case to the judge, but he turned a deaf ear to my claims about the place
where I had been living. He accused me of making the story up to save my own skin.
And that I shouldn't slander the name of good people. He also reminded me how lucky I
had been to be placed anywhere. So as my reward I get bounced right back to cell 37 A.
The cell is almost like it was when I left. My name is still carved in the wall above my
bed. Something is different about the prison though. There is a tension in the air. Not
just the usually tension but something thicker more sinister. Something bad is going to
happen soon, I'd stake my life on it. The anger is focused on my new cellmate. A
mutant named Heather, with bright purple hair and blue on blue eyes. Not exactly the
least obvious mutation in the world. She is in for some petty shoplifting thing I think. I
had to listen to her cry all night, her first night here. She still has people on the outside
thought the are always sending her little packages and stuff. Its like they think that she is
away at summer camp. That and she is up all the time always reading and cutting things
out of newspapers and magazines to put in the darn scrapbook. The thing was about the
size of a dictionary. Whatever was in there must be really important to her. She is a
nightmare cellmate, every thing about her spells trouble. She sticks out in all the wrong
ways in a place where that is a problem.
I finally decide to take Heather aside one day. "Hey it might be better if you stayed in the
cell as much as possible, you sort of stick out around here. And just in case you hadn't
noticed a few people don't like you."
"Why don't they like me?"
"You're a mutant. Duh!"
"I hadn't really noticed anything."
"Are you stupid? One little difference is enough to get you shanked here. And you stick
out like a sore thumb."
Heather nodded and from then on spent as little time out of the cell as possible. The
tension in the prison eased a little for a couple of days.
During that time there was only one thing I wondered about my cellmate. What
was in that scrapbook? Curiosity got the better of me one evening and I slipped the
scrapbook off the desk and slipped stealthy back into bed. Now I would finally know
why Heather spent all her time on that thing. I had a fairly good guess as to what was
in the book and reading the title confirmed it. The fight for mutant right and the X-men.
The book was in a sort of order. It started with the most influential member of the
movement, Professor Charles Xaiver. There were transcripts of his impassioned
speeches to congress. Professor Xaiver was like the Martin Luther King of the mutant
rights movement. He was the perfect speaker for the cause; rich, intelligent, well
educated, and normal looking. With an obvious mutant speaking out, the speeches
wouldn't have touched both groups of people somebody wouldn't have listened to a
mutant. Everyone watched the Professor, if even only to pick apart his arguments, they
all had to listen to him. I was willing to bet however, that the Professor was a mutant
but he didn't have a physical mutation, because no one is that impassioned about a cause
that you don't have a stake in.
Look at one of Professor Xaiver's friends, Doctor Henry McCoy. Dr. McCoy was a blue
furry man making his status as a mutant undeniable. He helped to show that mutant
could be productive member of society. His work in science commanded respect; it
didn't matter what he looked like. He had a brilliant mind and was well-published
researcher in mutant physiology and human genetics, plus he was a former Avenger.
The book then changed to a section marked X-Men. Clearly this area was a work in
process some of the pages weren't glued in tight and the few pictures weren't pasted to
anything at all. There were a lot of articles but not many pictures. I looked at the
picture I could find first. The most striking was a man with a visor over his eyes standing
next to a woman with flaming red hair. Next an African American woman dressed an all
white silhouetted against the night sky. A human Popsicle sliding away with a man in a
trench coat throwing glowing cards and nearby with a flying woman with a skunk stripe
in her hair. The last picture was of a man; alone claws bared standing on a pile of scrap
metal. I felt a pity and longing looking at this man. His eyes bespoke of a painful
sorrow. This was the face of a warrior who was not at peace. I empathize with
this man. That look in his eyes could also be found in mine, street wise, tough and smart.
Trained where life was hard and you needed to be harder. I traced the points of his
mask with my fingers. And examined his claws, the picture had great detail. It showed
how the claws sprang out from between his knuckles. And how it had to hurt to use the
claws because every slice on an enemy would also slice into his hand. I set this
picture down on the bed away from the rest. While I read the articles about the X-
men. They often protected the helpless or innocent in their exploits. A mutant crisis
center, protecting other mutant from the Sentinels, and saving all the children at a mutant
orphanage.
Too bad there isn't someone like that to protect and help non-mutants, she thought.
Oh well it was getting late and if I plan to get any sleep tonight I'd better
just put the book back.
Clearly reading about the X-men before bed had colored my dreams. I saw myself
fighting along side them. Standing closest to the man with the claws. He looked down
on me with those sorrowful eyes, for a moment and I thought my heart would break. And then I was back in the fight againist some
faceless enemy. I flew threw the air flipping and spinning. A yellow coat flapping
behind me. Sparks of multicolored light shot out of my hands. I could hear the others
fighting along with me. Soon the battle was won and the world would be safe for another
day because of the fearless X-men and me. The X-men assembled in front of me. The
visor man, the red head, the iceman, the man with the trench coat, the flying woman, the
woman in white, Doctor McCoy, even Professor Xaiver. They all stood watching me
intently. The man with the claws came up beside me. And I turned to look at him. His
claws had been sheathed and his mask was off. I could see his wild hairdo with the
thick sideburns, all part of the gruff exterior he portrayed. But most of all I could
clearly see his eyes sparkle slightly when he looked at me. I was about to ask him
something when a bright light obscured all the figures. I opened my eyes as the guard
yelled.
"Get dressed and turn out for morning count."
I rolled off the bed and my feet lightly padded on to the floor. My cellmate was
staring at me with those eyes that felt like they were boring little holes into my soul.
"So you read my scrapbook. What did you think?"
" I think that if we don't get moving the guard is going ta kick both our butts." I
turned my back on my cellmate ending any further discussion. They were both ready to
go when the cell door clanked open before I looked at the mutant girl.
"I think I understand you better. In a way you and I are alike. You are treated different
because you are a mutant. I am different because I am an orphan and no cares about me.
We are both looking for the same sort of thing acceptance. Just remember no matter
what happens here that your parents still love you. Neither one of asked for what has
happened in our lives but we have to learn to deal with it."
Fate has a funny way of teaching you life's lessons just when you are going to need them.
The tension that she had felt was back in full force today. The exercise yard was
crowded when her and Heather walked in. Everyone seemed to be waiting for
something all the inmates were clustered together in large groups. The long timers had
gather in one very large group, and some of their groupies kept sneaking glances in the
direction of her hapless cellmate. This was not good at all, she looked to the guards and
they seemed to be ignoring the whole situation. The Friends off Humanity were probably
paying them off. The inmates surrounded her cellmate. While I prayed that they
would just taunt her and then leave her alone. Heather soon screamed out in pain as the
first blow found it target. With the guards ignoring the whole scene she had no choice
I couldn't just ignore Heather's cries. That would make me no better then a murderer.
I vaulted into the center of the mob, landing to stand over her fallen cellmate. I
held my hands above me to deflect some of the lessening debris.
"Stop, I cried my voice as clear as a church bell. Why are you doing this? She's just
like you. It's no different than if she was black, white, or Asian. It's not like she had a
choice about being a mutant. We are all outcasts of the same society. It's not like she
has hurt you by being what she is. If she has actually hurt you then come forward tell me
and I'll help you kill her myself." The mob tittered nervously. "No one then why does
this have to happen? Are you all willing to commit cold blooded murder of a person that
has done nothing to you?"
A rock along with some words flew from the back of the mob. Giving the answer to her
question. "She hurt me. She was born. Kill the mutie scum and her mutie loving friend
too they are the blight of humanity."
The word cut me to the heart, the rock cut into my back. Causing me to pitch forward
falling on to my friend, shielding her from any further damage but I did nothing to
protect myself. I could feel the blows continuing to fall but they hurt less each time
I was disconnected somehow. And I watched as a red pool expanded around us,
tainting and staining the ground with its essence. Her life's blood would forever mark
this land it would tell the final tale of these two martyrs for the cause. Her last thoughts
are not of her dead parents because she would see them soon enough. I am not alone
however, I can see the X-men. I am lying on the ground and the X-men are standing
all around me, their faces holding concerned looks. A hairy hand extended down and I
grabs it pulling myself upright, face to face with the feral man. I scans his eyes
looking for some sign that I am doing the right thing some spark of acceptance. It was
stupid to look for this from a dream I knew, but it was more their dream than mine
anyway. The feral man cracked a smile the corners of his mouth turned up and a spark
flashed in his eyes. Maybe I have help their dream, she though. And then her life blew
out like a summer breeze gently caressing her and then flying away to another place.
* * * * * * *
Salem Center New York
A rather grumpy feral man sat with his feet propped up on a computer consul while
smoking a cigar.
Damn Cajun, he thought never should have made that bet with him now I am stuck
down here on mutant news patrol.
Cerebro was preprogrammed to scan every newspaper magazine and television program
for mutant related items. Any that were interesting were flagged but then somebody had
to look at every item and determine if it was something the team should continue to
watch. Wolverine avoided this job like the plague, nothing was worse that being stuck in
the computer room when you had an aversion to technology. He rapidly scanned the
items and lucky for him it was a slow news day, when something caught his eye a
broadcast on the national news he stopped the tape to listen. The reporter's voice
smoothly read the teleprompter betraying none of the emotion in the story that was to
come.
"Two inmates were killed today in Babb Juvenile Hall, a part of the California penal
system. Heather Smith age 14 and a mutant. And another girl age 13 Jubilation Lee two
photos were flashed on the screen. One of a girl smiling with purple hair and blue on
blue eyes, the other a mug shot of a dark haired girl with distinct Asian features holding a
blurred number in front of her. He glanced at the first picture but was memorized by the
eyes in the picture identified as Jubilation Lee. They looked so much like what he saw in
the mirror every day. Old and hard, ancient to belong to someone only thirteen.
Wolverine felt a stab at his heart, that somehow he should know this girl. He was angry
for her. That something in this life had forced the eyes and face of a warrior on to a child
pained his soul. The image flipped over as the reported announced that they would be
showing video feed from the prison of the incident along with the warning that it may not
be suitable for all viewers.
The video feed was color and of very good quality, it even had audio. He watched as the
mob surrounded the purple headed girl and pelted her with rock and other things. She
cried out in pain and a blur vaulted over the mob to stand over the fallen purple-headed
girl. The Asian girl stood protectively over her friend. He listened as she spoke trying to
stop the mob. He watched as the first rock flew with the groups' answer.
Where were the guards he wondered? Had they just stood by and watched as these two
girls died? Wolverine's claws unsheathed instinctively slashing into the arm of the chair
he was in.
The reported came back on. The warden has no comment at this time and the five guards
who were on duty have been charged with negligent homicide. One inmate has also been
charge with one count of murder and one count of manslaughter. In an unprecedented
move by the state penal system our camera crew has been allowed into Heather and
Jubilation cell.
We go now to our live camera feed. It was your standard cell, bunk beds along one wall
desks along the other. The desks had names over them identifying their owners. On
Heather's desk was a large binder, the camera man opened it to reveal it's title, The fight
for mutant rights and the X-Men. The cameraman flipped quickly through the book talk
briefly about what kind of stuff was in there. Professor Xaivers speeches, some of
Doctor Henry McCoy's published works, and a whole section devoted the exploits of the
X-men. The cameraman panned over to the beds. We found this picture lying on
Jubilation's bed. The camera zoomed in on a fuzzy image that focused into stark clarity.
Wolverine was shocked to find his face staring at him through the Television. It was one
of the few shots of him ever in the news. A Sentinel's internal camera had taken it just
before he cut out it power.
The reporter's voice played over his image. I am reminded of something that Professor
Xaiver once said, the fight for mutant right is now but it's the children who must carry on
the dream. The images of the two girls flashed up again along with dates marking their
passing. Wolverine turned off the screen. And brushed lightly at his face surprised to
find a single tear wetting the back of his hand. He spoke to the heavens as he left the
room, "Good luck kid."
Authors notes
Thank to my new beta reader Genki Girl.
Back in Juvie again. Damn cops, must have put somebody with brains on the force. They
never should have caught me. Then again maybe I am getting too predictable. I gotta
move on to a new town and a new life. I guess I don't because it would mean leaving my
parents. I still visit them when I can. It's a great spot on a hill overlooking the city, side
by side now and forever. Sometimes I lay down between their headstones and pretend
that they are still with me, holding my hands. But eventually it gets cold and dark and
my daydreams fade. Before I leave them, I trace the outline of their names caressing
them as you would a loved one, hoping they can feel my love. That's how the cops
finally caught me. I was up there after running away from my last foster home. There's
just no good place to hide in a cemetery.
So here I am serving the last six months of my sentence because a parole violation. I
tried to plead my case to the judge, but he turned a deaf ear to my claims about the place
where I had been living. He accused me of making the story up to save my own skin.
And that I shouldn't slander the name of good people. He also reminded me how lucky I
had been to be placed anywhere. So as my reward I get bounced right back to cell 37 A.
The cell is almost like it was when I left. My name is still carved in the wall above my
bed. Something is different about the prison though. There is a tension in the air. Not
just the usually tension but something thicker more sinister. Something bad is going to
happen soon, I'd stake my life on it. The anger is focused on my new cellmate. A
mutant named Heather, with bright purple hair and blue on blue eyes. Not exactly the
least obvious mutation in the world. She is in for some petty shoplifting thing I think. I
had to listen to her cry all night, her first night here. She still has people on the outside
thought the are always sending her little packages and stuff. Its like they think that she is
away at summer camp. That and she is up all the time always reading and cutting things
out of newspapers and magazines to put in the darn scrapbook. The thing was about the
size of a dictionary. Whatever was in there must be really important to her. She is a
nightmare cellmate, every thing about her spells trouble. She sticks out in all the wrong
ways in a place where that is a problem.
I finally decide to take Heather aside one day. "Hey it might be better if you stayed in the
cell as much as possible, you sort of stick out around here. And just in case you hadn't
noticed a few people don't like you."
"Why don't they like me?"
"You're a mutant. Duh!"
"I hadn't really noticed anything."
"Are you stupid? One little difference is enough to get you shanked here. And you stick
out like a sore thumb."
Heather nodded and from then on spent as little time out of the cell as possible. The
tension in the prison eased a little for a couple of days.
During that time there was only one thing I wondered about my cellmate. What
was in that scrapbook? Curiosity got the better of me one evening and I slipped the
scrapbook off the desk and slipped stealthy back into bed. Now I would finally know
why Heather spent all her time on that thing. I had a fairly good guess as to what was
in the book and reading the title confirmed it. The fight for mutant right and the X-men.
The book was in a sort of order. It started with the most influential member of the
movement, Professor Charles Xaiver. There were transcripts of his impassioned
speeches to congress. Professor Xaiver was like the Martin Luther King of the mutant
rights movement. He was the perfect speaker for the cause; rich, intelligent, well
educated, and normal looking. With an obvious mutant speaking out, the speeches
wouldn't have touched both groups of people somebody wouldn't have listened to a
mutant. Everyone watched the Professor, if even only to pick apart his arguments, they
all had to listen to him. I was willing to bet however, that the Professor was a mutant
but he didn't have a physical mutation, because no one is that impassioned about a cause
that you don't have a stake in.
Look at one of Professor Xaiver's friends, Doctor Henry McCoy. Dr. McCoy was a blue
furry man making his status as a mutant undeniable. He helped to show that mutant
could be productive member of society. His work in science commanded respect; it
didn't matter what he looked like. He had a brilliant mind and was well-published
researcher in mutant physiology and human genetics, plus he was a former Avenger.
The book then changed to a section marked X-Men. Clearly this area was a work in
process some of the pages weren't glued in tight and the few pictures weren't pasted to
anything at all. There were a lot of articles but not many pictures. I looked at the
picture I could find first. The most striking was a man with a visor over his eyes standing
next to a woman with flaming red hair. Next an African American woman dressed an all
white silhouetted against the night sky. A human Popsicle sliding away with a man in a
trench coat throwing glowing cards and nearby with a flying woman with a skunk stripe
in her hair. The last picture was of a man; alone claws bared standing on a pile of scrap
metal. I felt a pity and longing looking at this man. His eyes bespoke of a painful
sorrow. This was the face of a warrior who was not at peace. I empathize with
this man. That look in his eyes could also be found in mine, street wise, tough and smart.
Trained where life was hard and you needed to be harder. I traced the points of his
mask with my fingers. And examined his claws, the picture had great detail. It showed
how the claws sprang out from between his knuckles. And how it had to hurt to use the
claws because every slice on an enemy would also slice into his hand. I set this
picture down on the bed away from the rest. While I read the articles about the X-
men. They often protected the helpless or innocent in their exploits. A mutant crisis
center, protecting other mutant from the Sentinels, and saving all the children at a mutant
orphanage.
Too bad there isn't someone like that to protect and help non-mutants, she thought.
Oh well it was getting late and if I plan to get any sleep tonight I'd better
just put the book back.
Clearly reading about the X-men before bed had colored my dreams. I saw myself
fighting along side them. Standing closest to the man with the claws. He looked down
on me with those sorrowful eyes, for a moment and I thought my heart would break. And then I was back in the fight againist some
faceless enemy. I flew threw the air flipping and spinning. A yellow coat flapping
behind me. Sparks of multicolored light shot out of my hands. I could hear the others
fighting along with me. Soon the battle was won and the world would be safe for another
day because of the fearless X-men and me. The X-men assembled in front of me. The
visor man, the red head, the iceman, the man with the trench coat, the flying woman, the
woman in white, Doctor McCoy, even Professor Xaiver. They all stood watching me
intently. The man with the claws came up beside me. And I turned to look at him. His
claws had been sheathed and his mask was off. I could see his wild hairdo with the
thick sideburns, all part of the gruff exterior he portrayed. But most of all I could
clearly see his eyes sparkle slightly when he looked at me. I was about to ask him
something when a bright light obscured all the figures. I opened my eyes as the guard
yelled.
"Get dressed and turn out for morning count."
I rolled off the bed and my feet lightly padded on to the floor. My cellmate was
staring at me with those eyes that felt like they were boring little holes into my soul.
"So you read my scrapbook. What did you think?"
" I think that if we don't get moving the guard is going ta kick both our butts." I
turned my back on my cellmate ending any further discussion. They were both ready to
go when the cell door clanked open before I looked at the mutant girl.
"I think I understand you better. In a way you and I are alike. You are treated different
because you are a mutant. I am different because I am an orphan and no cares about me.
We are both looking for the same sort of thing acceptance. Just remember no matter
what happens here that your parents still love you. Neither one of asked for what has
happened in our lives but we have to learn to deal with it."
Fate has a funny way of teaching you life's lessons just when you are going to need them.
The tension that she had felt was back in full force today. The exercise yard was
crowded when her and Heather walked in. Everyone seemed to be waiting for
something all the inmates were clustered together in large groups. The long timers had
gather in one very large group, and some of their groupies kept sneaking glances in the
direction of her hapless cellmate. This was not good at all, she looked to the guards and
they seemed to be ignoring the whole situation. The Friends off Humanity were probably
paying them off. The inmates surrounded her cellmate. While I prayed that they
would just taunt her and then leave her alone. Heather soon screamed out in pain as the
first blow found it target. With the guards ignoring the whole scene she had no choice
I couldn't just ignore Heather's cries. That would make me no better then a murderer.
I vaulted into the center of the mob, landing to stand over her fallen cellmate. I
held my hands above me to deflect some of the lessening debris.
"Stop, I cried my voice as clear as a church bell. Why are you doing this? She's just
like you. It's no different than if she was black, white, or Asian. It's not like she had a
choice about being a mutant. We are all outcasts of the same society. It's not like she
has hurt you by being what she is. If she has actually hurt you then come forward tell me
and I'll help you kill her myself." The mob tittered nervously. "No one then why does
this have to happen? Are you all willing to commit cold blooded murder of a person that
has done nothing to you?"
A rock along with some words flew from the back of the mob. Giving the answer to her
question. "She hurt me. She was born. Kill the mutie scum and her mutie loving friend
too they are the blight of humanity."
The word cut me to the heart, the rock cut into my back. Causing me to pitch forward
falling on to my friend, shielding her from any further damage but I did nothing to
protect myself. I could feel the blows continuing to fall but they hurt less each time
I was disconnected somehow. And I watched as a red pool expanded around us,
tainting and staining the ground with its essence. Her life's blood would forever mark
this land it would tell the final tale of these two martyrs for the cause. Her last thoughts
are not of her dead parents because she would see them soon enough. I am not alone
however, I can see the X-men. I am lying on the ground and the X-men are standing
all around me, their faces holding concerned looks. A hairy hand extended down and I
grabs it pulling myself upright, face to face with the feral man. I scans his eyes
looking for some sign that I am doing the right thing some spark of acceptance. It was
stupid to look for this from a dream I knew, but it was more their dream than mine
anyway. The feral man cracked a smile the corners of his mouth turned up and a spark
flashed in his eyes. Maybe I have help their dream, she though. And then her life blew
out like a summer breeze gently caressing her and then flying away to another place.
* * * * * * *
Salem Center New York
A rather grumpy feral man sat with his feet propped up on a computer consul while
smoking a cigar.
Damn Cajun, he thought never should have made that bet with him now I am stuck
down here on mutant news patrol.
Cerebro was preprogrammed to scan every newspaper magazine and television program
for mutant related items. Any that were interesting were flagged but then somebody had
to look at every item and determine if it was something the team should continue to
watch. Wolverine avoided this job like the plague, nothing was worse that being stuck in
the computer room when you had an aversion to technology. He rapidly scanned the
items and lucky for him it was a slow news day, when something caught his eye a
broadcast on the national news he stopped the tape to listen. The reporter's voice
smoothly read the teleprompter betraying none of the emotion in the story that was to
come.
"Two inmates were killed today in Babb Juvenile Hall, a part of the California penal
system. Heather Smith age 14 and a mutant. And another girl age 13 Jubilation Lee two
photos were flashed on the screen. One of a girl smiling with purple hair and blue on
blue eyes, the other a mug shot of a dark haired girl with distinct Asian features holding a
blurred number in front of her. He glanced at the first picture but was memorized by the
eyes in the picture identified as Jubilation Lee. They looked so much like what he saw in
the mirror every day. Old and hard, ancient to belong to someone only thirteen.
Wolverine felt a stab at his heart, that somehow he should know this girl. He was angry
for her. That something in this life had forced the eyes and face of a warrior on to a child
pained his soul. The image flipped over as the reported announced that they would be
showing video feed from the prison of the incident along with the warning that it may not
be suitable for all viewers.
The video feed was color and of very good quality, it even had audio. He watched as the
mob surrounded the purple headed girl and pelted her with rock and other things. She
cried out in pain and a blur vaulted over the mob to stand over the fallen purple-headed
girl. The Asian girl stood protectively over her friend. He listened as she spoke trying to
stop the mob. He watched as the first rock flew with the groups' answer.
Where were the guards he wondered? Had they just stood by and watched as these two
girls died? Wolverine's claws unsheathed instinctively slashing into the arm of the chair
he was in.
The reported came back on. The warden has no comment at this time and the five guards
who were on duty have been charged with negligent homicide. One inmate has also been
charge with one count of murder and one count of manslaughter. In an unprecedented
move by the state penal system our camera crew has been allowed into Heather and
Jubilation cell.
We go now to our live camera feed. It was your standard cell, bunk beds along one wall
desks along the other. The desks had names over them identifying their owners. On
Heather's desk was a large binder, the camera man opened it to reveal it's title, The fight
for mutant rights and the X-Men. The cameraman flipped quickly through the book talk
briefly about what kind of stuff was in there. Professor Xaivers speeches, some of
Doctor Henry McCoy's published works, and a whole section devoted the exploits of the
X-men. The cameraman panned over to the beds. We found this picture lying on
Jubilation's bed. The camera zoomed in on a fuzzy image that focused into stark clarity.
Wolverine was shocked to find his face staring at him through the Television. It was one
of the few shots of him ever in the news. A Sentinel's internal camera had taken it just
before he cut out it power.
The reporter's voice played over his image. I am reminded of something that Professor
Xaiver once said, the fight for mutant right is now but it's the children who must carry on
the dream. The images of the two girls flashed up again along with dates marking their
passing. Wolverine turned off the screen. And brushed lightly at his face surprised to
find a single tear wetting the back of his hand. He spoke to the heavens as he left the
room, "Good luck kid."
Authors notes
Thank to my new beta reader Genki Girl.