Disclaimer: I don't own this, please don't sue me. La La La. Marvel and Tyco
do, La La La.
The Writings On The Wall.
My memory flips back to the long crimson streak that was my wife's
life strewn across our freshly painted white walls. She must have stuggled,
she must have tried to run, why she didn't use her powers to protect
herself, I may never know. Was whomever came and violated our sanctuary
to rob us of our peace prepared? Someone beat her for little more than game
sport. Mutant hunting season is open, I presume.
I've tried to repaint that room, I just can't bring myself to do it.
I wonder how it was I wasn't there to protect her as he spilt pools of seamen
into her unwilling body in my bed, our bed. How he let her run so he could hunt
her down, and do it again before attempting to kill her. He, he whom I'll never know his
name felt good about leaving her naked body for me to find two days
later when I came home from Genosha. The window open where summer air stung through and
and bugs, animals, anything could eat. Her legs broken, her arms tied, how that had
to hurt.
Beast feels horrible, He and she were the only ones here, the rest of us had
to go, to save lives. He spent all his time in his lab, would have never realized
she never came around. How she must have screamed as she was beaten, but you can't
hear a thing from three basements under, he knows we forgave him. But can I forgive
"him"? The man that so very nearly took my wife from me?
We found his skin under her nails, but what good is that when we don't have a thing
to compare it to? Why her? What did she ever do to this man? I come to think
about how many times we have saved lives, only to be treated as animals
by the people we risk everything for. We fear this kind of thing
happining when we are out on the field, but in our own homes? When we
are just simple men and women doing the same things that all men and women do?
She was painting a room. Why did this merit what that horrid man did to my wife?
He beat her until he thought she had died. The police came when we called, but a mutant
woman being brutally assaulted doesn't even come close to the list of
concerns of the New York police, not unless it was in a doughnut shop.
I don't even know is I'll ever even see another tomorrow with her. Everyday I still
have her is a blessing, Even if she can't see or hear me. Hank says there is a big
chance that if my baby lives, she will always be blind, Everything else can be fixed.
She'll look just like she did before, if she lives. I want to just hold her
close one last time, caress her face, her hair, hear her laugh. Everybody
is already preparing me for her death, while they hope she lives. Hope, Hope
and a miriacle is all we have.
Why this man felt he had the right to shatter a life for whatever
reason he wanted my wife, is beyond all fathonable reason. I
hope we find the bastard. Make him see what he did. I want to make him
clean every square inch of what he did up with his tongue. The seamen,
the blood and the torn bits of flesh that moulded to the carpet as we pried
her body off the floor. I want him to taste his own filth for what he did.
I cannot even sleep in that bed after what he did. I had to get a new one.
One I hope my wife can share wth me one day. In peace and comfort, make our
children there, read stories to our grand children here. I know
that might not happen, and if she lives, the writing left on the wall
to this terrible deed has to fade. How much might she remember? How
terrified she must have been, how she must have tried to call out to me.
Her broken body, I cannot ever forget, and how she didn't bleed to death is beyond me.
Sometimes, it's just too much to comprehend how close she is to slipping
away from me forever. Beast is working nonstop, as well as Cecila to help her.
They work very well together, they should be together. Maybe this happened for
that reason, but that still doesn't stop me from wanting to get my
hands on the monster that did this.
They gave me a lock of her hair to keep, for memory. With all the pictures
in my mind, She already fills my memory. Even the smallest scent of her
fills my mind with her. And I still hold her in my dreams, just as stiches and tubes
hold her together now. All I wish is she comes back to me, because
if she does, I'm never letting go again.
do, La La La.
The Writings On The Wall.
My memory flips back to the long crimson streak that was my wife's
life strewn across our freshly painted white walls. She must have stuggled,
she must have tried to run, why she didn't use her powers to protect
herself, I may never know. Was whomever came and violated our sanctuary
to rob us of our peace prepared? Someone beat her for little more than game
sport. Mutant hunting season is open, I presume.
I've tried to repaint that room, I just can't bring myself to do it.
I wonder how it was I wasn't there to protect her as he spilt pools of seamen
into her unwilling body in my bed, our bed. How he let her run so he could hunt
her down, and do it again before attempting to kill her. He, he whom I'll never know his
name felt good about leaving her naked body for me to find two days
later when I came home from Genosha. The window open where summer air stung through and
and bugs, animals, anything could eat. Her legs broken, her arms tied, how that had
to hurt.
Beast feels horrible, He and she were the only ones here, the rest of us had
to go, to save lives. He spent all his time in his lab, would have never realized
she never came around. How she must have screamed as she was beaten, but you can't
hear a thing from three basements under, he knows we forgave him. But can I forgive
"him"? The man that so very nearly took my wife from me?
We found his skin under her nails, but what good is that when we don't have a thing
to compare it to? Why her? What did she ever do to this man? I come to think
about how many times we have saved lives, only to be treated as animals
by the people we risk everything for. We fear this kind of thing
happining when we are out on the field, but in our own homes? When we
are just simple men and women doing the same things that all men and women do?
She was painting a room. Why did this merit what that horrid man did to my wife?
He beat her until he thought she had died. The police came when we called, but a mutant
woman being brutally assaulted doesn't even come close to the list of
concerns of the New York police, not unless it was in a doughnut shop.
I don't even know is I'll ever even see another tomorrow with her. Everyday I still
have her is a blessing, Even if she can't see or hear me. Hank says there is a big
chance that if my baby lives, she will always be blind, Everything else can be fixed.
She'll look just like she did before, if she lives. I want to just hold her
close one last time, caress her face, her hair, hear her laugh. Everybody
is already preparing me for her death, while they hope she lives. Hope, Hope
and a miriacle is all we have.
Why this man felt he had the right to shatter a life for whatever
reason he wanted my wife, is beyond all fathonable reason. I
hope we find the bastard. Make him see what he did. I want to make him
clean every square inch of what he did up with his tongue. The seamen,
the blood and the torn bits of flesh that moulded to the carpet as we pried
her body off the floor. I want him to taste his own filth for what he did.
I cannot even sleep in that bed after what he did. I had to get a new one.
One I hope my wife can share wth me one day. In peace and comfort, make our
children there, read stories to our grand children here. I know
that might not happen, and if she lives, the writing left on the wall
to this terrible deed has to fade. How much might she remember? How
terrified she must have been, how she must have tried to call out to me.
Her broken body, I cannot ever forget, and how she didn't bleed to death is beyond me.
Sometimes, it's just too much to comprehend how close she is to slipping
away from me forever. Beast is working nonstop, as well as Cecila to help her.
They work very well together, they should be together. Maybe this happened for
that reason, but that still doesn't stop me from wanting to get my
hands on the monster that did this.
They gave me a lock of her hair to keep, for memory. With all the pictures
in my mind, She already fills my memory. Even the smallest scent of her
fills my mind with her. And I still hold her in my dreams, just as stiches and tubes
hold her together now. All I wish is she comes back to me, because
if she does, I'm never letting go again.
