Wall of Silence
A/N: There are no names in this fic. I mean, I mention Xavier's name, but I don't say who is telling the whole thing, so use your imagination.
Disclaimer: Me? Own the X-men? Surely you jest.
At night, it seems, all the worries and problems, all the things we're too busy (or too afraid) to think about during the day, seem to crawl out of the woodwork and into your head. You can't control what you think about. Neither can anyone else. Well, I shouldn't say that.
I do a good job of fooling the others. If they see me acting strangely, they make excuses. "She's stressed. This battle or that was too much for her." But I think that, on some level, they must sense it.
I am part of the dream that lives in our mentor's heart, and I don't regret it for a second. I tell myself that he gave me a life that was real. He helped me find my strength and become who I am. I suppose these things are all true, but...
But sometimes there's a rebel voice, speaking to me when my mind isn't cluttered with other pursuits. "Whatever strength you have," it whispers, "comes from you, not from Xavier. What exactly are you doing?"
"I'm fighting for the greater good," I reply.
"What greater good?" the rebel voice demands. "Greater than what?"
"Greater than..." I struggle to find an answer to that, without any luck. "What I want is to help them accept us."
"What you want? Or what he wants?"
"What's the difference?"
"Ah," says the rebel voice. "I rest my case."
This is what I know we do: fight to protect a race that doesn't like us, never has, most likely never will. You can't go as far as I've gone without wondering whether we're really making a difference, whether we can really "make" them understand, whether it's worth it. Whether saving a world that doesn't want (need?) to be saved really makes us noble...or just proves that we're living, well, in a dream world.
But that isn't even the point. The point is the unspoken law here: Xavier is always right. He rescued us, he taught us, and in return, we are dedicating our lives to fighting for his vision. You might wonder why the most dedicated of us always obey him. You might conclude that we have forgotten how to think for ourselves. You might even think that he is deliberately controlling our minds.
You would be wrong. When we say, "Xavier is always right" it's not because it has never occurred to us that he might be wrong. It's because, over and over, it HAS occurred to us. But if he is wrong, we've wasted our lives, based our existences on a fool's quest. If he is wrong, and we will never be accepted, if the world is not worth saving, or maybe if (gasp) we're not humanity's only hope, then what are we even doing?
What is a dream, anyway, if not a mixed-up vision you experience while you're ignorant of the world around you? That is how I think it is sometimes. True, we have nowhere else to go; the waking world cast us out. But all dreams have to end sometime, and the dreamer must open his eyes and realize that hope for the present is just as important as hope for the future.
What I really want is to break away. To not feel like I have some great quest to fulfill just because I'm a mutant. To not BE a mutant. To just be me, whoever that is. I've forgotten that, I think. We all have. Everything we are is what he made us.
For the sake of my sanity, I have to ignore the rebel voice, pretend that I don't feel like crying whenever he refers to us as "his" X-men, tell myself that everything will be all right in the morning.
And that's the scary part - everything will. Tomorrow, I'll have other things to occupy my mind, other battles to fight, and someone will say something to make me wonder why I had doubts in the first place.
"Wake up," I whisper. "Wake up." I'm not sure whether I'm talking to the others, to Xavier...or to myself.
A/N: There are no names in this fic. I mean, I mention Xavier's name, but I don't say who is telling the whole thing, so use your imagination.
Disclaimer: Me? Own the X-men? Surely you jest.
At night, it seems, all the worries and problems, all the things we're too busy (or too afraid) to think about during the day, seem to crawl out of the woodwork and into your head. You can't control what you think about. Neither can anyone else. Well, I shouldn't say that.
I do a good job of fooling the others. If they see me acting strangely, they make excuses. "She's stressed. This battle or that was too much for her." But I think that, on some level, they must sense it.
I am part of the dream that lives in our mentor's heart, and I don't regret it for a second. I tell myself that he gave me a life that was real. He helped me find my strength and become who I am. I suppose these things are all true, but...
But sometimes there's a rebel voice, speaking to me when my mind isn't cluttered with other pursuits. "Whatever strength you have," it whispers, "comes from you, not from Xavier. What exactly are you doing?"
"I'm fighting for the greater good," I reply.
"What greater good?" the rebel voice demands. "Greater than what?"
"Greater than..." I struggle to find an answer to that, without any luck. "What I want is to help them accept us."
"What you want? Or what he wants?"
"What's the difference?"
"Ah," says the rebel voice. "I rest my case."
This is what I know we do: fight to protect a race that doesn't like us, never has, most likely never will. You can't go as far as I've gone without wondering whether we're really making a difference, whether we can really "make" them understand, whether it's worth it. Whether saving a world that doesn't want (need?) to be saved really makes us noble...or just proves that we're living, well, in a dream world.
But that isn't even the point. The point is the unspoken law here: Xavier is always right. He rescued us, he taught us, and in return, we are dedicating our lives to fighting for his vision. You might wonder why the most dedicated of us always obey him. You might conclude that we have forgotten how to think for ourselves. You might even think that he is deliberately controlling our minds.
You would be wrong. When we say, "Xavier is always right" it's not because it has never occurred to us that he might be wrong. It's because, over and over, it HAS occurred to us. But if he is wrong, we've wasted our lives, based our existences on a fool's quest. If he is wrong, and we will never be accepted, if the world is not worth saving, or maybe if (gasp) we're not humanity's only hope, then what are we even doing?
What is a dream, anyway, if not a mixed-up vision you experience while you're ignorant of the world around you? That is how I think it is sometimes. True, we have nowhere else to go; the waking world cast us out. But all dreams have to end sometime, and the dreamer must open his eyes and realize that hope for the present is just as important as hope for the future.
What I really want is to break away. To not feel like I have some great quest to fulfill just because I'm a mutant. To not BE a mutant. To just be me, whoever that is. I've forgotten that, I think. We all have. Everything we are is what he made us.
For the sake of my sanity, I have to ignore the rebel voice, pretend that I don't feel like crying whenever he refers to us as "his" X-men, tell myself that everything will be all right in the morning.
And that's the scary part - everything will. Tomorrow, I'll have other things to occupy my mind, other battles to fight, and someone will say something to make me wonder why I had doubts in the first place.
"Wake up," I whisper. "Wake up." I'm not sure whether I'm talking to the others, to Xavier...or to myself.