e-mail: Slaya@rock.com

disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel except the plot. The characters that don t belong to Marvel are mine.

NOTE: Have fun

Special note: Craft IS mine!

Don t touch.

I like her so much.

And if you do

Here s what I ll have to do to you:

The skin that s gonna  peal

The flesh torn

By adamantium claws

The mind raked

By the talents of Jean Grey

Heart froze

By the one Bobby Drake galore

And many more…..(get the picture?)

Never felt so low

Chapter one-Crazy little daisy

By Slaya

«Mutation.

It is the key to our evolution.

It has enabled us to evolve from a single cell organism into the dominant species on the planet.

This proces is slow and normaly taking thousands and thousands of years…

But every few hundred millenia evolution leaps forward.»

                            Profesor Charles Xavior

˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜ @ ˜

I have always for my whole life been «just a girl». Always reliable, responsible and the good girl Lewis. Lewis was a nickname. I don t even remember where I got it. See…..

It has taken up so much of the person I am not.

My real name is Sarah Smith.

How totally suburbian, is it not?

But no. I can t take that name as my real name. That it is not.

My real name that I ve grown to hate and love is Craft. Some people think that I m just one of those Lara Croft fans. Croft, Craft. Get it? A difference in one letter only.

But I am not.

The Craft as the craft in witcraft. Caus that is who I am, that was who I was long before I ever realised that I was a mutant. I was a witch. A wicca if you prefere that name more.

It s all of the same to me. We are being called wiccans now because of the hatred people direct at us when we say the word witch or witcraft. Like it s something bad. Like it s something evil.

I m saying it to you all: it is not.

I remember once…..I was out somwhere in the middle of nowhere (nowhere for me kvalifies as the center of the town with big, noisy and stupid clubs…etc…etc..) with my girls.

Ati, Carlene, Marie and Betsy. Tom, Robbie and Clance were with us that night.

It feels like so long ago. Like a thousand years have passed. And I am just a old wrinkled woman standing in the midle of the fight that I can not face.

Smoked glass…and the moon can not be seen by plain eyes.

We were all sitting on a park bench of somesort. The obnockious Ati was refering to my «perfect» use of english language. How I say can not instead of can t. Or have not instead of haven t. And the curses. I never say curses. Well…at least not then anyway.

I told her to shut up. I never could find comon sence in the girl.

Then she verbaly asaulted the big white feather that I was always wearing in my black hair.

She said that it makes me look like a freak, like a vampire or like a strange mutie of somesort.

That was it. She had no right to talk that way about mutants.

I told her that. I was not going to let her talk that way about inoscent people.

«You got something for the filthy muties?», Tom asked me.

It looked to me like my friend from childhood changed. I was wrong. He was always this way. I was just too blind to see.

«Will you two shit asses leave her alone?», Betsy stood up for me.

She always did.

I was getting sick and tired of it. Staying in somebody s shadow. Leting them to fight the fights I should be handleing myself.

Will you all just shut da fuck up!, I screamed.

They all loked at me. Suprised. I was not such a girl. A girl who says curses, drinks and smokes. Fucks in every street corner. They thought that I was not such a girl.

Just because I had good grades at school. Just because I never did go crazy in front of them.

What silly reasons to think that. Like i was not human. Like I was not alive.

And it was true. About the human part.

Sometimes when I was all alone in that «big happy» house of mine…..I took the alcohol from the kitchen and the pantery.

I would drink, drink and drink till I would feel like dirt and then I would throw up. My head would be combusting of pain.

The sweetest thing in that moment for me would be to lay in a soft cold bed and lay my body down to sleep.

But no.

I forced myself to clean up the mess so that no one could figure out what was I doing.

It is your fault. You are here to blame. You deserve this. You deserve the headache. The hell. You deserve it all. You are so disgusting.

I used to tell things to myself. I believed them to be true.

The rest of my friends were drinking just to show-off. I was drinking because I was one crazy  little daisy. Like from the Skunk Ananaise song.

Yes. I listen to Skunk Ananaise.

The funny thing was that my loving parents never found out. Never. They always blaimed my big brother for the missing bottles. And he always blaimed the big sister. She thought that it was one of her boyfriends so she acepted the blaim.

And no one ever knew.

No one ever knew that I was secrely cuting my hands drawing myself nearer and nearer to death. No, they could never tell. I was an enigma for them. Unsolved mystery, that is what I am. They did not even know that I loved my trainings more then anything in the world.

It was not because I was strange or something. It was because I could go and intencionaly hurt myself. And no one would know.

It happens, they would just say.

Horse back  riding.

To fly thru the air in high velocity expecting for something to bruise or brake and never quite knowing what will hapen. Yeah. A crazy little daisy.

That was another of my nicknames. Daisy.

I find it ridickilous and disturbing. I am not a flower. Pretty sure of that.

That night I  just walked away. They tried to keep me there because the «streets were dark and dangerous». Well now….

They should have thought about that before they drove me to utter madness.

I was thinking about how am I gonna get drunk tonight. And this man aproached me. Made the nasty things in my stomach twist and twirl. In a bad way.

I imediatly expected for something bad to happen. And it did.

He was a sadist of somesort. Threathened me with a knife, a big one. Raped me while he choked me with a plastic wire. I always thought I could somehow get out of the situation like that. What to say? I was completley wrong.

I cried. Like a little baby. And I closed my eyes. Tried to think about something else, tried to think about my stallion Wondergarth. About how I feel on his wings every single day.

Then I thought how close to death I am right now.

After that I felt nogthing. Never even felt when the guy put something over my face with some liquid on it. It made me go to sleep……

I woke up on a ship. I knew it was a ship because it was rocking. Up and down. Left and right. My insides burning like never before. I wanted to scream but some young girl that was laying in front of me told me to stay quiet.

It was cold. I looked around me, there were many young girls here, all of them were crying now or been crying recently.  My clothes weren t on me. Now I wore some old rags. All that remained on me was my (not beautiful anymore) white feather. All mudy and familiar. A strange feeling here. 

I was not stupid. I knew where I was and where I was going, what happened.

I was kidnaped and sold to someone. This is a slave ship and we re going probably somwhere to south east Europe, Asia or something like that. There will not be roses and candy on this trip. It is better not to expect them.

I didn t realise everything yet. I was still under the influence of the stuff that made me go to sleep. I was still in shock.

Then it hit me:

Where am I?

How far away?

What is gonna happen to me?

I wanted to cry.

Then some people went around the whole ship with papers and asked the girls questions. After they would be done, they would stick a number to their shoulder.

As they came closer I found out what were they asking.

They were asking about the things that the girls knew to do. Work on computers, languages…etc… A lot of them lied. I could tell.

Fools. The more things they know, the pricier they are gonna get. And only rich people can afford them then. Rich people have better living conditions then the relatively poor ones. Pure logic. How could they not put two and two together?

I was number two hundred and forty seven. Didn t know there was so many of us here.

How come in school they always rip us apart with the «no smoking» and the «say no to drugs» posters and information…but they never warn us of things like this?

They should. Because they lie to themself and they lie to us, they lied to me. And I did not see them on the ship with me.

After the first day we were being taught. I remember that event as one of the most sickest of anything else in the world. It was not the sickest thing I ever saw, but then it was.

There were about fifty of us in a little room. No where to run. No where to hide.

Some big sailor guy told us a few basic rules. Never speak unless you are spoken to, never do anything to get your master mad and always do whatever he wants.

A master? I am gonna have a master? Go. I am only thirteen years old ( I was at the time). I do not want to have a monster.

The other girls felt so too. It could be felt in their sad eyes. I guess that mine looked sad too.

The guy saw it. He knew it was going oto happen. I had a feeling that he has done this a lot of times.

First he made us hit eachother. Since we did not do a good job, he did it for us. in an hour we were all coughing out blood. I was feeling so sick. And disgusting. I can not believe that I once made this feeling come on my own.

I truly am a sick little daisy.

Then he raped two girls. One at a time. I was so reliefed it was not me. It was selfish and wrong. But not so wrong. I was thinking only of myself in a dangerous and disgusting situation full of horror and lack of hope. It was natural to care for no one but yourself.

After a month we arrived. To Cairo in Egypt.

What damn irony. I have always wanted to go to Cairo. I thought that it is a beautiful town. It truly is. But not the side of it that I have seen.

I have seen the dark and the screaming deep inside the river black that flows thru the streets, the river colder then the emerald Nile.

And all I could feel was paralising fear.

I am just gonna tough it out, I knew that. Endure more then they can throw on me. And they can throw a lot.

I started practicing witcraft before a year or so. But this was a land that hold the greatest secrets of white and black magic. All it took to get all you want was to master it all.

I tried and I failed.

I did not have the true desire. I had the despair. That could not work.

I was put in chains and dressed in skanky oriental clothes to be sold. My face all covered up. Some guy got a hard on me when he removed the veo.

Sick.

My first «master» or whatever they taught me to call him, was a psyco. I could never fall so low as I did when I served at his home.

He made me pray along side all of the other slaves, something in a language I did not understand. He beat us every time we said something wrong.

That is why today I know fluid arabic.

Not a thing that I am proud of.

From that period of time (about a year)  I have a lot of memories.

A crucked left wrist. It was broken and it did not heal properly. Scars on my back, look like made with claws. But it were not claws. It was a knife. A sword actually.

A small scare on the left eyebrow. Do not ask. Pleas, do not. An I am pretty sure that I can not have children anymore. Two very unhygenic abortions in  my thirteenth year. The «do it yourself» type.

And a lot of tiny things…….tiny injuries, tiny little pains. How did I survive? I kept everything to myself, in myself. I never gave a sighn of weakness.

And that was what he hated in me. I was not liek all the rest. I could handle everything that was being thrown at me. And I could handle it with amasing strength.

How could I know that then……….

It happened.

I was nogthing more than a piece of cloth or a tool, a object of somesort. I had a master who had bought me. I tried to runaway once but ended up so sick and partly cripled for the first three days with a fewer and because I could not work, was denied of food and water. Just the little bit the others managed to torn of their mouthes.

I was being made into an example.

I was nogthing. I was low, I was dirt. And I knew that I could fall down, so deep down. And never get back up again. I cut my hands again. To prove how I only have the power to make me live or die.

If not for one thing, it is for the other. Right?

My eyes were dieing. More than before. The warm air and the diseases took the toll  on me.

No one could believe how could I get better and keep on working in the barn, around the house and in the factory.

I know now what was happening to me. I was changing, rapidly adapting myself to the hostile enviroment. And it was beautiful.

Naferia, the woman who taught me the black and white arts could not supress her suprise even doe if she prayed for me, casted spells, rituals…..she did not believe that I would get out alive.

How could I know, how could they know…

At the year of fourteen after almost a year being a slave and studying the arts my mutant powers came up. At first it was just healing. I have noticed it. But never thought that the power was mutant. I thought that it happened because of the craft. The witcraft.

From that point I was getting less water, less food and more work. I was being beaten every single night for a long time with whipes and iron sticks.

And because of the meditation and the castings I could heal faster, I could laugh in the masters damn face.

He got really scared of me. The others too. Naferia choose not to teach me anymore. She told me that I am using my gift in vain. That I can not be free. That I must not be free. I must stop using my power that will only grow without stoping.

«Who knows bout the evils you ll unleash to the world girl! You re a slave, stay a slave.»

It was this moment that I understood that she was scared because she was weaker. I came curious. How will my powers grow?

My friend for a long time, the white feather on my black hair showed me a way out. I saw the path and the river with the stolen boat left there by the unknown thiefes.

I tried to escape again.

But Naferia alerted everyone about that. That  I am using my powers to escape. And that is wrong. To use powers for something other than for harmless practice.

She did not alert the master. She alerted the slaves. They came after me.

Thru rocks at me. Yelled «witch, witch!»

Like Naferia was not a witch herself. Well…what can I say. Double standards. The people who toke care of me when I was sick. Now they turned on me because of my survival.

It was jelaousy. It could be nogthing more.

They dug a deep hole in the ground. Tied me up and throwed me in there. Then they trown the wood. Not branches. Logs. Big wodden logs.

And set it on fire. I felt the warm wawe of it. And then I could not breathe anymore. I was so scared. I always was just the thing, not a person, a thing on wich you get all you have inside out. You beat me, you fuck me, you destroy me, you burn me, you kill me.

All I could do was set faith in my deities. And hope.

But no, I could not do that. I could not have hope. It died in me. A long time before I became a slave.

I am nogthing, I am dirt, I am an object. I was created to be all those things. I do not want those things. They are not me.

I am nobody.

But I am somebody.

And that somebody is was burning in fire then. I could do nogthing. Just stare.

Then I closed my eyes. Tried to save as much energy that I had. I fell into a deep state of meditation. I was off on the astral plane. I thought that I could never come back.

But I did. What a suprise. A group of traveling merchands toke me away with them to the sahara desert. My skin was black and pealed. They did not know what color I was. So I feared for my life once again. What will they do when I heal, when they realise that I am white?

I was scared to use magic again.

But even without it I healed real fast. They saw that I was something special. A great tribute to their kind. The desert people.

They taught me how to fight, there are ancient arts in Egypt and the Sahara desert that you would not dream of.

I felt free but only on first sight. Because I was a woman. And as a woman I did not have any rights. I was like a well treated slave. And I forgot all about my powers. I had amnesia for awhile. And there things went all over again. I did not remember my past experiences so I lived thru these ones all over again. It was awful. The sight on things long forgoten and not remembered.

All over again. By the time I got the most of my memorie back, I was being forced to marry the leaders eighteen year old son. To start a new generation of desert people.

And the guy, I do not remember his name, the names are the things that I wish to forget. So that I can no longer be able to name the crimes.

To name the evil you must know the evil. And I wish not to know it.

As a weding engagement gift i got my feather, fully restored. I do not know how did they fix it, but they did. I felt alright after I put it back into its rightful place on my head.

The guy, we better call him boy used to strip me by mear sight. As the rest of them. I felt like they are gonna do something any time when they get the chance.

I took care of it that it does not appear. Just the fact that those things were done to me a lot of times does not mean that every second time was not a living hell for that matter.

You just tough it out but it still stays. It refuses to go.

I did not have anything to do. So I ran far, far away. To Giza. Where the pyramids are. A beautiful place. Heaven on earth. Even the side that I have seen.

By this time the memory of the power came runing back to me. And I started practicing again.

And got better and better.

But I could never make myself to do spells for any personal gain.

Even if I was at the verge of starvation.

I stayed alive by picking pockets, stealing. After a while I got picked up by the police. I was sixteen now. They sold me as a slave. The police. A goverment institution!

They sold me to a man called Lord Richard Newlingmoore.

And here we go again.

He was an archeologist. He and his son taught me about the stuff. I did not run away because they were not beating me or doing anything wrong to me. They were not acting as my masters even doe if they bought me and the rest of the slaves.

But things tend to change. His son, Angelo Ascroft Newlingmoore had this crush on me. I did not understand it. My skin was not scared from the fire but it was white, like a vampires or a evil witches. I was a slave. And I did not deserve love, care or anything. I am all alone. Just another crazy little daisy who thinks she can do something out of herself.

His fsther was furious with his infatuation so he began to beat me every day. He was strong. And Angelo once got his share from trying to protect me.

I do not know what came over me. But I decided to stay just because of him. I had a feeling. It was a good feeling. He came to read to me or feed me on the days his father beat me almost to death. And inspite of my healing power it went slow. He came to care for me. And I could always feel his pain. But mine was greater.

So….it all icked up where it was left. Work, eat, sleep, cough blood.

I was a fool to believe that Angelo would get out of his fathers skirt and do something, anything. I never let him kiss me. It would hurt me.

I liked to think that he feels about me more than that. That I am not just a body to him. In a way I was not. But in the other way I was.

On the day that Lord Richard gave me to two slaves as a reward for their hard work…..that was just it.

Same old, same old. Raped me, I holded out. Told Angelo what kind of a monster his father was and went. I left him on the dusty floor crying. I hope he and his bloody father along with all man on the Earth burn into oblivion and go to hell.

 I found my way to Alexandria.

Sneaked on a ship that I had no idea about the destination.

Lots of shit happened on it for the week we were traveling. It went slow. It was old.

In Albany I boarded another one. Then I got to a town called Split in Croatia. Things were so calm there. Nogthing more than I could handle. Then I traveled to Zagreb, the capital. Lived in front of the cathedral for awhile. The priests forced me to leave. They once found me doing a spell. That shoke their asses, I presume.

I remember what they said.

«Što to za miloga Boga drago dijete radiš?

Ti nisi na Božjem putu, nisi. Bolje je da odeš. Za sve nas.»

Let me try to translate that. It means

«What in the name of God are you doing my dear child?

You are not on the Lords path, no. It is better for you to leave. For all of us.»

Yeah, I learned the language.

I moved along. Sat for the last time on a monument bench along side with one of their famous poets, Matoš. I talked to him like he was real. But he was not. He was just a statue.

He could not answer back.

Then I went to Germany, France, Spain, Portugal. Then I wanted to go back to the States.

And I stoped to look at myself. I was a different person now. They must have long forgot about who I am. Who I was.

It s over now.

I went back to France. So that I could go to Brittain. At least they speak english over there.

I did not have any papers or anything. But I always managed. Someway, somehow.

Not this time. The police caught me.

I panicked. And let my power out full blow. Never done that before.

I just panicked. Deport, deport, deport. I could think only on that.

Back to the States or to Egypt. I was not sure.

Did not want it to happen.

So I killed them. Realised then that I need to keep the power in control. Not to let it slip ever again.

In Brittain I have met the most amading woman. She did not tell me her real name. Neither did I. Her nickname was Psylock. And she had powers just like me. Different but same in the long run. She taught me how to fight even better and how to use and control my powers without permanently damaging anyone or myself.

Now I was able to create a sword that would cut thru anything from nogthing.

Then she kinda got lost. I heard about her losing her eyes in a battle of some sort. And she was a briliant fighter. How could this ever happen?

The last thing she said to me was that the only respectivly safe place in the whole world was New York. Some Xaviers school for the gifted.

For people like me and her.

But there is not a place in the world that is safe enough for me.

But I trusted her as much as I could for a person in my position. So I went there.

Carefully avoiding to come in a hundred mile radius of Houston.

So here I am. Just another little crazy daisy.

I m hidden in the bushes. I am gonna check this place out first before I do anything.

Before I show myself…..