author: Lucinda
rating: pg-13
Main Characters: Marie. Sort of Logan
disclaimer: not mine. Nobody from Marvel is mine.
distribution: please ask first.
The wind howled as it gusted, like the screams of tormented souls. It carried bits of snow that dug into his bare skin like tiny knives, biting at him, trying to suck the warmth from him. His bones were heavy and cold, as if he had been wrapped around rods of ice. He shivered, and bent down to look at the snow, trying to read the tracks before the wind erased them.
NO! Ah don't want to see this again! Ah want to wake up now...
Kneeling down in the snow, he looked at the tracks. The tracks were deep, and told him that it had been moving quickly. He continued in that direction, following the tracks. Brief gaps in the white wind showed scraggly pine trees, and ice covered rocks, a barren and unwelcoming landscape. He had to find the creature.
Moving on, the snow became spotted with red, and the scent of blood and fear filled the cold air, hitting him like a hammer. Fallen in the snow, entrails spilling out was a woman, her dark hair matted with blood and snow, her dark eyes wide open, staring upwards in fear and surprise. The tracks surrounded the body, telling of her brave, if futile struggles against her killer. Long slashes over her body had shattered her serenity, and almost erased her beauty. He could almost remember her name...
He saw the bloody footprints of her killer, moving away from the body as if her death had held no meaning, no significance. If her death held no importance, why should anyone else's? He had to find the beast, had to stop it.
There was a break in the snow, and he found himself crawling through barbed wire, his rifle firmly in hand, lifted high to keep the mud from fouling it. He didn't understand how he had come to this place through the cold winds, but the sky was leaden grey with rain clouds, and the earth was wholly the dull slickness of mud, men in uniforms with guns hiding in trenches, oblivious to his passing. The beast had passed through here, leaving a small group of soldiers shredded, their bodies slumped in a horrible parody of sleep. The mud slowly sucked at them, pulling them into a shallow grave, unknown, unmourned.
Those uniforms... didn't ah see those in one of those war movies my Daddy used to watch? Are those from World War one?
He continued back into the snow, his mud smeared clothing freezing to his body, dragging at his movements. Continuing, he thought he caught the sound of something howling, the pitch all wrong to be a timber wolf. He tried to move faster, stumbling into a clearing free of wind.
The semi circle of pines had almost concealed the bodies, a red haired woman and a taller brown haired man, the bodies savaged as if by some crazed beast. The bodies were still warm, still oozing blood from horrible injuries. Ribs gleamed pale amidst blood, and the man's head had bee twisted to an unnatural angle. He knew these people, had stayed with them, once upon another life. "Heather..."
She almost looks... like she used to resemble Jean.
He moved faster, certain that he had to be close to the beast now. If he could catch it, could end this rampage of death and destruction... There was a snow bank, and the tracks lead over it, long and narrow in the snow, almost like the prints of a man.
There was the beast, it's dark shaggy mane spilling over it's back as it crouched in the snow. Long limbs almost like arms were held out over something red and raw looking, something that made pitiful little noises on the snow. It sensed his presence, and spun around, growling.
He looked at it's face, and recognized the lines of his own jaw, the hue of his eyes. The wild mane around the face was his own hair, grown long and wild....
He was the beast. Snarling, it lunged for him, sharp teeth bared and still red from the last victim of its... his rampage of destruction...
Marie sat up in her bed, gasping for breath, half certain that she could feel the cold wind, smell blood and fear and foul breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, a frantic rush of terror and self loathing filled her. Her hand had flown to her throat, as if afraid of sharp teeth ripping into her flesh.
"oh God, not again... Ah hate his dreams."
She closed her eyes a moment, swallowing back the sour taste of bile. She went tot he small sink, washing the taste of fear away with cold water before returning to the bed. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the small brown bottle by her bed, fumbling it open and allowing a small dark pill to fall into her hand. She swallowed it, hoping that it would keep her from dreaming any more this night.
end Logan
rating: pg-13
Main Characters: Marie. Sort of Logan
disclaimer: not mine. Nobody from Marvel is mine.
distribution: please ask first.
The wind howled as it gusted, like the screams of tormented souls. It carried bits of snow that dug into his bare skin like tiny knives, biting at him, trying to suck the warmth from him. His bones were heavy and cold, as if he had been wrapped around rods of ice. He shivered, and bent down to look at the snow, trying to read the tracks before the wind erased them.
NO! Ah don't want to see this again! Ah want to wake up now...
Kneeling down in the snow, he looked at the tracks. The tracks were deep, and told him that it had been moving quickly. He continued in that direction, following the tracks. Brief gaps in the white wind showed scraggly pine trees, and ice covered rocks, a barren and unwelcoming landscape. He had to find the creature.
Moving on, the snow became spotted with red, and the scent of blood and fear filled the cold air, hitting him like a hammer. Fallen in the snow, entrails spilling out was a woman, her dark hair matted with blood and snow, her dark eyes wide open, staring upwards in fear and surprise. The tracks surrounded the body, telling of her brave, if futile struggles against her killer. Long slashes over her body had shattered her serenity, and almost erased her beauty. He could almost remember her name...
He saw the bloody footprints of her killer, moving away from the body as if her death had held no meaning, no significance. If her death held no importance, why should anyone else's? He had to find the beast, had to stop it.
There was a break in the snow, and he found himself crawling through barbed wire, his rifle firmly in hand, lifted high to keep the mud from fouling it. He didn't understand how he had come to this place through the cold winds, but the sky was leaden grey with rain clouds, and the earth was wholly the dull slickness of mud, men in uniforms with guns hiding in trenches, oblivious to his passing. The beast had passed through here, leaving a small group of soldiers shredded, their bodies slumped in a horrible parody of sleep. The mud slowly sucked at them, pulling them into a shallow grave, unknown, unmourned.
Those uniforms... didn't ah see those in one of those war movies my Daddy used to watch? Are those from World War one?
He continued back into the snow, his mud smeared clothing freezing to his body, dragging at his movements. Continuing, he thought he caught the sound of something howling, the pitch all wrong to be a timber wolf. He tried to move faster, stumbling into a clearing free of wind.
The semi circle of pines had almost concealed the bodies, a red haired woman and a taller brown haired man, the bodies savaged as if by some crazed beast. The bodies were still warm, still oozing blood from horrible injuries. Ribs gleamed pale amidst blood, and the man's head had bee twisted to an unnatural angle. He knew these people, had stayed with them, once upon another life. "Heather..."
She almost looks... like she used to resemble Jean.
He moved faster, certain that he had to be close to the beast now. If he could catch it, could end this rampage of death and destruction... There was a snow bank, and the tracks lead over it, long and narrow in the snow, almost like the prints of a man.
There was the beast, it's dark shaggy mane spilling over it's back as it crouched in the snow. Long limbs almost like arms were held out over something red and raw looking, something that made pitiful little noises on the snow. It sensed his presence, and spun around, growling.
He looked at it's face, and recognized the lines of his own jaw, the hue of his eyes. The wild mane around the face was his own hair, grown long and wild....
He was the beast. Snarling, it lunged for him, sharp teeth bared and still red from the last victim of its... his rampage of destruction...
Marie sat up in her bed, gasping for breath, half certain that she could feel the cold wind, smell blood and fear and foul breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, a frantic rush of terror and self loathing filled her. Her hand had flown to her throat, as if afraid of sharp teeth ripping into her flesh.
"oh God, not again... Ah hate his dreams."
She closed her eyes a moment, swallowing back the sour taste of bile. She went tot he small sink, washing the taste of fear away with cold water before returning to the bed. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the small brown bottle by her bed, fumbling it open and allowing a small dark pill to fall into her hand. She swallowed it, hoping that it would keep her from dreaming any more this night.
end Logan