~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hurt" By: Wicked~Wytch
Disclaimer: Marvel people- Don't sue it. It's not like you'd be able to make money off my poor self anyway. ^^
A/N: This is a rather depressing look into Rogue's mind. I wrote it at 2:30 am when I was feeling sorta down and lonely. Hope you all like it.
R/R and Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What have I become, My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know Goes away in the end.
And you could have it all, My empire of dirt.
I will let you down, I will make you hurt."
~NIN "Hurt"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Rogue's POV)
Sometimes it hurts me to get out of bed.
Not physically, of course. My body is in its peak condition, thin and strong. In fact, I doubt many people would guess there was anything different about me if they were just looking. Maybe some older folks would consider my streaks a bit strange, but in today's society, it wouldn't be too odd.
I look like an ordinary teenager. I am a good girl with a cute face, dimples in each cheek, auburn hair, and earnest brown eyes.
"Appearances can be deceiving."
I've heard the phrase since I was a child, but it wasn't until I reached adolescence and my powers awakened that the true meaning of this statement hit me full force.
Because though I look innocent enough, I am really something dangerous, something vile to the touch and threatening to all life. I'm so dangerous that if someone touches me for more than a few seconds, they will die.
It's a sad fate, being unable to feel the skin of another human being against yours. It's cruel and wrong and shouldn't be. But it is.
Looking back, I wish I had been closer to others. I wish I had hugged my mother more. I wish I had held my father's hand as we walked down the street. There are so many things I would have done differently.
Every time I get out of my bed and I go to breakfast with the others, a tiny, vicious voice in the back of my head tells me to be careful. And every time I go out, every time I walk the crowded streets of New York, I wonder about whether or not it'll be the day a stranger accidentally touches the skin on my face. I wonder if that person will slip into a coma from even the briefest of contact with me. I wonder if I'll kill that stranger. I wonder if he or she will live inside of my head for the rest of my life.
When I was younger, I used to hate being me. I wanted to live somewhere else, be someone else. Anything but little Marie, the southern bell. Now I realize how foolish I was. Now, I'd give anything to take back that time when I was just a normal little girl.
Some people consider mutation a blessing, an opportunity. And, I suppose for some people, it is. But not for me. I am so tired of being the walking incarnation of death. I hate draining the life force from anything I touch. I hate this curse and wish I could be spared from it.
There's a hole inside me. It grows larger each day. Nothing can fill it. I look at my friends, I see how easily they embrace, how quickly they'll kiss each other on the cheek. As if it's nothing. They don't realize how truly lucky they are.
I read a book once that told the tale of a prince who lived on a dying planet. All of the people on the planet were sick with an incurable disease. The prince was the only one who miraculously had not been infected. So the people of this planet sent the young prince (still a baby) away, into a large sterile castle. No one dared to go inside. In that book, a character said that even though a baby was fed and taken care of, it couldn't survive without another's touch. It would wither and die without feeling. And so they made dolls that could take care of the prince. They would touch him, care for him and make him grow. The poor prince did not have friends, the only things he knew intimately were the dolls that served him his meals and cleaned after him.
As he grew, the prince became violent and angry. Being secluded for so long drove him crazy. The people of the planet watched in agony as their once kind prince lost his sanity all because of his lack of human companionship. He could not feel a gentle, loving hand against his skin. He couldn't hold a hand, couldn't hug a person in a warm embrace. The people were too afraid that he might become sick with the virus they all shared. And so they kept their distance and his life. But they destroyed his soul.
The prince eventually grew older, escaped from the castle, and traveled throughout the planets. Among all the peoples of all the worlds he was known only as "The Mad Prince."
I wonder if that's what will happen to me. Will I wither as time passes and my loneliness only grows? Will I go insane?
Sometimes, when we're alone and it's dark, I look at Bobby Drake, my boyfriend. I look at him and I imagine being able to hold him and kiss him and touch him without having that familiar fear creep up my spine.
But I realize that it's just a dream, a figment of my imagination and then I force myself to stop the tears from flowing. I know that I'll never really be able to satisfy Bobby. I know that one day, probably very soon, I'll have to be the one to take the step and break up with him. It'll break my heart. But he deserves to be with a woman that he can truly feel.
I talk to Logan about it sometimes. He smiles at me, puts an arm around me. But he never tells me that it'll be all right. Sometimes I think he's the only one who can really understand me. I'm grateful to him. He's the only one who doesn't try to dress everything up. He doesn't give me false hope for some unknown cure to this damn mutation.
But sometimes I hate him as much as I do the others. He saved me a long time ago. I died and he brought me back. Many times, I find myself wishing he hadn't.
Right now, the sun is just starting to shine. Bright rays are breaking through the gaps in my curtains and casting their light onto my dark covers. I can hear a few of my friends in the hallway, talking and laughing together. I wonder how many of them are holding hands, or just casually (even accidentally) touching, bare skin to bare skin.
I feel jealousy flare. And then, even worse, I feel my sorrow. There's so much I will never be able to do. Sometimes I wish death could come to me, take me away. I wouldn't be afraid to touch death. When I die, the first thing I want to do is embrace Him.
The sunlight is getting brighter and I can hear someone knocking on my door. They're telling me to get up and come down to eat. I wonder what they're wearing. Last night, the weatherman said that it's going to be incredibly hot today: ninety-nine degrees with ninety percent humidity. It's hot outside but I'm going to have to wear long sleeves, gloves, and pants.
I let out a tired sigh. It takes a lot out of a person to act normal and happy in front of others when that's really the last thing they're feeling. Slowly, I remove the thin sheets that are covering my body.
Sometimes it hurts so much just to get out of bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, what do you all think? Please review and tell me! ^^ I'll be very happy if you do.
Btw- the storyline of the Mad Prince comes from the manga "Planet Ladder". It's a good series and the Prince (named Seeu)plays quite an interesting part in it (though, he's not the main character). I sorta gave away the big secret about him, but check it out if you have nothing to do. ^^
Well, that's it. If you like my writing, check out "Descent of the Phoenix"- my other X-men fic. It's not nearly as depressing.
See ya! ~Wicked
"Hurt" By: Wicked~Wytch
Disclaimer: Marvel people- Don't sue it. It's not like you'd be able to make money off my poor self anyway. ^^
A/N: This is a rather depressing look into Rogue's mind. I wrote it at 2:30 am when I was feeling sorta down and lonely. Hope you all like it.
R/R and Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What have I become, My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know Goes away in the end.
And you could have it all, My empire of dirt.
I will let you down, I will make you hurt."
~NIN "Hurt"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Rogue's POV)
Sometimes it hurts me to get out of bed.
Not physically, of course. My body is in its peak condition, thin and strong. In fact, I doubt many people would guess there was anything different about me if they were just looking. Maybe some older folks would consider my streaks a bit strange, but in today's society, it wouldn't be too odd.
I look like an ordinary teenager. I am a good girl with a cute face, dimples in each cheek, auburn hair, and earnest brown eyes.
"Appearances can be deceiving."
I've heard the phrase since I was a child, but it wasn't until I reached adolescence and my powers awakened that the true meaning of this statement hit me full force.
Because though I look innocent enough, I am really something dangerous, something vile to the touch and threatening to all life. I'm so dangerous that if someone touches me for more than a few seconds, they will die.
It's a sad fate, being unable to feel the skin of another human being against yours. It's cruel and wrong and shouldn't be. But it is.
Looking back, I wish I had been closer to others. I wish I had hugged my mother more. I wish I had held my father's hand as we walked down the street. There are so many things I would have done differently.
Every time I get out of my bed and I go to breakfast with the others, a tiny, vicious voice in the back of my head tells me to be careful. And every time I go out, every time I walk the crowded streets of New York, I wonder about whether or not it'll be the day a stranger accidentally touches the skin on my face. I wonder if that person will slip into a coma from even the briefest of contact with me. I wonder if I'll kill that stranger. I wonder if he or she will live inside of my head for the rest of my life.
When I was younger, I used to hate being me. I wanted to live somewhere else, be someone else. Anything but little Marie, the southern bell. Now I realize how foolish I was. Now, I'd give anything to take back that time when I was just a normal little girl.
Some people consider mutation a blessing, an opportunity. And, I suppose for some people, it is. But not for me. I am so tired of being the walking incarnation of death. I hate draining the life force from anything I touch. I hate this curse and wish I could be spared from it.
There's a hole inside me. It grows larger each day. Nothing can fill it. I look at my friends, I see how easily they embrace, how quickly they'll kiss each other on the cheek. As if it's nothing. They don't realize how truly lucky they are.
I read a book once that told the tale of a prince who lived on a dying planet. All of the people on the planet were sick with an incurable disease. The prince was the only one who miraculously had not been infected. So the people of this planet sent the young prince (still a baby) away, into a large sterile castle. No one dared to go inside. In that book, a character said that even though a baby was fed and taken care of, it couldn't survive without another's touch. It would wither and die without feeling. And so they made dolls that could take care of the prince. They would touch him, care for him and make him grow. The poor prince did not have friends, the only things he knew intimately were the dolls that served him his meals and cleaned after him.
As he grew, the prince became violent and angry. Being secluded for so long drove him crazy. The people of the planet watched in agony as their once kind prince lost his sanity all because of his lack of human companionship. He could not feel a gentle, loving hand against his skin. He couldn't hold a hand, couldn't hug a person in a warm embrace. The people were too afraid that he might become sick with the virus they all shared. And so they kept their distance and his life. But they destroyed his soul.
The prince eventually grew older, escaped from the castle, and traveled throughout the planets. Among all the peoples of all the worlds he was known only as "The Mad Prince."
I wonder if that's what will happen to me. Will I wither as time passes and my loneliness only grows? Will I go insane?
Sometimes, when we're alone and it's dark, I look at Bobby Drake, my boyfriend. I look at him and I imagine being able to hold him and kiss him and touch him without having that familiar fear creep up my spine.
But I realize that it's just a dream, a figment of my imagination and then I force myself to stop the tears from flowing. I know that I'll never really be able to satisfy Bobby. I know that one day, probably very soon, I'll have to be the one to take the step and break up with him. It'll break my heart. But he deserves to be with a woman that he can truly feel.
I talk to Logan about it sometimes. He smiles at me, puts an arm around me. But he never tells me that it'll be all right. Sometimes I think he's the only one who can really understand me. I'm grateful to him. He's the only one who doesn't try to dress everything up. He doesn't give me false hope for some unknown cure to this damn mutation.
But sometimes I hate him as much as I do the others. He saved me a long time ago. I died and he brought me back. Many times, I find myself wishing he hadn't.
Right now, the sun is just starting to shine. Bright rays are breaking through the gaps in my curtains and casting their light onto my dark covers. I can hear a few of my friends in the hallway, talking and laughing together. I wonder how many of them are holding hands, or just casually (even accidentally) touching, bare skin to bare skin.
I feel jealousy flare. And then, even worse, I feel my sorrow. There's so much I will never be able to do. Sometimes I wish death could come to me, take me away. I wouldn't be afraid to touch death. When I die, the first thing I want to do is embrace Him.
The sunlight is getting brighter and I can hear someone knocking on my door. They're telling me to get up and come down to eat. I wonder what they're wearing. Last night, the weatherman said that it's going to be incredibly hot today: ninety-nine degrees with ninety percent humidity. It's hot outside but I'm going to have to wear long sleeves, gloves, and pants.
I let out a tired sigh. It takes a lot out of a person to act normal and happy in front of others when that's really the last thing they're feeling. Slowly, I remove the thin sheets that are covering my body.
Sometimes it hurts so much just to get out of bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, what do you all think? Please review and tell me! ^^ I'll be very happy if you do.
Btw- the storyline of the Mad Prince comes from the manga "Planet Ladder". It's a good series and the Prince (named Seeu)plays quite an interesting part in it (though, he's not the main character). I sorta gave away the big secret about him, but check it out if you have nothing to do. ^^
Well, that's it. If you like my writing, check out "Descent of the Phoenix"- my other X-men fic. It's not nearly as depressing.
See ya! ~Wicked