Disclaimer-- I claim no ownership to Scott Summers or any other X-Men character or reference. I am not related to Marvel or Stan Lee in anyway. I am merely a lowly fic writer :)
Note-- To read the conlusion of the story check out (shameless plug) X-Men at www.geocities.com/projectmarvel
.
.
Lightning cracked as it violently struck down from the sky, splitting an elderly oak tree into splinters. Hydrogen combined with oxygen in clouds the color of soot before falling down to the soggy earth. Clusters of people dashed along the dreary sidewalks cursing their misfortune of having a wet walk home. Fizzling neon signs deteriorated into the black abyss known as night. A white pearl gazed down at the bustling California city as time crept toward the next day and the drama it brings. However for one young man time had paused while life slipped through his feeble grasp. The lad's battered body laid amongst putrid food scraps and bug ridden rubbish in a small alley way concealed from the world. His unwashed scruffy brown hair was infested with a gravel and red liquid known as blood. This life force, this blood, pooled around his head as it incessantly seeped from a four inch gash on the back of his head. His electric blue eyes with a tinge of red glowing within them stared blankly at the blanketing storm clouds. A pair of ratty blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt clung to his sopping wet body as the water droplets continued to hammer upon him like they had done countless times already. The body may be in the present but his mind drifted to the past. With each passing second his mind was washed with memories as death itched closer.
.
.
.
[July 3rd, 2000]
A shrill beep pierced a young adolescent Scott Summers' ears as he stirred from his slumber. Throwing his arm behind his head, he jabbed the alarm button. He languidly opened his eyes only to immediately flinch at the offensive bright sunlight beaming in through his open bedroom window. After untangling himself from the web of blankets around his body, Scott staggered toward the bathroom for his morning ritual. A minute later the boy reappeared leaving behind the sound of a toilet flush. He lazily scratched his chest as he stumbled through a few peices of clothes on the way toward the antique oak dresser. Summers pressed his hands on the top of the bearu, pausing for a moment to savoir the solitary. Running a hand over his head, he wondered for the millionth time why he ever gave in to get a buzzcut. He had remarked to his father that if it was an eighth shorter, he would be as bald as Patrick Stewart.
"It makes you look like a soldier," Chris Summers had replied. Scott snorted at the memory and mentally swore that he would shave his father's head bald one day. The bedroom door creaked open and a small blonde boy popped his head in, small blonde boy with several inches of hair Scott noted.
"Hurry up Scott. If you don't do your morning exercises Dad won't let you come see him fly in the Air Show," chirped Alex as his older brother gave him a glare of annoyance.
Scott waved him away and opened the top drawer to pull out a pair of faded Wranger blue jeans. After tugging them over his boxers, he sat down on the edge of his bed. Posters of famous football players, models of little air force jets, a shelf lined with books on just about every school subject; all things his father wanted him to be Scott observed. Being the eldest, he was always pushed harder to set an example for young Alex.
"Had it ever occured to him that I might want to do something else," he thought with irritation in his mind.
It's not that he didn't like football or the prospect of being an Air Force pilot, he truly loved both. However, years of pressure had made him bitter toward such implications. He thought they would tire of strenously pushing him but as the days passed by, that idea died.
With a grunt, Scott pushed himself off the bed then snatched a white t-shirt off the carpet and tugged it over his head. As he strolled out of his room he had an odd feeling that this day would change his life forever.
.
.
.
Alex Summers ran across the burning black pavement as he gazed upward at the majesticly soaring Extra 200 aircrafts. Mesmorized by the air show, he didn't notice his brother walking up behind him with a less than amused look on his face.
"That's Dad," Alex shouted with glee as he pointed at the aircraft executing a perfect barrel roll.
Scott squinted as he asked, "How can you tell? They all look the same to me."
"He's the one with the red scarf around his neck, I gave it to him for Father's Day!"
"Come on, let's go back to the bleachers and find Mom. The show is gonna officially start in a few minutes," he replied to Alex as he ushered him toward the metal bleachers. A woman in the front row waved to them and the boys walked toward her. Scott sat next to her and closed his eyes letting himself revel in the gust brushing against his face.
"What's the matter, honey? I thought you like the air shows," inquired Katherine with her voice laced with concern.
Scott peeked open his left eye and looked at his mother. Her blonde hair curled up into a bun, eyes as green as the summer grass, an angelic face still holding the charm from her youth; she looked like a goddess among mortals.
"I do like Air Shows, I guess I'm feeling a little tired today. I'll feel better tomorrow for the big barbeque. I wouldn't miss your homemade mashed potatoes for the world," Scott reassured her as a grin crept along his face at the thought of his Mom's home cooking.
Katherine gave him a warm smile and replied, "As long as you're not sick. The last thing I want you to do is try to crawl out of bed and shove pounds of food down your throat just to spit it out minutes later."
He chuckled and simply told her, "Don't worry, I'm not going to repeat Alex's Puke-athon from last year."
Scott smiled at his mother then turned his eyes upward at the sensational aerial stuints being performed with such accurancy that only years of experience provides. The onlookers cheered as the red and blue Extra 200's went into a triangle formation and soared up into the atmosphere to attempt a most dangerous stunt. The noses of the planes turned downward as the aircrafts raced toward the earth's surface. Scott noticed the people around him were holding their breath as the aircrafts descended. To him it was merely the same trick he watched his father perform many times. However as they neared the ground, only a single plane didn't pull up. The world seemed to move in slow motion as the metal crumpled against the ground and the whole body of the plane became consumed by a ball of flames. Scott leapt to his feet and raced toward the crash with more speed than he thought he could muster. His entire being was in a state of panic, deeply praying that his father won't be pulled from the wreckage. The on-scene emergency medics were already at the crash site when Scott reached it. A fireman hurrily tried to smother the fire as another cut the safety harness around the pilot's body. Scott could only watch in horror as the limp body was tugged free from its metal tomb and laid upon the grass. The charred helmet was removed and Scott fell to his knees as he stared at the glossy eyes of Christopher Summers. The medics went to work on resesitating him but Scott knew it was useless. His heart had shattered and his mind could only focus on his Dad laying dead infront of him. With tears in his eyes Scott made a promise that he dared not break.
*I understand Dad, I know now that you only pushed me because you only wanted the best for me. I swear I'll be everything you wanted me to be, not just for me, for both of us. I'll be a great leader, a grade A soldier, an athlete, a scholar, and a pilot. A pilot, just like you and I'll fly the fastest plane in the world. I'll be a great leader and save hundreds of lives because I couldn't rescue yours. And most of all I'll be a good man, like you were. I'll make you proud...I'll make you proud..*
It wasn't until the medic pulled the white sheet over Chris's face did Scott crash back to reality. His body felt heavy and all he could do was sit on the grass letting the tears fall. Nothing would be the same. It was the start of the downfall.
.
.
.
[July 3rd 2001]
The familiar peircing beep of the alarm clock snapped Scott Summers from his dream world. Groggily, he thrust his hand onto the alarm button. He pushed the blankets aside and began to gaze at the blank ceiling as if it contained a riddle. It had been one year since the death of his father and the turmoil hadn't stopped. More precisely, the wind tunnel of diaster just sucked more and more of his life away. His dear mother had become an alcoholic and even her strong will and faith had slowly dissipated over time. His brother suffered from denial. Unable to take the grief of his father's death, Alex convinced himself that good old Dad was on a business trip. Scott hadn't recoiled into a depression, he forced himself to stay strong. He had to pull through or the family would crumble. So what had he been doing the past year? Scott worked as many hours as he could spare as a janitor at the local convenient store. It took some string pulling from an old family friend but he had got the job even though he was only at the tender age of fourteen. His mother hadn't asked him to get a job, she couldn't even consider the possibility. He knew Katherine was having a hard time and took it upon himself to do his best to bring in as much money as legally possible. It was definately rough for the Summers family but Scott was determined to struggle rather than give up and die.
Violently Scott's thoughts were shattered with the vision of his father's aircraft exploding in a burst of flames. The gruesome scene sent a shudder down the young man's spine. His mind was soon flooded with Christopher's scorched face, slightly ajar mouth, and the dilated eyes. It was as if they were leering at him, following his every move, almost challenging. Scott rubbed the tear droplets from his eyes and rolled off his back to the sitting position. Above his head rain rapped against the roof like a savage drum beat with thunder rumbling and the sky a charcoal gray. As if he wasn't depressed enough about the date, a dreary rain dampened his spirits and reflected his soul.
He glanced around his room, it hadn't changed much since that day. It was like a constant reminder to live up to the promise he had made to his father's spirit as it rose to the heavens. Scott's hair had grown out, longer than his father would ever allow. Chris never permitted his son's hair to reach his shoulders while alive but now a haircut was the least of his worries. He could have got it cut free by a barber school or a friend from the Air Force recuitment office but those minutes were used to work overtime.
Pushing himself off the bed, Scott trudged toward the bathroom to clean himself up before the visit to Christopher's grave. He wanted to look his best even if his father couldn't see him as a sign of respect. He hopped into the shower after discarding his shorts and turned the faucet to let the warm water softly massage his body. He let himself fall victim to the ministrations, to forget his troubles for a brief moment. He hadn't a clue that hours later he would face another great obstacle in his life.
.
.
The rain hadn't ceased a bit since the morning as Scott stood infront of a gray tombstone with his father's name etched into the marble. The cemetery was deserted on the dismal July day as the Summers family sobbed their grief out. Scott looked over at his Mom and his heart wrenched at the sight. She must have aged ten years since the tragic accident which left her a widow. Her eyes had become red from sleepless nights, the golden locks on her head had become frayed from neglect, and her face was littered with wrinkles; the mighty goddess had lost her youth. She wore a long slender black dress which loosely wrapped around her body and stopped above her ankles. A matching veil covered her face as she pressed a handkerchief to her dripping eyes. Scott looked over at Alex to watch him stare blankly at the grave as the truth had finally fallen upon him that Chris was not coming back. Alex clutched a bundle of white lilies in his small hands which shook from intense emotions. Like his older brother, he had worn a simple black suit with a gray shirt beneath the jacket. No one said a word, they hadn't needed too.
"Come on boys," Katherine croacked out as she stifled her tears. "We'd better get going, it's starting to get dark out."
Scott nodded then placed a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder. He crouched down and put the flowers infront of the tombstone before Scott led him to the car. Katherine climbed into the driver's seat of the old '85 off white Pontiac stationwagon then grabbed a small metal cantine from under the seat. Scott eyed it suspiciously as she tipped it back and must have drank the whole thing. Alex climbed into the backseat, ignorant of his mother's heavy drinking and clicked his safety belt. Scott slid into the front passenger seat beside Katherine and furred his brows with concern.
"Are you alright Mom," he inquired as smell of alcohol wafted under his nose. "I can drive the car home if you aren't feeling well."
She reached out with her hand and gently laid it against his cheek as she replied, "It's alright honey, I'll be fine."
Scott weakly nodded his head and gave a small smile as she let her hand slide away. Katherine revved the stuttering engine and pulled out onto the slick pavement as Scott turned to look out the window. He noticed the car wavering at a risky high speed as the rain beat down against the window pane. Glancing over at Katherine, he observed she looked a little sickly as the car continued to increase with speed.
"Are you positive you're feeling fine," he asked again as concern grew within him.
"I'm alright, everything is going to be..alriight," she replied back to him with slightly slurred speech.
"Please Mom," Scott said almost begging, "just pull over for a minute and we'll talk. There's no hurry to go home."
"Scott, there's nothing to worry about. I-I'm definately fine to drive us home," she'd said but Scott was less than satisfied with her response. He bit his bottom lip and glanced out the window as the rain got heavier.
His worries increased as the car ceased to decrease in speed as they approached the Collings bridge. A horde of cars began to get larger by the second. Scott looked back at his mother then at the road.
"Mom, slow down," he cautioned her as the car grew ever closer to the bridge. She didn't seem to register his voice as they sped forward. Alex perked up from the back and began to panic.
"It's alright boys," she repeated as her hands began to tremble on the wheel.
"Watch out," yelped Scott as he jerked the wheel to the side in an attempt to stop the car from ramming into another vehicle. The station wagon's wheels skidded in a circle then jumped the barrier and lunged down toward the murky water. Scott's body leapt forward breaking through the glass windshield. He was hurled forward a few feet and his senses blacked out as he crashed into the water. He flailed his arms underwater and managed to surface before running out of air. The waves slowly pushed his body to shore as he lay on the surface, mind a blur as bystanders screamed in shock.
Scott crawled onto a sandbar along the edge of land and looked back at the river. His mother's old station wagon was gone, completely submerged by the waves. Guilt and shame attacked him from all sides as stinging tears came to his eyes. All his family was dead and he should have saved them. He had promised to his father he would save lives, not take them. Scott tore his eyes away from the water and ran from the scene as fast as he could as blood dripped from cuts over his face. Little did he know that the worst was yet to come.
.
.
.
[July 3rd, 2003]
A blaring car horn shook a scraggily young man from his sleep as the sun itched toward his body hidden in the shadows of a bug ridden brown dumpster. Scott stirred with a groan then sat up from the grimey pavement which he slept on. His once youthful face had gained a few scars from unforunate street fight scuffles that he found himself in. Ever since the accident two years ago, he had felt a tremendous burning in his eyes that wouldn't cease. Scott had figured that something in the water trigged an allergic response. That is he did until he woke up and shot a massive crimson beam of energy into the sky like a laser. With a little concentration, he managed to shut off his nightmarish new talent. With some practice he learned to turn them off and on with ease. A useful little trick when he was starved for food though he hated to use his powers to steal. With his ragged clothes, unruly hair, and offensive order, he wasn't in the best position to get a job. He hadn't even used his real name since the accident. To Scott he figured it was best to let them believe he was dead since the last thing he wanted was some phony foster family pretending that they loved him. So he lived on the streets avoiding as many people as he could. The few that did witness his little gift were far from hospitable.
Scott had learned that he needed to release the energy daily or he would get horrible migraines. He had gone out to a woodland area, shoot off a few blasts, and be fine for the next twelve hours or so. However as the months went on, his powers manifested and he could no longer control the beams. Soon he couldn't open his eyes at all without emitting a laser and his eyelids burned when the energy wasn't drained. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he had become blind.
Summers shook away his thoughts and blindly felt around the little alley for a scrap of food to munch on. After a few minutes of searching with his hands, he felt something in the dumpster that felt edible and took a nibble. "Stale bread," he said as a smile crept across his face and he leaned back against the brick wall to feast upon his treat.
"Man, don't eat that. I'll give you a few bucks for a sandwich," commented a male voice he hadn't heard before. Footsteps began to approach Scott and he backed up a few feet. A man with short blonde hair wearing a deep blue business suit was walking toward him.
"Thanks but I'll be fine," Summers replied politely hoping that his visitor would leave so he could release the pressure that was getting ever stronger under his eyelids.
"Come on, you're eating bread that's as hard as a rock," the voice paused as he took a few steps toward Scott. "Why don't you open your eyes? Are you blind?"
"Er..yea," Scott replied nervously and he squinted his eyes closed to stop any crimson beams from seeping out.
"I swear I won't hurt you. I'm just trying to help ya out."
Summers began to back up as he said, "No, it-it's all right." Scott stumbled backwards over a few crates and accidently opened his eyes letting out a blast into the air.
"Hey, you're a mutant," the man said with a mixture of astonishment and sympathy.
"L-l-l-look, I don't want any trouble," stammered Scott as he held up his hands defensively but a blunt object crashed against the back of his head. Before he knew it, he was getting beaten with his senses fading fast. Blood was seeping out from a gash on the back of his head and his existance was hanging by a thread.
.
.
.
Scott Summers laid bleeding in the alley, half dead from blood loss alone. A massive shadow crept over his body as lightning cracked a few buildings away. The figure concealed by the darkness grabbed Scott's limp body and dragged it away.
To Be Continued at www.geocities.com/projectmarvel
Note-- To read the conlusion of the story check out (shameless plug) X-Men at www.geocities.com/projectmarvel
.
.
Lightning cracked as it violently struck down from the sky, splitting an elderly oak tree into splinters. Hydrogen combined with oxygen in clouds the color of soot before falling down to the soggy earth. Clusters of people dashed along the dreary sidewalks cursing their misfortune of having a wet walk home. Fizzling neon signs deteriorated into the black abyss known as night. A white pearl gazed down at the bustling California city as time crept toward the next day and the drama it brings. However for one young man time had paused while life slipped through his feeble grasp. The lad's battered body laid amongst putrid food scraps and bug ridden rubbish in a small alley way concealed from the world. His unwashed scruffy brown hair was infested with a gravel and red liquid known as blood. This life force, this blood, pooled around his head as it incessantly seeped from a four inch gash on the back of his head. His electric blue eyes with a tinge of red glowing within them stared blankly at the blanketing storm clouds. A pair of ratty blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt clung to his sopping wet body as the water droplets continued to hammer upon him like they had done countless times already. The body may be in the present but his mind drifted to the past. With each passing second his mind was washed with memories as death itched closer.
.
.
.
[July 3rd, 2000]
A shrill beep pierced a young adolescent Scott Summers' ears as he stirred from his slumber. Throwing his arm behind his head, he jabbed the alarm button. He languidly opened his eyes only to immediately flinch at the offensive bright sunlight beaming in through his open bedroom window. After untangling himself from the web of blankets around his body, Scott staggered toward the bathroom for his morning ritual. A minute later the boy reappeared leaving behind the sound of a toilet flush. He lazily scratched his chest as he stumbled through a few peices of clothes on the way toward the antique oak dresser. Summers pressed his hands on the top of the bearu, pausing for a moment to savoir the solitary. Running a hand over his head, he wondered for the millionth time why he ever gave in to get a buzzcut. He had remarked to his father that if it was an eighth shorter, he would be as bald as Patrick Stewart.
"It makes you look like a soldier," Chris Summers had replied. Scott snorted at the memory and mentally swore that he would shave his father's head bald one day. The bedroom door creaked open and a small blonde boy popped his head in, small blonde boy with several inches of hair Scott noted.
"Hurry up Scott. If you don't do your morning exercises Dad won't let you come see him fly in the Air Show," chirped Alex as his older brother gave him a glare of annoyance.
Scott waved him away and opened the top drawer to pull out a pair of faded Wranger blue jeans. After tugging them over his boxers, he sat down on the edge of his bed. Posters of famous football players, models of little air force jets, a shelf lined with books on just about every school subject; all things his father wanted him to be Scott observed. Being the eldest, he was always pushed harder to set an example for young Alex.
"Had it ever occured to him that I might want to do something else," he thought with irritation in his mind.
It's not that he didn't like football or the prospect of being an Air Force pilot, he truly loved both. However, years of pressure had made him bitter toward such implications. He thought they would tire of strenously pushing him but as the days passed by, that idea died.
With a grunt, Scott pushed himself off the bed then snatched a white t-shirt off the carpet and tugged it over his head. As he strolled out of his room he had an odd feeling that this day would change his life forever.
.
.
.
Alex Summers ran across the burning black pavement as he gazed upward at the majesticly soaring Extra 200 aircrafts. Mesmorized by the air show, he didn't notice his brother walking up behind him with a less than amused look on his face.
"That's Dad," Alex shouted with glee as he pointed at the aircraft executing a perfect barrel roll.
Scott squinted as he asked, "How can you tell? They all look the same to me."
"He's the one with the red scarf around his neck, I gave it to him for Father's Day!"
"Come on, let's go back to the bleachers and find Mom. The show is gonna officially start in a few minutes," he replied to Alex as he ushered him toward the metal bleachers. A woman in the front row waved to them and the boys walked toward her. Scott sat next to her and closed his eyes letting himself revel in the gust brushing against his face.
"What's the matter, honey? I thought you like the air shows," inquired Katherine with her voice laced with concern.
Scott peeked open his left eye and looked at his mother. Her blonde hair curled up into a bun, eyes as green as the summer grass, an angelic face still holding the charm from her youth; she looked like a goddess among mortals.
"I do like Air Shows, I guess I'm feeling a little tired today. I'll feel better tomorrow for the big barbeque. I wouldn't miss your homemade mashed potatoes for the world," Scott reassured her as a grin crept along his face at the thought of his Mom's home cooking.
Katherine gave him a warm smile and replied, "As long as you're not sick. The last thing I want you to do is try to crawl out of bed and shove pounds of food down your throat just to spit it out minutes later."
He chuckled and simply told her, "Don't worry, I'm not going to repeat Alex's Puke-athon from last year."
Scott smiled at his mother then turned his eyes upward at the sensational aerial stuints being performed with such accurancy that only years of experience provides. The onlookers cheered as the red and blue Extra 200's went into a triangle formation and soared up into the atmosphere to attempt a most dangerous stunt. The noses of the planes turned downward as the aircrafts raced toward the earth's surface. Scott noticed the people around him were holding their breath as the aircrafts descended. To him it was merely the same trick he watched his father perform many times. However as they neared the ground, only a single plane didn't pull up. The world seemed to move in slow motion as the metal crumpled against the ground and the whole body of the plane became consumed by a ball of flames. Scott leapt to his feet and raced toward the crash with more speed than he thought he could muster. His entire being was in a state of panic, deeply praying that his father won't be pulled from the wreckage. The on-scene emergency medics were already at the crash site when Scott reached it. A fireman hurrily tried to smother the fire as another cut the safety harness around the pilot's body. Scott could only watch in horror as the limp body was tugged free from its metal tomb and laid upon the grass. The charred helmet was removed and Scott fell to his knees as he stared at the glossy eyes of Christopher Summers. The medics went to work on resesitating him but Scott knew it was useless. His heart had shattered and his mind could only focus on his Dad laying dead infront of him. With tears in his eyes Scott made a promise that he dared not break.
*I understand Dad, I know now that you only pushed me because you only wanted the best for me. I swear I'll be everything you wanted me to be, not just for me, for both of us. I'll be a great leader, a grade A soldier, an athlete, a scholar, and a pilot. A pilot, just like you and I'll fly the fastest plane in the world. I'll be a great leader and save hundreds of lives because I couldn't rescue yours. And most of all I'll be a good man, like you were. I'll make you proud...I'll make you proud..*
It wasn't until the medic pulled the white sheet over Chris's face did Scott crash back to reality. His body felt heavy and all he could do was sit on the grass letting the tears fall. Nothing would be the same. It was the start of the downfall.
.
.
.
[July 3rd 2001]
The familiar peircing beep of the alarm clock snapped Scott Summers from his dream world. Groggily, he thrust his hand onto the alarm button. He pushed the blankets aside and began to gaze at the blank ceiling as if it contained a riddle. It had been one year since the death of his father and the turmoil hadn't stopped. More precisely, the wind tunnel of diaster just sucked more and more of his life away. His dear mother had become an alcoholic and even her strong will and faith had slowly dissipated over time. His brother suffered from denial. Unable to take the grief of his father's death, Alex convinced himself that good old Dad was on a business trip. Scott hadn't recoiled into a depression, he forced himself to stay strong. He had to pull through or the family would crumble. So what had he been doing the past year? Scott worked as many hours as he could spare as a janitor at the local convenient store. It took some string pulling from an old family friend but he had got the job even though he was only at the tender age of fourteen. His mother hadn't asked him to get a job, she couldn't even consider the possibility. He knew Katherine was having a hard time and took it upon himself to do his best to bring in as much money as legally possible. It was definately rough for the Summers family but Scott was determined to struggle rather than give up and die.
Violently Scott's thoughts were shattered with the vision of his father's aircraft exploding in a burst of flames. The gruesome scene sent a shudder down the young man's spine. His mind was soon flooded with Christopher's scorched face, slightly ajar mouth, and the dilated eyes. It was as if they were leering at him, following his every move, almost challenging. Scott rubbed the tear droplets from his eyes and rolled off his back to the sitting position. Above his head rain rapped against the roof like a savage drum beat with thunder rumbling and the sky a charcoal gray. As if he wasn't depressed enough about the date, a dreary rain dampened his spirits and reflected his soul.
He glanced around his room, it hadn't changed much since that day. It was like a constant reminder to live up to the promise he had made to his father's spirit as it rose to the heavens. Scott's hair had grown out, longer than his father would ever allow. Chris never permitted his son's hair to reach his shoulders while alive but now a haircut was the least of his worries. He could have got it cut free by a barber school or a friend from the Air Force recuitment office but those minutes were used to work overtime.
Pushing himself off the bed, Scott trudged toward the bathroom to clean himself up before the visit to Christopher's grave. He wanted to look his best even if his father couldn't see him as a sign of respect. He hopped into the shower after discarding his shorts and turned the faucet to let the warm water softly massage his body. He let himself fall victim to the ministrations, to forget his troubles for a brief moment. He hadn't a clue that hours later he would face another great obstacle in his life.
.
.
The rain hadn't ceased a bit since the morning as Scott stood infront of a gray tombstone with his father's name etched into the marble. The cemetery was deserted on the dismal July day as the Summers family sobbed their grief out. Scott looked over at his Mom and his heart wrenched at the sight. She must have aged ten years since the tragic accident which left her a widow. Her eyes had become red from sleepless nights, the golden locks on her head had become frayed from neglect, and her face was littered with wrinkles; the mighty goddess had lost her youth. She wore a long slender black dress which loosely wrapped around her body and stopped above her ankles. A matching veil covered her face as she pressed a handkerchief to her dripping eyes. Scott looked over at Alex to watch him stare blankly at the grave as the truth had finally fallen upon him that Chris was not coming back. Alex clutched a bundle of white lilies in his small hands which shook from intense emotions. Like his older brother, he had worn a simple black suit with a gray shirt beneath the jacket. No one said a word, they hadn't needed too.
"Come on boys," Katherine croacked out as she stifled her tears. "We'd better get going, it's starting to get dark out."
Scott nodded then placed a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder. He crouched down and put the flowers infront of the tombstone before Scott led him to the car. Katherine climbed into the driver's seat of the old '85 off white Pontiac stationwagon then grabbed a small metal cantine from under the seat. Scott eyed it suspiciously as she tipped it back and must have drank the whole thing. Alex climbed into the backseat, ignorant of his mother's heavy drinking and clicked his safety belt. Scott slid into the front passenger seat beside Katherine and furred his brows with concern.
"Are you alright Mom," he inquired as smell of alcohol wafted under his nose. "I can drive the car home if you aren't feeling well."
She reached out with her hand and gently laid it against his cheek as she replied, "It's alright honey, I'll be fine."
Scott weakly nodded his head and gave a small smile as she let her hand slide away. Katherine revved the stuttering engine and pulled out onto the slick pavement as Scott turned to look out the window. He noticed the car wavering at a risky high speed as the rain beat down against the window pane. Glancing over at Katherine, he observed she looked a little sickly as the car continued to increase with speed.
"Are you positive you're feeling fine," he asked again as concern grew within him.
"I'm alright, everything is going to be..alriight," she replied back to him with slightly slurred speech.
"Please Mom," Scott said almost begging, "just pull over for a minute and we'll talk. There's no hurry to go home."
"Scott, there's nothing to worry about. I-I'm definately fine to drive us home," she'd said but Scott was less than satisfied with her response. He bit his bottom lip and glanced out the window as the rain got heavier.
His worries increased as the car ceased to decrease in speed as they approached the Collings bridge. A horde of cars began to get larger by the second. Scott looked back at his mother then at the road.
"Mom, slow down," he cautioned her as the car grew ever closer to the bridge. She didn't seem to register his voice as they sped forward. Alex perked up from the back and began to panic.
"It's alright boys," she repeated as her hands began to tremble on the wheel.
"Watch out," yelped Scott as he jerked the wheel to the side in an attempt to stop the car from ramming into another vehicle. The station wagon's wheels skidded in a circle then jumped the barrier and lunged down toward the murky water. Scott's body leapt forward breaking through the glass windshield. He was hurled forward a few feet and his senses blacked out as he crashed into the water. He flailed his arms underwater and managed to surface before running out of air. The waves slowly pushed his body to shore as he lay on the surface, mind a blur as bystanders screamed in shock.
Scott crawled onto a sandbar along the edge of land and looked back at the river. His mother's old station wagon was gone, completely submerged by the waves. Guilt and shame attacked him from all sides as stinging tears came to his eyes. All his family was dead and he should have saved them. He had promised to his father he would save lives, not take them. Scott tore his eyes away from the water and ran from the scene as fast as he could as blood dripped from cuts over his face. Little did he know that the worst was yet to come.
.
.
.
[July 3rd, 2003]
A blaring car horn shook a scraggily young man from his sleep as the sun itched toward his body hidden in the shadows of a bug ridden brown dumpster. Scott stirred with a groan then sat up from the grimey pavement which he slept on. His once youthful face had gained a few scars from unforunate street fight scuffles that he found himself in. Ever since the accident two years ago, he had felt a tremendous burning in his eyes that wouldn't cease. Scott had figured that something in the water trigged an allergic response. That is he did until he woke up and shot a massive crimson beam of energy into the sky like a laser. With a little concentration, he managed to shut off his nightmarish new talent. With some practice he learned to turn them off and on with ease. A useful little trick when he was starved for food though he hated to use his powers to steal. With his ragged clothes, unruly hair, and offensive order, he wasn't in the best position to get a job. He hadn't even used his real name since the accident. To Scott he figured it was best to let them believe he was dead since the last thing he wanted was some phony foster family pretending that they loved him. So he lived on the streets avoiding as many people as he could. The few that did witness his little gift were far from hospitable.
Scott had learned that he needed to release the energy daily or he would get horrible migraines. He had gone out to a woodland area, shoot off a few blasts, and be fine for the next twelve hours or so. However as the months went on, his powers manifested and he could no longer control the beams. Soon he couldn't open his eyes at all without emitting a laser and his eyelids burned when the energy wasn't drained. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he had become blind.
Summers shook away his thoughts and blindly felt around the little alley for a scrap of food to munch on. After a few minutes of searching with his hands, he felt something in the dumpster that felt edible and took a nibble. "Stale bread," he said as a smile crept across his face and he leaned back against the brick wall to feast upon his treat.
"Man, don't eat that. I'll give you a few bucks for a sandwich," commented a male voice he hadn't heard before. Footsteps began to approach Scott and he backed up a few feet. A man with short blonde hair wearing a deep blue business suit was walking toward him.
"Thanks but I'll be fine," Summers replied politely hoping that his visitor would leave so he could release the pressure that was getting ever stronger under his eyelids.
"Come on, you're eating bread that's as hard as a rock," the voice paused as he took a few steps toward Scott. "Why don't you open your eyes? Are you blind?"
"Er..yea," Scott replied nervously and he squinted his eyes closed to stop any crimson beams from seeping out.
"I swear I won't hurt you. I'm just trying to help ya out."
Summers began to back up as he said, "No, it-it's all right." Scott stumbled backwards over a few crates and accidently opened his eyes letting out a blast into the air.
"Hey, you're a mutant," the man said with a mixture of astonishment and sympathy.
"L-l-l-look, I don't want any trouble," stammered Scott as he held up his hands defensively but a blunt object crashed against the back of his head. Before he knew it, he was getting beaten with his senses fading fast. Blood was seeping out from a gash on the back of his head and his existance was hanging by a thread.
.
.
.
Scott Summers laid bleeding in the alley, half dead from blood loss alone. A massive shadow crept over his body as lightning cracked a few buildings away. The figure concealed by the darkness grabbed Scott's limp body and dragged it away.
To Be Continued at www.geocities.com/projectmarvel