' 'Life is short.' A common phrase, used everywhere, everyday. It
is preached along the sides of streets, echoing of the unseen walls of
life, falling upon deaf ears. But how many in this world live by such a
well-known piece of mind? Very few, if any. People can be seen and heard
as they address these words, telling everyone around them to live life to
the fullest, unaware of the impact their speeches make on certain others.
Their words may be empty, lifeless, but they are heard loud and clear.
I used to live by this phrase. Too much, in fact. Everything in my possession I took for granted. I used to be taught about mercy, compassion, love -- at a mutant school founded by a gifted yet crippled telepath -- even though I barely knew what the words meant. I had never experienced them, how should I know what they stood for? But they were taught to me, and to all the other closed-minded students at that wretched school. The teachers themselves didn't know how much it hurt, to hear those words and have them remind you of the lack of them you got. For people like me it was especially hard -- growing up on the streets is never easy. But to be reminded of your past each day, to be haunted by all the things you tried so desperately to forget... It burns like acid, tearing a hole through your chest.
They were called the X-men, the teachers at that school. I used to be one of them, in training at least. They were taught how to control their powers, and were sent on missions to protect the ones who hated them the most -- humans. They - we - fought to protect them, knowing that the humans themselves would kill us without a second thought. Everyone at the school thought it was great, how we were so kind and loving so as to protect people who hated us by fighting against our own kind. All but very few. I was one of those few. I thought it was absurd. Why protect the kind of people who would just as easily and happily kill us? What was the point of risking our lives for them? They go out of their way to make every aspect of life difficult for us while we go out of our way to save them and their measly little world from devastation.
Of course, that was only one of the reasons that others at the school looked down on me. There, I was a sinner, a screw-up, a total inane loser. I was the mistake of every good deed. The one who never did anything right. I used my powers too often, on the wrong people, for the wrong reasons, and the wrong times, and I got more than I deserved for it. I was known as evil. Everyone expected me to turn spontaneously to the dark side and start fighting against them. The names and insults wouldn't usually hurt me that much, if at all. But this time it did. Because all of them -- down to the smallest child in the hallway calling me a freak, a devil's advocate -- were right.
I was a bad guy. The whole time that I was locked up in that cursed school I was a bad guy. I just never figured it out before. It took me over half a month to realize I didn't belong with the X-men. They wanted to control their powers, I wanted to use mine to the fullest. They wanted to protect the human killing machines; I wanted nothing to do with them. 'Let them feel the same torture they put us through every damned day.' Magneto told me that. Just a month ago he'd said those exact words on the helicopter that took me away from that school and its worthless students, who, as far as I'm concerned, can burn their asses in hell. I remember that scene as if it was yesterday, looking out the window down at all the helpless mutants staring up at us, watching us fly away. They couldn't see me, thank God -- I wouldn't have been able to bear their expressions of pure hatred as they realized what I had finally done. Not that I haven't been looked at like that before. What scares me the most is, I didn't care about the X-men. And I never did.
Ok, so that's not completely true. There was one of them, specifically, that I cared for. I cared for her so much, in fact, that it destroyed me. And as far as I know, it destroyed her too. When I first saw her, I could've sworn her mutant power was being beautiful. Short, jet- black hair, bone straight, fell just past her ears and over her gorgeously defined features. Her bright blue eyes shone deeper than sapphires, and held more pent-up emotion than I could ever imagine. She was a teleporter -- and a good one at that. She could disappear quicker and quieter than you could blink, and be back with two flipped open bottles of soda before you could start breathing again. In the shadows, she was everything but invisible, for in her mutant form, her jet-black skin blended perfectly against the inky darkness. Her senses were magnified practically one hundred fold, and she left them anything but unused. Besides her mutant power, she was an extraordinary acrobat, and portrayed herself to all others as a tough, badass, "screw you all I don't care" kind of mutant, but that was only on the outside. Being as close to her as I was, only I saw her on the inside as well. For behind her glittering eyes there were pools of pain so deep they had no bottom. I caught her crying once, and no matter how much she denied it, I knew I had temporarily snuck past her walls of defense. Inside of her was just a girl -- a sad, lonely girl, filled with emotions of pain and hurt like others at the school couldn't even have imagined, let alone experienced. And I loved her. I loved her, both sides of her, inside and out, with all my heart and soul. I cared for her like I never thought I could.
And then there was the fight. More or less, it was the main reason why I ended up in Magneto's helicopter that day a near-month ago. We had a stupid argument. I cared for her too much, and apparently I treated her like a child. I won't deny that I did treat her like a young kid, but I had never loved before, and I didn't know how to handle it. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the thought of losing her, so I kept her as close to me as I could, afraid of seeing her hurt. She took this badly, and accused me of being overprotective. She claimed to be able to take care of herself and told me flat out that she didn't need a bodyguard. I knew she was tough. I knew she was able to protect herself. But I just couldn't let her go. It was too hard for me.
So she left. Not left in the sense that she moved away because she hated me so much (though I don't doubt she would have), but left temporarily. Probably for a walk. The fact is, she never came back. It was that evening that I realized she wasn't going to return. I was completely devastated -- I didn't eat, and hardly slept. When I did I was troubled by the nightmares that lingered in my mind. Kurt was as bad off as me, but at least he had his precious God to pray to -- someone I personally wasn't and never had been blessed with. The professor tried tracking her with Cerebro, only to end up unsuccessful. Logan, Kurt and I tried the old fashioned way of finding her (looking), and that, too, did no good. I was the first to give up hope, knowing that If she didn't want to be found, we wouldn't find her. Kurt was the last.
When it finally sunk in to all of us that she was most likely never coming back, silence haunted the mansion day after day. And during this piercing silence was when I decided my place in life. There was nothing left for me at the school. Nothing to fight for, to live for. Nothing left to love. So I gave up my supposedly good ways, much to Kurt's dismay, and left, no longer pursuing my dead-end dream of a neutral life. I had to choose a side, for the humans wouldn't accept me as is. It was either good guys or bad guys. And weighing in the facts that the good guys hated my guts and my only form of support was gone, you can only suspect which side I chose. What was the point of protecting people who all deep down wanted to slay you and smear your red blood over the ground? Why protect them? No one was left to help me along anyway. The one and only person I had ever loved and who loved me back was gone. Probably forever.'
~~ * ~~
I used to live by this phrase. Too much, in fact. Everything in my possession I took for granted. I used to be taught about mercy, compassion, love -- at a mutant school founded by a gifted yet crippled telepath -- even though I barely knew what the words meant. I had never experienced them, how should I know what they stood for? But they were taught to me, and to all the other closed-minded students at that wretched school. The teachers themselves didn't know how much it hurt, to hear those words and have them remind you of the lack of them you got. For people like me it was especially hard -- growing up on the streets is never easy. But to be reminded of your past each day, to be haunted by all the things you tried so desperately to forget... It burns like acid, tearing a hole through your chest.
They were called the X-men, the teachers at that school. I used to be one of them, in training at least. They were taught how to control their powers, and were sent on missions to protect the ones who hated them the most -- humans. They - we - fought to protect them, knowing that the humans themselves would kill us without a second thought. Everyone at the school thought it was great, how we were so kind and loving so as to protect people who hated us by fighting against our own kind. All but very few. I was one of those few. I thought it was absurd. Why protect the kind of people who would just as easily and happily kill us? What was the point of risking our lives for them? They go out of their way to make every aspect of life difficult for us while we go out of our way to save them and their measly little world from devastation.
Of course, that was only one of the reasons that others at the school looked down on me. There, I was a sinner, a screw-up, a total inane loser. I was the mistake of every good deed. The one who never did anything right. I used my powers too often, on the wrong people, for the wrong reasons, and the wrong times, and I got more than I deserved for it. I was known as evil. Everyone expected me to turn spontaneously to the dark side and start fighting against them. The names and insults wouldn't usually hurt me that much, if at all. But this time it did. Because all of them -- down to the smallest child in the hallway calling me a freak, a devil's advocate -- were right.
I was a bad guy. The whole time that I was locked up in that cursed school I was a bad guy. I just never figured it out before. It took me over half a month to realize I didn't belong with the X-men. They wanted to control their powers, I wanted to use mine to the fullest. They wanted to protect the human killing machines; I wanted nothing to do with them. 'Let them feel the same torture they put us through every damned day.' Magneto told me that. Just a month ago he'd said those exact words on the helicopter that took me away from that school and its worthless students, who, as far as I'm concerned, can burn their asses in hell. I remember that scene as if it was yesterday, looking out the window down at all the helpless mutants staring up at us, watching us fly away. They couldn't see me, thank God -- I wouldn't have been able to bear their expressions of pure hatred as they realized what I had finally done. Not that I haven't been looked at like that before. What scares me the most is, I didn't care about the X-men. And I never did.
Ok, so that's not completely true. There was one of them, specifically, that I cared for. I cared for her so much, in fact, that it destroyed me. And as far as I know, it destroyed her too. When I first saw her, I could've sworn her mutant power was being beautiful. Short, jet- black hair, bone straight, fell just past her ears and over her gorgeously defined features. Her bright blue eyes shone deeper than sapphires, and held more pent-up emotion than I could ever imagine. She was a teleporter -- and a good one at that. She could disappear quicker and quieter than you could blink, and be back with two flipped open bottles of soda before you could start breathing again. In the shadows, she was everything but invisible, for in her mutant form, her jet-black skin blended perfectly against the inky darkness. Her senses were magnified practically one hundred fold, and she left them anything but unused. Besides her mutant power, she was an extraordinary acrobat, and portrayed herself to all others as a tough, badass, "screw you all I don't care" kind of mutant, but that was only on the outside. Being as close to her as I was, only I saw her on the inside as well. For behind her glittering eyes there were pools of pain so deep they had no bottom. I caught her crying once, and no matter how much she denied it, I knew I had temporarily snuck past her walls of defense. Inside of her was just a girl -- a sad, lonely girl, filled with emotions of pain and hurt like others at the school couldn't even have imagined, let alone experienced. And I loved her. I loved her, both sides of her, inside and out, with all my heart and soul. I cared for her like I never thought I could.
And then there was the fight. More or less, it was the main reason why I ended up in Magneto's helicopter that day a near-month ago. We had a stupid argument. I cared for her too much, and apparently I treated her like a child. I won't deny that I did treat her like a young kid, but I had never loved before, and I didn't know how to handle it. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the thought of losing her, so I kept her as close to me as I could, afraid of seeing her hurt. She took this badly, and accused me of being overprotective. She claimed to be able to take care of herself and told me flat out that she didn't need a bodyguard. I knew she was tough. I knew she was able to protect herself. But I just couldn't let her go. It was too hard for me.
So she left. Not left in the sense that she moved away because she hated me so much (though I don't doubt she would have), but left temporarily. Probably for a walk. The fact is, she never came back. It was that evening that I realized she wasn't going to return. I was completely devastated -- I didn't eat, and hardly slept. When I did I was troubled by the nightmares that lingered in my mind. Kurt was as bad off as me, but at least he had his precious God to pray to -- someone I personally wasn't and never had been blessed with. The professor tried tracking her with Cerebro, only to end up unsuccessful. Logan, Kurt and I tried the old fashioned way of finding her (looking), and that, too, did no good. I was the first to give up hope, knowing that If she didn't want to be found, we wouldn't find her. Kurt was the last.
When it finally sunk in to all of us that she was most likely never coming back, silence haunted the mansion day after day. And during this piercing silence was when I decided my place in life. There was nothing left for me at the school. Nothing to fight for, to live for. Nothing left to love. So I gave up my supposedly good ways, much to Kurt's dismay, and left, no longer pursuing my dead-end dream of a neutral life. I had to choose a side, for the humans wouldn't accept me as is. It was either good guys or bad guys. And weighing in the facts that the good guys hated my guts and my only form of support was gone, you can only suspect which side I chose. What was the point of protecting people who all deep down wanted to slay you and smear your red blood over the ground? Why protect them? No one was left to help me along anyway. The one and only person I had ever loved and who loved me back was gone. Probably forever.'
~~ * ~~