Note: This is one of those really
annoying ideas that just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote
it <g>. It didn't turn out like I wanted it to, but
at least I feel better after having gotten it out (sigh
one of these days I'll figure out how to write I story like
I want to...)
Anyway, I was thinking about what the X-Men's parents must
think when they hear or read about some of things concerning
mutants in general or their children in the X-Men.
This is from Rogue's mother's point of view. It isn't great
(it really was better in my mind...) and the ending is rather
... well ... not great (I also have to figure out how to write
endings that don't suck <g>).
Disclaimer: It's mostly all mine. The rest is Marvel's.
Of all the regrets in my life, there is one that stands out
as that which hurts the most. It's a regret that has consumed
me, that drives me, that haunts me without cease.
My baby came to me, her face streaked with tears and her
green eyes filled with a horrible agony. She clung to be,
her small body shaking with horror. I didn't understand then,
not until he stormed into the room.
My little girl quaked with terror as he advanced towards
us. His voice was angry, enraged, as he towered over us. 'Mutie'
he screamed that vile name towards our daughter. She shook
harder, and my embrace could do nothing to soothe her.
And still he continued. He voice was harsh and unforgiving
as he cursed our child with derogatory, hateful names. She
was sobbing, begging for forgiveness and yet he would not
relent. Her fear tore at my heart, and her frightened whimpers
brought tears to my eyes. But I only sat there, holding her
down as her father tore her apart with his words.
God, how I hate that word! For it was that label that finally
drew her from my arms and sent her running from our lives.
I didn't go after her, and I curse myself for that weakness.
I sat still, my heart aching as her father continued his ranting.
He said that it was best that she left. She would only bring
trouble. We didn't need a monster in our home.
And so, my child disappeared from my life.
My world was empty without her bright smile and her joyful
And I hated my husband for taking that away from me. What
right had he to drive her out of my life!? How dare he!
But as much as I grew to hate him, it was never as much as
I hated my own lack of action. I had sat there, watching without
complaint as he chased her away.
It is impossible to find the words to express my joy when
I first saw my baby again. There was a picture of her in the
paper, in an article under the title of "The Mutant Threat."
I merely sat there at first, too stunned to move. My eyes
were glued to the small figure printed on the page before
After that, I scoured newspapers and magazines for any sign
of my precious girl. There wasn't a night that passed without
me seated in front of the TV watching the six o'clock news
for anything that might concern her.
I've watched my daughter grow only through these brief glimpses.
And as much as I needed those brief sightings, they made my
heart ache. How I wished that I was there to comfort her.
I wondered if she was happy. Did she forgive my weakness?
Over the years, I've seen my girl fighting and being attacked
by figures that made me tremble. I've read all the reports
and seen all the shows that cover the debate about mutants.
And every time I heard of a group, or a law that seeks to
suppress and destroy those who are different, terror raced
through me. I couldn't bear the thought of my daughter's life
being ground out under a wave of mutant hysteria.
But there was nothing that I could do to stop it.
I learned of my daughter's death in the same way that I had
The article took up the entire front page of the newspaper,
the headlines joyously proclaiming "Mutant Outlaws Dead!"
A fancy plane in flight consumed by flames, and I have another
picture to join my pile.
My daughter is dead.
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