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Fic: Mere Inches 1/1

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  • Rebecca
    Author: sourspunk101, or, better known as, Rebecca Title: Mere Inchese (because I m lazy, and I didn t feel like thinking up a title for it. lol. oh well
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 9, 2001
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      Author: sourspunk101, or, better known as, Rebecca
      Title: Mere Inchese (because I'm lazy, and I didn't feel like
      thinking up a title for it. lol. oh well though)
      Summary: This is really short. It's just about Marie having left to
      go back to Mississippi, and now Logan is thinking about her. (a-hah?
      See? Not so original, huh?)
      Disclaimers: Story's mine. Characters aren't.
      Rating: G, naturally. :)
      Feedback: any feedback is much appreciated
      Archive: Sure, just tell me where, k?
      Author's Notes: Running close to four days now, without any sleep. So
      I'm trying to put my insomnia to some good fanfic use.


      So I'm not in the greatest of moods right now. Actually, I feel like
      going to my room, putting a pillow over my head, and sobbing
      uncontrollably. But we're all adults here now, and adults don't do
      that sort of stuff --right guys?

      I'm looking at this map, and it's a picture of Mississippi, and we're
      maybe a total of two and a half inches apart. How can two and a half
      inches be so difficult? I can walk there on my fingers, or she could
      walk here on her fingers, and we could meet and thumb wrestle
      somewhere in between for Christ's sake.

      The thing that's really bothering me. Oh yeah. I'm going to be
      completely honest in my wide popular open feelings, because now I
      don't even care, so just enjoy this brief glimpse into my head while
      you can. We said we were worried about everything being perfect, and
      I sort-of but sort-of not pretended I didn't want everything to be

      I could've been lying though.

      She has this way with words. Whenever I read her letters, the words
      don't just sit on the paper- they come *alive* and they dance and
      they sing, no matter what mood they portray, they always appear to be
      lovely, delicate, well-crafted words.

      Whenever I talk to her on the phone, as seldom as that is, I sit
      there and listen, maybe even grunt out a few of my own replies,
      because she just has such interesting things to say. And sometimes,
      when I come out with random questions like "Name five dead army
      generals. Go," while sitting on the back porch steps, cradling the
      receiver, she doesn't even care, and she'll proceed to name five,
      dead army generals.

      Her sense of humor is impeccable. It's the perfect balance of
      seriousness and humorousness. And we're only two and a half inches
      away. And I am having to say goodbye to the one chance to hang out
      with my closest friend, my truest love in the entire world (though
      she never knew it), and it's like a butterfly sitting on the
      windowsill. I just wanted to hold it for a second, nourish the
      thought and idea, and it floated away, effortlessly raising it's
      wings and gliding into the future, never looking back, never.

      She's gone back to her home now. Trying for a simple life. Parents,
      who love her --missed her while she was gone; college courses and a
      part time job at the local plant nursery in downtown. She's finally
      got everything she's ever wanted. A normal life. No more mutant do-
      gooder teachers. No more mentally screwed older men with adamantium
      skeleton bone structures always keeping an over protective eye out
      for her. She's grown up. Doesn't need us anymore. And quite frankly,
      that scares the hell out of me.

      She'sÂ…she's so cool. Because she likes Jets To Brazil and hockey
      games and kids; she likes people even though they've done nothing but
      treat her like shit since her mutation manifested its ugly head.
      She's the type of person you'd be willing to move to the dessert in
      Australia with and watch dingo's fight along the barbwire fence while
      sitting in lawn chairs and drinking cheap beer in the blazing hot
      heat. Sunsets and accents and all that jazz.

      And I hate good bye's. I really do, and good bye's before hello's
      just make my heart ache even more than ever.

      I know it's too much to even hope for, but I can only pray that this
      truly isn't our last farewell. We'll see each other again. We have
      to. I don't like being selfish when it comes to Marie, but if she
      doesn't come back to me, then I may very well make a trip to the
      sunny south myself.

      She's my home. My family. My north star. And without her ---I'm lost

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      or, well, to be more precise, not the end exactly. More like, the
      first part of a continuation? I think I'll write a companion-piece to
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