Fic: Mere Inches 1/1
- 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's 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