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White (1/1) [PG-13, Rogue, Ficlette]

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  • Judy
    Title: White (1/1) Author: Jyorraku E-mail: jyorraku@yahoo.com Rated: PG-13 for some slightly disturbing stuff. Archive: XMMFC, WRFA, Spacedout Creations:
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 2, 2001
      Title: White (1/1)
      Author: Jyorraku
      E-mail: jyorraku@...
      Rated: PG-13 for some slightly disturbing stuff.
      Archive: XMMFC, WRFA, Spacedout Creations: http://judy.jteers.net,
      people that already have my stuff, others please notify.
      Genre: Rogue, X-Men, ficlette.
      Teaser: Streaks of white, another interpretation.
      Feedback: Writing is just writing, but feedback is better.
      Notes: Magneto makes such a great villian. And yes, as I recall,
      there is a tradition of that sort in some Asian countries (uh, yeah,
      you'll have to read to find out what I'm talking about). Many thanks
      to Laura and Jess, you know why. ^_^
      Disclaimer: Concept and character not mine. Yes, that's right. Not
      mine, gotta problem with that?

      by Jyorraku

      "I kinda like them."

      That's what I said when they asked me. When Logan touched them in

      It's not true.

      The strands of hair that frame my face are stark white. It's not a
      retro thing. It's not a rebellious thing. It's a mourning thing.

      Once back in high school, a friend of mine once wore a small stitched
      white flower in her hair. People took it as a fashion statement,
      however strange. But Xin did not make fashion statements, she was as
      clueless about fashion and clothes as anyone could be in this day and
      age. The only reason her socks matched was because her mother
      bundled them in pairs.

      "What is it?" I asked her.

      Xin turned her tired eyes at me. She always seemed so tired these
      days. We hadn't talked that much during the summer, her mother had

      "My mother's dead. The white," she gestured to the flower, speaking
      in monotone, "Is a mourning thing." Her voice was hollow, vacant.

      For a moment I did not know what to say. What do you say? Nothing
      will ever take that pain away. So I did the only thing that I knew
      to do. I hugged her, hoping that my warmth will chase some of the
      cold away. She started to shake and shudder. My shoulder grew wet
      with tears, but she never made a noise. In silence, with the white
      flower against her black hair, she mourned for her mother.

      I wear white in my hair for a man. His name is Erik Lehnsherr.
      White for the child that died amongst the stench of evil and the
      ashes of the innocent. For the man that could no see love, for he
      was already blinded by despair. He escaped death, he did not come
      back emptyhanded.

      I screamed that day. The day Erik gave me his powers. His
      memories. I screamed not because the machine hurt me. That was
      nothing compared to what he gave me. I was stunned when he seeped
      into me, foreign and unsettling. I was able to separate myself from
      him, tucking him into a corner. But the machine yanked and spread
      him out across my mind, like ink soaking through paper until I was
      him and he was me. What he experienced in his entire life, I
      experienced in seconds. It wasn't even long enough for me form a
      tear, but just enough to feel the ghost sensations in my skin. The
      pain was painted across a new canvas, me, and was at once fresh
      again. Horror was only when I realized the screams that were coming
      out of my mouth weren't mine, but his and those whose screams he
      keeps hearing at night.

      Professor Xavier helped me to push Erik back into the corner. But I
      learned I could not forget. His memories in me were no longer new,
      but old like faded photographs. Yet I knew, they were always new in
      his mind. They were the last moments of his life as he knew it,
      carved into the gray matter of his mind, like the last instructions
      of the dead. It was all he had now. He was permanently reliving

      But all that's permanent is death.

      And thus his flesh walks the earth though Erik Lehnsherr is no longer

      So in silence, with white tresses in my hair, I mourn for Erik.

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