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Through My Eyes: Grim Tales 3/7

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  • Autumn <autumnleaves@autumnpenguins.com>
    Title: Grim Tales Series: Through My Eyes A/N Third part of the series The precious installments can be found at www.autumnpenguins.com ******** Reach out and
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 26, 2003
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      Title: Grim Tales

      Series: Through My Eyes

      A/N Third part of the series

      The precious installments can be found at www.autumnpenguins.com


      Reach out and touch someone. Feelings. Everything in this world is so
      connected to that one sense. Baby animals learn their mother by scent
      and touch. Infants thrive on affection from their parents, without it
      we die. So why is it that I, out of five billion fucking people on
      the planet, cannot touch. I Am devoid of it, well unless I'm itchin'
      to kill something.

      It makes no sense. And its so goddamn unfair I just want to scream
      until I'm horse. I can feel hurt, and pain and joy and love, but I
      will never touch another human if I wish for their safety. I shall
      never feel another's hands on my body without a barrier between our
      skins. I cause harm to those I touch. I already hurt Logan by
      touching him, I shouldn't have. He let me, but I shouldn't have. My
      touch is as poisonous as a frost is deadly to plants.

      Its not fair. It is latterly hell on earth, why didn't I die? Why
      does the human spirit fight to live, even with a crippling condition?
      When people are blind, they depend on touch and sound, when they are
      deaf it is everything else. What about me? To look, to see, to hear,
      to smell, to taste, but never to touch. Textures are a memory too me,
      and so they will remain.

      Nobody at Charles' really understands what it feels like. I mean to
      feel what it really, feels like to be isolated. It is the worst
      feeling to be surrounded by everybody and know that at least half of
      the room is afraid of you. That you terrify them more than their
      worst fantasy, that touching you is their worst nightmare. On top of
      all that, you have your own fears. That your control will slip, that
      there will be an accident, and nothing will be the same again.

      There are so many emotions connected with touch. It defines part of
      our characters and plays a significant role in our relationships with
      our intimates and strangers alike. But I am outside of that, outside
      of something that the entire existence of humanity has in common.
      That is alienation.

      Jean understands a little bit. Her mutation manifested in a way that
      threw her whole life upside down. She was isolated; trying to get her
      thoughts together, get her head straight on. The Professor helped
      her. She pulled herself together and hasn't let anything stop her
      since then. Sometimes I think she's a little too enthusiastic about
      her work. Jean is a touchy feely person. I notice this about people,
      how they handle objects, how there hands move over things, it's a
      compulsion. Touching through vision, as if I can remember the
      textures by seeing another handle them. Jean touches everything. Her
      hands drag against walls, drape over people, and are in constant
      motion. I don't know if it's a habit she has always had, or something
      she developed as a doctor. After all, her hands are always in motion,
      if that's good or bad we'll leave for the jury.

      Scott is the opposite of Jean. He touches things only when he needs
      too, but that only applies to certain things. Mechanical things Scott
      handles with finesse and apparent zest. Books, Jean and his
      motorcycle get the same treatment. Fondness, and affection flow out
      of his arms when he touches them. Lightness with them, and
      carelessness, with everything else, pens, desks, most inanimate
      objects. I suppose it's not so different than what most people do,
      but with Scott, it's as if he is deliberately attempting to be
      detached from as many objects as possible.

      He knows about isolation. He knows what it is on some level, what its
      like to lack a use of a sense. He knows if he uncovers his eyes
      someone could easily be hurt. His prison is mine; he hides behind a
      visor, while I am sheathed in cloth. He gets it more than the others,
      what it feels like to need protection for other people 24 hours. I
      think he hates it as much as I do. The professor calls them gifts,
      but I'll bet Scott would trade his gift in if it meant he could look
      at the world and not see red.

      Logan is easier to gage, well too me he is. But part of that is
      cheating since I have a piece of him in my head now. Even before
      though I knew things about him. I know he's angry, and hurt. He puts
      on a false front, but his hands betray him. He touches things with no
      gentleness. He uses his hands to express his anger in a silent
      exercise. He uses his fists to pummel opponents and strike out at the
      metal inside of them. He crushes glasses and cans in his hands
      easily, they bleed because he makes them. Logan knows his own
      strength, he can control it in his mind, but his body betrays him.

      All that anger, all that suffering inside of him. It comes out
      through his touch. But not with me, he is gentle with me. You don't
      need to think long on that to realize what it means. I see inside of
      him, he knows that and he accepts it. He accepts what I am and he is
      not afraid of me. He is the only person here who does not fear me,
      and I am probably the only person who could conceivably kill him.
      That takes trust, something neither of us have much experience with.
      We trust each other that speaks for itself.

      Erik most likely has taken all of this into consideration. He is
      incredibly rehearsed, and ready for this. He has plans for me,
      whatever they are I'm sure its not good. He touched my shoulder
      without hesitation, he knows I can hurt him, and in my guts I know
      that he can hurt me. He will kill me; his hands are calm enough to do
      it. What I mean is that he shows no personality ticks in his touches.
      I'm sure he has them, but he guards them from me. He knows that hands
      give you away. There is simply nothing there; I know I am no match
      for it. Eriks hands are dead, and my own death will come soon. I knew
      it when he touched me, and I've never read a touch wrong.
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