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Hell (1/1, Mystique, PG)

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  • Sharon
    Life was hell before I met Magneto. The stares, the horror, the laughter, the revulsion – no one could accept me, and I hated them for it. I hated myself
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 11, 2003
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      Life was hell before I met Magneto. The stares, the horror, the
      laughter, the revulsion – no one could accept me, and I hated them
      for it. I hated myself for it, too. I could be anyone… isn't that
      what most people dream about, being someone else? It's not as fun as
      they all think, when all you want to be is yourself.

      Sometimes I tried to be what people expected and wanted. I'd
      [literally] "put on a happy face" - some face I had seen the other
      day, one that people seemed to like - and go out to the park and
      walk. I'd pass people and smile at them and they'd smile and
      say "good morning". Assholes.

      I'd come back in the door of the house I still shared with my
      parents, and with a sigh I'd relax back into myself. It felt so
      good. I took to staying home as much as I could, where I could be
      myself.

      My parents were good and optimistic people. They encouraged me to go
      out. My mom told me that I'd find people who liked me for me, and
      all those other people didn't matter.

      I thought it was just parental bullshit to make me feel better.

      But then one day I found someone who liked me for me. And instantly
      all those other people didn't matter, just like my mom had said.
      Instantly she didn't matter, either.

      I never went home again.

      -------------------------------------

      Lately, life has reverted back to hell.

      Over my years with Magneto, I learned how much power I have. The
      power to hate, to maim, to kill, to manipulate. And I love it all.
      There are so many more people, human and mutant, that I'm dying to
      take on.

      I want to give them what they deserve.

      The people in power, the people who control and hurt and misuse those
      under them – they deserve to be broken, humiliated, tortured, torn…

      The idiotic masses who believe the bullshit they are fed by the
      politicians and media – they deserve to have reality shoved down
      their stupidly gaping mouths, crammed down their screaming throats…

      The idealists with their lame-ass *hope* and their weak ideas of
      *love* - they deserve to be twisted until they see that there is no
      hope, to be squeezed until they realize that what they call love is
      only weakness and blindness and cowardice.

      Oh, yes. I love my work.

      When I'm fighting I feel completely free. I bring up all the rage
      and hate and it makes me strong. I'm pure power. I'm everything
      society would never let me be – violence, sex, perversion, beauty…
      none of their rules, only mine. I am god, and they are nothing.

      When I'm fighting, there is no power on this earth greater than me.

      I believe that at the time.

      But there is a power greater than me. I don't understand how he
      controls me, but Magneto is the only thing I'm not free of. He gives
      his orders in his quiet, maddeningly reasonable voice and I obey. I
      hate being his dog, his whore, his weapon. That's right, I'm not my
      own weapon, only his. As I manipulate everyone else, he manipulates
      me. I kill who he wants me to kill, I spare who he wants me to spare.

      I want to break loose of him, to take my powers on a road trip. To
      have my way with all those bastards out there who I think of at night
      while I grind my teeth. To not stop, not return to his side for pets
      and praise, not await my next instructions.

      -----------------------------------------

      I walk into the room where he is eating. I stand looking at the back
      of his head. I concentrate, and I can feel it growing in me. I feel
      the rage and hate giving me power. I feel like I can do it. I can
      take him on and earn my freedom. He's just an old man and I'm –

      "Mystique" he says, turning his grey eyes to mine. His eyes drill
      into my soul. "Come, sit, my dear. Eat some dinner."

      The rage and hate drain away and leave me sad, so sad.

      I come. I sit. I eat.
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