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fic- "Marie Is I"

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  • rodlox
    ... title: Marie is I. author: Rodlox. summary: Rogue recollects. Spoilers: X1, X2. takes place at the end of the first X-Men movie. Marie s POV. archived at
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 28, 2004
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      title: Marie is I.

      author: Rodlox.

      summary: Rogue recollects.

      Spoilers: X1, X2.

      takes place at the end of the first X-Men movie.

      Marie's POV.

      archived at http://www.geocities.com/rodlox/X2/Is_i.html

      PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK!!

      --------
      This morning I'd wished him luck, luck in finding what he was looking
      for. He asked me to keep watch over his dog tags.

      I can't sleep. It's night out. I leave the room, and nobody says a
      word to me. I know the whispers they've spoken about me; they who
      think I can't hear them.

      Down the hall I walk. Down the hall, down the hall in my uncle's
      house, passing the painting of a menorah by the top of the stairs.
      Down the long corridor, wishing for Stryker or some SOB to turn the
      heating up just a notch, that's not too much to ask, is it?

      I stop, just briefly. Who's Stryker? And when was there a menorah
      painting in my uncle's house? Professor Xavier had told me that my
      mutation was to absorb life, powers. So what gives?

      What's up, bub?

      Most curious.

      I resume walking, down the hall some more. Turn at the corner, tuning
      out the sound of repair work further down the dam, ignoring the sound
      of dogs barking. Down the stairs, saying hi to my uncle as he readies
      things for my cousin's bat mitzvah.

      Across the open space, the little open space where you can turn in any
      direction.

      Up and out, get out of bed, you lazy -

      I open the door, stepping outside, falling into lockstep with those
      behind me and in front of me. Great, its raining. Keep moving, you
      Slavs! I know not to wince or back away when the dogs bark, even when
      they jump up. They're on leashes, I'm in a cage.

      At least I'm not underwater.

      I keep walking. Down the steps, saying hi to the pretty receptionist,
      the comely girl signing people up for military service, for college
      applications.

      From somewhere, maybe just in my skull, a song plays. Something that
      I'd heard once. Well, that somebody had heard once...

      I wish that you would just leave

      But he had left. I had left. Somebody left. Somebody always leaves.

      Because your presence still lingers here

      Two scenes merged before my eyes, three scenes, four. Brick walkway
      with cold mud, then a forest's fallen leaves, the a football field --
      the twenty yard line.

      And it won't leave me alone

      It was what I saw. Its what I feel. Feeling like the rain, cold and
      wet and pattering everywhere like a horde of little kids. Like those
      toddlers at the zoo, back when I was five, enjoying a visit to Warsaw.

      Cold and wet, it melts on my cheeks, but lingers on my clothes. The
      ragged shirt I wear, the only shirt I have left to me, has become an
      unnatural white.

      The snowfall doesn't make it any easier to walk, to trudge out at
      this late hour. Left shoe sticks in the mud, and my foot doesn't slip
      out of it. I fall, throwing my hands down to keep from cracking my
      skull. At least the ground isn't so jarringly hard right now.

      It hurts. The pain just gets to me. My body knits itself back up. Or
      it should be. Why isn't it? I stare at my hands, scraped and nearly
      raw. Damn that roughed-up brick, that ill-placed stone! I should be
      all fixed up by now.

      Its cold. I hate the cold. Not that I'd tell anyone that. My body
      fixes problems like gangrene and frostbite, but that just means I get
      them over and over again. Cold and cold and cold.

      I wouldn't say anything. Speaking up just invites pain, invites the
      SS to pummel me. Bullies. Creeps in the locker room. Bullies, I all
      have known them.

      These wounds won't seem to heal

      They should be healing, they should. Why aren't they? There some sort
      of legalese to explain this? Dude, this ain't good at all.

      This pain is just too real

      Hurts. No amount of healing, however much I try, can ever stop the
      pain. Physical and whatnot. `Does it hurt?' the kid asked me once.
      Only one answer to that: `Ev'ry time.'

      There's just too much that time cannot erase

      However much I can't recall, however much stuff I can't remember, its
      done. What's done is done. Nobody can bring back the dead.

      And I cannot forgive for what has become of the dead. `Give them a
      chance,' Charles asked me. `I cannot,' I'd told him. Too much has
      been done. And I've no doubt that much more is about to be done, and
      not just by me or thee.

      Now I'm bound by the life you left behind

      I. Me. We. Thee.

      Is this always to be?

      Shall it be this way from now until the end?

      `Let us make man in our own image' says the pastor in my daycare. I
      am one and many, or am I otherwise?

      Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

      I couldn't sleep, so I left the room and started walking. You're why I
      couldn't sleep, Logan, Erik, Paul. And I.

      The usual walk into a line-up. Even the starlit night offers neither
      comfort nor variation enough to soothe me.

      Used to be, I would go out to empty fields, lie down, and see how
      many stars I could recognize. When I was little, I would pretend that
      Orion and the others could hear me, I'd hold conversations with them.

      Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

      A shadow falls on me, from a figure backlit by searchlights. All the
      guards are watching, their guns at the ready.

      "Marie?" she asks me. "Are you okay?"

      "I'm fine," I say to Mrs. Grey -- or is it Mrs. Summers? I want to
      know. I don't care to know. Who cares?

      Who cares about what happens?

      Your eyes, they look haunted, teach'. You okay, Yoriko? You look like
      you've seen better days.

      But even the best of days inevitably come to an end.

      These wounds wont seem to heal

      She held my arm, leading me inside, sitting me down on a chair. She
      sits on a desk. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

      Don't ask about the war. Better to let them think you're ignorant
      about the raging conflict, the conflaguration that's engulfing the
      world.

      Sitting in an office, just one door removed from the outside. A thin
      wall, brick, immovable. Where's an Allied bomb when you need it most?

      Lift the weights, I'm told. Move the iron so it stays between these
      points. Stop the bullet.

      This pain is just too real

      "We're just going to run a few tests," I'm told. At least you're a
      nice doc.

      More tests. And if I perform well, they'll keep my family alive,
      spare my friends the horrors of the fate that befalls everyone else.

      Special tests, like the ones I underwent last week, when the whole
      team had drug testing. Just in case.

      But you still have all of me

      Took blood, x-rays, calipers and bone saws, `fun' with magnets, and...

      The list goes on and on, pain and pain is all I recall of those
      tests. I don't like needles, and its no wonder.

      Shoving Mrs. whatever-her-name-is aside, I barrel past her, slamming
      into the door that opens for me. They'll shoot me, I've no doubt of
      that. But I'm too valuable to kill.

      I can't be killed.

      Now I'm back. In the open, beneath the vault of heavens. Letting the
      snow fall on me, the rain, the leaves.

      Nobody bothers me.

      I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

      And with the same quickness that they struck into me tonight, the
      images fade away. Four becomes three becomes two becomes one. Becomes
      me, is I.

      Logan's gone biking. Erik's been arrested. Paul...is hopefully out of
      the coma.

      Faded. Voices in the background.

      And though you're still with me

      Though they're quiet now, they're all still here. In me. Part of me. I
      am.

      I always will be.

      I've been alone all along

      The one unchanging thing.
      --------------
      The End.
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