writers_muses 54.4 - ficlet
Ficlet: When dreams come true: We've all had dreams that we would swear were real, this is your muse's dream. Tell us about it. Will they remember it when they wake? If so, show us it's affect on them. (doug_ramsey used with permission.)
(Wednesday night...)
John was not at all sure how Jean-Paul got him to do it - talk about the two things in the world he really doesn't want to talk about. His mother (and her death). And Magneto.
It all happened in one conversation, and it was going fine at first but then it just hit him, all at once. He couldn't breath right. His entire body became tense.
I love him. I hate him. I miss him. I never want to see him ever again. FUCK HIM.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
He logged off, at least having the decency to tell JP he just couldn't do it anymore right then, and shut his laptop. "Babe, I'm going to bed," he announced.
Doug glanced up from his own laptop to the clock, and then looked at John with a little surprise. "Okay?"
"Not feeling well," John replied. "Just tired, I think. It's fine."
Doug might not have bought the 'it's fine' part, but he knew John well enough to recognize he needed some space. "Okay, John. Sleep well."
"Yeah, thanks."
John went to bed, but it took him awhile to fall sleep. He tossed and turned, couldn't get comfortable and was restless. Certain things, people, just wouldn't get out of his mind. His stomach still hurt.
Finally, he drifted off to sleep.
***
The sun blazed over head, the clear, cloudless blue sky shimmering because of it. The grass of the park was a stunning green, but was growing up a little too high. It rustled against John's ankles as he walked through it, the long blades tickling his skin.
Despite what should have been a hot temperature, given the sun and the windless stale air, John didn't feel too hot in cargo shorts and his dark black hoodie. There was no sweat under his flamethrowers to chafe against his skin. The weather was perfect.
He walked towards the picnic table, knowing exactly where he was going and who he wanted to see. It was the same picnic table he used to sit at when he was a kid, under the shade, when he wanted to take a break from the merry-go-round.
It was still spinning, bright coloured bars of blue and green and yellow passing in such quick succession they almost blurred together. There was no one on it.
He smiled as he walked up to the table.
"Hi, Mom."
His mother didn't look like she did on the day she died, when she had been all pale and skin-and-bones and with virtually no hair. She looked just like she had when he was a kid. Thin but shapely, thick long strawberry blond hair, and bright intense green eyes.
Her son has her eyes.
She smiled at him kindly as he plunked down on the bench across from her. She took his hand. "You haven't been to see my grave yet."
"I know," he answered sheepishly. "I've been busy."
Katherine nodded her head sagely. "You have been, my dear boy. You have been."
"I've missed you," he offered. He didn't sound sad though, just really happy to be sitting across from his mother. It's good to see her.
She took his hand in hers. "I missed you for a long time."
Something bothered him with that, but he can't place it. He squeezed her hand instead.
The wind picked up, just a small breeze, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He knew that perfume, but he didn't know it's name. Maybe it was named Mom.
She told him, in a wise voice, "The wall is breaking."
John was confused. "What wall?"
Suddenly, thunder roared over head, and the sky turned dark. The serene smile on Katherine's face faded and was replaced with a concerned frown.
She announced, "Your father is coming."
John frowned. She never told him who his father was before, why would she tell him now?
"What?"
She said, "The storm is coming." She pointed to the edge of the park, and John couldn't see. He stood up to get a better look.
An older man, with silver hair. He was tall and refined, and wearing a suit. And a hat. Behind his back, Toad used to call it the Old Man hat. It was Erik's hat.
John was frozen in spot as the man entered the gate of the park. He saw John and waved, taking off his cap and John swore he could see those ice-blue eyes perfectly.
"Mom?" John turned back to her, but she's gone. The picnic table is empty.
John turned back and he didn't see Erik anymore. He saw someone else.
Purple and red cape. That dorky ass helmet. Gloved hand rising out before him and with a flick of the fingers, John was thrown backwards. Must have been the buckle on his belt, or was it the iron in his blood? Maybe he would have it torn out right through his skin.
A scent on the wind. It smelled of Magneto, of sterile and cold metal.
John scrambled to his feet, but there was no one.
A voice.
"J.?"
John turned in circles. Around and around, like the empty merry-go-round.
"J.?"
John was alone. Before, and now, and always.
"J.!"
***
John woke with a start, arms flailing a little bit. Doug grabbed his wrists. "Shhh," Doug said soothingly. "J, I'm here."
John tried to focus a little bit, and the light coming from the bathroom lite up the room just enough that John saw Doug's face hovering over him, frowning and concerned. "Doug?" John asked groggily. "What happened?"
"I think you were dreaming." Doug sat down on the edge of the bed, and pushed sweaty hair off John's forehead. "Are you okay?"
John swore a bit of a breeze passed through the room. He smelled her perfume, and his metal.
John pushed Doug's hand away from him, and stumbled out the other side of the bed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Gonna be..."
He was sick.
He leaned against the sink for a long time, finally turning on the tap and splashing his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he wanted to punch out the glass. He didn't.
He went back to bed, where Doug was sitting, propped up against the headboard, waiting patiently for him. After John settled in, Doug slid down and rested his head against John's chest.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay."
"Wanna talk about it."
"Not really. Just don't feel well."
"Okay." Doug just kissed his chest, whether or not he believed him. "Night, John."
John wrapped his arms around Doug, pulling him close. Holding him tight. Not being alone. "Night, babe."
John listened to his partner's breathing, hearing it as it evened out and Doug fell asleep. John didn't sleep much that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the storm.
(Wednesday night...)
John was not at all sure how Jean-Paul got him to do it - talk about the two things in the world he really doesn't want to talk about. His mother (and her death). And Magneto.
It all happened in one conversation, and it was going fine at first but then it just hit him, all at once. He couldn't breath right. His entire body became tense.
I love him. I hate him. I miss him. I never want to see him ever again. FUCK HIM.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
He logged off, at least having the decency to tell JP he just couldn't do it anymore right then, and shut his laptop. "Babe, I'm going to bed," he announced.
Doug glanced up from his own laptop to the clock, and then looked at John with a little surprise. "Okay?"
"Not feeling well," John replied. "Just tired, I think. It's fine."
Doug might not have bought the 'it's fine' part, but he knew John well enough to recognize he needed some space. "Okay, John. Sleep well."
"Yeah, thanks."
John went to bed, but it took him awhile to fall sleep. He tossed and turned, couldn't get comfortable and was restless. Certain things, people, just wouldn't get out of his mind. His stomach still hurt.
Finally, he drifted off to sleep.
***
The sun blazed over head, the clear, cloudless blue sky shimmering because of it. The grass of the park was a stunning green, but was growing up a little too high. It rustled against John's ankles as he walked through it, the long blades tickling his skin.
Despite what should have been a hot temperature, given the sun and the windless stale air, John didn't feel too hot in cargo shorts and his dark black hoodie. There was no sweat under his flamethrowers to chafe against his skin. The weather was perfect.
He walked towards the picnic table, knowing exactly where he was going and who he wanted to see. It was the same picnic table he used to sit at when he was a kid, under the shade, when he wanted to take a break from the merry-go-round.
It was still spinning, bright coloured bars of blue and green and yellow passing in such quick succession they almost blurred together. There was no one on it.
He smiled as he walked up to the table.
"Hi, Mom."
His mother didn't look like she did on the day she died, when she had been all pale and skin-and-bones and with virtually no hair. She looked just like she had when he was a kid. Thin but shapely, thick long strawberry blond hair, and bright intense green eyes.
Her son has her eyes.
She smiled at him kindly as he plunked down on the bench across from her. She took his hand. "You haven't been to see my grave yet."
"I know," he answered sheepishly. "I've been busy."
Katherine nodded her head sagely. "You have been, my dear boy. You have been."
"I've missed you," he offered. He didn't sound sad though, just really happy to be sitting across from his mother. It's good to see her.
She took his hand in hers. "I missed you for a long time."
Something bothered him with that, but he can't place it. He squeezed her hand instead.
The wind picked up, just a small breeze, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He knew that perfume, but he didn't know it's name. Maybe it was named Mom.
She told him, in a wise voice, "The wall is breaking."
John was confused. "What wall?"
Suddenly, thunder roared over head, and the sky turned dark. The serene smile on Katherine's face faded and was replaced with a concerned frown.
She announced, "Your father is coming."
John frowned. She never told him who his father was before, why would she tell him now?
"What?"
She said, "The storm is coming." She pointed to the edge of the park, and John couldn't see. He stood up to get a better look.
An older man, with silver hair. He was tall and refined, and wearing a suit. And a hat. Behind his back, Toad used to call it the Old Man hat. It was Erik's hat.
John was frozen in spot as the man entered the gate of the park. He saw John and waved, taking off his cap and John swore he could see those ice-blue eyes perfectly.
"Mom?" John turned back to her, but she's gone. The picnic table is empty.
John turned back and he didn't see Erik anymore. He saw someone else.
Purple and red cape. That dorky ass helmet. Gloved hand rising out before him and with a flick of the fingers, John was thrown backwards. Must have been the buckle on his belt, or was it the iron in his blood? Maybe he would have it torn out right through his skin.
A scent on the wind. It smelled of Magneto, of sterile and cold metal.
John scrambled to his feet, but there was no one.
A voice.
"J.?"
John turned in circles. Around and around, like the empty merry-go-round.
"J.?"
John was alone. Before, and now, and always.
"J.!"
***
John woke with a start, arms flailing a little bit. Doug grabbed his wrists. "Shhh," Doug said soothingly. "J, I'm here."
John tried to focus a little bit, and the light coming from the bathroom lite up the room just enough that John saw Doug's face hovering over him, frowning and concerned. "Doug?" John asked groggily. "What happened?"
"I think you were dreaming." Doug sat down on the edge of the bed, and pushed sweaty hair off John's forehead. "Are you okay?"
John swore a bit of a breeze passed through the room. He smelled her perfume, and his metal.
John pushed Doug's hand away from him, and stumbled out the other side of the bed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Gonna be..."
He was sick.
He leaned against the sink for a long time, finally turning on the tap and splashing his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he wanted to punch out the glass. He didn't.
He went back to bed, where Doug was sitting, propped up against the headboard, waiting patiently for him. After John settled in, Doug slid down and rested his head against John's chest.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay."
"Wanna talk about it."
"Not really. Just don't feel well."
"Okay." Doug just kissed his chest, whether or not he believed him. "Night, John."
John wrapped his arms around Doug, pulling him close. Holding him tight. Not being alone. "Night, babe."
John listened to his partner's breathing, hearing it as it evened out and Doug fell asleep. John didn't sleep much that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the storm.