A storybook? Like 'The Cat in the Hat?'
Setting the scene: So, it's midnight, and I'm in bed trying to sleep when I get slammed with an idea (which, is technically 2 ideas, now, but I'm going to focus on the first). I honestly have no idea where it came from, why it chose now, or, frankly, whether anyone cares. I also know that ALL week I have been trying to write fandom_stocking drabbles and it has been like pulling teeth and then I knock this out in 30mins or less. *sigh*
Notes: For those unaware, X-Axis was an AU powerswap RPG circa 2003/2004 (I think for memory!). One of my characters was an older Kitty Pryde, who became involved with Scott Summers, who was later killed. Throughout the rpg, he was a political activist prompting mutant rights and I remember a conversation I had with
minisinoo about his death and how he had been planning to write a book around the issues of mutant rights, which was never completed and all his research eventually ended up in the possession of Kitty. (That's a hole-y nutshell version.)
The Only Form of Immortality
“Mommy, you made a mess on the floor.”
Kitty should have heard the telltale silence from the television heralding the inevitable arrival of her son, but she’d been so engrossed in her work that she’d missed it. What was unmistakable was the sound of small feet stepping on sheets of paper as they crossed the floor to climb into her lap.
Nathan looked up at her, wide blue eyes asking questions without words. She smiled. “I have made a mess, haven’t I?”
“I get into trouble when I make a mess on the floor,” he reminded her.
She leant her chin on the top of his head. “I know. Do you know why you get into trouble for making a mess on the floor?”
He nodded his head so emphatically she had to lift her chin so that he wouldn’t knock her. “’Cos we might fall over things.”
“That’s right.” She pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.
“Mommy.”
“Mm?”
He looked at her very seriously. “You shouldn’t make a mess on the floor. I might fall over.”
She tried very hard not to laugh. She succeeded. Mostly.
“Right. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Would you like me to help you clean up?”
With two hands, she lifted him up and turned him so she could see his face. “Oh, no, honey, that’s ok. Mommy needs to tidy this up so that it’s in a special order.”
He looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Well,” she said, looking at the many piles that she’d stacked in various spots around her, “they’re a special project I’m working on.” There were newspaper clippings, briefings, photocopies of journal articles and papers and legislation, all regarding the history of the mutant registration program, everywhere. So many, in fact, that the more she read, the more she wanted to throw them all back into the box they’d come from.
Nathan didn’t look convinced. “Why?”
She sat him down next to her and reached for a pile of articles. “A long time ago, your dad started to collect all of this information and he kept it in this box,” she told him, opening the lid of said box and putting the first pile of papers inside. Despite the worn look, the outside of the box still had Scott’s scrawl detailing the contents. “He was going to write a book about a very important topic.”
“A storybook? Like The Cat in the Hat?”
She smiled and shook her head. Since his fourth birthday she had read Dr. Seuss so many times that she could read many of the books for memory. Still didn’t help stop her getting tongue-tied, though.
“No, not like The Cat in the Hat,” she told him, and pinched his nose when he frowned in displeasure. The frown disappeared instantly, and he swatted her hand away. “An information book.”
She pointed a stack of newspaper clippings and Nathan happily collected them and deposited them in the box.
“How come he didn’t write it?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
A lump rose in Kitty’s throat. Four years later the loss was still there, a dull ache replacing the raw grief that had haunted her after his death. She’d made the decision, before Nathan was born that he would know whom his father was, even though he would never meet him. It didn’t make it any easier to talk about.
It took a minute before she spoke; during that time which her son planted himself back in her lap. She wrapped her arms around him automatically. “He died before he could write it,” she told him.
“Why did he die?”
It wasn’t a new question; it wasn’t a question she was quite ready to give him a full answer for either. She wanted her son to know about his father, and that included that he’d died before he’d been born, but telling him that his father had been shot by an anti-mutant protester at what had been one of the largest pro-mutant rights rallies wasn’t information for a four year old.
She’d already started a list of ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’ questions, and that was at the top of the list.
She could give him part of the answer though, and a mostly true one, too. “I don’t really know,” she told him, squeezing him a little tighter.
Yes, he’d been shot for being a mutant and for being vocal about mutant rights, and yes, she knew that there were many, many people who didn’t like that, and hadn’t like Scott as a result. What she’d never quite processed was why they’d chosen to make Scott an example - he fought with words and reason, unlike many other mutants who fought with often-destructive powers. Scott had never hurt anyone; his power certainly hadn’t been dangerous. They’d sought to destroy what he’d stood for, and ironically had bolstered his cause.
Even now, the mutant registration legislation was being reviewed, and had come under strong criticism from both politicians and the public in the years following that one fateful rally.
Her son turned his face up towards her and she leant her forehead on his. “Makes me sad,” he told her.
“Oh, I know, baby,” she told him. “It makes me sad, too.”
“How do you make you feel happy again?”
She kissed his nose. “Well, I remember something very special that your dad and I made. And it always makes me feel really, really happy.”
He stood up in her lap, so that his eyes were level with hers. He looked so much like Scott, blue eyes and spiky brown hair and an expression that could go from innocent to cheeky in less time than it took to blink. “What is it?” he asked, kissing her nose back.
Kitty smiled. “You, munchkin.”
Notes: For those unaware, X-Axis was an AU powerswap RPG circa 2003/2004 (I think for memory!). One of my characters was an older Kitty Pryde, who became involved with Scott Summers, who was later killed. Throughout the rpg, he was a political activist prompting mutant rights and I remember a conversation I had with
minisinoo about his death and how he had been planning to write a book around the issues of mutant rights, which was never completed and all his research eventually ended up in the possession of Kitty. (That's a hole-y nutshell version.)
The Only Form of Immortality
“Mommy, you made a mess on the floor.”
Kitty should have heard the telltale silence from the television heralding the inevitable arrival of her son, but she’d been so engrossed in her work that she’d missed it. What was unmistakable was the sound of small feet stepping on sheets of paper as they crossed the floor to climb into her lap.
Nathan looked up at her, wide blue eyes asking questions without words. She smiled. “I have made a mess, haven’t I?”
“I get into trouble when I make a mess on the floor,” he reminded her.
She leant her chin on the top of his head. “I know. Do you know why you get into trouble for making a mess on the floor?”
He nodded his head so emphatically she had to lift her chin so that he wouldn’t knock her. “’Cos we might fall over things.”
“That’s right.” She pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.
“Mommy.”
“Mm?”
He looked at her very seriously. “You shouldn’t make a mess on the floor. I might fall over.”
She tried very hard not to laugh. She succeeded. Mostly.
“Right. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Would you like me to help you clean up?”
With two hands, she lifted him up and turned him so she could see his face. “Oh, no, honey, that’s ok. Mommy needs to tidy this up so that it’s in a special order.”
He looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Well,” she said, looking at the many piles that she’d stacked in various spots around her, “they’re a special project I’m working on.” There were newspaper clippings, briefings, photocopies of journal articles and papers and legislation, all regarding the history of the mutant registration program, everywhere. So many, in fact, that the more she read, the more she wanted to throw them all back into the box they’d come from.
Nathan didn’t look convinced. “Why?”
She sat him down next to her and reached for a pile of articles. “A long time ago, your dad started to collect all of this information and he kept it in this box,” she told him, opening the lid of said box and putting the first pile of papers inside. Despite the worn look, the outside of the box still had Scott’s scrawl detailing the contents. “He was going to write a book about a very important topic.”
“A storybook? Like The Cat in the Hat?”
She smiled and shook her head. Since his fourth birthday she had read Dr. Seuss so many times that she could read many of the books for memory. Still didn’t help stop her getting tongue-tied, though.
“No, not like The Cat in the Hat,” she told him, and pinched his nose when he frowned in displeasure. The frown disappeared instantly, and he swatted her hand away. “An information book.”
She pointed a stack of newspaper clippings and Nathan happily collected them and deposited them in the box.
“How come he didn’t write it?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
A lump rose in Kitty’s throat. Four years later the loss was still there, a dull ache replacing the raw grief that had haunted her after his death. She’d made the decision, before Nathan was born that he would know whom his father was, even though he would never meet him. It didn’t make it any easier to talk about.
It took a minute before she spoke; during that time which her son planted himself back in her lap. She wrapped her arms around him automatically. “He died before he could write it,” she told him.
“Why did he die?”
It wasn’t a new question; it wasn’t a question she was quite ready to give him a full answer for either. She wanted her son to know about his father, and that included that he’d died before he’d been born, but telling him that his father had been shot by an anti-mutant protester at what had been one of the largest pro-mutant rights rallies wasn’t information for a four year old.
She’d already started a list of ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’ questions, and that was at the top of the list.
She could give him part of the answer though, and a mostly true one, too. “I don’t really know,” she told him, squeezing him a little tighter.
Yes, he’d been shot for being a mutant and for being vocal about mutant rights, and yes, she knew that there were many, many people who didn’t like that, and hadn’t like Scott as a result. What she’d never quite processed was why they’d chosen to make Scott an example - he fought with words and reason, unlike many other mutants who fought with often-destructive powers. Scott had never hurt anyone; his power certainly hadn’t been dangerous. They’d sought to destroy what he’d stood for, and ironically had bolstered his cause.
Even now, the mutant registration legislation was being reviewed, and had come under strong criticism from both politicians and the public in the years following that one fateful rally.
Her son turned his face up towards her and she leant her forehead on his. “Makes me sad,” he told her.
“Oh, I know, baby,” she told him. “It makes me sad, too.”
“How do you make you feel happy again?”
She kissed his nose. “Well, I remember something very special that your dad and I made. And it always makes me feel really, really happy.”
He stood up in her lap, so that his eyes were level with hers. He looked so much like Scott, blue eyes and spiky brown hair and an expression that could go from innocent to cheeky in less time than it took to blink. “What is it?” he asked, kissing her nose back.
Kitty smiled. “You, munchkin.”