*The Yadda-yadda: This is meant for entertainment purposes only.. and Marvel owns the X-Men, etc. I really only put these in here (since everyone knows that I'm not trying to steal any of Marvel's glory, or anything) because they make me feel important. But at least I'm honest. ;)
Ororo Munroe moved flawlessly through the attic. Once, years ago, this place had served as a safe haven for nature. She had been its caretaker -- the "weather witch" which ensured the survival of various plants.
Despite Logan's cigars.
Now, however, the attic had become a dismal place. On the right, she saw, was a box marked "McCoy."
"Oh, Henry," she muttered to herself, her heart sinking. Storm fell to her knees, pulling the box closer.
Breath erupted from her lips, scattering dust from the lid of the object. "It's been so long."
After a brief pause, tears began to form in the eyes of the woman who had faced death -- who had faced genocide -- who had gazed into the eyes of hatred personified most of her life.
And then she read.
"I've been many things in my years of life.
I've been the friend. The lover.
The heartbroken blue boy. (Although I must admit, I'd rather not talk about Trish.)
I've been a family member to those who had no other by the title -- and willingly.
I've been the farm boy with Ma and Pa McCoy.
I've been the simple ally; the enemy. I've been the "freak" with the Ph.D. I've served with my friends and family in several super hero teams.
I loved breaking the mold by being an Avenger and a mutant at the same time. You'd be surprised what working with Captain America will do for you. But, of course, some still couldn't see that a mutant is just another person.
And last -- but certainly not least -- I've been an X-Man.
I was a founding member, you know.
Though I wasn't quite this heavy -- and the plumbing bill for the mansion was a lot cheaper. It gets harder and harder to explain all of the blue fur. Bobby didn't have quite as many jokes, either.
Not that blue isn't a popular color with the X-Men. Most of our uniforms have featured the color -- and, of course, there are always my fellow friends of the same palette of color. Warren and Kurt share my "pain."
It's rather ironic that, like myself, Warren was originally a Caucasian.
I believe it was Eiffel 65 who released the song, "I'm blue.. if I were green, I would die.."
I'm well aware that those aren't the real words, of course -- but I'm rather fond of them. Not that I have anything against the esteemed Lorna Dane.
But enough of Crayola's color of the day.
I wish to address a more serious matter -- a more pressing and urgent one.
I'm dying.
Professor Xavier knows. It's hard to keep something like that from the most powerful mind this side of the galaxy. He certainly wouldn't have probed my mind to gain the information. I told him.
My parents know.
I'm beginning to believe that Jean suspects. While she isn't Charles, her mind (and capacity for improvement) is probably only second to his. Even without her powers, however, I believe she would suspect something. She's known me far too long.
I've been in contact with Reed Richards. Tony Stark. Henry Pym.
I've even associated with Victor Von Doom.
When I was infected with the virus which has slowly been destroying me, I was the only one present. I would have preferred it that way.
Because I know there's nothing I can do, I don't want to burden my friends -- my family -- my fellow X-Men.
Charles insisted that I rest. Take time off from the team.
That was when Reed and I had estimated I had four months to live.
Which was exactly five four days ago.
I can only hope that, when I do in fact pass, it is ensured that the data collected from my shell can serve the mutant community: preventing future fatalities because of this virus.
We've decided to call it, appropriately, the "X" virus.
Piotr spared mutant-kind in his own way, creating quite a legacy. I can only hope to do much the same for my brothers and sisters. According to many of the tests that I, myself, have conducted, the Legacy Virus was nothing compared to X.
Luckily the symptoms are of a lesser nature.
Most of the time.
I have research to do -- journal entries can wait.
Long live the dream.
Henry McCoy."
"I've read it," the voice of Jean Grey called. Her voice was a comforting one -- especially to Ororo, her best friend.
"The date, Jean -- the 7th of April. It was written two days before we found him."
"I know, Ororo. I know."
The weather goddess stood, looking to her friend. They embraced.
"The anti-virus was created shortly after, Ororo -- you know that. Hank only helped to further the dream yet again.. and he was a scientist until the end."
A half-smile managed to surface on Munroe's face.
"Long live the dream."
Ororo Munroe moved flawlessly through the attic. Once, years ago, this place had served as a safe haven for nature. She had been its caretaker -- the "weather witch" which ensured the survival of various plants.
Despite Logan's cigars.
Now, however, the attic had become a dismal place. On the right, she saw, was a box marked "McCoy."
"Oh, Henry," she muttered to herself, her heart sinking. Storm fell to her knees, pulling the box closer.
Breath erupted from her lips, scattering dust from the lid of the object. "It's been so long."
After a brief pause, tears began to form in the eyes of the woman who had faced death -- who had faced genocide -- who had gazed into the eyes of hatred personified most of her life.
And then she read.
"I've been many things in my years of life.
I've been the friend. The lover.
The heartbroken blue boy. (Although I must admit, I'd rather not talk about Trish.)
I've been a family member to those who had no other by the title -- and willingly.
I've been the farm boy with Ma and Pa McCoy.
I've been the simple ally; the enemy. I've been the "freak" with the Ph.D. I've served with my friends and family in several super hero teams.
I loved breaking the mold by being an Avenger and a mutant at the same time. You'd be surprised what working with Captain America will do for you. But, of course, some still couldn't see that a mutant is just another person.
And last -- but certainly not least -- I've been an X-Man.
I was a founding member, you know.
Though I wasn't quite this heavy -- and the plumbing bill for the mansion was a lot cheaper. It gets harder and harder to explain all of the blue fur. Bobby didn't have quite as many jokes, either.
Not that blue isn't a popular color with the X-Men. Most of our uniforms have featured the color -- and, of course, there are always my fellow friends of the same palette of color. Warren and Kurt share my "pain."
It's rather ironic that, like myself, Warren was originally a Caucasian.
I believe it was Eiffel 65 who released the song, "I'm blue.. if I were green, I would die.."
I'm well aware that those aren't the real words, of course -- but I'm rather fond of them. Not that I have anything against the esteemed Lorna Dane.
But enough of Crayola's color of the day.
I wish to address a more serious matter -- a more pressing and urgent one.
I'm dying.
Professor Xavier knows. It's hard to keep something like that from the most powerful mind this side of the galaxy. He certainly wouldn't have probed my mind to gain the information. I told him.
My parents know.
I'm beginning to believe that Jean suspects. While she isn't Charles, her mind (and capacity for improvement) is probably only second to his. Even without her powers, however, I believe she would suspect something. She's known me far too long.
I've been in contact with Reed Richards. Tony Stark. Henry Pym.
I've even associated with Victor Von Doom.
When I was infected with the virus which has slowly been destroying me, I was the only one present. I would have preferred it that way.
Because I know there's nothing I can do, I don't want to burden my friends -- my family -- my fellow X-Men.
Charles insisted that I rest. Take time off from the team.
That was when Reed and I had estimated I had four months to live.
Which was exactly five four days ago.
I can only hope that, when I do in fact pass, it is ensured that the data collected from my shell can serve the mutant community: preventing future fatalities because of this virus.
We've decided to call it, appropriately, the "X" virus.
Piotr spared mutant-kind in his own way, creating quite a legacy. I can only hope to do much the same for my brothers and sisters. According to many of the tests that I, myself, have conducted, the Legacy Virus was nothing compared to X.
Luckily the symptoms are of a lesser nature.
Most of the time.
I have research to do -- journal entries can wait.
Long live the dream.
Henry McCoy."
"I've read it," the voice of Jean Grey called. Her voice was a comforting one -- especially to Ororo, her best friend.
"The date, Jean -- the 7th of April. It was written two days before we found him."
"I know, Ororo. I know."
The weather goddess stood, looking to her friend. They embraced.
"The anti-virus was created shortly after, Ororo -- you know that. Hank only helped to further the dream yet again.. and he was a scientist until the end."
A half-smile managed to surface on Munroe's face.
"Long live the dream."