Disclaimer ~ I don't own anyone
Summary ~ Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler) spends yet another night of reflection on his life.
Rating ~ PG-13. For angst and also to be on the safe side.
Review ~ Yes please. Flames are accepted.
The Waters Of My Life
As he watched as the crystal liquid, swilling round in the glass, reflecting the flaxen colour of his eyes and making the pale moonbeams dance across its surface, he couldn't help but think. He often thought of many things but normality had condemned him to think only of himself, until now. Now he could only think of her. It was as though she controlled his mind, his thoughts, his every move. He was not himself anymore but then again, he hadn't been truly himself for many years now.
He caught sight of himself in the dusty mirror in front of him and sighed with depression and sadness. He raised a gloved finger and trailed it down his cheek, feeling the soft fur upon his skin. He closed his eyes in disgust and in defeat of himself. He couldn't blame her really. A pretty girl like Kitty could never love a hideous abnormality like him. She was better off with her own kind, not with mistakes like. . . .like him.
He took a small sip from the goblet in his hand and nearly gagged as the water trickled down his desert-dry throat. He set the goblet down on the table next to him and lay sideways back onto his mattress, staring out the open window at the flickering light of the stars. It had been over seven days since he had last seen her. He knew that running away from the Institute had been a bad idea but he couldn't help himself. He had been always sensitive about the way he looked and still people seemed to find it humorous to pick on him.
His tail was the general attraction of laughter; countless times he had attempted to hide it under his clothes, but no avail. If only they knew how many times he had cried himself to sleep maybe they would refrain from doing it, but his pride stopped him from ever letting that fact be public knowledge. The only people that were remotely likely to know of his tormented nights were Professor Xavier and Jean Grey.
"Oh vhat is the point anyvay?" he thought angrily to himself. "You vill never see her again and that's that so there's no point in dwelling on something and someone you vill never have."
It was at times like this that he really resented having a conscience.
He got up from the bed, walked over to the windows and pulled the shutters closed. Stepping out of his day-to-day clothes was always a shock to the system. He tried not to catch sight of himself in the mirror as he undressed himself. He could understand perfectly why people and mutants alike resented him so much. Even among his own kind, he was an outcast.
He pulled on a nightshirt from the chest of drawers beside him and gazed at it fondly in the flickering quality of the candle light. You would expect the clothes of a runaway to be full of holes and caked in dirt, but not this one. Even if his mind and thoughts were vengeful he managed to retain a clean outside to himself. He put on the nightshirt and climbed into bed, shivering slightly as the coolness of the covers hit him.
"But vhat's the point" he thought sorrowfully "In keeping a clean outside, if people still hate you. Perhaps, it is not what you look like that affects your relationships vith others; maybe it comes from the heart, even from the soul. But no matter what I'm like inside, even if I change, I suppose people will still continue to hate me for what I am and what I can't change."
And so, with that thought in his mind, and a warm tear upon his cheek, Kurt Wagner drifted off to into what looked like another night of unrest and loneliness.
A/N ~ Poor Kurty! We all love him really! =D Please review!
Summary ~ Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler) spends yet another night of reflection on his life.
Rating ~ PG-13. For angst and also to be on the safe side.
Review ~ Yes please. Flames are accepted.
The Waters Of My Life
As he watched as the crystal liquid, swilling round in the glass, reflecting the flaxen colour of his eyes and making the pale moonbeams dance across its surface, he couldn't help but think. He often thought of many things but normality had condemned him to think only of himself, until now. Now he could only think of her. It was as though she controlled his mind, his thoughts, his every move. He was not himself anymore but then again, he hadn't been truly himself for many years now.
He caught sight of himself in the dusty mirror in front of him and sighed with depression and sadness. He raised a gloved finger and trailed it down his cheek, feeling the soft fur upon his skin. He closed his eyes in disgust and in defeat of himself. He couldn't blame her really. A pretty girl like Kitty could never love a hideous abnormality like him. She was better off with her own kind, not with mistakes like. . . .like him.
He took a small sip from the goblet in his hand and nearly gagged as the water trickled down his desert-dry throat. He set the goblet down on the table next to him and lay sideways back onto his mattress, staring out the open window at the flickering light of the stars. It had been over seven days since he had last seen her. He knew that running away from the Institute had been a bad idea but he couldn't help himself. He had been always sensitive about the way he looked and still people seemed to find it humorous to pick on him.
His tail was the general attraction of laughter; countless times he had attempted to hide it under his clothes, but no avail. If only they knew how many times he had cried himself to sleep maybe they would refrain from doing it, but his pride stopped him from ever letting that fact be public knowledge. The only people that were remotely likely to know of his tormented nights were Professor Xavier and Jean Grey.
"Oh vhat is the point anyvay?" he thought angrily to himself. "You vill never see her again and that's that so there's no point in dwelling on something and someone you vill never have."
It was at times like this that he really resented having a conscience.
He got up from the bed, walked over to the windows and pulled the shutters closed. Stepping out of his day-to-day clothes was always a shock to the system. He tried not to catch sight of himself in the mirror as he undressed himself. He could understand perfectly why people and mutants alike resented him so much. Even among his own kind, he was an outcast.
He pulled on a nightshirt from the chest of drawers beside him and gazed at it fondly in the flickering quality of the candle light. You would expect the clothes of a runaway to be full of holes and caked in dirt, but not this one. Even if his mind and thoughts were vengeful he managed to retain a clean outside to himself. He put on the nightshirt and climbed into bed, shivering slightly as the coolness of the covers hit him.
"But vhat's the point" he thought sorrowfully "In keeping a clean outside, if people still hate you. Perhaps, it is not what you look like that affects your relationships vith others; maybe it comes from the heart, even from the soul. But no matter what I'm like inside, even if I change, I suppose people will still continue to hate me for what I am and what I can't change."
And so, with that thought in his mind, and a warm tear upon his cheek, Kurt Wagner drifted off to into what looked like another night of unrest and loneliness.
A/N ~ Poor Kurty! We all love him really! =D Please review!