First and foremost, before I go on about anything to do with the story, I have to say this:

X-Men: First Class has pretty much topped my all-time favourite Marvel movie list.

The plot is amazing, the characters and the use of American history in it. Absolutely amazing.
Also, I gotta say, I never imagined Professor X and Magneto could be such good looking chaps when they were younger.

Disclaimer: I don't own any character/plot from the movie you recognize. But what I do own is my characters and everything else regarding them.

There were three major points in Poppy Hathaway's life where she knew she wasn't normal.

Up until the age of 7, she had always believed herself to be like every other person out there.

Perhaps, except for her name, for not many girls at that time were named after a flower, especially one that was widely regarded for its hypnagogic properties. There were many Mary, Barbara, Betties and Nancy on the street.

But Poppy?

She was the only one in the whole neighbourhood with a name like that.

Despite her slightly eccentric name, however, Poppy Hathaway was still a normal girl with a normal life and an equally normal personality.

She went to school like every other child her age. She brushed her teeth and visited the dentist no matter how much she hated them. She had a sleep curfew. She, like the others, threw hissy fits over not being able to watch their favourite cartoons or buy the newest dolls displayed on the shelves in the mall. Like other girls her age, Poppy loved playing with her mother's make-up, loved dressing up and loved having tea parties with her favourite soft toys.

Poppy was just like everyone else – she ate, she played, she laughed, she breathed.

She was normal.

That was, until she was 7 years old.

On the day before the eve of her 7th birthday, Mr. and Mrs Hathaway had thought it would have been a wonderful idea for the whole family to take a trip to downtown Seattle where the annual carnival was currently held. Each year, the carnival company, Mister Ringo, would hold a two-day three-night event of cotton candy, popcorn, fireworks, flashing bright lights and thrilling rides for the folks of the Bay side. Hundreds, and even thousands on a good weekend, would flock to the event in hopes of experiencing the merry ambience or to collect various toys and souvenirs for themselves.

It was going to be the best birthday the young Hathaway ever had. And it would have been, if only the Hathaway's had made it to the carnival like they had planned.

All Poppy could remember from that night were mere flash glimpses. She recalled her parents singing along to Bing Crosby while she played with the rag doll her grandmother, or 'Nana' as she had affectionately dubbed her, had made. Everything else that happened after was just a flash of bright lights, accompanied with her mother's piercing scream and a heavy weight being thrown upon her small body.

Poppy trembled from underneath the weight pressing against her.

Her large green eyes scanned the wrecked surrounding as it dart from side to side quickly, her pupils now dilated due to the amount of fear she's experiencing from the encounter. All she could remember was the playing music tape, the sudden bright lights and the horrible, loud noises.

And then, there was just silence.

Using her little hands, Poppy pushed against the dead weight and began to slip her way out from under the confinements between the weight and the car seat. Her palms pressed against the warm and fleshy barrier hard when a loud, painful groan pierced the night air.

Big, fat tears rolled down Poppy's face as she stilled her movements upon hearing the sound, before she moved again, more desperately this time, and succeeded in dislodging her small body from the confined space.

When she looked up, she had come to realize the weight was actually her mother, who was now covered in blood, her wavy dark hair in complete disarray. Terrified, the 7 year old stilled her crying and started shaking her mother's right arm, which was in a better and less bloodier state than the other.

"Momma!" Poppy cried, but all she got back was another groan, softer this time. "Momma, wake up!"

The sense of loneliness filled Poppy as she continued shaking her mother's arm, harder and harder until she gave up with a loud sob. Pushing herself from her spot, she then reached over to the driver's seat, where another body was. Mr Hathaway was hunched over the steering wheel with his hands hanging limply beside his unconscious body. Pieces of glass littered his blonde hair and there was a fresh blood wound marked painfully on his temple.

"Daddy!" The little Hathaway shook her father's arm vigorously. "Daddy, I'm scared. Wake up."

Poppy looked out the shattered window to see another car on the other side of the road, facing them. Its front bumper was knocked off and pieces of glass from the shattered windshield decorated the black tar road. A body – a man, Poppy noticed, was thrown halfway out of the broken windshield, his upper torso strewn against the hood of the car like a dummy.

Slipping into the backseat again, Poppy attempted to rouse her mother once more. Her hands shook Mrs Hathaway's arm hard, as her cries got louder and more desperate. Sweat beaded on her forehead and rolled down the sides of her flushed face, but there was still no definite reply from her mother.

A warm and tingly sensation filled Poppy's body, suddenly but slowly; the feeling not unwelcomed as compared to the chill of the night air. It spread from Poppy's chest all the way to the top of her head and to her Mary Janes clad feet, warming the freezing and terrified girl from an unknown source in her body. It was like the blood flowing through Poppy's veins was oil and a spark was lit somewhere deep inside her.

As Poppy continued shaking her mother's limp form, a dim light emanated from her pudgy hands, as though she had a tiny little bulb implanted into the flesh of her palms. It was a dull yellow glow, one that seemingly brightened whiter with each pulse of the spot. As it brightened, the flare of the light grew bigger too, until it encompassed Poppy's and her mother's bodies in a single luminous light.

That incident left a mark on Poppy, both physically and mentally.

She was left with a scar that was identical to the one her mother had. One that was the same size, the same shape and at the exact same spot located on the two Hathaway's left shoulder blades. Albeit it wasn't that big of a wound – just a little short of two inches in length – it was deep enough to mark, thanks to the shard of windshield glass that had shattered during the impact.

But the bodily scar wasn't the only thing that had left its cut on Poppy.

The accident had changed her life.

She wasn't who she thought she was anymore.

No, she wasn't innocent little Poppy Hathaway, with her bouncy dark brown curls and sparkling green eyes anymore. The ever-strong fact that she thought she was like everyone else was thrown out of the window following the accident, and that shook the very foundation in Poppy's mind.

She was now something she couldn't explain nor understand. Something that she couldn't put a word to. Couldn't find an excuse as to why she was able to copy her mother's wounds onto her own body, nor could she find a plausible explanation as to why she was giving off light from her hands.

She was just that something special – a little human girl with peculiar abilities. And that being unique, as her mother had simply put it, ran in the family, albeit in different ways. So she wasn't the only one who could do things normal people can't do.

She wasn't alone.

Yes/No?

Do drop me a comment! I'll really appreciate it. It's always nice to know if you guys like/hate it :)