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a_qThis story is my own personal favorite; I think this one trick pony gallops spendidly.
This is the classic mutant story trope Powerless. My idea came from the question: if Theresa Cassidy lost her power, what would she loose?
640 words, PG - in my mind the setting was pre-X2.
I don't remember if I have ever been sick like this. Officially doctor-stamped sick, as Dr. Grey keeps assuring me that it is only a harmless virus. “You'll be good as new before the field trip.” she says. “Only laryngitis, Tessa. Don't worry.” she says. I have had laryngitis before and it sure as hell didn't feel like this. This one feels like I’m dying.
Laryngitis. Even the word sounds sickening in my head, sort of slick and venomous if I tried to pronounce it. I won't try because it feels like my throat has turned my first and last enemy. Jammed full with broken glass and razorblades, sticky wooden splinters that won't come out no matter how much I cough. Let's just say it hurts, and leave it at that.
But the fever part I like. I'm cocooned under the blankets, just me, myself and the iPod. Fever makes music vibrant, even the boring stuff that I would never listen to. To me it's something like I’d imagine an acid trip to be. Music tastes like cherry or cinnamon toast, it swirls behind my closed eyelids as colours and shapes, feeling soft and warm. Dr. Grey told me not to speak, but she didn't forbid listening. It heals me more than gargling with saltwater. Lorna keeps bringing me strange and beautiful music, arranging them like others would arrange flowers. She does sweet stuff like that sometimes.
The song I'm listening to now is some sort of golden hue with Spanish guitars and the scent of ripe apples. I like it a lot. I let the fever make me shiver me more. It has been an odd silence for me, this laryngitis. There had been times when I had sought refuge in silence, my voice being out of whack and things breaking and all sorts of things... Let's just say that there are only so many new windows dad is willing to purchase, even for his favourite daughter. But those times I chose the silence, now I have no choice. I'm trapped in here, because my throat is trying to commit a long, dramatic suicide.
The song wavers and the golden hue disappears. Without opening my eyes, I turn the volume up some more. The hue returns for awhile, then disappears again taking the scent with it. I turn volume up, but it won't go any higher. The song starts to drift apart even more, the movements and colours vanishing, the warmth replaced by cold void. I open my eyes. The humidifier light blinks red- a sign that it’s almost out of water. The song is gone by the time I manage to sit up, dissolved into thin air like the water mist. I hear nothing.
I rip the headphones off, but it only makes things worse. There is nothing outside those headphones. I see my hands clapping together soundlessly, a water glass smashing to the floor like in slow motion, my fist banging the wall without any sound. I'm panicking, I know I am and I can't stop it. The complete lack of any sound is terrifying. I open my mouth and shout- that has always broken the silence, but this time it doesn't help. The silence just spreads thicker, draining colour out of my vision, suffocating me.
I try to stand up, get help, but I fall to the floor. I hurt my head, I know I do. I see a shred of glass close to my face but it makes no difference. The silence takes everything, even pain, even blood and I let it take all, surrender myself to the darkness.
In my hand the iPod keeps assuring to the silence that my song is still playing, 1:33 seconds remaining, volume maximum.
This is the classic mutant story trope Powerless. My idea came from the question: if Theresa Cassidy lost her power, what would she loose?
640 words, PG - in my mind the setting was pre-X2.
I don't remember if I have ever been sick like this. Officially doctor-stamped sick, as Dr. Grey keeps assuring me that it is only a harmless virus. “You'll be good as new before the field trip.” she says. “Only laryngitis, Tessa. Don't worry.” she says. I have had laryngitis before and it sure as hell didn't feel like this. This one feels like I’m dying.
Laryngitis. Even the word sounds sickening in my head, sort of slick and venomous if I tried to pronounce it. I won't try because it feels like my throat has turned my first and last enemy. Jammed full with broken glass and razorblades, sticky wooden splinters that won't come out no matter how much I cough. Let's just say it hurts, and leave it at that.
But the fever part I like. I'm cocooned under the blankets, just me, myself and the iPod. Fever makes music vibrant, even the boring stuff that I would never listen to. To me it's something like I’d imagine an acid trip to be. Music tastes like cherry or cinnamon toast, it swirls behind my closed eyelids as colours and shapes, feeling soft and warm. Dr. Grey told me not to speak, but she didn't forbid listening. It heals me more than gargling with saltwater. Lorna keeps bringing me strange and beautiful music, arranging them like others would arrange flowers. She does sweet stuff like that sometimes.
The song I'm listening to now is some sort of golden hue with Spanish guitars and the scent of ripe apples. I like it a lot. I let the fever make me shiver me more. It has been an odd silence for me, this laryngitis. There had been times when I had sought refuge in silence, my voice being out of whack and things breaking and all sorts of things... Let's just say that there are only so many new windows dad is willing to purchase, even for his favourite daughter. But those times I chose the silence, now I have no choice. I'm trapped in here, because my throat is trying to commit a long, dramatic suicide.
The song wavers and the golden hue disappears. Without opening my eyes, I turn the volume up some more. The hue returns for awhile, then disappears again taking the scent with it. I turn volume up, but it won't go any higher. The song starts to drift apart even more, the movements and colours vanishing, the warmth replaced by cold void. I open my eyes. The humidifier light blinks red- a sign that it’s almost out of water. The song is gone by the time I manage to sit up, dissolved into thin air like the water mist. I hear nothing.
I rip the headphones off, but it only makes things worse. There is nothing outside those headphones. I see my hands clapping together soundlessly, a water glass smashing to the floor like in slow motion, my fist banging the wall without any sound. I'm panicking, I know I am and I can't stop it. The complete lack of any sound is terrifying. I open my mouth and shout- that has always broken the silence, but this time it doesn't help. The silence just spreads thicker, draining colour out of my vision, suffocating me.
I try to stand up, get help, but I fall to the floor. I hurt my head, I know I do. I see a shred of glass close to my face but it makes no difference. The silence takes everything, even pain, even blood and I let it take all, surrender myself to the darkness.
In my hand the iPod keeps assuring to the silence that my song is still playing, 1:33 seconds remaining, volume maximum.