Hello, this is the depressing fic, As I Sit In This House. It goes from past tense to present time, so, bear with me. I did this story where the Mutants were as bad as humans. Hostile, hating, fearful. Sorry if my character sounds Mary-sueish.

Listen to 'Lovers' on the House of Flying Daggers soundtrack. The Instrumental. The one AFTER the Erhu one. and before the Lady. Very sad. Oh, this was 4 pages. I think. Oh well.

DISCLAIMER-I dont own anything except for the idea and character thats talking. Yeah.

As I sit in this house, I think of them. People, family, Mutants. Mutants that were despised and hated. Feared and loved. All at the same time. I didn’t cry. What for? It wouldn’t bring them back. Death is something I know very well. I lost my great Uncle and Nana in the same year. One died quick, the other slow. Being eaten from the inside out. Devoured by Cancer. She died in Paradise.

I'm human. Not a lick of a mutation in me. I'm looked down upon because I'm somewhere where I don’t belong. Because I don’t understand how it is to send people into Coma’s with a touch. How it is to ‘Shed fur all over the couch’. How to be unable to die.

My Uncle, a Mister Charles Xavier has died. I knew him. I’d always sign cards and tell him that I loved him, that was just how I was. I knew that he had a school, couldn’t walk, lost one of his greatest friends. I knew that he was kind, giving, almost perfect. But I didn’t know him. Not how I want to now. I want to know what he talked about. How he taught physics. How he did everything. How he could love me.

I was there when he died. I was curled in the arms of his Greatest Friend. His Best Enemy at times. Eric Lensherr. The alias he uses…Magneto… I find it degrading and horrible. Is he not good enough to use his real name? Or is it because he doesn’t want to remember something like that. Maybe it is too common.

I was curled in his arms, clinging to him in fear. No matter how perfect it must sound, it was horrible. We saw my Uncle’s demise. We saw how she killed him. How there was nothing left but his chair. And Eric pulled away from me at the end. I asked him to stay, not to leave me. He gave me this sad, old smile and turned away. He left with the red head beauty that killed his friend. His heart ripped and unable to heal but overthrown by his own views. He left me alone to face the world.

I don’t suppose you’ve ever drowned in sadness. His death marked the second time. The Memorial for my Nana was just as bad. I cried only once. When My name was said in a speech. When I was singled out as her only great grand daughter. The only one that will be. I'm the last in my family. The last to carry the blood. Sure, my cousins can, but it wouldn’t be as thick. Not as pure. My great Uncle…I still expect him to come up the back steps. To smile at me and kiss me. To ask how bad I've been. What I did while he was gone. I expect him to never touch a cigarette again. I expect too much. I expect things that will never be given. No hope to be given.

I still hope. I still dream. I still want. I still wish.

I have taken over my Uncle’s school. The woman he asked to take care of it has been in an unstable time. It seems, that someone came back from the dead and is bent on killing everyone. I laughed and offered her a cream puff.

His office is large. Books and papers fill the walls. A leather chair sits in front of a large oak desk. An old desk. If I remember correctly, he got it from his own grandfather. A heirloom passed down for generations. I would get it next. I will inherit this whole school. I will decide if it stays the same or not. When challenged with this by a group of sorry Mutants-the same ones that looked down at me-I responded by telling them that 148 new students will be coming the next year. It was true. I contacted the ones old enough. One’s that were desperate and needed to be found. Parents more than willing to give them up.

A man…Logan, one that came with us to see my Uncle’s death, has been coming back and forth from everywhere. He tells the woman that I am too young to be taking over the school. That I should be given back to my parents. That a 14 year old girl doesn’t know anything useful. That I'm not useful.

I surprised him by just smiling as I walked by. It hurt. Oh, it killed me to hear that from someone else. To hear it from someone who thought the same as I. I know that everyone things it. That everyone knows that I will amount to nothing. They know I can destroy their future’s with just a few words. I know I can.

Revenge isn’t something I think much of. It has already been dealt out to the beauty by Logan. He killed his love. She was killed by a friend. By all rights, in my books at least, she was a slut. I made the mistake of telling her grave that. Right when Logan was passing. He heard what I told her. Even more than that. I told her how much I hated her for what she did. That she must’ve been insane as a child. I had laughed after that one, real happiness. I said that no matter how much Logan loved her, she would never realize. She asked the wrong person to kill her. In fact, she should’ve asked some Anti-Mutant people. Would’ve saved the poor Golden Bridge and billions of dollars. Not to mention the lives of the soldiers.

He nearly killed me. If I had shut my eyes and tried to push him away, he would’ve killed me. I don’t know what I looked like. I don’t know what made him just stare at me, sharp blades nearly on my throat. I know what I felt though. I felt sad, defeated, hated beyond all sense. I felt a lack of color, heat, feeling. He let go and stormed off. He has carefully avoided me. Its been over a week.

I wake up late and go to bed around 7 in the morning. I unearth things from my Uncle’s room each day and nearly break down. But crying doesn’t bring him back. You can’t bring someone back if you didn’t know them.

I remember a time where I would sit in the center of the room and try to call up powers I never had. I would always fail and resort to clearing my mind. I would sit there for about five minutes before I was totally at peace. That’s when I would continue to do whatever it was that I was doing.

I need to tell him that I still love him. But how do I do that? Pray it? Kill myself, even? There is no way. He is a Nevermore. He will only be remembered for a certain amount of time before he fades from memory. No one is remembered forever.

My Uncle told me a riddle. A riddle I had never heard before or remember now. All I remember is that the answer was time. Time destroys everything. It will soon destroy me if I continue like this. And it scared me.

Because of how the Mutant children were acting, I felt like shutting down the school. If they were going to act like that, it was better to do so. Some over heard me mumbling to myself and nearly killed me. They cornered me in a classroom. If they killed me, the lady would be able to take over the school and all would be right. Mei who? What human? What niece?

My step dad had told me how bad it felt to have ribs cracked and knuckles busted-he had been a JD when he was younger-but I never really believed him. My body now reflects everyone’s pain. My broken, dying body. I suppose these thoughts of mine are dark. Stupid. Irrational. Adults forget what they think in their teen years. They forget so much.

I'd always been a good kid. Always doing the right thing and not doing something…teenager-ish. My rational thinking lobe still working, despite what science says, and I'm happy for that. I have no urges to smoke, pierce something, or even extract revenge from my ‘killers’. I think like an adult already. I know how I should deal with things.

Bruises are always able to appear easily on me. When Mr. McCoy first saw me. When he first realized how true humans were about mutants, he had to leave. I was all by myself on that hard, cold metal table. My bruises were yellow and blue, blood leaked from my knuckles where I had tried to defend myself. My crudely cut hair burned from being pulled. I was really alone. He had left me alone as well.

I felt like I should be stronger. Like I’d failed some easy task that would’ve saved everyone’s life. As I looked up at the white ceiling, I let myself cry. My body shook and rubbed against my skin and bruises. My muscles screamed as they moved. I curled into a ball and sobbed. No one heard. No one cared. No one knew.

I smiled at the outside. My Uncle’s grave is no where in sight and I can just look at the roses and flowers. The trees and the birds. I got the lady-whom shall be known as Ororo- to cut my hair evenly. She was hostile towards me, but she did what she was asked. She thought I ruled her too. That if she did something wrong, I would close the school. I didn’t complain when she tugged at my hair. I just let her do whatever she wanted. I let her hurt me. I could tell she felt bad when I smiled and thanked her. It only lasted for a second though. She convinced herself that I was the enemy.

Mr. McCoy came back. It was around 5 in the morning when I was brighter than day. The dark purple bruise on my face and the self stitched 4 inch long cut on my chest was in view. I had worn a nice, V-Neck shirt my mother sent me. He nearly left again. I asked him to stay and that he was needed. I joked and told him that Ororo had been doing a horrible job with the hurt kids. He only glared at me and stayed silent. I sighed and shook my head. I said that if he really hated everything to do with me, he could tell me and I wouldn’t do anything.

And he told me. This highly respected man insulted me and worse. I sat there though. I laced my fingers and tried not to wince as he threw books every which way. I let a picture of myself and my Uncle go through the window. After he was spent and his anger started to fall, I told him that he was one of them now. There was no human left in him. That he was just Beast. Things change when another sees something. Views are changed.

He promptly tore the antique door off its hinges and threw it at me. I dove out of the way and avoided his hands as he went to slam them on my chest. To break my ribs and drive them into my lungs and heart. Hate had mutilated this man. This creature of intellect. There was no more man. No more intelligent conversations I could listen to.

If I had grabbed the sharp, silver letter opener and hurt him, he would’ve killed me. It was right there. Right next to my hand, touching my fingertips. But I just gasped and dodged another fist. Everything reopened that I had stitched. New bruises formed and blood found its way to the floor. When he grabbed my throat, it was all over his hands. That’s what made him let go. I have a ring of bruises on my neck where he grabbed it. Purple, blue. A horrible reminder to him of what he almost did. He has avoided me for 3 days.

Warren does not even talk to me. Its probably because of everyone else. They give off a negative aura that rubbed off on mine. Kurt does the same. Clutching his beads as he passes, not looking at me. I've become a sin and a problem to all that inhabit the school.

The new year has arrived. I smile and hug new students and meet parents. They are openly shocked to see someone of my age as the headmistress. I tell them that my Uncle left it to me and that I wish to keep it alive. They approve until they see my scars. I can see that they think I cut myself. They think I'm unbalanced. Some have asked about it, and I tell them it was an accident. I show them the scars from the stitches, to prove it. A wife raises an eyebrow, a husband understands.

My hair has grown back to its original length because of special products and my body has healed, somewhat. My ribs are good, bruises gone, and cuts never to be opened. I was happy.

I see winged kids fly over the others. I see gaping holes in walls from accidents. I see old, bitter faces. They think I lie when I smile and laugh. They still think of me as something lower. They think I have admitted humans because of some that have not shown their powers. My Uncle knew. I know. The children know. Logan and Ororo have formed a new team of X-men. I watch them fight sometimes, when they think they are alone. It pulls at my heart when I see who’s the enemy. Its me. I wince as I see what Kitty does. She finally used her powers to kill. She puts a hand through someone but grabs their heart. She kills them from the inside.

They all enjoyed it too much so I talked to them through the intercom. Asking how they managed to get the computer to get me in there. They looked like frightened rabbits. They knew I could make the Danger Room kill them with a switch. It hurts that they still think of me like that. Someone that would just love to pick them off one by one. When they don’t answer, I sigh and turn off the intercom. I leave them.

I teach Physics, just as my Uncle did. Though, Kitty would sometimes come in and start to correct me. She’d try to take over and scoot me away. I would always remind her that she didn’t have the placement to teach the class and that Kurt was having problems with his students.

The new Generation hates me as well. Its not because I'm their headmistress, teacher, or supplier. Its because of what the old ones have said. I always smile at the gossip and raise an eyebrow. My doubt in the words showing. The New ones have started doing pranks. Each unsuccessful one getting even more violent and dangerous.

Logan took a bullet to the head when he walked out of the door. The man won’t walk in front of me anymore. Though, he is letting go of whatever grudge he had on me, slowly. He is the only one.

I had hoped that I would be spared from something like a bullet to the head, and I had been. Except, this time, they used a brick. I remember seeing the carpet rush up to meet me before it went away.

I woke up during the day. It seemed around the same time I had been hit. It was only until I went outside did I see how long it had been. A brightly colored banner was on the banister of the stairs and it said, ‘Happy Birthday Ororo!’. Her birthday was 4 days from when I had been hit. I went back to the Office in a slight haze to grab her small present. I walked around and had found the party going on in the largest room in the house. The ball room. I slipped around dancing bodies to find the laughing, happy teachers around a table.

I just stood there in my long, white dress that stuck out among the black and watched. My hair covered part of my face and tickled my arms. Logan was the first to notice me. He stopped laughing and stared. Something akin to fear on his face. The rest of the teachers stopped and looked.

Forgotten. That was some feat to do when you were still alive. That was just a flicker of a thought in my mind as I stared at them. I blinked and looked down. A year I had tried to make them love me. A year I felt as bad as they did. A year of trying. I started the new year in failing. I had been left there in my office with no question. Did they think that as normal? Did they look down at me that much?

I looked up and smiled. I laughed and asked how much they stole from my Uncle. I had a plate of cheese thrown at me. I swatted it away with accuracy. I walked forward with a smile still on my face. I sighed and set the small box in front of her. She shoved it towards Logan who opened it for her. I stood there and watched as she just looked at it. It was the original and first photo of her and my Uncle. I grabbed Mr. McCoy’s hand and slit my hand on his nail, making him jerk back in response. I slammed my hand on the picture, breaking it and getting blood everywhere. I told her Happy Birthday and left, not being noticed by any of the New or Old students.

Even as I think back to it now, watching her face fall apart was the best thing. It was what she deserved and she knew it. I look at my hand and see the thin, shiny scar I had made. It goes unnoticed unless you really look for it. I had left that night, taking all photo’s, family heirlooms, and true things of his with me. I made a simple note declaring that I was still the owner of the school and that I would watch its progress. Under the world globe, should anyone want to find it while I was gone, there was a longer note. Questioning their rights to be fighters for freedom. I must say, now at 23, I wonder what they’ll think when they see me. I hope to see more graves and laugh at old faces. I'm a published author of 3 books telling of Mutants. I've inspired several evil humans. I'm actually quite proud that they did some damage. Plus, I had written Logan’s weakness. Rogue. Kill her and he falls apart. Not to mention that a bullet to the head will stop him for about 5 minutes while you do the job.

I had seen Mr. McCoy at the super market. He seemed shocked that I was in a black suit with a skirt, high heels, hair up in a bun, and a lovely necklace of white pearls. That and I had the man at the register let me pay for all his things. Or at least, part of it, seeing as I left only a twenty.

I watched from my BMW as he looked around, as though looking for some one. I don’t think he expected that bomb under his car. He wasn’t vitally injured, just thrown onto another car. Good man.

I went back to my school and found my Uncle behind his desk. I was at the door way when I first saw him. He was looking at a file. My mind sort of went blank. He stood up and frowned at me.

“I gave back what they gave me.” I said, smiling, “You taught me that.”

He rushed over to me and enveloped me into a hug, strong arms rocking me slightly. I cried and he told me how much he missed me. He told me how the teachers felt bad.

But, in the corners of my mind, where he could see as well, I was glad of what I did. What I wrote, how I gave everything away. We both knew that they deserved it. We knew that they had pulled my mind apart, had bent it.

So, I as I sit here in this house, I let my dark corners seep into my mind so I can banish them. I grin as I see that there is no longer a grave for my Uncle. I am home.

Oooh, wasn't I just in the crazy mood. Its 12:41 at night and I'm listening to something rather sad. Oh well, If you REEEEEally hate it, i know how ya feel. It seems a bit too much for me. Oh well. I'd be nice if you'd review anywho.

-SAGA123