Disclaimer: The Marvel universe does not belong to me. In fact, it belongs to Marvel (Wow! What a surprise!)

The characters in this TCP are mine though.



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"Ma'am, your son is a mutant."



He looks at the wall. They use too many words, words, words (always). But they never mean them. (feel them, think them)



"I know he's a mutant, his hair is *purple* for Chrissakes!"



Her anger rolls through her (around her, off her) encompassing her fear. (but she'd never put *that* in words) It

comforts her (thrills her)



"Yes. I *ahem* noticed that."



The man's amusement ripples, a thin layer. (protection, concealment, secret) It coats his loathing

and the deeper, darker things he won't admit to. (not here)



"I don't (do) care that he's a mutant..I want to know why he won't fucking talk."



She fills his ears (mind, mouth, skin, heart) with words. None of them mean anything (everything).

They all contradict themselves (each other) and none of them match the other things he hears (feels, sees, knows).



"Well, he could just be a late bloomer."



The pleasant air is false. He stinks of fear (loathing) and wants them to leave (they always do)



"He's nearly five! He'll be starting school soon, what'm I gonna do if he doesn't start talking?"



She doesn't want him (she hates him) Her words weave lies she doesn't know he can feel (hear, see, taste)

He doesn't know why she uses words when she doesn't understand them.



"I wish I could help, but I'm not really a specialist on mutation. Or psychology for that matter, why

don't I refer you to another doctor?"



The man smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes (heart, mind, soul) His words are worthless. (they always are)

As they leave the man gives him a lollipop . He pulls his hand back quickly, after, and his disgust rolls

off of him like waves (pain, rage, death).



"Come on you."



Her hands leave bruises, but there are already bruises there (there always are). He knows the burn under the

words means there will be more later, and then, more words. Telling him she didn't mean it (she did).

He wishes he could put the things he thinks (feels, knows) in words for her. But there

aren't enough words, and none of them mean the right things.



~End~