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adventdrabblesTitle: Battling Life Her Way
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Shadowcat
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Kitty celebrates alone.
Word Count: 918
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 356: Spark and Advent Drabbles Day 17: Menorah
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
It's been a long time since she's spent a holiday alone. It feels strange, in a way, to be alone again. There had been times in Scotland when she had felt completely alone, especially when Meggan had been depressed, Kurt had been busy with Amanda, and Rachel had been gone. She had spent countless hours training in their version of the Danger Room, feeling utterly alone and trying to displace her depression and anger on the robots and illusions within her long, laborious training sessions. It had always helped, until quiet times had found her.
Tonight is definitely one of those times, and it's far, far too quiet. For hours earlier, she'd expected Kurt to bamf in unexpectedly to chase away her holiday blues, which he'd always been good at before. He hasn't shown, and deep down, she knows he won't. It's not that her Fuzzy Elf doesn't miss her or still care about her. Rather, she knows, it's just the opposite. He, and the others, are trying their best to honor her wishes and let her live a normal life.
Normalcy, Kitty knows, is overrated. But if she wants to do what she yearns to do for her people, she is going to have to have an education. More than that, she is going to have to have a doctorate and a very high standing in both intellectual and society circles. Sometimes it seems an impossible task. Other times, she simply doesn't care. She's fought for mutants, for people like her, since she was barely fourteen, and her people have always fought hard for the downtrodden.
The menorah standing before her is just another reminder of that never-ending struggle, and of all the lives that have been laid down, both physically and figuratively, for that battle and cause. She has known so many good women who have put aside their chances to be mothers to lead a life torn by war and scarred by prejudice. She has known many good and strong people, period, who have given up their chances at "normal" lives and the things they'd wanted to do and become as children to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. She still has many wonderful, loving friends who are doing just that.
And many wonderful, loving friends whose lives have been cut down far too early while fighting for other people. Each night that she has lit a candle on this menorah, she has thought of them. She has thought of them, prayed for them, and remembered them while watching the flames flicker and dance on the tall, white candles. Each candle she has lit in honor of someone who is no longer there with her, and not able to be there because their lives have been cut short, their spirits already stolen away from this plane. She had thought of Illyana the first night, Doug the second, Dani the third, Moira the fourth, Jean on the fifth, Pete Wisdom on the sixth, and Rachel on the seventh. She'd spent almost all night last night just gazing into these flickering flames and remembering, remembering, hurting, and crying for the woman she had loved with all her heart and with whom she had had far, far too little time.
Tonight, she lights the final candle, but tonight as she touches the Shamash to the eighth candle, she thinks not of the dead but of the living, and of the living dead. She was one of those for far too long until she'd realized what was happening, that she was turning cold and dead inside, silently giving up not just her life but on the world around her. That was part of why she'd taken a break from the never-stopping battles. That break had given her a chance to reflect, and she'd ended up tending bar, helping lost souls who came through the dingy establishment every night, and eventually deciding to go to school and pursue college. The other X-Men thought she was pursuing her dream, but they didn't understand what that dream meant.
She was so tired of all the hurting, and of all the senseless dying, misery, and hurting. Hopefully, her studies will lead her to being able to have all the knowledge she needs to be able to be the leader they need, the leader to follow in the Professor's, Storm's, Wolverine's, Jean's, and Scott's footsteps, the leader who will finally pave the way to the peaceful coexistence they all need and desire. She can dream, she thinks, watching the flame dance and suppressing a yawn. They can all dream, and they all have different ways of pursuing those dreams, and the major dream that unites them all. For just a moment, she thinks of the Professor and of Martin Luther King Junior. She thinks of Ororo and of Jean. She will never have the patience or strength, she knows, that they each possessed, and in Ororo's case, still does, but she can try.
She can certainly try to be the next spark in the fire, to light the pathway for the next mutants as they lit it before for her and as the Shamash has lit the other eight candles of the menorah. She can try to emblazon the way, but to do so, she needs all the skills and knowledge she can gain to pave the way right. She lowers her head and prays again before going to bed, once more alone, to prepare for another day battling life her way.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Shadowcat
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Kitty celebrates alone.
Word Count: 918
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 356: Spark and Advent Drabbles Day 17: Menorah
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
It's been a long time since she's spent a holiday alone. It feels strange, in a way, to be alone again. There had been times in Scotland when she had felt completely alone, especially when Meggan had been depressed, Kurt had been busy with Amanda, and Rachel had been gone. She had spent countless hours training in their version of the Danger Room, feeling utterly alone and trying to displace her depression and anger on the robots and illusions within her long, laborious training sessions. It had always helped, until quiet times had found her.
Tonight is definitely one of those times, and it's far, far too quiet. For hours earlier, she'd expected Kurt to bamf in unexpectedly to chase away her holiday blues, which he'd always been good at before. He hasn't shown, and deep down, she knows he won't. It's not that her Fuzzy Elf doesn't miss her or still care about her. Rather, she knows, it's just the opposite. He, and the others, are trying their best to honor her wishes and let her live a normal life.
Normalcy, Kitty knows, is overrated. But if she wants to do what she yearns to do for her people, she is going to have to have an education. More than that, she is going to have to have a doctorate and a very high standing in both intellectual and society circles. Sometimes it seems an impossible task. Other times, she simply doesn't care. She's fought for mutants, for people like her, since she was barely fourteen, and her people have always fought hard for the downtrodden.
The menorah standing before her is just another reminder of that never-ending struggle, and of all the lives that have been laid down, both physically and figuratively, for that battle and cause. She has known so many good women who have put aside their chances to be mothers to lead a life torn by war and scarred by prejudice. She has known many good and strong people, period, who have given up their chances at "normal" lives and the things they'd wanted to do and become as children to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. She still has many wonderful, loving friends who are doing just that.
And many wonderful, loving friends whose lives have been cut down far too early while fighting for other people. Each night that she has lit a candle on this menorah, she has thought of them. She has thought of them, prayed for them, and remembered them while watching the flames flicker and dance on the tall, white candles. Each candle she has lit in honor of someone who is no longer there with her, and not able to be there because their lives have been cut short, their spirits already stolen away from this plane. She had thought of Illyana the first night, Doug the second, Dani the third, Moira the fourth, Jean on the fifth, Pete Wisdom on the sixth, and Rachel on the seventh. She'd spent almost all night last night just gazing into these flickering flames and remembering, remembering, hurting, and crying for the woman she had loved with all her heart and with whom she had had far, far too little time.
Tonight, she lights the final candle, but tonight as she touches the Shamash to the eighth candle, she thinks not of the dead but of the living, and of the living dead. She was one of those for far too long until she'd realized what was happening, that she was turning cold and dead inside, silently giving up not just her life but on the world around her. That was part of why she'd taken a break from the never-stopping battles. That break had given her a chance to reflect, and she'd ended up tending bar, helping lost souls who came through the dingy establishment every night, and eventually deciding to go to school and pursue college. The other X-Men thought she was pursuing her dream, but they didn't understand what that dream meant.
She was so tired of all the hurting, and of all the senseless dying, misery, and hurting. Hopefully, her studies will lead her to being able to have all the knowledge she needs to be able to be the leader they need, the leader to follow in the Professor's, Storm's, Wolverine's, Jean's, and Scott's footsteps, the leader who will finally pave the way to the peaceful coexistence they all need and desire. She can dream, she thinks, watching the flame dance and suppressing a yawn. They can all dream, and they all have different ways of pursuing those dreams, and the major dream that unites them all. For just a moment, she thinks of the Professor and of Martin Luther King Junior. She thinks of Ororo and of Jean. She will never have the patience or strength, she knows, that they each possessed, and in Ororo's case, still does, but she can try.
She can certainly try to be the next spark in the fire, to light the pathway for the next mutants as they lit it before for her and as the Shamash has lit the other eight candles of the menorah. She can try to emblazon the way, but to do so, she needs all the skills and knowledge she can gain to pave the way right. She lowers her head and prays again before going to bed, once more alone, to prepare for another day battling life her way.
The End
