Tale of the Prophet Bearer: The Dark Queen's Reign

Chapter 1: Lawnmower Tumble

^ Christina ^

(A/N)

I would like to get started by saying this:

I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I'M DOING!

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, Hi!! I'm super excited/nervous about posting this but I need to clarify a few things before we get this crazy thing started. This isn't a Fanfic. It is, but it isn't. This is a story about my original characters but it takes place in the Marvel universe. The main story is centered around Christina and da' gang but you do see Coulson, the Avengers, X-Men, and et cetera. So. . . . . . Yeah.

I can't believe I'm doing this, but here you go! *Takes deep breath and pulls curtains back*

(Christina's POV)

~

Most people start their day with a cup of coffee. I start mine with falling backwards over a lawnmower. Ug, this day is already terrible.

"Christina, are you ok?!" Mr. Jenkins jumps up from the porch swing. But "jumps" might not be the best word, seeing that he is... well up in age.

He leans against his cane and hobbles down the few step.

I sit up, the ground spinning under me briefly. I blink and shake my head, clearing the fog in my mind. I glance down at my clenched hand and find a few loose pieces of grass. I huff a sigh. I do a backflip over a lawnmower to try and pull a weed up, and it doesn't even come out?

"Are you okay?" Mr. Jenkins jabs his hand towards me. I take it and stand, but am careful not to pull against him. As spry as the old man is, I'm scared I'll knock him down if I pull too hard.

"I'm fine." I assure and wipe my palm against my jeans.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

My pride might be a little hurt. "I'm fine."

He lightly tilts my head up and inspects my cheek. "We're gonna have to put a bandage on that. I wouldn't be able to sleep with myself if I didn't at least give you a bandaid." He turns to the house. "I couldn't sleep once because I accidently hurt a small, frail little kitten..."

The story he starts telling becomes faint buzzing in the back of my head. I lightly touch my cheek, feeling the warmth of the blood. Brilliant job Christina. Now he's never going to let me leave. He'll just keep rambling on about the kitten. Again.

Mr. Jenkins pushes the light green and white door open. I follow him inside. He jabbs a finger towards the couch. "Sit down. I'll get you that bandaid." He hobbles towards his bedroom, mumbling something about if I was as young as him, i would be going to the ER.

I fidget in my seat and glance around. It's hot in here. It is always burning up like the cold dead heart of winter is knocking on their door. I glance around at the room, looking at the several pictures hung over the flowery wall paper. Mostly his children and grandchildren. Maybe even great grandkids. It wouldn't surprise me.

I glance towards his bedroom, where he's still looking for his bandaid. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. Still smells like tea and chocolate chip cookies. I wonder if Mrs. Jenkins made some, or if the smell has permanently set in the pillows.

I still remember the rainy night I came in here, back when I had no where to go. Mr. Jenkins let me come in and warm up by the fire place. Drink some tea. Eat a cookie. Both he anr his wife wanted me to stay in and sleep, but that I fully refused. No way was I sleeping in a house full of strangers. But he gave me a job- working around the house- and paid fairly well. It's probably the only reason I'm still alive.