What are we?
We are so many things. We're the the whole universe, bottled up right here into a lifetime. We're imperfect and warm and soft like dirt. We're shimmering and bright and eternal like the moon.
What are we? What are we?
Humans.
Messy...
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Sebastian Shaw. Sebastian Shaw. Sebastian Shaw.
I could say his name a million times and it would never be less intimidating. My father. The man who left me with my mutant-loathing grandmother, the woman who tried to get me and Peter tortured and killed. He abandoned me there. Left me to loathe myself. And here his handwriting lies, staining my skin. Making it burn. I don't want to open the letter.
It's staring at me from the dim kitchen counter. I'm pacing. I'm staring out the window for an answer to come to me in the night, an answer I know is never going to arrive. Do I wake up Peter?
No. Shaw could be dangerous. The less strings he has on me the better. And let's face it, Peter is one deeply embedded string.
I stare at the letter again. It's just a piece of paper. I can do it. I seize it into my hands, and feel the sour energy attached to it. It immediately drops back onto the counter. I can't do this.
Yes I can. No. Yes. God, just do it already, you're giving me whiplash. Whiplash. Maybe I really should wake up Peter.
I shake my head in response to my own restless thought. Something in my chest musters up enough courage to lightly pick it up again, balancing it on the tips of my fingers so I touch it as little as possible. My nail drags across the seal and opens it with a long, daunting tear. The letter comes tumbling out.
__, First off, I apologize for the abruptness and timing of this letter. I imagine you've been wrestling with a million questions about me for a while now, and I have every intention of answering them.
I ask that you meet me somewhere outside the city. Somewhere remote, I'm afraid I'm currently under low profile right now. Destiny will be by Saturday at noon to take you...should you be kind enough to accept my invitation. I look forward to our little reunion.
-Sebastian Shaw PS. Enjoy the coin. It's yours to keep.
My hand instinctually touches the coin in my pocket again. A stark chill carves up my back. After so many years...what does he want with me now?
"Are you okay?"
I almost tumble over in surprise, fumbling the letter out of my grasp. A hand on my shoulder steadies me and picks up the piece of paper, "Hank!"
His eyes go wide as they glance at the name on the envelope. Hank props his glasses up onto his head, rubs his eyes throughly, and looks again.
"What...where did you get this?"
I grab the letter back from him and set in on the counter, "I...the woman at the door earlier today. She delivered it." The wooden chair at the small dinette set calls my name. I take a seat and tiredly race my fingers through my hair.
