Title: Seeking Death
Author: Kia Mira
Email: kia_mira@bellsouth.net
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Rating: I think NC-17 deals with thoughts of self-mutilation as discribed in the book. Those offended by thoughts of suicide bail now.
Summary: This is a pre-X-men Fic based on ideas from the book.
Category: Logan
Disclaimer: If I owned them a whole hell of a lot would've happened in the movie that didn't. So, No, I don't own them or make a lick of money from them.
FEEDBACK: Would it be in such big letters if I didn't need it? Send it to kia_mira@bellsouth.net .

It's been nearly fifteen years. Fifteen fuckin' years of not knowing anything other than my name and that I was a freak. I woke up in a forest in the Canadian Rockies not remembering anything but a few scattered images that evoked feelings of intense pain.

Fifteen years of self hatred. Sometimes i just want to disappear! I sit in a room full of people all talking around me as though I am not sitting there. I try to speak and I know that I have a voice, yet they can't hear me.

I think that if I speak just a little louder they might hear me. It is a pipe dream and I am like a pipe bomb. So ready to just explode. If I explode will they hear me or just clean up the debris as though it didn't happen? As though I didn't happen. I cut myself daily. Hoping today will be the day that I die, but each time the curse I have lived with for so long comes back to haunt me. Taunt me. It is amazing the things I have done to myself or allowed to happen that just disappear as though they were nothing more than a misty edged dream. I make my way in cage brawls. Night after night I fight and allow others to try and do what I have tried. Give them a piece of my soul in hopes they will finally be able to snuff it out.

There are some really well meaning people out there. The think they understand me and presume to have my best interests at heart. That is until they find out I'm a mutant. Then I am anathema to them. Am I supposed to care when I myself hate the heart that beats inside me? Should be shocked that the world hates and fears me? I hate and fear what I have become. I cannot remember ever being truly happy. Happy to breath. Happy to live.

They look at the outside of me and see a man who is at odds with himself. There are women who would lay back and open theirselves just for the thrill of being with the man I portray, but let me slip and think they might actually care. They foister little pearls of wisdom not listening as I denied the need for them. I am a man of animal lusts, but I cannot stomach the mercinary little twats.

I think that I might at one time had some moral code. A code that I honored. A code that has left me desolate. My long dead principals rise up in me and I kick and kick against them yet they don't step away. They refuse to be silent even as they have caused my pain. My honor lay wounded and I am but scattered pieces of the whole I once was.

I'm in a new place. Laughlin City the sign says. City being the relative term. I think they were a bit to hopeful. The buildings are all metal framed and shed like. I drive through the middle of the 'city' and continue a short distance out of the city limits. I'll park here in this secluded section of trees and try to sleep.

I settle into the back on a palate on the floor. Before I go to sleep I unsheath my claws. I revel in the pain because it is small and no where near the agony I will feel once I close my eyes and the dreams start. I lift my left arm and stare at the tendons and muscles there. My breath hitches and becomes erratic. I am getting read. With a feral growl I raise my right hand claws distended and savagily rake them over the flesh of my left. The pain slices through me. It is familiar. It is my constant companion. I inhale hope spring in my eyes as I feel the pain and see the red that means I have cut deep. I wait hoping this will be the day that the blood flows unstaunched down my arm. Praying that I might find what I seek. Death and its illusive bands, but even as I watch the blood doesn't flow. Instead it congels and the wound closes almost instanly. My hopes fall as though they were lead and I am left with this ache.

An ache for death and the realization that I will live the rest of my days seeking it. Without hope of ever touching it. And then I sleep. And dream of pain. I will awake and seek death at another time.