March Writing Challenge: 50 Stories. 1 Month.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#23 – Religion

“This is the Lord’s blessing,” Father Benedict had assured him when he broke down in confession, tears streaming down his face as he finally told someone about the voices, about the sins staining his soul even though he hadn’t done them, about his pain and fear and how he prayed but thought that, perhaps, he had done something terrible but didn’t know what. He felt forsaken, and he knew that was a sin as great as any of the ones that he knew about from the adults around him.

Yet, his Priest always spoke of the importance of honesty and of the benevolence of the Lord. His Priest had treated him nothing but kindly during his years of attending Mass with his parents and Sunday school before that.

“Such a kind, intelligent, polite boy,” Father Benedict had told the Neville parents before, while his mother beamed with pride. “It’s such a shame that he’s the only son.”

A shame because a second son could enter the clergy, but a single son had to have a family and follow in his father’s footsteps. Which had been fine with Sean, since he liked the work that his father did, and he had always enjoyed going to the hospital with him. He wanted to be a doctor, just like his parents expected of him, and, while he didn’t have opinions about girls one way or the other – he didn’t find them gross or a different species, even if he hadn’t become obsessed with them the way some of the older boys had – he was fine with the idea of settling down and starting a family of his own someday. He liked little children.

However, he couldn’t see himself as a doctor anymore, just as he couldn’t imagine settling down and having a family. Not because he didn’t think they were worthwhile goals, but because he considered himself physically and emotionally incapable.

Even if this was the Lord’s blessing, and he had no reason to think that his Priest would lie to him about that, then what did that say about the course of his life? The bible was filled with stories of people who had been set apart from everyone else due to the Lord’s blessings, and they rarely lived normal, fulfilling lives. How could he be a doctor or work in a hospital with sick people if he was so sick himself? How could he ever convince a woman to marry him or have children with him if he couldn’t work? How was that fair to whatever potential wife he might have had otherwise?

But, on the other side of things, he couldn’t be a Priest. If he struggled this much with the Lord’s blessing and favor, then how could he possibly handle the deprivation the clergy entailed? How could he possibly counsel others on the Lord’s intentions if he couldn’t make head or tail of them himself?

What could he possibly do with his life?

“Trust in the Lord and you will find answers,” Father Benedict told him.

Yet, for all of his prayer, for all of the voices that invaded his mind during every waking moment, the Lord’s guidance remained absent.

[Sasha Adams]

# 26 Pattern 

"Plie, grande jete, pirouette, pirouette, pirouette!"



Sasha performed each step that her teacher called out. Focused, determined, arms gliding from one position to the next with deceptive ease; she was working hard, but she had been taught not to show that. Make it look effortless, that was the goal. Her Balanchine skirt twirled about her legs, breezy and light; she had been ecstatic when her mother had agreed to buy her one, because every other girl in the studio had one.



Possibly every ballerina in the United States had one.



On either side of her other young girls joined in, standing en pointe for each graceful pirouette.



At least, the pirouettes were supposed to be graceful.



One pirouette, two pirouettes, and then on the third she wobbled, falling out of pointe.



"No, no, no!" The teacher sighed in exasperation and marched over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and thrusting them back. "Watch your posture, Miss Adams!" She instructed, leaning down to help Sasha place her leg back in position to begin her pirouettes again. "Try it again."



One pirouette, two pirouettes, and she began wobbling again.



The teacher frowned, running a hand along graying bun. "Keep your hips straight, you're letting them move too much. You can't keep your balance if you let your hips move around everywhere."



Sasha took a deep breath, focusing on keeping her hips still as she tried once more.



One, two, three! And then four, five, six! She felt as if she could spin round forever and ever!



"Very good, Miss Adams!" The teacher clapped in appreciation. "But you can stop, now. There are only three pirouettes in this pattern!"



Sasha slowed herself to a stop, beaming with pride at her accomplishment before she began the pattern anew. Plie, grande jete, pirouette, pirouette, pirouette...



She couldn't wait to go home and show her father.

[Tsukiko Aoki]

#49 Remote Control

The whir of electronic devices was such a common noise in the Aoki-Tilford household that it was easy to filter it out. It was mere background noise, only noticeable when it was absent.

During the times when they were home together (not always as frequently occurring as either of them would like -- such were the demands of hospital work) it wasn't uncommon to hear the sound effects and simple tunes of video games. That was slightly more noticeable than background noise, if only because Kiko wasn't sure that she would ever find the sounds of men (and, occasionally, women) grunting or shouting background noise.

Sometime Rome brought home some new electronic toy or other, and there was a new noise to learn to live with. Kiko found this endearing, but also somewhat typical, not just of Rome but of the people in her life generally. After all, the rest of her social circle included her husband's best friend, Dr. Campbell (who painted miniatures) and his husband, Chase, who...well, he as Chase.

On rarer occasion she found herself keeping company with Dr. Neville, and she marveled at the fact that he only had comic book figurines because of his nephew, rather than buying them on his own out of personal interest.

Sometimes Rome forgot to tell her that he had brought home new toys, and she didn't always discover this until too late.

For instance, when she sat down on the sofa with her DS in hand and a mechanical dog on the other side of the room began to bark rapidly. Kiko shrieked and jumped to her feet, looking down at the cushion she had just sat on.

There, half-submerged between two cushions, was a metallic remote control. She fished it out and quickly pressed buttons until she discovered which one shut the dog off, and then she tossed the remote control into the basket that sat beside the TV -- filled to the brim with wires and other controllers. If Rome missed it, well, it was better there than hidden under the couch until the next time one of them vacuumed.

Besides, he knew where she put everything she found. Maybe next time he would be more responsible with his new toys.

[Cera Lamprey]

#25 border 

Visiting her sister during school breaks was the highlight of Cera's year. It wasn't that she disliked school -- she liked Hammel just fine, and she even had a boyfriend! But she and her sister had always been close growing up, and she missed Wren terribly.



Worse, she wasn't friends with her roommate. Sure, Nora had explained to her why she wasn't a social butterfly, and Cera had backed off after that. But knowing that her roommate's rejection wasn't personal didn't make it any less disappointing.



But today -- today she and Wren were going to the mall! And, in thoroughly exciting news, Wren had informed her that the mall had a photobooth!



They had spent the morning doing one another's hair and painting their nails and eating strawberries, and then they had gotten dressed up in their cutest outfits and their father had driven them out to the mall. He had informed them that he would be back in two hours, so to be at the food court then. They had waved to him and run off, giggling.



The two teens had perused different shops, ogling the posters displayed in Abercrombie, and, in Cera's case, also the photos of the girls in H&M. They had tried on several different outfits, but in the end most of their money had been spent purchasing accessories at Claire's.



Then they had meandered their way through the mall, making a stop at Auntie Anne's for pretzels, before they ended up at the photobooth.



It was just as much fun as Cera had imagined! They made silly faces, and there were options to dress their photos up with silly word bubbles and stamps of hearts and stars and rainbows.



There were even different borders to choose from.



They flipped through the different options, finally landing on a border of made of coloring crayons.



"It's so kindergarten," Wren commented, and Cera looped an arm through her sister's and made a face at the camera.



Looking through the printed photos she grinned at her sister. "It's so us."

[Marnie Sullivan]

#14 - Camouflage

Marnie pressed a hand to the car’s window as they rumbled up to the school’s looming brick facade. A handful of other cars stood parked nearby, kids emerging from them, some waving goodbye, some stalking off up the steps. As she watched, a pair of girls with identical, flaming red hair rolled up on bicycles. Was it the first day for any of them, or just for her?

The skin of her hand prickled. Distracted from her view, Marnie glanced at it to find blurs of color racing across it. A sharp intake of breath, and she withdrew it, cramming it into her coat pocket. But the prickling didn’t fade; instead she could feel it starting in her shoulders, spreading up her neck.

“Do you remember where your first class is?” Marnie’s mother twisted in her seat to offer a stabilizing smile. They had visited Hammel for a tour before the weekend, been shown around. Marnie was pretty sure she knew where to go. That wasn’t the problem.

“Uh-huh.” She slouched lower in her seat, shoulders hitched up around her ears, wishing she’d worn a turtleneck today. Instead of meeting her mother’s gaze, she stared gloomily at the back of her seat.

“Do you have all your books?” her dad asked. Her parents had double- and triple-checked her backpack before they’d left the house. Marnie had all her books.

“Uh-huh.”

“Your dad will be right here to pick you up after school, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her mother reached her hand back, and gave Marnie’s knee a squeeze. A lump rose up in her throat, which she tried to swallow down. She was too old for this - only babies cried on their first day of school.

“...No one is going to think you’re weird here.”

This, at last, pulled Marnie’s gaze from the ridges of the seat fabric to her mother’s face. From the driver’s seat, her father glanced nervously over his shoulder to offer a nod.

“Everyone is here for the same reason you are,” her mother went on gently. “So don’t worry about that, okay? Just do your best.”

Marnie bit her lips, and after a moment nodded. A flash of angry disbelief bubbled up in her chest; what did she know about it? Just having to be here made her weird. Maybe she wouldn’t be the biggest freak in Mutant Academy, but compared to the rest of the world… She wanted to go back to her old school. She wanted to be normal.

But as quick as it had appeared, Marnie squashed it down. Her mother was right about one thing, at least - she needed to do her best. Only this school, these people could teach her how to control it. Without her camouflage, she could blend in again.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#8 – Poor

Try as he might all day, he had failed to scrounge up enough money. It was always so difficult, because he looked intimidating, and he wasn’t a veteran. He wasn’t a veteran, and he considered it disrespectful to claim otherwise. He had been too young for Vietnam and too old for the Gulf War; he had never seen combat – even if he had seen plenty of horrors in his life – and he didn’t want to play on people’s sympathies for a group of people to whom he had never belonged.

Unfortunately, the groups he did belong to didn’t engender much sympathy: meta-humans and queer men.

At least he didn’t have HIV/AIDS or another serious illness. He had never required a blood transfusion, he didn’t use any drugs whatsoever, and he had only slept with one man in his life. Granted, they used to have sex frequently, but they hadn’t for a long time – hadn’t seen one another in years – they had been monogamous, and they had always used protection.

His chest tightened when thinking about Josh. What had life brought him over the years?

He was sure that Josh didn’t think about him the way that Sean thought of the other man, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his ex-boyfriend spared any space at all in his mind for the wayward telepath.

No, he couldn’t think that way, not now. Doing so would only hurt him.

He drew his threadbare coat more tightly around his body, less for warmth than as a physical manifestation of his need for comfort, while he walked, head bowed, through the streets.

Trapped for another day.

At least this town had a shelter, which was more than many of the towns he had traversed had to offer. However, the system was first-come, first-served, and it lacked the potential for permanent accommodations.

Unsurprisingly.

Only the biggest and most progressive of cities had any form of more permanent accommodations for their homeless populations, a room or alcove of one’s own, or just a trunk that was assigned to a particular person coupled with a cot that nobody else could use.

Everywhere else that managed to have any form of accommodations just assigned cots, with room underneath for a man to stow his belongings.

It helped, of course, but there were problems in those types of shelters. Due to the lack of privacy, anyone remained at risk of having their belongings stolen. Technically, it was forbidden, but sometimes the staff turned a blind eye to it, because they were overworked or disinterested in the nitty-gritty affairs of the men they were supposed to help. With everyone in a similar financial place, there was more desperation and fewer people who might feel bad about stealing from a fellow homeless person, as opposed to someone being passed on the street. Drug abuse was also rampant, despite being against the rules. The War on Drugs hadn’t helped anyone kick the habit, and addiction so often went hand-in-hand with poverty and hopelessness.

Sean didn’t use drugs; he didn’t drink anymore, either, and he hadn’t smoked a joint since college. He didn’t face the same temptations that those with addiction histories did in such an environment, but his telepathy made the closed quarters so very difficult, since he was plagued by the pained thoughts and misery.

He didn’t know whether shelters for women and children had better accommodations. He knew that there were more permanent shelters for women than there were for men, since they were a more sympathetic group as a whole than men were. He had seen no shelters for men alone with children. He had asked once, entirely due to curiosity, at one of the few family shelters that he had ever encountered whether men alone with children could stay there, since women alone with children could, but they told him no. Men could only stay if they had both a wife and children; being unmarried but committed wasn’t enough.

The telepath found that to be a shame, since no children should have to grow up on the streets, and he didn’t think that the gender of their parent should matter. Then again, he was homeless entirely because he didn’t share the overarching culture’s opinions about gender norms.

The thought of children brought a pain to his heart.

He had always wanted children; he loved children.

Yet, this would never happen.

He couldn’t provide for a child, and it would be unethical for him to even consider having children. Not that anyone would allow a single man to adopt, particularly not one who had been in a relationship with another man before; that would hold even if he had a permanent address and a source of income.

As for having a child naturally, he knew this was impossible, even if it weren’t unethical for him to try for a child. He and Josh couldn’t have had a child together, back when they lived together. And there had been nobody since Josh.

He felt the squeeze in his chest as he continued to walk in the direction of the shelter.

If there was any upside to this, any at all, it was that Josh would never know what had become of him. He couldn’t stand to see pity or disgust in those well-loved eyes, in his perfect.

Better for him to suffer alone and disappear than to become a source of shame or a cautionary tale.

The winds kicked up around him, forcing him to pick up his pace. Soon, he would reach the shelter.

He hoped they had a cot available for tonight.