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A Half Played Chess Game
A/N: Not my best work. I was doing an exercise, write for fifteen minutes straight and then read what you got. I'm posting this because I want to see what everyone says about this. So please when reading this, keep a critical eye out. This is un-beta'ed and unrevised except for the occasional typo (even then there are probably plenty). Ripe this piece apart readers that is all I am asking for. THANK YOU!
The world outside the window is black. The children are in bed and the house is quiet save for the occasional pop of the fireplace. On the table is a glass of wine just poured and untouched. Beside it is a half read book with a picture of a waterfall as a bookmark. A Godsend, the title reads in big bold print. It isn't a book he would normally read, but as the days turn cold Charles has found himself in the need of miracles. If reading a book is the only way to get it, he would settle.
Across from the fireplace and in-between the two red chairs there is a chess board set on the coffee table. A half played game waits to be finished as the pieced collect dust. Once upon the time, the pieces, both black and white, would have glinted in the fire's light, but now the light only further illuminates the grime. The students, Hank in particular, often offer their services to "clean it up if it isn't too much trouble, Professor." Charles can't bring himself to let them and he can't force himself to do it himself.
Next to the chest set is a newspaper from this morning. It's the New York Times and on the front page is a blurry picture of a woman with blue skin, wearing nothing and a man with a pointed helmet, cap, and striking green eyes standing next to each other, the floor at least 50 ft bellow them. The title of the article reads "Mutant Terrorists Attack Washington, How will this affect the government's decision to create a school for mutants?"
It's written by a woman names Emily Bonds and her brother is a mutant with the ability to duplicate himself. It is a fascinating mutation and he can create at least six clones without getting sick. He has plans to double that number by the end of the week.
Charles pulls away from the window and back to the wine glass he had set down minutes earlier. He swirls the liquid before taking a small sip. His left leg aches and his cane seems more annoying than usual. The cane is made of wood, baobab tree to be exact, with the head of a kite as a handle. Ororo's grandfather had given it to him on his last visit.
"The kite flies free," he had told Charles, handing over the new cane alongside the small parcel that kept Ororo's things, "Remember that."
Collapsing into the chair besides the fire and in front of the chess set, he sets his glass down on the side table and looks over at the newspaper where he can see Raven smirking and Erik sneering before turning his eyes on the chess set.
Tonight marks the third anniversary of the last time Charles touched that chess set.
Three years ago had been before Cuba. A time when he had a sister to smile with and a best friend to laugh with, when he could walk with both legs and no help.
It seems more than three years though. More like a lifetime, back when there was a Charles Xavier instead of a Professor X.
The article in the paper tells him the Supreme Court will be holding off their decision for another week so to review the new evidence presented by the opposing side that might slide the judges to their favor. His lawyer has promised him that it's a load of "bullshit," but that he had all ready created a counter argument just in case.
Tomorrow he was supposed to receive a phone call that will tell him he is allowed to open his school with funding from the government. Tomorrow he would be officially hiring Logan, Trevor, Howard, and Sophia as teaches of the new school. Tomorrow the students would no longer be labeled as drop-outs, but members of an elite boarding school designed for the purpose of helping mutants of various ages from 5 years to adulthood master their powers to their full extent in a controlled, safe environment. Tomorrow he would be welcoming fifty-six new students, four of which were orphans and six of which were above the age of thirty-five.
But according to the paper, tomorrow he would have to tell everyone, including those four orphans who would have to be sent back into the system and those six adults, who had been living in fear of their gifts for the past thirty-so years, that they would have to wait another week because his former-sister and ex-best friend decided that today was the best time to attack Washington.
Charles glared at the chest set.
For the past three years, it has been collecting dust and waiting for a move that would never come because Erik had left. For the past three years, as pathetic as it sounds now that Charles is willing to admit it to himself, he has been waiting for Erik to come home and make his move.
He stares at the newspaper article where Mystique and Magneto stand side by side, proud of their achievement as millions of city dwellers run for cover from the destruction of their city.
He turns back to the chess set.
"But how much longer can I wait," Charles asked, "How much longer do I subject to myself to disappointment before I learn? Erik is not coming back, Raven is not coming back. I have a home housing 100 different mutants, of which only ten can control their powers."
He got up and walked over to the other side of the table where the black pieces were lined up. "I need to remember what's important," Charles spoke again before tipping the black king over. "And they are not it."
(SAME NOT AS ABOVE) A/N: Not my best work. I was doing an exercise, write for fifteen minutes straight and then read what you got. I'm posting this because I want to see what everyone says about this. So please when reading this, keep a critical eye out. This is un-beta'ed and unrevised except for the occasional typo (even then there are probably plenty). Ripe this piece apart readers that is all I am asking for. THANK YOU!