Post by Guido Carosella on Nov 26, 2013 18:45:16 GMT -4
The van rumbled quietly through the Westchester countryside.
Full-sized vans such as this one had fallen out of fashion long ago, but it was clear that this particular one had received some after-market attention. "Pimped-out," as it were, if a van could be described as such. It was painted a deep purple, almost black, and smaller details could be picked out if you looked close. Mostly what appeared to be musical instruments, but a long scroll wound its way around the vehicle, with a name inscribed every so often.
Charles.
Scott.
Bobby.
Jean.
Jamie.
There were others. Dozens of others. Each simply had a date after the name.
The van hung a right at a sign that said Greymalkin Lane, and finally came to a stop by an ornate wrought-iron gate. The driver's door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped out, stretched, and shook her dark hair as she rolled her neck. Small silver earrings in the shape of a skull with crossed guitars flashed in her ears. She was in her late thirties, but looked older, as if she had lived hard in her youth. She looked back into the van and smiled, but her eyes were sad. "This is it."
The side doors popped open and discharged three children, two girls and a boy, ranging in age from around twelve to five. They clustered at the gate, peering through the bars at what used to be a stately manor house. It wasn't much to look at now. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the house had mostly burned and crumbled long ago. It was a wonder that it hadn't been bulldozed to the ground yet. Most youngsters would quickly tire of looking at a pile of rubble, but the three kids were strangely silent, almost reverent. The oldest girl looked back at the van. "Daddy? This is the place you told us about, isn't it? Don't you want to see it?"
"Yeah. Just...just gimme a minute."
After a few moments, the rear doors opened and a pair of massive arms emerged. The ham-sized hands grasped fur purchase on the ground, and hauled a massively misshapen body from the back of the van. The shoulders and chest were massive, and similar in scale to the arms. Below the waist, the legs were comically tiny, almost atrophied. The huge man stood to his full imposing height and stretched, but he had to steady himself with his arms. He adjusted an odd pair of sunglasses on his nose and plopped a tattered straw cowboy hat on his bald head. He ambled over to his family, supporting himself with his arms in an almost apelike fashion.
He felt a lump in his throat as he gazed at the wreckage. But he was seeing it as it once was, not as it was now. The perfectly manicured yard. The bubbling fountains. The wind sighing through the trees. The laughter. Even the arguments.
The youngest looked up at her father. "Daddy, can we get closer?"
The woman shook her head. "No honey, it's not safe. Besides, it's not our property."
The man looked at the brick wall that held the gate. A quartet of bolt holes and some evidence of tarnish said that a brass plaque had once been mounted here. It had read "Xavier School for the Gifted," now long since taken for a souvenir. The man hoped it was with someone who knew the significance of it.
He reached to the thick chain that bound the iron gate together. "Yunno, I don't think the Professor would mind." He snapped the lock like dry firewood, and the gate swung open with a screech of rusty hinges.
The woman gripped his arm and gave him an encouraging smile. With a set jaw, the giant man shuffled through the gate, followed by his family.
They spent hours exploring the grounds, the children pulling their father this way and that, asking a never-ending stream of questions. He patiently answered them all, and pointed out interesting locations or objects, or making them laugh with a funny story. The house was too far gone to explore inside safely, so they contented themselves with a tour of the grounds.
The sun was beginning to cast long shadows when the man's wife patted him on the arm with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. "We should go."
"Yeah. Nothin' left here but ghosts an' firewood, anyway."
He gave a loud whistle, and the children came running from where they had been exploring the overgrown hedge maze. The man stood in the driveway and took one last look at the house.
A half-smile cracked his face, and he gave a cry that was half laughter and half sob. He shuffled towards the front step.
In the middle of the wreckage, the home's majestic front door still stood intact.
The frame had been almost absurdly reinforced at some point. It looked like it could withstand a direct hit from a tank, and judging by the condition of the house, it very well may have. The man reached gently for the knob, and the door swung smoothly open, only stopping when it hit a pile of masonry. Chuckling to himself, he reached around the frame and tapped it closed, and the latch clicked merrily as the door seated. His chuckles grew into roars of laughter as he opened and closed the door several times, and his family looked at each other quizzically. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he closed the door for the final time. He briefly considered taking the doorknob as a souvenir, but no, this door needed to stay put. He dropped to his knees, and, scooping up his family in his oversized arms, he held them tight and wept softly.
It was dark by the time they made it back to the van. The man mashed the chain back together, locking the gate as his children clambered back into the van. He hugged his wife once more and kissed her forehead. She smiled and winked at him, and her eyes sparkled just like they always did. "Let's go."
He nodded, and hauled himself back into the van. His son looked back at him. "Dad, were you really a superhero?"
He sighed as he got comfortable. "Me? Naw, I was just the strong guy." He looked out the window at the ruined home one last time. "I was on a team fulla heroes, though."
The van drove down the lane and disappeared over the hill.
Full-sized vans such as this one had fallen out of fashion long ago, but it was clear that this particular one had received some after-market attention. "Pimped-out," as it were, if a van could be described as such. It was painted a deep purple, almost black, and smaller details could be picked out if you looked close. Mostly what appeared to be musical instruments, but a long scroll wound its way around the vehicle, with a name inscribed every so often.
Charles.
Scott.
Bobby.
Jean.
Jamie.
There were others. Dozens of others. Each simply had a date after the name.
The van hung a right at a sign that said Greymalkin Lane, and finally came to a stop by an ornate wrought-iron gate. The driver's door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped out, stretched, and shook her dark hair as she rolled her neck. Small silver earrings in the shape of a skull with crossed guitars flashed in her ears. She was in her late thirties, but looked older, as if she had lived hard in her youth. She looked back into the van and smiled, but her eyes were sad. "This is it."
The side doors popped open and discharged three children, two girls and a boy, ranging in age from around twelve to five. They clustered at the gate, peering through the bars at what used to be a stately manor house. It wasn't much to look at now. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the house had mostly burned and crumbled long ago. It was a wonder that it hadn't been bulldozed to the ground yet. Most youngsters would quickly tire of looking at a pile of rubble, but the three kids were strangely silent, almost reverent. The oldest girl looked back at the van. "Daddy? This is the place you told us about, isn't it? Don't you want to see it?"
"Yeah. Just...just gimme a minute."
After a few moments, the rear doors opened and a pair of massive arms emerged. The ham-sized hands grasped fur purchase on the ground, and hauled a massively misshapen body from the back of the van. The shoulders and chest were massive, and similar in scale to the arms. Below the waist, the legs were comically tiny, almost atrophied. The huge man stood to his full imposing height and stretched, but he had to steady himself with his arms. He adjusted an odd pair of sunglasses on his nose and plopped a tattered straw cowboy hat on his bald head. He ambled over to his family, supporting himself with his arms in an almost apelike fashion.
He felt a lump in his throat as he gazed at the wreckage. But he was seeing it as it once was, not as it was now. The perfectly manicured yard. The bubbling fountains. The wind sighing through the trees. The laughter. Even the arguments.
The youngest looked up at her father. "Daddy, can we get closer?"
The woman shook her head. "No honey, it's not safe. Besides, it's not our property."
The man looked at the brick wall that held the gate. A quartet of bolt holes and some evidence of tarnish said that a brass plaque had once been mounted here. It had read "Xavier School for the Gifted," now long since taken for a souvenir. The man hoped it was with someone who knew the significance of it.
He reached to the thick chain that bound the iron gate together. "Yunno, I don't think the Professor would mind." He snapped the lock like dry firewood, and the gate swung open with a screech of rusty hinges.
The woman gripped his arm and gave him an encouraging smile. With a set jaw, the giant man shuffled through the gate, followed by his family.
They spent hours exploring the grounds, the children pulling their father this way and that, asking a never-ending stream of questions. He patiently answered them all, and pointed out interesting locations or objects, or making them laugh with a funny story. The house was too far gone to explore inside safely, so they contented themselves with a tour of the grounds.
The sun was beginning to cast long shadows when the man's wife patted him on the arm with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. "We should go."
"Yeah. Nothin' left here but ghosts an' firewood, anyway."
He gave a loud whistle, and the children came running from where they had been exploring the overgrown hedge maze. The man stood in the driveway and took one last look at the house.
A half-smile cracked his face, and he gave a cry that was half laughter and half sob. He shuffled towards the front step.
In the middle of the wreckage, the home's majestic front door still stood intact.
The frame had been almost absurdly reinforced at some point. It looked like it could withstand a direct hit from a tank, and judging by the condition of the house, it very well may have. The man reached gently for the knob, and the door swung smoothly open, only stopping when it hit a pile of masonry. Chuckling to himself, he reached around the frame and tapped it closed, and the latch clicked merrily as the door seated. His chuckles grew into roars of laughter as he opened and closed the door several times, and his family looked at each other quizzically. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he closed the door for the final time. He briefly considered taking the doorknob as a souvenir, but no, this door needed to stay put. He dropped to his knees, and, scooping up his family in his oversized arms, he held them tight and wept softly.
It was dark by the time they made it back to the van. The man mashed the chain back together, locking the gate as his children clambered back into the van. He hugged his wife once more and kissed her forehead. She smiled and winked at him, and her eyes sparkled just like they always did. "Let's go."
He nodded, and hauled himself back into the van. His son looked back at him. "Dad, were you really a superhero?"
He sighed as he got comfortable. "Me? Naw, I was just the strong guy." He looked out the window at the ruined home one last time. "I was on a team fulla heroes, though."
The van drove down the lane and disappeared over the hill.