Cyrania
Guardian Angel Haruki
N3v3rM0r3
Lurking Krog
RPM
Finetales
mattmanganonIngleside, Texas
“...and in his remarks at the victory party celebrating his successful re-election, the Texas governor vowed to continue his policy of bussing mutants to so-called sanctuary cities.”
“Thank you, Dick. For more on this story, we go now live to Alexa Lujan.”
“Thank you, Larry, and good evening. I’m standing at a bus station in Ingleside – a small town only about a hundred and fifty miles from the Mexican border. Even here, away from the state capital of Austin or the sprawling Houston metro area, we can see the effects of the governor’s edict. Tonight, Ingleside is the first stop for a bus that will make several stops in the state before setting off for New York. No promised jobs, no promised housing. Just one very clear message: Get out.”
The backpack hit him in the chest.
In it were a few clothes. A change of underwear. Pajamas. Aside from it and the clothes on his back, he had five dollars in his wallet.
He was being put on the bus.
He was only twelve years old. “Mamá, no,” the boy begged, tears running down his face.
It was still the same face. The shape, at least. It had started about a year before, when they’d realized his eyes had turned green. Then it had been his hair. Finally, his skin had started to change. Now, even though he was the same, he was different.
He was green. A green face framed by green curls.
A hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt, shoving him back hard. It was his older brother. “That is no mother of yours!”
Hugging the backpack against his chest, the boy just continued to sob. Swallowing, feeling his throat tighten, a softer voice pleaded, “Mamá, no.”
He got no reply, at least from her. The woman simply turned her back him.
His father stepped forward, gesturing angrily toward the bus. “You are dead to this family!” With a second, flippant gesture, the man barked, “¡Descuéntate!"
With that, the man turned his back, guiding his wife back toward the car.
As his brother started to follow, he turned back to spit on the ground at the child’s feet.
Then, they left him.
He stood in that same spot for several minutes, trying to process the pain that gripped him. When he’d finally mustered the strength to move, the green-skinned boy slowly meandered his way to the bus.
As he boarded, he was met by downcast eyes. Misfits. Monsters. Outcasts. He threw himself into the empty seat that he came upon, burying his head into the backpack in his lap.
It was going to be a long night.
And what would happen to him when they arrived..?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PRESENT DAY
The Xavier Institute, Westchester, New York
PRESENT DAY
The Xavier Institute, Westchester, New York
Nothing had survived the fire.
Underneath the Xavier Institute hoodie, he was wearing donations from the fire department that had rescued him – and also extinguished him on several different occasions – before Social Services had finally managed the connection over to the Institute.
Coming from California, the Goodwill t-shirt wasn’t cutting it with the colder New York weather, but it seemed the school anticipated supplying clothes to students.
He’d been handed a piece of paper with the number of the room he’d been assigned, and verbal directions to the boy’s dormitory that he’d managed with only one wrong turn.
Well, two wrong turns technically, but one had been a dead end and so that wrong turn had made itself known as soon as he’d made it. So that one shouldn’t count.
Cracking open the door, the dark-haired California boy poked his head in. “Hola,” he uttered nervously, as his eyes landed upon the figure in the room.
It was a boy who looked to be his age.
...and was green? Like, completely green.
The shock of the other boy’s appearance brought home the reality that Toro was in an institute. A place for freaks.
Monsters, just like him.
After an uncomfortable silence, the boy simply said, “I guess we’re gonna be roommates.”
The green-skinned kid just motioned to the other bed in the room, which didn’t even have linen on it. Just an empty mattress, with a few articles that the green kid started clearing away.
As he did, the green kid casually popped the question. “¿Hablas español?”
“Caló, si.”
“Cool,” the green kid uttered, as he straightened back up and turned back to face the newcomer. “Me llamó Des.”
“Me llamó Toro.”
The name drop seemed to take Des by surprise. “Toro?” the green-skinned kid echoed back, before giving voice to his skepticism. "¿Neta?"
Hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, the California boy just gave a shrug in answer.
It was after that he realized that Des seemed like he was trying to peer behind Toro. "¿Mande?"
“Where’s your stuff?” the other boy asked, innocently.
Again, the California boy just kept his hands inside the pouch-pocket on the front of the hoodie, giving a shrug as he said, “This is it.”
The clothes on his back.
All that he had.
“Oh,” Des uttered, as realization set in.
There was another uncomfortable silence, as both boys seemed fascinated by the floor at their feet. Then, finally, “I... kinda showed up the same way.”
As Toro glanced back up, he found Des trying to give him an awkward smile as he offered, “Is there anything you need? I could show you where to find everything.”
Anything he needed?
How about his life back. Did Des know where to find that?
Drawing in a deep breath, Toro swallowed as he found the word he needed.
“Gracias.”
Underneath the Xavier Institute hoodie, he was wearing donations from the fire department that had rescued him – and also extinguished him on several different occasions – before Social Services had finally managed the connection over to the Institute.
Coming from California, the Goodwill t-shirt wasn’t cutting it with the colder New York weather, but it seemed the school anticipated supplying clothes to students.
He’d been handed a piece of paper with the number of the room he’d been assigned, and verbal directions to the boy’s dormitory that he’d managed with only one wrong turn.
Well, two wrong turns technically, but one had been a dead end and so that wrong turn had made itself known as soon as he’d made it. So that one shouldn’t count.
Cracking open the door, the dark-haired California boy poked his head in. “Hola,” he uttered nervously, as his eyes landed upon the figure in the room.
It was a boy who looked to be his age.
...and was green? Like, completely green.
The shock of the other boy’s appearance brought home the reality that Toro was in an institute. A place for freaks.
Monsters, just like him.
After an uncomfortable silence, the boy simply said, “I guess we’re gonna be roommates.”
The green-skinned kid just motioned to the other bed in the room, which didn’t even have linen on it. Just an empty mattress, with a few articles that the green kid started clearing away.
As he did, the green kid casually popped the question. “¿Hablas español?”
“Caló, si.”
“Cool,” the green kid uttered, as he straightened back up and turned back to face the newcomer. “Me llamó Des.”
“Me llamó Toro.”
The name drop seemed to take Des by surprise. “Toro?” the green-skinned kid echoed back, before giving voice to his skepticism. "¿Neta?"
Hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, the California boy just gave a shrug in answer.
It was after that he realized that Des seemed like he was trying to peer behind Toro. "¿Mande?"
“Where’s your stuff?” the other boy asked, innocently.
Again, the California boy just kept his hands inside the pouch-pocket on the front of the hoodie, giving a shrug as he said, “This is it.”
The clothes on his back.
All that he had.
“Oh,” Des uttered, as realization set in.
There was another uncomfortable silence, as both boys seemed fascinated by the floor at their feet. Then, finally, “I... kinda showed up the same way.”
As Toro glanced back up, he found Des trying to give him an awkward smile as he offered, “Is there anything you need? I could show you where to find everything.”
Anything he needed?
How about his life back. Did Des know where to find that?
Drawing in a deep breath, Toro swallowed as he found the word he needed.
“Gracias.”
