Icy Eyes

You now see the world through the icy blue eyes of Emily Colder.

It's been hard. All your life after that day. That car accident threw everything awry. You were five and you had pitched a fit when you had to leave the happy kid play land and distracted your father while he was driving. He didn't notice the animal in the road until it was too late and swerved to avoid it. The car hit a tree and you were thrown from it a good twenty feet. That was the last thing you remember from that night. When you woke, it was about a week later and you hurt all over, and were wrapped in gauze nearly from head to toe. Vaguely you could hear the doctors murmur their surprise that you pulled through, even though you seemed to have taken the most damage from the accident. A few days later they spoke to you, told you what had happened, that your parents were lost in the wreck. It didn't sink in until a few days later when you were allowed to leave the hospital to go to their funeral. You hobbled up to the caskets, the heavy cast keeping you snapped leg in place dragging. As you cried you heard the sound of wood shifting and the soft hiss of hinges. Looking up you saw the two caskets open and wrecked flesh trying to pull themselves up to get to you, to comfort you, and you didn't think there was something wrong aside from knowing that they shouldn't move. There was suddenly a panic and someone grabbed you to pull you away and the bodies dropped, your innocent concentration to see them again shaken loose, and you knew it was you who made them move and you could hear them softly saying sorrys and I love yous as you were taken away.

You were taken back to the hospital and you didn't know it until sometime later that your relatives were having you tested for the X-Gene. They didn't want to have a mutant in their family and it was decided that you were to be put in foster care. For years you were in and out of homes and abused for things you could not control, hurt because you were a girl, hurt because you were a mutant, hurt because you were. Finally you found yourself in an orphanage at age fifteen, bitter and alone. Over the years you had grown distant and distrustful to the living having been hurt by them for so long, you often found yourself in graveyards in the middle of the night, just talking to the quiet things in the shadows. You only stayed there for a year, convinced that no one would want you anyway, so why stay. Eventually you found yourself lost in a big city full of seedy people and lovely needles and ready for dead bodies. You hopped from house to house, and alley to alley. Taking big risks and not caring about life. One day you had been approached by a man in a wheel chair, he offered you a place to stay. Something inside you said to go, so you did, but it didn't last. Even those like you, those with abilities and powers unlike normal people, looked on at you with distrust and disgust. They didn't like you for your skill, or the way you talked, or the way you didn't care about life. They wanted you gone, you could feel it when they passed you, you could hear it in their words, you could see it in their eyes. So you left, back into the cold hard streets, and you suppose you liked it better that way.