Utopia: An X-Men Story

Chapter 4

School let out and already the streets were busy. People heading to and from work, getting ahead in life or just coasting through. The bus stop was filled with the usual: my cranky, old neighbor, Mrs. Glathmestein; the vicarious younger man who's name I didn't care to know; Ramona and her three young children; and Ji, the apartment bellhop. He was off duty and headed to work. I walked up and leaned against the overhang.
"Now what were you up to today, young lady?" Mrs. Glathmestein murmured through her newspaper.
"Just school. Like always."
She pursed her lips. "Just school? I don't believe a word you're saying." She turned to Ji. "Most likely, she was up to some shady business."
"Oh, lay off the girl." Ji sputtered. "She's a good kid. And smart too."
"Too smart for her own good?"
"Yes. I mean no. I mean-"
"You don't know what you mean, young man." She folded up the paper and stuck it in her purse. "Now you listen here, Kyrany. Stay. Away. I will have none of your family business."
"Yes, ma'am." I rolled my eyes. The routine was daily. Habitual. I would show up and she would find error in my existence; she wasn't the only one.
The bus pulled up and we boarded. As I sat down, the people around me moved and began whispering.
"Advert your eyes."
"Don't talk to her."
"Isn't that-?"
"Yes."
"Oh my..."
Ramona sat on the other side of the train and smiled at me. "Don't listen to them. They're all wrong about you."
I liked Ramona. She was sensible and had a good head on her shoulders, however, she too was scared of me. I could tell. She always held her children close when I approached, always sat on the opposite side of the bus, just a row or two away, and she always ignored the door when I came knocking. Still, she talked to me, be it just a few words. A few words were good enough; better than none.
The bus pulled out and began making its way to the apartment. I put in an earphone. At last, quiet amongst the noise.

I thought about what Dr. Dilly taught in his lesson earlier. Never being able to say what you want, stuck. He told us about his childhood there. His less than basic education, distant parents, and punishment for anyone seen as different. There weren't a lot of mutants in Old India. Most lived underground or fled. He fled. I thought of him as inspiring.

When I arrived home, the building was quiet like normal. The neighbors had memorized my schedule in order to avoid me. Ramona entered the building first while towing her children behind her. She quickly got in an elevator and went up. I waited and then followed. She was in her apartment by the time my elevator arrived to the floor. I unlocked my door and went inside.

I turned the faucet on in the bathroom. Water splayed against the sink as I dipped my toothbrush in and shoved it into my mouth. Mint. Disgusting. The light bulbs above the sink illuminated the small bathroom; it was quaint. I had made it so, but no matter how hard I cleaned and scrubbed, nothing could remove the blood stains from the porcelain. I stared at them.

It was hard to think that it had been more than a decade since dad had brought home his first girlfriend since mom walked out on us. She was #93: diced up in the bathroom and disposed of somewhere else. Her stuff was still tucked in the closet, somewhere behind old scrapbooks and memorabilia. I didn't know why he did it, but she was a nice girl. I was seven when she was still alive and used to bring me little candies. She had only one flaw that I knew of: she thought she could heal my dad. Nothing could heal him.

I was nine when they killed my father. He deserved it, they told me. He was an awful man, they said. I didn't want to believe it, but I did. I was given no other option.

"Your name will be all over the papers," grease dripped down his chin as his teeth stripped the chicken from the bone. His last meal. "You'll be famous, just like your daddy."

"But I don't want to be famous like you. You hurt people." I watched him from the other side of the glass. The hulking figure, crazed and devious, stared back at me. He had this look in his eyes that pierced your very core and left you wondering just how many people he had killed. Then, without realizing it, he would smirk his answer. He stopped counting a long, long time ago.

"You don't have a choice." He snarled, fangs bared. "It's in the name, Kyrany. My father had it, his father had it, his father's father had it, and his father's father's father was the one who drenched that name in blood with the very claws you and I bear. There is no escape."

I bit my lip and looked at my hands. Each finger was mantled with one long, thin claw. "You didn't have to follow that tradition."

He laughed and continued eating.

"You didn't have to hurt all those people. They had families and lives and-"

"I had a life, then I was saddled with you after your stupid mother ran off with some nobody."

"You lived the life of grandpa, not your own. You followed in his footsteps."

"Smart girl." He filled his mouth with one last bite. "You'll make a decent Creed yet. Like father, like daughter."

As they dragged him away to his end, I could only sit quietly, listening to him as he swore and screamed and silenced. I could still smell his meal in the air and how terrified he really was. If only I could have helped him. I swore I loved him then and would have tried, but was he right? Was I really going to end up like him? A murderer, cold-blooded like all who had come before me?

A guard had entered, touched my shoulder, and lead me out to the hard glare of the camera. The paper read as follows:
CREED EXECUTED, LEAVES BEHIND YOUNG DAUGHTER

Notorious serial killer, Anthony L. Creed, executed early yesterday morning, one month after his trial concluded and declared him guilty of no less than one hundred forty-seven unconnected murders. He leaves behind daughter Kyrany Mae (9) to deal with the aftermath of his crimes. Daniel Oskowitz, social services worker, left media with the comment about her unclear future. "The girl will be taken care of. We are working now to find her a wonderful home with a more caring environment. Until then, she will be housed with current elementary students at the Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters: Central Utopian Branch, where she can begin receiving a formal education."

After interviewing several neighbors, it became very clear to us how dire the situation was. "He was always in and out of his house and Kyrany very rarely ever came out to play with the other kids," an anonymous source stated. "Things just didn't feel right, especially knowing their background and those specific genes they come from. I'm just so thankful we weren't targeted, not with-" (More on page 9)

Reading what the reporters had to say, I knew what my destiny was. Like father, not like daughter. Afterall, I didn't have a choice. None of us did.

I put the toothbrush away and curled up on the couch in a blanket and drifted off to sleep.