There was a poem Jean that remembered. It mentioned fire and ice and the end of the world. The exact words escaped her, but here she stood, surrounded by ice and consumed by fire. This was the way that her world was ending, but this time she was going down alone.
It was red. It was warm and cold and so full of a love that she couldn't name. Wrapping her arms around her, she held herself close and looked up, watching the Shi'ar ship approach waiting for the moment. It was so red, so warm, all fire and ice and Jean knew. She just knew what she had to do as she unfolded her arms and pointed, feet rising from the ice as she engulfed both herself and the ship in flames.
There was another poem that Jean remembered about the world ending in a bang or in a whimper and she wasn't whimpering, but there was no bang as the fire and ice consumed here. There was just Phoenix, just as there was Jean Grey and she knew that this was all there had to be.
The white came, like the calm after the storm and Jean fell back, stumbling and falling as she landed. Her feet slipped with no smooth white neverending expanse to hold them and what she noticed first was the smell. It smelled like fire. It was warmer now, the cold clinging to her but it smelled like fire all around her as she fell, and her feet slipped on the soft earth as she landed on her back almost gently in the mud and the leaves.
The fire was still there. It clung to her clothes, but she couldn't worry about it. Jean wasn't certain why it was there at all.
Opening her eyes, Jean saw blue peaking through the arches of green over head, felt her arms like weights next to her and knew that this was not the White Hot Room. This was not where she was meant to be and where her other pieces were.
"I am Jean Grey," she said, the words coming out in a whisper. "Always, but it's too soon. We're not ready."
Peter Parker, also known as the vigilante, Spider-Man, is one of Marvel Comics' flagship characters. Created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko in 1962, Spider-Man first debuted in Amazing Fantasy #15.
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Date: 2009-04-03 05:36 am (UTC)It was red. It was warm and cold and so full of a love that she couldn't name. Wrapping her arms around her, she held herself close and looked up, watching the Shi'ar ship approach waiting for the moment. It was so red, so warm, all fire and ice and Jean knew. She just knew what she had to do as she unfolded her arms and pointed, feet rising from the ice as she engulfed both herself and the ship in flames.
There was another poem that Jean remembered about the world ending in a bang or in a whimper and she wasn't whimpering, but there was no bang as the fire and ice consumed here. There was just Phoenix, just as there was Jean Grey and she knew that this was all there had to be.
The white came, like the calm after the storm and Jean fell back, stumbling and falling as she landed. Her feet slipped with no smooth white neverending expanse to hold them and what she noticed first was the smell. It smelled like fire. It was warmer now, the cold clinging to her but it smelled like fire all around her as she fell, and her feet slipped on the soft earth as she landed on her back almost gently in the mud and the leaves.
The fire was still there. It clung to her clothes, but she couldn't worry about it. Jean wasn't certain why it was there at all.
Opening her eyes, Jean saw blue peaking through the arches of green over head, felt her arms like weights next to her and knew that this was not the White Hot Room. This was not where she was meant to be and where her other pieces were.
"I am Jean Grey," she said, the words coming out in a whisper. "Always, but it's too soon. We're not ready."