| [Apocalypse Manifesto] | Explain the human circadian rhythm, recite the periodical
table of elements - backward - now walk into a crowded restaurant
and sit down at a table and order a cup of coffee. So easy to dazzle
them with the big words and the knowledge of an encyclopaedia at tongues tip, but he'll always fear the easy, casual interaction with
all of them, won't he?
Such Irony! Such a clich�, quite frankly. Brilliant mind, bestial body. Never shall the twain meet. The games he has played with himself are as tangled and knotted as the fur which hides his soul, aren't they little Beast. |
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| As a child he masked his insecurities amidst a stream of
intellectualism and loquaciousness. Why say in four words what he
could say in a hundred? The longer the talk, the longer the words,
the bigger he was paid attention to. Indeed, what he permitted for
the sake of acceptance - bounding about to and fro like a chimpanzee
- allowing his tutor to adorn him with the most demeaning of names,
playing the part of the obligatory jester.
All the while, all the time, the truth of Hank McCoy refused to come out. The truth which has been combed down like the annoying cowlick on the tousled, dusty mane he calls a body. The truth is that he is and always has been afraid. Of himself - his intelligence, his strength, his responsibilities - and of them - their fear, their loathing, their envy. And because of that fear he has performed as an actor playing a part and not a man living a life. What a fool. What a waste. Such potential. Such a pity. Destroying him will be an act of kindness. Putting him out of his misery will be the greatest gift he could receive. Sad that I must do this. If not for the rape of will performed by Xavier. Hank could have been the son of my heart, my own pain, my own fears... |