Articles, 1

by ALC Punk!

The young woman looked up at the figure seated in the hoverchair and smiled, "Reading."

"And what are you reading, child?" The old woman asked as she had for the last ten years. Though her eyesight was gone, she could easily follow the scuffles of the girl's movements and directed the chair closer.

"Old newspaper clippings," the red-haired fourteen year old replied, tilting the portfolio more into the light. "Yours, gran'ma."

"Ah, yes." A reminiscent smile creased the old lady's features. "Back in the day when I was nothing but a hack--still am nothing but a hack, but I've lived. Parker used to call me that--hack." A dry chuckle escaped the cracked lips. "But I outlived him, the annoying little bugger."

"Gran'ma, you've told me this before." The teenager said, rolling her eyes. "How you were an intern at the Bugle and clashed a few times with Peter Parker and once met Spiderman."

"I have, haven't I?" The old woman sighed, sadness flitting across her wrinkled face. "And what do you think of them, Dariana?"

"I like them." Dariana paused, her brow wrinkling. "You--you were so--vibrant, back then." she said softly. "But really, gran'ma, 'bugger'? *No one* says that anymore."

Her grandmother laughed then and if a few tears mingled, niether remarked upon them. "Dariana. . ." Her voice trailed off. How to continue the ritual, this time?

Dariana waited and gently flipped the pages of the portfolio, reading a line here a phrase there. Here an article, there a column, and a few scattered pictures. Some of her grandmother--so much younger--head thrown back, laughing. Others of people she didn't know. A very few of actual news events.

"Gran'ma, who was Matthew Hale?"

"Hale. . ." The old woman's brow creased. "I'm afraid I don't recall, child. Why don't you read the column I mentioned him in?"

"There's more than one," Dariana began hesitantly, "But, I think I'll choose this one." And the ritual went on. . .

Dariana read, "All Thin People Must Go!

"Gran'ma, do I need to read the byline?"

"If you wish, dear."

"OK." Dariana began again, "All Thin People Must Go! By ALC Punk!. "I woke up this morning with the realisation that all thin people are evil. "See, there was this article in the morning paper about Matthew Hale and his World Church. Seems Matthew and his followers--all 4,000 of them--wish to rid the world of three-quarters of it's population. All due to skin color. "So, hey, I'm gonna lead the crusade to rid the world of skinny people! "First, we'll have tests and examinations to make sure some of the skinnys aren't fat people in masquerade (and vice versa). I think someone said it's the metabolism--beside the point, though. "Then, we round all of them up and tattoo them with a big, honking 'S' on their foreheads. That way we'll be able to identify them easily! "Next we make them do all the dirty jobs--after all, someone has to do them. Like cleaning up the garbage--oh, wait, that would be them, wouldn't it? Heh. "And the streets! We'll have them clean the streets! Ponce de Leon, eat your heart out! Gold streets? Pah, we'll be able to eat off them. "After segregating the skinny from the cool, I say we turn our attentions to the blondes of the world. Especially the fake ones. Those are the WORST. Then we sterilise them. After all, do you really want THAT in your gene pool? "Oh! And all those people with long, graceful fingers should go, too. Can we say 'sledgehammer'? *Crunch* No more graceful fingerbones, sweeties! "But I'm digressing from my point. Which was, can you judge someone by something they were born with? "According to Hale and his 4,000 followers, that's a big, resounding YES! "Personally, I think all the people with small feet should be shot on sight. You?"

The old woman sat there, a smile creasing her lips. "You know, Dariana, that column caused my editor kitten-fits."

"I'm not surprised. Jeeze, gran'ma, you really had it in for the thin people." The girl carefully closed the portfolio.

"Not really. I was trying to point out to everyone the utter hypocrisy and stupidity of racism." She sighed. "Not that it helped. Mutants were still hunted and feared. Racism still continued hurting families. Lives were still shattered."

Dariana stood and stepped towards the old woman in the hover chair. "But we can try, can't we? It's not all futile, is it?"

The worried tone alerted Ana and she smiled at her only grandchild, "No, it's not. Even now we can do things."

"Oh, good."

tbc

Disclaimer schtuff: Peter Parker and the Bugle belong to Marvel. I'm sure Matthew Hale and his followers belong in hell. Oh, sorry, was that aloud? Ana and Dariana are mine.

I'm not sure if this fits any of the challenges, though it may brush the self-insertion, the storyteller and the non-x ones... *smirk*

For me, this was rather experimental, and, so, since I don't normally ask for feedback.. *ahem* If you do think this is even slightly worthwhile, please let me know? Thanks.

Oh, and before you ask, NO, I did NOT boink Peter. Geeze, people, get your minds outta the gutter. Remember, as you get older triumphs become larger. ;)

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