*** DISCLAIMER: The X-MEN are Copyright (C) 1997 Marvel Characters, Inc.
, and are property of Marvel Comics Entertainment Group. They have been
used without permission. No profit has been made from their use. This
story is Copyright (C) 1997 by Jon Bartley. Hello.

*** NOTE: This story may contain adult language, adult content, and
violence. If any of these things disturb, well, unless you like to be
disturbed, don't read it.

BLACK LOVE (1/?)
By Jon Bartley

PART ONE: "The Wishsmith Skuddly"

It had been four weeks since Scott Summers lost his wife. Jean was shot
twice in the chest while in the shower. The funeral the following
Saturday was well-attended. Prayers were said by the religious and non-
religious alike for the widower Summers, who was unusually missing from
attendance.
     Scott spent the first three weeks in bed, eating any food he was
given. He got out of bed only to relief himself of his wastes. Every
morning he woke and asked if Jean was alive, if it had all been a dream.
Things got better by the fourth week. Kitty Pryde and her boyfriend Pete
Wisdom moved in the next Friday. Kitty tried valiantly to offer her help. 
Scott simply replied: "I don't need help. I don't need anything. I
need Jean."

Scott had it all worked out: On Monday night, he would take his shower.
He would stand in the same place Jean stood when she was shot, then
Scott would reach for a razor, or perhaps, a plugged hairdryer. Whatever
the tool was, it would relieve Scott of his pain and take him to his
love, to Jean. His dead body would be found the next morning, along with
a suicide note on his neatly made bed. The note would be mostly a poetic
love letter to Jean. Kitty would be heart-broken, and then get into a
fight with Pete. The two would break up. Pete would move back to England, 
and Kitty would stay with the X-Men. The X-Men would in six month's
time disband. Ms. Pryde would rush into Peter Rasputin's arms, into the
arms of the man she was *meant* to be with. And everyone would know.
They would know it all went downhill because of Scott, because they had
all failed to help him. On Monday night, Scott decided...

The following Monday morning was Hell at thirty degrees. Snow had fallen
and was delicately dropping flakes of whiteness on the ground. Scott,
full-bearded and smelling of potent foulness, woke, dressed himself in
heavy coats, and went out to purchase a pack of razors. He had taken
with him a twenty dollar bill. Scott had enough left over to buy
something to drink. He bought a beer. Life and its joyous offerings had
no taste to the X-Men leader. Still, he drank his beer on an empty park
bench.
     The snow had been cleared from the sidewalks and rushed errand-
runners of the city swiftly flew past him, paying Scott little regard.
The people around him were fortunate for having loved ones. But they
would never truly appreciate them until they were gone.
     There was a chilling breeze. Dead leaves were pulled away from the
arms of the park trees and blew around. Scott turned. On his right was a
young man no older than he, wearing an old, dusty, black suit with a
black tophat towering over his head. The man tipped his hat and said:
"Hello. My name is Skuddly. I can help you with your problems, sir."
     Scott sipped his beer.
     "No you can't. You don't even know what my problems are." said he.
     "You've lost your wife."
     Scott's eyes darted right.
     "Or girlfriend. Or boyfriend? Partner?"
     Blinking, then placing his beer between his feet, Scott stopped
Skuddly. "No. My wife."
     "Ah. I'm getting better."
     Scott noticed Skuddly was wearing no shoes, nor any socks. He
dismissed it. "So how can you help me?" said Scott.
     "You want your wife back. I can tell. She died suddenly. YES,
that's it. I'm a wishsmith. I was born long ago. I've made thousands of
wishes. And now I walk among you humans, who wish my wishes, and offer
to grant them. I make dreams come true. And I can bring you wife back...
to *life*." said Skuddly.
     "You... you can??"
     "Of course," said Skuddly, smiling slyly.
     "How much would that cost me?"
     Skuddly laughed. "You humans are smart, yes you are. There's always
costs. Always. But bringing your wife back to you wouldn't cost hardly
anything."
     "How *much*?"
     "Nothing big. You wouldn't even miss it. But that doesn't matter
now. The cost comes later. Do you *want* your wife back?" said Skuddly.
     "Yes. More than anything. Please. What can I do? What can you do?"
     "Well, only know that I can do it. And I *want* to do it." Skuddly
pulled out a small notebook and a pen. "Say, what's your name?"
     "Summers. Scott Summers."
     Skuddly jotted his name down. "Summers Scott Summers. Great. Well,
Summers Scott Summers, I... see you were going to end your life today.
Hang on closely to life, and I will be in touch with you within the next
two weeks. Then will discuss how to reunite you and your wife in the
world of the living. TWO WEEKS. Do take care."
     "Thank you, uh, Skuddly. Thank you very much."
     "No problem. We'll be in touch." said Skuddly, and he left with
another chilling breeze.
     Scott sipped on his beer again. The flavor had returned. He'd met a
wishsmith today, something that could not only grant his wish to be with
Jean again, but perhaps other wishes. Scott began to wish other wishes,
other dreams. He finished his beer, then returned home.

To Be Continued...

====================

Let me you what you think. Send all comments to: UFDE94C@PRODIGY.COM
--