I thought this would be a fun thing to do! I’ve written the beginning of a little diddy -- I have an ending planned, but I thought, hey, what if we did a little collaborative thing? That would be fun! So, here it goes yall. I’ve got the beginning of a story here, and I’m giving you permission to continue it as you will. You can give it an ending, or leave it for someone to add more to! If someone adds something you don’t vibe with, you can go back and write something new! The choice is ours! Have fun, I’m excited to see what you write!!
The words echoed in his head, trapped there by his unfailing memory, right down to the derision of the tone.Â
It shouldn’t have bothered him this much, especially considering so much of his life he had been told his blood was too red. It shouldn’t have bothered him any more than Leonard’s microaggressions bothered him, which was more than they should have but less than was important. He stared down at the cut on his arm, still slowly seeping blood through the rag he had held over it, sharp and stinging.Â
For so long he had wanted that blood to be recognized for what it was, but now it seemed like just another curse. A child of two worlds? No, he was a being of no world, a creation of both but belonging to neither. Neither wanted him, and he wished with all his heart he did not want them either.Â
On Vulcan, at least, the hatred was subtle. Hatred, and other emotions, were, after all, illogical. Humans, though. Humans said whatever came to their minds the moment they thought it -- the novelty of him never seemed to wear off for them like their comments about his ears, eyebrows, blood, the undertone of his skin seemed to wear on him. Now, as a Commander, he was due some sort of respect from them.Â
At least until they thought he was out of earshot.Â
Perhaps if he wasn’t so “pointy-eared,” he would not be able to hear them so clearly.Â
It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, he thought again as the Sickbay door slid open to permit him. Why was it bothering him so much? Nothing more but another drunk Human, another fight, another scar, another injury -- at least Jim wouldn’t be trying to drag him along to shore leave again within the next few months, and he would be left alone if not at peace.Â
“Well if it isn’t my favorite hobgoblin! Come to get your ears checked?”
He had the laser scalpel in his hand before he even thought of reaching for it, and something was terribly, terribly wrong with him, something beyond the color of his blood and skin or the shape of his ears, one of which he had clutched between his fingers. Leonard was staring, face abruptly pale, and both he and Nurse Chapel had made aborted steps forward when he raised the scalpel towards himself without thought.Â
Maybe if his ears were shaped like theirs. Maybe finally, maybe, the color of his blood would be looked past.Â
“Doctor?” His voice was steady through no effort of his own, and he was curiously blank of thought, the wound on his arm where the glass had cut him dripping slowly onto the sterile floor. “I believe something is the matter with me.”Â
“Spock,” Leonard replied evenly, blue eyes seeming to look through him, search him for something no one had ever found in him -- satisfaction. “Why don’t you put that scalpel down, huh? What’s going on here?”Â
“I do not know.” His voice still did not shake. He felt nothing, nothing for the situation, nothing for what he was about to do, nothing for the green blood in his veins. If he were drained dry, he would sit there, and feel nothing. “I wish they looked like yours.”
“What looked like mine? Your ears?” Leonard seemed at a loss, staring, calculating something that Spock did not care to wonder at -- perhaps his worth. “You’re Vulcan, Spock, you’d look funny with my ears.”
“I am not.” He didn’t know where his voice came from, or why it did not shake. He did not know, really, what was occurring. He didn’t seem to be processing any of it, the moment simply flowing through him as it came. “I am not Vulcan. And I am not Human. I wish to be... I wish to be...” One of them. He wanted to be one of them, instead of nothing, instead of no one, instead of not good enough for either race. He wanted to be normal, to not be regarded with racist words by both worlds.
