23I just saw Guardians of the Galaxy last night, and thought it was great - especially Rocket. This scene especially touched me, and I felt like I had to write it. If you haven't seen the movie, this story is a major spoiler!
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"Well, I didn't ask to get made! I didn't ask to be torn apart and put back together over and over and turned into some little… monster!"
"There's no one like me, 'cept me."
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Darkness faded back into light as the swirling violet cloud choking the sky scattered like dust in a windstorm, once more allowing the sun to touch the ravaged landscape of splintered steel and crushed stone. Rocket pulled in a strangled half-breath and let go of Drax's meaty finger. Humans dressed in dusty, bright-colored uniforms gathered around the edges of the crater where they stood, staring.
Rocket turned away as the talking and shouts began assaulting his ears and heaved his steps forward, one after another, through the rubble that bit into his feet, eyes down, looking at nothing. The others wordlessly watched him go.
It took all of his energy to stay standing as he neared the place where they had landed- a single epicenter clear of all debris wreathed in a halo of charred bits of bark and twigs.
A noise tried to escape his heart and he fought against it, choking his throat closed until he couldn't breathe. The world swam and gravity laughed as all the strength left his legs and he slumped to his knees. His vision blurred, and he didn't know why - the fur of his cheeks felt wet. Through his haze he rummaged through the dusty ground until one of the smoldering sticks touched his palm. He picked it up, cradling it in both paws, and summoned enough strength to scoot himself back in the dirt to sit on a fallen slab of rock.
A knife plunged through his heart as he stared down at the thin piece of wood in his lap, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth against its rough texture. His vision cleared for a moment as tears slid down the fur of his long nose and dripped to fall on the lifeless stick like useless rainwater.
He still couldn't breathe.
Then he closed his eyes and lost all will to hold it back any longer. A moan built up in his chest and escaped, and he surrendered what little grip he had. A flood of fear and confusion and regret tore through him like ice water as he stared, gaze tear-filled yet unbroken, at the only proof that he had once had a friend. And he had no anger - no hatred - no rage - nothing left; nothing he could call up to shield himself or bury the pain away.
He sat in the desolate hanging clouds of pale dust, ignorant of the uncaring voices in the distance, and his cries finally escaped him. Moans and choked, soft weeping flew from his shattered heart, and he couldn't hold them back.
Rocket didn't notice Drax's approach until the behemoth of a man sat down beside him. Rocket flicked his eyes to him, waiting; but Drax didn't speak. Rocket shifted away and swallowed, bitter shame and embarrassment burning in his chest, desperately trying to hold in new tears. He couldn't let anybody see him crying like this. Crying was weak, fragile, vulnerable - inviting everyone else to cut you even deeper.
Something large touched the top of his head. Rocket stiffened and his breathing hitched. Drax stroked his mighty hand through Rocket's fur, softly sliding to the back of his head and brushing the edges of his ears.
Rocket's breathing quickened. Drax continued petting him, sitting silent beside him on the rocks. Abject consternation rifled through Rocket's scattered thoughts. No one had ever touched him so quietly, so gently. Not when he was broken, when he was alone and frightened.
But he didn't make a move for Drax to stop. And finally, he let all of the last facades of strength fall away into nothingness and allowed Drax to see as he set his cries free and his tears resumed their fall. Drax continued slowly petting Rocket's head and remained at his side, constant and steady, and Rocket found himself wanting Drax to stay there.
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Review, please!