For a long time I'd just stared at the posters. I daydreamed mostly about some way to escape my own mundane life. Each day, I'd stand on the platform, waiting for my train and just stare at the billboard.
It was a pretty picture. The newer ones had a picture of that Magnet guy all done up like a circus freak. Mine was pretty old so it only had the text. Calling it an advertisement seemed inappropriate. It was more of a call, a beckoning, more like the posters of Uncle Sam pointing out people who should enlist for World War I.
When the posters first came out, most people ignored it. They felt so safe in their little bubbles that no mutant could possibly live in their neighborhood. But then Kylie Morse changed one day and turned her living room into the surface of the sun. Nobody but whoever survived the fire knows what happened. Maybe it was arson, maybe not. But when the smoke cleared and ash settled, no body could be found. Some one said that they heard arguing before the flames started. The Morse house wasn't exactly a stable one.
What was once a nice quiet neighborhood soon became a whole other matter. Now self-appointed 'civil enforcers' roamed the streets. They claimed to be deputies of the MRD but their tactics were such that MRD wouldn't publicly admit to it. Graffiti, trash, and bars on every window soon became staples of the area. Now very un-safe, even friends and families eyed each other with suspicion and fear. The whole nation was rife with it. A number of people had moved, either to escape discovery of a real mutation, or to run away from witch-hunt accusations. The neighborhood watch handed out lists of names of suspected mutants. Nobody dared cross the little street thugs anymore, not with one phone call to the MRD standing between you and a collar.
These same thugs had noticed me staring on many occasions and tried to mess with me. I got back in their faces the first time and told them I was just looking at a picture of a pretty beach. There were enough calm faces around, watching, that they took me at my word. But I should have known, nobody who stands up to bullies gets left alone for very long.
First time they jumped me, I was confused. I didn't know what was happening so I was more vulnerable to the attack.
"Mutie-lover."
I was just plain angry the second time.
I wanted it then. The change. The mutation. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. With some real power, I could give those guys a run for their money. Really give them a reason to hate me. Hours spent researching how to jump-start it, when it happens, why it happens, what could happen. I found tons of information, a lot of if bunk, but enough facts to get the picture.
It was never going to happen to me. I'm twenty-three years old, way past puberty, and I've been in more life-threatening, heightened emotional stress moments than I care to admit to.
Because of all my research, I began picking up on things I wouldn't have seen before. Passing people on the subway, on the street, everyone tries to keep their head down and blend in. I'll admit, the first couple of times I thought I finally found a mutant, I was sorely mistaken. As much as I was trying, I still had some stereotypical generalizations of who mutants were, what they looked like or wore. And then, on top of that, you can't out somebody you just blew across at a falafel stand.
The first real mutant I saw was running for his life down Broadway. I know for a fact this was a mutant, ordinary as he could be given the circumstances, because the MRDs were in hot pursuit. They collared him right in front of everybody. His eyes just went from terrified to glazed as the sedative kicked in. MRDs threw him carelessly into the back of the hummer and everyone kept their heads down and ignored the whole event. But there was one or two others who watched the car drive off and I wasn't smart enough to avoid being spotted by more learned eyes. I couldn't even figure out that I was being followed afterwards.
"Are you a mutant?" He asked when he finally made a move.
"What?" I played dumb, not hard. I was scared and surprised at his eagerness.
"I am. I do fire. What do you do?"
"You do fire?"
"Yeah, I'm a pyro."
"Being a 'pyro' doesn't make you a mutant. Leave me alone." Later on I figured out that he meant 'pyrokinetic'.
"You're not a mutant?"
"That's none of your business." I tried to walk away but he jumped in front of me.
"I think it is." More voices joined in. Unfortunately for me, it was a 'civil enforcer' gang of the genetically enhanced persuasion. One girl with purple hair smiled around multiple mouth piercings and her fingers crackled with electricity. "If you're one of us, you should help out your own kind. We stick together. Safety in numbers and all that."
"I don't want to get involved."
"Everybody's involved. Either you're a mutant, one of us. Or you're one of them, flatscans. It's wired into your DNA."
"I'm not picking sides."
"Oh, we're not asking. What's your power, sweetness? We could use a psyke but another elemental would be just fine."
"I'm not anything. I'm nothing."
Understanding dawned on their faces, followed quickly by rage.
"You're one of them, huh? Well, we'll show you what happens to those that mess with our turf."
It was neither beneficial or possible to point out that I wasn't challenging anyone's turf, hadn't impersonated a mutant, or asked to join their little brotherhood. Instead, I found out that an electrical conductor's energy levels are directly related to the emotion she is currently feeling. Sparky really didn't like flatscans. Her fists told me so.
Took me a week to de-frizz my hair.
I guess you're beginning to wonder what I'm doing, still standing here staring at this sign. Why, after getting mixed up with both sides, can I not just keep my head down and shuffle along with the rest of the flatscans? Well, personally, I just don't like being told what to do. And secondly, I don't believe the Magnet guy.
He says that Genosha is a paradise, a Utopia. But that just makes me not trust him, all the more.
He says 'equality', but do you know if humans, flatscans, would be welcome in Genosha? Is there a human on earth that he even likes? Because a man that declares himself 'Homo Superior' is setting someone up to be the 'inferior'.
Disgusted, I look down at my shoes. With all this hate flying around, its no wonder things are as bad as they are. If it's not them, it's us. Always, one or the other! Because, there will always be 'one' or the 'other' until somebody can rise above it all and show some compassion.
That's what I want to do. I want to show some compassion. The revelation of my own personal epiphany raises my head again though my eyes are lost in the wilderness of my own mind.
I know that a great many of you can't pass for normal. I can be your public face: groceries, communication, and, most importantly, an understanding friend. I just need to be given the chance.
So, yes. I will keep staring at this poster. I will most likely keep being in the wrong place at the wrong time until I finally find some place that I belong.
I will keep standing hereā¦
Which is when I discovered I was sitting. In the back of a limo, nonetheless.
"Hello, Evie. My name is Charles Xavier. I have a job for you."
A/N: just a one shot for now. More later, maybe. I've been thinking about this char for a longtime and the only way to really get it down was to step inside her head. I'm really not comfortable with first person so we'll see how this all works out, writing-wise.
