Midgard

My name was Rosemary Thatcher. I was born one year after the Date of E. I was the first of my kind to be born, the First Born. I was one of many children born different on Midgard. I was a Mutant; genetically and biologically different to most other humans. I had an additional part of the brain normal people did not have. Eventually scientists settled on the name “Transmutal Cortex”. After a lengthy period of time, this little bit of brain allowed me to gain control of incredible force and power. When I was younger I didn’t realise I was unusual, only when my parents started taking me to strange clinics did I begin to understand. Reading minds was always easy, as easy as listening to people talking, but as I aged I began to tune into the world around me.

I’d started seeing things in my mind. Peculiar images I knew, deep down, were factual and correct. The first thing I ever saw was a meteor flying through space, harbouring microscopic life. This breathtaking scene passed through my mind hundreds, possibly thousands, of times. The scene was like something from a motion picture, and I grew to know every particular detail. This magnificent, large hunk of rock cemented my knowledge of the world. It changed my life and my gift.

It took me a long time, but I learnt that the meteor was the start of my world – that small, insignificant lump with a few little cells made two civilisations. While hurtling through space, the meteor split into smaller, more manageable chunks. To me, it looked like the universe knew the life it carried was important and would evolve and expand. These pieces of rock collided with different planets, in different systems, not too distant from each other. One planet was larger, already providing life to animals – dinosaurs on planet Earth. These animals gave their lives so humans could prosper, and they did. The other planet was my home, Midgard. Mutants evolved and were chased down because they were different.

Before I could realise my own potential, before I had a tight grasp on life, I was murdered. I was twenty. I held no hatred for her, my murderer, even in my last moments, when she was twisting the knife in my back. She’d had a hard life, this was no excuse, but I felt for her. My death caused me to evolve, again, and now I know more than I could have ever dreamed. I understand the world we lived in – she could be harsh, cold, and uncaring, that I will not deny; but I still believe that my life was fair, and I was lucky to experience it. I am not one singular person with name or title, but I am the fabric of reality, the universe, every world and every star. I can see everything that has been, is presently, or will be. I feel everything in the universe like a spider in a web. I watch everything unravel, able to live through everyone I knew. Without The Explosion, without the Transmutal Cortex, I would not be one millionth of the being I have become.

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When I was young I found life fascinating. Every aspect seemed to attract me and pull me into it. I marvelled at other people’s lives, no matter how dull and dreary they might appear. Just watching their daily routine could entertain me for weeks on end. I’d be completely absorbed in everything they did, down to the tiniest detail. I used to watch the neighbours every day. The one who interested me most was the lady opposite our house, maybe it was because I could see in all her windows, maybe it was just convenient, maybe her mind was the loudest.

I would sit on our window seat and watch her bungalow. The white paint on the exterior wall would reflect dim sunlight in the early evening, the yellow and pink flowers on her bedroom windowsill would sway and dance in the breeze. Once a week she’d return home at least two hours late, open up the boot of her car and start dragging large shopping bags, full of food, into the kitchen. I would watch her meticulously pack each item into its usual place, closing the fridge and cupboard doors after each time she ventured in. I found her routine enthralling, I enjoyed it when I noticed small differences, and always pried into her mind to find out why the change had happened.

Eventually my neighbours had bored me, their lives had become increasingly dull, so I tried to find something else to do. Instead, I found a new love. I’d looked up at the night sky and I found the stars. I didn’t want to watch people anymore, so I focused on the small glimmers overhead, too far away for me to reach. When the lights in the city got too bright, with voices and music thudding through my ribcage, I would sit outside the city limits of Longleaf and find a quiet place to watch the sky. The stars would shy away from the street lights – it was almost like they felt the artificial glimmer overwhelmed them. Out here I could see the universe, all its mysteries and wonders staring down at me. Outside the atmosphere, outside our world was a powerful place that we could never fully comprehend. But I could.

I was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. I could understand the mysteries, I could understand everything. All it took was a little concentration, a little perseverance, and knowledge would seep into my pores. It felt like I was absorbing secrets that man shouldn’t know. I felt special knowing more than most. I was able to see how hard Jörð had worked, and I was being passed all of her wisdom. I enjoyed these times I spent with nature, stretching and testing my gift as far as I could, but each time I returned from a night-time session of reflection I couldn’t help but listen to the uneasy, gut wrenching fear I would experience.

As it turned out, the feeling was more than an instinct, and my gift was preparing me for the most significant day of my human life.