Midgard

At the age of nineteen I was attending a boarding school my parents had sent me to. I hadn’t heard from them since they dropped me here, and I doubted I ever would. I didn’t know if I had any siblings, if I did, they could have been sent here and I’d be unawares. Every newborn left on the doorstep, every crying child left wailing outside the front gates, every rejected teen could have been my blood, my family. But it was like that for every mutant here. We just didn’t know, we couldn’t. Mornings would curl around us, with new worries and fears not far behind. So many thoughts had to be avoided, and family was one of them. Everyone at Longleaf Boarding had their different talents; with some kids you could see they were strange just like you can see a nose on a face, and some were unnoticeable until you talked to them, interacted with them, got to know them. I was one of the latter. Gifts, powers, mutations; these things you’d find yourself guarding as best you could, it wasn’t polite conversation. Avoided like the plague.

Paint had begun chipping from the walls, we had no funding to redecorate, just the bare minimum to keep us alive. Food was low, technology outdated, and morale almost lost. Bitzego; our newly elected leader, president, warlord. Loved by most, hated by the minority. We all felt helpless as he won the elections. He was chosen because our world was in discourse, we were a problem that needed to be fixed. A group of us, my gang of friends that had formed, were gathered around the small, grainy television set in our House Lounge. Looking over their faces wasn’t easy. Strained eyes, tense hands and twitching legs. Anxiety flowed from one to the other like a river of despair.

I was sat in my favourite armchair, the material faded and worn, with my legs strewn over one of the arms. Trying to seem at ease, comfortable; a façade. Jamie was standing behind me, his forearms leaning on the back of my chair. If I were to look up, I’d be able to see his nostril hairs moving as he breathed. I felt for him the most; his sister, also mutated, had left him behind years ago. She escaped these walls before times got bad. I glanced at his arms, dark hairs resting on his skin, and wished that we had left with her. Yarden was sat on the floor next to me; leaning backwards on his palms with his legs stretched in front of him. Holly was behind us, facing away from the television set. I looked at her back, admiring her hair, listening to the familiar rustle of packets. She was sorting snacks on the kitchen area cabinets, using food to busy our nervous hands.

Mathew was sat on a wooden dining chair just behind Yarden. His hair was dishevelled, he’d decided against wearing a shirt. I couldn’t decide whether it was down to lethargy or depression. It didn’t matter. Bags lined his eyes, he’d been dreading this moment. We all had. Holly opened up a bottle of lemonade and poured out seven cups, the liquid fizzing as it hit the plastic. The sound resonated around the cheap, fragmented room. John sat in long clothing, covering most of his skin, just in front of Juniper and Brandon. They were opposite me, sharing a large armchair. Her legs were wrapped in his, their arms and fingers all tangled too. Holly handed out everyone’s drinks, before placing out three large bowls on the floor. We waited for the speeches to start.

The upcoming speech would give us a glimpse into our future. We all wanted to know what was to become of us. As we sat, sipping our drinks and nibbling mindlessly on food, the moment arrived. A stout man, of under average height, walked up to the podium. An unflattering side-shot revealed his need to stand on a stool to reach the microphone. He huffed for a few seconds, catching his breath from the few steps he took. Leaning over the podium, his eyes gazed out to the crowd, staring them down. Strands of hair fell onto his forehead, clinging to the sweaty skin. His mouth opened, wide and dark, and words flowed out of his mouth.

“Ladies and Gentlemen; the day has arrived for our home to be restored to its once glorious stature. The public voted for me, and so I will clean up the streets.” The crowd began clapping and roaring, going wild for his words. It was like he was feeding them happiness through the air. They lapped it up, drank it up, couldn’t possibly soak up more. “I’m going to be honest; I will level with all of you, man-to-man. The first thing I will do is take care of the Savages.” The crowd’s cheers didn’t slow.

A man behind the podium, tall and thin, tried to stop Bitzego’s words. He was part of his team, one of the people who would lead Midgard, and Bitzego’s security stopped him in his tracks. They carted him away quickly and efficiently. He tried to grip onto anything on stage, to get a good grip, to try and stop this madness. “They plague Midgard, fill our streets with violence and fear, and strike terror into our hearts! But I promise, I solemnly swear, to rid the world of the atrocity the Date of E bought us. I will return the deviants, the freaks, the monsters to their rightful place!” Laughter erupted, along with clapping and cheering. Elation, complete happiness emitted from the streets. Could they be so uninformed that they believed he was talking about the perverts and the criminals? No. They couldn’t, because he wasn’t. He was talking about us – Mutants. The crowd must have known, they must have.

Everyone in the room was left reeling as the man continued to speak about upcoming political polls and votes that would decide on how to proceed. I looked at the room in silence, bemused. Other’s had lost their nerve, swiftly showing their feelings of discomfort. Juniper looked queasy; her skin slowly turned a pale green as Brandon whispered in her ear. She unwound her legs from his and pulled herself upright, she was unsteady. His hands latched onto her elbow joints as light green vines began to appear. Beautifully, slowly, calmly; they pushed through his fingers. She was unable to contain her emotions, which in turn caused her gift to blossom. No one watched her leave, we all knew we’d have to help rip the vines from the walls, it had happened before. Only now we couldn’t repaint.

Maybe we should leave the vines this time, I heard the mumbling above me, I knew this voice well – Jamie’s thoughts. Looks nicer than rotting wallpaper. I smiled at his positive attitude, watching Juniper leave. What was coming now? The government would contain us, list us as grades of dangerous, put us in “safe” locations, taunt us, mock us, and make us feared. I processed my thoughts, it would at least be a year before we were tagged. We still had time to escape.

Something caught my attention in the future, I wasn’t even looking. It was there, like a bad dream. The churning, sick feeling crept up my oesophagus. I snapped my head to the television set. Panic stricken, my whole body tensed and I kept my eyes focused on the corner. The set was showing the crowd; screaming, smiling, waving and even crying in joy. I was waiting like a predator. I caught a glimpse of a dark, hooded figure appearing amongst the people. I almost heaved. Voices swarmed my head, all their thoughts and worries pressing into me, they were watching. I pointed to the corner. I was seeing something important.

“There!” Holly screamed. She moved backwards quickly when she saw the figure. Jamie gripped my shoulders with both his hands. I watched the three of them, unable to stop what was happening. Unable.

“This isn’t good... She’s going to...” My words tumbled out of my mouth as I pushed myself off the seat and leant on my knees, clutching my hands on top of them. The camera changed to a view of the new President. He was standing on the podium, waving and blowing kisses to the fans. The figure appeared next to him, out of nowhere, and grabbed his chubby neck. A mutant. A teleporter. The hood obscured the person’s face as they lifted him in rage, before throwing him to the ground. One of us was going to murder him. While he was on the floor, barely breathing through shock, the person disappeared and reappeared several times, with each disappearance a body guard would vanish. The pixels in the television set couldn’t keep up. None of us could move, we were astonished, with the screams of the crowd washing over us like white noise. We could do nothing but watch as the hooded figure returned, just seconds after throwing the President down.

The hood came down, and underneath it was a familiar looking girl. Holding herself rigid with a slight frame, she looked menacing; dirt was smeared all over her face like war paint. She glared at the President, moved her mouth to his ear, and whispered something. The movement was shielded with her right hand. No cameras could see her words. She leaned away, and smiled a broad and exhilarated smile. She lifted her left leg at the knee, and stomped her foot down hard on the stage. A small blade, a knife, shot out of the end of her boot. Bitzego’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets, he knew he was about to die.

I heard Holly gasp and slap her hands over her face, preventing her from seeing any more. She couldn’t watch, moving to the kitchen counters, I heard her trying to calm herself; whispering words I didn’t want to hear. The unknown kept her leg straight, and swung it back, her arms swinging too, before plunging the knife underneath his jaw. The top of the knife poked through the top of his skull, splattering blood and brains over the stage. His body fell, with her knife still attached, and she fell, too. Her body crumpled to the floor. She looked over her shoulder, her face was holding an expression somewhere between confused and excited. Guards, more of them, raced toward her. A wide smile spread across her face, distorting her into a wicked creature, before she disappeared.