"Lusus Naturae Introduction" by Natalie J Walsh

 ::Introduction::

“Once upon a time, oh in a time so long ago, in a world that was once our own, we ruled the planet, not these freakish clones sent to share our faces and emotions. They, who are granted with abilities that have leapt from the pages of our science fiction novels, walk the streets of the Seven Cities controlling and manipulating, leaving us, norms, forgotten. We, norms, we were once great! We controlled a different kind of world so long ago, you see, we built great cities that flowed to the horizon, controlled great forests that were laid out over hundreds of thousands of acres. Now, all Americans can see in their daily lives are the few hundred acres we have left, all of it well manicured and landscaped, spread out amongst the Seven Cities. Seven great Cities make up the old America, how can it be so that there is no room left for the wilderness that was once a part of our great nation.

I tell you, we were once great, we once were the ones who had the ability to dominate and be oh-so rich, living in those sky touched buildings and looking down at the ants that walked the different meaningless world below us!” My cry was sent over the heads of a score of children, bright-wonder filled eyes peered at me, an old man, with my fist frozen in a moment of victory upon a mountain that I remember climbing such a long time ago! Or… maybe it had been a dream; you might say that I was beginning to feel the wear that time has on an old man’s memory.

Well, on to better things, these children seemed to really listen to me, maybe they would help me to rise against the ones that called themselves Gifted. Maybe I had finally found a group of followers that would help me with my quest to regain a world that has been lost for centuries. Maybe…just maybe, I would become ruler and make sure everyone followed the old ways properly.

Just as this thought came to mind one of the little brats summoned a ball of energy, it flew straight for my mountain. As the energy hit the face of the mountain the sound of ripping of cardboard could be heard, the place I had chosen to perch toppled with all the other cardboard boxes that had held it up.

I was buried, needless to say the little twerps did nothing to help; they just stood there and giggled, as if this was funny. I, a delicate old man, lay under three or four layers of cardboard, and the little good-for-nothings thought it was funny. What was the world coming to; this had to be some sort of twisted foreboding of what’s to come. Where are their mothers, I am tired of babysitting mutant children who enjoy laughing when they use their powers to topple an old man’s mountain of victory.

This wasn’t the first time my moment of victory had been so short lived at the hands of these ingrates, last week it was a horse that was shot out from under me as I rode away from a tribe of angry Indians in the Wild West, trapping me beneath the couch and nearly breaking my hip. The same energy throwing muteling that moments before destroyed my mountain, the week before last, killed the eagle I had been riding after my victory of destroying an army of orgs sent to kill me, this encounter with casualty left me with a face full of dirt and a swing set sheared in half. This was all extremely upsetting, and beginning to wear on a certain old man’s nerves.

All the sudden, a knock at the door tells me that the mothers have finally decided to show up, and so I thrust what is left of the cardboard boxes aside. I then herd all the little mutelings to the door and shove them one by one onto the porch shouting out “ Get your mutelings, get’em while they ain’t got tails!! Get your mutelings!!!” Each child I thrust out the door was thrust into the one that had gone before. The mothers all wore big smiles, as if the sight of their weird, giggling creations was a good one.

None of these mutelings had yet gained the names they would carry on into adulthood, so most of them were called by the names of the norms, there was a Sally, whom always had the sniffles, and constantly enjoyed lighting my poor calico’s tail afire. There was also a Sara, she was a talkative wench, full of the dictionary I like to say, always ready to make you jump clear threw the roof the way she was always appearing here and there. Then of course, there was Travis, the little devil’s child that harassed my daydreams and continually damned my plots to the riches of the world with his little orbs of energy.

You might think it strange that I choose to baby-sit the children of those that I wish to put out of power someday, however, it may seem silly to the untrained eye, but to those that know their business know that one must be close to their enemy in order to defeat them. Also, the pay is not terrible.

Besides, you might say I was in the habit of caring for the little half-bites, they sort of kept on coming even after my sweet little Sophie left this world. She was better known as Gran, not that she had any real grandchildren but most of the ones she took under her wing decided upon it out of the necessity of a title for their guardian. Oh how my woman had one giving soul, not that I don’t of course, it’s just that hers was a bit more noticeable...