Diary of a Mutant

January 22, 1984 [Thursday]
Sewers of New York
Approximately Beneath Times Square

***GOVERNMENT CLASSIFIEDS***
**ALL EVIDENCE OF MUTATE #495**
*STATUS: DECEASED*
Discovered: Commander Welver – April 4, 2010


The sound of dripping water filled the atmosphere of underground New York. I sat on the wet stone of the Big Apple’s sewer system, far beneath the subway level, collectively pondering over my situation. Life was hard for a mutant; mutants were regular humans born with what was thought to be a mental or physical deformity that, around puberty, manifested into magnificent abilities. These deformities humans were born with were sometimes only noticeable through brain activity patterns – the mental deformities spoken of are regularly unnoticeable, nothing as drastic as Down syndrome or autism; simply a skip in human evolution, a heightened activity of the mind. But the physical deformities caused by said mutation always had a huge impact on the mutated human’s life. Take me for instance: My name is Perry Rauder, but most people call me Amethyst. My entire body, organs and muscles included, are made of strong, amethyst gem, giving me slight protection against gunfire and punches, at the price of turning me into a freak. I’ve been on all the local news channels for various reasons. They call me Gem Boy! Gem Boy? What kind of a nickname is that? What with the all news of German scientists continuing experiments on humans, a failed attempt that they had previously stopped funding back during World War II, all public mutants have been given humiliating nicknames, similar to that of those old sixties superheroes. And besides that, the freaking National Guard has scouted all the major cities in the US, hunting down these “mutants”.


The publicity has even captured the great “Wildfire”, one of my most trusted and bravest friends, which is quite a feat to accomplish. Excuse my pun, but no one thought it possible to tame a Wildfire. Yet they had and they would find the rest of us, eventually. Even the sewers were becoming an extremely dangerous place to call your home. But we mutants stick together in such hard times. After all, it wasn’t as if we had any loved ones to protect us; all our parents shunned us away at birth and dumped us off at a ratty orphanage. We were the Survivors. Ol’ Mom and Dad had been merciful to us compared to others parents. They simply had an abortion as soon as they found out they had a nasty, defective mutant in the womb or handed it over to the doctor for Mutant Disposal. You read correctly: They have dumpsters created for mutant offspring. The hospital takes the babies and throws them into a giant contained, similar to a dumpster. Once they have all been smothered by others, they are burnt in a giant furnace as not to “contaminate” the perfect world around them. But the parents normally have no idea their baby is a mutant. Doc just tells em’ the baby has something wrong with it and must be destroyed, and then takes the baby from the mother and completely abandons it with the rest. My parents escaped with me. Purple skin or not, they would not let me by destroyed – mutants were no a big thing when I was born, so they thought that I just had a skin disease or something. Still, such a baby was not good enough for them and off to the orphanage I went. Hold on, I’ll have to write later, I hear someone coming. It sounds like metal boots – must be the Mutant Control Unit. If I live after tonight, I’ll write another entry. Until then:





With Hope to Write Again,







Perry Rauder