Inhuman. That's one way to say freak. Mutant. What the media and most of the human population calls everyone that has mutant abilities, including me. Unnatural. What I am. Alone. Who I am. Prison. Where I am. What else needs to be said about the crummy world today? I wouldn't know. I've been in this cell for eight years without any direct correlation to any living thing. If I did, I would've been able to get out of this place the first night I was brought here. My mutation is the 'ability' to talk to trees, flowers, and any flying creature, therefore being able to strengthen them and control them. I once made a flower petal cut through solid steal. This book is the past of my life and present occurrences of my half-dead life full of nothing but injustice.
Disclaimer! I do not own any marvel characters and give full credit to marvel creator Stan lee. I do however own the main character, plot, ect.