But fear not! I promised that Supreme Reflections will still update on a biweekly schedule. The last entry of this edition will be one to remember! The X-men's arch nemesis, Magneto, will get the focus. He's been the center and bane of the X-men's struggle and his reflection will help add some perspective in wake of the events of Volume 1: Mutant Revolution. His musings will offer a nice spring board into Volume 2, which is already in the works! I've already prepared a preview for Magneto that I hope will make the wait easier. You can find it below and I hope it is a fitting way to close out the first volume of Supreme Reflections.
I was born into the darkest corners of humanity’s savage nature. My family was Jewish and by whatever cruel manifestation of misfortune, I grew up in central Europe during one of the worst periods in anti-Semitism. This was a time when the Nazi party was on the rise and Jews were being blamed for everything bad that was happening in the world. If there was an economic crises, a natural disaster, or an epidemic the cause was always the same. It was because of the Jews.
Because of this savage bigotry, the only place my family could live in any semblance of peace was a decaying Ghetto in Poland. At the time most of the Jews felt the only means of dealing with this growing tide of hatred was to flee. Every day it seemed someone would disappear for America or some other far-away locale. There was pressure on my father to do the same because he actually saved money and procured wealth through years of dedicated labor.
But running wasn’t in his repertoire. My father was a fighter. He fought in World War I and was dishonorably discharged for fighting more than just the enemy. He was not one to stand idly by while others tried to take from him that which was rightfully his. He taught me and my older sister to be the same. He believed in tough love, teaching us to fight back when we were denied what was rightfully ours. I always fought hardest and he singled me out as being especially strong. He was stern with one hand and loving with another, teaching me lessons in strength and dignity. All the while he never let anyone hold him back. He stood his ground and fought back, even when an entire army came to confront him.
Eventually, he had to face such an army…the Nazi army no less. I was so young, but I’ll never forget the day the troops reached our ghetto. The sheer savagery of these men can never be understated. It was like they were exterminators and we were the rats. They treated men, women, and children with the same care they would a fly. I saw them butcher, rape, and torture. I saw them rip the unborn babies from the wombs of pregnant women and with a smile no less. Everyone in my family was petrified, but not my father. Even in face of such horrors, he grit his teeth and fought back. He didn’t have a gun because nobody let Jews own guns back then. So he used a knife and a wooden stick to kill three heavily armed Nazi soldiers. He would have killed plenty more had they not gotten in a lucky shot that mortally wounded him.
I can still see the look on my father’s face when he entered his final moments. A Nazi soldier callously slit his throat while gutting him with a bayoneted rifle. It was a horrible way to die, but my father’s look of defiance never waned. He even managed to spit blood in their face with his final breath. For every boy unfortunate enough to see their father die, this was the way you want to see him go…fighting till the bitter end. I did not shed tears. I tried to fight back myself, but being so young and weak those sick Nazis just hit me over the head with the butt of their guns. I wasn’t worth killing for them…not yet.
Before they got to punishing me, they thought it would be fitting if they had their way with the rest of my family. They made me watch in my woozy state as they raped my mother and my older sister. They were slow and methodical, making sure to torture them horribly before they finally ended their lives. I could remember every gruesome detail, but it would be useless to dwell on because even through these horrors I did not falter. My father raised me to be stronger than that. I only lowered my head in sorrow when the horrors had ended. My family was dead and there was nothing I could do about it.
They could have killed me for good measure, but they didn’t. They felt I hadn’t suffered enough so they sent me away to a concentration camp. I’m sure if those soldiers were alive today, they would regret not killing me. They thought sending a boy to grow up in a concentration camp would break me. They thought it would crush my spirits and reduce me to a meek, worthless Jew. They were dead wrong.
While I may have a long list of tasks to complete, I still encourage everyone to contact me with their questions or comments. I'm always open to ideas that make X-men Supreme more awesome! Excelsior!