Magneto Eyes Strange Fruit Out for a midnight flight, I see two children on the playground – the rust of blood crusting over holes in their heads. Their brown bodies dance like marionettes, tangled in the swings. “Mutie” is scrawled across the cardboard that hangs from their swollen necks, the chains wrapped tight enough to tear. I imagine what they did, maybe the ability to turn gla** into sand, to hear rustled leaves as words, something simple, something humans k** for. I reach out, close the girl's eyes, and suddenly I want to rip every man out of his home, make each one burn, reverse the earth's rotation, rupture the core and tear this planet inside out, only so they can know how it feels. It's been so long since I've taught people how to fear, since I've razed their cities, bent steel and split iron into handfuls of dust, but someone must be the villain for the dead.