Psyops MKUltra Diary

Chapter 1: The Beginning of a Secret Life

Diary Entry: October 3rd

I'm eight years old now, and this is my first diary. I didn't think I needed one-Mom and Dad said diaries are for older kids, but Andrew gave me this one at school today. He said it's cool to write down your thoughts, especially when you can't talk to anyone else about them. So, I'm keeping this a secret. It feels kinda fun, like I'm part of some hidden mission.

School was pretty normal today. Mrs. Thompson gave us a spelling quiz, and I got "elephant" wrong again. It's such a weird word! She didn't seem mad, though. She gave me a shiny star sticker for trying, and I like those. They remind me of the stars I see at night-always there, even when nobody's looking.

When I got home, Mom was in the kitchen, baking cookies like she always does. I sat at the table and asked her something that's been on my mind for a while-why we don't have any family pictures. Andrew's house is full of them. He's got pictures of his grandparents, his cousins, even him as a baby. But here? We don't have any. Mom smiled, like she does when I ask questions that don't have real answers, and said, "We like to keep things simple, honey."

Simple. I hear that word a lot around here.

Mom and Dad always say it's better to keep things "simple," but nothing about it feels simple to me. Like today, when Dad came home after dinner, instead of talking to us, he went straight into his office. The door shut behind him, and I could hear him talking on the phone. I tried listening, but all I caught was something about "timing" and "the right moment." I don't know what that means. Whenever I ask Dad about the people he talks to, he says, "You're too young to understand."

But I don't feel too young. I'm starting to notice things. Weird things. Like how sometimes, I know what Dad's going to say before he even says it. It's like I hear his voice in my head, but he hasn't opened his mouth yet. I told him once, but he didn't believe me. He got this look on his face and said, "Don't make things up, Marcus. You've got too much imagination."

Maybe I do. But I don't think I'm making this up.

There's something they're not telling me. I can feel it, even if I don't understand it yet.

Diary Entry: October 4th

Today was one of those days where everything felt strange, but not in a bad way. It's just that things keep happening, and I can't explain them.

At school, Andrew and I were playing soccer during recess, and I was thinking about what Mom said yesterday-about keeping things simple. I couldn't stop thinking about it, actually. When the ball flew toward me, I wasn't paying attention. I was lost in my thoughts, thinking about why our house is so different from Andrew's, why Mom always brushes off my questions. Then, just as the ball was about to hit me in the face, it stopped. I didn't even raise my hands. It just... stopped in midair. Like someone pressed pause on a movie.

Andrew didn't notice. He was already running off to chase another ball. But I stood there, staring at the soccer ball hanging in the air, just long enough to make me wonder if I had imagined it. It only lasted a second, but it felt like longer. Then the ball dropped, and everything was normal again.

I didn't tell Andrew. I didn't tell anyone.

How could I? What would I even say? "Hey, guess what-I think I made a soccer ball stop in midair with my mind!" That sounds crazy, even in my head. But it happened. I know it did.

Later, when I got home, I tried to forget about it. Mom was cleaning up after dinner, and Dad was back in his office, talking on the phone again. I couldn't make out the words this time, but I heard a tone in his voice that made me uneasy. It was the way he talked when he was mad about something, but trying to keep it under control.