Chapter Two
The moment soon passed, and reality returned.
Although, reality was forever warped and knocked askew from the night the vision first haunted me—when I was just a kid—I found myself cast out into the cold and forced to see the ‘truth.’
I was just a child then, but the impact was just as powerful as it is today.
Of course, in the beginning, the visions depth was benign to me; I was too young to truly understand it.
But that didn’t stop everyone from trying to make an excuse for the curious mind of a curious child.
I was forced to meet a lot of people, or rather specialists—people who get paid because they read text books about the human mind, and went to a school where they were given a certificate that declares their all-knowing understanding of the mind— and they of course used their text-book-logic to tell me it was just a vivid dream—a nightmare. ‘It’s all just a healthy sign of a broad imagination,’ or so my therapist had told me and my parents, and the simplest truth settled their appetite for understanding.
But not mine. I was starved. I wanted to swallow all the truths, all the knowledge I could—except there was one truth that I refused to swallow. I knew it would choke the very life out of my eyes.
It was a comforting illusion, it really was. As a writer having a broad imagination is always a bonus, but even as a kid I knew—I believed— it was something more. I knew that they had given me a pacifier of sorts, to stop me questioning things my little mind couldn’t and shouldn’t try to comprehend.
And even as a baby, I hated pacifiers, and hated being silenced.
So, with the ‘specialists,’ theory in mind, and a predisposed and predetermined curious and inquisitive nature sown into my very Skinny Genes, I challenged the theory and my reflection.
The closest thing that I felt could accurately describe the feelings, the sensations and vividness of that ‘dream,’ were lucid dreaming, or more frequently known as Astral projection.
And what in Odin’s name is that?
Out of body experiences.
And this theory satisfied me for a while, for about ten minutes, and then the dream came to me again.
And once again I was answerless and plagued by a chronicle of questions.
The dream carried on and carries on to this day.
I’m sixteen now, I have a much wider understanding of my mind, I’ve learnt a lot about the mind, but still I know nothing. Because the only thing I wanted to know, was still forever agonizingly out of my grasp.
But this morning, everything felt like it had changed.
It was such a minute change that the senses could—or at least I believed would—never discover it; my tongue would never taste it or my hands feel it clenched in my fist, but yet it was so obvious that the human mind was consumed by finding the change.
Like the proverbial nail in the haystack.
I know now the minute change was a click in the mechanics of my mind.
Gears had begun to grind and to churn and something had connected and because of that, because of one tiny, minute and for all intents and purposes insignificant cog in the grand scheme, was altered, a series of events were invoked and it threw everything into motion.
It took my travesty and dressed it in tragedy.
Of course, at that time, I was blissfully unaware, I didn’t even notice the change, but oh did I feel it and whether I was ready or not, I was about to witness the change with my own jaded eyes.
