The Mindstorm Chronicles: Chapter One

 

The Mindstorm Chronicles:         Chapter One

 

A true story, a work of fiction, or the work of insanity?

 

You be the judge.

 

 

 

So here I am, I'm seven years old and thinking about the world and all, you learn some pretty heavy stuff when you're at that age. Probably few people consider just what sort of effect celebrating Patrick Henry's famous statement of "Give me liberty, or give me death" will have on the mind of a child who has never heard anything of the like before. So I was thinking about the world, about God, about what my life would be, and then, whatever happened after that, I began to hear voices.

 

Actually it wasn't even the first time. When I was about three and a half I had a discussion with someone and told them I wanted to be a motorcycle officer, but for some reason per the conversation it didn't look like my life was going to work out that way, so I settled for a leather motorcycle jacket which I received some months later for my birthday. I'd grown out of it by the time I started school, though.

 

So, here I am, seven, you know, and the world is suddenly so shockingly real to me as I think about what sort of a price people actually paid to be free. Well, one thing sort of led to another, and then there was a voice that was from someone who said that they were from another planet.

 

Now, at the age of seven and having been quite imaginative, leprechauns wouldn't have seemed all that unusual, and really, new ways of thinking occur nearly every day when you're seven, so maybe not so unusual at all. But I knew enough to remain silent about it, I'd heard of the men in the little white coats. And strongly suspected one had better never take such things too seriously, or they might wind up in a butterfly net.

 

But anyway, the voice seemed quite kind. You know, at the time I had little to no real understanding of the solar system, so I referred to these voices as Martians because, well, I'd at least seen movies that were much clearer than the big ball contraption with little balls extended from it which we hadn't gotten around to yet.

 

Now, as if that just wasn't strange enough, the next thing to happen was even stranger, and far more important in my way of thinking. I was speaking with an American president, who said his name was John Kennedy. I said "Who?" He said "John Fitzgerald Kennedy." And right away I knew that he was somebody of some importance because where I was from it was much more likely that people's middle names were "Bob", "Joe", "May", "Ann", or "Ray".  We lived in an area I fondly remember as Lil' Miss. When we weren't up in the mountains at our isolated cabin, where all of these voices started. And all of that in Southern California.

 

"John Fitzgerald Kennedy..." I thought, boy, life must be tough for a kid with a middle name like that, unless all the kids at his school are just used to middle names like that. And now, just like the aliens, he told me that someone said that he should talk to me. Why I don't exactly know to this day. But talk to me he did. He said, "Do you know who I am?" And my heart sort of sunk because I could just tell that for some reason I should know. Before I finished my next few thoughts he said, "I'm the president."

 

Ok, ok, I thought. Don't panic, you're probably not in trouble or anything. "Um. Why am I talking to the president?" A general question to anyone, aliens, the president or leprechauns, if there were any of those around. The president, and I'd just learned *about* presidents, told me, "Well, I'm having a problem and someone told me that I should talk to you." "Who?" I wondered. There was then a delay as if people were conferring with one another as to what to say. But the "Martian" broke in and said that he had said this to the president. There were a few moments of confusion, and it really took me by surprise, so I asked right away for some down time. I was simply overwhelmed, I mean I had to go remember what I'd just learned about presidents.

 

Right, well that didn't take so long. And after about a half an hour the president was speaking to me again. He might have been alone this time. He felt very close, like his head was next to mine. And he said, "The reason they told me to talk to you is that I have a problem." I couldn't imagine how I could help a president with a problem, unless he needed to talk to a kid. But I don'teven know if he knew that I was a kid. "What sort of problem do you want to talk about?" I asked. "Well..." he hesitated and seemed to be reassured by the "Martian", who really wasn't from Mars but someplace I didn't understand which would have been anywhere but the moon and, Mars, of course. Just that there were other planets was new territory to me.

 

Then his tone became very serious. "Some people kill children." I stopped and thought about that for a moment and then said bravely, "Call the police!" The president said, "Sometimes the police kill children." Absolutely horrified, I then said, "Call the Army!". He then said, sadly, "Sometimes people in the Army kill children too."  That's when I totally lost it and said, "I don't know! Talk to my Dad! I'm just a kid!" And would have nothing more to do with it.

 

The experience shocked me so bad I went in to lay down for a long nap, resisting every urge to say something to someone, and was depressed for three whole days. But after that, I just tried not to think about it too much, and think that as long as I had my dog, I would be ok.

 

 

End Chapter One