We went into the woods behind my old highschool and explored them for a bit.
Long story short, she fucking bit off the head of a chipmunk.
Pic related: It's my dog.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Walk With My Dog.
We went into the woods behind my old highschool and explored them for a bit.
Long story short, she fucking bit off the head of a chipmunk.
Pic related: It's my dog.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Brain
Table of Contents
Log 1: I woke up in a hospital bed. My head hurt, I reached up to feel it and found that my head had been shaved. I ran my hand down from the top of my head and it crossed a line of stitches. I began to panic, and that's when five or six men in white coats rushed in, restrained me, and then one of them injected me with what I am guessing was a tranquilizer. It was slow to affect me, but when it did, I went under very quickly.
I awoke again (this is pure guesswork, there were no windows, no clocks, and therefore no way to tell time) perhaps a few days later, feeling very famished. I felt my head again. The stitches were removed and a thin stubble covered my head. There was a definite thin scar across my forehead where the stitches had been, and it felt like there was a bump in my skull under the stitches. I decided to try my luck and call out for a glass of water. "Hello! Is anyone out there?"
A voice responded, "Stay there, just a moment."
I complied, fearing that if I did not, bad things were sure to happen, specifically a return of the tranquilizer. I checked my surroundings. There were, as I have mentioned, no windows, and one door. I was strapped to a steel gurney with a thin mat between me and the cold steel. I had an IV attached to my arm. I couldn't turn my head far enough to see what was in the bag it was feeding from. There was a TV in the corner of the room, but is looked as though it hadn't been used in years.
"Alright, Mr. Smith. You called?"
"My name isn't Mr.Smith..."
"Really? What is it?"
"Uh... Damn. I know it wasn't Mr. Smith."
"Well, what was it? I'm listening."
It was like something was deliberately clouding my brain. "Uh... I... Call me... John?"
"Okay, your name is Mr. John Smith?" I realized that I was playing into his hands perfectly. But my mind was too fouled up to do anything about it. So I cooperated.
"May I have a glass of water?"
"Yes. Stay here, while I get it."
The man left quickly. He was short, stout, and bespectacled. He had no hair on the top of his head, just on the sides of it, and he walked with a cane. It seemed as though he only used the cane because he liked it, not out of necessity. He returned a little under a minute later carrying the glass of water. He carefully unstrapped one of my hands and I grabbed the glass of water and began to drink furiously.
"I should take this time to tell you that the operation has been confirmed as a success. The memory loss you are currently experiencing should wear off in a few days, at which point we will give you the allotted sum promised by the contract you signed prior to the surgery."
"... What operation? The one in my head?"
"Yes, that one precisely. It has been confirmed as a success by EEG scans of your brain waves, particularly the theta waves. Activity in those regions has increased by a thousandfold."
"What does that mean?"
"The implications of the surgery will be explained to you in a few days, as part of the recovery and rehabilitation process."
"... Oh. What's in this IV?"
"Mr. Smith, I think it's best you go back to sleep." He said before, blindingly quickly I might add, he injected a heavy dose of the tranquilizer into my arm. The last sound I heard was the glass shattering on the floor next to the gurney.
Part Two
Log 1: I woke up in a hospital bed. My head hurt, I reached up to feel it and found that my head had been shaved. I ran my hand down from the top of my head and it crossed a line of stitches. I began to panic, and that's when five or six men in white coats rushed in, restrained me, and then one of them injected me with what I am guessing was a tranquilizer. It was slow to affect me, but when it did, I went under very quickly.
I awoke again (this is pure guesswork, there were no windows, no clocks, and therefore no way to tell time) perhaps a few days later, feeling very famished. I felt my head again. The stitches were removed and a thin stubble covered my head. There was a definite thin scar across my forehead where the stitches had been, and it felt like there was a bump in my skull under the stitches. I decided to try my luck and call out for a glass of water. "Hello! Is anyone out there?"
A voice responded, "Stay there, just a moment."
I complied, fearing that if I did not, bad things were sure to happen, specifically a return of the tranquilizer. I checked my surroundings. There were, as I have mentioned, no windows, and one door. I was strapped to a steel gurney with a thin mat between me and the cold steel. I had an IV attached to my arm. I couldn't turn my head far enough to see what was in the bag it was feeding from. There was a TV in the corner of the room, but is looked as though it hadn't been used in years.
"Alright, Mr. Smith. You called?"
"My name isn't Mr.Smith..."
"Really? What is it?"
"Uh... Damn. I know it wasn't Mr. Smith."
"Well, what was it? I'm listening."
It was like something was deliberately clouding my brain. "Uh... I... Call me... John?"
"Okay, your name is Mr. John Smith?" I realized that I was playing into his hands perfectly. But my mind was too fouled up to do anything about it. So I cooperated.
"May I have a glass of water?"
"Yes. Stay here, while I get it."
The man left quickly. He was short, stout, and bespectacled. He had no hair on the top of his head, just on the sides of it, and he walked with a cane. It seemed as though he only used the cane because he liked it, not out of necessity. He returned a little under a minute later carrying the glass of water. He carefully unstrapped one of my hands and I grabbed the glass of water and began to drink furiously.
"I should take this time to tell you that the operation has been confirmed as a success. The memory loss you are currently experiencing should wear off in a few days, at which point we will give you the allotted sum promised by the contract you signed prior to the surgery."
"... What operation? The one in my head?"
"Yes, that one precisely. It has been confirmed as a success by EEG scans of your brain waves, particularly the theta waves. Activity in those regions has increased by a thousandfold."
"What does that mean?"
"The implications of the surgery will be explained to you in a few days, as part of the recovery and rehabilitation process."
"... Oh. What's in this IV?"
"Mr. Smith, I think it's best you go back to sleep." He said before, blindingly quickly I might add, he injected a heavy dose of the tranquilizer into my arm. The last sound I heard was the glass shattering on the floor next to the gurney.
Part Two
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sal Jackson 1-2
Table of Contents
WAIT! Read this first.
I soon learned that it was indeed backwards in time. When I woke up, several days after that, I saw a calendar. It read: July 27, 1950. 7 months later, I said my first words. “I missed you.” My parents were baffled. I then realized the enormity of what I had just done, and attempted to recover by following it with, “ahmissoo” to try to disguise what I had just said as idle gibberish. Two weeks after that I said dada, to try to disguise my development as normal. As far as I could tell, they bought it. If I altered the course of history too much, the situations that I dreamed of running into so I would be able to handle them with the wisdom I now possessed would never happen. There were some situations I knew I would be able to prevent, that may render almost all of the others irrelevant. For that time, I set my sights on the relatively near future, my second birthday, when I would try to prevent the deaths of my grandparents and my uncle, which I imagined would have an overwhelmingly positive effect on my father and perhaps my entire second childhood.
WAIT! Read this first.
I soon learned that it was indeed backwards in time. When I woke up, several days after that, I saw a calendar. It read: July 27, 1950. 7 months later, I said my first words. “I missed you.” My parents were baffled. I then realized the enormity of what I had just done, and attempted to recover by following it with, “ahmissoo” to try to disguise what I had just said as idle gibberish. Two weeks after that I said dada, to try to disguise my development as normal. As far as I could tell, they bought it. If I altered the course of history too much, the situations that I dreamed of running into so I would be able to handle them with the wisdom I now possessed would never happen. There were some situations I knew I would be able to prevent, that may render almost all of the others irrelevant. For that time, I set my sights on the relatively near future, my second birthday, when I would try to prevent the deaths of my grandparents and my uncle, which I imagined would have an overwhelmingly positive effect on my father and perhaps my entire second childhood.
2 months after that, I started to walk. You may not understand the immense joy this brought me. I walked without my old limp. There was no pain in my leg. Granted I couldn’t see over windowsills, and mostly, I couldn’t do much with my reduced stature, but I could move. This was as new an experience to me as it would have been if I was any other normal baby.
My first birthday was eventful, as I saw faces I never remembered seeing the first time around. An uncle I never saw again, and my grandmother, who wasn’t able to make it to my 2nd birthday for whatever reason before being killed in the train crash. Until that moment, I was almost certain that I never met her. Maybe I didn’t. I’ll never know, but all I remember is that for a few seconds, she held me as one would hold a baby while my uncle took a picture. She then as soon as the flash went off put me back down and resumed smoking her cigarette.
There really isn’t much that’s significant about a first birthday. The guest of honor is too young to appreciate all the attention, and most of the guests who have brought presents don’t realize that most likely the baby will never remember receiving them. Most of these presents are returned or more often thrown out in the weeks following the birthday. I got a rattle from an aunt (which never saw use), a stroller from the uncle (my parents already had a much nicer stroller, so they sold the uncle’s at their next tag sale), I got some war bonds from my grandfather on my mother’s side (what use those might be to a baby, I’ll never understand, as I never did go to college), and my grandmother, again on the mother’s side, gave me a hand-knit set of pajamas. (I never wore them as they were very itchy.)
I thanked everyone for the gifts, by yelling, “tankoo.” (Of course, I could have given a full-blown acceptance speech if I wanted to, but it would’ve done more harm than good. I hadn’t blown my “cover” yet and didn’t plan on it.) Another baby from down the street was in attendance; this one was a newborn and of course stole some of the spotlight. That’s not to say I cared all that much. I was just thinking about what I could do differently. That first year was mind-numbingly boring. If you’ve ever wondered why babies cry so much it’s probably because they’re likely tearfully bored out of their minds.
I wanted to at some point drastically alter the course of my life. But I didn’t have the means to yet and I didn’t want to alter it so much that the future I knew was the wrong one entirely. If that were the case, this wouldn’t be a very interesting story at all.
Part Three
Part Three
Monday, September 20, 2010
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