Disillusion

In the jail cell. Location: CLASSIFIED

No one ever believed me. And now no one will.

10 months before. The Year is 1965.

No one believes me, but I don’t expect anyone to. After bringing the country out of the Great Depression and winning World War II, the suited men were heavily respected by everyone. Parades, oh the parades. The smiles, oh the smiles which shadowed over the tents, shelters, ashes, and tears from the decades left behind. Indeed it was a new age, an age of perfection. The suited men could do no wrong. Every law, every way to control the public was in the American people’s best interests. Never had the idea of utopia been so tangible. It really is too bad that tangibility and delusion have become brother and sister.The delusion that smiles equal happiness. The delusion that rules equal safety. Yet why do I seem the be the delusional one for believing the suited men to be imperfect? Has no-one bothered to question the new laws which the suited men have put in place? 

NEW DIRECTIVE United States Constitution Section 536: Civilians are not allowed to enter the 20 mile radius of all government buildings when the moon is visible.

NEW DIRECTIVE United States Constitution Section 538:  Any civilian who looks into the eyes of a government official will receive the immediate death penalty.

 Laws which addressed our economy or human rights seemed like a distant memory now. Have the suited men really done no wrong? Curiosity ate at me, devouring all hesitation. I would be the first to attempt to disobey the NEW ORDER. And so I took the train. “Kid, where are you going all by yourself?” “Kid, where are your parents?” “Nashville,” I muttered. “I got a singing gig.” As much as I wanted to express the truth, Washington DC was a topic that was taboo at the time. All civilians have been forced to move out of the city, but they all did so gladly, or so I’ve heard. Now, no one knows about Washington DC. Only that it must be perfection. The train stopped at Baltimore, but I remember some man in his mid 40’s mentioning the words “Washington DC” as we arrived at the train station. “Washington is perfection, Washington is perfection,” the others on the train simultaneously whispered. The lights turned off, the man disappeared, and we moved on with our days. Renting a bike to Washington wasn’t too bad. What I feared were those that continued to ask me questions. Indeed, I was a criminal before I was even a criminal.  It was 5 PM when I successfully sneaked into the capital. Never has an urban area been so un-urban. 

It wasn’t long before the moon took a cowardly peek into the ominous horizon of Washington DC. I don’t blame her. The moon feared what was to come, as did I. I remember then, vividly, the event which occurred soon after. As the moon took steps, deeper and deeper into the sky, the unimaginable became imaginable. Purple lights in the government buildings roared as if to awaken from a long rest of darkness. The roars of lights turned into roars I never thought I would hear. Although it was clearly the sound of the living, I perceived the sounds of a broken roller coaster. The clackle, the ominous roar, the depth of fear. I’ve never seen something so living, yet so inhuman. Perhaps a glitch in the system? Or perhaps a glitch in my system? No, I’m not ignorant like the rest of them. These were no humans. I need to capture this. I need to capture this.  I took photos for the school newspaper, but this was entirely different. Was my death worth the revealing of truth? At that moment, I thought it was. One button press, one flash, and I scurried away from the dark city and the dark fate which has identified itself with me. Hours later, I threw the camera away, hoping that my dark fate would get carried away in the current in the same way as my camera

I slept that night in a motel about 30 miles from Washington DC. I have never felt so much anxiety and fear weighing down on my heart. There truly was no reason to feel safe. Why did I do it? Why did I go there? Perhaps I was done with living a lie, perhaps I was just curious. I don’t know anymore. I don’t care anymore. I just want to live. And so I cried, hoping something in the galaxy would protect me from my inevitable fate. 

No one protected me.

It wasn’t until I felt something holding to my neck that I realized that the motel was an illusion. The “something” was too cold, too cold to be human.  It was funny in a way. The motel was an illusion, just as the suited men had been an illusion to the people. I knew that now. The suited men faded from one form to another. From their once human form, they transformed. Into what, it was hard to describe. Their roaring purple skin blinded me and my nearing time of death scared me. I continued to keep my eyes closed as those possessed with fear on a roller coaster do. 

Hours passed, maybe days, maybe months or years. Who knows. Looking at my tangible body to make sure I was alive, I froze in shock, too frozen to cry too frozen to think about the future. My skin, too cold to be human, scorching purple. Oh, it really is too bad that tangibility and delusion have become brother and sister. The suited men came up to me. “Where am I?” I asked. “Area 51,” they said. What’s that? I’ve never heard of it. All I knew was that I was alone. “People found your picture and now they think aliens exist.” “Now we gave them something to believe in, something to explain the unexplainable. You will be the source of their theories so as to not reveal us. Please, do live. Live so as to distract the pitiful humans, not knowing truth from lie, tangibility from delusion. How sad.” 

Back to the present: 

To Mr. President: This story was found inside the chamber of human organism 3456, Project 51 Area Distraction. Human was found dead at approximately 5:38 PM. Cause of death: Unknown. Most likely suicide. Confirmation for our next human for Project 51 phase 2 will be needed in approximately t-5 days.