ArkenyaJones
New member
I had a secret… a secret that was beyond human understanding. To believe it, you had to think in a way that considered anything likely, even things that weren’t technically possible. I knew quite a lot about science: biology, physics, astrology… it was the most thought provoking subject. I studied it intensely. Not because I enjoyed it, or because I was gifted in science. It fascinated me and frustrated me at the same time, explaining things about earth, humans, and what was “possible”. Possible. Most of the things in my life weren’t possible, yet it happened. If one plus one equaled two, why couldn’t it had equaled three, four, or fish? If you looked deeper into the equation you could find something different. I was certain. I could reason why science was nonsense, but who would believe me? However the real question was, who could believe me? “Nothing can go against science,” says the narrow-minded human.
Earlier in life, for me, had a bit of complication — like all children. I lived in London as an orphan for eight pitiful years waiting for anyone to adopt me. People turned me down more often than not, but who could blame them? I was practically a mutant child. Most people considered me offensive. Perhaps it had something to do with the asymmetrical number of neurons in my brain — or whatever the hell was wrong with me. Humans were forgetful creatures and, just discovering this fact, I had to find a way to correlate with them. As an infant, I’d always had a sophisticated intellect and could comprehend what most children my age could not. Sure the couples that flooded the orphanage were impression by my intelligence; nonetheless, intimidated at the same time. They wanted a cute DUMB child, I supposed.
Learning to blend in was necessary, but generally keeping quiet was the way to go. It seemed better to stay hidden in the scenery instead of causing a potential catastrophe; even so, I couldn’t hide forever. It got all the more complicated when more and more things were discovered that separated me from humans. And after that, one conclusion appeared that was undeniable: Earth was for the earthly and I, being otherwise, am not. Simple as that. If there was a pint of earthliness in me, it had to be my anatomy: skin, meat, bones and organs. That was it, my indisputable proof of being human. Other than that, I was just a hopeless alien — minus the green skin and mutant tentacles — trapped on this God-forsaken earth.
Was there truly a God? If so, where could he be found? With so many questions about life, there had to be answers and he could certainly answer them. But more importantly, I wanted to know more about his creation, not just from what science had to say about it. Maybe God, up in his heavenly castle, whatever he called it, had some type of spice in his kitchen cabinet labeled “earthy essence”, and he would sprinkle this spice on each seed that would eventually end up in a woman’s womb. And the more he sprinkled, the more earthly you were. Of course he hadn’t given me a fair amount, therefore causing me to be born with lack of essence. I wasn’t saying this had to be what happened. Nothing was definite. Just another assumption. And there were other insane theories that somehow conjured up into my mind. To believe that one is not human, you had to consider the most absurd ideas. Right?
My time was devoted to science and research on mythology, immortality, folklore, legends. Anything that could answer this question: what am I? It came a time when the longing for an answer overwhelmed me. No one knew why I became so distressed all of a sudden. Maybe she’s bipolar, people wondered. And eventually it became a concern. I was merely 7 years old when the thought came to me. The pieces — impenetrable events, mishaps, the coincidences — were put together and I understood it to an extent… and yes, I found myself thinking from time to time, maybe I’m delusional. I could be crazy. What if that was the case? What did my mind want me to believe? Things of this earth? If so, I’d might as well been mentally ill. But if the true answer was beyond this world, anything was probable.
Earlier in life, for me, had a bit of complication — like all children. I lived in London as an orphan for eight pitiful years waiting for anyone to adopt me. People turned me down more often than not, but who could blame them? I was practically a mutant child. Most people considered me offensive. Perhaps it had something to do with the asymmetrical number of neurons in my brain — or whatever the hell was wrong with me. Humans were forgetful creatures and, just discovering this fact, I had to find a way to correlate with them. As an infant, I’d always had a sophisticated intellect and could comprehend what most children my age could not. Sure the couples that flooded the orphanage were impression by my intelligence; nonetheless, intimidated at the same time. They wanted a cute DUMB child, I supposed.
Learning to blend in was necessary, but generally keeping quiet was the way to go. It seemed better to stay hidden in the scenery instead of causing a potential catastrophe; even so, I couldn’t hide forever. It got all the more complicated when more and more things were discovered that separated me from humans. And after that, one conclusion appeared that was undeniable: Earth was for the earthly and I, being otherwise, am not. Simple as that. If there was a pint of earthliness in me, it had to be my anatomy: skin, meat, bones and organs. That was it, my indisputable proof of being human. Other than that, I was just a hopeless alien — minus the green skin and mutant tentacles — trapped on this God-forsaken earth.
Was there truly a God? If so, where could he be found? With so many questions about life, there had to be answers and he could certainly answer them. But more importantly, I wanted to know more about his creation, not just from what science had to say about it. Maybe God, up in his heavenly castle, whatever he called it, had some type of spice in his kitchen cabinet labeled “earthy essence”, and he would sprinkle this spice on each seed that would eventually end up in a woman’s womb. And the more he sprinkled, the more earthly you were. Of course he hadn’t given me a fair amount, therefore causing me to be born with lack of essence. I wasn’t saying this had to be what happened. Nothing was definite. Just another assumption. And there were other insane theories that somehow conjured up into my mind. To believe that one is not human, you had to consider the most absurd ideas. Right?
My time was devoted to science and research on mythology, immortality, folklore, legends. Anything that could answer this question: what am I? It came a time when the longing for an answer overwhelmed me. No one knew why I became so distressed all of a sudden. Maybe she’s bipolar, people wondered. And eventually it became a concern. I was merely 7 years old when the thought came to me. The pieces — impenetrable events, mishaps, the coincidences — were put together and I understood it to an extent… and yes, I found myself thinking from time to time, maybe I’m delusional. I could be crazy. What if that was the case? What did my mind want me to believe? Things of this earth? If so, I’d might as well been mentally ill. But if the true answer was beyond this world, anything was probable.