I'm cursed. Cursed with life. Why, do you ask? Why do I feel this way? There comes a point in one's existence that you just can't stand the thought of waking up one morning and facing one more day.
In order for you to understand where I'm coming from, I need to explain a little about my life. You may think it far-fetched and outrageous and completely unbelievable, but what I tell you is truth... I'm living proof to it.
In the summer of 1986, during the height of the UFO sighting across the southern states and Mexico, I was abducted by an alien craft. I remember nothing of the encounter but being picked up off the ground and brought into the craft, then being dropped off at an unknown time later. I remember standing up in a forest and watching the craft streak off into the night above me. I didn't know where I was, or what had happened during the time I was gone. My memory was telling me that almost no time at all had passed and that I never even left. But I knew, knew in my heart and mind that I'd been abducted. There was no doubt in my mind.
I know your laughing. You read these words that I've written and the disbelief is so overpowering that you can't hold back the laughter. That's OK though. I laugh about it quite often myself, especially when I found out what they'd done to me.
I had been abducted somewhere in the middle of May, 1986 from a small town in deep East Texas. I was returned in July of 1987 to a location that was completely unfamiliar to me. I soon found a small town and found that I had been transferred from the pine's of East Texas to the giant redwood forest's of California. I had no money, no identification, and no family. I was utterly alone and quite frightened.
My journey back to East Texas was long. It was on that journey that I began to notice something different about myself.
Through my youth, I had been quite prone to allergies and other virus' that plagued the air. I was always sick or sniffling with a head cold. But I noticed on that journey, through the drastic temperature changes of the redwood forest and the Nevada desert, then into the chilly mountains of New Mexico, I never once got sick. My nose breathed clear and unhindered and I never once coughed or sneezed. I felt like a brand new man and couldn't wait to return home.
Then, ten miles from my home town, the unthinkable happened. A logger had picked me up early that morning and happened to be traveling through the town I sought. Just outside of town there's a blind hill that, in the past, had claimed many lives, and I told the truck driver this as we neared it. He slowed, just as I had asked him, but it proved fruitless.
This particular hill drops off suddenly and banks severely into a long downward curve. Most accidents occurred here because of not heeding the decrease in speed proclaimed by the sign at the top of the hill. The accidents occurred when the vehicles, speeding down the hill, veered into the opposite lane, traveling so fast that they skidded off the pavement on the opposite side of the road, or into an oncoming vehicle, resulting in a head on collision that few walked away from.
One such accident had just occurred at the bottom of the hill and the truck driver suddenly put on the brakes, locking them up in a horrendous sound that echoed off the trees and through the cab of the truck. The weight of the drivers load sent the trailer fishtailing into the opposite lane. I could do nothing but brace myself as we slammed into the other cars at the bottom of the hill and off the ditch on the far side of the road. The cab separated from the trailer and flipped over into the trees. The drivers side of the cab was crushed and the window exploded inward as tree branches came through it and into the cab, showering me with shards of cutting razors. The last thing I saw, as the truck came to rest on its side, was the entire front of my shirt covered with my own blood.
I woke the next morning to bright lights and the strong stench of antiseptic. Someone was hovering over me, flashing another bright light in my eyes. The doctor asked me how I was doing, and I told him I'd be doing a whole lot better if he'd quite blinding me. He looked me over and I asked him what happened?
"You mean you don't remember?" The doctor was shocked. He said that I'd been completely conscious when they arrived at the accident and that I was even cracking jokes when they pulled the tree branch out of my chest.
"Funny," I said, "I don't remember a thing."
"Do you remember who you are?" The doctor said it in such a way that I instantly became suspicious of the question. He was looking at me funny too, and I didn't like it one bit.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, you have no identification, no money, and your wounds..."
He let the statement hang in the air until I asked, "What about my wounds?"
The doctor looked away and started to walk off from my bed when I reached out and grabbed his arm. It was effortless for me to hold him there as he struggled against my grip. I knew, somehow, that if I wanted to, I could crush the bones in his arm like crumpling up a ball of paper.
"What about my wounds?" I asked a second time.
The doctor talked then in a panic, rushing through his sentences together. There was pain and fear in his eyes when he looked at me. He told me that when they pulled me from the cab of the truck, that I had lost so much blood that there was no way I could be alive, much less conscious and joking with the EMS personnel. The EMS personnel reported that, besides the large tree branch sticking out of my chest, I had multiple lacerations across my throat and arms, all of which were bleeding profusely. I arrived at the emergency room and the doctors removed the branch from my chest and cauterized any blood vessels that were still bleeding. And now, when he came in to check me, all my wounds were mostly gone.
"Look for yourself," he said, lifting the stained bandage off my chest. And there, on my chest, was a bright pink scar, three inches in diameter.
"When did the wreck happen?" I asked him, frightened myself now. In my mind I thought that, just like the abduction, I had just woken from a period of my life that I had completely missed.
The doctor looked at his watch and said, "Nine hours ago..."
I looked at the pink scar again, not believing what I was seeing or hearing. I threw back the covers, yanked the I.V. our of my arm, pulled the suction cup sensors from my head and chest and bolted out of the bed as the doctor stumbled out of my grip and fell against the wall. The doctor had hit his head and lay there unconscious as I went to the bureau for my clothes, and of course, they weren't there.
I panicked, wondering what I was going to do when I bent down and started to remove the doctors clothing. I donned his clothes and picked him up off the floor and placed him in my hospital bed. He had a nasty knot on the back of his skull and I figured he would be out cold for a while, but I used the restraining straps on the bed to secure his wrists and ankles so he couldn't move, then untied the call button from the railing by his hand and let it dangle onto the floor so he wouldn't be able to call for help before I could get out of the hospital. A wash rag from the bathroom went into his mouth to keep him from calling out.
I calmly walked away from the hospital and into a new life of self mystery.
What had happened to me?
What is happening to me?
As you can well imagine, I relished in the fact that my body healed itself so swiftly. Now, I had to figure out what I was going to do.
Ten years later I was managing a very profitable private investigation firm. And with my connections I found a chemist to analyze my blood and body tissue to see if he could tell me exactly what was wrong with me.
The chemist was dumbfounded by this discovery, and I, wanting to stay anonymous, contacted him through my business.
"I don't know where you got these samples," he said. "But I think you may have stumbled on the fountain of youth."
"Excuse me?" I asked. The chemist was so excited and bubbly that I could hardly understand what he was saying. If there had been an ounce of professionalism in the man, he through it all out the window when he heard my voice.
"The blood! The tissue! It's all magnificent!"
It took some time to calm him down enough to get him to explain to me what he had found. I was just as excited when he finished telling me, but I tried not to let it sound over the telephone.
The chemist told me that the blood and tissue samples were swarming with bacteria, a virus to be precise. But it was unlike any virus he had ever seen before. From his findings, the virus stayed in a dormant state until something foreign was introduced, then it "awakened" and attacked the foreign entity and destroyed it, then went dormant again. He said that the virus seemed to coexist with the other cells of the body, rebuilding them when necessary and ridding them of other virus and disease.
"It destroyed ebola, AIDS, cancer,..." and he went on to name lots of other diseases and viruses that I couldn't pronounce, much less write down for you to read. But the main gist of what he was telling me was that I would never get sick, and if what he said about how the alien virus interacted with skin tissue was correct, I would also never age.
I stayed with the investigation firm until I began to get questions drawn to my attention as to why I still looked so young, and hadn't seemed to age one bit. When this happened and my colleagues began to watch me out of the corners of their eyes, I decided it was time to disappear.
Now, I ask you again...
Why would I say that I am cursed?
Well, lets break it down a bit, why don't we. After I left the private investigation firm, I traveled the world. My finances were such that no matter where I lived, just the interests of my past investments would allow me to live a long, long time in comfort, and I did just that. I lived all over the world, and tasted the fruits that each culture this earth had to offer. Then, like clockwork, about every thirty years I would have to move on. I've traveled the world three times now, spending thirty years in Rome, then Paris, San Antonio, Honolulu, Egypt, Sydney, just about every major city you can imagine, I've lived there, and most twice.
Now I'm bored. I'm pushing toward my five hundredth birthday and there is nothing on this earth I haven't done, no culture I haven't sampled, no sunset I haven't seen. I'm just plain bored.
I tried to take my life yesterday, before I got the idea to record a little of my life for you, but the bullet did nothing to end my misery. I woke this morning with only a scar to mark its passage through my brain. By tomorrow, even the scar will be gone.
I've lived a wonderfully long, good life, but the only territory that I haven't explored is death, and at this juncture, death is the only thing I would love to explore, and the only thing I can't have.
I'm cursed... Why, do you ask? I think you can answer that question for yourself now.
