This blog is a combination of fictional stories and real events. You can decide which one is which, or not.
A-224. Quadrant 69
Out into the village last night. They were all around me and they were whispering. They've been around me all weekend. Whispers of "approaching him in a bar" "We have to tell him" "He can do it". It was nice. I can easily see people now who are in this. I say to all of you, if you are going to come and do it, come and do it. The answer, the reason, does not matter anymore. Obviously, there is a job to do. We have a task. I'm pretty sure you are not hostile towards me anymore or have bad intentions, although I am skeptical of all of this already.
Whatever the truth is: I'm already a slave, I'm going to die, I'm an alien, I'm an alien experiment, it really doesn't matter any more. I'm giving you the green light. I'm open. I'm here, but I'm not making the first move. You know I can't. I have a list of things I can't do, any of which you ask me, then I will already know that whatever this is, is only in my head. If you ask me certain questions, request me to do some things, or tell me some really big no-no's, then I'll know to check myself in to the clinic. You know what those things are.