How long has it been since I last seen everything? There’s got to be a mistake. I lost this long ago—when I lost you.
March 13, 2009—Friday
It has been
weeks since I last had a night’s worth of sleep. At first, I would just wake up for no reason
at all. Then something strange
happened—I started seeing people going through their day in my sleep. It started with people I knew—like Michael
and John—but ever since some nights ago, I’ve had ‘visions’ of people I don’t
even know.
Maybe my
mind is just making up stories. Being a
journalist means I get a lot of information running around my head. Maybe because I read too much, I’m getting
all these dreams. My mind can’t even
cipher what is real anymore. These dreams
could be just fractions of my imagination joining together to create a perfect
book. But then again, how can my
subconscious make up stories of things I haven’t done or people I’ve never even
met?
All my
so-called dreams seem to always focus on one person at a time. Once I saw this boy wake up in the middle of
his sleep because he wet his pants. Then
there was this time when I saw a couple get robbed by gunned assailants. My mind followed the thieves until they
unmasked—the funny thing is that the cover of the morning newspaper the day
after had the headline saying:
Gunned Thieves Wanted.
I assumed it as merely coincidence, after
all people get robbed all the time here, but the next night, I dreamt about the
same men. This time they robbed an ATM
machine, but were caught by the cops.
The next day’s headline was:
Gunned Thieves Caught
I studied
the picture given and to my surprise it was the men that I had dreamt about.
I know
strange things happen to a lot of people, but it does not happen to me—it
shouldn’t. I have been away from all
possibilities of getting all these messages.
I know religion is not a main
factor—or is it. I mean—I’ve been a very
good Christian all these years. I’ve
heard the pastor preach a lot about spiritual gifts and talents. Could I have the gift of prophesy?
I know that this ‘gift’ is not
hereditary. My parents—or
grandparents—have never told me of such things before. Being in a family of many doctors, teachers,
and psychiatrists mean they don’t believe in such things.
I don’t think my sister or my
brother could contribute to this. Unless
they have put in so much stress on me that I have finally popped and completely
lost my mind.
Or maybe it’s a middle-child
talent? I highly doubt this last theory. Being a middle child means you get half the
attention the other two gets. You
probably end up neglected or you speak out so much that you will be heard.
This enigma of visions and
prophesying is getting me worked up.
I’ve planned a meeting with a shrink on the 20th of
March—just to make sure I’m fine. It
won’t cost me a cent anyways since my Uncle Jonas is one himself. I’m not sure whether I’m going to like the
verdict though.
So I decided to start a journal of
my life with these gifts. And here is my
first entry. You never know when this
might make a good novel one day.
Until I write again,
—Thomas
Shayne—
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