a loner's tale

Did you ever stay awake at night curled into a ball wishing you were somewhere else? The tears stream down your face and you don’t even know why. Did you ever stare at a wall for hours, lost in your thoughts, and your mom comes home and wonders what you’re doing? Did you ever lose chunks of time? One time, I was sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal, and then I woke up in school. My classmates were chuckling, my teacher was glaring at me. “Go to the principal’s office Jeremiah!”

Hi, my name is Jeremiah, my favorite color is yellow, and I’m the resident philosopher in my little town of Essex. Where is Essex? Last time I checked the map it was situated squarely in a fairly square state filled with boring, square citizens. Everyone was stuck in all those boxes Society and the Government creates for everyone. You know, those squares, only they’re in three dimensions instead of two, so we call them cubes or boxes. But everyone knows, everyone knows that these ‘squares’ are just boxes. And so, I lived in a box with box-people in Essex, Pennsylvania. Okay, so Pennsylvania isn’t such a square state. Especially when you compare it to Oregon or something, but it’s still a box. And the people living here? Still box-people.

Box-people are those people you see every day. They don’t even seem real to me. I remember when I used to think they were robots, but then I figured it out. You make box-people with boxes. You know, television sets, schools, jobs, salaries, that nice Christmas Bonus at the end of the year. These boxes exist to make box-people and to keep box-people as box-people. If you dare to question, to wonder, to make a tin foil hat (which I have a whole closet filled of ‘em) you find yourself with box pills. These pills, my doctors tell me I have to take so I can interact with “reality” on a near-to “normal” level.

But I know the Truth. Even if Truth is subjective to everyone else’s reality. But I know the Truth. The Truth is that the Government is controlled by an elite secret society. I’m not sure who they are or where their base is, but I think they were responsible for the collapse of Alexander the Great, Napoleon, and of course Hitler. These group of people don’t like it when One Person goes against the Rules. And so, since the good ‘ole apple pie bald eagle Country of United States of America is one of, if not IS, the GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD this secret ELITE group must CONTROL the U.S.A. and all of its citizens. Once we are all controlled, the Country and its resources, military, and POWER is at the hands of the Elite. And The Elite hate non-box-people. And I’m a non-box-person. So they give me these pills.

“Jeremiah!” That’s my mom. She’s the one that found me one time laying down in the middle of the road. She said I was mumbling something, but she couldn’t understand me. Later on I told her it was the Elite trying to control my mind. They wanted me dead, and so they made me lay down in the middle of the road. My mom was scared that I was suicidal. I used to be, but when I lay down in the middle of the road, I wasn’t trying to kill myself. To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember why I was in the middle of the road. But like I said, it was the Elite anyway.

“Jeremiah?!” That’s my mom again. I should respond.
“Yeah ma?”
“Did you have breakfast dear?” She says.
“…No.” I’m not touching food anymore. She has to really convince me that it doesn’t contain any mind control chemicals. Did you know the Government adds Flouride into our drinking water? Yeah, you know, the water that comes straight out of the sink faucet? Yeah, that has Flouride in it!! And Flouride is a mind control drug!! You better be careful, you might be a box-person and not even know it!
“C’mon ‘Miah, “ ‘Miah is my nick name, “you need to eat something dear.”
“Do we have any fruit from the Amish farm?” I ask.
“No, we’re all out. You’ll have to have some toast or maybe some eggs dear.”
“No thanks. I’ll wait until we have more fruit from the…” I begin to say.
“Jeremiah Timothy Sheldon! If you do not eat any breakfast I’ll take you back to Dr. Jane TODAY.”
“Alright, alright. Are the eggs from free-range chickens?” They must be from free-range chickens. That is more natural and less cruel to chickens. But even then, how do I know the eggs in the carton are from free-range chickens? They could just slap labels on their egg carton and laugh their asses back to the bank with their dirty, dishonest money. I wouldn’t put it past business people. Business people are almost just as bad as the Elite. They try to control the box-people, but they don’t even know, they don’t even know that they themselves are box-people, just playing this game created by the Elite.
“Jeremiah if you do not bleat blub jub jib your breeeeeeeeeaaaaaaakfaaaaaaaaaaaaasssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”.

All of a sudden my hearing is fucked. I close my eyes and cover my ears. That static! The Elite! They’re after me! AFTER ME!! Gotta go, gotta get out. NOW NOW NOW!!!

I’m back in that place again. The True box. The box where they keep all of us non-box-people and give us those pills. I can’t go outside. I can’t do anything. I’m strapped to a bed. I hate this place.

“How are we doing today Mr. Sheldon?” says a man in a white coat. He’s scribbling things on his clipboard. Everything around him is foggy. My body feels too heavy, even to keep my eyes open seems like a real challenge. What happened this time? Another “psychotic breakdown”? Another “psychotic episode”? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Mom started to sound weird.

“Don’t give him anymore of dsghihwerag;n.” Why can I never hear it? Everytime they say the name of the medicine, the Elite scramble it out of my head. Why? Why? I pull and tug at the straps holding me down to the table. I need to get out of here. Out of this box. I’m not a box-person. Only box-people should be in boxes!!!

“ONLY BOX PEOPLE ALLOWED IN HERE!! I’M NOT A BOX-PERSON!!! LET ME OUT!! LET ME GO! LET ME OUT!” I hear myself scream. It is so hard to keep thoughts inside my head. I always hear myself saying my thoughts out loud. I don’t understand people that can keep thoughts inside. I need to get mine out.

“Doctor, Mr. Sheldon is screaming again and talking to himself… should I sedate him?” a nurse says.
“No.” and the doctor leaves.

No more sedatives. I scream. They’re going to kill me, and not even spare me from the pain of it.

“NO!!! NO NO NO!! Don’t kill me!! PLEASE!! NO NO NO NO” I start crying. A Nurse shuts the door. I’m alone again.

Always… alone.. Alone again.

“Don’t give him anymore drugs. He’s obviously an addict.” The doctor says behind the door, but I can hear him. I can read box-people minds. It’s how I learned about the Elite.
“How do you know he’s an addict doctor? He is only thirteen. Surely he hasn’t been using drugs since a young boy?”
“No more, and that’s final!” The doctor leaves.

“Nooo… no.. please.. no.. don’t kill me.”

But no one can hear me. I’m alone… always alone. Alone again.

Always.

A…

Lone…

Always a loner. Always alone.