The Events on Mt. Mitchell- Prologue
Well, I’m starting a new story. I hope you all enjoy it. Here it goes:
“Something is being seen, but it isn’t known what…This formulation leaves the question of ‘seeing’ open. Something material could be seen, or something psychic could be seen. Both are realities, but different kinds.”
- Carl Jung, “Flying Saucers”
“Please state your name for the camera”, asks an older man, with thin gold frames upon his crooked nose. He is addressing a much younger man that sits across a wide metal table from him. The bespectacled man is figeting with a video camera, cursing its misuse under his breath. The man across from him looks up from his lap at the reflection served by the shiney metal surface. He hangs his head again, releasing a forlorn sigh.
The older mans concentration is thrown toward the interviewee.
“Corporal?”, his voice rings with concern.
The young man straightens up and he unconsciously begins to reach for his left forearm, which is no longer there. His remaining left arm extends four inches from his elbow. His arm was lost in the line of duty, three years earlier. The young man was a Corporal in the one-hundred and first EOD company. He worked as an explosive ordinance disposal technician before being honorably discharged. The left side of his face is covered in small scars that could easily be mistaken for the lost battle of teenage acne. He moves his hand awkwardly past his lost arm and up into his short blond hair. The style still resembles a crew cut, but it hasn’t been maintained. Water begins to well in his eyes and his chin shivers, not for the loss of his arm, but for things much greater.
“Ann-” escapes from his throat before it becomes too tight to speak.
The older man cocks his head, “Pardon?”
The one-armed man clears his throat and looks directly into the camera. He is ill prepared to share this happening again. To him, it feels like hours ago but reality says months have passed. The index finger of the older man shoots up to signal ”hold on”. A red light appears next to the camera lens and older man gives a thumbs-up.
The one-armed man thinks about how to begin this story, because it is just that- a story. To them this is something he fabricated and that’s why he’s here; Surrounded by padded walls and furniture that is secured to the floor. This story is the reason his shoes fall off because there are no laces to secure them to his feet. This story is why he is not in prison.
“My name is Corporal Thomas Brennen”.
The older man wiggles the frame of his glasses, “And why are you here, Corporal?”
Brennen sighs again, “Because they were taken”, he adjusts in his chair, “something took them all”. He knows where this is leading. They make him say it aloud hoping one time he’ll realize how absurd it sounds. They hope he’ll tell them the truth, or what they think is the truth. He cracks a smile out of exasperation, he knows how crazy this story sounds. They weren’t there, they didn’t see.
“What took them?” questions the older man.
Brennen leans forward and fixes his gaze toward the camera, ”The Grays.”
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