The One Who Left

There are 26 people in the world.

"Johnathan," I hear you say. “You’re insane. It’s 2158. We just passed a world population of 11 billion.”

Of course I know this. But you didn’t pay attention in history class. You see, leading up to the fourth world war, the nations’ leaders knew that… You’re drifting off again. This is important. This should be common knowledge to everyone over the age of 14, but you all fell asleep because the textbooks were boring and you’d already covered three world wars and the fourth wasn’t about to get any more interesting. But this is important, so tape your eyes open and listen for once.

Leading up to the fourth world war, the nations’ leaders knew that if things became violent (which, as we know in hindsight, they did), it could be very bad for… well, everyone. There was a very real possibility of humanity being wiped out as a whole. So cloning and genetic research very quickly began to receive mass funding. And then- yes, I’m hurrying- then the war happened and all the nuclear bombs went off and everyone died. Fast enough for you? Good. Everyone’s dead. Humanity is over. Nobody is left, we’re all gone.

Yeah, well, you’d KNOW how we’re all still here if you hadn’t rushed me and had just let me finish. 26 people survived. 14 women. 12 men. Instructions on how to rebuild civilization had been around for a while just in case of a mass disaster, and as the war was ramping up, most nations informed their citizens on how to find and reach these instructional databases. So these 26 survivors, in order to rebuild society as quickly as possible, began cloning themselves.

YES, the instructions on the cloning process were included in the instructions of how to rebuild civilization. That was the whole point of funding the research in the first place. So all 11 billion people on this planet are not just descended from them, but are, in fact, clones. And the children of clones, but there are only 168 combinations that could result from the original 26. So here we are with 194 people in the world. How is this important? Is it relevant to anything anymore? Does it matter? Do we need to remember it?

No. Forget it. It’s just history. Those 194 combinations also bred and combined and made even more people and now we have like 3,000 combinations and it will never realistically affect your modern day life. So forget about it.

“But you said it was important!”

Yeah, I forgot that it isn’t. I’m over 30. That makes me very old and forgetful. Also grumpy. So stop bugging me.

Anyway. How’s your day been? Nice weather we’ve been having lately, huh? Sure is convenient that they learned how to control that. ...This is how you do small talk, right?

Look, I’m sorry, I’m really just not good at this stuff. I never really know what to talk about, so I tend to dump it all out. And some of it is kind of painful for me. Like… Have I ever told you about my first love?

Yeah, now would be the time for you to back out if you’re not interested.

Her name was Amelia. She had fiery red hair and a smile that shone just as brightly. I was always a weird one, but she took my hand and pulled me into her life like she actually wanted me around. She was a friend like I’d never had before, and she had a way of making even the most mundane of activities into something fun. I fell for her like you wouldn’t believe. But I should’ve been wearing kneepads. And elbow pads. A facepad would’ve been nice too, actually. I fell for her, and… Well, she wasn’t there to catch me, is what I’m getting at. You might say she was a traveling girl. For a year, we laughed together, talked together, and cried together. And then she left. She’d had all the fun she could with me. She found someone else to provide her with emotional support, and that person was fresh and interesting, while I had become old and stale.

Let me tell you, I did not get over her quickly. It was two years before I was able to stop thinking about her. But when I eventually did move on… That was when I met Francine. Francine loved me for who I was. With her, I never had to worry that if I didn’t text first she might just ignore me. I never had to worry that my voice would get drowned out in a group of friends. I never had to worry that she’d be too busy to talk when I needed her. Until her trip to Michigan. She took a flight there for a conference. Stayed with a friend for a week. A platonic friend, mind you. That was what she told me. I trusted them, and didn’t think anything of it.

I won’t tell you details. I’m sure you can figure out what happened.

So back to solitude. Five years went by. There were a few other women I met in that time period. Janice. Hattie. Kendra. But nothing ever happened between them and me. There was an attraction on my part, certainly. I wonder if maybe things had been different- if schedules had worked out, or if we’d had more mutual friends, maybe the spark would have ignited. But as it was, nothing ever came of it.

So the five years ended with meeting Samantha. I was cautious by this point. I didn’t want to move things too quickly. But we spent time together, and it felt… Good. There was something there. We could talk about things together, but we didn’t feel like we had to, either. She lit up a room just by being there. She made me feel like she was happy to have me around. And it seemed like she wanted to be someone important to me, as well. I remember taking a walk with her at the park. Just chatting, but having such a good time. I looked at her, and she looked at me. Our eyes met. I was so in love… And all at once, I looked into her eyes and I saw Amelia. I barely held back a gasp. I looked at her smile, and I saw Francine. I looked at the way she held herself. How she sat and how she walked. This was Kendra. It was Hattie. It was Janice. I had fallen in love, over and over again, with the same woman.

My chest constricted and my heart pounded. She looked at me with concern, but I couldn’t speak. Instead, I ran. I’d made a mistake, and I needed to get away. Samantha called my phone. I didn’t answer. I didn’t see her again.

At least, not as her. It still happens, though. I’ll meet a woman, and as I’m starting to grow attached, I realize who it is. It’s a curse that follows me, and I don’t know how to break it. I don’t know how to reshape my love so that the ones I love are the ones who love me, instead of just pretending for a time. So until I can figure it out, I’ll just sit here talking about the past. And whether it’s the distant past or just a couple of years ago, it’s all the same to me either way.

The Suicide Note

Warning: This is a work of fiction, however, some content may not be suitable for readers who are young or easily disturbed.

I went to kind of a weird school. Well, go to, I guess, but not for much longer. After classes, there are two club options. There’s the chess club, and the football club. Most of us think that there ought to be more options, but the teachers feel otherwise. We have an option to exercise our bodies, and an option to exercise our minds, and they don’t particularly want to spend money on any further options. I’m in the chess club, which is by far the less popular of the two. There are four of us, total. Most people prefer football to chess, it turns out. Either that, or they picked football because their friends are there. I have asthma, so I can’t really do a whole lot out there. I prefer chess anyway, but it does get a little irritating. There are a lot of people in the football club who say chess is boring. Not all of them, but enough that it starts to hurt after a while. I tell them that football is boring, but it doesn’t affect them the same way it affects me. When fifty people are telling you your hobby is stupid and four people are telling you it’s great, that’s a bit different than if it’s the other way around, y’know? Which is kind of why I’m going to kill myself.

“Stephen, you’d kill yourself over a game?” Yes, I absolutely would, for the same reason that a man would starve to death after going without food for one day- because it’s not just one day. A man starves after going without food for one day, and then another day, and then another day, and another day, and so on until it all adds up, you see? The people in the football club- they’re not trying to be mean. But the fact is, it adds up in the same way. It’s not just the game. I’ve always been the weird kid, and that’s fine, but life gets exhausting. When I say what I want to eat, I have a few people saying “oh, that sounds good,” and a whole freaking lot of people expressing shock and disbelief that I don’t eat bacon. When I haven’t seen a movie, whether it’s the latest hit or a well-known classic, people won’t let me rest in peace having different interests. People tell me not to let other people affect my life, but they can’t really say that when they don’t feel it. If I were to act like that towards them (which I wouldn’t anyway), they wouldn’t feel the same, because it’s one person. It’s not adding up for them. Everyone talks about the straw that breaks the camel’s back, but does anyone really get it?

If I were to tell people about this ahead of time, they would try to talk me out of it. They would ask about my family and friends. “Won’t your parents be sad?” Of course they will. Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, I love you, and it isn’t your fault. There weren’t any signs that you missed, there was nothing you could have done differently. You were great parents. But not everyone is so lucky. See, I don’t need to die. I’m not afraid of death, and I’d be lying if I said I weren’t looking forward to getting some peace, but I’m not killing myself because I’ve given up. I’m killing myself for someone else.

You know Luke, yeah? He’s one of the other guys from chess club, and he’s a heck of a lot closer to suicide than I am. He’s been talking about it for weeks, and I’ve seen him looking up stuff about it on his phone and laptop. He’s not really even trying to hide it. He’s got a rough situation at home. Everything’s adding up for me, but I’m a stone. I can handle it, and I’ve got my parents to go to. He doesn’t. He’s under a lot more than I am, and if things don’t change, he’s going to crack. I can’t do anything for him. I’ve already tried to support him, and it wasn’t enough. He’s already over the edge. The only way that can change is if everyone changes, all at once. But a post on Facebook doesn’t help either. People don’t listen. Not unless something big happens. Something that will get their attention. Someone has to actually die if anything’s going to change, and it better not be him. So I’m going first, and all of you in the football club? You better read this. You better pay attention, and I hope things change. Luke, if you’re reading this, I know you’ll be mad, but you need to keep living. If you don’t, then this is for nothing, so stay alive. Things will get better. Things will get better at school, you’ll be able to move out soon, or even come stay with my parents if things get bad enough, so keep living. You better be at my funeral. Mom and Dad, I know I already said this, but this isn’t your fault, and I love you. I know you’re also going to be hurt by this, but you’ll work through it. You have less weighing on you than Luke does. Help him if he needs it. I love you. Goodbye.

A Warning to the Voiceless

I was born with no voice, just like everybody else. I cried when I was born, but I made no sound, and just like all children, I grew up being seen and not heard. I had plenty that I wanted to say, of course, but who would have listened? I wasn't voiceless by choice, I was voiceless because my voice was not yet valuable. Even if I had been able to speak, my words would have fallen on deaf ears. So I thought to myself, and I said nothing.
Then the day came for me to receive my voice, and believe me, this was the day I had looked forward to all my life. This was the day that I would become valuable- the day that I would make an impact on the people around me. I was brought to a small room with an old man, and they locked me inside.
"It is time for you to choose your voice," he said.
I would have asked him what he meant, but I could do nothing other than listen. He seemed to know that this was the case, and explained anyway.
"You may choose to speak to one, or to speak to the world. This will affect your entire life, and you will not be able to change your mind. Therefore, choose wisely, and ponder this choice deeply. Do not feel rushed to choose, for once you do, this will be your voice for the rest of your life."

I thought about the choice. I really did. But honestly, it was such an easy question. Or, to be more accurate, it was the stupidest question I'd ever heard. Who on earth would choose to talk to one person when you could talk to the whole world? Wouldn't that one be included in the world, anyway? I kept thinking about it, trying to find some trick in the question, but I couldn't. I chose to speak to the world, and I was given my voice.

It was everything I'd ever hoped for. I went on stage and spoke to hundreds. I went through crowds of people, having an impact on everyone I'd met. For everyone, I had a smile, or an anecdote, or a piece of advice or wisdom. I was making my impact on the world.

And then I met her. I found one person who I truly wanted to talk to more than anybody else I'd ever met. She was kind and intelligent and beautiful, and I had to get to know her better. My heart thumped in my chest as I went over to her. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I couldn't say a single word. I felt a lump in my throat. Why was this? Why was it that she alone was forbidden for me to speak to? I ran away and hid myself from her. I would try again when I was in a more suitable state. I kept going back, and I kept failing, until I found myself unable to think about anything else. I had lost my smiles that I kept for every passerby, and I had lost the motivation to give out wisdom on a stage. So I locked myself away. If I kept myself from talking to anyone, maybe I would lose the voice I had been given. Maybe I would no longer be able to talk to the world, and could learn how to talk to her. I isolated myself for months, until my throat burned with words that needed to be said, but as soon as I reentered the company of others, they began asking me questions, and the answers flowed out of my mouth unbidden. I had no choice but to answer. I tried to find her as soon as I could, but it was no use. I could speak to the whole world, but I couldn't speak to the one who was the whole world to me.

So now I embrace my voice, but not as I did before. I cannot change it, no matter how hard I try. So I use it to teach those who haven't yet chosen who to be. Do not make the choice that I made. Those of us who speak to the world... Our mistakes are made in public, to show others what not to do. We seem to be in the spotlight, but we live our lives alone. Let few of you become teachers, and to those who have already chosen- who have already taken the same path as I... May you find a way to embrace it and to live with the pain that it brings.

The Glasses

It was the dead of winter, and Samuel was on his way home. His car had been towed while he was at work. He'd misplaced his wallet. On top of all that, it had just started snowing. So he trudged along, wishing he'd brought his earmuffs and a warmer coat. It wasn't long before the storm started picking up, and he decided it would be best to wait it out in one of the nearby shops. Choosing one that seemed warm, he ducked inside right as the wind started howling.

“Welcome!”

He spun around to find a man smiling at him.

“It's always good to see a new face here. What can I assist you with?”

Samuel looked around the store and sighed inwardly. It was a glasses shop. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was just coming in to get out of the snow. I had intended to buy something out of respect, but I don't need any glasses. And... I just remembered that I don't have my wallet on me.”

The man nodded knowingly. “That's quite all right. Why don't you have a look around anyway? You may find something you like, and we can always work out the payment later.”

“Really, my eyes are perfect. There's nothing here I could use.”

“That's what everyone says,” the man replied, “but everyone seems to find something here. After all, this shop can only be found by fate.” He winked. “I'll be in the back if you need anything.”

Samuel watched him walk away, then turned to the shop and sighed. The glasses were set out on small cushions and lined up on shelves throughout the room. It almost reminded him of a bookstore more than a glasses shop. He supposed he should browse a little, if only to be polite. The glasses were all a bit flashy for his tastes, but he found a plain silver set of frames, with no patterns or imbedded gemstones, and put them on. He looked around the room. Everything looked a little brighter, but he figured that was just his imagination. These were only frames, with no prescription. He glanced around and found a mirror on the wall, but when he looked at himself, he stepped back and gasped. He looked mostly the same, but in his reflections chest was hovering a pulsing white flame.

“That's a simple pair, but quite lovely all the same.”

Samuel spun around to see the man standing behind him. A white flame hovered in his chest as well. Samuel pulled the glasses off and stared at them, his mouth hanging open. “What... What are these? There's not even any glass in these. How can they make that sort of illusion?”

“It's not an illusion,” the man explained. “These glasses show the truth, as do all of my other glasses. Each pair is a bit different, but valuable in its own way.”

“If... If these are the simple ones, then... What do the others do?”

“Feel free to try them on and see for yourself,” he beamed.

Samuel slowly walked to another shelf and took a pair of solid gold frames, with small rubies lined along the edges. He put them on, but had to close his eyes immediately. The whole room had become like a palace, filled with fancy furniture and crystal chandeliers. Slowly he opened his eyes and took it all in. The basic shape was the same, enough that he could find the shelves and the mirror, but other than that, the room was unrecognizable.

“Quite a superior form for my shop, if I do say so myself. Why don't you look in the mirror?” The man continued smiling and gestured towards the reflection. When Samuel looked, he found himself wearing a golden crown and velvet robes, with a scepter in his right hand that he didn't remember picking up. The same white flame as before was still floating in his chest. He looked at the shopkeeper and also saw the white flame in him. Overwhelmed, he took off the glasses.

“It's one of our fancier pairs, but some people really go for it. Maybe not quite your style, but keep looking. Remember, it's fate that you came here. Everyone finds something that will fit them just right.”

Samuel nodded slowly. “What's the flame?” he asked.

“The flame is your soul. The white shows that your soul is good and pure.”

Samuel nodded again. Over the next few hours, he tried on as many glasses as he could. Some of them he tried on multiple times, because they seemed similar to a previous pair, but he always found a difference somewhere. The only thing that was entirely consistent, staying exactly the same between each pair of glasses, was the pure white flame hovering in his chest and the shopkeeper's chest. As he worked his way across the shelves, he noticed a box sitting apart from the rest of the shop, resting on a small pedestal on the back counter. When he inquired about it, he saw the shopkeeper's smile fade for the first time.

“It's a dangerous pair of glasses,” the shopkeeper said. “That's the one pair in the store that I won't let you try on.”

Samuel was confused, but decided to let it be. He continued working his way through the shelves, and the shopkeeper seemed pleased. Finally, he had tried every pair he could see, but none quite seemed to fit him just right. The shopkeeper had said that they showed the truth, but each pair was different... “Are these all the glasses you have?” He asked.

“No, of course not,” the shopkeeper winked. “These are just the more popular ones. I have many more stored in the back. I can bring some out for you if you like.”

Samuel agreed, and the shopkeeper disappeared through the back door. A few minutes later, he returned with his arms full of frames.

“So many beautiful pairs to choose from, I wasn't sure which ones to bring. But there are plenty more where these came from if they don't work for you.”

They tried each pair, but found nothing that was any better. The shopkeeper returned the tested frames to the storeroom and hurried back with a fresh set. They repeated this process over and over, and with each pair of frames, Samuel grew worried that he would never find the right pair. More and more, he found himself drawn to the box on the back counter, but he continued trying on more frames.

“What if I never find the right pair?” He finally asked.

The shopkeeper didn't seem at all put off by the question. “It's not possible,” he replied. “We have something for everyone. If you don't find just the right match today, you can take a simple temporary pair home with you, and return again at your own convenience. Many people choose this option, but everyone eventually finds something for them.”

Samuel considered his words, then nodded. “One more round. If I don't find it there, then... I guess I'll just take the silver ones for now.”

The shopkeeper beamed wider and rushed back to the storeroom one final time. But as he was gone, Samuel couldn't stop thinking about the box on the back counter. It wasn't as though it was guarded in any way, so it must be safe to at least look... Finally, he decided to do just that. He stood and walked to the box, and opened it. Inside was a simple pair of frames that appeared to be wooden. Samuel removed them from the box with a confused look. They weren't ugly or damaged in any way, but they were... Plain. The exact opposite of all the other frames he'd seen. They looked sturdier than the rest, and not as flashy, or with any useless accessories. His hands trembled, but he put them on. He saw an immediate difference in the room. It was darker, and filled with decay. Cobwebs covered the shelves, and dust was all throughout the room. But the glasses... All the flashy glasses from before looked different. Twisted and useless, almost ready to snap into pieces if they weren't handled just right.

“You shouldn't have done that.”

Samuel spun to see the shopkeeper staring at him. Blood dribbled from his mouth, and his soul was black as pitch. Samuel's vision began fading, and he passed out.

When he woke up, he was back at his house. At first, he considered that it was probably a dream, but when he felt his face, the wooden glasses were still there.

“You ought to avoid that shop from now on.”

A strange man was standing by Samuel's bed. He also was wearing wooden glasses. His soul was white.

“You're being protected, but places like that are still dangerous.”

“Who are you?” Samuel asked.

“That part isn't important yet, but there is much that you need to know.”

Alternative Release

Exhausted, James leaned back in his chair and stared at his computer. The open word document had a few sentences at the top, but nothing more. The words weren't flowing today. His inspiration had run dry. Or rather, he had plenty of inspiration. He just didn't know how to let it out.

“Live this,” he said, and stood to leave the room. It was a common phrase he used when nobody else was around. A few people had overheard him before, but nobody seemed to have figured out the meaning. It was just as well that they didn't.

Abandoning his project for the moment, he stepped outside. He shivered momentarily, but then began walking. He strolled down the street, smiling and nodding when he passed people, and arrived at the park. Finding an unoccupied bench, he sat and waited. Sure enough, a few minutes later, someone came to sit next to him. They chatted pleasantly for half an hour about this and that, and then went their separate ways. James went back to his house and flopped back into his chair, the same as every day. He glanced at the knife sitting on his desk and let his gaze linger for a moment.

“Still too easy,” he finally said. “Not my place to decide that I deserve it.” Turning back to his computer, he began to type.

The Tree

The tree was everything. It was where we lived, where we played, where we worked, and where we died. It was where we were born, where we hunted, where we loved, and where we prayed. It was extensive. I wouldn't describe it as without end. We had explored beyond the tree. We could go down the surface, or we could reach the furthest ends of its branches, where they rested on the tops of the other trees in the forest, but we could never choose to live there. The branches of the tree were big enough to provide for our entire city and more. When branches fell, we went to the surface to gather them and use them. Each branch was so enormous, it could easily provide for months. If we were desperate, we could cut down a small tree from the forest below, but that hardly ever happened. The tree was our home, and as much as possible, we preferred to allow it to nourish us. The fields to the north and the mountains to the south, while beautiful in their own way, weren't home. This was the opinion of the elders, and their elders before them, and their elders before them. If I'm honest, it was my opinion as well. I'd been on a trip to see the mountains, once, and they were quite the sight to behold, but they didn't quite match our tree. Someday I planned on seeing the northern plains, but I was sure it would be a similar case.

This wasn't the opinion of everyone. While our woodworking was beautiful and intricate, some longed for more. They gave speeches of the metals and ores in the mountains. They claimed that these could provide sturdier structures, could be combined with our woodworking for new sorts of beauty, and could allow us to have conveniences never before dreamed of. They claimed that fire would become more easily contained, and less dangerous.

We didn't really take them seriously. There was no need to. They were talking about the things of fiction- things which would never come to be. Eventually, a fairly large group of them set out to the mountains, claiming that they'd be back with all the metal they could carry to show us how useful it was. Nobody cared. We weren't sad to see them go, or angry, or happy. It was their choice. It wasn't the safest idea in the world, but not really the most dangerous either. They'd come back eventually, we were sure.

And they did. Several months later, they arrived with new tools and equipment, and heaps of metal ore which they claimed could be melted and molded into any shape we wanted. That was when the city split. Some were all in favor of giving it a try, while others wanted nothing to do with it. I was included in the latter. Our tree provided for us. When branches fell, they grew back, ever nourishing us and giving anything we needed. The metal in the ground would run out. It was unreliable. Their methods for molding it, when not properly executed, were dangerous. And they ignored our tree, our woodworking, our elders, our history, and our tools. They wanted to use pieces of metal for bracing on our houses. They wanted to build fire pits in common gathering pits, and little metal cages on our torches. It was too much. They couldn't be allowed to destroy our home. So we took our torches, our most dangerous weapons, and surrounded their workshop. They wouldn't be allowed to persist. Their actions affected us all. Metal must be banned. They tried to hide inside their workshop like the cowards they were, but it didn't matter. We would get to them eventually.

And then someone threw their torch. It landed on the roof of their workshop. Their metal roof turned red, but didn't burn. The leaves above it did. It was mere seconds before the entire canopy above our heads was ablaze. Our squad of firefighters tried to put it out, but were unable. And the tree was abandoned.

Some refused to flee. We assume that they died in the flames. The rest of us went down to the forest floor, and went north. We ran, scattered, until we reached the plains, and could do nothing but stare and sob as the forest burned.

Years passed. We now live on the plains, in houses made of the very metal that destroyed us. We hate it, and we remember. But one day, we will plant the forest again. Though the miners may try to stop us, they will be unable to keep us from reclaiming our home.

A Record of War

Everyone thought the war would be over quickly. How wrong we all were. A few months spent to unify the country by force, was the reasoning. A split along the political lines. The first raids seemed decisive, but in the face of a one-sided slaughter, those who previously had called themselves pacifists took up arms and fought back. One side had numbers, the other had strength and experience. One side had publicity. The other had truth.

This phrasing may make it seem as though I was part of the war. I was, and I wasn't. When I heard of the first raids starting out east, I was opposed. I voiced my opposition, but it wasn't long before the raids had started in the west as well. I tried to warn my neighbors, but they called me a conspiracy theorist, trying to spread lies and terror. I escaped alone right before my own party razed the whole area to the ground. With nowhere to go, I fled east. My party had already taken control there, and raids were less common. I say “my party.” It was no longer my party at heart. It was my party by registration, for the sake of safety. But it was obvious who was right! My party, 85% of the time, was correct in their political views. That wasn't my opinion. That was math. It could be demonstrated on a piece of paper, or in the course of a single conversation. The other side, however, was so convinced that they were right that they refused to listen. They held firm to their baseless beliefs.

It sounds now as though I supported my own party's actions. Again, this was not the case. While my party had the correct views regarding economics and politics, they had no heart. They were filled with anger, rage, and hatred. Those who had gathered in the west were... Well, they hated in their own sense. They certainly hated us, just as the east hated them. But it was different. Those in the east were fueled not by a desire for truth, but out of greed and carelessness. Those in the west, on the other hand, allowed their love and good intentions to blind them from the true solutions. Everyone had very similar goals, but nobody was willing to work together. Those in power would do anything to stay where they were, and as the masses grew in their hatred for eachother... Well, the war was inevitable.

There were times when war was necessary. Times in history, I mean. To fight for justice, or for defense. This was not one of those times. This was a war of pure hatred- a desire to exterminate those they opposed. And the oppression has only grown.

When the war began, those who took no sides were tolerated, if only barely. But two years ago, it was announced that anyone not registered with our party would be considered an enemy. Some registered with one party or another out of desperation. Many fled the country- or rather, they tried to flee. Most who made the attempt were killed. But that wasn't enough. Two months ago, it was determined that anyone who wasn't a “true” member of our party was due to be imprisoned or exterminated. I have never expressed anti-west sentiment, and was originally from there. I'm on the list. Even as I record this now, I know they're coming. I have a friend in the higher departments who warned me. For the sake of the friendship we once had, he warned me, at his risk, but couldn't do any more. So I record this now in hopes that it isn't found and destroyed. Who knows what records may show in the future, but I need to send this now so there may be some form of record of what happened. This can't ever happen again in the future. And now they're pounding on my door...