Never Grew Forgotten

Have you ever seen the petrified look on your mother’s face, as she trembles, trying to explain that everything you’ve done, known and thought is all fake and a lie? Have you ever questioned your existence so much so? Do you know what it’s like to walk downstairs and find your atheist family all hunched over together and praying? Have you ever woken up to see your father sitting on the edge of your bed, frantically gathering all your belongings into one bag? Now this isn’t even your regular father you joke with and talk to everyday. This is your father that left before you were born, and the father that disengaged with your family too many times to call him a committed parent. Have you ever felt such fear for yourself and the people around you, that you don’t think you can ever believe what anyone says or does. Ever. The concern, the grief. No? Well I have. And that’s all because I’d been lied to my whole life. About everything and everyone. I was lied to so much, that sometimes I don’t think they even know what they’re saying anymore. Confused? Let’s start from the beginning.

It all started on my fifteenth birthday. My mother roused me awake early; a hazy, rainy morning. It’d been raining for nearly three days straight. I didn’t mind though, the rain makes me happy. There’s just something about fresh water falling from the sky that seems special. I awoke to see her holding something the size of a small pillow. It was wrapped in brown cardboard paper. Excitedly I begin unwrapping it, only to see a brown box, the same tinge as the paper. I curiously flipped open the plain lid, and opened the plain box. A plain, brown cardboard card sits in front of me. The front says, Mary Wexler, to be given to a child of three generations later, only at the age of fifteen. In cursive slanted writing, the letter reads;

To my dear great grandchild. I’m not sure if I will ever get the flattering chance to meet you in person, but I hope what lies inside this box will be as self-fulfilling as it was for me. There is one thing about our family that someone of your age was forbidden to know until now. At the age of fifteen, you now hold the ability to finally understand what the family has been doing for the past three generations.

At this, I looked up at my mother. She smiled and gestured for me to continue reading. I give her a confused and yet what feels like a hurt look, and continue reading. So everyone knows about this, but me?

If you are like I was at fifteen, you must be very curious about the world and what lays beyond those restricting fences that surround our cities. Our family ‘traditions’ also hold limits in themselves, forcing you to stay indoors before dark and others of the sort. This creates a burning flame inside of you, my dear, and that I know of. You want to know what’s out there, and I’m going to tell you. Our family holds an organised program exclusive to the Wexler family members. Our job is to investigate and discuss what’s really going on outside of this world we are forced to believe. In one of our latest discoveries, we’ve documented and recorded beings unlike to our kind. They obtain strong and extremely advanced technologies we could only dream of creating.

Please, my legacy. Take these pictures and my belongings to continue the legend of this family. Finish what your great grandfather and I started. Good luck.

Immediately, I put the letter carefully back into the envelope. As many’s would, my brain is rushing with questions, trying to contain the waterfall of words to burst out into a flood. I look back at the box. A stack of small files and pictures sits on one side. A pocketable, worn journal sits on the other. My mother stands up and walks back downstairs to prepare breakfast, leaving me to my thoughts and what seems like unanswerable questions. I briefly flick through the images. They must have been taken by an old camera, because the quality is worn, but just clear enough. There are about three group photos of my family members. There’s who I recognise as my mother’s brother. I don’t recognise her until I realise she’s the young teenaged girl standing on the end of the group. She looks just as beautiful as she does now. As I flick through the photos some look like advanced equipment. These must be the creatures’ ‘advanced technology’. There’s one particular image that catches my eye. It looks like some kind of gun, but I doubt it shoots regular bullets. It has a purple round cylinder containing a metallic shiny blue liquid. Though this looks fantastical on it’s own, what grasps my attention is the reflection on the glass. There’s the vague image of my great grandmother holding her camera, but behind her stands a large man. I can’t see his head, but he dresses in formal, beige trousers, and a polyester polo. He looks completely normal besides his hands. He appears to have claws rather than fingernails, and his posture is almost worse than my own. Somehow I feel like I’ve seen it before, but how could that be? That’s when it comes to me. I have seen it before. At first I thought it may have been in a dream, but no. It was real. I was ten years old and I was playing in the street with my older brothers. My mother had called us all inside, so they obviously ran ahead. They left me to get the ball that had rolled over the road. It sat on the grass, a few meters away from the forest. It would not have gone missing, due to the large fences that stretch around the entire city. I heard a natural-enough rustle in the grass, but as I stood up I saw a man standing behind the fence. He was wearing the same clothing I saw in the picture, and the exact standing pose. He was very tall, but before I could look up and see his face I ran away screaming. The last thing I try to remember from that moment is a huge flash of green. I’d always thought it was a dream due to the unnerving fact that before I could run back to my house, I woke up in my bed. I’d never thought of it very much since I was young and naive, not thinking much of anything back then. I took it to be a dream, but it never grew forgotten.

My name is Rykah. Or is it? I am sixteen years old. Or am I? I live with my whole family including my mother, father, two brothers, and my mother’s parents. Or do I? Nothing seems real anymore. So, you know how they say, ‘time flies by when you’re having fun’? Well, that’s certainly true. But what it should be, is that ‘time flies by when you have no time at all’. Especially when you’re being roused in your sleep, and told that everyone that you’ve met isn’t real. Everything you’ve learned is all one big ball of crap. Something I’ve learned and I know is true, is that NO ONE is to be trusted, NOTHING is to be trusted, and you must NEVER believe what your eyes THINK they see. The whole world is just one big sham, and for the people who don’t know it already: I’m telling you now.