Sunday, June 23, 2013

#31 Papaw


1. A deciduous tree (Asimina triloba) of the eastern and southeast United States, having flowers with three sepals, three petals, and numerous stamens and fleshy, edible fruit.

2. The fruit of this tree.

3. See papaya.


I walked through the trees as Ryan followed close behind. He thought he was being stealthy, but I knew he was there. He had only been trailing me for the last mile or so. My mother must have sent him. She always worries when I leave home without Graves. She probably told Dad and since he is always curious about where I go, he sent Ryan instead of Graves. Ryan is stealthy and will report my adventures back to Dad. My brother would have just hunted me down and dragged me home. Well, this ruined my plan for the day completely, so instead of exploring the edges of the grounds, I'll stop at the lake and go for a swim. That will give Ryan something to report.

I don't think Ryan has ever explored this far outside the community. He usually stays pretty close when he isn't going on scouting missions. My dad and William keep the trainees pretty close to town for their lessons, until they go through the door for the first time. They usually try to find scouts who are adventurous, but cautious. I would think that they would explore the land we live in. But no one seems to care what exists outside the community. Except me.

From where I'm sitting I can see Ryan behind one of the trees to my right. I'm debating whether to say something or not. It would be fun to show him that he isn't as stealthy as he thinks!

"Have you ever tired the fruit off these trees?" He walked out from behind the tree holding a green fruit.

"No, why are you following me?"

"You really should try it. It is perfect when it is ripe. The seeds are a perfect complement to the fruit and the secret ingredient in your mothers holiday pheasant." He rambled on about the fruit as he turned it over and over in his hands.

"Did my father send you? He usually sends my brothers when he is tracking me."

"He didn't." Ryan answered discreetly.

"Then why are you following me?!" I wanted an answer and he was nowhere near revealing his true intentions.

"I wanted to see where you were going for myself."


"It isn't important for you to know that."

"Of course it is! You are stalking me."

"You don't need to know...I'm...keeping you safe."

"Safe from what? I've been out her a thousand times."

"I know. I've been out here with you."

"What? Why?"

"You can't know what is out here. Just come back home."

"What is out here?"

He stayed silent.

"I'm not going with you!"

"Okay." He turned and started to walk away. "But don't tell your parents you know about the fruit."

He left.


When I got home Ryan joined us for dinner. He made no indication of our interaction earlier, but he probably told my father everything.

Monday, June 10, 2013

#47 X-Ray



1. a. Often, x-rays. a form of electromagnetic radiation, similar to light but of shorter wavelength and capable of penetrating solids and of ionizing gases.

b. Such radiation having wavelengths in the range of approximately 0.1–10 nm.

2. A radiograph made by x-rays.


Every now and then you can just see right through people. Some people are open books. While others are blessed with heightened intuition. You can read every sigh, every glance and every moment of silence. People evolve from a foundation. Mannerisms and behaviors are built on a structure of experiences and choices a person makes throughout their life.

I don't have these. I'm not quite sure how I know this, but I do. Something is different about me. Okay, that may be an over statement. I think I'm the same as the people that I live with, but not like the different people I see every day. They have a...umm...something more. They have a deeper...existence? I'm not sure what it is, but we live on the surface here. I mean physically I think we are underground. We only know what is shown and told to us. They tell us we don't need to know any more than that. Every day I meet and interact with people who are more than that. They know more than this.

I'm not sure when I started writing about it. Every day I go back and read from the day before. I wish I had some way to record how long I have been writing. Today I met with a man who had a critical illness...I had something to do with planned death. We went to San Francisco, to a secure unit off the coast, it looked like my own home...just abandoned. Sam, the man I was with, kept talking about how he wished he could have lived back then. That things would have been different and he wouldn't have had to do what he did. But then he kept talking about an injection; we only get injections when we are sick...I'm not sure what he was talking about. He didn't look sick.

Once we were done with that tour we went back to the city and had a beautiful dinner. He took me back to a hotel, but I don't...that part is lost. It may have been there, but oh well. They tell us every day that what we don't know won't hurt us. It seems like an odd statement because I think it does. I'm not supposed to remember these things. I've asked the others about their days and they just stare at me blankly and continue to eat their pudding.

They train us to understand what these people want. That doesn't sound quite right, but close. It is something like that...programmed maybe. These people we visit are transparent. I understand their intentions and wants, but I never understand why. These people have histories, families and homes. At least ones that mean more to them than mine do. Sam kept mentioning Christine and Kimberly. He talked about them in the past tense; like he hadn't seen them in a long time. Christine had moved on...from what he said. He loved her or at least how I'm supposed to understand it. Why didn't he spend this day with them?

I don't think I will ever see him again. I liked him, he was nice.

It will be whole new adventure tomorrow. Hopefully I will remember more of tomorrow than I did of today. Maybe if I can remember more after my nap, I could piece together my own history and family.