Let’s see if anyone see this. No one will so it really doesn’t matter what I write, does it? The day, a gray dreary day like most days around here, is cold (also like most days) and unpleasant. It is the day after Christmas and thankfully there is no work today. A small reprieve from the unending drudgery that is work. Yet tomorrow it begins again. The mind-numbing chore that work is. No future, no satisfaction, no purpose, no end. Who is the fool? I am. I have lost any interest I might have had in life. What I can see is a years long series of chores you do for others, rarely doing anything you personally desire to do. As time progresses and you have more “responsibilities” any interests one may have had are quickly extinguished from lack of time, lack of money, lack of desire. All drive one might have had to “do” gets beaten down by the work and the management/ownership of businesses. Any plans made are dashed. Plans cannot be followed because the money is NEVER there to do anything. Wages are kept as low as possible to ensure lifelong misery and entrapment into the system. Un-payable debt is encouraged continuously to further ensnare the common worker into a lifelong cycle of drudgery and broken dreams. Keeping the rabble/peasantry (the majority of humanity) down and depressed is the only way the elites can continue to live opulently in their distant realms, away from the real, day-to-day life of the vast majority. Face it, most work is meaningless tasks that only serve to enrich the very few. The future is dim, not bright for most. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, only the dark, cold of endless toil with no reward. Try to make a change and you’ll find obstacles at every turn, including your own self-doubt which is nurtured by employers (and all of society) all the time. You are ALWAYS looked at with suspicion, that somehow you are taking advantage of the employer even if it is as simple as getting paid for the labor you give them. They despise having to pay wages and always resent it. There is the daily reminder that they can get rid of you any minute always putting pressure on you, always causing worry that soon you’ll be out of a job and penniless, lose your home, starve. So, what to do. Nothing. I have run out of options. Only endless drudgery and disappointment. So what is the forecast? Continued darkness and mind-numbing chores until you physically can no longer function as far as I can see. Gloomy and depressing isn’t it? No future, no hope, except for a select few. Thoughts? There will, of course, be none because none will see or read this rant, so who cares. I’ve done this mostly to get rid of some of the negative vibes I have (and there is plenty more, I assure you) and to run a test to see if anyone reads this waste of time “blog.” Hopefully I will get a reaction but I know I will not. Enjoy and have a dark day!
Here is the beginning of a new tale, let me know what you think…
File 7, Copyright 2016, James R. Colbert, Jr. House of Darkness Publishing
There is a building, near the center of the complex, building forty-two. It sits a little apart from the others around it. Most of the other buildings are within twenty feet or so of each other, but not building forty-two. When it was built, the surveyors made certain that the distance was no less than fifty feet from any other structure. None of the buildings stand out for their architectural style, least of all building forty-two. All of them appear to follow a certain drab style, utilitarian, grayish white in color, ranging from three floors to as many as eight floors in height, all approximately with the same floor plan, each level containing the same number of square feet. At first glance, building forty-two seems much like the others, except for the extra distance from the other structures. It’s painted with the same plain, grayish white color scheme. Its height within the typical range, the dimensions of it’s outer walls also appear to give the impression of sameness with the rest of the complex, just another building, nothing seems very different about it.
Except that if you could get close enough, if you spent some time in building forty-two, you would see a few differences. They are subtle; easy to miss in the first few hours and days you spend there. The initial thing you’d likely take note of is the fact that the main entrance has a supremely heavy-duty door. More like something you might find in a bomb shelter. Of course, since everyone that works in building forty-two has to hold a level four or higher security clearance, you’d probably figure that a building filled with such high level personnel would be likely to have such a door. It would make sense. So would some of the other things you’d notice. The thick, tempered glass windows that don’t open, the separate elevators that only service a single floor, the fact that the outer walls are thirty percent thicker than the rest of the buildings in the complex, all these could be justified, it is, after all, a high security building. No, what would truly make you realize the building was a very special and very dangerous place, the one thing that would pique your senses that something was different about building forty-two was stored on the fifth floor. Room 502. Where records were stored. Where file number seven was kept.
I know what the media has told you, that file number seven doesn’t exist, that such talk is pure conspiracy; what else would they say? To admit such a thing would ruin everything their masters have long been working toward. The puppet-masters can’t allow that! I would expect nothing less. There was a time, only a couple of years back, that I would have been just as skeptical as you are. Look, I understand this is hard for you to accept, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I was there dammit and I know what I saw, what I learned. The facts are the facts. Believe me, I’m the first person who’d want this to be different, for the truth of what I’ve seen to be untrue. I wish I’d never set foot in building forty-two. I wish I’d never been assigned to the Department of Records. I wish I’d never mistakenly unlocked Room 502. And most of all, I wish I’d never opened file number seven. Once I explain what was in that file, what I read, what I saw–God forbid that anyone should learn that such evil exists–once you know what I know, then you’ll understand why I did what I did. It had to be done, I had no choice, none. I know you’ll see then.