I sat at the bar counter and stared at the clock above it. A few minutes until twelve. In my previous writing, I felt like it was morning, but how quickly midnight crept into my soul. The closer the hands moved to twelve, the colder and sweatier my back became. My battered heart skipped another beat when the very punctual Cook walked into the cafeteria at exactly 12 o'clock.
A giant bouncer dressed in a valet's uniform opened the door leading to the pressurized outdoor area and welcomed the gray creature. My head turned automatically to look. The newcomer was like an alien straight out of one of those sci-fi movies or books: gray skin, long, thin limbs, black almond-shaped eyes, and an almost featureless nose and mouth.
Cook walked past me and greeted me with a smile. I understood everything. I mumbled a response, and Wurp, who was on duty behind the counter, must have understood something, because Cook seemed to have gotten an answer from me. He popped into the kitchen, said a word to Winston, and when he returned, he asked me to sit at a corner table that was already somewhat familiar to me. They say a regular's table holds a lifetime of stories.
I tried to draw a portrait of Cook. The picture could be described as an approximation,
and is nowhere near accurate. I need to practice drawing a lot more. At least the chef's hat resembles the original.
Cook asked me to open my mind, and I did my best. I also tried to shake off all my beliefs, because clinging to them would just make acceptance more difficult. But along the way, I only got more confused by listening to the advice. My brain started to build a thick wall in front of my free flow of thoughts. While doing that, it dispelled everything I was supposed to let go outside the said wall.
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To my surprise, it was a good thing. A path to enlightenment. Cook somehow managed to banish the dark and sticky shadows now roaming around outside the new build barricade. His words were like a flood of bright light that washed the courtyard clean. Inside the walls, logical thinking was thus free of limiting factors. The final step would not be to tear down the wall. That would happen gradually. All that remained was to find a doorway, and if there wasn't one, we'd break one down.
Then I was ready to hear the truth as truth, not as something that requires blind faith. We all have this gift from childhood. For most people, it doesn't disappear, but most people no longer know how to use it. But I was an easy case. The destructive forces of adulthood hadn't taken their toll on me yet. And that’s why I was abducted.
I should become an observer. The job required a human being, because deep observation is a unique human trait. Our species is still so primitive that we have retained this ability. According to Cook, evolution would eventually wipe it out completely, but that had not happened yet.
And that was the extent of my uniqueness. I just happened to be a person whose mind was a little more open and whose aura shone bright enough to be easily detected. It was also an advantage that, as a seemingly invisible person, my absence would go unnoticed. It is always comforting to hear about one's own importance.
Now I should just exercise my skills and get it down perfectly. The best way to do this would be to keep doing what I'm already doing: writing these diary entries. Somewhere out there on Earth, there's a server that Pearl set up for me, where my texts end up. So, hello to y’all, if there’s anybody. I’ve been told it’s a good practice to imagine that someone is reading your texts. That should have a positive effect on the quality and quantity of the effort I put into my task. I suppose we'll see.
Cook didn't really belittle my position in any way. Perhaps my interpretation is just my own opinion. Cook was just very honest and didn't sugarcoat his words. But I do feel a little important. Even though I'm just an ordinary person with a slightly more open mind, I still have a mission.
I look at the clock on the wall of my room and feel time continuing to flow through me. It says ten o'clock again, and after yet another deep sleep, it feels like morning again. Either I had a lot of catching up to do on sleep, or there's something in the water here in this moon. How I’ve been calculating hours, I've managed to fit two nights into one day. Now that I think about what happened with Cook, it feels like a dream. Can I be sure it wasn't just my mind playing tricks on me? I should, because it's something I know to be true. It's not just a feeling produced by belief, it's knowledge.
Right?
Till next time.
- Johnny