A Morning Jog

It’s 5:30. My alarm clock goes off. I almost hit it before the first beep. I was awake anyway.

I get up and jump into my jogging pants. I just wear the T-shirt I slept in. In less than 2 minutes, I’m out the door.

Going jogging every day is very important to me, because it keeps my body healthy. I believe in a healthy mind within a healthy body. And if I want to keep eating hamburgers in the middle of the night, I also need to work out.

But that’s not the only reason I’m doing it. Jogging at 5:30 before breakfast and school gives me the perfect excuse to be outside this early. I get to take in the early crepuscular rays, the crisp smell of grass wet from the nightly rainfall, the chirping of birds in the trees, the splashing of fish in the river, I get to be alone with the world for just a little while, before I have to interact with people during the day.

I don’t like people.

Not that they’ve collectively done me wrong or anything, I just don’t like interacting with them. I honestly don’t care how their day is, what they ate for dinner last night, or what they’ll do in the weekend. I don’t enjoy working in groups for school projects, especially since it means they only want me in their group because they know I’ll put in all the work. And I don’t particularly enjoy being told what to do or what to learn, when I know there is so much more out there than these teachers even realise.

I’m not a conspiracy theorist, I’m not delusional, I’m not insane. I just know things. Things the average mind just rationalises away because they don’t make sense, because believing in a fiction is more believable than realising the truth. Okay, I hear it now, I really do sound like a conspiracy theorist. Oh well.

I’ve been doing scientific research since I was ten. Back then, I was collecting bugs and trying to interact with them. It only worked some of the time – most of the time, I was just a kid playing pretend with bugs. But sometimes, I was a kid talking to a fairy. Nobody believed me, and any photo I tried to take was smudged and blurry, so I have no proof. But I know.

Magic exists. In all forms: good magic, bad magic, crazy uncontrolled magic, fairy magic, vampires, werewolves – it all exists. And I am going to find it.

Oh, and aliens. They exist too. That’s why I stay up very late every night to gaze at the stars, in hopes to see the UFO – no, not an unidentified object, I identified it as the SP4-C3 vessel – I saw a few years ago. I will see it again, and I will talk to them. I just have to be patient.

I’m almost done with my jog. I’m on my way back home to my family. They are legitimately the only people I enjoy spending time with. I tried talking to them about what I know a long time ago, but they seem to genuinely belief I’m just a kid with a lot of imagination. I let them think that, for the time being. There’s no use in estranging from my family. Not yet. And besides, I relaly do love them. If i had scientific proof of their existence, I would think my Mum was a legitimate angel. She always believes in people, in the good within them, almost to a fault. My dad is more realistic and sees that not everything is good, so he wants to change the world for the better. They make a good couple in that way. In every way, actually. They are best friends and genuinely love and support each other.

Most of humanity could learn a lot from them. While I don’t like being around people specifically, I do care a great deal about humanity as a whole. I get that from my parents, I guess. I want to save the world. Not in a superhero kind of way, I don’t look good in capes. But I want to make the world a better place, by understanding and exposing the dangers of the things people don’t know about. The things out there.

I don’t necessarily believe that those things are inherently evil. But I don’t know. Yet.

As I push open the front door, the wonderful scent of fresh pancakes penetrates my nostrils. I walk into the kitchen and prompty hug my Mum. She looks suprised, shocked even, but returns the hug nonetheless. She smiles. “I love you, Mum. Thanks for the pancakes,” I say, as I grab a plate and take it up to my room. I’ve got work to do.

Loving Lydocias

“Hurry up, Dad! We’re going to be late for school!”

William tries to take a bite and almost drops the toast his wife so lovingly prepared for breakfast, as his son Arches pulls on his sleeve. “It’s field trip day, Dad! Come on!”

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Always busy, this family.” She smiles and gives her husband a quick peck on the lips before he leaves. “Pres still asleep?” he asks. She nods. “Give her a big kiss from Daddy, I’ll try not to be late tonight.” The last part of his sentence trails off as he closes the door behind him.

“Do you hear that, Pepper?” The dog looks at her, her head cocked sideways in confusion. “Peace and quiet. That’s rare, isn’t it?” As if on queue, the dog starts barking as Pres starts crying. “Did you guys practice that or something?”

“There’s my little girl!” She smiles genuinely at the sight of her only daughter. One arm outstretched while the other wipes off a tear, Pres reaches for her mother. “What shall we do today, girly?” The toddler looks like she is in deep thought, her tiny fingers scratching her equally tiny chin. She mulls it over for a few seconds and then squeaks her current most favourite word in the whole wide world: pawk.

Amelia turns to Pepper, who had followed her all the way up to the toddler’s room. “You hear that? The tiny human wants us to take you for a walk to the park.” At the word “walk”, Pepper starts wagging her tail, knocking over a tower of blocks Arches had so carefully built for his little sister the night before. Tears well up in the little girl’s eyes. “That’s okay,” Amelia smiles, “we’ll ask him to play with you and help you rebuild it tonight, right?” Pres nods. Crisis avoided. I sure am getting the hang of this, after three children.

Speaking of which, where is my third child? She hurries to the door across the hallway. A door that has remained locked ever since Isaac hit puberty. Amelia didn’t think Isaac had anything to be this secretive about, but wrote it off to a teenage phase. As long as the room stays clean, and by that I mean, our hallway doesn’t start smelling like high school locker room, he’s entitled to his privacy. He’s a smart and independent young man, he’ll be fine.

She knocks on the door. And again. And once more. She tries the handle, but as expected – locked. “Isaac, are you in there?” she yells tentatively. No response. He must have got up early to do some of his research before school. “At least your big brother plays outside a lot, right, girly?” she asks Pres in a mocking sing-a-song voice. “Let’s go play outside too.”