There comes a time in every hero’s journey where they get captured and experimented on until death were preferable.
Or maybe that’s just my experience.
Name is Jake, and once upon a time ago, I could have the exact tool for whatever I needed. I considered it luck. Need a screwdriver? Ole Jake will reach his hand into this here drawer and lo and behold, here is the screwdriver you need.
It was always moment specific, and I never disappointed.
I went from screwdriver to eventually, helping the local cops. Don’t help cops. It’s the one thing I wish I had known. I went from helper to being a tried and convicted serial killer.
“Nobody just knows where the murder weapon is.”
This haunts me now, because oh, how I tried to show them what I could do. It never helped my state of incarceration, just how they incarcerated me.
What I need now is freedom, but as I feel my power coalesce and attempt to give me exactly what I need to make freedom a reality, the cell around me builds a charge of static electricity and I know I am about to get fried.
And I do, and like Pavlov’s dog, I know any thought non-mission specific gets me tossed to the floor dancing like a cockroach on fire. So I return to needing the schematics to a ship capable of speeds beyond light.
“God,” I beg. “Please give me the schematics to a ship that can go faster than light. Please.”
But I know it will never come, because it isn’t possible. And I wish to die and feel the static build-up yet again.