The following is a page out of the life of my Wonderful Grandson. He has been through a horrific ordeal and is now living a life none of us would ever imagine for someone with such great potential, someone so smart, so loving, someone you watched grown-up, that you laughed with, someone you cried with, would have to go through. Take a moment and read, take a moment and reflect on your own life, on all those you love and hold dear to you and remember that in one second, in one decision their life, and your life can and will be changed forever.
I'm working on writing a book. Please take a moment to read this.
"Life in general"
by Zach Potts introduction
I always get nervous, to say the least when I begin to talk about how this all started. I guess I don't quite even know how it did in the first place. Like when you first wake up disoriented and don't quite remember who or where you are, then spend the first couple blinks and yawns putting together your life piece by piece in chronological order to the best of your ability. Why can't I seem to do that anymore? Why can't I put together the pieces of my life in a way that makes sense? It seems like when I have a small lapse of clarity, her words always make my reality crumble right before my eyes just as quick as that little lapse came... Who is she? She's so familiar. What is my reality?
Waking up not knowing where you are or who you are is always a bitch. On top of that you look into a 10" by 7" piece of metal - a shitty substitute for a mirror I suppose - bolted into a concrete wall after washing your face and you don't recognize the face staring somberly back at you. Features young yet worn, eyes bright, yet hollow. Vaguely familiar but at the same time a total stranger. "What happened to you?" I said out loud and jumped at the sound of my own voice, which was also oddly ambivalent. I know that voice yet I don't
I look around the 6ft by 13ft box - because let's face it that's what it is - and think to myself. How long have I been here? Why do I feel this sense of impending doom I'm the pit of my stomach and at the same time this complacency? Is this it for me? Will I be able to see my dreams through? "What was my dr-" I started to say and was startled again, not by my own voice but a different one, a loud commanding robotic voice. Like the one that bellows throughout a train station or an airport in that hurry up get your bags and don't miss your stop tone.
"ATTENTION ALL STAFF AND OFFENDERS! THE TIME IS SIX FIFTEEN AM! IT IS NOW TIME FOR THE SIX FIFTEEN STANDING COUNT! STANDING COUNT!" Is yelled out of a small intercom embedded into one of the air ventilation systems above the door that I can only imagine is just filtering recycled air. That thought escapes my mind and a new one enters as the door opens abruptly.
Offender? What’s outside of that door? What is this place?