Confessions Of A Stranger

Peculiar happenings and fear of the unknown

Confessions Of A Stranger

Isn't it strange how you can wake up one Saturday morning and find yourself not being who you think you are or thought you were. Maxwell Thorn was just that person. The instant his eyes opened on that day his life changed forever. Sure, he looked, sounded and spoke just like himself as always but something else was going on. His eyes saw with a new light in them. They were alive and vibrant, taking in all of his surroundings with perfect clarity and detail; absorbing all of life around him in a single simple scan of eye and mind coordination, drinking in the forces of nature in a simple glance.

He was still himself but something else as well somehow. He could not put his finger on it but he had evolved, become enlightened as if a light exploded inside his head. He had read or heard about such happenings to other people. He started to fear that he must have developed a brain tumor or aneurysm. Was his brain ballooning out of shape, swelling blood within the cerebral arteries and veins, driving him insane, maybe about to rupture at any moment now? He looked in his mirror and he appeared to be alright. There were no discernible changes in his outward appearance. In any event it was a weekend and all the clinics would be closed. He had to wait until Monday to be tested and investigate further.

Perhaps it would be best to stay in bed and rest but his mind was racing in all directions. The unknown condition filled him with fear, made him frantic, caused indigestion and other un-pleasantries. Surely any one who knew him or spoke to him would find him out. His friends and family would condemn him for changing so rapidly overnight into a stranger with strange ways. They would have him put in an asylum or have his brain dissected by the government to what was going on. His game plan was to keep a low profile and act like his lesser self. He could do that easily because it is always a simpler task to act dumb if you are smart than it is to act smart if you happen to be dumb. He was still himself after all. How difficult could it be to continue along that course?

There were very few friends and even less family members to contend with or to manage, in what he hoped and prayed would be a short term charade. His parents died of natural causes several years ago. No one knows what that means. You could say that all deaths are natural because all creatures die. The deceased certainly don't care about the semantics of the event, whether it was violent or in their bed asleep. Labels don't make it any less painful for the ones they left behind, no matter what the reason, how, what, when or why.

Max was in his late thirties; smart, level headed and conservative so he should be able to soldier on as usual through this unforeseen storm.

On Monday he would have to return to work at his book store. Being the owner would make it easier for him to manage himself and his new condition in front of customers and the few employees under his tutelage and care. Simplicity will be the order of the day.

Meanwhile his condition was advancing into a whole new realm. While taking a long walk after breakfast to clear his head, he noticed things. He noticed everything. He could identify every tree and bush and vegetation along his path. He knew every species, phylum and order by name; every genome and family item without exception. He could see and identify all the atoms and molecules in the air and identified them by name and their actions, paths and orbits before they did their natural thing and danced away. He watched the Telephone poles, lines and wires come alive with life and knew the inner workings of photon tubes situated on them, that lit up and went off according to the time and light refraction influences of the day.

Before Saturday he would have never thought about such things. Dissecting multiple thoughts and images simultaneously within seconds were well beyond his pay grade, consideration and concept. Max was the kind of guy who could remember to take his keys or his bagged lunch to work but not both. One thought, one item at a time was his style.

By the time Monday rolled around he had mastered several languages which were previously unknown to him. Quantum physics and the laws of general relativity were a peace of cake and he had developed a keen interest in encryption coding and figuring out new advanced uses for computing algorithms.

He was becoming more and more of a stranger to himself. By the time he arrived at work on Monday he composed himself to dumb down the conversations he would be having with others and slowing down his pace to a normal rhythm understood by the common man.

Everyone greeted him with, “Good morning Mr. Thorn.” He smiled back, gave a salutatory wave and retreated into his office to escape their world of normalcy.

He could not wait a moment longer. He dashed out the door telling his staff that he had forgotten his lunch at home and that he would be eating outside today. He took this opportunity to dash over to the medical radiology labs to have his head scanned or at least, examined.

Several days later he made an appointment with Father Back to hear his confessions.

Encounter with Father Bach

Max had to tell someone about what happened to him or he would go crazy, which he himself already suspected. The Catholic church has this priest/sinner confidentiality rule that Thorn, who was fully conversant with church doctrines, being that he too was a practicing Catholic who now wanted to take advantage of it, with the complete secrecy that comes with it. If the priest thought he and his story were crazy, so what. He would be held to the sacred canon laws of the faith whereby they could never divulge what was said in the confessional booth.

Thorn knew Father Bach since he was very young. He was his professor at college for a theology and history class. He also served with him as an alter boy at Sunday masses. The priest listened intently to his story. Max started his confession with, “Father Bach, please treat this session as a confessional.” The father agreed and said, “Proceed.” Max clasped his hands and fingers together, pointed them to heaven and began, “Bless me father for I have sinned.” “It has been three months since my last confession.” Now that the legal part was out of the way he began his unearthly tale.

About The Fingers

Max went on to talk about some of the strange things, the transformations to his personal being. He confessed to having salt and pepper hair on his head on a Friday evening. When he awoke the next morning he looked in the mirror and realized his hair had turned black, every blessed hair atop his cranium had changed overnight to shiny jet black. His toes disappeared and the feet turned to a metallic copper color up to the ankles. All of his fingers grew an extra half inch. His left hand grew an extra one between the thumb and index finger. He wondered why he now had 6 digits.

All 5 fingers and thumb where exactly the same in length. He speculated this adaptation was for the utility of pushing extra buttons or doing additional mechanical activity on specialized engines or devices yet to be disclosed or made clear to him.

At this revelation the priest's eyes opened wide as saucers and he gazed apprehensively at the young man he had known all his life and wondered who or what he had become. Maxwell was not shy or holding back any of his new found language skills and peculiar mannerisms. He poured his soul out to the priest.

He explained how, when he was at work recently, a customer would ask him where a particular book was located in his shop. Max pretended not to know. He looked through some pages on the counter, fidgeting around for an answer and said, “Let me help you find it.” The truth is, he now knew where every book on every shelf was located in an instant. He had read many of the literary works over so many years. Now he had total recall. You could point to any page in any of the books he had read and he could tell you the content. It was as if he had just read them.

There was no chance he could not replete every word verbatim or make a mistake. His brother John would visit him on Wednesdays to beat him at chess. Max never won a game. He played a competitive game but he always found a way to lose and the brother always found a way to win. There was a beautiful large hand crafted board on a small elegant table with magnificent staunton design pieces on display in the center of the shop. Just above the chess board, hanging low, is a colorful Tiffany lamp, hovering majestically, giving an air of sophistication to the little book store.

Max Thorn completed his confessions. Bach looked shocked. He blessed the young man while saying a few prayers under his breath in Latin. He sat silent, speechless, mystified and humbled by the experience. After a while he stood up and pronounced, “Evolution!” “This must be a form of rapid evolution, the kind of which I have never experienced before.” “Say two Our Fathers, Three Hail Mary's and make a good act of contrition.” “Make a quick stop to the nearest authorities or science facility to be tested.” “We must be sure that you are not a danger to yourself or the community in your condition.” “Only God knows at this point where you and your new powers and abilities will lead.”

Maxwell replied, “Don't worry Father.” “I haven't developed a taste for human flesh yet.” “I'm still a good Catholic.” “I'm convinced it is not the food I eat.” “I eat the same meals every day.” “I don't think it is the water either and I don't drink the kool-aid.” “Who knows?” “I might become a better priest than you when all is said and done.”