I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Something off in the distance I see, barreling forward unbelievably faster. I heard it long ago, but I see it now through tearing eyes. Angel? Devil? Death? New Life? I cannot say, it is too bright, it is still distant. Rumbling, crunching, loping, I feel it squishing against the wind. It lifts itself, preparing to plunge itself in me. Destroy? Save? Find? I cannot say, it is too exciting to know.

Didn’t I just write a couple entries ago how at this age I always thought I could hear something coming for me, especially when I walked outside at night when it was windy. Not something as in something physical or tangible, something as in something spiritual or an event. I also believed in talking to people in dreams, astral travel, the Norse gods and monsters from 1920s horror stories. So there you go.