ee. Ancient Encounters.

                I felt the tree shake. Some dried leaves drifted downward from jolts on the jittering branches. I felt thunder coming from the ground. Giant footsteps. Tyrannosaurus? Triceratops? I could only imagine. I saw a saber tooth tiger the previous night, so anything was possible. Looking to the deep blue horizon, I scanned the tree line, the clearings, and the rocky terrain for any sign of a roving giant. Every tree shook. Ever bush obeyed with shivering leaves to the footsteps. The thundering paused momentarily, then resumed. Those steps gradually faded away as if whatever was traveling near decided to travel somewhere else. Peace returned. Whatever it was, it was huge. It was gone.

                Silence returned. The night grew darker. The moon reclined behind a mountain ridge. I awaited the crickets. But they never sang. Eerie silence embraced the moonless night. Clear sky and many stars. I recalled the moon appearing the previous night from the mountain ridge almost early morning. I was determined to rest on the platform in the tree until daybreak. I laid in silence. My eyes closed. My ears wide awake.

My mind rushed to judgement again. Vision? Dream? Abduction?

                It’s windy. Humming. Warmth. The dark embrace of weightlessness. Arctic cold. Warmth returns. Humming crackling sonic raptures like saw blades on metal. A mixing bowl with faces distorted. Chattering crickets chirping. Dark eyes blinking. Teardrops swirling. White heads. No ears, no hair. Tiny nose on a huge face. No nostrils. All head no hair bare shoulders. Instruments. Sterile tubes. Silver. Humming antiseptics. Living breathing bulkheads. The deck is magnetic. Triangles lace the free space. Cockpits. Control panels. Pilot gear from other space. Pilot space. An alien abduction conducted on me.

One spoke to me.            

                Face to face. As if speaking with a dentist as he leans over you with a bright light in your eyes. You try to reply but he has your mouth absorbed with Novocain and filled with cotton. Your lips and tongue are numb. Your words don't form. You can’t reply. The alien speaks, “Write our appeal,” it says.

                His mouth never moves to form those words. He has a clicking chirp just like the crickets. His mouth shivers with that chirp. Not with the words I hear. He’s a big insect. The words it spoke didn’t speak with lips. They were thoughts. Telepathy.

                I wanted to say, “Who are you?” But I speak not aloud.

                He replies as if he knew my question, “We are the sons of God. The ones you call ‘the runaways.’”

                A long pause in thought. A needle. Pain. No pain. Drugs. Strong drugs. Lips numb. The alien continues to talk without forming words with no mouth. “We were higher than you, until you complained. You inherited the earth, but we deserve it. We tried to teach you. Fools. Now we exploit you after your betrayal. Your rejection of higher learning. We are banned from our homes and marooned on this dry ground. We survive. Despite you.”

                I ask without speaking, “Who am I?”

                The alien replies, “Write our appeal.”

                The alien eyes roll back in his head and change from red to blue in translucent colors. “Write out for us the record of a petition, so that we might receive forgiveness. Take a record of this petition up to the present reign.”[1]

I am Trainman.

Journal: Ancient Aliens.

I know these words. I read them in a book in the twenty-first century. Most of the western world scoffs at it. Claim it to be superstition. The rest of the world appears oblivious to it. The god RA to many.[2] That’s the way the aliens want it. Clandestine control.    

By, Trainman.