Date: May 30, 3023
In all truth and astonishment, I can honestly say I never saw this coming. It has taken more than twenty minutes to write the above date because I'm still coming to grasp with what's happening to me. I have been instructed to log anything I feel, think, wish, wonder, what-have-you and the reason I have to do this is for my mind's protection, so I'm told. Past reports tell of others who never logged their, let's call it, "transmissions", and without going into great detail, their minds eventually became no different than an old-fashioned bowl of oatmeal. So here we go. My name is Emit Marton and if anyone finds this...help me.
It all started yesterday, the morning of May 29th 2012, my first day as a senior at Camino High Private School in Minnesota. It was a relatively new school that didn't allow very many students. It wasn't that difficult for me to get in. Just had to take a test, then got an acceptance letter in the mail. Big deal. My parents were more overjoyed than I was. They said I had a genius IQ. Sure, if liking math and knowing how to spell long words that no one ever uses makes you a genius then I fit the profile.
Learning was fun to me, and very easy to understand. Mozart heard melodies in his head and he could play the piano. I saw new computer designs in my head and I built them. Same thing. At eleven I figured out how to make a model car hover above the ground using a special material I created called "Hovenet". Skipping the boring stuff, Hovenet is a magnetic material that repels an object a few inches from the earth. With exact calculations it would easily work on a regular sized car. We could have had and should have had hover cars back in the nineties. Of course my designs didn't need gas, so it wasn't sellable. Billion dollar companies wouldn't build anything they couldn't sell and then re-sell over and over again. Let alone something that was designed from an eleven-year-old. They just wouldn't believe what their eyes were telling them. So I converted my design to a hover scooter instead. Unfortunately I couldn't show anyone 'cause they'd want one. Call me a little selfish, but it was cool to be the only one in the world to have a hover scooter. I called it a "Hooter" but then I got older and realized the name needed changing.
The point is, I could do it. I just saw whatever was in my head and I could make it real. In other words school was a breeze. Of course, that's academics. Then there's the other side of the school coin, the social side. Basically it was a complete and utter pain in the buttocks.
No one likes an over achiever, a know- it-all, especially one who retains things so easily. I was nice to the other students, never rude, always respectful, but I couldn't crack the damn making friends equation. I knew who I was, or at that time I thought I did, and I knew what I wanted in life. They didn't seem to share the same ambitions. It was all about the current hip television show, video game, who's dating who, who is "you know what-ing" with whom.
My theory for the lack of friends was as follows. Everyone who attended Camino High had an IQ of 140 or up, so everyone was creating or inventing something. Each student assumed they had a set career path so when school hours were over the last thing anyone wanted to talk about was their future. It's understandable. The student's ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen, why shouldn't they be kids during their off time? Where they found joy in stealing their parent's liquor, driving without a license, partying like brainless animals, I found joy in technology and imagery. If I hit a roadblock while I was creating something, I'd read a book, digitally draw on a computer, or go to a movie. That was my escape and there were fewer consequences in those choices. The only thing I had in common with the students of Camino High was we all despised the uniforms.
The boys were allowed the choice of short or long sleeved dark blue collared shirts made from the scratchiest and heaviest material known to the clothing industry. We had to wear the shirts tucked in our khaki pants with a black leather belt and silver buckle. Lame. The girls had the same choices of collared shirts and had to wear either khaki skirts to the knee or long pants. Doubly lame. We all had to wear converse shoes. No exceptions. The shoes were cool though.
YOU ARE READING
My name is Emit Marton and if you're reading this -- help me! I know it sounds completely insane but I was once one of you. Normal -- what ever that means -- but now you have found pieces of my memories and I need them back. In order for me to mak...