posted on Jul, 6 2009 @ 11:40 AM
I didn’t know that I was fighting the wrong enemy until the day I died. As I lay there with my lifeblood pouring from my wounds, my physical pain
was dwarfed by my new found knowledge. How could I not have known? How could none of us have known? Let me back up a bit and tell you my
My name is Thomas. I was born into the war. Both of my parents fought valiantly for more than 15 years to protect our kind from annihilation. They
often told me as a child, that we all would have been safe, if we had never been given the name Indigo. In the 1970’s, a woman decided to go public
with the notion that there were many “special” children with indigo auras. From that point on we were sought out, ridiculed, and persecuted.
Thirty some odd years later, world leaders decided that we were a threat to their power, and therefore a threat to “normal” humans. War was
waged. First with arrests and reconditioning by electroshock and drugs. Then, after some Indigos rebelled, with murder. My Mother and Father both
died to protect me when I was twelve.
I stayed with others like me and learned to fight. We never wanted anything other than to be left alone with our thoughts. Instead we were forced to
use our talents and abilities to stay alive. We banded together in camps and moved often. Usually we could keep one step ahead of our pursuers, as
there was almost always at least one person in each camp with a gift of precognition. However, sometimes we were surprised by the raids and had to
fight, flee, or die in the middle of the night. This led to the belief that there were those with special gifts of there own fighting with the
By the time I was 18, I had been in several major battles. All but the last were a result of having to protect myself and my extended family. In the
last siege, we were the aggressors. We had decided that the culling of Indigos would never end and the only alternative was to eliminate the threat.
After a year of planning and coordinating, we launched a simultaneous global attack against normal cities. There was much death on both sides. I
lost two fingers but gained a greater hatred for those not like me.
I am now 22 years old and can’t count the number of men, women, and children that have died by my hand. I also can’t count how many friends I
have lost. Numbers don’t mean much to me anymore. The camp I belong to has grown large enough to take over a small town in rural Texas. We have
no named leaders, but if we did, I would be one of them, simply because I have survived for so long. As our numbers grow we feel more secure of our
future as the only human inhabitants of the Earth. We will win this war. The only question remaining is how many of us will be left.
When the first scream awoke me this morning, I wasn’t sure if it was real, or a sound from the near future. Then as I was jumping up to investigate
the bomb exploded. I was knocked off of my feet and my ears were ringing. I instinctively knew that we had been targeted from the air. I grabbed my
weapons and ran outside. There were so many of my allies already around me that we looked like a small army. Everyone spread out to there
pre-assigned border areas quickly and quietly. There was very little communication needed between us. I and four others went together to the eastern
boundary of our camp.
On the way, we past the area that had been damaged. The fires still burned and the bodies still writhed. I felt the anger swell in me and heighten
my senses. Arnold stopped when he recognized his sister, still clutching his brand new nephew, charred and not moving. The rest of our group looked
to him. He understood and kept moving. We were no more than 100 yards from the fence when the shots rang out from behind us. I spun around as I was
hit and saw only two men. One had the automatic weapon that had nearly cut me in half. The other was simply staring at us. I realized he had been
cloaking the shooter from our thoughts, and laughed that the theory of traitor Indigos was actually true.
It was then, as I lay there dieing and hating, that memories flooded into my mind. They were not my memories, but those of my species. It was a
global consciousness that was aware of what had happened to us. I remembered small children and babies going into a bright light. I looked through
their eyes and saw the most grotesque beings doing things that I couldn’t understand. There was pain as I/they were touched with different
instruments. As I faded into cold blackness, I understood a conversation between the monsters. One said to another, “These special children will
produce more of their kind until they threaten to replace the others of their species. There will be civil war until all are dead by their own hands.
Then this planet will be ours….” Now I know, we have all been fighting the wrong enemy all along.