May 28, 2007 - Entry #7

May 28, 2007 - Entry #7

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1



I am having a difficult time writing this at the moment.


I wish I could describe what happened yesterday (and today) with enough clarity that anyone reading this would understand why I am numb and why I’m having a very hard time sorting this situation out. But, I guess, even if I could write like a pro I wouldn’t believe it myself. Then again, I probably would believe it even less.

As I mentioned, I planned on leaving yesterday morning but, due to what I’m about to write, I am still here writing this from the farmhouse guest room…



I woke before sunrise, showered, dressed and thanked everyone for their help. I wasn't feeling well so I graciously turned down a large breakfast. My son quietly ate while I went outside to the dark morning and joined the old guy’s side at his pick-up truck.

He had started it and was cleaning garbage from the passenger floor. He told me we would have to stop for gas on the way and that it would be a half day drive. (further than I thought)

I turned to get my son but he was already walking from the house toward me. Then my chest tightened…

Headlights from a vehicle, a half mile away, were heading toward the farm. I asked the old man if he was expecting anyone. He shook his head as he joined my side. We watched the headlights turn away to another direction and I relaxed. But then they turned again and it was obvious that this farm was their destination.

The old guy told me to grab my son and follow him.

We hurried to the barn through the dark, where he led us inside, to a tool shed room. I told my son not to worry as the old man shut the shed room door and padlocked the outside.

I pushed my way through various boxes and farm equipment to a dirt smudged window. I couldn’t see a thing so I used my sleeve to clean it the best I could.

I could see the old man at his pick-up. I saw him pull a shotgun from behind the seat, load a shell into it and rest it over his shoulder.

I waited for what seemed like forever for a sign of the vehicle to arrive. The old man stood calm as he lit a smoke and watched.

Light finally stretched across the ground and shone on the old man. He shielded his eyes with one hand as a mini-van rolled to a stop in front of him. The head lights dimmed.

The farmer walked around to the driver’s door as its window rolled down and its interior light turned on. It was a woman in her late thirties with jet black hair.

The old man and the woman spoke for a moment and it looked like she was lost as he began to (what looked like) give her directions.

He then suddenly turned and faced me with confused look on his face.

I felt cold sweat run from my temple as he raised his arm and pointed at me.



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