Saturday, January 31, 2009
Comment
Thus ends The Rosary Bracelet. I plan to edit the rough draft on my word processor. The final print version will be different and possibly longer. Each chapter actually was a scene. I hope you enjoyed this novel in progress.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Chapter 33
Monica and I purchased a new 3-D Holographic Television. Monica's research in 3-D Volumetric Displays had directly led to the new 3-D technology sweeping the world. No longer did people have to watch television on flat 2-D screens. All you needed were two 3-D projection cameras to project the SCIRL beams, Supercontinuum Infrared Light beams. Where they met in the display volume, the 3-D image formed.
I could watch football games as if I were in the stadium. Just by changing positions in the living room, I could watch the game from a different angle. I could watch from any side or from the top of the 3-D Holographic Television. Monica's Chamberless 3-D Volumetric Display had become a commercial reality.
For years, 3-D televisions needed a display chamber with some sort of special gases like rare earth gases. The Chamberless 3-D Volumetric Display used ordinary air as the display medium for generating the 3-D images. It was much safer and cheaper than the old 3-D Chamber Holographic Televisions.
"You must be proud, Monica," I said to her as I watched the local news in 3-D.
"Actually," she said. "This is all part of the JDP."
"What do you mean?" I asked as I lay on the couch.
"I think we will be watching movies in the sky," said Monica. "You did work on the laser-based guidance system for that antisatellite weapon."
It finally occurred to me what Monica was saying. The US Department of Defense had deployed naval-based and land-based laser-guided antisatellite weapons all over the world. Networks of high powered lasers acting much like SCIRL beams scanned the skies daily in search of potential targets. A worldwide matrix of lasers was in place that could act much like the dual SCIRL beams required to generate 3-D holographic images in the sky. I explained my epiphany to Monica.
"Just how would the antisatellite laser network generate movies in the sky?" I asked Monica.
"Simple, anyone from the CIA could access the DoD computers and direct the worldwide laser matrix to generate 3-D images in the sky," she replied. I did a few calculations in my head. Monica was right. The videos in the sky would reveal all secrets somehow. With information about everybody in a computer somewhere, nobody was safe from having his or her life broadcast for the whole world to see in the sky, complete with audio.
Every 3-D television, every 2-D television, every cell-phone, every electronic device with video and audio capability would broadcast the life of every person who had ever lived. There would be no secret that would not be revealed.
"Monica, you recruited all those people including me to work on the Judgment Day Project," I said. "You realize with all the surveillance cameras everywhere, everyone on the planet is recorded wherever they go. That's why you recruited Larry, right?"
"Yes, everyone in the CIA plays a part of the JDP."
I truly understood from Monica that nothing in my life was an accident. God worked order through all the chaos. My Dual-Laser Guidance System for Project Whirlwind was actually ordained by the Lord so that no secret would be left undiscovered. Evil relies on secrecy for its very being. We in the CIA were waging the War on Evil.
"How soon will this happen?" I asked God Himself.
"Do you hear the cries of lamentation all over the world?" the Lord said to me.
"Yes, I do," Isaid. Monica and I went outside our house in Las Vegas. We looked in the night sky. Against the darkness, we saw a huge aerial vision of the cross of fire surrounded by the Rosary of fire. All the people in the city had gathered in the streets to watch the videos in the sky. I looked down at my cell phone screen and I could see the cross of fire surrounded by the Rosary of fire. When I looked in the sky, I saw multitudes watching the Story of the World, the story of every person who had ever lived from Adam and Eve to Monica and I watching the Story of the World.
People watched in amazement at the videos in the sky. Fights broke out as people discovered their lovers' infidelities. Swindlers were revealed and their victims retaliated. Corrupt politicians were exposed as the videos in the sky continued for seven weeks. For 49 days and nights, no story was left untold, not even mine. Screams could be heard from all over the world, as people prayed for mercy from the Lord. Foreboding terrorized those who knew their turn would come for all the world to know their secrets. Those who had plenty to hide, ran and hid.
Nobody could hide though. Giant television screens on the Las Vegas Strip exposed every secret. Every computer monitor, every 2-D television, every 3-D television, every movie theater, every radio, every cell phone, every communication device revealed all good works as well as sins.
Monica and I enjoyed the aerial Story of the World. We held hands as we watched the show. When it was all over, I looked down at her wrist and admired the white rosary bracelet. The world could never be the same again. It was not the end of the world. It was the End of This World.
I could watch football games as if I were in the stadium. Just by changing positions in the living room, I could watch the game from a different angle. I could watch from any side or from the top of the 3-D Holographic Television. Monica's Chamberless 3-D Volumetric Display had become a commercial reality.
For years, 3-D televisions needed a display chamber with some sort of special gases like rare earth gases. The Chamberless 3-D Volumetric Display used ordinary air as the display medium for generating the 3-D images. It was much safer and cheaper than the old 3-D Chamber Holographic Televisions.
"You must be proud, Monica," I said to her as I watched the local news in 3-D.
"Actually," she said. "This is all part of the JDP."
"What do you mean?" I asked as I lay on the couch.
"I think we will be watching movies in the sky," said Monica. "You did work on the laser-based guidance system for that antisatellite weapon."
It finally occurred to me what Monica was saying. The US Department of Defense had deployed naval-based and land-based laser-guided antisatellite weapons all over the world. Networks of high powered lasers acting much like SCIRL beams scanned the skies daily in search of potential targets. A worldwide matrix of lasers was in place that could act much like the dual SCIRL beams required to generate 3-D holographic images in the sky. I explained my epiphany to Monica.
"Just how would the antisatellite laser network generate movies in the sky?" I asked Monica.
"Simple, anyone from the CIA could access the DoD computers and direct the worldwide laser matrix to generate 3-D images in the sky," she replied. I did a few calculations in my head. Monica was right. The videos in the sky would reveal all secrets somehow. With information about everybody in a computer somewhere, nobody was safe from having his or her life broadcast for the whole world to see in the sky, complete with audio.
Every 3-D television, every 2-D television, every cell-phone, every electronic device with video and audio capability would broadcast the life of every person who had ever lived. There would be no secret that would not be revealed.
"Monica, you recruited all those people including me to work on the Judgment Day Project," I said. "You realize with all the surveillance cameras everywhere, everyone on the planet is recorded wherever they go. That's why you recruited Larry, right?"
"Yes, everyone in the CIA plays a part of the JDP."
I truly understood from Monica that nothing in my life was an accident. God worked order through all the chaos. My Dual-Laser Guidance System for Project Whirlwind was actually ordained by the Lord so that no secret would be left undiscovered. Evil relies on secrecy for its very being. We in the CIA were waging the War on Evil.
"How soon will this happen?" I asked God Himself.
"Do you hear the cries of lamentation all over the world?" the Lord said to me.
"Yes, I do," Isaid. Monica and I went outside our house in Las Vegas. We looked in the night sky. Against the darkness, we saw a huge aerial vision of the cross of fire surrounded by the Rosary of fire. All the people in the city had gathered in the streets to watch the videos in the sky. I looked down at my cell phone screen and I could see the cross of fire surrounded by the Rosary of fire. When I looked in the sky, I saw multitudes watching the Story of the World, the story of every person who had ever lived from Adam and Eve to Monica and I watching the Story of the World.
People watched in amazement at the videos in the sky. Fights broke out as people discovered their lovers' infidelities. Swindlers were revealed and their victims retaliated. Corrupt politicians were exposed as the videos in the sky continued for seven weeks. For 49 days and nights, no story was left untold, not even mine. Screams could be heard from all over the world, as people prayed for mercy from the Lord. Foreboding terrorized those who knew their turn would come for all the world to know their secrets. Those who had plenty to hide, ran and hid.
Nobody could hide though. Giant television screens on the Las Vegas Strip exposed every secret. Every computer monitor, every 2-D television, every 3-D television, every movie theater, every radio, every cell phone, every communication device revealed all good works as well as sins.
Monica and I enjoyed the aerial Story of the World. We held hands as we watched the show. When it was all over, I looked down at her wrist and admired the white rosary bracelet. The world could never be the same again. It was not the end of the world. It was the End of This World.
Chapter 32
For years, Monica worked at Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital recruiting operatives for the CIA. Many of the patients had visions of the Sign of the CIA like I had. Like me, they had to be awakened to who they really were, instruments of God's will. While secular society considered us to be insane for testifying to the Lord, Monica knew many of God's operatives were being persecuted because we knew too much.
We all had pieces of the JDP, or Judgment Day Project. Monica had worked on the Chamberless 3-Dimensional Volumetric Display as her dissertation topic at Catholic University of America. I had worked on Project Whirlwind, the antisatellite weapon system of the United States Department of Defense. I managed to secure a professorship at the University of Nevada Las Vegas in the Department of Physics, the same place where I had earned my bachelor's degree.
All we knew about the JDP was that all secrets would be revealed. "What about my sister? Who murdered her?" I asked Monica.
"All secrets will be revealed," she said. "When the Big Surprise happens, you will know who killed your sister and her family." I had learned that my father died of a heart attack, and my mother died of a stroke six months later.
Monica recruited quite a bunch of misfits from Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital. For example, David Park, a Korean-American had worked for the US Patent and Trademark Office as a Patent Examiner. Before being diagnosed as schizophrenic, he had prosecuted patents for electrical devices. He held a master's degree in electrical engineering from UCLA.
Janet Tollefsen, a bipolar person, specialized in database programming, Artificial Intelligence, and quantum crytography. Larry Schwartz had worked in video surveillance at Caesar's Palace. He was fired when he was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. All of these talented people came from Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital. They weren't crazy; God just called them to work as His instruments on the JDP, whatever it was.
We all had pieces of the JDP, or Judgment Day Project. Monica had worked on the Chamberless 3-Dimensional Volumetric Display as her dissertation topic at Catholic University of America. I had worked on Project Whirlwind, the antisatellite weapon system of the United States Department of Defense. I managed to secure a professorship at the University of Nevada Las Vegas in the Department of Physics, the same place where I had earned my bachelor's degree.
All we knew about the JDP was that all secrets would be revealed. "What about my sister? Who murdered her?" I asked Monica.
"All secrets will be revealed," she said. "When the Big Surprise happens, you will know who killed your sister and her family." I had learned that my father died of a heart attack, and my mother died of a stroke six months later.
Monica recruited quite a bunch of misfits from Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital. For example, David Park, a Korean-American had worked for the US Patent and Trademark Office as a Patent Examiner. Before being diagnosed as schizophrenic, he had prosecuted patents for electrical devices. He held a master's degree in electrical engineering from UCLA.
Janet Tollefsen, a bipolar person, specialized in database programming, Artificial Intelligence, and quantum crytography. Larry Schwartz had worked in video surveillance at Caesar's Palace. He was fired when he was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. All of these talented people came from Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital. They weren't crazy; God just called them to work as His instruments on the JDP, whatever it was.
Chapter 31
"So you found the woman to wear your rosary bracelet, finally," said Dr. Robertson.
"Yes, that was about six years ago," I said to the therapist. "Monica and I are married now."
"Michael, I don't understand one thing. What was the Judgment Day Project?"
"Nobody knows for sure. All we know is God has a Big Surprise for the world."
With that, I paid Dr. Robertson my co-pay of $20. That would be the last time I would see the therapist.
"Yes, that was about six years ago," I said to the therapist. "Monica and I are married now."
"Michael, I don't understand one thing. What was the Judgment Day Project?"
"Nobody knows for sure. All we know is God has a Big Surprise for the world."
With that, I paid Dr. Robertson my co-pay of $20. That would be the last time I would see the therapist.
Chapter 30
Monica explained everything to me. "CIA also stands for 'Christians In Action'. I also belong to 'Catholics In Action', a subset of Christians In Action. Together our movement is larger than the Central Intelligence Agency. We have operatives in every part of society, and we are older than the United States itself."
"So what does that make me?"
"I'm recruiting you for the CIA," said Monica. "We in the CIA have been working for centuries on the JDP." She took out from her brief bag a folio with a black cover. On the cover was a picture of a golden cross surrounded by a golden Rosary. "Do you recognize this?"
"That's the vision of Dyos," I said. "I once saw the vision as a cross of fire surrounded by a Rosary of fire in the dark."
"The golden cross and the golden Rosary are the Sign of Catholics In Action. The gold color represents the fire of the Holy Spirit, with fire being the light of His wisdom. The light will shine in the darkness. All secrets will be revealed."
"That's what God told me a long time ago."
"Because you had the vision of the Sign of the CIA, I know the Lord has chosen you for some special purpose. You truly belong with us in the CIA."
"What happens now?" I asked Monica.
With the hand bearing the white rosary bracelet, Monica took my hand in hers and looked into my eyes. "I lost you once, and I'll never lose you again, Michael my love." Monica opened the folio with the Sign of the CIA and showed me the JDP, the Judgment Day Project."
"So what does that make me?"
"I'm recruiting you for the CIA," said Monica. "We in the CIA have been working for centuries on the JDP." She took out from her brief bag a folio with a black cover. On the cover was a picture of a golden cross surrounded by a golden Rosary. "Do you recognize this?"
"That's the vision of Dyos," I said. "I once saw the vision as a cross of fire surrounded by a Rosary of fire in the dark."
"The golden cross and the golden Rosary are the Sign of Catholics In Action. The gold color represents the fire of the Holy Spirit, with fire being the light of His wisdom. The light will shine in the darkness. All secrets will be revealed."
"That's what God told me a long time ago."
"Because you had the vision of the Sign of the CIA, I know the Lord has chosen you for some special purpose. You truly belong with us in the CIA."
"What happens now?" I asked Monica.
With the hand bearing the white rosary bracelet, Monica took my hand in hers and looked into my eyes. "I lost you once, and I'll never lose you again, Michael my love." Monica opened the folio with the Sign of the CIA and showed me the JDP, the Judgment Day Project."
Chapter 29
I slept in a warm bed that evening, although it was another psychiatric hospital. If I played my cards right, I could avoid the restraint room and tolerate their medications. God knows I spent six years developing a tolerance for psychiatric medication in San Diego. In the morning, someone knocked on my room door and said, "Breakfast!"
I stumbled out of bed and walked to the dining area of the ward. The hospital used picnic benches of park-quality as dining tables. The tall psychiatric technician wearing a Smokey Bear yelled out the patients' names. He looked like a reject from the Marine Corps.
"Michael Sanglao!" he yelled. I walked up to him, and he handed me a tray of food. Scrambled eggs, toast, milk, orange slices, and a single serving box of cereal were on the tray. I ate my breakfast, while trying to ignore the other patients. One woman had an argument with her imaginary and invisible husband. A man said, "I'm Superman!" Another man said, "No, I'm Superman!" A woman said, "I'm Batman."
"How can you be Batman, Judy?" said the Smokey Bear wearing psychiatric technician. "You're a woman."
When I finished eating breakfast, I dumped my tray like all the other patients did. The psychiatric technician then said to me, "Dr. Ambrosio will see you now."
"Who's Dr. Ambrosio?"
"Your psychiatrist!" said the tall technicians. "Is this the first time you've been in a mental institution?"
A psychiatric nurse named Debbie escorted me to the office where I met the first psychiatric nurse, Sandra. She opened the door, and I walked into the office. There I saw her.
"Dr. Natasha Ambrosio," said the woman to me. "I'll be your psychiatrist during your stay." I closed the door behind me. It was just me and Dr. Ambrosio...
She jumped out from behind the desk and kissed me. Dr. Natasha Ambrosio was actually Monica Cabrerra from the Naval Research Laboratory. "I also go by Dr. Monica Cabrerra," she said after our passionate kiss. "I've been looking for you for years."
As much as I was happy to see Monica again, I had to ask. "Monica, why are you a psychiatrist going by the name, 'Dr. Natasha Ambrosio'? I thought you were studying for Ph.D. in physics at Catholic University."
"I'm with the CIA, and have been for years," she said to me. "I had to pose as a psychiatrist to find you."
"CIA?" I said. "Central Intelligence Agency?"
"Yes and no." Monica reached out her hand to me. "I believe you have something for me."
I placed the rosary bracelet on Monica wrist. "Will you be my girlfriend?" I said to her.
"Always and forever," she replied. She took me in her arms, and again we kissed as new lovers.
I stumbled out of bed and walked to the dining area of the ward. The hospital used picnic benches of park-quality as dining tables. The tall psychiatric technician wearing a Smokey Bear yelled out the patients' names. He looked like a reject from the Marine Corps.
"Michael Sanglao!" he yelled. I walked up to him, and he handed me a tray of food. Scrambled eggs, toast, milk, orange slices, and a single serving box of cereal were on the tray. I ate my breakfast, while trying to ignore the other patients. One woman had an argument with her imaginary and invisible husband. A man said, "I'm Superman!" Another man said, "No, I'm Superman!" A woman said, "I'm Batman."
"How can you be Batman, Judy?" said the Smokey Bear wearing psychiatric technician. "You're a woman."
When I finished eating breakfast, I dumped my tray like all the other patients did. The psychiatric technician then said to me, "Dr. Ambrosio will see you now."
"Who's Dr. Ambrosio?"
"Your psychiatrist!" said the tall technicians. "Is this the first time you've been in a mental institution?"
A psychiatric nurse named Debbie escorted me to the office where I met the first psychiatric nurse, Sandra. She opened the door, and I walked into the office. There I saw her.
"Dr. Natasha Ambrosio," said the woman to me. "I'll be your psychiatrist during your stay." I closed the door behind me. It was just me and Dr. Ambrosio...
She jumped out from behind the desk and kissed me. Dr. Natasha Ambrosio was actually Monica Cabrerra from the Naval Research Laboratory. "I also go by Dr. Monica Cabrerra," she said after our passionate kiss. "I've been looking for you for years."
As much as I was happy to see Monica again, I had to ask. "Monica, why are you a psychiatrist going by the name, 'Dr. Natasha Ambrosio'? I thought you were studying for Ph.D. in physics at Catholic University."
"I'm with the CIA, and have been for years," she said to me. "I had to pose as a psychiatrist to find you."
"CIA?" I said. "Central Intelligence Agency?"
"Yes and no." Monica reached out her hand to me. "I believe you have something for me."
I placed the rosary bracelet on Monica wrist. "Will you be my girlfriend?" I said to her.
"Always and forever," she replied. She took me in her arms, and again we kissed as new lovers.
Chapter 28
The police officer drove me in his police car to the corner of Oakey and Jones Boulevards. The sign at the corner said, "Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital." Bingo!
The officer pushed the door bell by the gate. An African-American woman opened the gate of the hospital, and took me inside. She had me sit in an office. "I'm Sandra, one of the psych nurses. What brings you here?"
"I have an urgent message for the President of the United States," I said.
"Which is?" asked the nurse.
"The Russians are plotting to use an antisatellite weapon I developed to destroy the US defense satellite network."
"I see." She took out some sheets of paper and a pen. "What is your name?"
"Dr. Michael Sanglao of the Office of Naval Research. I'm a Navy physicist."
"Where were you born?"
"Here in Las Vegas."
"Do you hear voices in your head?"
"Yes, God speaks to me all the time."
"Do you possess any special powers?"
"I can talk to God and see things nobody else can see."
"What kinds of things do you see?"
"I once saw a cross made of fire surrounded by a Rosary of fire."
"I see," said the nurse. She jotted down notes on her sheets of paper. "So you're some sort of scientist?"
"Yes," I said.
"I see you have a problem with delusions," the nurse said. "You were walking the streets of Las Vegas aimlessly with no money and yet you claim to be a scientist."
"That's right," I said. "I received my Ph.D. from Harvard."
"Grandiosity and delusions," the nurse said. "I have no choice but to admit you involuntarily to this facility. The doctor will see you tomorrow."
The officer pushed the door bell by the gate. An African-American woman opened the gate of the hospital, and took me inside. She had me sit in an office. "I'm Sandra, one of the psych nurses. What brings you here?"
"I have an urgent message for the President of the United States," I said.
"Which is?" asked the nurse.
"The Russians are plotting to use an antisatellite weapon I developed to destroy the US defense satellite network."
"I see." She took out some sheets of paper and a pen. "What is your name?"
"Dr. Michael Sanglao of the Office of Naval Research. I'm a Navy physicist."
"Where were you born?"
"Here in Las Vegas."
"Do you hear voices in your head?"
"Yes, God speaks to me all the time."
"Do you possess any special powers?"
"I can talk to God and see things nobody else can see."
"What kinds of things do you see?"
"I once saw a cross made of fire surrounded by a Rosary of fire."
"I see," said the nurse. She jotted down notes on her sheets of paper. "So you're some sort of scientist?"
"Yes," I said.
"I see you have a problem with delusions," the nurse said. "You were walking the streets of Las Vegas aimlessly with no money and yet you claim to be a scientist."
"That's right," I said. "I received my Ph.D. from Harvard."
"Grandiosity and delusions," the nurse said. "I have no choice but to admit you involuntarily to this facility. The doctor will see you tomorrow."
Chapter 27
How could I, a sane man, get into Rawson-Neale Psychiatric Hospital? I could just tell all my stories like God appearing to me as a cross of fire and Rosary of fire. Yet, that alone wouldn't get me into the psychiatric hospital. I was starving at that point. I walked to downtown Las Vegas and bought me a order of French fries at the McDonalds in the Plaza Hotel and Casino with the dollar I had. I had scraped enough change from the ground to pay the sales tax on the fries. Of course, I needed a complimentary cup of water to wash it down. Still, how would an intelligent man like me get into Rawson-Neale?
Apparently, this Natasha woman was someone I should definitely meet. The shaggy man said she was supposed to wear my rosary bracelet. The only way you get into a psychiatric hospital if you present a danger to yourself or others. Or you could just plain act crazy
I saw a Las Vegas Metro Police officer walking his beat, and I decided to take a chance. "Officer, I'm Dr. Michael Sanglao with the Department of Defense."
"What can I do for you?" said the police officer, a husky man in a beige police uniform.
"It's urgent that I get a message to the President of the United States. The Russians are plotting to destroy our satellite network. They have operatives here in Las Vegas."
"Why don't you call the president yourself, if you are who you say you are?"
"I don't have any money on me."
"So you're with the Department of Defense, yet you have no money on you, eh?" the police officer rolled his eyes. "What do you do for the Department of Defense?"
"I'm a physicist for the Navy, the Office of Naval Research to be exact," I said.
"Let me see your ID then from the Department of Defense if you're a Navy physicist."
"I lost it in San Diego."
"You're a Department of Defense physicist, yet you have no money and ID. How can I believe you?"
"You have to. The Russians are using an antisatellite weapon I developed to destroy our defense satellite network. We have to act quickly and warn the president."
"Sir, have you been drinking?"
"All I had was water."
"Do you hear voices in your head?"
"Yes, God talks to me."
"Then I know people who can help you." The police officer approached me. "Come with me."
Apparently, this Natasha woman was someone I should definitely meet. The shaggy man said she was supposed to wear my rosary bracelet. The only way you get into a psychiatric hospital if you present a danger to yourself or others. Or you could just plain act crazy
I saw a Las Vegas Metro Police officer walking his beat, and I decided to take a chance. "Officer, I'm Dr. Michael Sanglao with the Department of Defense."
"What can I do for you?" said the police officer, a husky man in a beige police uniform.
"It's urgent that I get a message to the President of the United States. The Russians are plotting to destroy our satellite network. They have operatives here in Las Vegas."
"Why don't you call the president yourself, if you are who you say you are?"
"I don't have any money on me."
"So you're with the Department of Defense, yet you have no money on you, eh?" the police officer rolled his eyes. "What do you do for the Department of Defense?"
"I'm a physicist for the Navy, the Office of Naval Research to be exact," I said.
"Let me see your ID then from the Department of Defense if you're a Navy physicist."
"I lost it in San Diego."
"You're a Department of Defense physicist, yet you have no money and ID. How can I believe you?"
"You have to. The Russians are using an antisatellite weapon I developed to destroy our defense satellite network. We have to act quickly and warn the president."
"Sir, have you been drinking?"
"All I had was water."
"Do you hear voices in your head?"
"Yes, God talks to me."
"Then I know people who can help you." The police officer approached me. "Come with me."
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Chapter 26
I used the little money I had to take the bus up Bonanza Road until it stopped by the Las Vegas Rescue Mission. I hoped I could get something to eat and a bed to sleep on. I was new to the whole homeless thing. At least God had given me a new rosary bracelet. I just needed a woman to give it to. Still, my entire family was dead, murdered in fact. I had to pick my battles one at a time. In the meantime, I walked up to the gate of the rescue mission where a man sat in a shack.
"Excuse me, I'm hungry, and I have nowhere to sleep," I said to the man in the shack.
"We don't serve dinner again until tomorrow night at 5," he said to me.
"What do I do now?"
"Wait in the street out back with the rest of the folk." The man pointed to the street behind the Las Vegas Rescue Mission. I walked around the corner, and I saw the mass of humanity. There were men, women, and children sleeping on the ground in the filth. It was already dark, and most people were trying to get some sleep. A couple of men sat around passing a bottle of whiskey among themselves. A black man with dreadlocks smoked a cigarette while sitting on the sidewalk. These were my people now.
How far I had come! A Harvard trained military scientist, and now I was homeless. Then again, I lost track of time at San Diego Psychiatric Hospital. I hadn't been a Navy physicist in years, especially since the DSS special agent officially fired me for the Department of Defense.
"Hey, buddy," said a shaggy man who hadn't shaved his beard in weeks. "You look lost."
I didn't want to admit I was new to the homeless community. Who knows what these people might try? I had exactly $1 with me, and I was saving it. Maybe I could buy some French fries and a cup of water at McDonalds. Oh what the heck!
"I am lost," I said to the shaggy man. "Where can I get something to eat?"
"Just go to Rawson-Neale," the shaggy man said.
"What's that?"
"It's the state psychiatric hospital. They'll feed you if you just act touched in the head."
"No way! I just spent six years in a psychiatric hospital."
"Trust me, you'll love it there. Ask for Natasha."
"Who's Natasha?"
"She's the one you're supposed to give that rosary bracelet to." The man pointed to my pocket.
"How did you know I have a rosary bracelet?"
"A little angel told me."
"Excuse me, I'm hungry, and I have nowhere to sleep," I said to the man in the shack.
"We don't serve dinner again until tomorrow night at 5," he said to me.
"What do I do now?"
"Wait in the street out back with the rest of the folk." The man pointed to the street behind the Las Vegas Rescue Mission. I walked around the corner, and I saw the mass of humanity. There were men, women, and children sleeping on the ground in the filth. It was already dark, and most people were trying to get some sleep. A couple of men sat around passing a bottle of whiskey among themselves. A black man with dreadlocks smoked a cigarette while sitting on the sidewalk. These were my people now.
How far I had come! A Harvard trained military scientist, and now I was homeless. Then again, I lost track of time at San Diego Psychiatric Hospital. I hadn't been a Navy physicist in years, especially since the DSS special agent officially fired me for the Department of Defense.
"Hey, buddy," said a shaggy man who hadn't shaved his beard in weeks. "You look lost."
I didn't want to admit I was new to the homeless community. Who knows what these people might try? I had exactly $1 with me, and I was saving it. Maybe I could buy some French fries and a cup of water at McDonalds. Oh what the heck!
"I am lost," I said to the shaggy man. "Where can I get something to eat?"
"Just go to Rawson-Neale," the shaggy man said.
"What's that?"
"It's the state psychiatric hospital. They'll feed you if you just act touched in the head."
"No way! I just spent six years in a psychiatric hospital."
"Trust me, you'll love it there. Ask for Natasha."
"Who's Natasha?"
"She's the one you're supposed to give that rosary bracelet to." The man pointed to my pocket.
"How did you know I have a rosary bracelet?"
"A little angel told me."
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Chapter 25
When the Department of Defense felt I was thoroughly discredited enough, San Diego Psychiatric Hospital discharged me. They gave me a ticket on Greyhound to anywhere I wanted. I took the bus from downtown San Diego and went back to Las Vegas. Everything looked different when I left the bus depot at the Plaza Hotel and Casino in downtown Vegas. Everything looked so much more ritzy. My mind was in such a fog, but my instincts told me to return to Mom and Dad at their house at the foot of Sunrise Mountain.
It finally dawned on me that a lot of time had passed since I first went to San Diego Psychiatric Hospital as a guest of the United States Department of Defense. "Excuse me, sir," I asked a passerby. "What year is this?"
"2007, and have a nice day," said the man. He gave me a dollar. I calculated from the attacks on Washington, DC and New York City that approximately six years had ellapsed since my imprisonment in the psychiatric hospital. I begged enough people for enough money to take the public bus to the eastern edge of the Las Vegas Valley. I finally reached Sunrise Mountain Road and my old stucco covered beige colored house. I rang the door bell.
A little girl wearing a UNLV Rebels T-shirt answered the door. "Can I help you, sir?"
"What are you doing in my house?" I asked her.
"Excuse me, this is my house," she said to me. "Mom! Dad!" A Latino couple greeted me.
"Can we help you?" said the man.
"I think there's a little confusion," I explained. "Do Mr. and Mrs. Sanglao still live here?"
"Oh, their daughter sold this house to us after they both died," said the Latina woman. My parents had died during my imprisonment at San Diego. My sister sold the house to this family, I realized.
"I'm their son, Michael Sanglao. Could you call my sister?" I said. "Here's her number."
"I'm afraid your sister is dead too," said the Latino man, about in his early thirties. "Her whole family was murdered shortly after she sold us this house. The police never solved the crime. The whole thing shocked the entire city, but nobody could figure out who did it. We're sorry for your loss."
The woman handed me a dollar bill for my trouble. I had only three dollars with me and no home and no family. The rosary bracelet was lost forever. I was officially homeless. I knew that Las Vegas Rescue Mission was near Las Vegas Boulevard and Bonanza Road, so I headed there. I had nowhere else to go. How had I, a military scientist, been reduced to this? My career was in ruins and my family murdered.
First, I had to rebuild my life somehow. The Devil's Champion, as I called the forces working for the ruins of all souls, had defeated me for now. I walked down East Charleston Blvd. toward Las Vegas Blvd., a long way from the rescue mission. I stumbled upon Saint Anthony of Padua Catholic Church. It was open, and I prayed for a miracle, or at least for the voice of the Holy Spirit to return and guide me. Only silence greeted me in the pews of Saint Anthony's Catholic Church.
"Almighty God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, please comfort me now. I don't know what do anymore. I have only blind faith now," I prayed. Nothing happened. I stared at the crucifix with Jesus hanging from the cross. I prayed for hours. Still nothing happened. Finally I decided to leave for the Las Vegas Rescue Mission. When I looked down at the pew, I saw a white rosary bracelet.
It finally dawned on me that a lot of time had passed since I first went to San Diego Psychiatric Hospital as a guest of the United States Department of Defense. "Excuse me, sir," I asked a passerby. "What year is this?"
"2007, and have a nice day," said the man. He gave me a dollar. I calculated from the attacks on Washington, DC and New York City that approximately six years had ellapsed since my imprisonment in the psychiatric hospital. I begged enough people for enough money to take the public bus to the eastern edge of the Las Vegas Valley. I finally reached Sunrise Mountain Road and my old stucco covered beige colored house. I rang the door bell.
A little girl wearing a UNLV Rebels T-shirt answered the door. "Can I help you, sir?"
"What are you doing in my house?" I asked her.
"Excuse me, this is my house," she said to me. "Mom! Dad!" A Latino couple greeted me.
"Can we help you?" said the man.
"I think there's a little confusion," I explained. "Do Mr. and Mrs. Sanglao still live here?"
"Oh, their daughter sold this house to us after they both died," said the Latina woman. My parents had died during my imprisonment at San Diego. My sister sold the house to this family, I realized.
"I'm their son, Michael Sanglao. Could you call my sister?" I said. "Here's her number."
"I'm afraid your sister is dead too," said the Latino man, about in his early thirties. "Her whole family was murdered shortly after she sold us this house. The police never solved the crime. The whole thing shocked the entire city, but nobody could figure out who did it. We're sorry for your loss."
The woman handed me a dollar bill for my trouble. I had only three dollars with me and no home and no family. The rosary bracelet was lost forever. I was officially homeless. I knew that Las Vegas Rescue Mission was near Las Vegas Boulevard and Bonanza Road, so I headed there. I had nowhere else to go. How had I, a military scientist, been reduced to this? My career was in ruins and my family murdered.
First, I had to rebuild my life somehow. The Devil's Champion, as I called the forces working for the ruins of all souls, had defeated me for now. I walked down East Charleston Blvd. toward Las Vegas Blvd., a long way from the rescue mission. I stumbled upon Saint Anthony of Padua Catholic Church. It was open, and I prayed for a miracle, or at least for the voice of the Holy Spirit to return and guide me. Only silence greeted me in the pews of Saint Anthony's Catholic Church.
"Almighty God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, please comfort me now. I don't know what do anymore. I have only blind faith now," I prayed. Nothing happened. I stared at the crucifix with Jesus hanging from the cross. I prayed for hours. Still nothing happened. Finally I decided to leave for the Las Vegas Rescue Mission. When I looked down at the pew, I saw a white rosary bracelet.
Chapter 24
Life at San Diego Psychiatric Hospital was miserable. They only allowed you to eat with a plastic spoon or a plastic fork, but not both. Plastic knives of course were forbidden. I endured endless group therapy.
"Who wants to confess how screwed up he is today?" asked Dr. O' Campo, the grey bearded clinical psychologist. "Don't be shy."
"I'm Jesus Christ," said one patient.
"How can you be Jesus Christ, because I am," said another patient. The two started fighting until the army of psychiatric technicians took them away to their own private Quiet Rooms.
"Would anyone else like to volunteer how they've lost touch with all reality?" Dr. O' Campo asked. I finally raised my hand. "Why, Michael, we've never heard from you before."
"I'm getting bored to death here in paradise," I said.
"Dr. Sanglao, that has nothing to do how you've lost touch with reality," said the clinical psychologist.
"This ought to be good," said another patient who hadn't shaved in weeks.
I told everyone the story of the rosary bracelet and how God started talking to me. I told them about how I had been a Department of Defense physicist working in top secret defense laboratories. Everything ended when the Devil himself attacked me at SPAWAR, I told the group of mental patients.
"That's tragic, Michael," said Dr. O' Campo. "Can anyone suggest how he can improve his lot in life?"
"Attend group therapy, take meds, and always listen to the doctor," said Joey, the man who believed he was John the Baptist's brother. "If the doctor says it, it must be right."
"Excellent, Joey," the clinical psychologist said. "Can we all recite the mantra?"
"Attend group therapy, take meds, and always listen to the doctor. If the doctor says it, it must be right," the group of mental patients all droned, including me. They had programmed me well. I stopped thinking for myself by then. I just did everything the psychiatrists, psychologists, and the other staff told me to do. I was a prisoner all because I could hear the voice of the Lord.
"What did God tell you today, Michael?" said Dr. O' Campo. "You know of course, there is no God. That's why you're here."
"God said read Revelation 20:10," I said. I then got up and left. Group therapy made me sick.
"Who wants to confess how screwed up he is today?" asked Dr. O' Campo, the grey bearded clinical psychologist. "Don't be shy."
"I'm Jesus Christ," said one patient.
"How can you be Jesus Christ, because I am," said another patient. The two started fighting until the army of psychiatric technicians took them away to their own private Quiet Rooms.
"Would anyone else like to volunteer how they've lost touch with all reality?" Dr. O' Campo asked. I finally raised my hand. "Why, Michael, we've never heard from you before."
"I'm getting bored to death here in paradise," I said.
"Dr. Sanglao, that has nothing to do how you've lost touch with reality," said the clinical psychologist.
"This ought to be good," said another patient who hadn't shaved in weeks.
I told everyone the story of the rosary bracelet and how God started talking to me. I told them about how I had been a Department of Defense physicist working in top secret defense laboratories. Everything ended when the Devil himself attacked me at SPAWAR, I told the group of mental patients.
"That's tragic, Michael," said Dr. O' Campo. "Can anyone suggest how he can improve his lot in life?"
"Attend group therapy, take meds, and always listen to the doctor," said Joey, the man who believed he was John the Baptist's brother. "If the doctor says it, it must be right."
"Excellent, Joey," the clinical psychologist said. "Can we all recite the mantra?"
"Attend group therapy, take meds, and always listen to the doctor. If the doctor says it, it must be right," the group of mental patients all droned, including me. They had programmed me well. I stopped thinking for myself by then. I just did everything the psychiatrists, psychologists, and the other staff told me to do. I was a prisoner all because I could hear the voice of the Lord.
"What did God tell you today, Michael?" said Dr. O' Campo. "You know of course, there is no God. That's why you're here."
"God said read Revelation 20:10," I said. I then got up and left. Group therapy made me sick.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Chapter 23
"I spent a miserable six years in that hospital," I said as I sat on the couch in Dr. Robertson's office.
"What happened to you there?" asked Dr. Robertson.
"They tortured me on a daily basis. And they drugged me when they weren't torturing me."
"What happened with Monica?"
"I had wanted to give her my rosary bracelet, but by that point I had completely lost it."
"Lost your mind?"
"No, the bracelet."
"Oh, I see, Michael. You must have been devastated."
"I was, but first I was so bewildered to be in San Diego Psych Hospital."
"What happened to you there?" asked Dr. Robertson.
"They tortured me on a daily basis. And they drugged me when they weren't torturing me."
"What happened with Monica?"
"I had wanted to give her my rosary bracelet, but by that point I had completely lost it."
"Lost your mind?"
"No, the bracelet."
"Oh, I see, Michael. You must have been devastated."
"I was, but first I was so bewildered to be in San Diego Psych Hospital."
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Chapter 22
Soon, psychiatric technicians removed the belts restraining me. I tried to cooperate since I was in a prison of sorts and had absolutely no help, nor did I know exactly what had happened between my vision of the being and my restraint in that mental hospital.
Dr. Kortright said, "Follow me." She took me down a hallway with doors on both sides. People wearing hospital gowns stared at me, and I looked down and saw I was wearing a hospital gown too. Many of them had unkempt hair, and some slept on the floor.
"All secrets shall be revealed," said the voice in my mind. "Read Isaiah 42."
"But I don't have a Bible," I said.
"Why do you need a Bible?" said Dr. Kortright, the psychiatrist in black. "Are the voices speaking to you again?"
"Yes, er no," I said.
"Come on, Dr. Sanglao. You can tell me. I'm a professional here to help you through your issues."
"I meant I need a Bible because I'm a Catholic." I wasn't lying, sort of.
"Oh, I see. Ask your social worker or one of the technicians. They'll get you a Bible."
"Thanks, Doctor..."
"Kortright." She took me to an office at the end of the hallway, opposite the end where they had restrained me in the "Quiet Room".
There, a husky, African-American man wearing a blue dress shirt and black dress slacks sat in a chair next to a desk. He stood up when I entered the office, and he must have stood 6 foot 5 and weighed over 200 pounds.
"Dr. Sanglao?" said the African-American man.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm Special Agent John Feldman of Defense Security Services," he said as he flashed a gold badge at me. He gave me his business card.
"What does DSS want with me?"
"Have a seat, you two," said Dr. Kortright, taking a seat behind the desk. Special Agent Feldman and I sat down. "Special Agent Feldman, Dr. Sanglao is suffering from some sort of psychotic disorder. My initial assessment is that he suffers from schizophrenia, possibly schizoaffective disorder, or maybe just bipolar disorder. We'll keep him here for observation and treatment."
"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Dr. Sanglao," said Special Agent Feldman. "Because you had a pscyhotic episode in a Department of Defense R & D laboratory and now you're in a psychiatric facility, the DoD has no choice but to revoke your security clearance."
"You mean I'm losing my job?"
"You're officially dismissed from service with the United States Department of Defense," Special Agent Feldman said. "Here are your separation papers. Good luck with your treatment." He handed me a manila envelope with the seal of the Department of Defense. Then the DSS special agent departed from the office.
Dr. Kortright said, "Follow me." She took me down a hallway with doors on both sides. People wearing hospital gowns stared at me, and I looked down and saw I was wearing a hospital gown too. Many of them had unkempt hair, and some slept on the floor.
"All secrets shall be revealed," said the voice in my mind. "Read Isaiah 42."
"But I don't have a Bible," I said.
"Why do you need a Bible?" said Dr. Kortright, the psychiatrist in black. "Are the voices speaking to you again?"
"Yes, er no," I said.
"Come on, Dr. Sanglao. You can tell me. I'm a professional here to help you through your issues."
"I meant I need a Bible because I'm a Catholic." I wasn't lying, sort of.
"Oh, I see. Ask your social worker or one of the technicians. They'll get you a Bible."
"Thanks, Doctor..."
"Kortright." She took me to an office at the end of the hallway, opposite the end where they had restrained me in the "Quiet Room".
There, a husky, African-American man wearing a blue dress shirt and black dress slacks sat in a chair next to a desk. He stood up when I entered the office, and he must have stood 6 foot 5 and weighed over 200 pounds.
"Dr. Sanglao?" said the African-American man.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm Special Agent John Feldman of Defense Security Services," he said as he flashed a gold badge at me. He gave me his business card.
"What does DSS want with me?"
"Have a seat, you two," said Dr. Kortright, taking a seat behind the desk. Special Agent Feldman and I sat down. "Special Agent Feldman, Dr. Sanglao is suffering from some sort of psychotic disorder. My initial assessment is that he suffers from schizophrenia, possibly schizoaffective disorder, or maybe just bipolar disorder. We'll keep him here for observation and treatment."
"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Dr. Sanglao," said Special Agent Feldman. "Because you had a pscyhotic episode in a Department of Defense R & D laboratory and now you're in a psychiatric facility, the DoD has no choice but to revoke your security clearance."
"You mean I'm losing my job?"
"You're officially dismissed from service with the United States Department of Defense," Special Agent Feldman said. "Here are your separation papers. Good luck with your treatment." He handed me a manila envelope with the seal of the Department of Defense. Then the DSS special agent departed from the office.
Chapter 21
"So they put you in the restraint room, Michael," said Dr. Robertson.
"Actually, San Diego Psychiatric Hospital called it the, 'Quiet Room.'" I said.
"You actually have a few loose ends. What happened to you and Monica? Did you give her the rosary bracelet?"
"No, the Navy flew me out to North Island Naval Air Station the next day."
"You mean the day after Commander Chang and Dr. Freedman stationed you at SPAWAR?"
"Exactly," I said.
Dr. Robertson made a few notes on her yellow legal pad. "Then what happened? What happened to the rosary bracelet. Obviously it was important to you."
"I packed it with my things before the Navy sent a taxi to pick me up at my apartment in Alexandria. But when I woke up in the restraint room in San Diego Psych Hospital, I had none of my things with me."
"Then what happened?" asked Dr. Robertson.
"My life changed overnight."
"Actually, San Diego Psychiatric Hospital called it the, 'Quiet Room.'" I said.
"You actually have a few loose ends. What happened to you and Monica? Did you give her the rosary bracelet?"
"No, the Navy flew me out to North Island Naval Air Station the next day."
"You mean the day after Commander Chang and Dr. Freedman stationed you at SPAWAR?"
"Exactly," I said.
Dr. Robertson made a few notes on her yellow legal pad. "Then what happened? What happened to the rosary bracelet. Obviously it was important to you."
"I packed it with my things before the Navy sent a taxi to pick me up at my apartment in Alexandria. But when I woke up in the restraint room in San Diego Psych Hospital, I had none of my things with me."
"Then what happened?" asked Dr. Robertson.
"My life changed overnight."
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Comment
This novel is based on my experiences with mental illness and the supernatural. The distinctions between the two often are blurred. Without further comment, I refer you to my other blog, Random Thoughts http://chicknlil-randomthoughts.blogspot.com
Chapter 20
I awoke in a strange room with brown walls with no windows, and I couldn't move at all. I was laying in a bed of some sort, but not just any bed. Belts bound my wrists to the corner posts of this bed, and my ankles too were bound by belts to the corner posts of the bed. A huge belt like a weightlifter's belt bound my torso to this bed, and another one bound my legs. The belts completely immobilized me. Was this the United States of America?
"Hey, someone let me out of here!" I yelled, but nobody came. I struggled and strained for hours to free myself of the restraints, but nothing worked. Had I died and gone to Hell? I heard nothing but silence and my frequent screams. Where were all the other people? Was I trapped to spend eternity in isolation?
I panicked, but I couldn't move. I strained and struggled some more, but still nothing helped. Finally, I heard a squeaking sound. The wall at the foot of the bed opened, and a woman entered. She had red shoulder length, wavy hair and stood about 5 foot 6. She wore a black top, and a black skirt.
"Where am I?" I asked. "And what am I doing like this?"
"You're in San Diego Psychiatric Hospital, Dr. Sanglao," said the woman in black. "You created quite a commotion at SPAWAR. It took ten security guards to restrain you. The MP's took you straight here from there."
"So you're a shrink?"
"Dr. Maria Kortright," said the woman. "I'm a psychiatrist. You had a psychotic episode in of all places, a defense laboratory."
"What do you mean?"
"The Security Office at SPAWAR said you were screaming things about demons and running wildly," said Dr. Kortright. "Tell me, Dr. Sanglao, do you hear voices in your head?"
"What does it mean to you?" I answered. "Let me out of these things."
"As soon as you aren't a danger to yourself or others," the psychiatrist replied. "Answer the question. Do you hear voices in your head?"
"No," I said.
"Come on now, Michael. You can tell me. I'm a physician."
"No," I continued to deny the voice of God speaking to me. I couldn't tell a psychiatrist my visions either. I'd never get out of that nuthouse if I did. Worse, I'd never get a job as a military scientist again. The DoD would take away my security clearance.
"You wouldn't be here, Dr. Sanglao, if you didn't have some sort of psychiatric illness. Tell me this, do you have any special powers or abilities?"
"No."
"Do you broadcast your thoughts to other people?"
"No."
"Do you have a mission from God?"
"Possibly."
"Now we're getting somewhere," said Dr. Kortright. "What is your mission?"
"I don't know."
"Would God give you a mission without telling you what it is?" Dr. Kortright pulled a chair into the room and sat down. "I can be here all day."
"When are you letting me out of these things?" I said as I struggled to break free.
"Just as soon as I understand what your problem is." The doctor just sat there and folded her arms. "Tell me, do you see things that nobody else can see?"
Just then, I broke down, and I told the psychiatrist everything, from the cross of fire and Rosary of fire to the bat-winged being that assaulted me at SPAWAR. She left and retrieved a yellow legal pad and took notes on my "confession". I felt humiliated, but worse why would God allow this to happen to me? All I wanted was to serve my country and find a woman who loves me, a woman I could give my rosary bracelet.
"Hey, someone let me out of here!" I yelled, but nobody came. I struggled and strained for hours to free myself of the restraints, but nothing worked. Had I died and gone to Hell? I heard nothing but silence and my frequent screams. Where were all the other people? Was I trapped to spend eternity in isolation?
I panicked, but I couldn't move. I strained and struggled some more, but still nothing helped. Finally, I heard a squeaking sound. The wall at the foot of the bed opened, and a woman entered. She had red shoulder length, wavy hair and stood about 5 foot 6. She wore a black top, and a black skirt.
"Where am I?" I asked. "And what am I doing like this?"
"You're in San Diego Psychiatric Hospital, Dr. Sanglao," said the woman in black. "You created quite a commotion at SPAWAR. It took ten security guards to restrain you. The MP's took you straight here from there."
"So you're a shrink?"
"Dr. Maria Kortright," said the woman. "I'm a psychiatrist. You had a psychotic episode in of all places, a defense laboratory."
"What do you mean?"
"The Security Office at SPAWAR said you were screaming things about demons and running wildly," said Dr. Kortright. "Tell me, Dr. Sanglao, do you hear voices in your head?"
"What does it mean to you?" I answered. "Let me out of these things."
"As soon as you aren't a danger to yourself or others," the psychiatrist replied. "Answer the question. Do you hear voices in your head?"
"No," I said.
"Come on now, Michael. You can tell me. I'm a physician."
"No," I continued to deny the voice of God speaking to me. I couldn't tell a psychiatrist my visions either. I'd never get out of that nuthouse if I did. Worse, I'd never get a job as a military scientist again. The DoD would take away my security clearance.
"You wouldn't be here, Dr. Sanglao, if you didn't have some sort of psychiatric illness. Tell me this, do you have any special powers or abilities?"
"No."
"Do you broadcast your thoughts to other people?"
"No."
"Do you have a mission from God?"
"Possibly."
"Now we're getting somewhere," said Dr. Kortright. "What is your mission?"
"I don't know."
"Would God give you a mission without telling you what it is?" Dr. Kortright pulled a chair into the room and sat down. "I can be here all day."
"When are you letting me out of these things?" I said as I struggled to break free.
"Just as soon as I understand what your problem is." The doctor just sat there and folded her arms. "Tell me, do you see things that nobody else can see?"
Just then, I broke down, and I told the psychiatrist everything, from the cross of fire and Rosary of fire to the bat-winged being that assaulted me at SPAWAR. She left and retrieved a yellow legal pad and took notes on my "confession". I felt humiliated, but worse why would God allow this to happen to me? All I wanted was to serve my country and find a woman who loves me, a woman I could give my rosary bracelet.
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