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Description
“This is my childhood,” I said into the phone in my room at the roadside hotel. While the light overhead flickered at such incredible speeds that they gave headaches.
When I was born I was born into a family of rich capitalists who made their money through the use of their fishing lines.  I had everything that a child could want except for that of the love and respect of my parents.  I was a child with a love for things and not for people and I could know no better due to the negligence of my parents.  My parents were always too busy with business trips and small adventures involving their company, but on one of their adventures a tragedy happened when I was at the age of three.  My parents, while scuba diving off the coast of some island, were both impaled on one whale harpoon and pinned onto a rock beneath the water.
After the death of my parents I moved in with distant relatives that I never learned how I was connected to.  With my new parents, named Earl and Patty, they showed me the love that I never had before, for they, unlike my parents, were from the love and peace generation of hippies.  I lost most of my material possessions when in an unexplained occurrence the government took all the money my parents had made and with that went all their stuff and mine.
What I was left with was a teddy bear named Henry.  Henry was a curious fellow with only one smooth shinny black eye and the other eye being a dark navy blue button.  He was in his creation a brown bear with shaggy fur but due to him for some reason being too close to a fire one night the tips of his hair and been charred to a black.  With what many called an over active imagination at my age Henry was personified and from him I learned all my ways of open rebellion.
Henry first began with his teachings of rebellion with simple things such as sugar in the gas tanks of cars.  White cars were prime choice but then again so were the shinny red cars in Henry’s mind.  From the beginnings of sugar led to the uses of slingshots.  Some random points that I remember from my child hood include such occurrences as for some odd reason being on the 6th floor of a bank and shooting out the windows with the use of my slingshot.  I never remember being caught for that occurrence.
Then one day came another day in which I remember walking across the crosswalks in all four directions and pulling behind me a long strip of nails and spikes.  I was also never caught for what I did but I do remember finding the next day an article from the newspaper, talking of how there was a huge accident as cars had their tires slashed, in the possession of Henry.  When I questioned Henry about this, as you see to me he was as alive as a person, he responded with a few insults and curse words for even asking about something as trivial as this, but in aftermath he said he was sorry for lashing out and it was something that was for the good of the whole.  The whole he had explained to me was society, and society just needed some help finding its way around sometimes.
The police were prime subjects for Henry’s sort of constructive freedom as anything that involved them he would say is the prime of prime in targets.  I began finding in his possession, as time went on, articles of vandalized police cars.
Glue placed in the locks of front doors to offices.
Top floors flooded with water, which ran down creating massive water damage to company buildings.
Soon I had an entire drawer filled with articles I would find in Henry’s possession.  Around the time that these occurrences of not seeming to be random to the local officials there were emplaced security cameras at many positions in which things might have occurred.  These cameras caught what the papers and news described as a small child or little person causing chaos.  The person was never identified but when Henry first heard about it he yelled, “And that’s not even my good side!”  in between many colorful adjectives.
For every action there is an equal or greater reaction, and to this understanding I came across a new friend.  A stuffed yellow duck named Mr. Hinkerninkle came into my life and he was order to Henry’s chaos.  He came to me one day while I was sitting in a park while Henry ran free, out of everyone else’s view oddly enough, attempting to liberate the wildlife along with ‘accidentally’ maiming a man in a business suit with a tree.  Henry said that the beavers just needed a little help getting the tree down, but Mr. Hinkerninkle came out of this fallen tree mumbling to himself and shaking his head in disgust.  At the time I, for some reason, didn’t really pay attention to the fact that he was covered completely in blood and a patch of bloody human hair was on his back.  I asked him what the problem was and he continued to mumble.
“Damn kids with their green grass that is eaten by those cows that smell so bad that you have to always roll up the windows when you drive by farms that have rednecks….I hate rednecks!” mumbled Mr. Hinkerninkle.
“What are you talking about mister?” I ask in wonder as he continues to babble on about many subjects flowing together, but he continues to ignore me.  This is where Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle met.
“Shut up you old bag,” said Henry to Mr. Hinkerninkle.
“Why don’t you just shut up,” replied Mr. Hinkerninkle in a disgruntled manner and from there the interaction between the Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle dissolved into acts of violence.  I had to sew an ear and a wing back on when they were done.
The articles I continued to find broadened in their approach to everyday life as my two friend’s view on what is the right thing to do differed.  Police units finding bazookas in their gun closet, that was Mr. Hinkerninkle’s doing.  Police units finding every one of their cars in the station being up on cement blacks with milk and cereal in the gas tank, that was Henry’s doing.  Life had become a sense of chaos and my friends were to blame.  Businesses thrived and deteriorated at equal times depending on which one of my friends was the one to help.
Rock and roll and classical music was constantly heard within my head while I was in my room of sanctuary.  The powers of opposites were slowly leading my to insanity and the town around me was slowly collapsing in its own fear of what may happen when they are away.  It was an existence of chaos and destruction with a side of order and normality.
My foster parents never suspected a thing going wrong as they never could hear nor see the life of my friends.  My teachers were plagued when my friends would sneak to school with me, as they would find tacks on their chairs, that was Henry’s doing, or spanking paddles in their drawers of their desks, that was Mr. Hinkerninkle’s doing.  My interaction with children of my own age was greatly limited, as they would view me as being a freak for my crazy responses to the creations of my friends.  Pestered by names given to me for seeming odd or different, such as freak, and tortured for fear of my friends being found out of their doing and me becoming in trouble I lived my childhood.
There soon reached a time where I found out that if I didn’t do anything about what happens in the rest of the world that it would either degrade from any state into that of complete chaos or go in the other direction and progress into the state of utter and complete loss of personal control over life as it was controlled by another source.  I realized this through a process which caused many problems, as to be able to figure this realization out I did nothing for a while as my friends ran wild and I was not around to explain what was good or bad to them.  When I told Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle about what I found out they attempted to silence me so that they could continue to be free.  I was locked within a wooden chest for two days with very little air.  My breath would heat up the chest with every breath I released and I had barely enough room to move my body so I could not strip off layers of my clothes to cool down.  I sweated so much while restrained in the wooden chest that I passed out after a time that I could not determine as barely any light shone through the chest.  Death was all that I expected for me, as I lay hunched within the chest as I could sometimes hear the mumbled voices of Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle either fighting or talking of approaching plots.  When my parents found me, after believing I was spending the night at a friends house and that’s why I was missing thanks to Henry’s doing over the phone, I had lost five pounds, was recommended to a psychiatrist and a file on my parents and child negligence was placed in the files at the police station.
I viewed this as a time needed for change.  In history classes this is taught as the time before a revolution.  I planned all my actions in secret, when I wasn’t drugged out of my mind on doctor’s orders, to let it be a surprise when I attacked Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle.  The time came one lonely Sunday afternoon where the sun lightly shone into my room with a dull yellow light.  Next to my bed I placed a baseball bat I had bought the week before and I laid down on the bed with a book in my hands as I waited for my ‘friends’ to enter into the room.
Henry entered the room right before Mr. Hinkerninkle and when they were both well in the room I threw my book at the door slamming it shut as a makeshift lock I had placed on the door snapped into place locking me in my room with the two of them.  When they could see that they could not get out of the room and I was betraying them they rushed for me to take me down.  I procured my baseball bat and flung each of them across the room into a unconscious lump upon floor.  In a sense of irony I locked both of them before they woke in the same chest they placed me in.  The key I then placed where no one would ever find to accidentally open the chest and release them once more into the world.
“Sometimes as children we like to exaggerate stories to make them more interesting.  Sometimes they are just completely made up from our imagination.  Some things that are viewed as being completely made up sometimes have more truth than fiction to them.  I do not remember which this story was, but sometimes I fear it is more true than made up,” I say into the phone at the hotel as I procure a rusty key on a chain from around my neck.

Description
“This is my childhood,” I said into the phone in my room at the roadside hotel. While the light overhead flickered at such incredible speeds that they gave headaches.
When I was born I was born into a family of rich capitalists who made their money through the use of their fishing lines.  I had everything that a child could want except for that of the love and respect of my parents.  I was a child with a love for things and not for people and I could know no better due to the negligence of my parents.  My parents were always too busy with business trips and small adventures involving their company, but on one of their adventures a tragedy happened when I was at the age of three.  My parents, while scuba diving off the coast of some island, were both impaled on one whale harpoon and pinned onto a rock beneath the water.
After the death of my parents I moved in with distant relatives that I never learned how I was connected to.  With my new parents, named Earl and Patty, they showed me the love that I never had before, for they, unlike my parents, were from the love and peace generation of hippies.  I lost most of my material possessions when in an unexplained occurrence the government took all the money my parents had made and with that went all their stuff and mine.
What I was left with was a teddy bear named Henry.  Henry was a curious fellow with only one smooth shinny black eye and the other eye being a dark navy blue button.  He was in his creation a brown bear with shaggy fur but due to him for some reason being too close to a fire one night the tips of his hair and been charred to a black.  With what many called an over active imagination at my age Henry was personified and from him I learned all my ways of open rebellion.
Henry first began with his teachings of rebellion with simple things such as sugar in the gas tanks of cars.  White cars were prime choice but then again so were the shinny red cars in Henry’s mind.  From the beginnings of sugar led to the uses of slingshots.  Some random points that I remember from my child hood include such occurrences as for some odd reason being on the 6th floor of a bank and shooting out the windows with the use of my slingshot.  I never remember being caught for that occurrence.
Then one day came another day in which I remember walking across the crosswalks in all four directions and pulling behind me a long strip of nails and spikes.  I was also never caught for what I did but I do remember finding the next day an article from the newspaper, talking of how there was a huge accident as cars had their tires slashed, in the possession of Henry.  When I questioned Henry about this, as you see to me he was as alive as a person, he responded with a few insults and curse words for even asking about something as trivial as this, but in aftermath he said he was sorry for lashing out and it was something that was for the good of the whole.  The whole he had explained to me was society, and society just needed some help finding its way around sometimes.
The police were prime subjects for Henry’s sort of constructive freedom as anything that involved them he would say is the prime of prime in targets.  I began finding in his possession, as time went on, articles of vandalized police cars.
Glue placed in the locks of front doors to offices.
Top floors flooded with water, which ran down creating massive water damage to company buildings.
Soon I had an entire drawer filled with articles I would find in Henry’s possession.  Around the time that these occurrences of not seeming to be random to the local officials there were emplaced security cameras at many positions in which things might have occurred.  These cameras caught what the papers and news described as a small child or little person causing chaos.  The person was never identified but when Henry first heard about it he yelled, “And that’s not even my good side!”  in between many colorful adjectives.
For every action there is an equal or greater reaction, and to this understanding I came across a new friend.  A stuffed yellow duck named Mr. Hinkerninkle came into my life and he was order to Henry’s chaos.  He came to me one day while I was sitting in a park while Henry ran free, out of everyone else’s view oddly enough, attempting to liberate the wildlife along with ‘accidentally’ maiming a man in a business suit with a tree.  Henry said that the beavers just needed a little help getting the tree down, but Mr. Hinkerninkle came out of this fallen tree mumbling to himself and shaking his head in disgust.  At the time I, for some reason, didn’t really pay attention to the fact that he was covered completely in blood and a patch of bloody human hair was on his back.  I asked him what the problem was and he continued to mumble.
“Damn kids with their green grass that is eaten by those cows that smell so bad that you have to always roll up the windows when you drive by farms that have rednecks….I hate rednecks!” mumbled Mr. Hinkerninkle.
“What are you talking about mister?” I ask in wonder as he continues to babble on about many subjects flowing together, but he continues to ignore me.  This is where Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle met.
“Shut up you old bag,” said Henry to Mr. Hinkerninkle.
“Why don’t you just shut up,” replied Mr. Hinkerninkle in a disgruntled manner and from there the interaction between the Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle dissolved into acts of violence.  I had to sew an ear and a wing back on when they were done.
The articles I continued to find broadened in their approach to everyday life as my two friend’s view on what is the right thing to do differed.  Police units finding bazookas in their gun closet, that was Mr. Hinkerninkle’s doing.  Police units finding every one of their cars in the station being up on cement blacks with milk and cereal in the gas tank, that was Henry’s doing.  Life had become a sense of chaos and my friends were to blame.  Businesses thrived and deteriorated at equal times depending on which one of my friends was the one to help.
Rock and roll and classical music was constantly heard within my head while I was in my room of sanctuary.  The powers of opposites were slowly leading my to insanity and the town around me was slowly collapsing in its own fear of what may happen when they are away.  It was an existence of chaos and destruction with a side of order and normality.
My foster parents never suspected a thing going wrong as they never could hear nor see the life of my friends.  My teachers were plagued when my friends would sneak to school with me, as they would find tacks on their chairs, that was Henry’s doing, or spanking paddles in their drawers of their desks, that was Mr. Hinkerninkle’s doing.  My interaction with children of my own age was greatly limited, as they would view me as being a freak for my crazy responses to the creations of my friends.  Pestered by names given to me for seeming odd or different, such as freak, and tortured for fear of my friends being found out of their doing and me becoming in trouble I lived my childhood.
There soon reached a time where I found out that if I didn’t do anything about what happens in the rest of the world that it would either degrade from any state into that of complete chaos or go in the other direction and progress into the state of utter and complete loss of personal control over life as it was controlled by another source.  I realized this through a process which caused many problems, as to be able to figure this realization out I did nothing for a while as my friends ran wild and I was not around to explain what was good or bad to them.  When I told Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle about what I found out they attempted to silence me so that they could continue to be free.  I was locked within a wooden chest for two days with very little air.  My breath would heat up the chest with every breath I released and I had barely enough room to move my body so I could not strip off layers of my clothes to cool down.  I sweated so much while restrained in the wooden chest that I passed out after a time that I could not determine as barely any light shone through the chest.  Death was all that I expected for me, as I lay hunched within the chest as I could sometimes hear the mumbled voices of Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle either fighting or talking of approaching plots.  When my parents found me, after believing I was spending the night at a friends house and that’s why I was missing thanks to Henry’s doing over the phone, I had lost five pounds, was recommended to a psychiatrist and a file on my parents and child negligence was placed in the files at the police station.
I viewed this as a time needed for change.  In history classes this is taught as the time before a revolution.  I planned all my actions in secret, when I wasn’t drugged out of my mind on doctor’s orders, to let it be a surprise when I attacked Henry and Mr. Hinkerninkle.  The time came one lonely Sunday afternoon where the sun lightly shone into my room with a dull yellow light.  Next to my bed I placed a baseball bat I had bought the week before and I laid down on the bed with a book in my hands as I waited for my ‘friends’ to enter into the room.
Henry entered the room right before Mr. Hinkerninkle and when they were both well in the room I threw my book at the door slamming it shut as a makeshift lock I had placed on the door snapped into place locking me in my room with the two of them.  When they could see that they could not get out of the room and I was betraying them they rushed for me to take me down.  I procured my baseball bat and flung each of them across the room into a unconscious lump upon floor.  In a sense of irony I locked both of them before they woke in the same chest they placed me in.  The key I then placed where no one would ever find to accidentally open the chest and release them once more into the world.
“Sometimes as children we like to exaggerate stories to make them more interesting.  Sometimes they are just completely made up from our imagination.  Some things that are viewed as being completely made up sometimes have more truth than fiction to them.  I do not remember which this story was, but sometimes I fear it is more true than made up,” I say into the phone at the hotel as I procure a rusty key on a chain from around my neck.