A Delusional Mind
Prologue
Nightmares! Hellish images which infests minds like a plague. Transporting us to a daily state of terror which is seldom realised in daily life. Psycho-analysts would have you believe that nightmares are the product of our over-active imaginations interpreting the movies we watch or the books we read and manifesting itself into our brains. But what if it isn't? What if the nightmares themselves are tools, externally imposed by some unknown agency, with the purpose of affecting the continuing balance between good and evil? What if it's all a crock of shit? God, the Devil, demons and angels? Totally bollocks! Nightmares are nothing but the product of an undigested bit of cheese or a meal eaten too late, or so I thought before this all began.
My name is Connor O'Toole and I am fourteen years old. I am recording my experiences to equip the next "chosen" from enduring the pain and suffering of wrong choices. You will understand what I mean by this as the tale unfolds. I wish to anything that I could spare you the details but you need to know. I wish to God that the nightmares where just the by-product of movies, books or cheese. I would suddenly become a technologically impaired, illiterate lactose intolerant person overnight if that where the case! I'm sorry to say, however, that I am living evidence to the contrary. Death stalks me, and others, in my dreams (i wonder if nightmares would be a more appropriate word to use there) and the choices I make have me becoming either the harbinger of good or of evil. I know what your thinking? He is a nut job right? Well fuck you too! You don't have to read on. In fact if you cannot keep an open mind I don't want you to read on! This is not a game to me you know? This isn't a way for me to make a quick fortune and retire on the proceeds. I don't want accolades or prizes for writing the next big thing since a certain boy in a certain school for magic users ( I don't know the copyright laws here so I refrain from using names, I mean come on I am only fourteen after all, how am I supposed to know the in's and out's of copyright law, yeah?) I have a story, it needs to be told. That should suffice as explanation for the masses, for those it doesn't cover everything for, buy my autobiography out next year priced £19.99. Just kidding! You shall find I do have a rather dry and acerbic sense of humour. Anyway, I digress, for those people that have chosen (God I hate that word, you shall see why) to read on, the knowledge contained within these pages may help save your life and I am glad you have decided to heed my warnings. Am I drifting? I appear to be. For that I am sorry but I am only fourteen for fucks sake and under tremendous strain so please, do me a favour and bear with me. Thank you kindly!
As I earlier stated, my name is Connor O'Toole. I am a regular guy with a regular life, well up until I became a teenager anyhow. I was popular, that changed with the dawn of my teenage years, and sociable, again something that changed. I was also very sporty and handsome, which both of these would never change. The handsome part is not from my mouth but from the mouth's of others who meet me. It's not nice to be a narcissist so I avoid it. I am very modest and self-effacing! Truly! Dead down to earth and friendly type of individual. I'm not blowing my own trumpet here. I just want you to know that I am not some loner type with no friends and some big traumatic event does not plague my mind. I'm no typical storybook hero combating adversity or atoning for a problematic past. You won't hear of me with an M-16 Carbine assault rifle gunning down my fellow students or taking a butcher knife to my family pets. My home life, in case you are wondering, was also fantastic. Things for me could not have been better in my pre-teen years.
My mother, Laura, and my father, Stephen, where the epitome of perfect parents. They achieved an impossible task within any parent's life. They obtained their teenage son's respect and love without stifling his individuality or his personal freedom. It's embarrassing to write but I loved them immensely. My mother was a very beautiful and deep woman. She had a quiet intelligence which shone within the twinkle in her eyes and she was a very thoughtful person. There was not a person alive who had a bad word to say about her. She embarked upon the most appropriate career pathway you could ever imagine. She became a teacher at the local juniors-mixed-infants school. She nurtured the young minds and prepared them for their futures. She was loved by all the children, and indeed the parents of the children, in her class. As I stated, a fitting career for the gentle, caring and sweet person that she was. My father was a police sergeant, not a career that seems to lend one with a sensitive nature. He was an enigma in his job for he was a gentle man who only dealt a firm hand when the situation demanded it. A man who had a streak of decency and honesty a mile wide. A giant of a man not just in stature (six foot five and sixteen stone of pure muscle) but also in character. He was what any person pictures when they hear the phrase "gentle giant". I had the perfect family. This I say not to brag! This is just to emphasise how much of a normal life I led, up until my teenage years. My past is unclouded with trauma or pain so to speak.
Enough of my family life bullshit! That's not why your here is it? It's not a bloody family tree of my mum's, nan's, nan's sister. It's a tale that needs telling. My viewpoint is tainted by the fact that I am living this tale and it ain't fiction by any stretch of the imagination. But you can make your own judgement and see if you are in agreement with the psychologists, psychiatrists, counsellors and other assorted mental health professionals who believe I am a consummate fabricator. I just tell it how it is, let those who wish to believe, believe. Let those who do not believe be entertained by yet another apparent fabrication from the mind of Connor O'Toole. Remember though, the limits of the human mind are boundless and who knows to what extremities they may reach. Ah well, fuck it now. Lets be on with the tale and I hope those of you that are reading this, unlucky enough to be "chosen" will heed the warnings contained within. Be warned this tale contains adults themes though. As with any good story, needs must have a beginning, and a beginning we shall have. The tale begins, as innocuous as it sounds, with a birthday party.
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