The fate awaiting me since my birth. Loosing my mother to childbirth and being abandoned by my father, I was destined to a life of loneliness. Disposed amongst heaps of rotting garbage, it was a miracle I had ever been found. The distinct dreams had its first occurrence at a young age. Not that I remembered. These were all documented by my foster parents.

The dreams, initially prominent when I was 5 although I suspect I had been having these images in my mind years prior, consisted mainly of fire, water and metal. The three words imprinted itself onto my mind each night during my slumber: James Hallington, SSMR248 and jet 21. A phrase replayed over and over again in my mind “James the lone demise RIP”. My first foster parents had documented and given off the evidence, my statements and clips of my frequent mumbles and strange behaviors when I slept to my orphanage for further analysis. This was a month before their tragic and somehow mysterious murder. Foul play not being ruled out, and suspects never apprehended, the investigation came to a standstill. I was alone yet again. I was back at the orphanage the day after.

Months passed and my second foster parents came over to take me. They weren’t nice. I slept each day, battered and bruised. My stomach and g******s numb and body sore from the abuse. I yearned the moments before my birth. The only moment where I felt I truly belonged, a place where I felt safe, a place where I was alone. They were never convicted. I suspect the evidence of my r**e captured through those cameras they set up to be circling around the web, featured as a grim reminder of my deranged past. I was 10 at that time, too young and sheltered to distinguish wrong from right. Needless to say, no one suspected a think. I was let back into the orphanage after I recovered. My bruises fading, I was forced to believe that they were self-inflicted from childish antics. Yet again left alone for my somehow strange appearance.

I have little to no memory of my life at the orphanage. Its baffling considering I spent the largest chunk of my life imprisoned in the depressing jail-like structure. The vagueness of reality thickened as my dreams took over the largest percentage of my conscious mind. I began living the life of James Hallington who made a frequent appearance in the visions. It started small, with a jolting response to the name James, to signing all papers given to me as James and to the extend to which I ran a rally to penetrate that my name was in fact James into the minds of the souls occupying the asylum.

The owner of the asylum, deeply unnerved by my statements, took it to her part as to making sense of me. She researched up on the name James Hallington, SSMR248 and Jet 21 and found a remarkable connection between the three. James Hallington was a jet fighter who met his demise on August 19, 1960. SSMR248 was the name of the tanker flight take off ramp on the Pacific. James was the only member of the operation to die.

I was born on August 19, 1990, exactly 30 years since the death of James. I am the incarnation of James.