When Science Fiction Gives Way to Science Nonfiction

Modern science and technology has allowed humankind to answer many of the questions that humans have been asking for years. While we now have a more thorough understanding of puzzling conundrums such as gravity and motion, for instance, there are certain questions that our scientific and technological prowess has not yet allowed us to answer. First and foremost, there are things that fall into the realm of supernatural and paranormal that have not yet been fully explained or answered by scientific study or academia. Since modern science is always in flux and changing, it is possible that new explanations may arise to support the existence of these supernatural or paranormal phenomena. For now, however, it is possible that certain phenomena may exist in our world or universe, even if we cannot yet see or explain them scientifically. Paranormal phenomena that science cannot yet give explanation to may be present in our world today.

Since my first foray into science-fiction pop culture, beginning with Star Wars and Ghostbusters, I’ve agonized over whether or not ghosts, witches, telepathy, aliens, and other supernatural and paranormal phenomena exist. After a long time fathoming over it, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is a high likelihood that these things do exist in our universe in some form or another. Believing in paranormal activity is not always easy since we humans want to put stock in tangible things that we can see, taste, touch, or give explanation to with science. However, just because our naked eyes may have never beheld something, does that mean that it absolutely doesn’t exist?

Sheltering the Helpless and Forgotten

The Issue at Hand

As the holidays draw ever closer, families of people come home from long days of work and school to shelter themselves indoors from the winter chill. As they take to their cozy domestic sanctuaries, so too do they bask in the warming ambiance of festive holiday music whilst lighting their menorahs or stringing their Christmas trees with a collage of dazzling decorations or preparing freshly cooked ham or turkey dinners. And, not only do the human residents rejoice in the wake of spirit-lifting season, but so too do their pets as well. Happy, contented cats and dogs take to the warmth and safety and security of their respective houses and the caring owners that provide for them. They look upon the ensemble of dazzling holiday decorations with captivation as the smell ham and turkey wafts over their noses or the strange melodies of “White Christmas” fills their ears as they bask in the serene warmth of a radiant fireplace hearth. In this scenario, pets raised in a stable, living background enjoy the peacefulness and serenity of the holiday season along with their human owners. For many household pets, this seemingly happy-go-lucky dream is in fact a reality.

 

Others however, are not so fortunate. Many pets who could otherwise enjoy the simple pleasures and luxuries of a warm home in full holiday turnover as well as a human owner to enjoy it with them lack both of these amenities. Here on Long Island, New York, let alone in countless other areas across the United States and the world, there are dogs and cats who, because of an unfortunate twist of time and circumstance, now have to spend their cold holidays out on the street or gradually become rehabilitated in a pet shelter or adoption center. These poor, forsaken souls, many of whom were forced to leave the loving care of their previous owners while others have a history of abandonment, negligence and abuse at the hands of less-than-responsible owners, sit idly by within their chain-link cages in their respective animal shelters as they take the long and tedious road to normalcy. For example, Zaz, a hefty grey tabby cat, sits in solitude within his cage at the Town of Smithtown Pet Shelter with a demeanor of dejection and sorrow, clearly distraught over the fact that he had to be parted from his beloved owner. Zaz’s previous owner, an elderly woman, was forced to part with the cat under threat of eviction by her landlord.

The Cat's Captives: How Felines Manipulate Their Owners

The predator lined up its target prey within its sights. The creature’s keen, almost supernatural senses had detected with unmistakable accuracy, the prey’s movements. With calculated, subliminal cleverness, the predator prepped itself for an ambush, ready at any moment to spring a trap upon its unsuspecting quarry.

With delicate, dexterous movements, the predator sauntered over into an adequate hiding spot on its four limbs. When it had positioned itself according to where its prey would surely arrive, it waited with inhuman patience for the opportune moment to spring upon the creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Its dazzling and terrifying golden eyes twinkled with malice and its grey tail swished behind it with its eagerness.

Suddenly, the predator’s grey pointed ears perk up and twitch like radar dishes as its prey’s movements signal its impending arrival. It hears and detects step after step that the prey takes toward it; its advanced senses and its natural intuition as a tactician and a hunter allowing it to pinpoint exactly when and where the prey will reveal itself. As the prey’s obvious movements grow louder and it blatantly enters the watchful beast’s line of sight, then that is when the predator finally strikes.

With claws bared and terrifying roar being belched, the grey beast lunges from its secluded hiding spot and attacks.

The well-planned ambush set by the predator led to an attack that lasted all of two seconds. There was no biting or gnarling or unadulterated bloody violence like seen on National Geographic as a lion takes down a gazelle. Rather, this was an attack of a different sorts; the outcome of which was equivalent to that of a predator taking down prey in the wild: food.

In this particular scenario, the grey-furred “predator” was not a feral panther or a deadly cheetah, but was none other than a quirky little Russian Blue feline named Charlie. His prey: the blond-haired human woman that feeds him every day. His mission: snag at her sleeve as she walks by so that she’ll give up some cat treats. His well-planned hiding spot: the kitchen counter.

Those Eyes

It was four years ago that I had taken my first pet, Belle, to the veterinary hospital to be put to sleep. Furthermore, it was the first time of my brief existence that I had ever watched something, someone, very dear to me die right before my eyes.

I expected that day to just be like any other for me; cereal, shower, school, dinner, and bed. I had no prior conception that I would be standing next to a cold metal veterinary table watching the syringe go into my eldest cat’s front paw. Shortly after eating breakfast, my mother broke the news to me with a heavy heart that today was the last day for Belle.

“She spent the entire night throwing up. She doesn’t even seem happy anymore,” my mom explained to me dejectedly. “I don’t want to see her go on suffering like this.”

I sat over my breakfast idly, clearing a lump from my throat and trying to sift through the foggy haze in my mind. Was it really that time already? I was expecting it to be another year, or a few more months at least. Maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe though. Maybe in all my youthful naïveté I subconsciously thought that all of us, human, feline or otherwise, would just keep on going.

Creativity...with a Hint of Madness

Once, I was an enigma. As a child I would do the most peculiar things in my spare time; pace around the room and mutter to myself or vividly reenact scenes from movies when I think the rest of my family isn’t watching. In one such scenario, for example, I performed an entire battle scene from “Lord of the Rings” with perfect execution. As I’ve grown up into the man I am today, the solitary reenactments and pacing have remained one of the only constants; however, I’ve now taken a different approach. What was once a carefree way of passing the time as a child has now become a brainstorming technique in which I plump the depths of my imagination while broadening my creativity. Furthermore, as my awareness of social phenomena and the calamities of life has increased with age, so too has it become more necessary for me to pursue ever-imaginative means of escapism. This too is where my alone time spent imagining other extraordinary universes and events has come into play. Now, I am creative. Now though, I am working toward taking ideas spawned from hours of pacing and brainstorming, and expressing them through one of the arts that excel at: writing. Soon, I will be a novelist.

  

Once, I was an enigma:

Slash! Chop! Swoosh! Thwak! In a frenzy, I swung my weapon before me in a flurry of cuts, thrusts, jabs and slashes. I readied my sword as the next group of fiendish enemies converged all around me. Vile, snarling, biting fiends hell-bent on bloodlust attacked me from all directions, slashing their crude blades at me which I deflected and evaded with ease and agility. In the distance, a booming, menacing voice howled over the battlefield as I made battle with my foes.

Minor Leagues, Major Experience

In 2005, there was a Minor League game between the Boston Red Sox and Cincinnati Reds. Despite that this game was merely practice for the drafted players, the eyes of over ten thousand viewers and live video cameras were upon them.  After the seventh inning, a call unexpectedly came down to the Rex Sox’ bullpen coach. Afterward, the bullpen coach turns to one of the Red Sox draftees, a pitcher, and said simply, “Searles, you’re in on the ninth.”

Jon Searles had been eagerly awaiting the chance to pitch during that game prior to that. The opportunity came about because of the fact that one of the other minor league pitchers had done only five innings rather than the supposed six, leaving an inning open for Searles. When the ninth finally came around, Searles ran out onto the field toward the pitching mound with confidence and the willingness to prove himself before thousands of onlookers and a series of TV cameras.

He struck out first one of the Cincinnati batters, and then another. After the game ended, famed Red Sox manager Terry Francona gave Searles a high-five as he was coming off the field. Searles later showered, ate, and was greeted by dozens of voicemails and text messages from family and friends congratulating him.

Jon Searles now works as a fixed income salesman at First Empire Securities in Hauppauge, Long Island, NY. He is 30 years old, lives in Huntington, Long Island, and enjoys golfing, hiking and (of course) baseball.

A Gamble Never Taken

The year was 2007; a foot-high wooden pyre was blazing in the middle of an empty cul-de-sac as a rage-stricken man in a red t-shirt and boxer shorts ran out onto the lawn to confront me and my friends. Yup…that blaze of glory in the middle of the street was our handiwork.

The event was sparked by collective boredom among me and my five friends. A series of circumstances of which I can’t fully recollect had led the six of us to be strapping two cans of Axe body spray together, surrounding it with pieces of broken plywood, and lighting it on fire with a match. After the flames spread over the Axe cans, they simultaneously burst open in a mini-explosion and flames began to jet out from their sides. When we had later recovered the cans, I took notice of the fact that the bold-printed “Warning: Flammable” label on one of the cans had been singed away by flames.  

After we lit our fire for the sake of lighting a fire, one of the nearby neighbors from around the cul-de-sac came running out dropping F-bombs left and right and threatening to call the cops. The man likely at first glance thought that we were a bunch of psychotic arsonists out on a home-burning crusade, even despite the fact that our relatively small blaze was nowhere near a house. Still, given the circumstances, I can’t say I blame the guy for being as enraged as he was.