I got stories. Lots of stories. Amazing stories. Un-be-lievable stories. Some would say tall tales, wrongly. Like in the movies when someone has an alien or zombie in their garage and can publicly say so because noone would believe them anyway. You can say you’re from the future and not be considered crazy because haha we get it funny joke you’re clearly not that’s impossible. Most of my stories involve girls, women, or time and dimension travels. Some are about less fortunate events. It’s not only as if the more unbelievable the story the harder to believe, but also the harder to believe the more unbelievable reality and thus the stories get. As if the gods are f*ckin* with me, having a laugh. Let‘s teleport him, nobody will believe him anyway.
It started when I was 9 or so and fell out of a huge chestnut tree in a park. I landed a couple of feet behind behind a passing family and the mom freaked out and asked me where I came from. I pointed up, about 20 feet up, to the lowest branch in a huge chestnut tree. For a split second she believed me, but then somehow her brain shut down. There was no way I fell from that height without a scratch. My shoulder hurt af but nothing that kept me from standing up straight like I popped out of nowhere.
It turned out to be a reoccurring problem. Not long after I was sleeping over at an uncle&aunt and I fell through a ceiling that was also the floor of their attic, landing on my feet, just in front of their bed. They woke up from the noise but didn’t see the hole in the ceiling or trash on the floor, I had no injuries, all they saw was me staring at them in shock, breathing heavily.
The following years I fell through several roofs, including a glass one without getting a scratch. It got to a point where my mom very specifically told me to stop falling and to do that I should stop climbing in and on trees and structures. That worked for a year or so until I found a surprisingl easy way to climb on top of the roof of one of the oldest builldings in town. Jumping from one section of the roof to another, sure enough, I went straight through, as if it were a thin layer if ice. Can’t tell you how many times I went through the ice, we ended doing it on purpose but that’s another story. Sinking through the roof I managed to grab on to an old beam, and while swinging back and forth I noticed a treasue chest. An actual treasure chest in an attic of a building hundreds of years old. I let go, open the chest and guess what I find in there: a Sinterklaas outfit (racist european version of Santa Claus, well, other way around). Fake white beard, hat, the complete set.
Since then I told everyone I knew where Santa kept his outfit. Nobody ever believed me. But I knew. I knew.