It was a cloudy day, with a chill in the air, as the wind howled coming off the hills surrounding a small valley cemetery. Martin Cook, unshaven, and wearing what looked like a hand-me-down overcoat stood over the freshly dug grave of his dead wife. Martin and Mary Olson-Cook had been married for twenty-five years before Mary was suddenly killed in a horrific one-car wreck. The official cause of the accident was mechanical brake failure. However, partly because of his emotions, feeling the loss of his soul mate, and to a certain extent because of his special gift, Martin had begun to question the report: 

    As Martin adjusted his old, threadbare and stained overcoat to keep the chilly wind from blowing down his back he began to hear what he thought was a strange noise. He shook his head in disbelief when he finally spotted what was a model aircraft flying overhead. He watched it for a moment, then calmly withdrew his antique Sig/Sauer 9mm semi-automatic handgun from inside his coat, and with one very accurate shot blasted the model plane out of the sky.

    The deafening sound of the ancient 9mm shot echoing in the small valley frightened an older man and woman, who were only a few yards away paying their respects to a deceased loved one. With confused horror, after hearing Martin’s gunfire, the elderly couple, both dressed in expensive tailor made clothes froze with a frightened look on their face. After all, how could there possibly be violence in a cemetery, which was supposed to be filled with peaceful dead souls: the ultimate end to man’s human existence?

    The fearful elderly couple watched Martin, with his old-fashion gun still in hand, leisurely walk over to the model airplane, slowly bend down, and cautiously pick it up. As Martin began to carefully examine the model, the elderly couple seized the moment and hurried away. Martin noticed the couple, and just smiled at them as they rushed toward the cemetery's main office. He knew the couple would most likely report him for shooting his gun, and it didn’t help that he was dressed as if he was destitute. A man who looked so impoverished was a very unusual sight for a cemetery.

    It didn’t take Martin long before he found a miniature video camera had been installed into the body of the model. "Sonsofbitches," he said to himself as his sarcastic grin disappeared and he tried to control his anger. He tossed the model to the ground, and then with his gun at his side, slowly walked back over to his wife’s grave and quietly commented, "Can you believe them Mary--they fear the gift this much?"

    He continued to just quietly look down at the freshly covered grave of his dead wife, and enjoy his moment of serenity. However, it was short lived, as his peacefulness was interrupted when two local sheriff deputies raced their patrol car into the cemetery and skidded to a halt near Martin. The uniformed deputies quickly jumped out of their car, with their standard issue laser guns drawn.

    "Now, just relax mister!" senior Deputy Reed yelled out, seeing Martin still holding his old antique gun at his side. Deputy Reed, a long time veteran of the county sheriff’s department did not want any more gunfire.

    "I am relaxed," Martin casually responded. "Maybe a little disturbed that these few minutes alone with my wife were interrupted. But, overall, I’m relaxed."

    "We got us a real smart ass here," younger Deputy Grimes quickly blurted out.

    "Just everyone be cool," Deputy Reed said, trying to sedate the potential violent situation. "None of us wants ta’do anything we’ll regret." Deputy Reed then glanced over at Deputy Grimes, making sure he was in control of his actions. "Right, Deputy Grimes?"

    "Yeah, sure," Deputy Grimes replied. "But until I see him put that piece of crap old gun on the ground my finger stays on the trigger. And if he lifts it up…"

    "You make sure you have your peace-protector on stun," Deputy Reed quickly interjected. "No one wants to find themselves gettin’ killed here."

    "That’s sort of funny," Martin said, again with an easy grin, "considering where we are and all."

    "You’re a regular standup comedian, ain’t ya," Deputy Grimes commented. "What the hell is someone like you doin’ here in this cemetery?"

    "Like I said," Martin calmly replied, "visiting my wife’s grave."

    The tension continued to build as Martin just stood there, grinning at the deputies. Deputy Reed, trying to take control said. "That’s some old gun you got yourself there. Shoots nothing but real bullets." 

    "It was my grandfather’s," Martin said.

    "Now mister, "Deputy Reed said, "just let your grandfather’s gun drop to the ground. I promise you no one will get hurt and we’ll get to the bottom of this."

    "Most people can’t see the bottom," Martin said. "You’re not supposed to be able to. For the bottom is where the foundation is. What everything is built on. That’s why people like my wife, and I, scare them so much."

    "Them?" Deputy Grimes asked. "Who’s them?"

    "In a sense, them has become you," Martin said. "They want to make them out of all of you—‘us.’ All of us. That’s why my so called special gift scares them."

    "Look mister," Deputy Reed said, as he continued to keep his laser gun pointed at Martin. "I don’t know you, or anything about you. But I ain’t gonna stand here in this cemetery, with you holdin’ that old gun, that shoots nothin’ but bullets, talkin’ about them."

    "C’mon Reed," Deputy Grimes nervously said, as he took dead aim on Martin and then asked. "What are we gonna do with this nut case? Lets just stun him—take him in and let the shrink handle him."

    "You just hold on, Grimes," Deputy Reed quickly responded, "we’re not so sure he’s nuts."

    "Look at him!" Deputy Grimes yelled. "He don’t look like he belongs in no cemetery to me. Look at that old coat of his."

    Suddenly a plain, dark color four-door sedan sped into the cemetery. After stopping, Robert Johnson, and Ann Woodburn, also with laser type guns drawn, jumped out of their car and began yelling to the deputies, "Don’t shoot! We’re government agents!"

    "We’ll take him," Agent Johnson said, showing the deputies his official government identification.

    "Like hell you will," Deputy Grimes quickly responded, "this here guy’s our statistic, not yours."

    "Look, Deputy Grimes," Agent Johnson said reading his nametag. "Mr. Cook shot a model airplane. That’s not the end of the world. Just let it go. Okay? We’ll owe you. And, we’ll also make sure you and the other deputy here get credit for detaining him until we got here."

    "How you doing, Robert?" Martin, again with his half-smirk, half-smile, asked Agent Johnson. "I figured it was you and Agent Woodburn watching me. I knew you would find me."

    "What do you expect?" Agent Ann Woodburn quickly blurted out while also displaying her identification to the deputies. "You falsify paperwork to get the coroner to release your wife’s body. Then somehow you manage to get her buried in a cemetery. You know cemeteries are only for high placed government officials and corporate executives. And, look at yourself. You don’t even look like you’re supposed to be in here."

    "I know," Martin said. "But it doesn’t matter how you look. It’s how you think, and how you feel."

    "Why did you want to put her in this cemetery?" Agent Johnson asked Martin.

    "We both grew up around here," Martin responded, with a slight smile and fond memories. "And I can’t go along with only government officials, and corporate executives, being the only ones buried in cemeteries."

    "Did you really think you could just walk out of the agency?" Agent Woodburn sarcastically asked," . . . put your wife in this cemetery and walk into the sunset?"

    "I didn’t think it was anyone’s business," Martin quickly shot back. "I wanted a place I could come to, and talk to her. Like the way it used to be with families. And, after all, you people were done with her. After your autopsy. Dissecting her brain in how many little pieces? And for what--what exactly did you find out?"

    "Look, Martin," Agent Johnson said while putting his laser gun back in his holster. "If it were up to me I would...."

    It’s not up to us!" Agent Woodburn interrupted. "And you know that, Martin. Now we have some questions. Who helped you arrange all this—someone else in the agency?"

    "I’ve got some questions too," Deputy Reed said. "Why is he shootin’ up a model airplane in our cemetery here—with some old antique gun from the turn of the century?"

    "Go ahead. Tell them why I shot down your little airplane," Martin said to the federal agents. 

    "Yeah," Deputy Reed chimed in, agreeing with Martin, while still keeping his gun pointed at him. "If y’know why he shot it, tell me. We’re on the same side here, aren’t we?" Deputy Reed asked Agent Johnson.

    "Now that’s an interesting question," Martin commented. "Are you?"

    "Martin, please," Agent Johnson said. "Y’know we’re just doing our jobs. For God sakes you used to do it yourself."

    "You’re right. I did," Martin said, "and it took me awhile to figure out because it was my job, it didn't make it right. You people wanted me to ignore what I was trying to destroy."

    "This is insane!" Agent Woodburn angrily blurted out. "We don't have time for this kind of crap!"

    "There’s a lot of crap in this world, Agent Woodburn," Martin calmly responded. "And a lot of it is caused by people like you." Then nonchalantly he raised his gun and pointed it at his wife’s grave, and softly, suppressing his emotions, said, "This is my wife here. I loved her. You have any understanding what that means?"

    Both Deputy Reed and Grimes, without hesitation, assumed the firing position when they saw Martin move his gun. "I mean it!" Deputy Reed shouted at Martin. "You’re gonna havta drop that gun."

    "And he means now!" Deputy Grimes quickly followed with, and then switched his laser gun to destroy. "I’m not on stun any longer buddy."

    "Everyone just be calm," Agent Johnson said as he took a step toward Martin and reached out his hand. "Let me have your gun, Martin. These guys here will kill you."

    "Maybe that is what you want, uh, Martin?" Agent Woodburn sarcasically commented.

    Martin took a moment and just looked at all four people before he calmly grinned, and let the gun just hang down at his side.

    "Do you think your wife would want you to be doing this?" Agent Woodburn asked, trying to play on his emotions.

    "My wife would tell me to use the gift in this situation," Martin responded.

    "Look," Agent Woodburn said, after she took a deep breath and pretended to soften a little as she replaced her laser gun in its holster. She didn’t want Martin to use his gift. She then looked at the sheriff deputies and smiled. She had to tell them something. "He shot the model airplane because it had a small video camera in it—so we could keep him under surveillance. He obviously figured that out. It was dumb of us to try something like that."

    "Why would you want to watch a man standing alone over his wife’s grave?" Deputy Reed asked as he began to relax a little.

    "It gets pretty complicated, deputy," Agent Johnson said, "Martin has, and his wife had, a gift. That is why they worked for us. They could see the gift in other people. And, there are certain people in our government that think, such a thing, could be a security risk."

    "Yeah," Martin said, "I got a gift. So did my wife, Mary. You want to know what that gift is?"

    "Knock it off, Martin!" Agent Woodburn yelled out. "I’m trying to be a little sympathetic toward you."

    "You don’t know what the word means, Agent Woodburn," Martin quickly yelled back. "What you are doing right now is by the book. Trying to sedate the situation—control the potential breach of security."

    "Maybe you don’t know everything that’s in the book," Agent Woodburn, coldly replied. "Like you’re in a no win situation here. This is the wrong place for you. Wrong time. "

    "I don’t think so," Martin said. "I think this is the perfect place. Actually this cemetery here has become very symbolic of our entire country. You have to be void of feelings, and compassion, to exist in it?"

    "Okay, I agree you got a bad break," Agent Johnson said to Martin trying to placate him. "And I know you think your wife’s death wasn’t an accident. But if it wasn’t I swear to you our department didn’t have anything to do with it. So for Christ sakes what do you expect us to do?"

    "You really don’t know the right thing to do?" Martin sadly asked.

    "I dunno what this is all about," Deputy Reed interrupted, "but why don’t we all just take a little ride to the sheriff’s office. We can straightened it all out there."

    "Why don’t you just call your sheriff and have him check with Washington," Agent Woodburn said. "I think you’ll find we can take Mr. Martin Cook here and be on our way."

    "You think because you’re some hot shot fed agent you can just come in here and take over?" Deputy Grimes asked, resenting her take-charge attitude.

    "I do what I have to do. What my superiors tell me to do," Agent Woodburn said accompanied with a stern look. "I guess you're one of those who would want me to be more lady-like."

    "Everybody just knock it off!" Deputy Reed yelled, and then turned to Agent Johnson, and with a strong, serious tone continued. "We’re all going into the office."

    "You’re forgetting one thing," Martin calmly said, his gun still at his side. "I’m calling the shots here. I admit you have the option to stun me, or kill me. But, I’m betting you really won’t. It doesn’t make sense to kill me. And if you just stun me they’ll end up taking me and you’ll never know what this is all about."

    "You don’t want to do this," Agent Woodburn said, starting to worry that he was making sense to the deputies.

    "Listen to her, Martin," Agent Johnson added, "this is not going to accomplish anything."

    "I think you’re wrong," Martin said. "It’ll show Deputy Reed and Deputy Grimes here the gift. For example. Deputy Reed here knows nothing about me. Except that I haven’t pointed my gun at him, or threatened him in any way. Have I Deputy Reed?"

    "No," Deputy Reed replied. "So you just want us to walk away and leave you alone?"

    "No," Martin said. "I want you to understand why these government agents are here. And why they are afraid of my gift."

    "Don’t do this, Martin!" Agent Johnson yelled as he slowly began to reach for his gun.

    "What are you going to do, kill me--shut me up in front of the deputies here?" Martin asked when he saw Agent Johnson’s hand slowly move toward his laser gun. "Then you’ll have to cover it up. A lot paperwork in that. And you don’t want paperwork. Too much paperwork can be traced . . . someone always messes up. Right? Doesn’t dot an ‘I,’ or cross a ‘T.’ And, what about the deputies here? You going to kill them too?"

    Both Deputy Reed and Grimes take a step backward and begin to look carefully at Agents Johnson and Woodburn. There was no doubt by their actions that they heard what Martin had said, and they weren’t going to take any chances.

    "Hey, what are you guys doing?" Agent Johnson asked Deputy Reed as he noticed them both take a different posture. "Don’t believe this guy. He’s a nut."

    "Just leave your gun in your holster," Deputy Reed said to Agent Johnson with no room for misunderstanding.

    Agent Woodburn then slowly began to reach for her weapon, but Deputy Grimes stopped her by pointing his gun at her. "You too, lady," Deputy Grimes said. "Just leave it in the holster for right now."

    "You’re pointing your peace protector at me," Agent Woodburn said to Deputy Grimes, "knowing I’m a government agent just doing my job?"

    "Yes he is," Deputy Reed interjected, as he kept his gun still aimed at Martin. "And he’s going to keep you both covered until we find out a few more things."

    "You’ve already found out what you need to know." Agent Johnson said to Deputy Reed. "We’re government agents, and I’m telling you this man here, Martin Cook, is a possible security risk for this country."

    "Let me tell you what the security risk is," Martin said, "and it isn’t because I once worked for their agency."

    "Don’t do this! " Agent Johnson again yelled.

    "Shut up, Johnson," Deputy Reed said. "Let him speak. If he’s full of bull we’ll know it soon enough. Then you can have him."

    "Do you know what will happen to you two," Agent Woodburn asked, "if you listen to this guy?"

    "What could possibly happen to us for just listening?" Deputy Reed asked.

    "Exactly," Martin commented with a smile. "See, deep down inside of you is an instinct, the gift, for you to know right from wrong."

    "Well, get on with it!" Deputy Grimes yelled out, more nervous with the situation than his fellow deputy. "Say what y’havta say."

    "When I was kid I discovered some old books, and videotapes that my grand parents had hidden away," Martin said. "They had been saving them from when they were kids--years after what they called the new millennium."

    "Videotape?" Deputy Grimes questioned. "Before the digital holograms?"

    "Yes," Martin responded. "Times were different back then. Everyone had the gift then. As time went on less and less people used it. It was basically bred out of us."

    "Just say it! Will ya'?" Deputy Grimes pleaded.

      "The gift is your basic instinct to know right from wrong," Martin said. "It's an instinct we all had before we were subconsciously taught to ignore it. Now you're considered crazy, or special, if you use it."

    "Just what the hell are you talkin’ about?" Deputy Reed asked, not understanding.

    "I’m talking about a gut instinct," Martin said and continued. "And you have it, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. There was something inside of you that told you not to just shoot me, but to listen to me first. Right?"

    "Martin you’re making a big mistake," Agent Johnson again said.

    "You’re just going to get everyone here killed," Agent Woodburn said.

    "I don’t think so," Martin quickly replied. "Not if these deputies here reach down inside themselves, and follow something they are not familiar with. Your God given instinct."

    "I’m losin’ patience here," Deputy Reed said, hand gripped tightly on his laser gun.

    "Okay," Martin said. "Did you know that today's history isn’t written from fact."

    "C’mon, Martin," Agent Johnson implored, "don’t do this. Nothing will come of it."

    "What’s he mean history isn’t written from fact?" Deputy Grimes asked.

    "Look you guys," Agent Woodburn said, "this guy here, Martin Cook. He’s one of your basic crazies."

    "Your basic crazy?" Deputy Reed asked.

    "He threatened the President of the United States," Agent Woodburn said.

    "That’s not true!" Martin yelled. "If I had threatened the president you think they would be letting me just walk around a cemetery? Now I’m asking you to think. You know yourself that if you threaten the president they put you in jail—immediately. Right?"

    "Don’t think about that!" Agent Woodburn shouted out. "I’m telling you he threatened the President of the United States. Who are you going to believe, him, or me--a federal agent?"

    "A minute ago they told you that I was a national security risk," Martin argued, "but yet I used to be one of them."

    "Threatening the president is national security. Isn’t it, Deputy Reed?" Agent Woodburn asked.

    "Don’t let them think for you," Martin said, "that is exactly what this is all about. Think this thing through. Use your gut instinct of who is tellin' the truth and who is lying."

    "What the hell do you mean use your gut?" Deputy Grimes asked Martin.

    Both Deputy Reed and Grimes become more nervous by the moment. They have never been in a situation like this before. They have been taught to follow procedure for weapon involved crimes; stun your perpetrator then apprehend them. Or, if the public is in danger switch your peace protector, to destroy, and kill the perpetrator. Deputy Reed slowly flips the switch on his laser gun to destroy, instead of stun. 

    "This is getting way to serious for me to handle," Deputy Reed said.

    "No it isn’t," Martin quickly added. "This is just what they want you to think. Don’t you see that? You’re letting them think for you."

    "Deputy Reed it is time to stop this foolishness and let us take this man," Agent Johnson said.

    "NO!" Martin yelled out and quickly put his gun to his own head.

    "Now! Now! Now!" Agent Woodburn yelled to the deputies. "Shoot him!"

    What are you doin’?" Deputy Reed screamed at Martin, afraid he was going to take his own life.

    "Just let me tell you my side of this story," Martin pleaded. "Please!"

    When Agent Woodburn saw Deputy Reed’s weapon pointed at Martin, and then Grimes’ eyes shift toward Martin, she seized the moment and quickly pulled her laser gun out of her holster. However, Deputy Grimes, out of the corner of his eye, saw Agent Woodburn, and swiftly let her know that his gun was still pointed her. Simultaneously, Martin grabbed Agent Johnson and put his old, Sig/Sauer 9mm semi-automatic to the agent’s head

    "Deputy Grimes," Martin said, "do you and Deputy Reed here a favor, keep your peace protector there pointed at Agent Woodburn while I tell you why they are really here keeping me under surveillance."

    "What we have here seems to be a stalemate," Agent Johnson nervously commented.

    "This is no stalemate," Martin said, and continued, "a stalemate is in chess when you are not in check, and there are no moves for you to make without being in check. There is a move for you guys, and you know it. Agent Woodburn there could shoot me."

    "Even though you could kill her partner?" Deputy Grimes asked.

    "You don’t have partners in what these people do," Martin said. "You just have co-conspirators in helping you shelter people from the reality of our society. So everyone just relax and keep their weapons pointed in the direction they are in. And, Deputy Grimes, if you see Agent Woodburn’s finger so much as twitch—pull that trigger of yours."

      "Man, you are crazy," Deputy Grimes said.

    "You sure?" Martin asked.

    "I’m not," Deputy Reed said, "so until we know for sure keep your gun on her."

    "Everything you see, the violence, the decay of society. The inhumanity that man has toward himself. It’s all true," Martin said. "I know that. It’s been a long time coming, but it is here. And what it does is control the masses."

    "Have you heard enough from this guy yet?" Agent Johnson, feeling the pressure, asked Deputy Reed. "I told you, he’s crazy."

    "You also told me he threatened the president," Deputy Reed quickly responded. "How is that possible? If he did that he would be in jail—not under some kind of surveillance. Right?"

    "That’s exactly right. See, you’re using it, " Martin said. "Now I told you my grandparents stockpiled old books and videotapes from when they were kids—long time before we were born. I learned that back in the 1970’s our president lied to us. He tried, along with the people that worked for him to make the lie go away. But it wouldn’t and he eventually resigned from his office."

    "Y’talkin’ `bout Nixon?" Deputy Reed asked.

    "What do we care about some old fart like Nixon?" Deputy Grimes asked. "That was back in the stone ages…hell they didn’t even have holograms then."

    "He resigned because the people questioned him," Martin said. "They forced the truth out."

    "So what?" Deputy Grimes responded.

    "You’re right," Martin said, "It was only a few more generations and the people stopped questioning. They figured that politicians lie and that was the truth. Innocent person gets killed in the streets—no problem. Did it really affect your life anyway? If they didn’t use their instinct they wouldn’t make a judgment on their government. And, after all, their life was good. Had your six pack of beer—several sports channels to watch."

    "You expect us to believe that our government, in Washington DC, just lets all this crime happen on the streets?" Deputy Reed asked.

    "No," Martin quickly responded, "I expect you to decide for yourself. Develop your own gift. Then believe what you will, and live your life accordingly. What does your instincts tell you?"

    "Never thought `bout questionin’," Deputy Grimes said. "Figured we’re all just doin’ our jobs."

    "Exactly," Martin commented. "And your job doesn’t include thinking about what someone tells you—your job is to just react with a procedure. Right?"

    "Well, I guess maybe," Deputy Grimes responded, not completely understanding his own answer.

    "Deputies, I really must protest this," Agent Woodburn said, feeling the stress building. "I don’t think it takes a brilliant officer to understand that this man here, Martin Cook, is crazy. Just listen to him. He makes no sense. Now you know, as law officers, we do have procedures."

    "I don’t agree with you," Deputy Reed countered. "Go ahead, Martin."

    "Common sense scares our government," Martin said. "Knowing right from wrong. If you know right from wrong you might question what they’re doing."

    "Forget it, Martin," Agent Johnson said, beads of sweat beginning to run down his face, but still trying to handle the situation. "These are good deputies here—they won’t buy into your bullshit."

    "Maybe not," Martin responded, and pressed the barrel of his gun a little harder against Johnson’s head. "But I’m still going to try. Y’know, Deputy Grimes, I learned in studying my grandparents old videos, and books, it was the beginning of the end when this country started to ban flags. The next to come was if you had an ideology that was different than your governments' you were thought as being a traitor. That’s not supposed to happen in a free society. My gift, my instinct, told me that."

    "Enough of this crap about your gift, your instincts!" Deputy Grimes yelled out. 

    "But, don't you see," Martin said, "without them you're no more than a robot for the government. Where is your freedom?"

    "No," Agent Woodburn yelled as she took deadly aim on Martin. "You're wrong! I won't let you lie like this!"

    Then in a heartbeat, everyone’s finger began to depress their gun triggers. Martin’s eyes widened as he saw the flash from Agent Woodburn’s gun and his body tensed, waiting for the impact of death to strike.

    Suddenly the blaring sound of the theme song from the Today Show echoed in Martin’s mind. He quickly sat up in his bed, glanced at the nearby television set, and then at Mary, his wife, lying next to him. After a brief moment for a reality check he acclimated himself. He realized that he and his wife have used their bedroom television to awaken them to the Today Show for the past several years. As Mary stretched, and slowly began to wake up, Martin listened to a young network newswoman comment about the most recent scandal coming out of Washington. The newswoman stated that the spin-doctors were already working the media, for the official version of the truth, regardless of evidence to the contrary.

    "Jesus," Martin said, wiping some sweat from his brow.

    "What’s wrong?" Mary asked him, slowly waking up, but seeing that her husband was upset.

    "I must have had a nightmare. I dreamed that I was living—sometime in the future. And, I had a gift."

    "What kind of gift?" 

    "You know how I’m always telling you we should get involved with local politics--try to help get good people elected?"

    "Yeah," Mary replied, and let out a huge yawn. "Get people elected that are honest. Know right, from wrong. But we never seem to find the time."

    "Exactly," Martin said. "Honey, we better find the time if we want our grand kids to have the gift."

    "What gift?" Mary again asked.

    "The gift to be able to think for yourself. Just plain old common sense—like you said, to know what is right, from what is wrong," Martin said, and took a deep breath.

    "Boy, that must have been some dream."

    "I hope it was just a bad dream," Martin said, "and not a look at the future. Can you imagine a society with no instinct for common sense?"