The Sacred, the Profound, and the Unexplained

An Alien visitation on the Bayou? Read the story to delve deeper👽🛸🐊

The air in Monroe, Louisiana, in '68, hung thick with the metallic scent of the paper mill across the river, a constant, low thrum in the humid breeze. That mill, a huge factory of cardboard for shipping, was the main source of income for North Louisiana.

We'd just moved there in August from Birmingham, Alabama. A new town, it felt like a dream itself, a stage set for a life that was always just beyond my grasp. My father had been newly promoted to Vice President of State Farm Insurance, the biggest career move of his life, for one of the largest insurance companies in America

Monroe itself was a postcard dipped in sepia tones. Spanish moss dripped from ancient oaks, grand old houses that whispered tales of a bygone South. It felt like stepping into a Disney movie, lazy bayous, maybe with a Randy Newman tune humming in the background.

But there was a stillness in the air, a slowness that felt both peaceful and… watchful. And beneath that stillness, a current of something else, something unspoken about the way things were, the way they used to be, a resistance to the changes the rest of the country was grappling with

My father's domain now stretched across Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi, a vast expanse of territory. He was personally responsible for hiring all of the agents and managers in these three states, a huge operation that demanded immense capability. Under his guidance, it quickly became one of the biggest employers in North Louisiana. Their shadow fell across the landscape, providing stability in a world that, for me, was about to unravel into something far less tangible