I met an entity who told the future by drawing pictures

Some of you guys wanted me to post more about this entity I met.<br><br>He was a man in a brown suit with a notebook and a pencil. I was at a baseball game with my dad drinking lemonade and eating popcorn as if my life depended on it.<br><br>I had a brother named Jesse who died in a car accident in 1992. The next morning I was sitting in my brown plaid pajamas with the feet in them, eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. My mom was sitting across from me crying and my dad was telling me that my brother was dead. He told me it with the most serious look on his face.<br><br>I didn’t understand it at first, but after a few weeks I did. Jesse was gone. He’d never come back. I was only 8 years old.<br><br>But sitting in the baseball stadium, there I was face to face with Jesse.<br><br>At first he looked *different*. His hair was shorter and more combed, but he looked like he was 9 again, same as me.<br><br>Then I noticed the man sitting next to him. The man in the brown suit.<br><br>“Hello,” he said. “Maybe you can feed him, if that’s what this is.”<br><br>“Feed him?” I said.<br><br>Then I remembered the popcorn and lemonade. But by the time I remembered it, the man in the brown suit had reached across and *grabbed* the food and drink out of my hands.<br><br>“Here,” he said, handing the popcorn and lemonade to Jesse.<br><br>Jesse started eating and drinking. The man in the brown suit set his brown notebook and pencil down on the bleacher bench next to him.<br><br>“How old is he?” the man in the brown suit said. “If I’m going to start drawing pictures.”<br><br>“He’s 9,” I said.<br><br>The man in the brown suit looked at Jesse, who was eating his popcorn.<br><br>“I mean how old was he when he died?”<br><br>“Four,” I said.<br><br>The man in the brown suit started drawing a picture. After a few minutes, he ripped the paper out and handed it to me. I looked at it. It was a picture of a car. There was a big x marked across it.<br><br>“My brother died in a car crash,” I said.<br><br>“That’s right,” said the man in the brown suit. “That’s one way you can look at it.”<br><br>He drew another picture. When he handed it to me, I saw that it was a picture of our house. This time it was set on fire.<br><br>“What’s this supposed to be?” I said.<br><br>“That’s the way your brother really died,” the man in the brown suit said. “You see, your dad set your house on fire. The insurance companies all thought it was a car crash because the bodies were so badly burnt, but that’s not what happened.”<br><br>“What? Why would my dad do that?”<br><br>“For the insurance money,” the man in the brown suit said. “He’s a very dishonest man.”<br><br>I re-read the two pictures the man in the brown suit had drawn. The first said CAR CRASH. The second said HOUSE FIRE.<br><br>“Why are you showing me this?” I said.<br><br>“These are the two ways you can look at something,” the man in the brown suit said. “But when you see what really happened, you will realize that the drawing isn’t the truth.”<br><br>I didn’t know what he meant by that.<br><br>“Look,” the man in the brown suit said. “I’m going to draw you another picture, *and this picture is going to be the truth*.”<br><br>He started drawing. Jesse was still eating. After a few minutes the man in the brown suit ripped the page out and handed it to me.<br><br>This picture was different from the first two. Both of the first two pictures were about the *method* of death, but this picture was about the *motive*.<br><br>This picture showed my dad. I recognized him by the thick, curly hair he had when he was younger.<br><br>The picture showed him holding me, but with a menacing look on his face. I *recognized* the look on his face. It was somehow like looking at a reflection of my own face. It’s hard to explain.<br><br>The man in the brown suit *tapped* on the face of my dad in the drawing, right where his eyes were.<br><br>“Your father didn’t kill Jesse,” the man in the brown suit said. “You did.”<br><br>I started to cry. I didn’t know what to do. The man in the brown suit reached out and rubbed my hair like my mom would do.<br><br>“Don’t worry,” he said. “You can’t remember because you’re only 8 years old. But this happened when you were only 2. You were playing with your brother and you accidentally pushed him down the stairs. He died from the fall, but your dad wanted to make it look like an accident so he burned the body in the house and told everyone it was a car crash. He even went through the motions of buying a casket and funeral and everything. You can’t remember because you’re too young, but you saw it. This is why your dad is so mean to you all the time. He knows you saw it.”<br><br>I didn’t know what to do. I started to feel like I couldn’t breathe. *I killed my brother*. This was the first thing I thought. I didn’t know if I believed it or not. I *didn’t* remember anything like what the man in the brown suit was saying, but I did remember the menacing look from the drawing my dad would get in his eyes sometimes.<br><br>But then I started to feel something else. Something besides fear and guilt.<br><br>I didn’t know how to describe it, but the best way I can think of is *liberation*. Somehow *learning the truth* about something is somehow freeing, even if it’s bad.<br><br>The truth is somehow truer than a drawing or a photograph *or even a memory*. It could be argued that truth is somehow truer than reality itself.<br><br>That’s all I have to say about the man in the brown suit.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>EDIT: I apologize if this post didn't live up to the standard of quality expected by the sub. I'll keep working on my writing.