I began my career at the military institute for applied physics, of which nation I am not at liberty to tell you. My role was as a junior research engineer at the lasers and optics department, primarily tasked with equipment maintenance, calibration, embedded programming of makeshift equipment, and procurement for a high-priority research project with long-term funding. In truth, it was an amazing workplace. I’ve always been fascinated by the physics of light, and working in a top of the line research institute with some of the most advanced technology available at the time was thrilling, to say the least. At the time when these events took place, we were working on encoding data into a quartz matrix using high-powered…

Sometimes we do things without really thinking them through, especially when we feel desperate. I think it’s finally safe to share this story, everyone else who knew about it is either dead or senile. I’m so old at this point that it doesn’t really matter if anyone comes after me, anyway. My wife, Anna-Karin, and I both worked as research assistants at a remote military installation in Sweden. This was in the mid 1960s, DNA had more or less just been discovered, and even though we couldn’t work with it directly at the time, the race was on to unlock the secrets of engineering life. Still, our lab was at least a decade ahead of main stream medicine. We were…

My grandmother, when she was alive, lived on an old farm on the side of a hill in a remote village in northern Sweden, right next to a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains. Whenever we were there, we would spend all day swimming or fishing for perch and crayfish. Grandmother was however always very assertive that we must never get out on the lake during the night, though she never gave us any reason. I always assumed she worried that something would happen while no one was around to help. Of course, time passes, and last year so did my grandmother. My grandfather died when I was very young, so my grandmother’s passing left the house empty, and neither my…

When I was eleven years old, my family lived in a small, blue, relatively remote house in northern Sweden. The rear of the house had a small deck facing a dense old-growth pine and spruce forest, while the front had a garage, a shed for firewood, and a fairly large lawn. My little brother, Oskar, had just been born about a month prior, and my parents were beginning to settle into their new routine. On the day in question, my father was away shopping for groceries, while my mother was inside tending to the house and keeping an eye on Oskar, who had colic and demanded a lot of attention. I was outside playing with my toy tractor in the…