From the Belly of the Goat

by Donald Armfield

  The large man put his hand on Mazin's shoulder and pointed to a pile of old beat up furniture cushions, awkwardly thrown into a corner on the opposite side of the large room. Mazin assumed that the man was telling him to have a seat, since the man said no words. It was only mid-afternoon, but oddly Mazin felt the need to rest. He walked over to the pile of cushions and repositioned them, trying to make it a little comfier. The young boy pulled a small sash hanging from the wall and brought it over to Mazin. He opened the sash for Mazin and showed him what was inside: five strips of dried meat and two apples. The boy pointed across from the fire pit at three large plastic buckets on the ground and four cups hanging from hooks on the wall. He spoke not a single word, but instead made mime movements of drinking from a cup. Mazin nodded at the boy and said, “Thank you.” The boy walked off to the other end of the room and sat on a small crate, chewing on his own strip of dried meat.

  Mazin continued to look around the room, figuring he was in some kind of basement-styled living quarters. The ground underneath him was rather cool and all four walls around him were cement slabs. The men in the middle of the room continued to play their card game and the other man began to organize the fire pit, throwing a couple pieces of wood inside. Mazin pulled the folded article out of his pocket once again. Despite the lighting, he was still able to see the picture of the cedar forest. He continued to marvel at the beauty of the picture, and his excitement grew now that he knew he would soon get to stand inside the forest. He folded the article and slid in back in to his pocket. The man poured a flammable liquid into the fire pit and lit a match. One of the pieces of wood quickly catches fire. Mazin watched the fire dance over the pieces of wood. He leaned back on the cushions and began to rest. Soon his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

  Mazin awoken suddenly to the boy nudging him. The ache in Mazin's back led him to imagine he had overslept. The boy looked at Mazin for a few seconds without saying a word, then spun on his heel and headed for the gash in the wall. Mazin looked at his watch and noticed he just slept for ten hours. Mazin stood up and arched his back slightly to ease some of the pain. He looked down at the pile of cushions and saw the sash the boy gave him. He grabbed the apples left over from the day before and followed the boy through the entrance that led to outside.

  Outside, a strong mist passed through the market square. Heavy gray clouds stretched along the sky above. The smell of rain hinted its near arrival. Humidity already burdened the air. There weren't as many townspeople today, although they still possessed the same dazed look from the day before.

  “The boy's sign said met at sunrise?” Mazin said.

  The large man, spoke in broken English, “Others never arrived, so we let you rest.” The large man tightened the straps to his backpack. Mazin was taken back a little, that he actually got a verbal response from the man. Now he knew they understood him.

  The large man gave his card-playing cronies a head nod. They took the hint and began to lead the way. Mazin caught up to them and began walking beside the boy. The boy looked at Mazin and for the first time removed his serious grin, sticking his tongue out with a smile. Mazin thought of it as excitement like his own and looked ahead. Beyond the outskirts of the market square, a forest landscape stretched along the fogged horizon. The cedars standing high, strong and placid, just like the pictures in the magazine. Mazin smiled to himself.

  The muggy weather had rolled in by noon and Mazin watched the two card-playing cronies sit on the ground, right at the base of a dense fog that clouded further ahead. The large man stopped as well and dug through his backpack. He pulled out two canteens and passed one to the young boy, then held the second out in front of him and said, “For our guest.”

  Mazin nodded and grabbed the canteen and with a slight bow said, “Thank you. I apologize for not coming prepared.” Mazin pulled the last apple from his pockets and took a bite. He watched the young boy take a long swig from his canteen before he poured some over his head. The two card-playing cronies sat against a pair of cedars, with their legs lazily stretched out.

  Of the three men and the young boy not one of them said a word. Mazin felt a little unsettled, but took to the dead silence and looked up to the sky, following the dense fog to the top of the cedars. Mazin began to wonder who these people were and how many people have gone on this expedition, before him. He still hasn't learned any of his fellow traveler's names. Mazin believed the larger man must've have been the father to the little boy, seeing that they had similar features. The two card-playing gentlemen seemed quiet and awkward, as if they were scheming on other things, when they reached the end of the journey.

  After a few more minutes passed the two card-playing cronies stood and turned to look over at the large man. Mazin watched the man stand and then the young boy, as they headed towards the thicket, before jumping up himself to follow them.

  Another hour passed walking through the thicket. Mazin marveled at his surroundings, wishing he brought his camera to snap the glorious view. Some of the cedar giants have trunks large enough to drive a car straight through them. Deposited along the ground were a few moist puddles, despite the dry weather. The paths winding through the thicket took sharp turns at points, crossing over small bridges built over murky pockets of water. The smell of the cedars in the air was better than the city aroma back home. At some parts of the journey, the well-marked path turned beaten with tangled thorn bushes. The card-playing cronies would stop and stare awkwardly up at the mountains, sipping from their canteens.

  “This is here, the shrine before us,” the large man spoke. He crossed into the middle of the clearing and threw his arms into the air. Mazin entered the clearing behind the young boy.

  The clearing seemed to be a parakku or a shrine to a disrepute community of fallen Babylonians, were disease was sent for punishment by the gods. You could almost feel the fallen memories, like an eerie presence, pass through the body. Numerous piles of ash scattered the grounds. The cedars looked melancholy with their large branches hanging limply over the clearing.

  “What is happening to the forest?” Mazin asked.

  The large man dropped his hands to his side and turned around to face Mazin. He had a strange look in his eyes as he came in arm's reach of Mazin. He said, “Many, many years ago the earth roared and daylight was ceased by darkness. Lightning flashed through sky above as the clouds began to swell, right before it rained death over the cedars. When the cedars felled there was nothing left of these marvelous tree beasts. The guardian of the forest perished in the darkness as well. The cedars could not stay fallen, they seeped into the soil to hide out the darkness until daylight appeared once again.”

  Mazin took a deep breath after listening to the man's explanation. Mazin had become accustomed to the man's brevity, and his rambling was a surprise. “So, is this where the guardian of the forest fell?” Mazin asked. He wondered if it had anything to do with Gilgamesh, the Mesopotamian, or an ancient god of sorts. How many other explorers of this expedition has he rehearsed the fallen of the cedars?

  “No, my guest. This here parakuu is the feeding ground for the cedar's eternal life and, they are hungry.”

  A strong scent of burnt cedar filled the air, as the card-playing cronies began chanting a phrase an Arabic accent, “Feeding time, feeding time.” Mazin stumbled backwards, tripping over his own two feet. He looked up to the sky and saw the clouds rapidly moving above; a thunderous roar blasted through the air and the ground all around began to quake.

  Mazin fell to the ground stiff. He tried to roll to his side to stand, when he felt something pierce through his chest. He looked down and saw a branch protruding from his sternum. More dagger-like branches pierced all parts of Mazin's body, hoisting him high into air. Blood poured from the holes in his body, an exquisite banquet for the soil below.

  The ancient craving of the cedars was momentarily sated once again, a rage for their ancestor giants that had fallen so many years ago. The expedition crew of the three men and the you
ng boy crossed back into the thicket, leaving Mazin's suspended body hanging from the branches of the cedar giants.

  Golem

  Sanctuary

  And so, it is told when the parts are pulled from the depths of the seas, it will protect us...

  If the process of connection fails, the outcome will be atrocious, disastrous and darkness for all of eternity. The cause of failure will lead to tidal waves crashing over the lands we tread, ripping the earth's crust apart along the fault lines, an opening into the fiery pits of Hell. The millions of souls that will burn in its coming and the ones who survive will have nothing...Armageddon is coming!

  Kuwait, Persian Gulf

  At Sea

  June 27, 2017

  “Hold your position team. Anchor the ship,” Ferguson yells down to his shipmates from the crow's nest. “My coordinates indicator is going mad; this must be the spot.”

  The crew throws the anchor overboard. Ferguson comes spinning down the rope line like a greased bolt over the threads of a screw and lands on the deck of the ship. “Let's go, what are you waiting for? Suit up already!” Ferguson continues to yell at his crew. All the men start running amok, almost crashing into one another, gathering at the hull of the ship. The crew members begin grabbing at parts of an underwater suit, newly designed to help with breathing under water without an oxygen tank.

  Ferguson and his crew of twenty-two men were hired by an unknown source working out of a lab in Russia. The mission statement was more of a direct order: dock the ship at these exact coordinates and dive. Across the ocean bedding was said to be a stone arm belonging to an ancient statue. The arm was to be pulled out of the water in one piece and hoisted onto the boat. Further radio contact would give further instructions on a rendezvous. The mission statement ended with, “you will be compensated greatly. Hurry time is wasting.”

  Ferguson is a man of money and constantly dreaming about becoming even wealthier. His ship named 'Pocket Liner' is actually a cargo liner. He uses it as a contract transporter of random goods throughout, Western Asia. Despite constantly yelling at his crew, Ferguson pays them well and almost treats them like family. Most of his crew lives in a complex owned by Ferguson's late parents. In more depths with his dreams, he wanted to become the Hugh Hefner of Western Asia. Being born in Kuwait has promises on his retiring future, in many years to come. All the money he makes from cargo lining, he banks. It hopes to build his establishment somewhere in Western Asia, and let the ladies or hoes run around in cotton tail thongs.

  Sixteen of the men are suited and ready to dive upon Ferguson's demand. Ferguson sparks a small cigar hanging from his lip. Takes a deep drag, then exhales. “Alright men, get your asses down there and bring that arm back with ya. One piece boys, one fucking piece. And then mission accomplished. Capeesh?” All the men nod in agreement. “Can I get a Pocket Liner Anthem?” All the men respond with their raspy voices, including Ferguson himself, “Money in our pockets. Hurrah!”

  Los Angeles, California

  Downtown 12:13 PM

  June 27, 2017

  (from the corrupt mind of Chrissy Sandoval)

  The spiking heat wave flashes over the downtown area, causing irritable people to cuss at one another as they bump shoulders and pass one another, rushing around to get inside a cooler climate for lunchtime. The clockwork day for many had begun like any other day, but something much hotter is hanging over the cloudless sky. A raging fireball, already passed through the atmosphere. Its approach gives no indication of stopping until it explodes on impact. At the moment not a single soul has noticed the giant fireball coming in for a landing.

  RRRR

  An overweight, middle-aged housewife comes walking out of her favorite salon. Her nails have a new design painted on them and her hair looks like a shower loofah resting on the top of her head. She gently pulls her purse over her shoulder and speaks to her poodle inside,

  “Does mommies baby want to go home now, huh?” she nozzles her nose against the top of the dog's head. “You were such a good boy,” she continues to coo at her pet poodle with the same hair style as hers. “Is my little poodle a.....” The overweight housewife's jaw drops as she looks up at the sky.

  RRRR

  At the same moment across the busy street, a group of yuppies sip on their over-priced coffee through maroon straws. One of the men is laughing at a joke his buddy made about the barista who made their drinks. All four men are wearing long sleeve button up shirts with ties and dress slacks, despite the muggy weather. One of the men pauses at the curb before crossing the street. He nudges his buddies, who are still laughing at the joke. All four men look up at the sky at the same time, with a blank look pasted on their faces.

  RRRR

  A tenacious gust of wind streams through the air. Piles of trash and small items spiral over the streets. Fredrick Mathewson walks out of his law firm and shields his eyes from scattering debris brushing through the streets. His hair piece flies off the top of head, taking flight high above and out of reach. Fredrick starts running down the street, determined to get his hair piece back. He bumps into a drug dealer coming out from a side alley. The cash in the drug dealers hand drops onto the ground. A second strong gust of wind sends the money into the air. “It's raining money,” a young woman says, as she begins jumping to catch one of the bills. The drug dealer grabs Fredrick by the shirt and clenches his fist.

  The raging fire ball brightens the skies above, its orange glare adds an odd hue of color over the buildings. As if the skies are trying to regurgitate its arrival, with a loud thunderous crack and bolts of lightning string overhead. A lightning bolt strikes a radio communication tower, snapping the metal fixture in half. The top half of the tower comes crashing down like a hunted duck, crumbling onto a parked car next to Fredrick and the drug dealer. The car explodes, flinging Fredrick and the drug dealer across the street. The car drops back onto its tires, engulfed in flames. The rest of the radio communication breaks away, colliding with an adjacent building and like dominoes falling one after the other the buildings start to fall. People begin to run around yelling and screaming things like, “The world is coming to an end. Run for your lives!”

  RRRR

  The meteor crashed right in the center of downtown L.A. The catastrophic moment was breath taking. The burning rocks just igniting everything in its path. Vehicles left abandoned from their owners in the middle of the street, cars suddenly catching fire, exploding in line. We watch people running in all different directions confused and shaken, more lie on the ground in pain screaming for help.

  And then it happened. A Massive rift disturbed the ground, opening a hole in the center of the street. Cracked sidewalks branched out along the streets, sending frantic people tripping and falling to the ground. The hole grew bigger within seconds and began to swallow everything in its path. Buildings crumbled from their foundations smashing into one another. The catastrophe here is unimaginable; not a single person saw this disaster coming and there is no stopping it. Los Angeles is beginning to drift into the Pacific Ocean behind me, becoming an island of its own. This is news coverage from...click!

  Chrissy turns off her demonic thoughts and snaps back to reality. She rubs her hands together and marvels at her evil grin reflecting back from her in the mirror.

  Kuwait, Persian Gulf

  At Sea

  June 27, 2017

  -late hours-

  “Well boys, I'll be in my quarters,” Ferguson says, taking the last swig of brew from his bottle. “Great fucking job today boys. These federal goons better pay us good.”

  “Sir, I have a call coming in from the President of The United States!” One of the crew men yells over to Ferguson.

  Ferguson pulls the phone from his crewmate's hand. “Mr. President, we have the arm of the statue on board. Rendezvous is scheduled tomorrow bright and early, your time.” Ferguson pauses for a few; his jaw suddenly drops open and he begins to nod. “Yes Mr. President. I know this may not be the time, but please
tell me this gives my crew and I a higher pocket margin?” Ferguson smiles from ear to ear and says, “Sure thing Mr. President. I'll return call when we reach the coordinates.” Ferguson lets the line go dead, oddly the voice seemed nothing like the President's voice, but money was involved and Ferguson was all in.

  “Boys, get the ship up to 4 knots per hour. We have some more things to collect.”

  Gulf of Aden, Yemen

  June 28, 2017

  The waves came crashing over the front of the ship as the Pocket Liner neared the shoreline of Yemen. “Boys, turn the ship due east away from the coast!” Ferguson yelled from the crow's nest.

  “Sir, the waters are becoming feisty and the clouds are looking as if they are ready to piss on us!” One of the men yell out from the deck. Ferguson grabs one of his water canteens off his belt loop and whips down at his crew mate. The canteen misses him by a few inches and bounces around behind the man on the deck. “Yes sir.” The man yells out, knowing shut up was exactly what Ferguson was saying.

  Ferguson flipped on his little hand-held radio, that picked up frequencies from the United States. Washington State had an announcement of large waves crashing on their shorelines; “like mini typhoons that were only getting bigger,” is the way they were saying it over the radio line. Ferguson grew up by the sea, so he had no fear about the large waves and sort of wanted to see a tidal wave. The one thing that did scare him was the President saying, “the end of the world is in the palm of his hands” and the demonic laugh that followed before the line went dead.