by Leo Ndelle
Frankie could give a rat’s left nut who her parents slept with. Grownups’ business. As long as she could continue giving every male who as much as smiled at her a courtesy blowjob, she was fine! No sex, just blowjobs. One blowjob per person and that was it! Nothing more and if they tried anything stupid, she would scream and call the cops because she had them on camera. Good luck convincing the law that you did not force a fragile, underaged teenager against her will into performing sexual acts for you. She was fine. She did not need therapy. But her stupid parents did!
Back to the subject matter at hand. Her mother had crossed the line the day she decided to have another child. However, babies have a way of melting even the coldest of hearts and Frankie had fallen madly in love with her new sibling. He was her charge, her responsibility, her baby brother. She rivaled her own mother when it came to spending time with the baby and her mother could not have been happier to see the new life that sparkled in her daughter’s eyes. Then, the new life had turned from the brightest of days to the darkest of nights in a blink. For some reason, the baby in Frankie’s arms, the thing that was supposed to have come from her mother, the same woman who gave birth to both her and her brother, was the epitome of the irreparable crime her mother had committed. Frankie had not forgotten about that sacrilege. Frankie was never going to forget that sacrilege!
Shame on her mother! Shame on her mother’s new husband! Soon, the joke will be on her mother and stepdad. Soon, justice will come full circle. But why the rush, huh? Baby steps, Frankie! She said to herself. Baby steps!
Frankie burst into laughter that was so diabolical her mother felt the house turn cold from something uncanny emanating from her daughter. Slowly, her mother inched her way from the kitchen to the living room, afraid to make any sound for reasons unbeknownst to her.
Frankie stared at her baby brother with cold eyes and an even colder heart as he slept peacefully in her arms. Frankie gently placed her baby brother on the floor, not wanting to wake him up.
“But why even bother not to wake him up?” Frankie muttered. “You’ll never wake up again, anyway!”
Frankie’s mother was too slow to react as Frankie suddenly grabbed her baby brother by the ankle, lifted him up and smashed his head repeatedly into the hard wood floor of the living room.
***
“Hey hot stuff,” Jerry cooed over the phone. “Everything good?”
It was unlike his girlfriend to call him during work hours.
“Yeah, babe,” Erica replied seductively. “Just horny. Need me a doctor!”
“The doctor is on his way, sugar love!” Jeff beamed and ended the call.
Jeff went to his supervisor’s office and asked if he could take a few hours off, citing a small family emergency.
“Fine!” his boss said and rolled her eyes. “Just don’t come back here smelling like weed!”
Jeff thought his boss was acting rudely and very… off? Anyway, Erica was waiting for him. He made the eight-minute drive to his apartment he shared with is Lithuanian girlfriend in seven minutes. He bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time until he reached the second floor.
Erica called out to him from their bedroom. The windows were shut and the dark curtains were closed, plunging their entire apartment into darkness, just the way she wanted. It was how she felt right then, right that very moment. Going to work had been like any other regular day. But something about the way her manager had corrected a simple mistake she made had driven her off the edge. Her manager was like every single one of the many people she had fantasized about killing, mostly for no reason. These were just fantasies, albeit terrible ones. She would never hurt a fly, let alone another human being. She was so remorseful that she would break down and cry sometimes.
But today was different. The thoughts had come and she had felt no remorse. Instead, the thoughts made her giddy with an orgasmic anticipation of her fantasy coming to pass. As her lover stepped into their dark bedroom, Erica caressed the hilt of the large kitchen knife in her left hand. The hilt of the kitchen knife might as well have been her clitoris. She heard his clothes slide off his body and land on the floor as he disrobed. Erica grinned at the notion of what was to come next. The sound of his voice calling her name was the most irritating thing she had ever heard. How the hell had she put up with this filth for the two weeks of their relationship? How did she even let him touch her, let alone enter her? She considered turning and spitting on the floor. Instead, she quietly shut the door behind Jerry. She was grateful for the pitch blackness of their bedroom. Seeing that sheepish grin on his face would have probably made her puke.
Jerry felt her soft right hand on his shoulder. He felt his lover guide him towards the bed until he was at the edge of the bed. The darkness of the room was an aphrodisiac to his loins, given it was the first time he was ever going to have sex in such conditions. He turned around and reached for his lover’s waist. Instead, he felt his lover’s hand on his chest as she gently shoved him on the bed.
Jerry felt Erica’s nakedness on top of him as she straddled him. Jerry felt himself extend even more as his extension sought the warm wet lips between Erica’s thighs. He reached for his lover, but she took both his wrists in one hand and held them above his head. He giggled like a teenager about to get lucky. Jerry felt Erica’s soft lips work their way on his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, neck and chest. He felt his lover’s hips move and he relaxed in anticipation of what was to come. As he closed his eyes and surrendered to the moment, Jerry felt something hard and sharp drive through his chest and into his heart. The shock was surreal, the horror was paralyzing and the pain intense, but brief, as his life bled away profusely from the dagger Erica had plunged into his chest.
***
Pastor: God is good…
Congregation: All the time!
Pastor: And all the time…
Congregation: God is good!
Pastor: Praise Jesus! Alleluia!
The congregation chorused an ‘AMEN’ and an ‘ALLELUIA’ followed by an applause for Jesus. The pastor then motioned the congregation to sit down after praise and worship.
“My brothers and my sisters,” Ps. Hoggins began his sermon. “Today, I wanna share with you what God told me this morning when I got outta bed to pray. God asked me to share the word from two of my favorite passages of His holy book. The first one is from the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians, chapter thirteen and the second passage is from the Gospel of Matthew chapter seven, verses one through to two.”
He read from both passages.
Pastor: Amen?
Congregation: Amen!
“My dear people of God,” Ps. Hoggins continued. “We have been asked by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to not judge others and we will not be judged. Paul has told us about love in his letter to the Corinthians. There ain’t no time better than today to adhere to these words from the holy book!”
There were a few ‘amens’ from the congregation.
“Love,” he continued, “demands that we protect our loved ones; from harm, from attackers, from foreigners, from the government, and all that is not on our side! Because if they are not with us, then they certainly are against us!”
There were looks of confusion on some of the faces of the church members, but there were a few claps and ‘amens’ from others.
“Show me a Latino and I will show you an illegal immigrant!” he exclaimed. “Show me a Negro and I will show you a slave! Show me an Arab and I will show you a terrorist! Show me a non-white American and I will show you a child of Satan himself!”
At this point, the congregation that consisted of people from all ethnicities broke into chaos. There were those who expressed their outrage at the pastor’s words and there were those who cheered him on. Many stood up to leave the church, but they were stopped by others. In a blink of an eye, a building that was supposed to be a house of God turned into a haven for gladiators fighting for their freedom. To the untrained eye, it was a chaotic free-for-all.
But for those who knew better, it was a fight for survival; those without the mark of The Beast were fighting against those who had received the mark. Pastor Hoggins removed his blazer and reached for two revolvers strapped on either side of his hips.
“Thank you Lord Jesus for open carry!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “This is Texas, baby! Hee-haw!” and opened fire at everything that moved.
***
“Yes, Mr. President, their warships are on the move already,” the secretary of defense, Gen. Mikhail Khrushchev, confirmed to Pres. Sergei.
Pres. Sergei weighed his options, knowing fully well that there was only one appropriate response for this outrage. He asked the general to dial Beijing and the general obliged. After a few rings, a female voice came over the line and asked who was calling.
“Pres. Sergei’s office,” Gen. Khrushchev replied in English.
“One moment, please, sir,” she replied in English.
“Hello Petrov,” Pres. Qi greeted calmly a moment later.
“Hello Qi, I assume you know what the Americans are up to already,” Pres. Sergei went straight to the point.
“Yes, Petrov and we have already taken the necessary counter measures.”
There was a strange hardness and nonchalance in Pres. Fong-Wei’s voice that baffled Pres. Sergei.
“Did you at least try to talk to Maurice?” Pres. Sergei asked. “I’m sure that whatever is going on can be resolved without us going to war!”
“The ship of diplomacy has sailed, literally,” Pres. Fong-Wei said in an even colder tone than before. “The Americans have already drawn first blood and we must respond in kind.”
“What do you even mean by first blood?” Pres. Sergei could not believe what he was hearing. “No one has even fired a bullet yet!”
“I am sorry, but I must go now,” the leader of the People’s Republic of China replied. “I have a nation to protect.”
The line went dead.
“Get me the White House!” Pres. Sergei ordered and the general obliged.
The general was getting more frustrated at his president’s choice of diplomacy over action. He had already resisted the urge several times to whip out his gun from and double-tap his president for his president’s show of weakness. Not yet! Petrov would have a few more minutes and if Petrov did not grow a pair of titanium balls and give the order, then he, Gen. Khrushchev, will just have to go ahead and relieve Petrov of his balls… literally! He wondered if that would be before or after putting a bullet in Petrov’s head. Gen. Khrushchev sighed. He will go with the flow.
“What’s up, Petrov!” Pres. Kirk said. “You know what’s comin’, don’t ya?”
Pres. Sergei could taste the hatred in the air as President Kirk spoke.
“Whatever is going on with you,” Pres. Sergei said. “I’m sure we could discuss it without using warships.”
“No one disrespects the President of the United States of America without consequences!” Pres. Kirk yelled and disconnected the call.
Pres. Sergei sank in his chair. Several pairs of eager eyes were trained towards him in the situation room, awaiting his orders. This was bound to happen, but he had prayed it would not happen during his term. He cursed silently at his unanswered prayer as he met the silent, expectant gazes of everyone present in this underground chamber of The Kremlin. Whatever decision he made, for Mother Russia or not, billions of people were going to die; and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. He sighed and turned towards Khrushchev.
“You have the go-ahead!” Pres. Sergei said.
Gen. Khrushchev affirmed. He dialed a number on the phone and issued some orders. World War III was about to begin!
THE END OF PART ONE
PART TWO
2034 B. C. E.
THE SCRIBE BRIEFLY placed his right hand on Emok’s incarceration chamber. It was always a thrill; small but a thrill nonetheless, to feel the energy that seeped through these esoteric confines. Well, the thrill was borne more out of the anticipation of his plan coming to fruition than the energy radiating from his creation, The Darkness. He could not wait to unleash this trapped power into this part of Creation he had labelled The Soulless Ones.
“Greetings, Scribe,” Emok, The Darkness, said via telepathy. “What brings you here?”
“I have some good news,” The Scribe said in kind. “I found a Shemsu.”
The dark, viscous energy that was Emok flared and two red orbs blazed towards The Scribe in incredulity.
“But… how?” Emok asked.
“No concern of yours,” The Scribe replied dismissively.
“As you wish, Scribe,” Emok said and glided backwards. “You will need five.”
“That I know,” The Scribe spoke with sarcasm. “I have three viable candidates so far. The fourth is not yet ascertained.”
“You have four Shemsus?” Emok was even more surprised now.
“Who says you need an actual Shemsu when you only need a Shemsu’s essence?” The Scribe asked rhetorically.
The Scribe observed the viscous energy form pause in what looked like a gesture of comprehension.
“So, who are these three candidates?” Emok asked.
“One is a fallen archangel who is now in incarceration in this very Earth Realm,” The Scribe replied.
“Is it Luciel?” Emok asked with a note of excitement in his voice.
“No, Zukael,” The Scribe replied. “Luciel is incarcerated somewhere else. The second candidate is a paradin named Keerim.”
“I know of the paradins, but my team and I did not work in that realm,” Emok said.
“The third one is a strange kind of human,” The Scribe ignored Emok’s unsolicited comment. “I call her a nomad, because she is everywhere and nowhere in the name of survival. She just might be the most prepared candidate yet.”
Emok’s glowing, red orbs moved in what seemed to be a nod.
“I must ask, though,” Emok said. “Where did you find the Shemsu?”
The Scribe told Emok. Emok was suddenly so excited that his dark, viscous form flared into a darker form.
“I look forward to the moment when I will tear down everything in my path,” cried The Darkness. “From this accursed realm all the way to Atlantia, no creature will be spared! And when all is destroyed, when all is laid to naught, I will build a new unified realm-dimension from the rubble and ashes and fashion a new kind of being in the image and likeness of their creator; me!”
“I admire your ambitious vision,” The Scribe said to himself. “Completely misguided and delusional but nonetheless, ambitious.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ANOTHER MANUSCRIPT
“ON MY TAIL!” commanded Mikum, general of the federal army of Scarabia.
Scarabia was the central realm of the Dimension of Faroz located many cosmic clusters away from the Dimension of Solaris. Scarabia was at war with an army cloned from genetically engineered creatures that had the face of a panther that walked on two legs, with a body covered in scales that was half as tough as diamonds, the tail of a scorpion and the strength and height of a tyrannosaurus rex. These creatures were called annakis and their creator was someone known only as The Scientist, a sentient being from a realm unknown to those in Scarabia.
The scarabs were the dominant creatures of Scarabia. They were eight-legged creatures with dark carapaces nearly as hard as diamond is. Their bellies were also protected, though the protection had only one-fifth the strength of their carapace. The scarabs were one-third the height and had half the strength of the annakis, but they outnumbered the annakis by 60-1. Yet, they were having a very difficult time defeating the annakis because they had not prepared for this new and upgraded version of the annakis they were fighting. Apparently, the scales of the annakis had quadrupled in strength, making it far more difficult for the federal soldiers to penetrate.
The Scribe watched as five scarabs lined up behind Mikum. Brave souls, you are, The Scribe thought. This was the unfolding of
another manuscript he had written for this part of Creation. So far, the simulation was playing out perfectly the way he wanted. The cosmic countdown was nearing a completion and that entity that was constantly rewriting his scripts was not going to catch up to him this… time? The Scribe leaned back in a chair he had summoned while in his state of near-omnipotence and near-omniscience. Half of his scripts had come to pass to the glyph and the other half had been rewritten by the other entity that was trolling him. The Scribe controlled his emotions. He was not in the best position to react the way he wanted to. But he swore that when he discovered the identity of the entity who was messing with his scripts….
“Scarabia, you are the last realm standing!” The Scribe said to himself in an attempt to distract himself from his raging emotions. “Many of my scripts, including The Soulless Ones, came to pass just the way I wanted. The Bright Eyes won, Emok, The Darkness, arose and wiped out Shi’mon and his team, including Patrick, the guardian. Not to worry. The scarabs are yet to see my most prized work of art in their dimension.”
Mikum folded himself into a ball and his five soldiers did the same. They accelerated towards a charging swarm of a hundred annakis, bulldozing twenty of them to death in the process and injuring fifteen more in various degrees. Mikum then leaped into the air, spread out his legs and spun around at 10,000 revolutions per second. He let gravity do its work as his legs became so deadly that not even the scales of the annakis could handle the sheer force of his spinning legs. However, Mikum could only execute such a feat for no more than ten Scarabia seconds, but within that time, he had taken out more than forty annakis. When he landed on the ground, his soldiers immediately formed a wall of protection around him while he recuperated. He needed at least twenty-five Scarabia seconds for that and he would only be able to pull another stunt like this after fifteen Scarabia minutes. He could still fight during that period, though.
“General! We’re picking up major seismic activity!” a soldier cried over the radio.
“Where?” asked Mikum as his soldiers fended off the remaining annakis.
