Children of the Program
Page 1
Children of
The Program
Brad W. Cox
Copyright © 2015 Brad W. Cox
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Brad W. Cox. For information regarding permission, write to: P.O. Box 591, Bel Air, MD 21014-0591.
First edition.
ISBN-13: 978-1517361723
ISBN-10: 1517361729
Pride & Condolences
I would like to extend my deepest apologies and gratitude, to anyone who has ever chosen to take this hell-bent ride I call my imagination. Your unwavering support has been a godsend — seriously, I appreciate your efforts. This includes, but is not limited to: My terrestrial friends, family, band mates, and, of course, the spiritual family acknowledged herein. Above and beyond ‘em all, and most importantly, I’d like to thank my beautiful and steadfast wife. All things are possible when you have someone to catch your fall, or to rescue you from the shower.
CONTENTS
Cast and Conspirators
of The Program
viii
The Counsel of
The Lords
ix
1
Hallway of Sorrows
1
2
Reborn into Forever
8
3
Exposition
14
4
Paint the Desert
with My Heart
25
5
Leaving Tonight
32
6
Back from a Suicide
40
7
Visions of the Red Bird (Anan)
45
8
Long Hard Road Home
51
9
The Gathering and
the Mission
59
10
The Eyes of Madness
70
11
Visions of the Gray Bird (Than)
76
12
A Sorrowful Toast
80
13
Lifers
85
14
Downtown
91
15
Eyes of Merlin
98
16
Visions of the White Bird (Ath)
105
17
Revelations
110
18
Cadence of the Sun
118
19
Fool for Harder Times
125
20
Revolver
132
21
The Comedown
139
22
The Sharper Your Love
145
23
This is a Warning
152
24
Lottery of the Souls
163
25
The Lamb
168
26
Ashes Rising
178
27
The Devil May Run
183
28
Join the Cult
190
29
Shock Waves
199
30
God Complex
207
31
Ash to Ashes
219
32
The War Begins
223
33
The Eclipse of Icarus
232
34
Ashes of September
240
35
Run, Run, Run
248
36
Homecoming
257
37
The Road
263
38
Remember?
268
39
The Truth
275
40
East
280
41
11:11
285
42
The Hunt
290
43
Like a Dog
297
44
The Long Goodbye
304
45
The Masquerade
310
46
The Vision of the Black Bird (Isis)
320
47
Firefight
323
48
Letters to the Lords
329
Epilogue
The Song Remains the Same
335
About the Author
Steal their hearts or capture their imaginations…
(Dedicated to Grayson Miller)
Cast and Conspirators of The Program
Neco Baal – Baltimore, Maryland.
(Referenced in 1st and 3rd person)
Simon Peter – Abu Ghosh, Israel
Ash McKenzie – Aberdeen, Scotland
Rand Backer – Kassel, Germany
Dez Nave – Tecolotito, New Mexico
Grayson Miller – Brooklyn, New York
Magnus West – Chicago, Illinois
Elisa Tate – Los Angeles, California
Benjamin Maynard – London, England
Zane Brennan – Dublin, Ireland
Juno Vestris – Palestrina, Italy
Icarus Kali – Piraeus, Greece
The Council of the Lords
Anan (Red Bird) – Time and Space
Ath (White Bird) – Knowledge
Isis (Black Bird) – Creationist
(Derives its name from the Egyptian God of magic and fertility. Note: This bird is not a terrorist.)
Than (Gray Bird) - Death
Chapter 1
Hallway of sorrows
The forgotten yet familiar smell of ash and sulfur bullied away the cleanest of air. Time was of no real consequence. Everything had an eternal value; just as every grain of sand is a moment, every moment a memory, and every memory a map of a person trapped between the past and the future. We were trapped in the now.
“Is this hell?” I wondered.
Our cells were cold, dank and littered with countless aggravated souls, all wrenching for peace. Rust stains and blood antagonistically dripped and shrouded our naked bodies; we were thirsty for our confiscated dignity. Our flesh was tattooed by the human fluids of anonymous hosts. The aggravation and pain was unlike anything we had experienced on Earth. The damned awaited trial.
We were begrudgingly shackled to walls of granite, some elevated above others. We were spared the inferno's unquenchable palate, but could still smell death's warning and hear the screams of less fortunate souls. These beings were mercilessly tortured and rejuvenated for amusement.
This was purgatory; a backstage pass to the worst horror movie imaginable. The only light came from the flickering underworld of burning bodies, miles below our unwashed feet.
It was ghastly.
In cycles, the Council of the Lords would allow 12 individuals to enter The Program. Twelve was an undisclosed metaphor. The odds of being chosen were in no one's favor; it was based on a spiritual lottery. The Program did provide relief from the pressures of purgatory and judgment and had been in place since the beginning. No one really understood The Program's complexity, only that there was no escaping it.
As I lay lifeless, freezing and fighting for my willed sanity, a long oxidized iron rod reached toward the asphyxiating cuff around my throat a
nd disconnected me from the Wailing Wall. Instantly, I fell through a sea of chained bodies, and crashed upon a small rocky platform. My shins buckled, thick skull cracked and muscles tensed. A musing grotesque monstrous figure yanked me to my shaky hooves and dragged my nervous body down an endlessly dark and narrow hallway. Misery lurked, as countless hands reached through the void and clawed my rebellious flesh, longing to lay their five-fingered oppression upon my fleeting moments of freedom. Once human, these beasts howled like possessed animals. By all indications, I was being escorted to judgment.
As we marched forward, their staunch cries ceased. For a moment, everything went deafeningly silent and uncomfortably still — even our footsteps were robbed of their guiding vibration. We stopped before a gigantic golden door, framed by the darkness and bedazzled in precious stones. It was carved with unfamiliar symbols; it began to open. A radiant sapphire light briefly illuminated the long Hallway of Sorrows. For a moment, I gazed back, before an energy pulled me from the creature’s grip and into a magnificent spherical room. My demonic escort was paralyzed by a brilliant indigo light, unable to cross the threshold of divinity.
The door slowly shut. Death was left to its duty; my paramania quelled.
The new floor felt smooth and sterile. The feeling of being trapped under ice passed. I was made comfortable and no longer aware of my naked form. An unknown source of light seemed to be reflecting immense and unknown colors off of the crystal walls, while a choir of 6,500 languages gracefully danced through the reverent air. The voices were humble, grateful and sanctified — a distant cry from the wails of the underworld or the moans of purgatory. It was beautiful and surreal.
Resurrecting to my sturdy feet, my eyes were captured by a large onyx table with 12 golden thrones, all facing the Council of Lords. Seated were the silhouettes of 11 individuals. They were adorned in the finest of linens and robes. An emerald hue surrounded them. They seemed like statues, locked in a forward position and unaware of my arrival. Scribed upon their chairs were the names: Rand, Simon, Juno, Icarus, Zane, Benjamin, Dez, Neco, Grayson, Ash, Elisa and Magnus.
Crowded by disbelief, a thunderous yet compassionate voice requested my attendance. I cautiously stepped toward the anonymous human frames and took my place in the vacant throne.
It was then I was able to recall my eternal name; it was Neco. As I lowered myself into my throne, my body was instantly clothed in a golden robe and fixed into place. My lifetimes were projected upon large crystal walls. Every visceral memory came rushing back, as if it was being downloaded into my spirit. I was forced to relive every tragic and beautiful moment of my physical journey. I not only recalled my times on Earth, but could also feel the horror of my previous afterlives.
I had been selected for The Program.
+++
The Council of the Lords consisted of red, white, black and gray birds, small in stature and similar to a raven. Each bird sat poised, stern and centered before couplings of three seated chosen ones. Their legs, feet and razor-sharp beaks were golden and their eyes burned like rubies.
The red bird represented time and space and was called Anan.
The white bird represented knowledge and was called Ath.
The black bird represented creation and was called Isis.
The gray bird represented death and was called Than.
Together they formed the basis for everything.
“Time is an illusion of space. With the division of space, there's time,” Anan repeatedly spoke.
“From nothing comes everything,” Ath crowed in all languages.
The Council's message reverberated through the room, in a choir of echoes. We could feel the gravity of their diction and understand inception through words. Our souls shattered like heavenly mitosis.
“All things have a beginning,” bellowed Isis.
“All things have an end,” whispered Than.
Our eyes remained open, while the Council paused to allow infinite wisdom to illuminate our beings.
We were becoming angelic hybrids.
With motion, the birds directed our attention toward the interior of the crystal expanse and merged into a singular entity. A magnificent light vibrated through our souls, as the shape of a dual-gendered being reflected our image. The Council's illumination allowed our enervated minds the ability to palate its presence, without suffering a swift cognitive obliteration. It then morphed into a pulsating spherical energy and began expanding to engulf the entire chamber. We were surrounded by fire and light.
The heavens spoke.
“You have been chosen to lead a new world. Your children will be part mortal and divine by decree. They will be equipped with the knowledge of our ages, given dominion over past lives and the ability to feel the dimensionality of time. They will have the authority to bring an end to what was begun and the wisdom to breathe new life into future generations,” it proclaimed.
The room shook.
“You will be imprisoned by physical dictates of life and death, unable to enter The Beyond, until a miracle child is born of a beloved mortal. The children of tomorrow will be known as The Crystalline. Failure to produce a child will result in a reincarnated life. Once your child is born, your participation in The Program will cease and you will ascend. Your free will cannot be interfered with,” it added.
The whites of our eyes blackened, allowing our pupils to fully access to The Council's proclamation.
“Your memories will be vanquished, until the earth stone has made 18 revolutions around the sun. Your reintegration into society is of dire importance. You must know their law, as they understand it, and relearn the basic principles of science, math and history, as to build a basis for the information that will be unlocked in your human body. This will help you to avoid premature shock or brain damage. To be a perfect union, your Earth born baby must be conceived with the person you hold most dear. This undeniable union is paramount in producing a Crystalline,” it furthered.
Our heartbeats reverberated and pounded throughout the chamber.
“When it's time, The Council will call you all back together. Now, go and choose your earthly family!”
Like a clock, we were then directed and isolated into 12 corners of the chamber and able to observe infinite projections of earthly couples, due to conceive. It was up to us to determine the best scenario for actuation in The Program. Most chose stable families, as they felt it would provide them security in the formative years, while others desired autonomy and deliberately picked dysfunctional homes; they felt this would best-equip them for the mission and limit any personal attachments or distractions, as darker forces would inevitably be out to stop us from bringing a Crystalline into existence.
I could feel peoples' lives, as I reached into the vivid projections. I could sense their pains and see their auras. Instantly, their memories were uploaded into my spirit for discernment. I dissected and studied thousands of potential hosts. With time an immeasurable variable, we used dreams to communicate with potential surrogates. When I chose my earthly father, we met in a vision and reviewed his significance and my purpose in The Program.
He accepted.
In this dream, landscapes still appeared earthly, but matter no longer existed. We sat on a green hillside and gazed upon the ocean. Even in transparency, we could still hear and feel the waves crash upon the shore and smell the fresh blades of grass. These were the constructs of his creation, as he imagined them. I vividly recall the skyline. It was a beautiful combination of orchid rings and tangerine.
As we parted ways, he awoke with no memory of this account.
Grace would guide him.
chapter 2
Reborn into forever
Vociferous screams filled an anticipating hospital room. My indignant mother launched an all-out attack of off-color and unintelligible word combinations toward my patient and unguarded father; her general lack of poise wasn't uncommon, but on this ceremonious occasion her temper tantrum was warranted. The walls, which b
ore witness to the event, were a cold yellow, like the autumn air surrounding the St. Joseph's Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland.
The day was September 24th and the year has been erased from record.
My overwrought mother had been in delivery for 18 painful hours. The spell cast by the epidural had long run dry. Even her persistent tears had given up their plight and succumbed to the stark reality their tiny lubricating wishes were only making a nuisance of the situation. Gowned in the whitest of cloaks, the doctors and nurses stood like angels. They never wavered their attention and refused to leave her post.
In the unreachable corner of the room stood an old Solid State 12'' black and white television. Static flickered, before an American flag ushered in the National Anthem, indicating a new day had come and it was time to sign-off on the past. There was always a certain uneasiness the image suggested. It may have been its association with the witching hours, or simply because it signified a pause in our access to humanity. For whatever the reason, it was fitting. By all accounts, I was entering an old downtrodden world and tasked with rebuilding a fallen empire; I was just unaware.