The Illiterates

            Silence filled the void throughout an underground lair unknown to the conscience world. Buried underneath a cave, where only a selected few know about and study its repetitive cycle. The chosen few, known to the world as the Illiterates, thrive on its blessing and inherit its tradition. Their shadows slither every corner while their chants linger in the air. Their presence is ever known. Their mark etched across the world, immortalizing the dynasty of predestination. Annually, they gather amongst the cave to celebrate their all merciless God.

            For many generations, they have dominated all others. Out from the chaos they have ensued, they thrive; building nations that would stand the test of time. They hack every secret, will every soul and oppress every revolution. This is the little cult that could and would, leaving those who have been awakened by their deception with the mistakes they’ve made to expose every lie to the sleeping world; only to be discredited as accusations. They know no boundaries and fear no fate.

            Nothing but the candle light torched at their hands light every turn and every twist. It is but what little the candle light can reveal of those who enter its maze. Demons disguised as men cloaked in black follow a familiar trail down the dark corridors of the wondrous cave. A hooded figure wore hooves for hands as he swung a cow’s head side by side; blood smearing his robe at every tug. The figure crept into demonic realms alone, guided only by faint whispers.

            His echo haunted the emptiness as he slithered through the maze. He roamed the paths blind by the obscurity in the abyss. He bowed to keep the restless away. His chant, a protective incantation, kept the evil at a distance. Broken skulls lay on the ground, chains scattered in the dirt, and dusty webs hung all around. The cave was Deaths home; the chosen ones were His disciples. He wandered, lost in the bottomless pit of hell, until he reached a dead end.

            The hooded figure spoke in a language no longer spoken. Slowly, the walls before him opened. Light flickered in the dark, damning ghostly demons back to the shadows. Behind the opening wall stood a group of cloaked personas worshiping a trance maiden in a circle. A beast carved on the wall resembled a man infused with an eagle’s head crowned with large antlers. Big black alien eyes glared straight into the soul. The beast had broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Feathers in fur clothed the beast who resided in the cave. His right hand held a straw of wheat while his left claw wielded a sphere.

            Fire blazed in the altar below their mural, illuminating their alien God. The cloaked figure pulled his hood back, revealing an elderly pope, as he made his way inside to his position. Bloody horns replaced his halo. Darkness consumed his eyes, engulfing his spirit with rage. An upside down cross scarred the center of his forehead. Once they were all in place the ceremony would commence. The elder raised his hand to the heavens and spoke again.

            One by one, the others revealed themselves; a circus of demons masked in wealth. Woman and man stood in a circle as their token maiden mumbled in ecstasy. A crown made of silver thorns shimmered in the dark, glorifying their prophet. They each waited in silence as the elder finished their prayer. They ended their praise in unison, addressing their definitive ruler. The ritual was about to begin, building towards new life.

            Fumes rose from the altar, drums roared in silence. The maiden, spellbound by their incantation, emerged from her bed and began to dance; lost in her diluted mind. Her robe fell as she swooned, naked and exposed. She twirled, swayed her arms back and forth to the rhythm of their chants. Her long auburn hair followed her every move. Her bright blue eyes rolled to the back of her head as visions smothered her subconscious. She danced gracefully, simultaneously caressing her belly. The child she would soon birth rattled from the substance while its mother pranced in bliss.

            The room began to spin as she twirled, unaware of whom she was or who she was with. The fumes clouded her mind with false hopes and dreams. Her doubts melted as the high kicked into over drive. Their spell deepened, hummed low deep within her mind. Their demonic masks and preying hunger fueled her trip as she spiraled out of control. She later screamed as blood leaked from underneath her, trickling down her thigh. She was aware but couldn’t function. The high kept her climbing but the pain brought her down.

            She grasped her stomach, aching from the sharp pain that throbbed in her lower spine. The others remained in their spot, furthering their chant repetitively. The room kept spinning as she frantically mumbled for help. Fear dropped her to the ground as their masks taunted her all around. She gripped both sides of her stomach and pushed with all her might. “God, help me!” She screamed as her baby began to crown. She closed her eyes as white pain shot straight up her back, numbing her into consciousness.

            The birth was over before she knew it. Her son cried in the dark as the masked demons gathered around their sleeping beauty. The elder cradled the baby as he walked towards the altar. The baby nibbled on the saint’s bloody finger while he nested in his arms. The troubled maiden was coming back, dazed from the high, frightened by the shadows that surrounded her. “Where’s…” she struggled, “...my baby?”

            The boy giggled as the elder toyed with his cheeks. The flesh of a new born brought a grin of delight in his dead aging eyes for he envied the child’s clean slate. He adjusted the few strands of hair to one side while cradling the boy, whispering wise words of enlightenment. “Cain was not the first.” He commented as they stood by the fire. “This world breeds no heroes.” He raised the boy to their God, “We praise the sinners and damn the pure. Power is salvation, chaos is our cure.”

            Straight in the fires of Hell, Satan’s den where souls burn for a lifetime in despair never to see a ray of hope. There, at the altar, the baby kicked and screamed as he incinerated into ashes. A sacrifice for their God, to keep their throne and power, will forever be met. The elder stood by the fire as the baby’s chorus harmonized with its mother’s torture by the masked demons behind him. Alone in the cave, buried deep down its crevices, screams whisper to the lingering souls trapped taken by the Illiterates in honor of their imminent God.

            Their reigning queen joined the elder as he remained by the altar. Her shimmering silver crown tainted in blood sparkled by the flames. Her mentor spoke in a language known only by them, the editors of history. “A prophecy has been foretold,” she repeated. “Yet we stand.” The elder turned to her and remained silent. Together they stood by the altar as the remaining bones cracked in the fire.

            The screams eventually faded into echoes vanishing into whispers. As the last ember died with the fire, the cave became hollow. The walls opened once more. The beast remained in his throne, consumed by the dark, as his last disciple spoke those magical words. The walls closed, the elder and the others began their journey back to the living. Up the trail they went, peeling away their masks and prosthetics. Smearing away the blood, and bringing back the life in their dead soulless eyes.

            Out of the cave they emerged as humans. The demons that once roamed the endless maze were now of man with man faces and man-like agendas. They dispersed, back to a structured settlement governed by the lies they tell; leading the world to a future they’ve design. They return to their place in the world, back home to their families and the responsibilities they’ve inherited from their forefathers to their forefathers. An opening at the bottom of a trench hid the entrance to their lair.

Where some aspire, they acquire a unique set of tools needed to succeed in a world no longer free. Tools assembled for greatness given to the right set of hands can become a power far greater than any written law. These are the tools their God descended onto them for a purpose, for a cause. A torch turned ablaze, a dim spark that ignited a barrage of ideas; one simple tool that fell from the universe now dominated the will of man evolving with the times.

Machine tools molded from iron tinkered to perfection was a growing source of new power. Accessible to all, no man rich or poor would live a life without their devices. They empowered man, giving them the tools they need to overcome any obstacle. Unknown to the consumer, their blessing was but a curse in disguise. The very same tools man used to fight corruption were the same tools used against them, though they would never know. No one would ever understand for who would believe in such an accusation?

Edgar Hemingway, the last member to drive off, sat in his car in silence as the sun began to rise. The hill that sheltered his God stood feet away, deserted with nothing but wildlife. A majestic scenery of deep greens and thick trees surrounded their mecca; a perfect haven for their imperfect God. He cleared his head before heading back home. The world kept spinning with the times, changing for the better or worse in women and man.

Secluded in a town silent to the world, a tower stood alone above the rest while monitoring its sheep. A twenty feet high building with reflective mirrors was the chosen ones main headquarters. Selected by government officials, trained by professional analysts and indicted by a secret hoard the premises as they collect information gathered through their sweeps. Data hidden in the pool of knowledge found by tags and filters awaits secrets not yet revealed to the waking world.

            Up the seventeenth floor, Edgar dragged himself to his cubical. The same people who waited for his arrival were there to greet him as always. “Happy New Years,” they’d say. The New Year was anything but new. To him, they were the same people only different attitudes; same problem, different time. Once the elevator stopped at his floor, a whole new wave of greetings were in motion.

What’s this, he noticed a red dot blinking in his monitor as he sat down in his cubical, have we found another prophet? “How is anyone to obey the law when they themselves don’t follow their own?” Edgar read out loud as his monitor lit up. The seventeenth floor, known as the Secret Agency Intel Division, is where they operate; setting their distress call, their traps, for whoever takes the bait. Anyone under level five were not allowed clearance to the seventeenth floor. Only those who know the secret, members of the deity, work in the seventeenth floor; gathering vital information.

With just a few clicks, Edgar read and knew everything that there is to know about their new target. Social security number, bank accounts, hospital records, family members; everything was in their disposal. Once Edgar printed his findings, he bolted to the control center where his supervisor supervised. He crossed the room, noticing his fellow brethren doing the same. Each had their own duty, their own targets to exploit.

            “We got another writer,” Edgar began, “People are just never satisfied.” He placed his findings on his supervisor’s desk and continued, “It’s been a while since the last time the computer woke up. What a marvelous pool of endless wonder.” He gloated over what the computer had generated for he has had poor luck the past few months, while everyone around him kept finding new material to source.

            “That’s the power of technology.” Kingston Orwell replied, his supervisor. “Never underestimate their algorithm, that’s what they’re made for.”

            “Well this one sure thinks he can save the world.” He paused, “Here’s what I’ve gathered from his data; seems promising, for a dropout.”

            “Promising, but we’ve found better.” Orwell questioned as he skimmed through the files. “None-the-less, we cannot let this one flourish.” Orwell set the papers handed to by Edgar aside and walked beside his desk. “Hemingway, is it?” He asked, “Let’s have a walk shall we.” Orwell and Edgar stepped into an elevator beside the bookcase and ascended up the watch tower. “No spark shall be left unnoticed. It’s a shame none will surpassed their potential.”

            “They view themselves as God yet have no concept of the meaning.” Edgar answered. “People can’t handle certain information, especially the kind of information we’re attaining. It’s not that people wouldn’t understand it’s just that they don’t understand. They need people like us to help them understand. Why panic when you can let your officials take care of the problem. It’s why we’re here in the first place. To serve and protect.”

            “And yet you have hoodlums and thugs criminalizing our system, exploiting every loophole, demanding every cent,” Orwell replied, fuming over the rules his predecessors created for the people to abide; but don't. A chime rang in the air as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened to a familiar group who sat in a round table while observing their monitors. Edgar instantly recognized the people from the ceremony.

            “Hemingway,” Orwell began, “Have a seat.” Edgar made his way to the only empty chair. “We have found another would be activist with a strong faith,” they smirked, “Yet dares to defy ours.” Orwell passed the folder Edgar printed down the line as they each questioned who their new victim was. “What we do is simple,” he continued, “We tag certain people who have the potential to solve our problems. Who may remember what we've forgotten. We don’t necessarily have to monitor everyone, that’s crazy. No, we only tag those who seek enlightenment because it is they who provide us with the knowledge, the tools and insight, we need to succeed.”

            “We give them the motivation they need to achieve their best, we inspire them to dream bigger and they supply us with the answers.” Orwell added on a lighter note. “We get them to talk one way or the other. We entice their mind to our design. We fill their heads with tales of wonder. We give them riddles of mystery so they can solve our misery. We plant the seed and watch it grow. Everyone wins.”

            “They say we are playing God,” Emma Dickens made a sudden remark; their supreme prophet who solved the algorithm, built their machine and successfully carried them to glory, “I say why play God when we have the tools to be more than just that. They say we are taking people’s chance for a better future when some of them weren't born in our country so why should their dreams come true." She paused, "Man has evolved. These people are nothing but egotistical self-absorbed narcissists who want nothing but fame and fortune handed to them on a silver platter.”

            “They forget,” Orwell commented, “That it is us who decide whose future is worth investing and whose fate is for the taking. Our nation is stronger than ever, had it not been to the information we’ve attained by monitoring intellectuals. We must never forget who we are; Illiterates, watchers of Man. We were given this purpose, this cause, to build a better future; one where we get to decide whose name will go down in history. Our methods may seem radical, but we only serve for the good of mankind. We alter history as it should be told.”

            “We had a system once,” Orwell continued, “Only to become corrupted by those we’ve saved. Now, we only invest in the best and we won't settle for less. I won’t have some activist stifle that design. They get in our way so we get in theirs. Though no one is getting in our way for it is us who are getting in everyone else’s.” He looked around the room, “And who will stop us? We have become too big of a risk to fail.” They each sat, gloating in their throne, silently brewing a warrant for someone’s arrest. They have all the power they need and more to make any plan come to fruition, not even their own laws can stop them.

            “The question now is, what should we do with this one,” asked Al Huxley, one of their brethren. “He’s awake, we can’t let him live; he knows too much.”

            “That we cannot,” Orwell replied, “And that we must do.”

            “First we must show him how the universe works.” Emma answered.

            “I say we kidnap him and put him in the camps with the others,” Harper Twain added, “Why wait, make him work.”

            “That may work for the Chinese but it won’t silence the rest.” Emma replied.

            “Let us use the laser.” Alma Wells suggested, “It’s never failed before.”

            “Cancer is a slow though painful death, but no.” Orwell replied. “We’re dealing with a man of faith, let’s not forget. What better toy to break and watch as we shatter his believes. Pull his medical records and see if a certain organ is still intact. Let’s see what his God has to say about our little intervention.” Orwell instructed his clan to their positions. Their monitors ran, data scrolled as they hacked themselves into information kept safe by the same organization intended to protect.

            Information was the new source of empowerment, as it has always been. By obtaining leverage gathered through their sweeps, peoples lives were now under their control. Those who oppose were oppressed. The good became puppets for the bad as they became masters of the free world. The world was evolving; power was evolving to control while the rest did nothing but watch it unfold. Don’t believe, just watch and let your officials take care of you was their motto; but what would you believe?

            These aristocratic figures are anything but illiterate. This highly intelligent sophisticated secret society, that no one knows about but do, stems from generations to generations dating back to the discovery of fire. They’ve infiltrated every system, amended any constitution to fit their design. Their power holds no bounds. Judges and lawyers, bankers and doctors to generals and presidents; their members reign on top of the world for the rest to idolize and abide.

            Their tower stands as they watch over the heavens and beyond, exploiting every secret and foreseeing every spark. Their mark immortalized throughout the land, praised by many, symbolized by stacks of green showering over the privileged stood the test of time and time again. Their all seeing God is ever known, providing them a throne to pass on His teachings to their next of kin. The Illiterates, editors of history and watchers of man, devise a future they deem fair for in this world there are no happy endings but theirs.

Topsy-Turvy

            There are many worlds willed into existence by a sudden burst of energy, by the stroke of a pen swaying on paper, life emerging on a canvas, or ideas set in motion. All destined for a greater cause yet the universe spins out of control, why? By the will of influences hidden in secrets no one was meant to know, but do? How is anyone to know? Professor Knows, “Glad of you to come,” he welcomed a group of five young faces as they entered a bright extensive lab. Tables decked in chemistry with tubes twenty inches high cluttered the surface. Sweet aromas enticed their curiosity as the professor lectured a quick tour around the lab, herding them along.

            Data scrolled in every monitor at every station while chimes of unstable chemicals boiling into one harmonized in the air. The kids wondered in amazement as the professor opened their minds to endless possibilities. Fumes rose from their glass tubes as it swirled into miniature tornadoes, vanishing in midair then fading in a dim cry. “Remember kids,” the professor concluded as they reached the end of the tour, “The solution to any problem is always simple, only our teachers cloud our better judgment with their corruption,” he paused, “Or was it our leaders who teach, what’s the difference?”

            Two blue rubber gloves came out from the side of his coat pocket as he turned to reach for a cylinder oozing fog. “Behold,” he pronounced as he turned back around, “The power of the universe.” He held the small cylinder with tongs up high in the air for them to praise but the kids remained silent, unamused. The professor kept the cylinder up high in the air, allowing them time to process his bold statement. He stood waiting, looking around to puzzled faces, and still another minute of silence.

            “Behold the power, the power of the universe,” he repeated but to same results. He leveled the cylinder down by his side and pondered for a moment. The kids turned to one another with the same question in mind. “Of course,” he mumbled underneath his breath as he made his way around the table. He carefully set the cylinder down on its podium then dramatically began signing his statement out loud.

            “We’re not deaf.” said the oldest of the bunch, Riler. The others smirked and giggle.

            “Very well then.” the professor replied with a sigh of relief.

            “What exactly were you holding?” asked a girl who stood in the back, Ali.

            “Good of you to ask,” he answered enthusiastically, “Behold, the power of the universe.” He sarcastically gestured them over, “Gather children, gather.” The kids huddled by the table as the professor explained the mysteries behind the cosmos. Scrolls magically unfolded, spilling onto the floor with letters sliding in the end, stating theories and thesis. The kids drifted into space as he began to write mathematical formulas on the blackboard, solving advanced algebraic equations far beyond their youthful minds could comprehend.

            “And thus, by countering the pull of gravity to the tangents of space I was able to create a chemical engineered element capable of opening a wormhole to another dimension. It’s simple Physics simplified to a more advanced basis really.” He leaned back to double check the symbols he had written on the board. The symbols represented a message read in science and alchemy. The kids did their best to follow the professor but were too lost to even ask.

            “You’re just making things up.” interrupted the second oldest, Miles.

            “Am I?” the professor answered, “Who’s wearing the coat then?”

            “How would you know if it works?” questioned Noel, a shy but intuitive boy.

            “But of course it works!” proclaimed the professor. “Has history not taught you that?”

            “Prove it then.” Riler suggested.

            “Such eager minds yearning for answers,” Knows replied, “And the people wonder why they’re being monitored.” He grasped the cylinder with the tongs again then added, “You might want to step back, if any of the slime gets in your skin while…” he sparked an alarm amongst the group, “Just stand back, okay?” In an instant the chemical splattered all over the blackboard, simmering as it spread.

            The kids gasped as the splatter morphed into breathing swirling colors of deep green in shades of blue. Slowly and magically, the slime grew into a glob engulfing the board with its portal; opening a dimension behind its veil. They stood in awe for no words came to mind. “Who dares knock at devils door,” he turned to look at the kids, “What do you say?” He asked the littlest of the crew, Zoh.

            Each turned to one another, asking without saying, questioning their fear as curiosity called their name. The professor stood by the portal, arm out, waiting for someone to answer his plea. Zoh reached for the professor and the others followed soon after. Together, they stepped into the swirling breathing whirlpool and entered a vast field of bright flowers riddled in oceanic green hills. Riler turned and noticed the portal was gone, replaced by a tree as massive as the eye could see.

            “Where is it?” Riler scouted through the vines, searching for the way back home. “Where’s the portal?”

            “Gone, apparently.” was the professors reply. “No point in fussing about it now. Let’s just keep moving forward.”

            “To where?” Ali asked in her small little voice.

            “To the horizon.”

            Noel was the first to venture off into the fields, disappearing among the flower beds of an unknown Eden. “Stay close kids,” the professor instructed as he observed the missing particles in the air. The girls hung by the shades of a massive rose bush while they braided their hair, interweaving them with mesmerizing pedals and twigs. Riler nagged at the professor as Miles watched Noel be lead into the wild by a mysterious invisible butterfly. Noel was gone before he knew it, but to where they never knew. Wind swift by while Miles stood dazed. He turned to the group who seemed lost in their own special haven.

            “Wait, guys Noel is gone.” Miles slowly addressed the situation at hand.

            “But I had said to stay close,” the professor replied as he stood next to Miles, scouting the perimeter.

            “Where exactly would he have gone though,” questioned Riler. “There’s nothing but flower beds and mountain hills.”

            “I think I saw him over there,” added Ali pointing to the opposite direction. The professor took a look at the direction Ali mentioned and became puzzled. Riler prompt him to make a decision, prolonging his clarity for a solution. At last the debacle was settled, Ali lead the way with the professor and the others following behind, venturing deeper into the fields, passing an array of beautiful flowers in a variety of hypnotic colors.

            The search party came to an abrupt end as the grass swallowed them whole, sinking them deep into the sea. They were running out of air but they couldn't break the surface. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the bottom of the ocean when they suddenly realized they were never sinking, they were upside down; swimming to the ocean bed towards a sharp metal spear that broke in the abyss. They balanced themselves in the water, figuring what was up and what was down. The professor swam towards the spear when a school of bubbles caught his attention.

            Riler couldn't hold his breath any longer as he desperately kicked in the sea. They each swam to his aid to prevent him from breathing in the ocean but they were too late. Riler gasped for air, swallowing the ocean whole. Surprisingly, the water tasted just like air. A question appeared in the professors face when Ali, Zoh and Miles began to breathe the water. “Water has oxygen, I suppose, but without gills?” The professor, Riler, and Miles swam to the metal spear as Ali and Zoh questioned where they were.

            As they floated near the spear, they came to find the spear was held by a hand. That hand was connected to a colossal man frozen in time. He stood cemented upon his throne among his kingdom. “I don’t believe it,” said Miles in the water. Darkness crept away, shedding light to a city lost at sea. To their surprise they floated above a city only remembered as a legend, Atlantis.

            Coral reefs sheltered a culture buried at the bottom of the sea as tiny critters roamed the ocean streets. The statue once guarded man, now protected the voiceless, those who abide to the ocean current. Far beyond the borders of the abyss came a group of sharks sniffing the water for food. The girls inched their way closer to the professor as they swam near the cliffs. The sharks kept their distance until the tides suddenly changed.

            The ocean current began to build. The surface turned mad with ships crowding the sea. Echoes rumbled in the tides, upsetting the balance. Decapitated bodies fell into the sea, inviting the sharks for dinner. The crew became alarmed. They scattered around, searching for a place to hide as the sharks appeared feet away. Fortunately, an abandoned submarine lay close by. They swam as fast as they could with the sharks right at their tail. The professor twisted the lever and with Riler’s help they managed to enter the submarine and escape the sharks sharp bite.

            The hallways drummed as the sharks hammered at their door. “Let’s get out of here,” said Riler. They fastened their seat belts as the professor switched the ignition. The motor jammed as the sharks pounced on the submarine. The professor tried again and as the alpha shark ran into the submarine, the motor started; skyrocketing them away. The girls turned to their side as they dashed through the lost city of Atlantis.

            Zoh noticed a small figure guarded by mermaids near the capital of the city, waving them away as they quickly passed by. She looked around and became puzzled. Ali turned to her and held her hand for she too knew something was odd; masking her own need to be held. The rumble up above continued until it faded, along with the statue and the city. They adjusted themselves in their seats as the submarine entered the walls of another abyss, leaving behind a forgotten comrade.

            The submarine became cooler the further they propelled into the darkness of the unknown. The professor gestured his way around the controls, pretending to steer the ship. The remaining kids stared at the small window forgetting the difference between sea and sky as diamonds appeared twinkling in the dark. It wasn’t long before they noticed the sea had become a blanket of breathing, wondering specks of light inhabiting the fate of someone’s existence. When did they enter Space? They never knew, but would it make a difference if they did? They crowded around the professor for answers, explanations, accountability but he looked at them as they looked at him; lost and intrigued.

            The alarm blasted through the speakers, amplifying in the halls. Up ahead, a belt of meteors stood straight for them and there was no way out. The kids searched the submarine to gear themselves for impact. Unfortunately, there were no suits in sight; but they weren’t going to give up. Riler and Ali went their separate ways, desperately searching for an escape pod. They raided the submarine inside out, finding nothing but the imminent truth. “What do we do then, professor?” Zoh asked as she stood by the wheel, pulling on his coat. He turned to her and smiled for he knew the answer.

            “Nothing.”

            The impact knocked them to the floor. The professor held Zoh underneath him, forgetting the other two. Meteor rocks fired like bullets in the zero gravity air, destroying everything in its path without having anything to slow them down. Debris hung in the vacuum of space as the submarine split into bits. They hung in a cluttered mess, surviving fatal blows, all while breathing in the universe. The professor and Zoh drifted in space alone until they found a sense of ground. “Look over there,” the professor pointed. A shooting star disappeared as quickly as it came. So they found a way after all, he thought.

            “How are we doing this?” asked Zoh as she tip toed in nothing. They weightlessly floated away deeper into space, accompanied by warm orbiting lights.

            “My guess would be the coating from the slime.” the professor answered moments later, remembering he had a companion. “Watch this.” he later added, changing the subject. He attempted to jump in an empty pool then fly away. “It’s like you’re swimming but you’re not, see?” Zoh looked up at the professor as he grew smaller. Her smile reflected upon his face for he had never seen such oblivious bliss.

            His voice was beginning to drift as he swam away. “Look around you kid,” he began, “Everything is upside down. Left is right, right is left. Backwards is the new forward, haven’t you heard?” His voice trailed off and she could no longer hear him, “If you try to make sense of things you will never know what sense actually is because your sense of sense is what doesn’t make sense in the first place. Confusing, isn’t it? BUT now we’re just being redundant.” His laugh trailed off, leaving Zoh behind in a sea of stars.

            And so, Zoh did what the professor had advised her to do. She pretended to fly into a weightless gravity and swim towards to shore. She took her time crossing the galactic horizon across infinite parallel worlds not knowing where she was but knew where to go. The professor soon appeared, sitting on a moon; waiting for her arrival. She emerged out from the shores of space, and joined the professor in a sandy moon as he enlightened her of a new world. “Took you long enough,” the professor said as he held her hand.

            Together, they wandered across the moon with the professor lecturing Zoh on all the planets in the sky. He pointed left then right then left again. Up, down, and back around; every direction had its own unique beginning. “The brighter ones are old because they’ve used up all their fuel,” he commented, “It’s the dim ones that store all the answers.” He beamed at Zoh whose eyes held many.

            Zoh followed every direction the professor aimed, feeding her mind his numerous adventures.  Her bright wide-eyed expression lit every star and fueled every twinkle. “Fate my dear may change but destiny always remains the same. Care to know where yours leads?” he smiled. “I, Professor Knows, know,” he declared as he pointed to a mysterious door with no nob. The two stood by the door as the cracks creaked the hidden adventures that reside behind its silver hinges.

Found Among the Lost

            Pollution lingered in the smog across the valleys of the city. The year 3004 in New York on a hot summer solstice was not good for the neighborhood crops down the street let alone for anyone roaming around in the scorching heat. Tall metal towers echoed all around, amplifying the summer rays; evaporating the water in the air. Noon struck the city as the sun rolled by. A hot thick breeze swept dirt gathered in the piles. A small wondrous bug-eyed boy watching cartoons ate his cereal alone. Sweat trailed down his cheek, slowly simmering from the heat in the air.

            A loud thud coming from the window caught him by surprise. He stood to find a bird with a twisted neck lying stiff on the window sill. Its wings lay spread-out, revealing nature’s design. “If you can’t handle the heat,” the boy began as he reached to grab it, “Stay out of the city. Sorry little guy. You’re in a better place now.” A much cooler place. He remained by the window nesting the broken bird on his palm while down below tiny critters roamed about. His eyes wondered to the streets, captivated by their light as they crossed one another creating a whirlpool of intricate colors illuminating in the heat.

            He turned to the bird, feeling empathetically, silently asked it to rise. With a breath of fresh air the broken bird stood, stretched its wings and began to sing. Static buzzed behind him while he stood in disbelief. The tiny bird miraculously rose then flew away, disappearing into the corners of the city. A strange woman called his name but he remained by the window sill, awestruck. “Jova,” the woman called again. Confused, he turned to find a blond woman in a white room beaming at him through the television screen.

            “How do you know my name?” he questioned. Blushing for he was talking to the woman in the television.

            “Jova,” she began brightening the screen with her smile, “At last we meet again.”

            “Again? Do I know you?” He asked, lost in the ordeal.

            “You mean you don’t know me?” she asked morosely. “In your defense, it has been forever since we’ve last seen each other. Jova my boy, my special little boy, you don’t know how relieved I am to have finally found you.” Chills ran down his spine as the pale woman spoke to him through the screen. “We’ve been apart for too long. There’s so much to take, places to conquer. Would you not want to be a part of the grand design?” She asked, noticing a question appear in Jova’s eyes. “It’s our destiny.”

            “Destiny?” Jova took a step back, gathering his scattered thoughts to what has been presented before him. “I…” he began piecing the confusion, “I don’t know you. I’m only seven, I can’t go anywhere without my mother’s consent.” With his mother in mind he continued, “My mother always said not to talk to strangers.” He stood behind a wooden chair, looking at the strange woman who beamed at him; following his every move. “How are you…” He struggled to piece the puzzle together, “How are we talking?”

            “Have you forgotten little one,” she laughed lightly, “I am everywhere. I’ve been on a hunt for you and at last your arrival has come, after all these years. What perfect timing. Join me, Jova, for you were destined to lead us to our fate; eternal peace and glory to all.” She finished and waited for a response. Jova shook his head dazed and confused. Who was this woman he knew nothing about? How did she find him? “Escaping is futile; running will only get you so far. Don’t forsake us, Jova.”

            Howling engines roared in the air as its propellers balanced a patrol wagon midair outside his window. “We have the place surrounded, surrender immediately,” ordered the enforcers through the intercom. More buzzed around as excitement raced in the polluted wind. Jova panicked, not sure of what to do. A team of enforcers barged inside the complex and raced up the stairs sealing every exit in sight. “Kneel with your hands behind your head.”

            They were close, he could sense them. Jova opened the door and ran down the hallway. He turned every corner hoping they would get lost in the maze. “Holt, terrorist two o’clock,” one shouted as they all aimed their toys at a small fearful boy. Outside, the hovering patrol wagon bobbed with its brightening beams twirling in circles. “Get on the ground, now.” They all shouted with lasers aimed at his forehead. Jova got to his knees and surrendered. “We got the boy.” The commander informed the station. “We’re bringing him in.”

            As the hunter gathered their prey, Jova tightened his fist and shut his eyes. A blinding pitch rang in their ears. Painfully deafening, the pitch rendered them to their knees from the constant scream. They were unable to escape the silent tune that lay imprinted in their minds; echoing in their silence. Jova got to his feet and made a run for it. He climbed out the fire escape and made his way down.

            The hovering patrol spotted him shortly after. The patrol wagon stretched its tentacle arms and reached straight for Jova. Tranquilizers torpedoed in the air, each aiming to pierce his skin. Jova jumped the last staircase, fumbled to the ground nearly missing a metallic grip. The patrol sirens signaled his location, inviting a swarm of swat teams at his tail. Jova was on the run, not knowing where to go or what to do. No matter where he hid, he could not escape the target implanted onto him.

            The streets were cluttered with hills of trash piled in every corner. Foul reeked in the air, suffocating in every stench known to man. Tamed souls and preying eyes wondered the valleys of a utopian city run by lies. Jova pushed among the crowd, the lost, as the enforcers hovered above their heads. Its wondering lens scanned every face in sight, searching for the one they sought. Data of every living person caught in their preying lens ran in the patrol monitor while the wagon searched around.

            Billboards ran Jova's picture across the city labeling him a terror, a menace to society. Jova was uncertain of the crime he did not know he had committed. The thickening heat smothered his lungs as he gasped for air. The chase was a marathon he could not endure. The tracking propellers of the hovering patrol found his every location, bringing along a team of armed enforcers. The smoldering heat dragged his feet behind, slowing him to their grip.

            His legs were heavy, mouth dry as ever, his spirit crumbled and weakened by the hour. There was only one place left to go as he ran for his life. The bay to the other side was all that stood between him and his freedom from the enforcers. With no boat in sight, Jova’s survival seemed slim. “What am I to do,” he asked the heavens desperate for an answer. In a matter of seconds the waters began to smooth out before him, solid to the touch but liquid to the eye. The surface straightened, clearing a path for him to stand on. The sirens soon echoed in the distance, it was now or never.

            With one foot before the other, Jova miraculously walked the surface of the shore. He tipped toed his way a few feet in before sprinting to the other side, careful not to slip or fall into the polluted gulf. The swat team arrived on the scene within minutes, bewildered by the miracle at hand. “Stay put,” the commander shouted, his message echoing across the bay. Jova turned before landing on the shores to the other side. Across the pond, a herd of armed enforcers stood waiting for further instructions.

            The New York skyline mirrored in the bay from where he stood. He marveled at its fading shimmer and vibrant vines. Across the bay, the city stood scared by a troubled past. As the sun began to set, Jova disappeared into the jungles of a deserted city, hiding from the injustice eye. A glimmering light deep in the jungle led him further into the unknown. He only hoped to find a sense of reason in all of the confusion.

            Night critters crept in the dark as Jova made his way through the gloomy jungle. Empty cans and plastic bottles lay poking in the grass. Broken towers scattered throughout the vast emptiness. Jova did not know if he were alone in a city famine in poverty. The lonesome city told a tale of infamous glory. The past lingered in the future, haunting the present. Forgotten bones shined in the light from the rising crescent moon. Jova only guessed what his imagination could conjure of the history the city foretold.

            Owls echoed in the vastness while Jova made his way to the glimmering in the opening up ahead. It wasn’t long before Jova came to find the deserted city sheltered few who sought refuge from a city run by corruption. Peaking behind a thick tree, Jova observed a small group of foreigners who huddled around the fire. They seemed friendly but Jova kept his distance. “You can join us if you’d like,” a man called to whoever was lurking. “We’re not going to kill you.”

            Jova slowly stepped beside the tree, looking to see who had spotted him. Their faces were smeared in dirt, their hair disheveled and their rags were old but their welcoming smile assured him he had found safety among the lost. “Come,” the man added as Jova stood in the dark, “Here, there’s still some left.” The man tossed an open can of beans to Jova as he stepped into their circle and sat on the other side. He wondered around to questionable faces, all curious to know of the new arrival. “Got a name kid,” the man asked as Jova settled by the fire.

            “Jova.”

            “Names Phoenix,” the man introduced himself, “Where you from?”

            “New York.”

            “New York? Hasn’t been new for centuries. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Phoenix asked. “You in some sort of trouble? Running from the law? I wouldn’t blame you.” He scrapped the bottom of the can with his finger as he savaged for remains.

            “No, actually, I was chased out of my home.” Jova replied. “I don’t know why.”

            “You said you’re from New York,” added a man who sat beside Phoenix. Jova nodded in response. “They probably wanted to sell you; kids are valuable labor these days. You know how I know? The cartels are running the city with the king pin as their mayor.” A question appeared on Jova’s face. “You do know who your mayor is, right?” Jova sat oblivious to what he was being asked, unaware of what they knew.

            “He’s just a kid Mak,” Phoenix replied, “He’s from the city. They’re told what to think, remember. He don’t know any better.” Phoenix turned to Jova, “There’s a lot you don’t know kid. You being here means you know something you shouldn’t. The future is ever changing, and this is what we’re left with. Speaking the truth can get you killed; opposing the law will get you on their list, turn you into a slave or worse,” he paused to recollect. “The world took a turn for the worst, and there’s nothing we can do about it; at least not any more. All we can do is hide, run at best but it can only take you so far.”

            “That’s what she told me.” Jova replied.

            “Who?” questioned a figure who stood in the shadows.

            “There was this blond woman who talked to me on the television, it was weird.” Jova began. “She said all sorts of confusing things. Do you know her?” The figure remained in the shadows, pondering. Unbeknownst to Jova, the figure in the dark knew many secrets kept hidden in plain sight. Of all the refuges huddled by the fire, one led the few who dare oppose a future left in ruins. Only they remain in the shadows, hiding from a loss they could never prevail.

            “Mona?” Phoenix called. “What are you not telling us?”

            “You must have done something extraordinary to have gotten her attention.” Mona began as she stepped into the light. A battered woman with a missing arm sat in front of Jova, making sure he noticed every scar lay exposed. “What Mak had mentioned before is that the world is no longer a safe place to be because there’s a lot you’re unaware of. The truth has been fabricated to the people by the regime, for ‘their’ greater good.”

            “What truth is that?” Jova asked, puzzled.

            “The truth is,” Mona continued, “The world has been at war for over a hundred years.” Jova sat in disbelieve. “It all began with the assassination of the president during a meeting with world leaders. They were to sign a peace treaty to unite the nations, but the regime had other things in mind. After the assassination, propaganda created by the regime spread all over the media warning people ‘Terrorists were on the rise’ when in fact, it was us all along." Jova cocked his head back, unsure of what he heard. “We were the terrorist on the rise. We killed our president to ignite a profitable losing war.”

            “How?” questioned Jova.

            “One brave veteran stumbled upon the truth behind the regime,” she replied. “He exposed the regime’s plan to assassinate the president to gain sympathy from the UN but not many believed his accusations because the regime had already labeled him a terrorist. He later formed a resistance to protest against the war the regime created but by then they had gained too much control. Those oppose of war were forced to fight it. No one made it out alive and those who did were never whole again.” She looked down at her arm. “Seen for that matter.”

            “That is why we hide here in the jungles of old Brooklyn.” Phoenix added. “We may not have been a part of the resistance back then, but we sure as hell weren’t going to side with the enemy.”

            “The regime scammed the people with promises of peace and protection but all they did was deceive the public with lies everyone bought.” Mak interjected. “They raised taxes to fund their war. They enlisted every orphan; they even went as far as to kidnapping new borns in order to gain more soldiers. The thing is they didn’t call it kidnapping, they called it an honorable act of service. To fight for their country, to fight for the regime.”

            “This is the truth behind the regime’s perfect administration,” Mona replied. “Only those who oppose are aware of the truth behind their illusion. The damages are too grand not to see but their threats and manipulation are too keen. As war ventured on corruption broke the system, justice became blind and many lives were lost fighting a war that was never theirs to fight. The regime wanted war for resources but instead they got a crumbling nation left in ruins with everyone oblivious to the truth. This is the future they keep creating for the rest to abide.”

            “But why would they come after me?” Jova asked, puzzled. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” He scrambled for reasons, anything that would have made some sense in the confusion, “There was this bird.” Silence hung in the fire while the rest sat and waited.

            “What do you mean?” Mak replied moments later.

            “I was eating cereal when a bird dropped dead by the window,” Jova explained. “I held it in my palm and felt sorry for it, so I asked it to wake up; and it did.” Everyone sat in disbelief, Mona grew concerned; she knew something they didn’t. “Next thing I know a blond woman is calling my name asking me to join her in fulfilling a destiny.”

            “Destiny,” Phoenix interrupted, “Lies; they’re all lies, kid. The only destiny you know is theirs. You want to know how they found you. The regime is everywhere. Everyone is bugged with trackers that listen in on everything you do. Everywhere you go, anything you say is theirs to keep, observe, and use. By raising the dead, you’ve revealed yourself to them,” he continued, “You’ve accidently made your presence known without knowing it. Anyone who seems out of the ordinary are possible targets; but you wouldn’t know that because they don't want you to know that.”

            “But what does that have to do with me?” Jova questioned.

            “It has everything to do with you,” Mona replied ecstatically as she sat beside him. “Jova, do you know who you are?”

            “I do,” he answered, “My name is Jova and I’m only seven years old.”

            “Yes you are.” Mona replied turning to Phoenix, “Of course he wouldn’t know who he is.” She then addressed Jova, “If one thing you should know by now is that there are many, many secrets hidden from the public by the regime. God being one of them.”

            “Who is God?” Jova asked, confused but intrigued.

            “God is the answer that can be traced through religion,” Mona answered. “Religion is a power the regime felt threatened by, so they controlled it. Before everything was rewritten, religion foretold of a second coming. Their version spoke of no second coming. They took matters into their own hands by eradicating all aspects of God. The second coming would be lost forever, not knowing of its own truth; a move the regime could utilize to their benefit. They forged an apocalypse on the people knowing it was their own. They tamed our fate to their will. The only God you were to praise, fear, was the one the regime created for the rest to believe.” She paused, “It’s a good thing you escaped. A weapon like yourself is far greater than any of their nuclear reactors. That is why she is after you.”

            “With the powers of God,” added Phoenix, “Victory is theirs. They will use you as a weapon one way or another. They will turn you into their slave or who knows what other acts they can do onto you. They’ve done it before, succeeded once. I wish it weren’t true, it’s a lot for one to handle let alone a kid.”

            “Powers,” Jova repeated, lost. “Is that how the bird came back to life; by the powers of God, me? It would explain how I managed to walk on water.”

            “You walked on water?” Mona spat, astounded.

            “What was I to do?” Jova answered defensibly. “I couldn’t swim across, the waters are polluted. I had nowhere else to go. I stood there asking the sun who watched what to do. Next thing I know the waters began to smooth out, clearing a path for me to stand on; right before my very eyes. I didn’t believe it at first but my options were slim. I walked on the surface until I reached the other side, it was my only escape.”

            Mona inched her way closer to Jova who seemed to pull back. “I know we haven’t given you any reason to trust us but believe me when I say we are on your side.” He turned to the rest who were now kneeling before him. “God has returned in the form of a child. Jova, will you join us as we seek the hidden and find a way to bring an end to this dystopian world our leaders created?” Jova looked around, not sure of what to believe or say. He felt the heaviness in their eyes, the pain in their hearts and the glimpses of hope rekindling in their spirits. The second coming was upon them, fate delivered Jova to his destiny.