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Dark Bat

By Jordan Jones All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Adventure

Generation War

My life on the dairy farm was certainly an adventure. I was busy every day, routine keeping me strong for tests in the evening. At night, when all the chores were done, including farm finances, I sat on the floor in my old wooden barn and recalled the mantras of the Shidave.

When viewed at an appropriate scale and angle, the nerve synapse appears to be a giant machine, like a diesel engine. Through meditation and focus, I could see the synapses firing in my brain. I learned to control my most primal emotions.

Understanding the impulses is not enough to brew an entire universe of vast expanses and planets, and characters and life. I was commanded by my protectorate, the animals, to harness the spiritual energy of the farm. In the dusty hay-covered floor, I channeled the power of the cows and chickens.

The animals first led me to the farmland, where I was commanded to live and work. The land was affordable. It required terraforming earth before I could breed livestock to produce milk and eggs. I rented a large tractor to prepare the land.

Overall, the commandment from the animals was to remain happy. With each morning, my mood descended to a much lower vibrational level. It was like acrobatics to lift my spirit to the level of the animals.

I could pace. Sometimes, my walking would extend to the perimeter of my farm. Other times, I needed something else to smile. Fishing on the nearby ponds was dangerous, so I set bird traps around the barn. I couldn't justify trespassing on my neighbors' land. I was too nervous to touch the birds I caught on my own. I could only let them go, flying into the melting sun.

The birds weren't my friends, after all. I couldn't control them. They weren't mine. They were a nuisance to the other animals and would steal their food—and my produce. I think I must have scared some of them away, because after I cleared the land the avian numbers decreased.

When I had visitors, which was often in those first days of working the farm, I was most happy. I showed my human friends how I cared for the animals, and after a few weeks, explained the spiritual purpose of my life there.

I was going to live for a very long time through using the principles of the Shidave. Eating one tenth of my livestock per year, I only needed them to multiply at a below-average rate to keep their numbers. I kept their sheddings in the barn for my rituals. I was spiritually bound to the animals. Burning their hair and feathers and inhaling the fumes was a quick way to ego-death—and human death, if I performed the rituals wrong.

“Shidave, connect me through the souls of my animals to your wonderful universe!” I collected dust with my hands and cast it over my shoulders. The hay incited a powerful sneeze. “Let me into this collective universe!”

This spell would only work if I formed a perfect lotus position. I would only know ten days from then if I had done it well. The animal chosen to connect me would find me on the tenth day, and I would complete the first steps towards completing the Shidave creation ritual. When I rehearsed it in front of my friends, reactions were mixed. Most were ignorant of how powerful I was at that time.

When I began meditating for hours, I was unstoppable. I was becoming visibly more powerful. My muscles were growing, and my mental energy created a great aura around me. After a few months, I was ready for the ten-day ritual connecting me for all eternity to the growing, otherworldly Shidave.

There is a wolf symbol in the Shidave that represents the predator spirit of humans. I used a sock puppet to represent the wolf in my own ritual. The other animals I recreated included the goat, which I made out of sticks and yarn, and the eagle. Soaring, I used a dead field mouse to represent the eagle. I learned of the Shidave symbolism through intelligent reasoning. The information for the magic was inside my mind. I just needed to intuitively recall exactly what to do.

After melting the wax of the blood, I stuck the red candle in the center of my shrine. “Shidave, Shidave,” I incanted. “Take hold over me.”

The roving bandits of the area heard of the date I would perform the ritual. They stalked around my barn, and as soon as I spoke the mantra, they burst in to kill me.

“Witchcraft!” They shouted, threatening with eager bayonets. “Magic is an unthinkable crime in this country.”

Another one clambered through the barn door. “The rumors were true. He was performing a spell.”

Hoping to defend myself through argumentation, I explained that I was summoning the universe of the Shidave, in order to create my own universe . . .

In the armpit, and under the second rib—the bayonets pierced my torso until I collapsed. Although my physique had improved, I was unable to stop the surprise attack from the scourge of the earth.

I was taken to the morgue. My animals escaped.



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