Destinations 7.

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Chapter 50

Everything that Eve wasn’t, and Mariam couldn’t be, makes Rivkah do what she does, be what she is.

Everything that Astarte tried hard, with little to no success, is what makes Easter the beloved bijou goddess across this universe. And not only, according to high level sources.

Everything that Kronos knew, but didn’t dare, is seeded in Saturn – the clever and curious super-human.

Enoch and Eli, or Odin and Thor, these just are – like Archangels, like unmistakable companions.

Both of them, brought this very morning in front of the porch. To be judged for their crimes against humanity. Allegedly, by the high courts of every empire, federation, confederation, republic, country or territory, Enoch, Eli and their acolytes are accused of environmental warfare, of conspiracy, subversion, sabotage and the supreme crime of refusing to bow their knee to the Lord of Earth.

“Why do they call you ‘lord of earth’ as you’d be of this earth and not a celestial being, a superior angelic, top of creation, instrument to bring light to every corner of this universe.”

“Mum, shut up. Please!”

“And what if I don’t?”

“The way I finally managed to make you invisible to all these people around us, if I’ll try harder, maybe that I could kill you. Put an end to this ordeal you make inside my head.”

“Kill yo’ mummy? Bad boy. Uhm, if I rightly remember, you tried to burn your original mother to smithereens, taking down the Venusian Insurrection. But you failed. That winged skull which had her scissored was an indirect machination of yours. Now it’s your second mother on the kill list. Am I on top? Or at least in top ten? Tell me.”

The desolator grabs the left handle of the ivory throne, melting the golden coating, exposing the white ivory under. “Whoops, you’ve just pushed a bit too much energy and you carbonized it. The ivory turns black. What a pity. What a pity.”

The prime prosecutor from Nauru advances to read his files against Enoch, Eli and the gang. “I’ll kill you, mum. I gotta find a way to kill you. Or else--”

“Or else? Why don’t you throw a blitz into the ass of this pathetic prosecutor? To calm down--”

“Those are all faithful servants.”

“I can imagine. I’ll give you that, and them too. Oh, like those hundred million imbeciles that you dragged to L4 only to abandon them the next day.”

“That happened because of you. Because you didn’t keep your promise to me. You said that you’re gonna take care of the Third Temple.”

“Sure. And I did as I said: taking care not to serve it to you, on a plate.”

“You’re worse than me!! How could that be possible?”

“That’s what I wonder. Some questions don’t have answers. Eh?”

“You won’t live to see the sunset. I tell you that, mum.”

“Which sunset? The old sun’s or the second’s? You seem a bit confused, snake.”

The last in his line, attorney general of Zimbabwe, approaches the ivory throne and speaks. “Our institution has found no wrongs committed by Enoch, Eli and accomplices against the state of Zimbabwe. Therefore the case is dropped.” The man turns around and descends the stairs. After a few steps, lightning strikes his back. He succumbs in grey smoke on the white marble.

“You viper! That man spoke by the law of his country, a land where I did not set foot, neither Eli, nor any of our associates. The man had no case. Yet you killed him. Because this is what you can be: a liar and a killer.”

Another lightning strike surrounds Enoch, only to excite the air around, like a Tesla coil would do.

“He’s been allowed too much already,” advances Eli up the stairs. “You virus, you really believed that this entire setup was meant for you to make judgement against the sons and daughters of Adam?, against the sons and daughters of the other eleven Adams?, against any registered person in here or out there? No! This grandiose show is yet another trap. You’ve been lured in, again, and you’ve bit the bait. Again. Look at the poor and the rich, the fit and the fat, the little and the great, the white and the black, and all the colors in here and out there, look at the living and recall of the dead, because three days from this moment...”

Silent, Eli falls, like Enoch, on the white marble. Both are dead.


“They are down. Click.” Speaks Saturn. “Click.” Responds Easter. “Click. Click.” Say NOK & ELI next to the former’s tree, within pulsar PSR J1903+032.

Above the Third Temple, two menorahs burn fire. One at ten meters above the dead body of Enoch, the other at ten meters above the dead body of Elijah.

The old sun flickers, like a bulb would do before the tornado hits. The second sun dims down a slow gradient. Some of the geeks run their hands to calculate the geometry of its extinction. This term, extinction, is on everyone’s lips since the old sun turned off. Like that bulb that lost contact to its power source.

Dusk engulfs Jerusalem as two magnificent olive trees emerge above the horizon, brightening the skies of the West with a wind of orange milk, snowing down over the lands of Europe and Northern Africa, off their leaves. At times, a golden fruit would detach – to fall into the vases, like two cones, holding each olive tree.

And when a golden olive hits the iron, it is like the sounds of a thousand bells.

All humans, even the geeks, stand to watch in all stupor. Silent. Absent yet present. Weary.

Not hearing his mum any longer, not in the right ear, nor in the left, the virus boldly raises above the ivory throne. Starting to speak, he feels eager to finish his political speech. Yet when the climax comes as an indicator of a conclusion, then a religious speech emerges out of his mouth. And when the next climax comes, to beg for the conclusion, then, again, an ecologic speech pops out of his mind, getting him to yet another climax but never to any conclusion.

Speaking like this for three days long, the virus, tired of the deafening silence around him – because all the multitudes around, below and above, are lethargic, worn out, apathetic, mute – concludes eventually.

“Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” Then his voice is no more.

“Click. Click.” Enoch and Elijah raise from their three days long deaths. Walking towards each other, they both vanish simultaneously into what a flicker’s fraction of a second would present as a golden pyramid. But no one could tell, other than the whirl of ozone left behind.

“Click.” The Moon turns orange and red and, most remarkably, grows smaller. Fast and faster.

“Click.” Orange is the new black. But orange rolls aside like an old scroll. Total transparency.

% ssh cron@sahara

xscreensaver-command -lock
screen top
% ssh crist@civil
screen -r

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