Chapter 1: ILLUMINATED ONES
When he rose from the dead he became the gospel, and his human life has come to past, Amen, so be it. Nearly two thousand years ago, he once lived in Palestine. He was born in Jerusalem to a virgin woman, by the name of Mary. God came to her in a dream and told her she was going to birth his son.
He pre-existed before her pregnancy, and post-existed as well. In the beginning there was the Word (God), and the Word was God (Jesus), and the Word was with God (The Holy Ghost). In mortal form, he lived for thirty-three years on earth.
He began his ministry when he was thirty years old, publicly performed miracles, fed the hungry, and cast out demons, brought a man back from the dead and healed a blind man, and healed a leaper.
It all had a purpose. He performed miracles to show he was sent by God, and for spectators to praise God through his acts of love and compassion. But there were some of a stubborn heart that still didn’t believe, and one man, Judas, would betray the §on of God with an ill-suited kiss, and it would cost him his life, dying for our sins…
The only thing Christ lost was his life on earth, in mortal form. His crucifixion served a greater purpose, the main agenda was to die for the sins of man, and bare all iniquity…His crucifixion put the New Covenant into operation and the Old Covenant out of order, but it was met with opposition…
By Brenda §eymour. 12th grade. Rollins High school
Welcome to the Grand Opening of Ђe Law of Beasts! How art ye doing, Reader, on such a miraculous day; a day ye had a chance to forgive others as ye would have them forgive ye, and to treat them as ye would like to be treated, yet ye chose to carry thy anger over into another day, which was a sin in itself, but I didn’t believe it. Mysticism was a thing I had no interest in. If ye were ignorant by choice, expect to be treated and beaten like ye art. Something snazzy I just made up from the top of my brain, making small talk for the time being
Who am I, you may be wondering? I’m Alicia Chay, the Alicia Chay: vagabond, murderer, sadistic queen of torture and beauty. I am the sum of all things, the conclusive mingling of the aftermath of all my thoughts compiled gorgeously. I am the immaculate, enchanting ruler and upholder of the Treaty of the Animals, a signed document by the Leaders (or representatives) of the most powerful and enigmatic tribes among the animal kingdom at large; each Tribe and soul there within were in compliance with my rules of govern.
We had one common goal and that was to maintain balance between good and evil within our Realms. I created a Treaty I was proud of, because it served two purposes. The signatures I collected cemented inside of me one realization, that I have mastered three things: my thoughts, power and discipline. I accomplished and honed my skills to that of a Master by killing those that illegally slaughtered animals, and sparing the very humans that love and adore them.
The alliance I formed with the animals and the creatures and creepy things of the earth, and the reptiles of the forest and brush, and the fowls of the air, and the creatures of the sea, for their protection, was a constitution of sorts. We must all survive in this life among each other, tolerating each other for our differences, and playing the hand we’ve been dealt. Staying in their lanes was a must.
The Treaty was a very beautiful thing, if you asked me. As much blood and gore, pain and disappointment I’ve seen in life, I still found beauty in the form of torture. I have a high tolerance for pain. I must admit I’ve seen more horror than Heaven in my life, and I couldn’t tell ye that I believed in such a place—Heaven that was.
§o what becomes of my thoughts from that standpoint and that check point. Was I to search through the debris of imposing change for a starting point? And, most importantly, do I start over from that point, hoping the end result doesn’t exceed the means? I know what becomes of it, choosing what point of view to analyze my current state of affairs…
In my life I’m at a cross roads without a four way stop in sight, or a mental compass to guide me. At least at a four way stop I had options on what road to travel.
Pushing my thoughts aside, I tell myself that my life is but a dream. The gentle glow of the computer monitor shines in my face as I read over Brenda §eymour’s essay paper, online. Her paper barely broke my retrospective chain of thought.
Unfortunately, she did a poor job. Her paper seemed rushed—copied even. It didn’t even meet the criteria. Just because she wrote about Christ meant she get an automatic A? The little plagiarist!
Despite a missing bibliography, her paper was very (well, somewhat) informative, to say the least...I’m going to tell you a little bit about Brenda, the baby of her devastatingly dysfunctional family. §he was a nineteen year old reject that failed to graduate on time and was currently trying to finish her senior year (for the second time) of high school.
Brenda was the only one of her parents’ children that didn’t graduate on time. The eleven older siblings graduated from high school with honors, and went on to graduate college with honors. Brenda was present when they all graduated. She looked on with jealousy and envy. She witnessed each of her siblings walking across the stage of change, mechanically shaking the Principal’s and the Dean’s hands, and then the stoic, broad-shouldered Principal handed her a 5-by-7 inch leather diploma.
For Brenda, when she finally did graduate high school, that stern handshake (the old way of closing a deal, or making one) will serve a different purpose.
She dissected the handshake. It meant one thing—the end of a business deal,. The ignorant child has been educated through a well-devised educational system cluttered with lies printed in history books, lies programmed into her psyche, giving her a brief moment of confidence, that will surely crash and burn when the lies of history books begin to sprout in the real world.
The handshake meant, “Thank you for using our institution to educate you. It was paid for with tax payer money. Now it’s time to push you into the real world, a world of employment, taxes and blood-sucking corporations, contaminating thy food and water to sterilize population growth. And by the way, if you attend college, Stafford loans and other silent rip-offs are going to bind you to payment plans for the next ten years after you graduate.”
In fourteen years of school she barely learned a thing. She was more focused on charismatic boys with testosterone problems, fashion, material things and sexual exploits with raunchy men on trophy-winning sports teams with those her age and color.
I jerked when I sat in my study, lined and organized with huge book shelves showcasing 760,000 publications, a mini library, my sanctuary.
Shucks. I smiled to myself. Brenda Seymour hasn’t graduated quite yet. I glimpsed into the future, her future, and from what I see she was headed for doom and STD’s…
Too bad she wouldn’t be able to turn in her paper. I felt like being close to mortals, death looking them all in the face, when I occupied the body of their substitute teacher, Becky Sims, a tall, white blonde too intelligent and soft-hearted for her own good. I only wanted to observe Brenda in her element.
I’m sure she would have gotten a B- if her heart was in the right place. But her heart wasn’t pure. As attitudinal as she was, she bullied the freshman, and beat up defenseless girls and took their lunch money, because she didn’t have her own, or clean clothes to wear.
During a cool spring night in March, just After Spring Break, was her breaking point. She’d had enough of being poked fun of for being less fortunate. Her older siblings moved out and were married, all of them, and were creating their own families with their spouses.
They had no time for her, and no room for her in their lives and their parents encouraged it...The night Brenda’s heart turned black, the same night she overheard her parents talking from their bedroom, saying how disappointed they were with her, that she was a whore and the black sheep of the family, that her other eleven siblings all hated and detested her and wanted nothing to do with her, was the night she discreetly and quietly packed her things inside three large suitcases, called a fling to come take her from that loveless home and she moved out of her parents’ home without their permission, showing up on her favorite cousin’s doorstep, a soft-spoken lawyer with a heart too pure for confrontation.
Once she moved in with her older cousin, Jolie—once she was situated—she pulled out a rusty butcher knife and swung it, in a fit of blinding rage, at Jolie a few times before pressing the sharp blade against her neck.
She appeared almost manic, scaring Jolie half to death. Jolie has never been attacked in her life, especially not by a beloved relative. She nearly slipped into traumatic shock. Brenda was lost and was determined to make something of her life no matter what it cost her.
Brenda laughed into the dimly lit living room and said, “I need to change my wardrobe! You have it all, bitch and I don’t have a thing! You flaunt thy high paying job like it’s the Holy Grail and you are not at all the cousin I grew up idolizing"
Her cousin Jolie was stunned by the attack, and was too afraid to move. So she remained silent, her eyes wide with fear.
Brenda scowled. “There in the problem lies. I am not supposed to have a false idol, and you were my false idol and my hero and the woman I modeled myself after for the past five years. But no more, you hear me bitch!” Brenda stammered, forcing her cousin against the wall.
Extremely selfish, Brenda spat in her face. “That is what I think of you and thy job,” Brenda said tauntingly. “And thy college degree doesn’t make you better than me. You are pathetic! Miss Perfect. Leading that feminist crap in public and in the courtroom, but in the shadows you have sexual romps with powerful attorneys, thy firm mates and you wear masks and you sicken me!
“And like I said—I need a new wardrobe. I am taking all of thy clothes, thy good stuff, and wearing thy garments at my leisure and you will not do a thing, or say a thing!”
With brutal force, she put her hand over her older cousin’s mouth and footed her in the gut. “If you call the police and report me you will regret it! You will suffer! I have nothing to lose. So try me, dear cousin of mine. Try me!”
Her cousin feared her life and I fed off it, I felt myself becoming leaner and stronger blinking behind Brenda’s eyes as she attacked her relative. It felt good to be inside her body controlling her thoughts, and she hadn’t a clue.
I found myself blushing from the display of Brenda’s personality when she was behind closed doors. Brenda got her wish. Jolie eventually checked into a mental ward to escape Brenda and to punish herself for being too weak to defend herself against her violent cousin.
Why hadn’t Jolie stood up for herself?
Sigh…Jolie lost her mind taking suppressants. The RN’s of the institution doped her up with psyche meds that eventually fried her brain; and while she was being abused, both verbally and mentally, by registered nurses addicted to marijuana and institution sex with out-of-it-patients, Brenda moved into Jolie’s home and took all of her accessories, shoes, heels, and clothes and moderated them to fit her whorish needs.
Brenda became her older cousin, taking Jolie’s life as her own without apology or fear. Brenda stole her style and walked, talked and acted like her favorite cousin, the girl she idolized. She took her cousin’s men and drove her car, and started taking her cousin’s children’s child support check and using her cousin’s I.D. to cash them, and neglecting her cousin’s children by spending the money on drugs, the best the city had to offer, top of the line.
The state stepped in and took her older cousin’s children, turning them over to the state. Her cousin signed a waiver to have Brenda remain in her home, and signed over her bank accounts and her life to Brenda from the mental ward.
Her cousin no longer admired beautiful things, or remained of the world. She disconnected herself from the world and prayed to Christ until she took her last breath in her sleep six months later.
To create a diversion of her deception, Brenda attended the place Jolie was baptized, a place Jolie turned her life over to Christ, Mount Sinai Baptist Church, a place Brenda turned her back on being saved and let Jolie dedicate her life on her own.
The day Brenda began to hate Jolie.
Brenda became the church’s largest monetary donor, seduced the Pastor, participating in secret sex parties at his home, hosted by his alluring wife, a beauty in her own right, and pretended like her heart was really in it.
Then she wrote her essay paper, haphazardly. §he always prayed for peace in her home, well, her oldest cousin’s home, but caused havoc outside of it. §o reading her essay paper seemed so blah, like what’s the point, hypocrite. What she wrote, and who she was didn’t add up. Why did people pray for peace when they were hell raisers, and kept dysfunction at the top of their Things to Do List?
Come to think of it that’s mankind in a nutshell, if ye asked me. Man has done heinous things to one another out of emotion and bitterness. Man have used napalm bombs on themselves, gas chambers, slavery, Jim Crow laws, the holocaust, flamethrowers, arsonists burning down black churches, concentration camps, the cries of the inner city and the unprinted bloodshed within, and the miserable, brutal sighs of the suburbs, all that glitters ain’t gold.
I drained Brenda, my lunatic student, of blood an hour after she called her mother a bitch. In front of her screaming parent, I ripped Brenda’s heart out because she kicked a cat in the stomach on her way to school.
I happen to love cats! Hadn’t the leader of the Lion tribe, cats, signed the Treaty?
I gasped with fear and wanted to take away the cat’s pain. It wasn’t the cat’s fault she was in remedial classes. I could care less about her calling her mother a bitch. Her mother was her own woman, a tax-paying zombie following an ant routine of life, love, cheating and bills.
When I hunted Brenda down for kicking (and fatally bruising) an alley cat, I didn’t feel guilty for what I was going to do. If ye asked me, anyone hurting animals deserved a little…discipline.
In my case I went overboard.
All I wanted to do was scare her, but she was extra tempting that day, smelling of expensive perfume, yet dressed cheaply.
Her essay paper, I read from yahoo, was enticing, and informative. It definitely had my overall attention, to my dismay.
§he touched on a subject I’ve struggled with for years, for decades, for centuries…when I was a growing young woman. For the past four thousand years I’ve been twenty-five years old!
And now that I am a vagabond, I am in direct conflict with the subject of religion, spiritualism, and whom to believe in, and what side I should choose. I struggled with one thought:
Do I believe in God? Or the devil?
Or do I brush both of them aside and believe in myself, and nothing else…?
Become my own false idol, and the replica of it?
Was there a God, and a Devil?
If being a vampire for centuries was any inclination, I’d say I still didn’t know if one or the other existed.
Ђe Oxford Σnglish Dictionary dates the first appearance of the word vampire in Σnglish back to 1734, Ah!, in a travelogue titled Travels of Ђree Σnglish Gentlemen published in the Harleian Miscellany in 1745.
Yes, I read this document, for I existed as well. It’s amazing how mortals think evolution started and stopped with them. Didn’t they remember that everything hath an opposite, even death, and no, I’m not talking about Life itself?
I am talking about human life polarized into a zombie of its own design, the opposite of one’s good will and charitable contributions. Well, as old Jack Nicholson says, “What till they get a load of me!”
While the beautiful country (by my standards, not yours) of Austria gained control of/over northern §erbia and Oltenia with the Treaty of Passarowitz in 1718, I busied myself killing the very mortals that didn’t cherish or honor animal life.
§erbia...Σhhh, the country was far from memorable; unfortunately, the place was such a bore I wanted to leave an hour after I arrived. If I was getting frequent flyer miles I’d be an angry bitch if I lost all those precious miles flying to Serbia expecting worldly entertainment and wound up with nasty-tasting humans on distorted diet plans.
Ђe natural waters tasted of something unnerving to thy tongue; my taste buds gagged like drunken sailors. The turf itself was rough on my immaculate toes, and I was too good and too purified by the darkness to be tarnished by human soil on the polished marble of my feet.
Σven §iberian human life left little to be desired, my opinion of course. I chased a few mortals for fun and for something to do because I was getting tired of being bored and wound up regretting the spurt of their blood on my elegant white dress; an alluringly seductive dress ahead of its time during the Σra of my beginning.
Ђe way my Serbian victims screamed annoyed me, and by the time I sank my fangs into their necks, their veins thick and visibly full, I rolled my eyes, snatched their spines from their bodies, and left their birthday suits a R§VP for cake and ice cream another time. I took a rain check because I was lactose intolerant.
Why I was so attached to animals runs deeper than the gargantuan roots of sadistic rivers run dry, crumbs chiseled into the §ands of Time, scattered on the imposing wind, and gorgeously lying about like a Queen lioness all over the §ahara.
A desert that once teemed with beauty and life at one point in time, and the history of planet earth itself, before it became golden rock and rubble and golden sands with scorching temperatures circulating all about the atmosphere, and presently blown into our eyes, by the sudden rise of African §and §torms that threatens to blanket the earth with untold diseases, and till this very day, just as I say this to ye via my thoughts, that mystifies me…
It’s like Africa hath eyes and ears and a heart scolded because she was robbed of her riches by corporate greed, and she was sick and tired of being sick and tired of precious human life beaten and forced to dig inside caves with startling humidity levels beyond human understanding, for blood diamonds.
The stripping of Africa’s riches and the tomb raiding lead by American archeologists, and archeologists from all over the world, left the continent wrought with HIV infection. Millions of infected blacks die every year without treatment or medical care. They go ignored by the rich.
Those pesky mortals were trespassers and intruders on the ancient land, and on royalty! Raiding tombs and slapping price tags on what they find. It’s not yours.
Mortals, peasants I say!, now walk among centers of past royalty and world government and rule, smiling and laughing and snapping memorable photographs in front of African infrastructures (Ђe §phinx, the §tep Pyramid, et cetera), causing deceased Pharaohs and their wives and secondary wives and deceased descendants—R.I.P. — to turn in their tombs with disgrace and a deep sadness unknown to mortal psychology, or human thought because they art now afterthoughts, or no thought at all when it comes to banking off the sweat of the deceased Pharaoh’s brow.
§o what did their reign truly mean, if it had nothing to do with me, and didn’t pertain to me, and white men trying to own and possess the pyramids, and tourist attractions tarnishes the history of it all. Have they a heart?
Just as surely as I discarded my very own, maybe they don’t have a heart. If the Pharaohs were alive and still ruling Egypt those very same mortals would have been slain in vain without a second’s thought, or a second thought.
I mean…I had the right to get over things at my leisure, to use my Free Will when I saw fit, and I’ve encountered many people and supernatural beings in my life that tried to tell me otherwise, or have tried to influence my thoughts and decision making with bias and prejudice and discrimination, but doing so, getting over things by the rules and the principles of my own time table, of my own accord and mental standing, lead me to a legion of doom, but once I survived it, a warrior at heart, I come out on top a lot harder and tougher, with elegance of course, than I was before doom began.
My precious days were an abyss of blackness where I saw nothing as I fell, and flung about my arms in a discombobulated state, touching nothing, not even air, for it was being sucked from my lungs, and from the abyss itself, and the legion there in.
And if ye happen to be one that never carries his or her problems, dilemmas, anger, frustration and vengeance over into the next day, then I commend ye.
Illuminated Ones I consider ye, successfully crossing over unto the other side of consciousness, where mysticism fizzles at the sight of authoritative measures used to keep ye obedient and systematically controlled, back in the day merely saying “I love Christ!” got ye killed, without remorse or regret.
Art people willing to stand up and die for what they believe in?
Or do they just say it because it sounds good from the heart of the weakest, or the weakest group, in the bunch? Ђose that wanna “talk it out,” or those with the biggest mouths, the first to buckle in battle, actually buckling before the battle begins, ye art truly of a meek and mute group of individuals that get the hell knocked out of ye for something random, or for no reason at all. Ye soak it up, hide thy anger and pain by smiling and turning thy cheek because ye believed in non-violent movements, as in what Dr. Martin Luther King stood for.
Psst…Movement itself was violent; the way it slithers through the womb of evolution, and used by evolution itself to immobilize its agenda, and that was the core of disruption, a heat wave of ripples felt throughout the world via energy and vibrations.
We all operate on different frequencies, some on our level of thinking, tapping into our frequency, as well, and for the others, they aren’t so lucky, they will never be illuminated….