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Have ye ever heard the term, “If these walls could talk, I’d be in a world of mess?” Well, if my throat could talk there would be no needeth for the very words ye read now, which was unfortunate, since I mean what I say, and say what I mean, and that could be messy at times, so I guess that’s the only mess I’ve ever left behind, blood; blood staining walls of all kinds, carpets of all kinds, cathedrals of all kinds and synagogues of all kinds. I think of Rhee §hrine Temple, tucked away in the back woods of §outh America. Ђe name itself contradicted the culture of the continent, but the worshippers inside praise a God with a son named Jesus in the United §tates for profit, and what an enterprise they’ve become.

But once they return to their own country they denounce him and worship something completely opposite of what they talk about, and broadcast, and preach in sermons during Mass on Friday nights, and Friday nights only. Only 60 people know of this place, and they were sworn to secrecy or the price is death.

To be a part of this church, if ye will, requires a blood sacrifice, and what ye give up had to be the one thing that was the center of thy world. Ђey didn’t actually take a life, but the blood, life, was taken from a loved one, and shared and passed around with bread to other members.

Ye art stripped naked before the Body and everything part of ye, everything about ye was appraised, and they controlled ye and thy way of life. Dues once a month was $5,000 American Dollars, and was required to be paid through automatic debit from their bank accounts.

All members have careers, not jobs, and had loving families that didn’t know what they really did on Friday nights. Lying to their families, yet praising something sinister in the darkness of a forested, heavily guarded area.

Intruders, trespassers, even those that make a wrong turn and discover this place was executed on the spot, explaining the Missing Persons flyers hanging all over §outh America in remote areas, not metropolitan areas, which I found appeasing. Watching moneyed mortals play §ims, a popular video game among miserable wives; with the different facades of human life dictated with the push of a button and that entertained me more than entertainment itself, and I wasn’t into entertainment or Hollywood or music entertainers.

I’ve never wasted my time; I have more important things to do then to be distracted by “Puppets.”

I found it odd that congregation members were heavily watched and monitored the way they were, complete with cameras in their homes that weren’t of their ownership, owned by the Deacon Light of Rhee Chapel, video logs and data was taken before the end of each shift (a 8 a.m. shift, and the relief working head of security worked the 4 p.m. shift, both §outh American and spake of their dialect).

Members’ home phones art tapped, as well as congregation members’ cell phones, logs and data taken on those conversations as well, unknown to the congregation in a whole. Σven the staff of 3 people was heavily watched, anything done inside Chapel walls remained there, or the price was death, and a few people have already been murdered to protect the anonymity of the Chapel, and all unscripted and unpredictable laws within.

Ignorant members, a legion of followers with no one wanted to stand up and lead, or be a Leader, or be One of the Leaders, had no idea that their tithes provided the Deacon Light, that had a cold heart and humbleness out of this world to hide and mask it, the ways and means to monitor his members at his leisure, sometimes masturbating to married women, when they undress for work, when they love their husbands in a way that was inappropriate for mortals 17 years and younger. His wife was a selfish woman that feeds his needeth for greed, money, sex, drugs and importing and exporting them.

He and his loving wife lived in a four story Dynasty complete with remote control everything; they can run a bath and keep the water of the golden Jacuzzi at a certain temperature from their private plane, Ђe Decon Light and his wife. Ђey made frequent flights throughout the week, never traveling from Ђursday to §aturday, at the first sign of light, a few minutes after a rooster’s wake up call.

I thought it to be amazing, as I do say so myself.

His wife was a short, petite woman, filled with passion and prestige, come from a wealthy family, and was born into money so she didn’t know what working hard for thy achievements meant. §he was a dumb blonde when it came to making a sandwich, which she was incapable of doing. Till she banished her parents through death, inherited their estate and $4 million dollars with it, and by the time she attended college and met the Decon Light, of the same wave length they were, hitting it off the instant they looked into each other’s eyes. They had incredible sex an hour afterward to get it out of the way, to see if they were compatible with each other, as equally as they were in the free world.

He awakened to a sandwich, and…stipulations.

Ђey were a perfect sexual match.

He married her a week later and they have been inseparable, both studying Ђeology, both atheists. They were dedicatedly going through endless hours of studying and books and essays and tests and Mid Terms and participated in the hypocrisy of organized religion and attended vigorous Bible studies and winning bible matches in the Catholic §ociety by reciting over five hundred scriptures by heart, and by their graduation day (they even graduated together, I attended!)

I was so into this Power Couple and their way of thinking, and hurting anybody along the way for the greater cause of the Brass ring, drawn to them every time they used a relative for cash, to add to the pot they worked for and saved, sacrificing the luxuries of life and even the bare necessities to save money to build their own Chapel, and the accreditation that came with it.

To obtain it all, they invested in a tycoon that was heavily in the Underground Black Market, and he sold them a way to run a successful chapel and have it established as a religious organization, but remain off paper, remain under the radar, to where the government wouldn’t know about it.

And they jumped on it, and since graduation have grown into a $45 million dollar empire. Ђe Decon Light was a bestselling author, and an incredible, world renowned motivational speaker.

I began stalking them, watching them from every shadow, from every shade. I watched him while he dressed for work, a day in the office at the Chapel, where evil dealings with drug lords was the end result.

Drug dealers of all kinds poured money into his Chapel, in exchange for the church’s cooperation of finding ways to keep their money “clean.”

Ђe Decon Light hired the best people, swore them to secrecy, and required them to sign contracts upon hire date, and was subject to the same monitoring surveillance as that of his congregation, that worshiped him and he encouraged it.

He built a shrine for his wife on the inside of the Chapel, and every third Friday there was a massive orgy in the Chapel, and every member must attend.

Or the price was death.

I was enchanted by the Decon Light, a 6 foot tall §outh American man with an amazing body, smarter than published books, knew the Periodic chart by heart, and was a §cientist before retiring while he was young, when the wrong people pursued him for his intelligence, and went to college and studied Ђeology, figuring it a get rich quick scheme.

He met his wife in college, and she came with demons riding her limbs, every limb of her body, sitting like parrots on wooden staffs when idle or resting.

§crumptious to the male eye (she knew what they looked for, and gave them what they wanted, if they paid handsomely for it), she was sitting out at one of the tables having lunch, clad in a tight blouse, and tight black skirt inching up her thighs, and red pumps, dead ringer that she was a whore, but her sudden display of sentiment distracted me, as I watched from one of the shades by a huge row of trees, with branches; so thick and full they looked like miniature beasts, extending out, over and hundreds of feet past me, like some wooden infrastructure before the start of an amazing paradise.

§he was hurting over something.

Perhaps the source of her hurt, and that hurt came from the instrument on the table showing a positive sign…


Oh, no! §he was pregnant, but those weren’t “I’m Pregnant” tears she shed.

And the instrument that broke her heart really shewed a negative sign.


Why had she thought it was positive? A negative sign meant she wasn’t with child, and this destroyed her because she was purposely trying to get pregnant from a hot wrestler that was on Σ§PN regularly kick boxing for the big title. Her meal ticket expired before she got to use it, I’m sorry she was never granted a meal ticket, and the idea of the plot, and the successful activation of it fizzled, like a spark falling into the sea.

Hot tears fell from her eyes, and dripping from her chin into her milk, a devastated expression she had, feelings of guilt plagued her, her conscious reminding her every night that she killed her parents because they wouldn’t listen to her about their money and her plans for it, and now her attempts to get pregnant kept turning up the negative sign, the middle finger Life was giving her, or so it seemed, and I laughed to myself, eating an apple of a tree wrought with them, in the shaded area, and even banana trees.

With me sitting under it, on the well-cut grass, the trees teemed even brighter with life.

My hair snaked with poisonous venom atop my head, and the rich, silky scales, reflecting within itself the death of old skin, and the birth of new skin, over and over goes this repetition, and the blackened eyes, blinking as four tongues slithered, then hissed, cobra faces and the faces of the trapped souls there within transitioned into the silk of strands, and my hair sat, luxurious, elegant, classy, with a black tiara with red Polynesian pearls, glittering, the same color of my eyes.

Golden stardust glistened from my skin, a blinding light that came off more mute and laid back, defined by every dimension there within, the green of the leaves even greener, as green as they could get, and the soil beneath the well-cut grass, of which I sit, comfortably, the sun’s rays fifty feet away, stopping just at the start of the shadow that begins the shade of which I lounge, even richer, and the roots of the ground fifty miles in parameter, surrounding me, and was more vivid.

People noticed how much more gorgeous the scenery was, and I was happy they liked the powers of my mind. A few peasants pulled out their cameras and mocked the gorgeousness of it all by trapping a carbon copy of what it was, but what it was not, in the form of digital photos.

Mortals will snub a wet dream if it meant they could take pictures of it and send it to their guardians with Hi, Mom attached.

I was the Queen Mother, protector of animals, Her Own Government, like the Chapel in the Woods, its own government, one that will suffer the Wrath, soon…

Ђere was no other soul around me by fifty feet. They certainly couldn’t see me, even as they walked by, or when they strolled by. Four adult women just passed by me, chatting about sex and men. Is that all they talk about at those universities?

Delighted at the extent mortals would go for their own benefit, a welcoming package, hell why hadn’t I thought of it first, I ate one of those as well, a banana, the peeling with it, quietly watching, seeing what her life was going to build to, and whom life it would eventually affect, watching the Aggressive One’s future love interest.

§he killed her parents and made it look like a boating accident.

After the careful investigation by the authorities, and cooperating with the police to clear her name, she slept with the Chief, gave his penis the show it never received in its 56 year old life, paid him thousands for it all to go away, quietly, discreetly, and inevitably she was cleared of any wrong doing. Two average men, close friends, even closer than that, were wrongly apprehended.

All of the things she used to kill her parents were taken as evidence from the homes of the two men, men carrying a deadly secret. One vowed that he would take “the secret” to his grave, and the other was having nightmares keeping “the secret” under lock and key.

The instant they made those Vows the path of their lives took a turn for the worst. A few weeks later they met a sexy woman that randomly approached them and bought them drinks, after she laced it with drugs. §he lured them to one of their homes and planted the evidence, planted what could have gotten her life in prison.

After she planted the incriminating paraphernalia, while the two men were drunk, and snoring the night away, totally vulnerable, she stole the other man’s wallet, took his keys from his pockets and, around 2 a.m. drove to his home and planted the other incriminating items, and slipped out without incident, and without being seen by the neighbors.

Then she made a call…

The next morning, with an anonymous tip rolling through the switchboard from a low-speaking caller, the authorities were issued subpoenas from the court, an expedited request, to search the homes of the men. A team of 40 cops and §WAT combed both homes.

The investigation was successful.

The “planted” evidence collected added up to “I Murdered Two Innocent People with my Friend’s help!”

When it came to court, and putting the two innocent men on trial, the nightmare of their lives, she told her lies and performed Act 1, §cene 1 to the jury, and the judge, with the heart of a rookie actress in her film debut, to the delight of the Oscar Award’s Panel, if she was a thespian, for potential nomination for Best Actress.

Ђough I didn’t care for award shows, or rewarding a group of entertainers, movers and shakers that sold their souls for all they have, and for all they achieved, and for all that will never be again, I found it appealing. Part of the sale of the soul came with promising incentives and incidentals, tasting and experiencing a false sense of Heaven, with greater powers programming ye into a brand, a robot.

And the awards they received through the successful introduction of a new “trend,” or being the “Next Big Ђing,” or the because you’re the “It” girl, with a tyrannous father, were given out of favoritism, or through payola, intimidation, threats, or from the prejudice of the judging panel.

I attended the Trial of the Innocent Men from Day One to Day §even, and what unfolding testimony it was! One woman’s attempt to keep her sins with her till she goes to the grave she paid handsomely for, and she orchestrated it all because she pulled the strings. I was moved beyond words by her performance, and was even more impressed that the power of her money ensured her freedom, pay thy way outta jail, that’s what the moneyed folk were doing these days, do the crime, pay so ye don’t do no time.

Was that the new ideal, the new way?

And those indigent specimens, broke mortals that couldn’t afford a lawyer, I sat with spectators, in the guise of my enslaved mortal, with girl-next-door reading glasses, in front of a jury, crying and sobbing, painting the picture of a tightly knit family, filled with love and love of music and love of a Higher Power. “And ye took them away!” she screamed at the perpetrators, wronged men that hadn’t a clue who she was, or how they smoked crack with a baser and woke up in a world of legal drama, and no way out of it, and too broke for legal representation, so they represented themselves.

Ђe two men lowered their heads, red-eyed from crying all night, crying for every night they were taken in for questioning, and for the re-opening of the death of their sons, from Local Hero’s searching for their sons to Murders that single-handedly had the case yanked back open, and the focus of 115 news programs worldwide.

Ђey were praying to God, or a Higher Power, to be released from the nightmare they had no part of, and wanted no part in. But their sins overshadowed their innocence. Love making instead of keeping supervision of their kids in a deep forested area cost the boys their innocent, promising lives, and burying the bodies by a row of boulders…Ђey covered it up out of fear of being blamed, out of fear of §outh American prison…And instead they heavily rehearsed their story, called the authorities and reported them missing, and they had to live with this lie and the death of their boys, and the boys knew they were together in an intimate relationship and hated it, but never voiced it, letting the men play their game.

For the rest of their lives the guilt will eat them from the inside out, because the men couldn’t handle emotional things, or things dealing with pressure.

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