Tuesday, May 17, 2016

An Interview With Durham University


1) How you came to use BitTorrent? Did you try other ways of distributing your music first?

1) As an independent promoter, it first took a lot of self-education and courage to delve into the distribution side of the music and entertainment industry.  The first thing that it took to become as successful as I became involved with the music industry, was the material/product and a "gimmick."  Without a gimmick, I would never have been able to separate my name as a unique entity from other musicians that were up for record labels' speculation for future handling and cooperation.  Thus, I spent many years studying the "game",  and making music without releasing anything to the public.  Evantually, I began setting up webpages on MySpace, SoundClick, and others, but it wasn't until I received "sponsorship" from a small local promotion label that I felt prepared to market any release.  The next step for me, was to solidify the image that I had started build into the then still-shaping mold of the local music scene, so I went directly to a privately-owned small record store business and asked to have my mixtapes displayed for sale in their "Local" section.  This lasted for about a half a year, before the label that had signed me collapsed and folded under, and at which point, I withdrew my mixtapes from the record store.  In the meantime, I had looked at other ways of distributing my own music, already foreseeing the label's crumble due to the fickle state of the local scene in Syracuse, where the market was under continual change.  I decided "DatPiff", would be a good start because of it being the most popular rap mixtape download provider for public users on the internet.  I wrote DatPiff.com and explained that I was working with a label, and that I was promoting free downloads of Creative Commons music that I had created.  They agreed to let me upload onto their site, and I was one of the first independent hip hop artists to be included on the website.  For the reason that I was a trailblazer for other artists to get a chance to independently promote on DatPiff, I was very successful in my first releases on that site, in 2006 and 2007 and 2008, and it definitely helped me gain a mindset of a bold entrepeneur.  As I saw my successes gaining in momentum, I decided that "Torrent" files were a simultaneously expanding platform on the internet, which lead me to write "Mininova" and explain the circumstances that I was under, again, and gain a Content Distribution access account.  At first, while I was submitting material to the Library Of Congress, I used one account to upload a handful of mixtapes.  I also went ahead and set up a "ReverbNation" account that tied together Twitter, RSS Feeds, and FaceBook with already established streaming music pages for my promotional use.  When Mininova underwent internal changes, I was given a new account and that's where I began uploading a giant steady slew of my own mixtapes and albums.  I knew that Torrent was going to be a great way to distribute because of the fact that my uploads would be available on many different webpages, and not limited to just one site location.  It indeed was a great transformation for me as an artist, and took me to a level of professionalism that I had been waiting to achieve for myself, even as my former small label became defunct.  Distributing through Mininova has been a very useful part of my life, hobby, and career.  It has lead to me being one of the biggest names in Underground music history.

2) What you hope to get out of putting your music up on sites like Mininova?

2) By releasing my music on Torrent, I hope that I can help shape the future of music.  I also wish for my image to become a popular legend, worldwide, as the content has been downloaded in every country, and I have reached well over a million downloads on just Mininova.  This is all in the hopes that I will be able to transfer my entertainment image into a different business development one day, such as ownership of my own company, or mainstream success in music even, if a big record label reaches out to sign me and my artists.  Most of all, I hope that listeners enjoy my work.

In conclusion, I have found it to be a very satisfying and fun experience, distributing my music through Torrent.  I hope that others will share the success that I have found, and that we will continue to perpetuate new music for people to enjoy all over the planet.

3) You said that to become successful you need a play the "game". Do you feel that uploading your music to BitTorrent is more a way of making a name for yourself in the traditional music industry (a 'gimmick'), or do you see it as a step away from the usual music distribution model that could change how the industry works in the future?
3) To me, music is not a conventional business. The music industry serves a purpose in the business world, but in doing so sacrifices individuality for the ability to distribute mass-consumption products. I know that I've been successful in making a name for myself within the music industry, because I have received responses to my music from people like Wu-Tang, Diplomats, Ruff Ryders, 3-6 Mafia, Anticon, and many others. The point of my endeavors in the music industry are therefore as a separate, distinguishable entity that is not a member of the business. I make my point by firstly separating myself from the "puppets" of pop culture. Secondly, I produce my own unique sound that is pretty non-replicated. Although it definitely has developed into it's own sort of gimmick for me, I hope that this will be seen as a way to change the way the industry works. Hopefully, we will have more people producing better music from their own personal capabilities without being controlled by a label management, or gone askew through promotional vehicles of musical creation that often result in failure. Independent marketing is a strongpoint of my career.

PEACE

Monday, March 28, 2016

Tyr's Fall

TYR’S FALL
By Willard Tyler Moulton
Aka
Twyll The ChyllTyrant










The Story Of Tyr (Special Edition) (Chapter 1)

The Story Of Tyr…
The young prophesier profiteer
…THE STORY OF TYR…
Apprentice puppeteer’s frontier
The story of Tyr…

…Tyr…
In the first place, in outer space
There was once a ground on Earth base
And in the terminal of Dragons Eyes
They stood in the order of verbal masterized
And that’s where here’s quagmire of war
Became from swords with Empire’s form
And headfirst went the Dragons Eyes
Then came the murderers magnetized
Storming the hordes of Magna size
It’s like the townships can falter on Gibralter
But not crow the hounds of ol’ popped collars
And that’s where you get the young Cyborgers
Rerun challenges with X-games on firestorm
And then you tap headgame on choir songs
And now when you headchange it’s Greek as Tyrannusaur’s
THE STORY OF TYR…
One on one one hundred years
The Story Of Tyr…
One on one one hundred years
The story of Tyr…
It’s the crept back lean on chivalry kingdom
Because the head crack clean on civilly victims
Potato famines and that’s why we starving
And in times in hard, we got bribery farther
And the bibles we bothered were over-replaced
All stages and gambits of the dragons we blazed
And Zen as the faggots fire back in position
Jesters pause and grab it, tech lazer acc ripping
The window on the cribbo with the rubber plant
That’s when I get it in though, kid, Camelot jacks
Young stereo in sets or minstrels with jests
I get the cheerio like overlords by evangelists
I put proof in the pudding before we go on in
On the OverLord Tyr and the storms of his sin
And the Evangelist Christians and tormented
That’s where we sort of begin, what is the war?
It’s at 1300 or thereabouts after Edward was born
But this is the true story of Longshanks redemption, Banger
Greez and Casher Smith, the oh, so long tempted in danger
In The Story Of Tyr
One on one one hundred years
The story of Tyr…
One on one – One hundred years
THE STORY OF TYR…
One on – one – one – hundred years..
Let the story set place
Let the story set place..
Let the story. Set. Place..
Ready?
Song:  King’s Image
Shh.
Shhh..
Shhhh…
…Shhhhhhh…
It’s goblin desire gun angles swing hired
Empire crooked lean crooked the choir
It’s goblin desire gun angles swing higher
Empire crooked crooked crooked the flyers
It’s goblin desire gun angles swing swing
Empire Lean Empire Lean Empire Lean in.  In
The goblin desire gun angles swing higher
Empire crooked lean crooked the choir
It’s goblin desire gun angles swing higher
Empire crooked lean crooked the choir
Lean…
Ok…
Banger Greez, Casher Smith
Set the intro…
Let the Baron see the matchers with…
The intro…

100 years of war prepared our fieldhouse
With an arena for strategists in real towns
To mangle the civilians that migrated out
And tangle knights like gyrating clowns
Clouded mixed expectations of me and my chapter
Great consequences oversea Scotland mercenary masters
The ideas I choose had stewed with my crew
Casher Smith the town Evangelist already knew
But Banger Greez grew through Lord to Baron
And Casher Smith, he was baronet to the barren
Because although the herrings were high on errands
The gentlemen together are that much more arrogant
And the initial plight of our land’s unfair sharing
Went with the Prince of Bristol, whose hand was uncaring
And these were the simpler times of earlier theorems
When our ancestors mixed us in unholy harems
And the serums of secretions in secrets
Are the evilest deeds of the unbelievable creatures
Riding in that night, we saw distant the castles of Bristol
And then the ground shook for a dragon’s tickle
In the air of forges and fogs of horrors
Horses that rode beside us suddenly termed tortured
They were bound by Casher Smith’s million or so minions
Now they were blown away, like wind on an idiot
Peasants out there on the outskirts of Brighton and darkness
Shouted horizon a’rising on once then was Sussex
The sounds of these shrieks of the eye of fear
Had the Scots come down?  Or I, OverLord Tyr?
The doubts flew through their minds, shells of atrocity
And the hounds that knew mine, yelled out atrociously
At the height of the catastrophe
The final apocalyptic rhapsody
Behold the Dragon Beast

Goblins in choirs, the Tyr ain’t yet tired
Goblins For Greez of The Crooked Empire…
…My…
Quanta…
Psi…
Versa…
Psi…
Ir Ore & Cursa…
Quanta Psi…
Mersa Psi Tertia Ty Caedo…
Si Eartha…

Zway…

Zway…


The sway of the autumn on the Roman road
The vocalized spectrum of Omen’s of Ode
In the words of the sonnet often it’s quantum
Fluctuate the facts of Sodom and Gomorrah
And it’s something to fathom a natural mathematical
Anti-agnostic sort of spiritual battlefield
And then the words used are caused in a friction
English tradition held over from superstitions
It’s scroll was said harvest, the bottom of targets
The soul essence and garden of embodiment’s warden
And the crypt is the keeper of the feeling of tombs
And the lifted singers keep it feeling in our tunes
But on the heaviest of blooms of these overtones
Becomes the deadliest moon of Tyr The OverLord
As the persecution of Jews lead Paleolithic hues
Our personal dilemma became The Tribune’s new News
For in the fictional feuds of twilight’s truth
Is the frictional fuel to the magical tool, blind by truth
This is the moment of fate, the attonement was saved
The stolen graze of the Beast, the Unholy ones brave
This is the moment of time, the alignment of sky
The enlightenment of trine the fine signs of the sky sky
This is milestone grace, the firestone gates
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages await…
This is the moment of fate, the attonement is saved
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages wait…
For in the fictional feuds of twilight’s truth
Is the frictional fuel to the magical tool, blind by truth
The hypnotist of the inquisition was the suspicions
Yet the doubt of the Magna charter was its collision
And the suspicious crept lurking on the murky serfs
And propelled the wicked verses of hidden cursed
And the time of the wicked had befell our tavern
For in the nick of the hour the torment it battled
And the wise collected high tone on the autumn branches
Snapped them in half and so far as audible dances
In the invisible aftermath of this ravaged land
Casher Smith & Banger Greez & The Dragon of Death
It bellowed from out of the fury of fire & might
As the yellow flames flickered the red tongue’s fire bright
And the fire light as the fire’s sight was fires of fright
But the fire of the night landing surprised of no strife
This is the moment of fate, the attonement was saved
The stolen graze of the Beast, the Unholy ones brave
This is the moment of time, the alignment of sky
The enlightenment of trine the fine signs of the sky sky
This is milestone grace, the firestone gates
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages await
This is the moment of fate, the attonement is saved
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages wait…
In prior times candles, now the dragon was waxy
Its wings green like glass sheets of expensive hashish
And the hands were like talons and talented haunches
Crept low on the ground and stood tall and undaunted
As its snarls grew on its nostrils its lips were then bled
Haunts crawled through the curls on the back of its head
The eyes of an infinite demon, with a daemon inhuman
And if its size was intimidating or beastly, imagine it suited
With plates of great flanks, scales like paneled armor
And a stake in its tail that whipped out at any karma
If it saw its greatness magnified so magnificent
The whole hatred of battle cries seemed insignificant
But the Mages were felt before the swaying earth fell
And they say they aren’t Saints, but Banger Greez ain’t to tell
For the moment its legs struck out in advancement
With The Mage of Bristol, the Prince had his chances
This is the moment of fate, the attonement was saved
The stolen graze of the Beast, the Unholy ones brave
This is the moment of time, the alignment of sky
The enlightenment of trine the fine signs of the sky sky
This is milestone grace, the firestone gates
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages await…
This is the moment of fate, the attonement is saved
The Golden Spiral of faith, the Mages wait…
Underground dwellings with low cut ceilings
Were the homes of masterminds as well as crooks in dealings
Forsaken searchers of the flame that Dragon did bellow
Were among the trees and the unEarthly fellows
The road of Rome had long been abandoned
But our hope of a tablet and stone of Commandments
Was reached deep in the shame of the Mage’s potent sway
Where the Earth reaches density and the Dragon had stay
The wind of the sea can then shift it’s pace
And the Dragon and flame drifted out into bits of starry space
The Mage Vocal Zway, the legend of sorcery
But be warned of the Dragon, for its source is our forgery
 “Come on, then, bloody Baron, Banger Greez or thereafter,
Beware the thuggish Scot mercenaries and the treaty their after”

Banger Greez, Casher Smith, Vocal Zway, and the squad
Here we stay, that’s the way, ok and Hammer The Scots
This is a fellowship born out of the battles of thought
A wide awakening within to the grandest of God
This is a fellowship here, and it was born out of fear
The eye of the dragon, and for I, OverLord Tyr
And here we stray, this way, ok Longshanks rescue
The ways of the Mage Vocal Zway had kept askew
But more on a faction of the land to be tract
And the action of man, and the plan of attack
Because of Princes of sale, as printed on mail
Stamps the seal of an envelope from which out I hail
The OverLord Tyr, contractor of taverns and jails
Led by the secrecy of The Dark Ages and hidden in Wales
But if I knew of the reasons, they’d be long to tale
So although Wales is my partnership, my ship is on sails
Off the coast the Isle of Wight, I watched the fight
Caught off in the night, where without Arthur, I write
The Story Of Tyr, must begin with my oath
For although your trust is tenfold, my wisdom was both
So listen up to the toast to the one that I’ve known
King Edward of England and the kidnapping of throne
For born of Henry III, he was given such prominence
Concerning the Barons, first he signed his own Providence
Teaching us that to fight death one must first honor it
And that the wicked pay penalty untouched by tolerance
I speak of times of hardships that started in Lewes
We took the rights of the Jews, and tried not to lose
I seek of time’s hardships and the need for some suze
Old days of a kingdom resurrected in 1272
Henry died that year, and at his height of Crusades
Edward the sung son, through the light fought to escape
He made his way home.  Two years on Rome
Where he was taught of long verses from which where I roam
I had been privileged of treasures, let’s say I was old
The Prince of Wales held securely my own weight in gold
I had began writing the verse that would pose as the sonnet
That captivated William Shakespeare and Poe and young Thomas
These hidden scriptures no scroll or soul could outdo
I was notarized by Poseidon and returned with the crown jewels
Barons of buffoons unfit for their own food
Overthrowing the Empire before knowing their own feud
Inspired by the trine of Amaury, Guy, and Simon
The coup was a ruse like this story that I’m writing
Cousins to the Old King, Patriarch Henry
Now sworn as French Barons rich on a Dynasty
They had been French from day one, now Edward their enemy
Although Evesham had left them divided only the prior century
Edward had slay Simon in a battle of knights
Pawns in the war over land captured in fog and night
Song and sprite, God and light, fawns and our life
We were caught like a cauterized knife on a slice
We were wrought of the hot and the frugal alike
But lost in the fog where only the Ruler ignites
We speak of a time when the peasants and serfs
Sold lives for less than nothing, and more than their worth
The Romans had brought Christ to the Neanderthals that were here
And so had cost life to evolve out of fear, like Tyr
Seriously seer the Sirs and search for Guinevere
Yet the stake at which we fought was gullibly all clear
Little to live for, the peasants of the old 13th
Led blind into sections of cultured harvests in mercy
Crops that were taxed, handled and led to the thirsty
Fed back to the mouths of the unvaccinated and dirty
And these were easy times between then and the 14th
Knights fought for a fortress they were then forced to leave
Chivalry is an easy game for the starved and the depraved
Bitterly played by a dark kingdom of slaves
They themselves were barely worth great recognition
Missing link figures that would break with no weapons
The Barons, the headpieces of the feudal lordships
Were more apt to mercenary life than the brutal warriors
They had charge of each village, for as small as it was
They had to settle treaties with the all the Lordships above
It had been surcharged to the quest of our Banger Greez
To exchange wicked jests of angry and players of the freed
The merchants awaited notice at the tavern they came
Burning awake the moments that alcohol never saved
The tract was a settlement to cross the Roman roads
And bring wine to a small township Casher Smith had exposed
For in desperations sought those wicked caught out as a foe
Spirits of the bottle were thought of as stops in our bones
Where Banger Greez stood out on precipice of battle
His apprentice the Evangelist might have outcast his own shadow
Wales had been quote civilized and security maximized
But while they minimize penalty, criminals were taxed to die
So while I stood a while on the Isle of Wight
I was understood as I could that what is wrong isn’t right






The Prodigal Son











THE LIAR’S OATH
THE LIAR’S OATH
THE RIVERBED

EXT – TWILIGHT – RIVERBANK – BLACK AND WHITE
(We see a fisherman reeling in his line, and grabbing his tackle box. He looks about 35-40 years old, and is wearing a plaid overcoat, and waders. He walks away from the riverbank. Camera swings to show a Midwestern small town in the distance. A crow calls.)
WE CUT TO:

INT – POST OFFICE
(The camera rests, viewing a middle-aged mail sorter taking letters out of a row of boxes labeled “Outgoing”. Some of the boxes are overflowing. Names are labeled above each box, with addresses beneath. He does so with a couple dozen letters before he reaches into his bag one last time, and takes a solitary letter out of an empty box. The name on the box says “Jackson”. He then walks out of the desk area into the reception area and picks up his coat. He walks past the camera, which swings to follow him out the door. When he gets outside, the camera follows him through the glass window as he passes, walking to the right. The camera, after he is out of sight, then swings down to show that it is resting on a box. At the top of the box is a hole. The camera focuses in on the hole.)
MAIN TITLE – THE LOTTERY
EXT –MID MORNING
(Mr. Summers, wearing businessman attire, is walking down a long street of the village, the sun at his back. He looks to be about 60 years old, he is humming an old farmer’s song, which we hear from a distance. Alongside of him walks his wife, wearing a plain black dress. The camera is located behind and under a post office sign. As they near the post-office, a man of about 30, wearing a postal worker uniform steps out and puts his hand over his eyes. He has a big bag on his back. When the couple gets closer, the camera swings down off the post office sign and focuses on Mr. Summers. Everybody is smiling, cheerfully yet distantly.)
MR. SUMMERS
Howdy, Jim. Mail come in yet today?
JIM
No sir. This time of year, you know how things
can get.
Oft times than not, the fella usually brings it,
ends up having to saddle up at least a couple
horses.
Just to get the mail in town,
there’s almost always three if not four packs.
MR. SUMMERS
(laughs too loud)
Ah, yes. Relatively speaking, it seems as though
this time of year
things really can get hectic with all the long losts
wanting
to not be forgotten by the soon to be.
MRS. SUMMERS
What on earth?
JIM
I know what he means. So many want to be
remembered,
in case you forgot, it’s almost seeding season.
MR. SUMMERS
Just about time to get that old carpenter out.
What do you think about the notion of a new box?
MRS. SUMMERS
Oh, that!
Well what’s the purpose anyway?
JIM
Hmm…
(looks in the window, to the right, looks back at mr. summers and shrugs)
MR. SUMMERS
None at all I suppose. Except the poor priest
who has to dig his hand in the God-forsaken thing.
I can’t imagine the feeling he’d have, worrying
about a splinter.
JIM
(chuckles)
MRS. SUMMERS
That is completely awful, for you to even
think of such a thing.
MR. SUMMERS
(smiles widely, obviously proud of himself)
Nothing like a bible with bloodsmeared page-
corners.
I suppose I should call out that carpenter.
(Camera angle switches to behind the crowd, below the post office sign, in front of the door. A man is walking down the street with a bag over his shoulder. The crowd is in the left hand corner, the man walks down the street, in the center. The man is dusty, and has a stubbly beard. The post office sign creaks in the wind.)
JIM
Who’s that feller? You know him Mike?
MR. SUMMERS
Nope, can’t say I do.
Hey!
Hey there!
New to town?
(the man crosses over to the right hand side of the screen. mr. summers, crosses behind his wife to greet him. the man peers into the camera, and then turns to mr. summers.)
MAN
A box in the front window.
An uninhabited casket?
I’ve been through the yards of three houses
with closed shutters. With closed doors in the
spring.
I’ve been through the borders of three towns.
With three boxes.
MR. SUMMERS
(frowns)
We don’t take kindly to poetry here.
There’s no such thing as a poet with meat on his
bones.
Only poetry to my ears, is the music of a strangers
footsteps
on his way out of my town.
MAN
I won’t be staying, anyway.
Just came by to drop off this here bag of mail.
I heard from back yonder, you speaking of long
rides,
and of short lives. What I heard was mockery.
The third lottery.
The third lottery, and it will only be consolation
to know that you didn’t forget the poor priest.
Because, blessed be his soul, who abstains.
And of robbery? Forsaken be his soul who
obtains.
MRS. SUMMERS
That sounds blasphemous!
JIM
(shakes his head)
MR SUMMERS
(grabs the bag off of the man’s shoulder)
Get on.
I’m only gonna tell ya once.
JIM
Here’s the outgoing.
(throws a bag on the ground)
(Camera switches to from the road, back to facing the sun. The man picks up the bag and walks towards the camera, while the crowd stands beneath the sign, watching him. Mr. Summers spits on the ground.)
JIM
Damn postmen, can’t keep from prying
into others’ businesses.
WE CUT TO:
EXT – MID DAY
(Camera shows various shots of empty fields, outside of town. The time of the shots grows later with each shot.)
WE CUT TO:
EXT – LATE AFTERNOON
(Camera shows a schoolhouse. A bell tolls. Children pour out of the front door, and a couple even climb out of a side window and run in every direction. After the last child walks out, a woman appears in the frame of the door. She is smiling, and yet her eyes look distant, as were Mr. Summers’. She is wearing a black dress. A priest walks past the screen to the left. He waves as he passes, she waves back and turns back inside.)
INT – SCHOOLHOUSE
(The teacher walks through an aisle of desks to a larger one in front of a blackboard. The camera follows and stops at the seventh row. On the desk is a nametag; “Mrs. Jackson”. She picks up a folder from the front of the desk and puts it in an open briefcase. She then walks back towards the camera.)
INT – KITCHEN – NIGHTTIME
(The camera is in a doorway. In the frame are Mr. Jackson [the fisherman] and Mrs. Jackson. Mr. Jackson is wearing the plaid overcoat, and blue jeans. Mrs. Jackson is wearing the same black dress. The man is sitting at the table eating a fish. The woman moves from the stove to the table and sits down in a chair.)
MR. JACKSON
Did you check the mail?
MRS. JACKSON
It hadn’t arrived, when I stopped at the post office.
MR. JACKSON
Probably lottery month.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it arrives
in the morning.
MRS. JACKSON
I’ll check on the way to school.
MR. JACKSON
Don’t worry about it.
I have to go there anyway.
MRS. JACKSON
Last words?
MR. JACKSON
No,
(chuckles)
I have to see if
they got a new box in there.
MRS. JACKSON
(frowns)
Is that supposed to be a joke?
It isn’t the least bit funny.
MR. JACKSON
(sets down his fork, grins)
No, I’m serious.
Or at least curious.
Besides, I haven’t much to do anyway.
I’ll head over to the school around 11,
if we have any mail.
Don’t suppose we will.
Your mother never writes us.
She’s so superstitious.
MRS. JACKSON
Well. Aren’t we all, then?
MR. JACKSON
You know what?
As long as the harvest comes in,
I’m satisfied.
Until the year comes that droughts and
dust bowls reach this here town.
I’ll always be supportive of superstitious
tradition.
MRS. JACKSON
I’m not contradicting,
but hypothetically
this could be a good year
for harvest anyway.
I don’t see the point of a lottery.
It’s just a waste of time, for old Summers.
My theory is that his only purpose
is to find another pastime.
Lest I remind you that he was,
after all, a drunkard when he was our age.
MR. JACKSON
(frowns, gets up with his plate, brings plate to the sink. turns around.)
Everyone is so moody nowadays.
I remember when this was routine.
Almost a tourist attraction.
Now it’s all hushed over the town.
Gossipers still have a field day.
But it’s all downright demeaning.
Ms. Hutchinson, for instance
covered the whole town,
starting rumors that Father Warner
was fixing it.
MRS. JACKSON
If anybody fixed it, it would be Ms. Hutchinson.
MR. JACKSON
Why do you say that?
(leans back against counter, folds arms)
MRS. JACKSON
You know why.
(whispers)
Tessie.
MR. JACKSON
We’ll see tomorrow.
We’ll see.
I’m going to bed. I have to see if
that other carpenter got that
box fixed, tomorrow.
(turns to walk to the door)
MRS. JACKSON
Wait!
(she gets up, looks at her husband. her eyes are wide.)
MR. JACKSON
What?
MRS. JACKSON
(looks down at his plate, back up at him.)
I wanted to say…
MR. JACKSON
I know.
(he turns around)
Lotta work to do tomorrow.
I have to get to bed.
Good night.
WE CUT TO:
INT – POST OFFICE
(The camera is at the angle from the box, viewing the reception area. Three postal workers are in the building, and a line of five people stand at the desk. Jim is handing a woman a handful of letters. The middle-aged postman is sitting in a chair behind the desk. The third has a bag on his back and is walking out the door. Mr. Jackson is third in line. He taps the postman with the bag on the shoulder, as he passes.)
MR. JACKSON
Heading out of town?
POSTMAN
I’ll be back before six.
MR. JACKSON
(smiles)
Any mail?
POSTMAN
Don’t ask me, look for yourself.
You can see as good as I can.
MR. JACKSON
(glances over to the box marked “Jackson”, which is empty)
No mail?
POSTMAN
Not today.
No mail.
MR. JACKSON
(steps out of line. a woman behind him fills the space. he follows the postman out the door.)
(Camera swings to follow the postman walking right past the window. Mr. Jackson stands in front of the door and lights a cigar. A woman walks past and coughs, sneers. Mr. Jackson turns left and walks away out of sight, as a bell tolls 12. Camera remains in position as bell tolls, and at the last ring, a woman walks out of the door with a handful of mail.)
WE CUT TO:
EXT – AFTERNOON
(Father Warner walks down a street with a box in his hand. The box is old and splintering wood. It is painted black, but wood shows through, where it has splintered. The camera focuses on the box, from an upward angle, but Father Warner is in the full frame. He stops as a crowd of five people hurry in front of him, they are all talking at once, and wearing black dresses and jeans. We do not see their faces. A small boy approaches the box, as Father Warner is standing still. We see the back of his head, and a black school outfit from the waist up, from the bottom of the screen. He tosses a rock in the air and catches it.)
FATHER WARNER
(turns to face boy, then turns back to start walking again. his face is solemn.)
BOY
(runs up and behind warner, tugs his right sleeve. as he does, a couple of rocks fall out his left pocket onto the ground. he bends over to pick them up.)
Aww, geez louise.
I can’t even keep them all in my pocket.
I got some nice ones though. I like the flat ones.
FATHER WARNER
(continues walking away from the boy)
BOY
(follows behind father warner, after picking up the stones)
(The camera stays focused on the box but slowly backs up, and swings to the right. We see a large crowd standing around the front of an old church. The Father walks through the crowd and the boy stops in the back. The crowd spreads for the Father, and when he gets to the door of the church, he sets down the box on a small table that is set up to the left of the door. Mr. Summers appears with his wife. The camera switches to a view from above the crowd, on the right side of the door, looking down on Father Warner and Mr. Summers. They face each other. Mr. Jackson is behind the box , to the left, behind a few other people. Mrs. Jackson is not in the picture. Jim stands towards the front of the crowd, facing the door. The sneering woman from the street, earlier, is standing next to him.)
MR. SUMMERS
Well let’s get this under way.
Is everybody from the town present?
Mrs. Hutchinson?
(The woman next to Jim takes a step forward. She is Ms. Hutchinson.)
MS. HUTCHINSON
I’ve counted twice already.
Nobody is missing.
Are the family names in the lottery box?
FATHER WARNER
(frowning)
Of course they are.
We just used the name tags
from the postal office.
JIM
(coughs)
MR. SUMMERS
Now everyone knows how this works.
We’ve been through this countless times.
Family lottery first.
Let’s go, then. We haven’t got eternity.
FATHER WARNER
(stares out into the crowd. his eyes are vacant and sad. he reaches down to the box, and pulls the top off.)
(The camera switches to Mrs. Jackson, who is in the middle of the crowd. She is biting her lip. She is not near her husband, but her eyes look back and forth across the crowd.)
MR. SUMMERS
(voice only)
Well, who do we have?
FATHER WARNER
(voice only)

We have…
(coughs)
We have Jackson this year.
MRS. JACKSON
(eyes widen, jaw drops)
(The camera switches to Mr. Jackson, from behind. He scratches his head, and turns around, looking for his wife. The look on his face is of astonishment. The crowd is bubbling with excitement.)
MR. SUMMERS
Well, fair is fair.
Jackson party, step forward.
(grabs the box and empties it into a bag under the table)
MR. JACKSON
Hold on sir, that can’t be right.
MR. SUMMERS
(grabs some pieces of paper out of his right breast pocket)
Well, isn’t it Father?
What does the paper say?
Read it again.
FATHER WARNER
(looks at the paper, and down at the ground)
The name is Jackson.
MR. SUMMERS
(looking at the blank pieces of paper in his hand, he takes one, crinkles it up, and puts it in the box.)
Well, fair is fair.
You know the rules Jackson.
Where is Shirley?
She has to step forward.
Father, put in the marked slip.
(Mrs. Jackson steps into frame, at the top, squeezing through the crowd. She stands opposite her husband near the box. She doesn’t look at her husband, she stares at the box. Father Warner pulls out a piece of paper with a dot on it from his pocket. He crinkles it up, into a small ball, and drops it in the box. He looks at Mrs. Jackson and steps back.)
MR. SUMMERS
Well, only one of you has to pick.
Who will it be?
MR. JACKSON
Me. I’ll pick.
Me.
MRS. JACKSON
(takes a step towards the box, still a few yards away)
FATHER WARNER
(grabs mr. jackson’s arm as he walks past, reaching for the box.)
My son.
(the look on his face is stoic, he is afraid)
MR. JACKSON
(sighs loudly, almost whimpering, and reaches in the box while closing his eyes.)
(The camera switches to the outer left side of the box, facing the door and Mr. Summers. We see Mrs. Jackson next to Mrs. Summers. Her eyes are wide. She is almost in tears. Mr. Jackson’s arm reaches down, and covers up Mrs. Jackson on the way to reach for the slip of paper from the box. He retrieves a crumpled up slip, and pulls it out. His arm disappears and we see Mrs. Jackson again, looking above the camera intently, to where her husband is standing. She is shaking. Mrs. Summers yawns. Mr. Summers does a quick glance from Mr. to Mrs. Jackson. His eyes stay on Mrs. Jackson.)
MR. JACKSON
(voice only, which is trembling and breaking)
Blank.
(The camera zooms in on Mrs. Jackson, very quickly. She shrieks suddenly, and covers her mouth. She is fainting, but is caught by the people behind her, who steady her up. The camera switches to the right side of Mrs. Jackson’s face. A few people begin digging in their pockets in the small part of the crowd that we can see. Others are shaking their head. A tear slides down Mrs. Jackson’s cheek.)
MR. SUMMERS
(voice only)
Too bad Jackson.
Buckle up though. It’s alright…
Alright.
Shirley?
Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.
(The camera stays on Mrs. Jackson’s right cheek. A rock comes flying from one of the crowd people, it hits her on the other side. Her eyes flutter up. As she turns around, facing the camera, a dozen more rocks come flying at the back of her head. On her cheek is a cut. The blood is red. The scene cuts to black.)

BLACK SCREEN NO WORDS
MR. SUMMERS
Looks like we’ll need a new teacher.
NICK
Every road, every river, every singular life has
two sides.
A tributary here, tribulation there.
A Beginning to it, and an End to it.
Ever since I was young, I chose to see not just the
end.
For what is more futile, frugal, and refutable than a
picture
of a dying man?
In the minds of the great thinkers that our grand
Earth has seen
come… and go.
What has ever been more worthless, than an
emptied hand of gold?
A sandless hourglass?
Or a locomotive without a station, full of new
beginnings?

WE CUT TO:
EXT-AFTERNOON – TRAIN CABOOSE RIDING AWAY - COLOR
(rising camera angle from tracks to nick on right side of railroad)
MAIN TITLE APPEARS – A BIG TWO-HEARTED RIVER
NICK
(camera swerves, follows behind nick, who is wearing a cowboy hat, leather vest, and boots with blue jeans.)
(spits to the right, spins to the left, crosses railroad track. nick is approximately 75 years old.)
I… am Nick Adams.
I have lived here for quite a while. Not here, right
on these tracks.
WE CUT TO:
(pan shot of railroad, as train is taken into the distance along tacks.)
But over the land, I have lived. And someday, I
will leave.
Might right now. Maybe tomorrow…
I never professed to be a great thinker, never wrote
books of poetry.
Never stayed awake, devising new methods to
conquer
mathematical equations.
But I know one thing for sure… Everything
comes to a juncture.
WE CUT TO:
(nick’s back, as he stares down railroad at train.)
Like this railroad.
There was a station here at one time. I remember.
There used to be three roadhouses just behind me.
(as nick walks towards wooded area, camera pans 180 degrees.
shows an empty lot behind nick, a little overgrown.
pans further right to show a foundation of a building.)
There was a hotel right there. The Mansion, they
called it.
I guess they moved on.
We always gotta keep moving somewheres.
Not always fun. But well, this life of ours.
It’s not always too bad either.
I won’t call it either which way. But damned if I
don’t remember
hanging up my coat in The Mansion late Friday
nights.
Slipping the booze out of my jacket pocket.
And,
(laughs)
sharing a little philosophical thought with a dame.
I guess I ain’t always been too much of a great
thinker.
But I remember at least a couple times saying
those same
damn old words to a dame.
We always gotta keep moving to somewhere.
WE CUT TO:
EXT – NICK – HIS BACK, FOLLOWING HIM, IN THE WOODS
My thoughts must be unwinding in this cool breeze.
Somewhere in the back of those changing leaves, I
left a memory.
I see the laughter of the sky on the back of my
neck.
And I see the rays dream of liberation.
I smell the pine.
(camera swoops through a pine tree, focuses on a single cone.)
So long I was living a purpose that had gone
without saying.
So long, I had forgotten my problems. What they
were, to begin with.
(camera cuts to the front of nick, moving with him.)
As I walk between these trees,
I feel as though each claim a soul.
A soul that, whether I would ever really need to
know, i disowned, and slowly forgot.
Until now.
(slowly camera closes in on nick, centering on his forehead)
And whether or not I had before believed in such
superstition,
is not of a consequence that matters to the
mortality of my imagination.
I’ve never built upon that lost souls vacancy
with respectful objectivity.
And well, what had been left behind was
somewhat of a reminder.
(camera switches off nick’s forehead, to a tree stump on the ground.)
Like the stumps of fallen pine. Whether burned,
or otherwise reduced to oblivion, to my memory
which recedes into
utterly bitter oblivion.
(camera swoops over stump, follows circular imprint on the top)
These souls.
Which seem to forever exist within a space of my
own, yet out of my control.
Or at least what resembled them, was replaced
with
my wandering heart’s longing for companionship.
(camera switches back to nick from behind, follows him into clearing.)
I am old nowadays.
Kid’s don’t call. My friends have heeded their
own. I have gotten old. And have heeded only my
own damn lusts, have betrayed my own trust.
WE CUT TO:
(a piece of dandelion pollen blowing past nick’s leg.)
Like the pollen in the air, I was whimsical to every
gust that blew, to the blue sky, to the blue water.
And have done thus, as I am returned to dust.
I am so old,
but so old that I can only remember…
(nick walks up to riverbed, pulls of the harnesses of the pack he is carrying, sets it on the ground.)
WE CUT TO:
(right side-portrait of nick standing along river.)
I can only remember…
The hot summer air. Youthful and beautiful.
Coursing blood running through my veins.
Running alongside this very river,
as if it was symbolic of the nature of my life.
(camera begins panning left, towards nick’s front.)
As if I would ever find it’s source.
Buried so deep in the tall mountains, that it would
only be trickled out.
Bit by bit, here and there.
Til it reaches the vastness.
(camera shows only nick’s eyes.)
As I reminisce of those days, those mornings
waking to her by my side.
Or any of the moments,
that I was oh so quick to push onward through,
and so willingly throw myself towards whatever
lurked beyond
the next bend
of this river.

(camera shows fish jumping in river. Switches back to nick’s boots as he reties his laces. Rises upwards as he reaches for a smoke from his inner shirt’s pocket.)
Blending with my surprise, surrounding my prison
of life.
I feel freedom inching towards the walls.
Rescue me!
Rescue me river,
for I am riven with doubts of my past.
I feel as if the wind picks up a little now.
And my mind races with it to forgive
if not myself,
if not my life’s worth
for giving in to troublesome years.
(Nick lights cigarette)
If only a moment to travel…
backwards.
Through time.
To my youth.
I stare across the river, now.
To the bed on which we laid.
You.
And I.
(SCENE CUTS TO FLASHBACK)
EXT – EVENING – SHOT OF FULL MOON – BLACK AND WHITE

MARJORIE
Look at that, isn’t it gorgeous?
(Nick and Marjorie lay on the back on riverbed. camera is across river, but focuses in on them, coming down to their front. Marjorie points up to sky, then turns over on side facing Nick)
NICK
Pretty much the same as every other night.
Nothing particularly interesting about it.
MARJORIE
(frowns)
It’s full though, doesn’t it make you feel like
the air is magical?
NICK
Not particularly.
MARJORIE
What’s the matter, Nick?
NICK
I don’t know, Marj.
MARJORIE
(sits up and grabs a picnic basket)
NICK
I’m not hungry.
MARJORIE
I know, but I am.
NICK
... You know everything.
MARJORIE
Oh, Nick, please cut it out!
Please, please don’t be that way
NICK
I can’t help it,
you do.
You know everything.
That’s the trouble, you know you do.
MARJORIE
(throws back basket stares at Nick)
NICK
I’ve taught you everything.
You know you do.
What don’t you know, anyway?
MARJORIE
You don’t have to talk silly.
What’s really the matter?
NICK
I don’t know.
MARJORIE
Of course you know.
NICK
No I don’t.
MARJORIE
(turns her back to Nick)
Go on and say it.
NICK
It isn’t fun anymore.
(turns over and looks at Marjorie’s back.)
It isn’t fun anymore.
Not any of it.
I feel as though everything has gone to hell inside
of me.
I don’t know Marj.
I don’t know what to say.
MARJORIE
Isn’t love any fun?
NICK
No.
MARJORIE
(stands up, walks to the shore)
(camera swings to the back of them as she walks.)
I’m going to take the boat. You can walk back
around the point.
NICK
All right,
I’ll push the boat off for you.
MARJORIE
You don’t need to.
(as marjorie gets in boat, camera swings back to moon, crosses river and lands back on old nick’s eyes.)
EXT – TWILIGHT - COLOR
(nick stands on riverbed with fishing pole in his hands.)
NICK
How many years have gone by?
Was it as long to these woods?
Were I to judge myself…
Would I only be reduced to the unfortunate?
Would life, in my last wishes be relived?
Could it be?
This river, it winds high from the mountains
down into this earth.
This place man calls home.
And the wind, it arrives high from these mountains
down to this water.
This place called longing.
But what belongs to what?
Am I not as the water falls?
To what do I belong?
(Nick shakes his head, begins walking up the river)
It’s getting dark fast.
I’ve got to make camp.
(Nick starts walking up the river to a clearing)
WE CUT TO:
INT – NIGHT – INSIDE OF TENT
(Nick sits inside, a mosquito hovers around. Nick lights a match, burns mosquito.)
WE CUT TO:
EXT – DAYTIME – RIVERSIDE
(nick stares into water)
NICK
When life touches someone, a handprint is often
left.
Fingernails sometimes scratch.
Every once in a great while, skin is broken.
I bleed this river.
Like I bleed my own blood.
Let one drop symbolize what remains of my
actions,
on this planet.
And off of it.
Let one whirlpool represent the reflection.
And one cascade become my demise.
If it is so then, let this one long cascade,
swallow me.
(Nick wades into the water, knee-high, then chest-high, then
eventually neck-high, until all that we see is his hat floating in the river.
The hat floats off downstream.)
WE CUT TO:
BLACK AND WHITE – EXT – DAYTIME – RIVERSIDE – BLACK AND WHITE
(Nick returns out the other side with his hat in his hands.)
NICK
Some people will wonder what ever happened to
Old Nick Adams.
Although I didn’t live a bad life.
But as the years change everything, so has
everything changed
my yearnings. And today,
I yearned to let the change stand the test time
offered.
And let the change release from the anger and
frustration
that had so captivated me in my life.
Anger at the wrong turns, for there is no wrong
turn
in this river.
Frustration with the world and it’s lack of purpose
anymore.
My will is done.
I was Nick Adams.
I am free.
(scene fades to black, as camera rises up to sun.)

PART 2:  TWYLL TH’ CHYLLYTRANT MONOLOGUES

(Twyll The ChyllTyrant gets offstage to a roar of applause and people chanting the name Tyrant accapella)
INSIDE - DARKLIT
Tyrant emerges behind a curtain backstage, left side of screen.
Tyrant:   hi.  i'm tyrant and to me, making funky music is a must.
Tyrant walks to the backstage exit, passing in front of camera, for a closeup of the right side of face.
Tyrant:  i recently found out that if you have a
ukulalee or even a pair of morracas or some triangles maybe a fuckin electric guitar or some shit.  you can be someone like david bowie or 50 cents. 
Tyrant walks out the exit.
OUTSIDE - DAYLIGHT
Tyrant proceeds to walk down a short stair down a street.  Camera follows on right side.
(pause as he looks right at the screen)
Tyrant:   that means you got shot at, either from the back or front, and then the pictures were put on the cover of entertainment weekly, and you'll be famous.  and being famous automatically always almost usually means that you make a lot of dollars, which buy you new pants.  what's with these young men and pants these days?  it's like a i don't know...  something that i'd have to think more about.
Tyrant continues to walk down the sidewalk.  Speaking while walking.
Tyrant: i do think that being a musician can be a great starting point for a narcotics career, too.  or if your a musician long enough you can even be an actor in your own commercial, that people will have to struggle to forget, or you can dance, for a lot of money, or you can die and everyone will make a big thing about it.  so take for instance the massive support shown off for sprite by the rap community.  nothing like fairy juice to quench your thirst if your a hardcore gangster.
(Camera switches angles to face out onto the street as he continues to walk and turns a block)

Tyrant:   but by no means do you have to be a hardcore gangster to rap.  you don't even have to SING to rap!  all you have to do is have a cool name, and then apply a few rhymes to a rhythm of any type.  in fact, being hardcore in rap is a good way to sign your death sentence.  take for example; big l, notorious b.i.g., big pun, and pimp c.  maybe 2pac, but i heard he did ballet.  anyways, most other rappers are pretty normal, pretty upright regular churchgoing good guys.  i think they get a bad rep, and its a shame.  why would jadakiss really kill anybody?  why is the black eyed peas and wyclef jean producing big hits these days?  is anybody thinking to themselves right now "where did those mid 90's hardcore gangsters go?"
(In front of restaurant)
Tyrant looks right at the camera.
Tyrant:  holla atcha neckbone.
INSIDE – WELL LIT
(Scene changes to him facing the camera across a table with coffee, no cream on both sides.)
Tyrant: (laughing)-and then i got this one long joke...  the punchline is worth it.  have you lately considered the shape of affairs globally? well if not, i’ll be the first to explain to you that things are rounding up for us.  in fact, it’s known as an exponential factor of both people hating each other, and people getting some old time dead.  that’s cool, right?
Tyrant drinks the whole cup of coffee in one guzzle, throws a two dollar bill on the table and looks at his watch.
Tyrant: more born, more dead...  right?
Tyrant then looks across the table, and throws another two dollar bill down, grabs the other cup and guzzles that one too.
Tyrant: the answer is yes.  take my word on that, but we’ll talk more later. 
OUTSIDE – DAYLIGHT
(Scene changes to the inside of a bus.  Tyrant is seated, leaning an elbow on the seat in front of him, with headphones sitting on his head next to a man with a digital camera, who is filming him.  The camera is resting near the ground, slightly behind the two.)
Tyrant:  but the other retarded shit that stands
between us and the spinning pile of debris we find ourself standing on, is really gaining weight just as we are.  in fact, it’s known as a factor of fact.
fact is, the oxygen we breathe is in jeopardy.  if plants can’t sustain themselves as elements of life, on a planet gone beserk with environmental factors, we’re pretty much, like i said, dead.  and the way that chemical processes work, we’re in a deficit right now of weed.  as well as other proper elements of life.  the main, excuse me, man is the major producer of the shit.  like rappers, and stuff...  sorry, bad pun...  but don’t worry, i’m telling you, the punchline is worth it, though.
how are we forgetting the ozone, or the water?  well we’re forgetting them by taking them for granted.  but that’s obvious, we can’t even see ozone.  mama said what you can’t see don’t trust.  water is just that stuff down in toilets, and out giving our expensive car rust stains.  can’t be much important going on with that, except that there’s a lot more water than you think there is.  our bodies for instance, are made of water.  so are the ice caps.  when those free up, melt down, push off, and move on, not only will it create more surface area for water to heat up and evaporate, but it will also create a lower air temperature, possibly stirring up that next ice age we’ve all been waiting for. 
our water in our bodies, though, that has to be doing alright.  only, we’ve actually got a lot of that in our genes.  and what’s wrong with our genes, is the stuff that went wrong with the genetic line.  humans have never been known for what i call innertelligence.  actually, they’ve been rarely known for anything like wisdom which is only experiential data.  actually, let’s find out what the comparative iq’s of the average dolphin, and the average man, based on whose averages way out the most evenly.  so the dolphins can win everytime, without having even made the test?
well.  at least the punchline is worth it.  it’s worth it.  and here it is, if the end of the human ability to at our technological time adhere to the weight of the fragile existence that it extends itself unto, then may we commence the end of rap.
Tyrant abruptly stands in front of the man with the digital camera who folds it and puts it away, and walks down the aisle away from both cameras, and out the front of the bus, following several other young men.  At the last moment he turns back to the cameramen, and gives the camera a peace sign.
Tyrant:  PEACEKI WEEZ!
(RUN CREDITS FROM BOTH THE LIARS OATH AND THE PRODIGAL SON TOGETHER
BLACK SCREEN
(Scrolling lines come up from the bottom on the screen.  The writing is a poem written in three parts.  The lines scroll up to center, filling the entire area of the screen.  When one part is finished scrolling, six seconds elapse until the font fades and is replaced by the next part which scrolls up to replace the former.)
   ONE
  As the time comes is nye
  Ishtar falls to the depths
  Michael slays Draco
 High!
   TWO
  In beauty and disgust
  Oft fails the watcher’s
 Eye
  But with sin and distrust!
   THREE
  Solomon cipher
 Light
  From out glory of war
  Ishtar and Tyr combine!
BLACK SCREEN – NO WORDS
  ALICE
 (voice over, singing)
 The time is nine, in the sky, time died
 The time to try, time is nice to die
 Once by and by, by and by, to die

 The time is nye, my oh my oh my
 The time in the sky, the time to die
 The time to try, by and by, goodbye
SCREEN FADES INTO TWILIGHT – A BEACH WITH UNMOVING OCEAN IN BACKGROUND
Two people are on the beach.  King Matthew sits facing the camera, drunk.  The night is almost completely black but shaded purple.  Prince William is below the camera, with only his hair showing in the camera lens.  The King’s face is top right screen, filling in the ocean view.
SCREEN BEGINS FADING IN AND OUT WHITE
 
  KING MATTHEW
(obviously drunk and sad, but still smiling.  Screen fades white when a line is spoken)
 Ragnarok was Nye, yet the Cipher was
incomplete.
 Your soul is locking away every alternate
 conclusion.
Listen.
On third fadein after final word is said, King Matthew is gone off the beach, leaving only a full moon where his head and body was, reflecting off the still ocean.  The screen fades black.)
SCREEN FADES BLACK FIVE TOTAL TIMES, AS WE GO FROM EMPTY BEACH, TO AIRPLANE VIEW, TO SPACE SHUTTLE VIEW OF EUROPEAN OCEAN,  TO VIEW OF EARTH, COVERED WITH WATER, TO VIEW OF SOLAR SYSTEM WITHOUT PLANETS, AND ONLY EARTH TO BLINDINGLY WHITE VIEW OF SUN BACKING UP QUICKLY INTO OUTTER SPACE
  ALICE & WILLIAM
 (simultaneous voice over)
 I will be back.

MAIN TITLE APPEARS ON WHITE SCREEN THAT FLASHES SUDDENLY AFTER WORDS ARE SPOKEN.

  THE PRODIGAL SON

SCREEN SHOWS EARTH AGAIN REFILLED WITH LAND IN NORMAL LOCATIONS
Suddenly the earth shakes as a comet collides only moments of a nuclear bomb detonating Northern Europe near Moscow.
SCREEN TURNS BLACK
  WILLIAM
 (voice over)
 I am told I have a gift.  I call it a curse.
 I know we know that we all know the
real truth.
 My mother was dead, as was what I
was told.
 For the first four years of my life,
while normal
 elections of civilian presidency still
were held,
 I was actually led to believe that she
had died
 during childbirth.  Holding me in her
arms.
 This was far from the truth.
QUICKLY THE SCENE CHANGES TO A KITCHEN TABLE
OUT ONE DOOR IS A BALLROOM AND THE KITCHEN IS VERY LARGE WITH TRAYS ON A SHELF AND A DEEP FRYER BEHIND A GRILL. THE STOVE TOP TO THE LEFT HAS A PAN FILLED WITH SCRAMBLED EGGS, NEXT TO ANOTHER PAN FILLED WITH SAUSAGE.  A TOASTER IS ON THE TABLE.
THE CAMERA IS LOCATED NEXT TO THE TOASTER, AND IT IS FACING UP FILLING A GAP BETWEEN MATTHEW ONSTAGE RIGHT AND WILLIAM ONSTAGE LEFT
THE TABLE IS HIGHER THAN THE STOVETOP AND THE TWO ACTORS ARE SITTING ON STOOLS, NOT IN CHAIRS.
BEHIND THEM ON THE WALL IS A CALANDER WITH CERTAIN DATES CIRCLED AND NOTES WRITTEN ABOUT MEALS.  THE DATES ARE IN MAY, THERE IS NO YEAR, & THE DATES ARE 5 AND 18.
MATTHEW IS WEARING A WHITE BUTTON DOWN SHIRT AND SUNGLASSES.
(PREFFERRABLY A LARGER SIZED DARKER SKINNED MAN WILL PLAY MATTHEW)
(PREFFERRABLY A MEDIUM SIZED LIGHT SKINNED BOY YOUNGER THAN 14 WILL PLAY WILLIAM.  HE SHOULD WEAR GLASSES THE WHOLE MOVIE AND SHOULD BE DARKER THE MOST OF THE OTHER ACTORS IN WHITE ROLES BUT SHOULD NOT BE ASIAN.  PREFERRABLY ARABIC.)
Suddenly a pair of toasted bread slices pop out of the toaster.  Neither of the two actors looks at the bread for the rest of the scene, or at the food on the stove which is turned off by a passing butler. 
  MATTHEW
 Son you have broken your promise. 
 You have read from The Fourth
Scriptures. 
 I know you have, and I can see it in the
eyes
 that you blamefully scorn on me.
  WILLIAM
 (not in good spirits, yet urgent and excited)
 Good lord!  You knew that I'd do it! 
You knew
 the library still had copies, what did you
think?
 I'm not stupid, Dad.  I'm not your toy.
 I'm not a criminal.
 You think just because the jihads
stopped,
 I wouldn't know?  Of course I read
Scripture.
 Your father raised You Catholic, didn't
he?
  MATTHEW
 Son, you have broken your promise. 
 There is nothing that I can do.  Alice,
too.
  MATTHEW
 Whatever!  That stupid bitch and mom
can both
 go to hell!
 Or should I say "HER" mom!  You can
fuckin-
Matthew slams the plates off the table onto the wall and pushes the toaster over towards the camera with both arms.
  WILLIAM
 It's never going to be the same!  You
wait and see!
  MATTHEW
 (visibly angry)
 No, YOU wait and see!  You have no idea
 the powers at work!
 You ain't seen shit little boy!  You wait
until
 the whole world condemns you and you
 have nowhere
 to go!  You wait until the end of time,
 little man.
 You wait there!
  WILLIAM
 (crying and sobbing)
 Like they already haven't got
 the worst hatred against me! 
 I can't take it!  I couldn't Dad!
 I couldn't take the pain!  I couldn't do
this...
  MATTHEW
 (frowning)
 That's not how you talk about family... 
I
 forgive you, though.  Just realize-
  WILLIAM
 Fine!  I Don't Need your FUCKING Help!
William runs away offscreen, as Matthew is raising both hands as if to hug him.  A butler returns to the scene in front of a woman in a black dress.  The woman is Scyla, Matthew's wife.
  MATTHEW
 I don't want Alice to hear this.  Or even about it.
  SCYLA
 You know, hiding things from our children! 
 That's how this all started. 
 And you have no right to break things
 in this house!  Do you want the waitstaff
to
 abandon us!  Look at the mess!
Scyla bends down and begins picking up the toaster, showing off a good looking body in front of the Butler who is middle aged and white with blond hair.
  MATTHEW
 Don't even start with me.
SCENE SWITCHES TO CLASSROOM
The camera zooms from above and behind the male teacher, who is opening a book on a desk, to William, Lucille, and Paul in the back row, centering on Lucille, a redheaded girl, in the middle.
  PAUL
 Check it out, I got some ‘killer.’
  LUCILLE
 (shakes head)
 That's like the third time today you've
said that.
 The teacher's going to hear you.
  PAUL
 Killer killer, man.  Come on Will.
  LUCILLE
 Shh...
The camera swerves around to the side of William, over his right shoulder to face the teacher.
  TEACHER
 The thirteenth Canto.  Everyone keep
 Your mouths closed
 and open your books.
The students in the classroom all grab books from under their desks, bookbags, and open them except the three students in the back row.  One girl gets up and goes out the door to the bathroom during the shuffling.  Lucille smiles at her as she passes.  The girl doesn't seem to notice. A moment later one of the boys in the center rows turns and smirks at Lucille.  William, shifts onto his elbow and looks at Lucille.  The teacher continues his session after the girl leaves the room.
  TEACHER
 The thirteenth Canto of the Inferno is
where
 we'll begin reading today.  But first, I
want
 to tell you all a story. 
 Perhaps your familiar with it,
 But maybe your not.
The students in the classroom shuffle a little bit, but noone speaks out.
  WILLIAM
 (under breath)
 Oh, great.  Fairy tales.
  TEACHER
 Okay, so this is an old old story. 
 Dating back, oh say,
 past the middle ages.  The story itself
 is actually a fable. 
 Is anyone familiar with what a fable is?
A student in the second row, Frank, raises his hand.
  TEACHER
 Frank.
  FRANK
 A fable is a story that has a moral.  Right?
  TEACHER
 Absolutely correct.  And the most
important person
 to write fables?  Anyone else?
  PAUL
 Aesop!?
  TEACHER
 Thanks Paul.
  PAUL
 Yeah!
  TEACHER
 The most important person to write
fables
 prior to the mid 1900's pulp fiction
explosion,
 was definitely Aesop.  So maybe your all
familiar
 with the story of the mouse and the
river?
The room is still and quiet.
  TEACHER
 Right, don't be ashamed though,
 there was plenty of fables during that
 time period.  Tons and tons.  Anyway,
 The story goes like this.  Once upon a
time,
 a mouse lived in a field.  One day,
 he decided to cross the river
 that ran by his field, hoping to gather
more food
 on the other side.  So he walked and
walked
 along the river bank and was almost all
out of breath
 before he came upon a frog. 
 So the frog offered to help, he said that
if
 the mouse would grab a piece of string,
 that the frog would pull the mouse
across the river. 
 The mouse, of course, said,
 "I'm sick of this walking, so let's do it."
 Well, the frog tied on one end of the
string,
 and the mouse, the other, and the frog
 jumped into the water.  And soon,
 the mouse was being pulled right
 across the water of the river.
 All the sudden, the frog started thinking. 
 He said to himself,
 "well, i'm a big bullfrog, and this
 little mouse, he'd be just delicious
 if I could just kill him now."
 So down went the frog into the deep
water. 
 And the mouse, too, started to fall
deeper,
 and began to drown.  Just then, a giant
 hawk
 came swooping out of the sky and pulled
the
 mouse out of the water, with the frog
 still attached, by the string
which he was using to kill the mouse. 
 So you see, the hawk got both animals,
 and killed them both to eat.
 So, does anyone know what the
 moral of the story is?
Two female students in the first row and Frank raise their hands.
  PAUL
 I know!  Uh, if your feeling froggie than
leap!
  TEACHER
 Incorrect, Frank, what do you think?
  FRANK
 (Frank looks shyly back to Paul before giving an answer)
 The moral is that if you think that your
going
 to get something you don't deserve,
 just remember that it'll be just easier
 for the bigger thing to get you.
  TEACHER
 Pretty much, the moral of the story
 is that although the little guy might-
  PAUL
 Oh man!  What's this got to do with Hell?
Another student stops himself from chuckling.
  TEACHER
 Paul, stop.  Listen, the point of the story
 is that everything
 can all happen at once,
 and that no matter how good you think
 your getting at life,
 there's always someone out there who
 will evantually get you. 
 So don't take for granted,
 the alliances that you can make.
 And don’t ever forget that temporary
 Gain is usually not as good as personal
 Sacrifice.
   WILLIAM
 Wouldn't the moral also be that
 even if the issa and the mo
 are the same, it's all a matter of
perspective?
  TEACHER
 Very good, Will.  Now everyone open
 to Canto thirteen,
 and we'll begin today's reading.
Paul turns around, all the way, and then swivels back to the teacher, before leaning to Lucille and William.
  PAUL
 Okay, but it could also mean
 that ism and shit, could be
 some killer fuckin bud
 on the other side of the river...
 Know what I mean?
 (Paul bursts out laughing as the Lucille shakes her head, and William glances over.  The Teacher looks up for a moment before beginning to read the passage)
  TEACHER
 Silent, alone, and unescorted
 we went on, one in front, the other
following
 as ...
SCENE SWITCHES TO OUTSIDE SCHOOL, IT APPEARS TO BE A SOUTH CALIFORNIA SETTING WITH THE SUN GLARING
Paul, William, Lucille, and another female student stand on the steps of the school, waiting for the bus.  Two skateboarders come out of the side of the screen and grind down the railing, causing Lucille and the other female student to jump back.
  PAUL
 Fuck you!
  SKATEBOARDER 1
 Fuck you, you shouldn't be standing
there.
 (the other student gets her bag from next to the railing and walks away towards a bus pulling up.)
  PAUL
 Your fucking lucky the bus is here, dick.
  SKATEBOARDER 2
 (jumps off skateboard and runs over to back up his friend)
 What'd you say pissface? 
 What the fuck did you call him?
  WILLIAM
 (looks over at Lucille)
 He called him a fucking dick,
 because that's what he likes.
  SKATEBOARDER 2
 Oh word?  Let's go little man!
 (both skateboarders step towards the students)
  SKATEBOARDER 1
 Yeah, word. 
 I'm gonna show you how we do it in the
Old school.
  PAUL
 Alright, faggot.  Let's get it!
The four students start fighting, and Lucille turns away and starts towards the bus before turning back around to watch.
  LUCILLE
 Come on!  We're gonna miss the bus!
The four students continue fighting until three police officers rush over and grab them by the necks and throw the skateboarders on the ground.
  POLICE OFFICER
 Get on the ground! 
 Get on the fucking ground!
 Call for backup. 
 Kids get out of here, now!
 I don't want to have to call your parents.
 Mr. Briggs, if your dad even finds out
 about this, we're gonna have a big, BIG,
 problem.  Get on that goddamn bus.
The bus pulls away, and the officers let go of Paul and William.  Lucille runs over and grabs William's arm.
  LUCILLE
 Come on, we can walk.
  PAUL
 That's right, we don't need little faggot
skateboards.
 (he rubs some sweat off his forehead)
 Only punks ride skateboards.
  POLICE OFFICER
 Watch it young man!
  WILLIAM
 We're going to walk.  Let's go.
  PAUL
 No!  I want to stay and-
  LUCILLE
 SHUT UP!  Come on!
  PAUL
 Think they're tough? 
 Think they're tough?
 (Paul begins to walk away, following the bus, the other two follow him)
CAMERA SWITCHES TO THE THREE STUDENTS IN A COMMERCIAL DISTRICT - THE SUN IS SETTING
The camera is following in front of the three students, walking in silence.  William looks back before they cross a street.  When he turns back to the sidewalk, three kids appear from a porch behind them.  Two jump off the porch and begin following the three students, as one grabs a skateboard off of the porch and begins chasing after them on it.  The three students do not notice the skateboarder until he is right behind them.  Paul looks up, with a vacant expression, before nonchalantly turning quickly around and punching the skateboarder in his nose, breaking it, as the skateboarder approaches.  The two older kids start charging from across the street.  William and Paul step out into the road, leaving Lucille on the curb of the other side.  One of the kids pulls out a knife and stabs Paul in the stomach.  The other punches William unconscious, as the skateboarder with the broken nose runs over to Lucille and slams her in the head with his skateboard.
SCENE CUTS TO HOSPITAL ROOM
William is laying in bed hooked to various wires and IV.  The TV is broadcasting COPS, on mute. The episode shows a pair of zombies wandering in a house, with the policemen flashing their lights on and off to confuse them.  When the zombies come up to the policemen, they both open fire and the zombies are killed. The camera sits in a high corner of the room, facing the bed and the door.  Past the door walks a security guard.  William moans and gropes at the wires.  The door on the opposite side of the hall, outside his room, has a folder on it with the name "E., Lucille" written on it.  A moment after the guard walks past, the camera begins zooming in on the folder across the hall.  As the camera grows closer, whispering and murmurring is heard growing louder in the soundtrack.  The lights flash off after another moment.  As they flash back on a grimacing demon face appears in the window of the door across the hall.  The lights flash back off, when they return on this time the face is gone.  William presses his emergency button on his tray.  A nurse enters the room, almost immediately.
  NURSE
 Can I help you?
  WILLIAM
 (gasping to speak)
 Across the hall, my friend...
  NURSE
 No, can I help, You?
 (the nurse looks up past William into the camera)
 Can I, help you feel good?
The camera switches to a view from under the television set, facing William, and with the nurse's back towards the camera.
  NURSE
 Do you mind if I, touch you?
  WILLIAM
 (shaking and trembling)
 What's going on?
  NURSE
 It's Okay.  My friends and I will help.
The camera switches again to above William's head, facing the door.  Three nurses file in behind the first nurse, and begin walking towards William.  William looks wildly at them.
  WILLIAM
 What's going on?
  NURSE
 Don't worry.  We're all safe.
 We're safe and you just need to sit
 and relax.
The nurses begin unclothing themselves, undressing each other until all they're wearing is bras.  The soundtrack starts with moaning, which escalates to screaming, and a whispering returns by the time the main nurse takes her bra off.  The lights flash on and off.  Suddenly the lights turn back on, but much brighter, and the nurses are now zombies, eating each other.  The lights start flashing again and the cops from the TV show are then in the room, beating and then having sex with the zombie nurses, who flash from zombies to real women, back to zombies eating the cops.  The last scene is the security guard who walked by getting closer and closer through the madness in the middle of the room, to William's bed.  Every flash he grows more grotesque and like a demon.  The camera zooms out to the room across the hall as the door swings open and Lucille's door then swings open, and she is transported into the entranceway as if a ghost, staring blankly with black eyes.
  WILLIAM
 (screaming enters the soundtrack, like his own)
 NO!
THE SCENE RETURNS TO BLACK AS THE ECHOES OF THE WORD "NO" RESONATE IN THE SOUNDTRACK
THE SCENE THEN SHOWS THE SAME CAMERA ANGLE TOWARDS THE TV AND DOOR OVER THE CORNER OF THE ROOM FACING THE BED WITH WILLIAM ON IT.  THE LIGHTS ARE BACK ON IN THE HOSPITAL.
William throws himself towards the tray and the emergency button in a panic, but hesitates before pressing the button and yelling for help.
THE SCENE SWITCHES ABRUPTLY TO A PREACHER IN A CHURCH
The camera is at the front row, in the aisle, facing the preacher.
  PREACHER
 For as a scarecrow in a garden
 of cucumbers keepeth nothing:
 so are their gods of wood,
 and laid over with silver and gold.
 And likewise their gods of wood,
 and laid over with silver and gold,
 are like to a white thorn in an orchard,
 that every bird siteth upon;
 as also to a dead body,
 that is east into the dark.
 And ye shall know them
 to be no gods by the bright
 purple that rotteth upon them:
 and they themselves afterward
 shall be eaten, and shall be
 a reproach in the country.
 Better therefore is the just man
 that hath none idols:
 for he shall be far from reproach.

SCENE CUTS TO CONFESSIONAL BOOTH WITH KING MATTHEW
  MATTHEW
 Thank you father, for I have sinned.
 I have committed unholy acts in noone's
name
 but my own.  I am guilty of sinning,
 and therefore am a sinner.  Please
forgive me,
 as does Jesus Christ our lord savior in
heaven.
 I have witnessed so much father.
 I have witnessed the fall of Asia,
 the rise of the Indian War.  The waste of
America
 against the zombie infestation that
 ravages our neighboring countries.
 I have sinned once more, as I have
committed
 adultry in the form of lust for another
woman.
  PREACHER
 Say no more, my son, you are forgiven,
 in the eyes of Jesus Christ you are
absolved.
  MATTHEW
 No wait, I know this sounds crazy, but
 I think that my son's sins that forthcome
 are my own as well.  I need forgiveness
 for his actions as well.  He has read the
 Sacred Scriptures.
  PREACHER
 What Sacred Scriptures?
  MATTHEW
 Which ones?
 Or what are you saying?
  PREACHER
 What are Sacred in the eyes of God
 are only the testaments of the prophets.
 No mortal man has ever written of
prophecy.
 You must be mistaken.  You must be
thinking
 of...  You must be thinking of something
else
 entirely.  What was- what are you
saying?
  MATTHEW
 The fourth and possibly even the fifth
Scriptures.
 My son has stumbled upon them in a
local library.
 Tell me you know of the Scriptures that
appeared?
  PREACHER
 Appeared?  Where?
  MATTHEW
 The Scriptures have been notarized
 in the Library of Congress Father!  The
Scriptures
 that appeared with the arrival of my son,
 William, on the planet Earth in the gates
of Hell,
 in Jerusalem!
  PREACHER
 Sir, if you'd excuse me for one moment.
 (whispers are heard in the confessional booth next to Matthew)
  MATTHEW
 What?
 (a lengthy pause)
 Who are-
  PREACHER
 (the preacher's voice suddenly seems rough and scratchy)
 Sire, your majesty, look here.
  MATTHEW
 (glancing at the window, and back over to the doorway)
 What is it?  I can't see you in there.
 What's going o-
  PREACHER
 (the preachers voice seems to have multiplied, as if there is a second and third person in the booth beside Matthew)
 Look here, sire.  Look into the window.
 Look into the window.  Look close-ly.
Suddenly a dark black skinny arm bashes in the window and grabs Matthew by the neck.  Then, three other hands, all black and skinny, grab at Matthew's chest.  Matthew struggles out of the door to the confessional booth.
CAMERA SHOWS THE OUTSIDE OF BOTH CONFESSION BOOTHS IN THE CHURCH
The preacher comes out from the back as Matthew grabs his knees and pants.  When Matthew sees the preacher, he wobbles to the ground, crying.  The preacher attempts to help Matthew to his feet, but Matthew composes himself and starts away.
  PREACHER
 Be safe, my son.  Be safe.
Matthew bolts out of the church, as the camera swings to follow him down the wall around to the door.
  PREACHER
 We need you.
BLACK AND WHITE
SCENE FADES WHITE INTO SRI LANKAN SUNSET
As the sun sets over Sri Lanka, zombies are seen rising out of the ground.
SCENE FLASHES ASIAN MAN SCREAMING AGAINST THE MOUNTAINSIDE OF SRI LANKA.  SCENE FADES WHITE AGAIN TO SHANGRI LAH ON FIRE.  SCENE FADES WHITE AGAIN TO CRUMBLED PYRAMIDS IN EGYPT.  SCENE FADES WHITE AGAIN TO THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING MISSING THE UPPER HALF.  SCENE FADES WHITE AGAIN TO A GATE IN JERUSALEM SHAPED IN AN ARCH THROUGH WHICH LIGHTNING STRIKES IN THE BACKGROUND
COLOR
SCENE FADES TO UNDER A WATERFALL SOMEWHERE IN NUBIA, AND ZOOMS OUT AND UP TO THE TOP OF THE WATERFALL.
The camera sits at the top of a waterfall and follows the water over the top and down at a realistic pace into the water below, where it is submerged in a torrent where fish are schooling.  The camera follows one trout to the outter bank of the river that the waterfall is falling over.  A net grabs the fish up.
SCENE SWITCHES OUT OF WATER
The camera now shows the river and waterfall, and a naked black man is pinching a tiny needle on a string around the fishes thin fin.  He perfects the knot quickly and releases the fish into the water.  A group of other black men appear in warrior outform, watching the water.  Across the river two men step out of the brush with military outforms and guns.  The medicine man picks up a rock and throws it into the river while howling.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO IN THE WATER AGAIN
The camera shows the tagged fish swimming quickly upstream towards the school of fish.  As it approaches it begins to veer off towards the fish in a strange manner.  The fish all begin fighting as bullets scatter air bubbles all around the pool of water.  The water fills with blood as a large explosion ends the chaotic scene.
SCENE CUTS TO SCYLA AND WILLIAM IN A DINING HALL
William sits across from Scylla at a large table.  The camera is behind William's back, but during the scene switches from person to person as dialogue switches, always showing their reactions.  Plates with heaping portions of food sit in front of them both.  Neither of the two eat during the scene.  Scylla is visibly upset.
  WILLIAM
 Where's Alice?
  SCYLLA
 She's doing a school project.
 (a lengthy pause as the camera switches)
 You know, the world doesn't stop,
 just because you and your peers think
 that you own it.  Your lucky your father
 is giving you a second chance.
 I personally...
Camera switches to Scylla.
  WILLIAM
 You personally wouldn't have me
anywhere
 near Alice, would you?  You'd horde
 everything in this house, like you own it.
Camera switches to William.
  SCYLLA
 I personally, own a lot more than you
 in this world.  I bet you still haven't
 even found Charlie.
Camera switches to view of William in front of a window as if a flashback.
  WILLIAM
 (voice over)
 What am I supposed to do?
 If he comes back, he comes back.  That's
it.
 He knows where he can eat.
Camera switches to Scylla.
  SCYLLA
 (shaking her head)
 You know, as much as you love that dog,
 I can't see why you are so quick
 to write him off as gone.  I mean,
 I'm sure that Jacob would have helped
you find him.
Camera switches to William.
  SCYLLA
 Just ask!
  WILLIAM
 I'm not asking the butler to help
 find my dog.  He's mine, he knows
 where to come.
 (frowns)
  SCYLLA
 Imagine what the people think...
  WILLIAM
 What?
  SCYLLA
 Oh, nevermind.
  WILLIAM
 What are you saying?

Camera switches to Scylla.
  SCYLLA
 I'm sure the people of the world are all
 wondering, whether a family that can't
 even keep a dog are worth the time and
effort
 involved with kingship.
Camera switches to William.
  WILLIAM
 It's not like they have a choice...
Camera switches to Scylla.
  SCYLLA
 That's right, it's not like they have a
choice.
 Unlike you, some people learn
responsibility
 as a part of loyalty.
 (lengthy pause.  Scylla begins whispering harshly)
 You know, some god given right you
have,
 to waltz around here like you own the
world.
 You think with all your smartiepants ego
 you'd be a little more careful where you
lay
 your responsibilities and loyalties.
 I'm ashamed to even bring Alice up
around you!
 Your a dirty liar, and a criminal!
  WILLIAM
 (laughing very loudly)
 You should talk!  You skanky old bitch!
Suddenly two security-looking men appear from behind William.
  WILLIAM
 Go to hell you old bat!  No one likes you!
SCENE CUTS TO WILLIAM BEING ESCORTED BY A BUTLER DOWN A DARK HALL
The butler is Jacob, a different butler from the scene in the kitchen, he is Asian.  William is recovering from crying in a different room, in front of his father.
  WILLIAM
 You know?  Everyone thinks their right.
 Everyone thinks they know everything
 all the time.  It's not fair.
  JACOB
 If it was fair, there'd be no point.
 Life is a challange, William.  A test,
 not a game.
  WILLIAM
 (sniffling)
 Well, they don't need to be this unfair.
  JACOB
 I know you miss Charlie.  Should we go
 look for him in the morning?
  WILLIAM
 Yeah.
  JACOB
 Okay, sounds good.  I'll get you up early.
 We'll go out in the morning.
  WILLIAM
 (trying to interrupt the last sentence)
 It's not fair!  How can they blame me
 for Charlie?  He's all I got!
The pair enter a living room area, lit by a fireplace.  William sits down in an arm chair.  The camera switches from behind, following them, to on the ground in front of William, looking at him, and then swiveling around to look at the fire as the next phrases are spoken.
  WILLIAM
 I can't take it anymore.  I know
 what's going to happen, and I have no
power
 to stop it.  It's not even fair,
 it's not even right.
The camera slowly zooms into the fire for the next phrases.
  WILLIAM
 It's wrong.  It's evil.
  JACOB
 Goodnight, young William.  I'll be
upstairs
 in my chamber, if you need me.
 Just call my name from outside.
  WILLIAM
 (yawns as voice becomes more subdued and tired)
 It's evil, Jacob.  Oh.  It's bad.
 (lengthy pause, sparks fly out of the fire)
 I can feel it.
SCENE FADES TO THE UPSTAIRS HALLWAY AND STAIRS
Scylla is sleepwalking down the hall, in her lingerie robe.  She passes William's door who is still asleep and then Alice's door, a few closed doors, and goes down the stairs.
SCENE FADES TO PARKED CAR WITH HEADLIGHTS GOING ON
SCENE FADES TO WILLIAM IN BED
SCENE FADES TO WILLIAM'S DREAM SEQUENCE OF A BOAT AT SEA FILLED WITH SKELETONS STANDING WITH GUNS AND SWORDS
SCENE FADES TO TV PROGRAM ON THE AIR WITH NEWS REPORTER
The news reporter is leaning towards the camera, papers in his hands.
  REPORTER
 The link between the case of the missing
Queen
 and King's pet as well as the strange
emminence
 of supernatural auras surrounding the
Balkans
 may be more than coincidential.
 Multiple dissappearances have been
 Occurring world-wide, and the military
 As well as the national police force is
 Taking all available actions.
SCENE SWITCHES TO HELICOPTER VIEW OF GERMANY WITH A FENCE AROUND BERLIN
  REPORTER
 The general public should stay alert to
updates
 on this developing case, as a worldwide
manhunt
 is beginning this very moment for Queen
Scylla,
 and Charlie, the dog.
SCENE CUTS TO SPLIT SCREEN PICTURES OF SCYLLA AND A POODLE
SCENE CUTS TO PIECE OF PAPER BEING SIGNED BY MATTHEW RELEASING WILLIAM FROM SCHOOL SUSPENSION FOR FIGHTING ON SCHOOL GROUNDS
SCENE CUTS AGAIN TO SHOW MATTHEW, THE PRINCIPAL AND AN AID STANDING IN A WAITING ROOM
  MATTHEW
 Well, let's get to him.
SCENE CUTS TO FOLLOW THE PRINCIPAL DOWN THE HALL, MATTHEW IN THE BACK, THE AID TO THE RIGHT SIDE.  STUDENTS LINE THE HALL, AS WELL AS A FEW TEACHERS.  TEN SECRET SERVICE AGENTS FOLLOW MATTHEW, WITH TWO IN FRONT OF HIM.
The principal leads them into a room down the hall.  Here, the camera follows Matthew into the room to reveal William at a desk next to Lucille and Frank, and a few other nonrelated students in a detention center.
  MATTHEW
 Hello, son.
  WILLIAM
 Hi.
  MATTHEW
 I couldn't make them shoot away the
charges,
 but you'll be off of school detention
after
 this once.  Okay?  It's just standard
procedure.
  WILLIAM
 Okay.
  MATTHEW
 So we want you to walk home today,
 maybe it'll help you think about what
you did.
  WILLIAM
 Okay.
  MATTHEW
 See you when you get home.
Matthew turns and walks back out the door leaving the students in the room alone.  The camera refocuses after Matthew leaves the room.
  FRANK
 Fuck, my mom is going to kill me.
  AID
 Shh..
  PRINCIPAL
 The rest of you besides these two
 are going to serve normal detention
hours.
SCENE CUTS TO LUCILLE AND WILLIAM IN A PARKING LOT
  WILLIAM
 I don't know how to explain it.
 It's like the world is just going away.
 Like people's whole memories come up
missing,
 like people are here one day and gone
the next.
 Know what I mean?
 (William lights a cigarrette)
  LUCILLE
 (shakes her head)
 Hey look, didn't they close that Stop N
Shop
 three months ago?  Is it still unlocked?
  WILLIAM
 It closed last week.
 (shakes his head)
 Nobody understands.  It really started
when-
  LUCILLE
 Let's check it out.
Lucille begins walking towards the store in the parking lot.  The camera zooms out to follow her walking, until she reaches the door about ten yards away.  Lucille tugs the door open, and looks back, and William follows her into the store.
SCENE CUTS TO A SMALL DARK STORE WITH FOOD STILL ON THE SHELVES
Lucille picks up some M&M's and starts giggling.
  LUCILLE
 We're going to need these.
  WILLIAM
 Oh yeah?  What else do we need?
  LUCILLE
 A lighter!
  WILLIAM
 Yeah?  Nice, let's grab one off over there.
 (points at the cash register, and then covers his mouth in astonishment)
 Wait.
Lucille runs over to the counter and grabs a lighter.  She sparks the flint, and smiles at William.  William smiles back, a little nervously.  Lucille hops over the counter and pulls open the register drawer.
  LUCILLE
 Empty.
  WILLIAM
 Get over here!
  LUCILLE
 (giggling)
 No you get over here.
William walks over to the counter as Lucille grabs a bag out of her pocket and throws it to William.
  LUCILLE
 Now we need a phillie.
SCENE CUTS TO A HALF AN HOUR LATER IN THE BACK OFFICE OF THE STORE.  THE ROOM IS FILLED WITH SMOKE. 
Lucille, sitting on the floor in front William, sitting in a chair next to a desk, lights a cigarette. 
  LUCILLE
 I swear, i think Mr. Wigg eats rats
 for breakfast, before school, and
 doesn't even stop to wipe the tail off
 his upper lip.
 (the two burst out laughing)
William stands up and crouches over her, and leans over to kiss her.  Lucille pushes him back.
  LUCILLE
 I'm sorry.
Lucille stands up and leaves the room.  William hops up and watches.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO ABOVE WILLIAM'S HEAD AS SHE WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR AND CLOSES IT BEHIND HER.
William runs to the door, and swings it open, the camera remaining stationary.  Nobody is in the room.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO VIEW FROM THE STORE'S ENTRANCE, PANNING THE ROOM.
William runs through the store towards the entrance.
CAMERA FADES TO BLACK AND THEN TO AN OUTSIDE SETTING OF A PARTY IN A PAVILLION TO THE BACK OF THE PAVILLION IS A STAGE WITH A RAPPER, TYRANT
  TYRANT
 it's ya boy, dudeness, don't trip and reflect
 or the tech nine grip leave a zig on ya neck
 connect zag rap patterns leavin gigs in a sweat
 never correct the mad hatter
he just is the best
 yes…
 bombs explode when my vocals is loaded
 and the rhyme zone allign the coda distortion
 so don't go just go str8 to the music
 so don't slow up jus blow bass like fixin a deck
 ...  move it, it's fluid, i'm bout to go do it
 (music fades out)
CAMERA CUTS TO INSIDE THE PAVILLION AT A PICNIC TABLE WITH WILLIAM SITTING WITH FRANK AND TWO GIRLS
Matthew walks onto the scene.
  MATTHEW
 Well despite your recent actions, this
has turned
 into quite a wonderfully planned event.
 Congratulations, son.  It's too bad your
mother
 wasn't here to see it.
  WILLIAM
 Thanks, but no thanks.
  MATTHEW
 (frustrated, pauses)
 You know, it is your birthday, you could
make
 an effort with me at least.  Your attitude!
 It’s got to stop!
  WILLIAM
 You never would have yelled at Alice on
her birthday.
  MATTHEW
 (smacks William across the neck, sending him falling out of his chair)
  ALICE
 (off camera)
 Dad!
A crowd rushes over to Matthew and William, and four secret service agents come out dragging William, kicking and screaming.  Matthew then emerges wiping his clothes off.  Another secret service agent walks over to stand next to him.
  MATTHEW
 He needs help.  He needs help, bad.
A golf cart comes along driven by three secret service agents.  Matthew gets on the back, and it drives away.
  MATTHEW
 (as the golf cart leaves the scene, shouting to one of the secret service agents)
 Send him to New York!  That's it! I don't
care
 what the hell happens to him!
SCENE FADES TO A PARK DURING THE AFTERNOON CAMERA IS FACING THE SUN NEXT TO A PLAYGROUND AND PICNIC TABLE WHERE WILLIAM IS SITTING NEXT TO FRANK
William is wearing a school uniform, and Frank is in civillian clothes.  Frank pulls out a small bottle of Jack Daniels from a pocket.
  WILLIAM
 And to think, me and Paul used to say
 you were a wuss.  I guess you grew all
up!
  FRANK
 Who??  Uh, yeah, I guess I'm just getting
to be
 that age.  So how are you doing man?
  WILLIAM
 Dude, you don't even know.  At least my
 science teacher dissappeared.
 (laughs)
 He was a hard-case.  They think they
have the right
 to say whatever they want to you here. 
It sucks.
Frank takes a gulp of the liquor.
  WILLIAM
 You going to share?
Frank passes the liquor will grimacing and wiping his face.
  WILLIAM
 Damn, man.  It's been a long time.
 (lifting the bottle to the sun)
 Here's to Lucille.
Frank looks nervously at William and then over both shoulders.
  WILLIAM
 (drinks most of the bottle)
 We're so young.
 (wipes his face and hands back the bottle with a trembling hand)
 We're too young.  To die.
  FRANK
 Dude, who the hell is Lucille?  If you had
 shut up about her for two minutes at school,
 you'd probably still be in California. 
What're
 the girls like out here, anyway?
  WILLIAM
 (looks directly at the sun for a few seconds)
 You know who she was.  She's in your
Heart, friend.
 She's in all of our hearts.  Nobody knows.
  FRANK
 (grabs William's arm)
 We know that your going through rough
times, bro.
 You got to hold it together though. 
Your father,
 the king, everyone, we're all counting on
you.  We need your
 power in these crazy fucking times.
  WILLIAM
 I'm trying.
 (stifles a sob by pinching his forehead)
 I'm trying to just get through.
  FRANK
 It's okay man.
 (lets go of William's arm)
 It's going to be okay.
A bell tolls six times in the background during which time the two kids are silent.  William looks over behind him.
  WILLIAM
 Well, that's it for visiting hours.
 I have to get back.  It's surprising enough
 that they allow us to go to the park
unsupervised.
 What hotel are you staying at?
  FRANK
 One right down there.
 (points in a different direction.  A car honks)
  WILLIAM
 Who brought you, your mom and dad?
  FRANK
 (a look of surprise crosses his face for a moment)
 My grandma.  I don't have parents.
  WILLIAM
 (suddenly angry)
 Yes you do!  I remember your mom used
to bake cookies
 for Valentine's Day in 6th and 7th grade!
 How could you forget!
 (suddenly sad and melancholic again)
 How could you?  Your own family?
  FRANK
 (a little nervous as well as sad and hopeless)
 Just calm down, Will.  We need you to
keep
 a solid hold on everything.  We need you,
 don't lose it on us.
  WILLIAM
 (with a mean face and tone of voice)
 You need me?  You don't need me.
 Not if your own parents are so easily
forgettable.
 Nobody needs me.  I should just die.
William gets up off the picnic table, and begins to walk through the playground.  Frank stays seated and watches him walk away, a look of sadness on his face.  When William reaches the swings, he turns around.
  WILLIAM
 (desperate and with a hint of loneliness in his eyes.)
 See you tomorrow, man.
  FRANK
 God bless.  Good night, brother.
  WILLIAM
 Good night, dude.  Take it easy.
 (turns back around and continues walking)
The camera stays focused on the picnic table until William is offscreen.  Frank turns around and looks at the camera, and at the moment he makes eye contact he disappears off the screen.
SCENE CUTS TO INSIDE A DORMITORY BEDROOM.  THERE IS A BED AND A POSTER OF BOB DYLAN, A DESK WITH AN EAGLE ON IT, AND A CROSS NEXT TO THE BED.  WILLIAM IS SEATED ON THE EDGE OF THE BED LOOKING OUT A WINDOW.  IT IS DARK OUTSIDE.  THE LIGHT IN THE BEDROOM IS VERY DIM.
  WILLIAM
 (opens a photo album on his bed and whispers)
 Bad things happen to good people I
guess.
 Bad things happen to all of us.  Word up.
 (flips through photos.  Some seem to be lacking a substantial amount of people.  Pictures of city roads with only a few cars.  Pictures of William, alone, in different houses.)
Suddenly out the window a flash of lightning strikes.  William looks up, as thunder claps loudly.  He continues to stare out the window, as he puts down the book and walks over to the window, slowly.  Midway to the window, lightning flashes again, and William jumps.  Lightning flashes again right afterward and it begins to rain before a long thunder clap.
SCENE CUTS TO OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.  THE CAMERA IS ON THE GROUND OUTSIDE, AS IT BEGINS TO RAIN.
William throws open the window, but leaves the screen.  Something dark and unrecognizable moves past the camera quickly, like a dog in the night.
SCENE CUTS BACK TO INSIDE THE BEDROOM, FACING THE WINDOW AND WILLIAM'S BACK.
William sits still for a minute as he watches the rain outside.  Then there is a noise from outside, like a dog whimpering.  William begins to pull up the screen on the window, as the camera zooms in, and the whimpering grows slightly louder.  When the screen is raised, the camera is next to William, looking out the window, but giving a side angle of his expressionless face.  The whimpering stops.  William turns around away from the window.  When his back is to the window, he rests his hands on the window sill and leans back.  A new noise startles William, as a bark and a long growl enters the soundtrack.  When he spins around, lightning flashes again and simultaneously the loudest thunder yet hits in the soundtrack.  When the thunder is over, the growling is gone.  William leans out the window.
CAMERA CUTS TO JUST OUTSIDE THE WINDOW WHERE WE SEE JUST THE WALL OF THE SCHOOL AND WILLIAM'S HEAD GETTING RAINED ON.
William is wincing through the rain, looking for the dog outside, when suddenly a dark shape raises behind him in the bedroom.  William doesn't notice, and a flash of lightning and thunder occur after the shadowy figure stands up still for a second.  William pulls back into the window frame.  The screen and window simultaneously collapse.
CAMERA CUTS TO THE INSIDE OF THE WINDOW, FACING WILLIAM AND A DOOR THAT LEADS TO HALLWAY.  THE CAMERA DOES NOT SHOW ANY PART OF THE FLOOR, AND THE CLOSET DOOR NEXT TO THE HALLWAY DOOR IS CLOSED.
William walks towards the bed, which is unmade and ruffled against the wall.  The camera follows behind him for a few steps.  When William reaches for his pillow, the camera cuts to a different angle that shows William and the door in a straight line.  The lights go off in the hallway, causing William to turn towards the door, shocked.
  WILLIAM
 Hey!
 (William grabs the pillow off the bed, which causes the covers to shift a little bit.)
Suddenly the entire sheets and covers of the bed raise into the air and throw themselves at William, as if someone had been hiding underneath.  The covers grab at William, and cover the camera lens.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO THE OUTSIDE NEAR THE WINDOW AS WILLIAM JUMPS OUT AND AN ALARM GOES OFF
William runs past the camera.
CAMERA FADES IN AND OUT FOR A SERIES OF FIRST PERSON SHOTS THROUGH A WOODED AREA WITH LOUD PANTING IN THE SOUNDTRACK AND A WHISPERING THAT GROWS LOUDER WITH MOANS THROUGHOUT THE SHOTS.
CAMERA SHOWS A FILM MONTAGE - A SERIES OF MOTION PICTURE TABS AND STILLS IMPLANTED ON THE FILM, THAT PROGRESS BY THEMSELVES IN VARIOUS MOVING FRAMES THAT COEXIST TOGETHER ON THE SAME SCREEN AND FADE IN AND OUT OF EACH OTHER.  THE SCENES ARE AS FOLLOWS:
SCENE 1:  BUS CRASHING OFF A CLIFF
SCENE 2:  BUS AT DIFFERENT ANGLE
SCENE 3:  BUS AT ANOTHER ANGLE INCLUDING WILLIAM WATCHING FROM A DIFFERENT LOCATION ON THE CLIFF
SCENE 4:  BUS AT ANOTHER ANGLE SHOWING THE DRIVER MYSTERIOUSLY DISSAPPEAR
SCENE 5:  WILLIAM WAVING DOWN CARS WITH NO RESULTS
SCENE 6:  WILLIAM WAVING DOWN CARS UNTIL ONE STOPS
SCENE 7:  WILLIAM STEALING THE MAN'S CELL PHONE
SCENE 8:  WILLIAM FIGHTING THE MAN
SCENE 9:  WILLIAM THROWING THE CELL PHONE
SCENE 10:  WILLIAM THROWING THE MAN OFF THE CLIFF
SCENE 11:  WILLIAM IN PRISON
SCENE SWITCHES TO MATTHEW BEING RIDICULOUSLY DRUNK AT NIGHT ON A LITTERED WHITE HOUSE LAWN.  THE SCENE PANS FROM THE FRONT OF THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN CENTERED ON THE WHITE HOUSE, TO NEAR THE BUSHES BEFORE SWINGING AROUND ACROSS THE FIELD DIAGGONALLY TO THE FINAL SCENE NEAR THE BUSHES.
Matthew stumbles and falls, obviously drunk, and lands next to a can of beer, which he proceeds to chug.  He's wearing a large cape and a crown.  Two Secret Service members enter the scene and arrest him.
SCENE FADES INTO THE SET OF A DAILY NEWS PROGRAM.  THE ANCHORS ARE MALE AND FEMALE SITTING NEXT TO EACH OTHER ON A LONG TABLE.  THE MALE ANCHOR SETS BACK OFF OF THE DESK.
Camera switches to face anchors straight on.
  MALE ANCHOR
 Today marks a turn in international
events.
 The King of America has, after multiple
instances
 of public drunkenness, been impeached
and overthrown.  His successor has yet
to be named, yet as the world
population dwindles next to extinction,
the masses will have to look extra hard
to find a leader as strong as the once
highly respected and revered King
Matthew.
  FEMALE ANCHOR
 This also marks the call to an end to the
worldwide
 manhunt for his estranged wife, Queen
Scylla,
 who was last seen entering the
quarantined German
 territory. 
CAMERA SHOWS STOCK FOOTAGE OF A VACANT MOSCOW.
  FEMALE ANCHOR
 As well as the Beginning of the search
for
 Princess Alice.  She, as well as countless
 Others has disappeared without a trace.
CAMERA SWITCHES BACK TO OFFSTAGE VIEW OF THE TWO NEWS ANCHORS.
  MALE ANCHOR
 We may all mourn our losses tonight, but
none more
 than the loss of our country's beacon of
faith and hope
 in these desparate times.  Prince
William's own turmoil
 came to a halting stop yesterday, too, as
his trial
 ended, finally, after five months of
deliberation of his
 actions in New York, the Empire State,
which lead to the
 deaths of thirty-eight school children.
CAMERA FADES TO SHOW A COURTHOUSE SIDEWALK FILLED WITH DEMONSTRATORS.
The courthouse doors swing open and after several Secret Service agents exit, William is shown behind them, with his head sunk.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO A CLOSER ANGLE OF WILLIAM.
William shields his eyes for a moment from the sun.
CAMERA SHOWS THE SUN BEING COVERED BY CLOUDS.
CAMERA SWITCHES BACK TO VIEW OF COURTHOUSE FROM SIDEWALK.
William descends the steps, as demonstrators jeer.  When he gets near the bottom, a group of news reporters begin to swarm him.
CAMERA FADES TO SHOW MATTHEW IN A JAIL CELL, DISHEVELED AND HANGING HIS HEAD.
CAMERA FADES AGAIN TO SHOW WILLIAM IN A DIFFERENT PRISON CELL, LOOKING AT INMATES PASS HIM IN A LINE.
CAMERA FADES AGAIN TO A DARK ROOM WHERE WE ZOOM TO SEE MATTHEW IN A SOLITARY CONFINEMENT CELL.
CAMERA FADES AGAIN TO WILLIAM'S EYES, AS HE BEGINS TO CRY.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO A VACANT PARKING LOT ENCLOSED BY A FENCE, PANNING TO MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON.  EVERYTHING IS VACANT, AND NEWSPAPERS BLOW IN THE WIND.
One newspaper catches on the camera lens, and reads a headline:
"COUNTRYSIDE EMPTIED, EVACUATION PROCEDURES ON PAGE 3"
CAMERA SWITCHES TO SHOW ZOMBIES COVERING A PENINSULA OF AN OCEANIC ISLAND.
CAMERA SWITCHES AGAIN TO SHOW AN EMPTY NEW YORK CITY.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO BOAT ON THE OCEAN, ZOOMING IN TO SHOW IT IS MANNED BY MATTHEW, ALONE.  MATTHEW IS WEARING THE CAPE AND CROWN AGAIN.
CAMERA FADES TO MOSCOW.
CAMERA FADES TO ZOOMING VIEW OF PRISON.  IN A BARRED WINDOW IS WILLIAM, WHO LOOKS SCARED AND MALNOURISHED.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO MATTHEW IN A CAR DRIVING ACROSS CAUCUS MOUNTAINS.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO THE CAR DRIVING TO A GATE OUTSIDE OF GERMANY.
The car stops at the gate, and a zombie enters the forefront of the scene, stumbling towards the car.  Matthew, inside the car, looks out the window towards the zombie emotionlessly.  He attempts to ram through the gate but the car stalls.  He attempts to back up, but the car tires are caught in mud.  The zombie progresses towards the car as Matthew opens the door and hops out.  The zombie begins to move faster in a stumbling run as others follow him.  Matthew clambers up the side of the gate and hops it as the camera zooms with the zombies' stumbling chase.  He only narrowly misses the grasp of the zombie's crazed arms flailing up the gate.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO MATTHEW ENTERING MOSCOW BY FOOT.  CAMERA PANS OUT TO SHOW THE ENTIRE CITY COMPLETELY VACANT.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO MATTHEW APPROACHING THE PRISON WHERE WILLIAM IS CAPTIVE.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO MATTHEW RUSHING THROUGH EMPTY HALLS OF THE JAIL.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO MATTHEW RUSHING THROUGH EMPTY HALLS FIVE MORE TIMES.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO VIEW FROM INSIDE A CELL AS MATTHEW RUSHES BY.
Camera turns to show a starving William lying under a bed.  He looks very sick.  William opens his eyes and coughs.  We hear the footsteps slow and the camera pans out to show Matthew returning to the cell door.
  MATTHEW
 Stay still son!  I've got to find the keys!
 I've got to!  Oh my god!  Are you alright?
 (a brief pause)
 I'll be right back.
Matthew chases away.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO SHOW MATTHEW CARRYING WILLIAM OVER HIS SHOULDER INTO THE PRISON CAFETERIA. 
The tables are full with food, as if waiting for people to come and eat.
Matthew sets William down on the ground near a cafeteria table.  He begins splashing water on William's face and forcing water down his mouth.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO SHOW WILLIAM SLEEPING IN A CAR.  MATTHEW IS DRIVING.  CAMERA IS ZOOMING OUT FROM THE FRONT WINDSHIELD TO SHOW THEM EXITING THE PRISON PARKING LOT.  THE SUN IS SETTING TO THE LEFT, AS THE CAR SPEEDS AWAY.
CAMERA SWITCHES TO A NORMANDY BEACH AT SUNSET
Matthew and William both stumble onto the beach from side camera.  Father and especially son appear drunk and sit down next to each other a few yards from the camera, not far from the ocean.  They are about five feet apart.  William appears a bit older, but still under 16 years old.  Matthew is wearing the crown, but has on an expensive business suit.
MATTHEW
When I was younger, you know, all of
this?  It all seemed like it wasn’t
happening, but a dream, like a wish had
fallen on my mind.  Someone’s empty
wish, just vanishing into the maze of
incontinuities that I lived through.  I
never thought that I would have you.  I
knew though, that there would be you,
somewhere just waiting to find your way.
 WILLIAM
(shifts over close to Matthew)
 This is all that’s left, Dad.  You and me,
and
 Whatever’s out there.
(points to the ocean)
 This is all that we need.  There must be
 Something that we both wanted. 
Something
 To make this all stop.  Nobody needed
 To disappear.  Everyone’s still here. 
They’re-
  MATTHEW
 Lookit!  A shooting star!
CAMERA SWITCHES TO THE TWILIGHT SKY AS A STAR BLINKS
CAMERA SWITCHES BACK TO SHOW THE TWO FROM THE FRONT.  THE BACKGROUND SHOWS ONLY A LARGE DUNE.
  MATTHEW
 They’re waiting for a wish to come true.
 It never will.  Let it rest.
  WILLIAM
 It will, Dad.  It’ll come as it goes.
  MATTHEW
(shakes head and looks down at the ground and picks up a seashell.  He puts it to his ear, and falls backward onto the sand.)
Get some sleep, son.  You’ll need it.
 WILLIAM
(falls back against the ground)
SCENE FADES TO BLACK.
BLACK AND WHITE
CAMERA FADES BACK AND IS AT THE SAME ANGLE THAT IT LEFT OFF AT.  FATHER AND SON LAY NEXT TO EACH OTHER ON THE BEACH.
SCENE FADES AGAIN TO BLACK
CAMERA FADES BACK IN BLACK AND WHITE SHOWING ONLY WILLIAM SITTING WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS NEXT TO A SAND IMPRINT OF A BODY.  MATTHEW IS GONE.  THERE ARE NO FOOTSTEPS LEADING FROM THE BODY, BUT THE CROWN IS AT THE HEAD OF THE IMPRINT.  NEXT TO WILLIAM IS A SIGN IN THE SAND WITH SYMBOLS THAT READS: “I LOVE YOU” WITH A HEART.  ALSO NEXT TO HIM IS THE SEASHELL.
William gets up and picks up the seashell before walking towards the dune.
  ALICE
 (narration)
 My father, the original saint saith unto thee…
 Be bright, actions speak louder than words
 My son, tracked by hell’s angels
 The world, no signature as deep
 Will, the desappearing lights, be
 A seach begun
As William climbs high on the dune he looks back, and runs back down the dune to the crown.  Here, he falls to his knees and picks it up.  He looks up at the sky and puts the crown on his head.  A tear falls from his eye.
SCREEN FADES BLACK FIVE TOTAL TIMES, SLOWER THAN AT THE BEGINNING SEQUENCE AS WE GO FROM EMPTY BEACH, TO AIRPLANE VIEW, TO SPACE SHUTTLE VIEW OF EUROPE,  TO VIEW OF EARTH, TO VIEW OF SOLAR SYSTEM, TO BLINDINGLY WHITE VIEW OF SUN BACKING UP QUICKLY INTO OUTTER SPACE
Suddenly as the camera is backing away, a light comes charging from the camera in an orb like a meteor. 
CAMERA SWITCHES TO FOLLOW THE DESCENDING OBJECT AS IT GOES DIRECTLY THROUGH THE SUN AND OUT THE OTHER SIDE
CAMERA SWITCHES TO VIEW OFF OF THE TOP OF THE SAND DUNE.  NOBODY IS ON THE BEACH.
William comes into the scene from the side, looking older.  He is about 18 now.  He is drunk again and wearing the crown.  As he enters towards the center of the scene on the dune, a supernova expands over the horizon towards him as an orb enters the atmosphere filled with light.  When it is above the water it begins towards William at an accelerating speed.  William tries to shade his eyes from the form that approaches him, but falls to his knees and then collapses, falling down the dune.
CAMERA SWITCHES ANGLES FOUR TIMES AS WILLIAM FALLS DOWN THE DUNE.  AT THE BOTTOM, WILLIAM IS SEEN FROM ABOVE AND SIDEWAYS FROM NEAR THE OCEAN EDGE.
At the bottom of the dune, William lies face first.  The crown rolls away near him.  The orb enters the scene, and the light begins to fade away revealing a white cloaked figure with a hood.  William moves over to look up at the figure.
CAMERA ZOOMS IN TO SHOW WILLIAM’S FACE UP CLOSE, FOCUSING ON HIS EYES
  ORB FIGURE
 (narration)
 This is your destiny, as mankind’s ghost.
 The kingdom comes, as the Lord’s final will is done.
 You are now bound to infinity.
 Forever.
SCENE FADES TO BLACK




-END-



a choir practice wasn't what the people wanted, when they asked for justice that morning. a man drenched in overdose wasn't asking for justice, but knew in the back of his mind that his salvation was only a doorstep from the beautiful voices echoing through the halls of 42nd street's rained on alleyways. as he turned the knob of the church door, a car door opened and one wheel almost splashed his dirty boots. so this was revelation, and he knew as he stared into the preacher's eyes that this was not revolution as he had so wanted. not so at all, they said under their breath, to the criminal... not so delicately. not so ashamed. they being, the congregation, the whole thing lined up across the choir. standing like wooden soldiers, the young men in training to be priests stood patiently awaiting instructions. as if waiting to be guided by the hand of god. the nuns were shuffling, already. and the choirboys stood afront their seats. or up in the stands, hung their elbows across the rail. this is all so much not to be taken for granted... so for the amount that this is not worth, we're all sorry for your discomfort. like his along the rails beneath the city. like his trials upon trials that warranted his lifelong spasms of misbehavior ranging from manslaughter then, to petty theft upon theft. his shortcomings, his failures, they weighed upon his heavy brow, that was grease-stained already. his hands were shaking like mirrors during a lightning storm. intermediate remedial remedies for the mediocricy that stands as the frontier of change. if one brain can move one leg, and both sometimes, can leap to faith so readily... where does that leave the creatures that move on all fours. that crawl the streets, that hide behind cupboards and picture frames. can a man be an animal. the criminal, standing next to the choir, to the right of the pulpit, witness to a thousand confessions' tears strewn out the aisles. he did not cry. he had laid strung amongst the beggars and had seen the crack lights dim out in windows along the prositution highways of any city. some stars shine harder, the glare of the liquor runs deep in the eyes. like his bloody fingers from picking through garbage cans, they dripped down to the scorching earth. playing with himself, beneath the obituaries of an alleyway fire escape and wakin up newsprinted wet. he'd see stars, he told himself as he ran through his youth like a sharpened blade through a christmas ham. gifts were his specialty, and pawning them twice as fast as they were ever held in line. sitting in the choir stands, one choirboy held an empty bible, and looked with fireglazed eyes at the criminal. we all judged him then, when the nuns were walking to the quarters. penance as sweet. with the hung shoulders of the steady line the nuns made in awe of the negotiation made by the preacher with the sun and wind darkened man in the windbreaker and shorts. in the harsh winter season where life was so frail, so frail that the fractures on the stained glass from the inside looked like small spiders charging impetuously the sacrament of jesus christ. who had come forgiven, he had been. the preacher needed not to open curtains and wave bibles today. they would be kind to reconcile his pockets today. but a brown paper bag lay near the pulpit as well. donations to charity couldn't accept his way to purgatory, and the criminal never cried. but as the doors swung open to the church and the swat team came sweeping across the aisles with weapons drawn, later that morning. later that day, back in the halls of insanity, after he had knelt in redemption from the cold months. the criminal was no saint, but his miracle of food and water left on platters in his cell each night, would make good a promise he'd made that new years. survive another one, even as a footnote to the catastrophe of the metropolis he called the maddened humanity. life was a stepping stone then, and always would be again.
THE READER
The day I died, I watched Time's shadow on the hollowed shelf.  The sun on the snow was white.  Business was fast, work was hard, and the Dalai Llama had just died earlier that week, People even had the market-selling cover. 

The walk to my apartment is short from my vendor stand, I usually arrive home in only five minutes or less.  The building has a stoop, whose corners loomed long and dark that evening.  I walked up the stairs, rather than take the elevator, but that day the elevator was out of service, so I had to take the stairs by elimination.  The first flight of steps, a light was broken, and I thought I could smell something like sulfur.  The smell passed but when I reached the second flight, I could see that its light was broken, as well.  Suddenly there was a noise upstairs, six heavy steps and a loud yelp like a big woman might make.  I didn't take much notice, although it was certainly out of the ordinary to hear domestic disputes at this hour of day.

My apartment has a chimney, I think most of the apartments in my apartment building do.  I have a two room, so I'm uncertain of all of the details of other apartments.  It also has a porch, a small dining room, and two bathrooms, one in the corridor between the bedrooms, and one in the master room.  I live alone, but it seems appropriate for when I have company over to visit.  My living room has two sofas and a love seat.  I didn't need to eat right away, so I had a few cigarettes and some coffee on a sofa, and watched the baseball game on my television, which is a large flatscreen monitor above the chimney.  Eventually I flipped on the oldie's radio and cooked myself a hamburger on a fresh bun with a pickle and a baked potato with butter and salt.  Then, I shut everything off and went to bed.

In the middle of the night I thought I heard coughing in my other room.  I woke up, and walked over to it.  The door was closed, although I thought that I had left it open.  The room was empty, when I pushed the door.  I turned around and walked back to my bedroom from the dark corridor.  I went into the master bathroom, and leaving the lights off, relieved my bladder in the dark.  I went over to the sink and started to turn off the water to rinse my hands, when I thought that I heard the water itself flowing louder, or somehow harder and noisier than usual.  I turned off the water after a fast second, startled, and looked up and thought for a brief second that I saw someone standing behind me in the dark, with horns on their head.  But I looked more closely and saw that it was only the shadows of the towels in the linen closet behind me.  Still unnerved, I continued to rinse my hands, and then splashed some water in my face from the faucet, when suddenly the lights went on in the bathroom, which made no sense I thought, while my eyes dried enough to reopen from the cold wash, because my light switch for the bathroom was on the opposite side of the door near me.  But quickly I rubbed dry my eyes, and when I reopened them the room was still dark, and I was alone.  It took me a long time to try to get back to sleep.

Eventually I started to realize that I was having real difficulty sleeping.  I tossed and turned for over an hour under the covers, and although I was hot in the sheets, I was more overwhelmed with restlessness.  Finally, at 1:30 in the morning, is when I heard the sound in the living room.  It wasn't a cough, though, this time.  It was a scratching and irritatingly high pitched stuttered squeaking like a sinister monotone laughter.  The scratching sounded like it was beginning to become a ripping noise as I rose speedily off of the bed and towards the door, and I realized that it sounded like someone ripping through a flatscreen monitor.  It stopped shortly after I entered the corridor between the bedrooms, altogether.  I raced down the hall, nonetheless, determined that I had really heard something.  It was very dark, and I forgot to flip on the lights.

In the living room, there was someone sitting in the love seat, legs spread wide, hands resting on kneecaps.  His feet were hooves with brown puffs of hair.  He was naked, black like a burned and singed fleshy beast, with an extra-long pointy nose.  He gleamed dimly in the moonlight from the window, shining a glittery green.  His eyes bolted out like two bulbous protruding purple diamonds, although black, and he had a wild spastic and long red forked tongue that was thin like a snake's.  His fingers were long and pointy.  There was a small patch of hair on his head that was brownish green, and he had no earlobes.  His teeth were grey, dark, dirty, sharp, ragged, and his jaw was hugely long.  He opened his mouth, anyway, and somehow spoke to me, asking me just three questions.

I looked behind him and the computer seat was burned down to a stump, and the monitor was flickering different colors randomly.  I was speechless, however, and unable to move.

Then he hissed his tongue at me viciously and spit a light spray of mucus-like liquid all over the coffee table.  He had controlled my mind, already, but he leaped out of his seat, revealing a long single-line spiked tail, that had been tucked between cushions, which flew in both directions, and he grabbed me by the forehead with his strong hand.  He put his mouth all the way around my entire face so that I could see into his empty body, and then let go and looked me in the eyes, spun around, and rushed over to the chimney and climbed inside and disappeared forever.

The police found me hanging from the balcony by my necktie the next morning.

I don't remember what I said back.  I don't often remember what I say sometimes to certain people.  They are mere minor distractions, from me and my impertinent working lifestyle driven by focus and accomplishment.  I know I should reconsider others more, but I don't really think that it matters.  Nobody matters.  We're all unorganized, all alone, and we're all weird.

Selfish as it seems, there's a certain amount of distinction that comes along with being an attractive girl in modern society.  Think, & there I am.  I recognize that other people exist, but more importantly, I recognize that they realize that I exist.  Yet, even more importantly, I command attention, due to the scientifically acknowledged fact that I am genetically predisposed to have a higher intelligence than most men.  Less social people are therefore reflective of only each other as I raise myself only higher and higher than those weaker humans among the evolutionary chains.

I don't even have a boyfriend.  I rarely talk to anyone outside of the middle class income families that I grew up with.  There's no reason to, because I can get enough out of the conversations that I do have, with the people who I already trust, to gain experience to a certain, more concentrated extent.  But at school, I feel alienated because I am designated beautifully special, and therefore more likely to succeed.  That's why I brush off people so easily, because it is fun.

To me, walking away from people is like walking away from the past.  Granted, I am young still, and should be making acquaintances more often than reflected in behavior, to build for a good future, but I, at the same time feel that my youth enables me to feel as though I still have time on my side.  The advantages of being a young, smart, and pretty female are seemingly endless.  I am not ashamed, either, and I love my own body.  Constantly taking care of myself is how reality manifests my personal pride.  I am what I am, and I choose what and when I eat, and always brush my teeth afterwards.

Youth during the days of those few years that I spent in high school taught me my most valuable life lesson, though.  People are weird.

That night was different.  After cheerleading practice, I came home and there was nobody there.  There were no cars in the driveway or the garage.  It was raining when the bus pulled away from the lawn, and I closed the front door behind me fast, and entered the threshold into a darkened living room.  I called for my parents up the stairway, and only heard my own faint echo ricochet out of the guest room and closets back near the rear of the upstairs floor, where we kept our bedrooms and computer in my father's home-office.

Mondays were usually late nights for my mother who worked as a secretary at a law firm in the city.  My father was the day manager at a local manufacturing plant, and would normally be home by now.

I continued to walk through the living room, though, without hearing the dog coming running like it normally was supposed to.  When I reached the next doorway, with my way lit only by the dim streetlamps outside, I reached around the corner to flick on the light.  At that moment, lightning struck and another thunder bang echoed above the roof of the house and I jumped up a little bit, startled, and accidentally flicked up on the light switch.  The power was out, so I flicked it back down and then back up, nervously.

A car's headlights stretched around the living room walls behind me.  At first I thought that somebody was pulling into the driveway, so I looked quickly to the front window, towards the driveway in the front yard.  The driveway was empty, and the headlights flashed on from far on the curtain and the car appeared like a ghostly vessel through the water-streaked window, outside in the gloomy weather.  It was black, with just it's headlights shooting through the pouring rain, parked out beside our leafless tree that hung it's branches like a claw over the roof of the unmarked vehicle.  I stared at it for a moment from the back of our living room, where I was sure I couldn't be seen.  It didn't move for a full minute, until I looked back behind me in the kitchen at the phone.  Then, it suddenly pulled off and drove away down the street.

But something had caught my eye next to the phone.  Something was out of place.

The wind howled outside, and as I felt my way around the kitchen table to the phone, my mind raced through the people I knew of who drove, as I tried rather desperately to figure out who had a black car that would stop at my house for any reason.  When I reached the phone, I bent over it to look at the piece of paper that was stuck next to it.  It was a note.  The phone rang.

Startled, again, I read again the note in the dark as the phone continued to ring.  It only said that my father had been here to pick up the dog to go to the veterinarian.  So I picked up the phone.  Dead silence on the line.  The power was still out, or so I thought.  So I put the phone down. Suddenly, the lights went back on.

A certain aura of danger lingered in the air, though.  I finally took off my bookbag and put it on a chair at the kitchen table.  As I started to empty it, my mind started to feel like it was finally clearing up, as the thunder started to roll further and further away.  I had been surprised not to see anyone there, but I was beginning to settle myself back down.  I had homework still, as well, and I knew that I would be smart to get to bed early that night.  For some reason I felt unusually tired, barely able to keep consciousness as I piled the books out of the backpack.  I took a nap.

The rest of the evening was on schedule, and nothing seemed to happen out of the ordinary.  My father came home from the veterinarian with the dog, and then my mother came home.  I had finished eating supper before 6:30, and already by 8:00 was doing homework.  Nothing strange happened, and I felt as though everything were normal.

By the time I was ready for bed, the phone hadn't rang again all night.  My cellphone received only one text message from an unavailable number.  The text was blank for some reason, or my service wasn't working right because I couldn't read it.  I went to bed wondering how the world could be filled with so many people, with so much variety and interdependency, yet we all maintained that we were detached from each other.  Mondays were slow for everyone, was one of the final thoughts I remember thinking before I fell asleep.

My dreams that night were the kind that seem like they never end.  Just one giant episode right into the next, and each epic opus leading into one just as long, or longer than the last.

It always seems like the easiest dreams to remember are the ones right before we wake.  So as the night crept on and the dreams expanded and their patterns became more clear, I remember that the themes began to intertwine.  Of course, I can only remember the main ideas of the last dream that I had that night.  But the confliction of the pragmatic ego and the dogma of our own memory are such that by the time the last dream was beginning to take natural shape of its own amongst the myriad of prevalent and expressive creations that came before it, the melting of the overall plots began to make definite sense.

I was in school still.  For some reason I had been selected or elected to be the school ambassador.  It made no sense, but I was taken out of class because of it and put in a special room in the school where I was supposed to be alone to do research, and I was on a computer for a long time.  I was doing the research, when the assignment software seemed to switch itself to become an experiment of some sort where I was learning about biology and then creating new types of animals and species on the computer screen.  It sort of reminded me of a video game, which I never played, but it was only a dream, and I was taking it seriously.

After a while, the computer began to get brighter.  There was now only one animal on the screen that wouldn't close its software window.  I would go on and try to create a new animal over it, but the files wouldn't save and the same stuck one kept coming up.  It was an ugly animal, like a dog mixed with a pig.  Also it seemed to be getting uglier or angrier the longer it stayed up on the screen.  Soon, it started looking around the screen on its own, without me making it do anything.  I tried making a new animal again, and the ugly one jumped out of its window and attacked the new one, tearing it to bloody flesh right in front of me.  I became frightened, and the beast in the computer began barking at me, growling, and lunging at the computer screen.  The glass on the screen started to break, and I reached my hand away from the mouse and began screaming.  The beast wouldn't stop though, and it jumped all the way out of the computer monitor and grew when it came into the room with me.  It had huge fangs, and blood all over its maw.  It was foaming out of the mouth and its eyes were bloodshot.  I reached out to stop it from getting me, but it grabbed my hand with its jaw and I started screaming as I felt the wet blood trickle out of my wrist.  I screamed and screamed until I woke up, and at 6 in the morning stayed up until I had to go to school at 8:00.

The end of the week brought with it, as always, a changeover that not only alleviated us from our often overexcited peers, but also exemplified attitudes that had grown weary of the uncomfortable settings of both work and school.  The exchange of final assignments to the teacher of my last class drew parallels with the oncoming responsibilities of being a young adult in a shortened version of life in the real world.  It was similar, to some, as the life of the locust.  Metamorphosis underground in a hibernated state, until the one chance for an escape, if only for a small season, the locust's reproductive celebration was like an extravaganza of pent up sexuality.  Yet others held a high aristocracy in the face of the workweek, higher yet than our age limit would permit.  Graduation from the school was sometimes seen as devolution from out of the shell of a pretense of controlled guidance through the community, to a new set of universal agreements with the government which outlined our behaviors in the long lives that would await us all in the outside world.  We had waited patient, it had seemed, for our escape into the harsh realm that crept and crawled along outside the walls of the school.

Modern culture does have its standards, but look closer and see that regulations of human interactions are never written in books of law nor even stone tablets.  They come from an underlying algorhythm that slides between our conversations, propels us through actions in public commerce, and even decides for us the appropriateness of our outgoing enjoyment of subconscious to the point of subliminal, and furthermore, depending on your particular identity, they may as well be felt with the power of omnipotent language from within our genetic makeup.  Even though civil rights were at one time handed out to the citizens of our countries, it was no easier to forget our particular social roles than it was to forget an internet username.  There were certain things that every man feels express him to perfection.

How easy it was, then, to forget that although our natural instincts lead us all to feel as though we know truth for ourselves, the ideal of perfection is a false one.  Even our most wild inclinations, our most intuitive habits, and our most symbiotic portrayals of our individual purposes in life are not without the singularly human affect of imperfection.  This impediment of society was most likely a direct cause of our constant exposure to the flawed image we see of ourselves in everything around us.  However, there were always the artists with their signatures, self-proclaimed freedom, and that irreplaceable personal touch.

We could find solace in the dictionary definite, but in a referred encyclopedia, our appreciation of the subject and respect for our experience would be put to the test.  The idea of a weekend was a great thing for those of us who knew how to enjoy it, and I was popular enough to have had a good accumulation of expectations.  The last class's ending, the last bell's ring, all the way until the eruptive commotions of student parking lots and rides home, it was all under the guidance of a ritual that we masqueraded as eternity in servitude, only rebellion of our inner wisdom where solitude was the only ruling master.

Parents and guardians who worked for a living came back from work and shaded themselves under the glows of artificial light.  There was a feeling of unity in our households in which we imagined that togetherness stood for something other than just survival.  It permeated out of televisions and it seeped off of stovetops.  Through our outlooks as young adults, we saw that the life of the grown adult was really attainable and predictable.  This, despite the multitude of transitions that would await us all that would inevitably be painful as this life that we called childhood faded off into the void.  Old age, and eventually death was our climax, so we were only naive and misled to believe that pain was something we would learn from.  Instead, our release was not from the understanding of captivity that we were accustomed to applying to the actual necessity of protection that was installed on our existence, but out of illusion.

Anticipating that we were vessels, ourselves, only budding blossoms in the garden of life, our role models became our conscience, and our bosses turned over our daily events for us so that we could assume roles of our own as interns to potential markets that would only stay open and close up as our achievements and mistakes both took root independently to help make our classification of unbreakable as the time itself.  Blindly wandering, though, we descended through the gateways of confusion and left vacant the residencies of assured safety.  Commitments that seemed senseless were noted so well that we found ourselves more apt to follow that particular lust for adventure than common to even the most dangerously employed professional should ever allow.  Thoughts that forever stray never return to their point of origin, and instead usually abandon the facts for fancies that were sometimes never meant to be noticed in a nation built on censorship of unwanted desensitization.  But if the seeds were sewn, the crops reaped unused unnecessary to the conclusion of the success did continuity of the unity of family feel these benefits, nor from our individual maturity.  Relationships such as friendship and colleague are easily rotated, genealogies are broken and mended, but the strangeness of a strained acquaintance is the hardest and most unbreakable bond on Earth.

It was my duty, according to these very bonds, to play the part of the miniature replica of the scripted stereotypes governing my character in this stage of life.  Apparently, I was without weekend calling that preserved my preferences for the excitements of the theatrics of the party life, and had been so called on to perform the civil duties that were attributed to me so far in my short span of life.  Regardless of my father's encouragement to join charitable non-profit volunteer organizations, I had gone through my own distinctly progressive and perceivable futuristic maze of networks to arrive at this ultimately unstoppable current situation.  Entrepreneurship was trending with the youth and I was doing what I could to establish myself as an entity that would one day have ownership of such properties that might assemble the same industrial fields I, as not only an only child but only heir, would feel perpetually inclined to fill for those whose dependency, too, I would one day strive to replace.  Employment was more than a goal for those of us with that integrity; it was as secondary as an hour hand chases the minute.

Tonight was Friday, and I had been given the qualifications and instructions to be present in a nearby neighborhood.  Babysitting was the night's agenda, and I felt strong and ready to earn the money and gain the respect.  Multi-tasking, surveillance, restrictions and allowances, were my primary commandments.  I felt strong, and lucky for the gifts my body had bestowed upon me.  I was confident and eager.

Approaching the area of the house whose home would soon become my temporary private domain for the night, and whose fortitude would be my charge, I was listening to the music in my headphones and pretending that I one da owned a record label.  I was picking which artists I would have under my management, and what projects we would endeavor.  Lackadaisically, I strolled down the avenues of my city.

The laptop bag was switched from left to right shoulder on the last turn onto the street where I would be babysitting, and as I was doing so, I thought I saw something inside one of the windows on the street that looked odd.  I wasn't sure, but it didn't strike me that the oddity was anything to concern myself with.  The person in the window looked vaguely familiar, and I was ready to forget it and keep walking, when I heard a car engine.  Quickly, I turned and looked down the street that I had come from and was unable to see any headlights, but there were bushes next to many of the driveways.  Looking down the sidewalk, though, I thought I saw the same thing in my peripheral vision from the window in the same house.  It was a human face, maybe an older man or lady, but it looked completely horrified by something outside in the road.

The wind howled loudly and I started to move once again, and quickened my pace almost immediately.  I was practically out of breath when I reached the apartments down at the end of the block.  I crossed the street at the intersection, and under the traffic lights I glanced back down the road to try to see over to the house that had given me such a brief fright, but the bright green emanating from above me made the houses into only outlines against the deep blackness of the night sky.

Inside the people's house that I was babysitting that evening, I made all of the friendly and undisturbed gestures I had planned n making with the parents of the 3 year old I was there to keep watch over.  They would be back at midnight, dinner and movie, and they had left the baby in the crib upstairs, fed.  They were out the door before I was even done logging onto the computer.  In ten minutes I was online and in two hours I was off.  Nothing unexpected had occurred, yet.

I got up off the couch in the living room and walked over to the window in the front of the house.  I looked out across the street at the apartments outside there.  Fantasies began racing through my mind, as I was no foreigner to the perversions of almost all teenagers.  I thought a little for a moment about a football player I had been watching at school, the handsome boys at my high school, then the musicians I had favored earlier that night during my walk.  I was thinking about the walk briefly when I was reminded of the face in the window.  I don't know what made me remember, but as soon as I started to close my eyes to shake my head and forget the terrifying image and feelings that had chased me here, there was a noise.

The sound wasn't loud, but it pierced the mood and ambiance, and it resonated off of the computer, through the small living room, and made me snap quickly spin my neck around.  I almost laughed, though, as I saw that it was only an instant message on the computer screen of the laptop on the coffee table in front of the living room couch.  I walked back around the couch and leaned over it to look at the screen of my laptop.

There was no name on the message.  No program was on the machine that looked like this one, either.

I was scared again, and I couldn't figure out why, but it felt instinctive.  I ran upstairs, to the child's room.  It was empty.

In the movies, they showed us how the detectives and police could always solve even an intricate crime.  But even in the better films, scenes of the lead detective's frustration are what build the audience's anxieties to the point of climactic turning where the plot finally reveals the clues.  Cinema uses a healthy imagination to put us in suspense, but real life doesn't always have a happy ending.

That was it.  I was on my own from there on out, after the missing child incident in my high school years.  I was so young, I was forced to continue on and always look back as though I had committed some unholy atrocity.  Guilt is like karma, and innocence is a foreign tongue to those that have lost it.

To others, the catastrophe's consequences varied widely, but even when I entered college, I remember the first night spent in the dormitory room with my roommate, when I woke in the middle of the night and thought I saw moving lights out of the quad through the window next to her bed.  It was only her, Elizabeth, there, though, under her covers.

When I returned home that Thanksgiving, I borrowed a car from my parents and was driving to the mall, when I found myself back on that same old street.  I looked at the houses across from the now abandoned apartments, and pulled over next to the old tenement.  The house that haunted my dreams and nightmares had been repainted by now to a different color.  The houses next to it had undergone renovations of various different types, too.  I had already observed the empty apartment building, assumed that the tenants of the houses across the road had been faced with the impending foreclosure of the apartment properties, and had tried to revitalize their property value in an effort to overthrow the slums surrounding them.  As I was about to take the car out of park, throwing it in neutral, someone drove by slowly, stopping traffic for a moment, and I saw that the contractors had left parts of the neighboring houses across the street unfinished.  Roofs were still in shambles, fences broken, and shingles hung loosely off some.  That house was a tower in the wasteland, but only for me.  The once red paint was now a darker purple.

Back in the dormitories, Elizabeth and I were rarely anything less than professionally polite to one another.  Time had changed all the ways that I acted around other people, even those my own age.  I was paranoid, for sure.  I never felt that I truly belonged with the other students, and I couldn't fit in with any group.  When Elizabeth went out to the bars the first year, I realized that my life was already beginning to slow down.  Older than she was, yet not as reckless, nor as happy, I felt that my maturity was wearing down the walls of my social paranoia, yet that I would one day be happy was one thing that I felt youthfully hopeful for.

These early experiences were misleading.  I studied hard, all the time, and tried to concentrate in class, but it always felt like I didn't know what to say exactly.  I almost failed the first semester at the university, partly because of a lack of participation in class.  My professors spoke to me semi-sympathetically, and we agreed that we would have to come up with an alternative extra credit assignment for me in a couple of core courses.  I did feel as though I was being given a good second chance, and I was ready to commit myself.

The second semester wasn't much different though.  Midterm grades came and I was doing alright, but when I looked at the last semester's adjusted credits, it didn't seem to make much of a difference, at all.  The grades had caught up a letter, but going from C's to B's wasn't very impressive, especially in retrospect of the difficulty of the amount of essays that I had struggled to complete before the winter break was over.  Seeing Elizabeth come and go from the dorm room more and more, I began to curiously wonder how she was able to sustain a passing grade point average.  I thought it was unfair, and felt that if I didn't find out how she was getting it all done, that I would become distracted and jealous.  Elizabeth told me after the midterms, that her secret lay in a moderation of work and play, a good diet, and constant preparation for the tests rather than the continual regimen of daily routine-forced studying that I had forced myself to do.  Strangely, it seemed as though she was saying that I was working way too hard, and I was only partially offended by these observations, if at all.  I admired her comprehension of her own position, including her own education and the same system of school that we both shared.  I also looked up to her sexually, as did, well, most of the men at the university, including our professors.  She was beautiful, and had no trouble attracting anyone there.  As we talked, I began to open up to someone new for the first time my whole life.  I knew she was listening to everything I had to say, and I thought of it as therapeutic, and her as my mentor.

That's when the pressures from home and my parents began, when, after my midterms, a letter came in the mail.  I was crying alone in the dorm room when Elizabeth came in from her last class of the day.  She quietly patted my shoulder and I told her that my financial aid was going to be denied because of poor report cards.  She was there for me, then, again, where nobody else was.  This was too much of an emotional time, still, and when she asked if I had any money to go downtown to the department stores with her, I burst out crying again in her arms.  She only laughed a little, and cooed me sweetly under chin.  She smiled and rocked me slowly singing the song I had heard my whole life into he back of my head, "O Suzanna."

I knew things would be hard to explain to my parents, who were in no position to pay for my full tuition, and I knew that the next move I would make would be to take out my own student loans, if I could.  I went to my bank the next day to see what it would take to get the money.  In the bank, at the ATM, I swiped my card to check my available balance which had been emptied before I came back to school after winter break.  I was positive that there would be zero funds available, but to my surprise two hundred dollars had somehow been forgotten after Christmas, although I knew that I had deposited it from my memory.  In this sudden turn of events, though, I felt off guard and delighted at the same time.  I withdrew the money.

For the duration of the following week, I was beginning to watch closely the moves of my peers, especially Elizabeth.  I watched her woo classmates, and I listened to her cull her friends, all the while discussed by every cool guy in the cafeteria.  By Wednesday I was ready to attempt to integrate myself back in to the world of popularity.  When noon came, I decided that I couldn't hold on any long, and that I would go to the cafeteria and eat at a table with some of the girls I knew.  I might get lucky, I thought, maybe see somebody nice.

There she was, sitting at a back table near a window with a group of kids, naturally segregated with girls on one side and boys on the other, all talking and eating together as if they were the only thing that existed in their niche of the universe.  I shyly made my way through the lunch line and was about to sit at another random table, when I looked over again in her direction, and saw her staring back at me, smiling beautiful and perfectly in a way that reminded me of what true happiness must be.  I tried to smile back, and she waved me over, so I walked down the aisles of tables, half expecting some joker to stick his foot out and trip me.  I was so used to being among the elite from my high school, that I knew that a newer initiate would often undergo cruel punishments from their contemporaries.  Nervously, I focused only on Elizabeth.  I sat a few seats down from my friend, and resumed the initial invitation to small talk my way through conversations with my fellow populace.

When Elizabeth left the table I was already read to go, also, and I got out of my seat and followed her and a few girls towards the exit.  They were going to their next classes, and I asked if they would be at the cafeteria at the approximate same time every Wednesday.  They would, and Elizabeth assured me that she had scheduled most of her classes to allow for exact times for getting to the gym and lunch.  She joked that I should go to the gym and visit one of the guys from the cafeteria table, Randall, sometime.  I laughed, though, and told her I had been a high school athlete.  It made me feel like I was putting a lot out at the stake, to admit that I was still into cheerleading, but I recovered by asking about going downtown Thursday night.  Elizabeth had already started to turn around, but when I mentioned the bars, she turned back halfway and replied quickly that I should go out with them Friday.

That night, Elizabeth came back late, and we barely talked.  During our most accelerated moments of life where we are apt to lose track of time, we are usually at a point where, for some reason, we are allowed abilities to reflect the past most intensely.  Thursday night, while we both were doing our homework, my brain began remembering how irrationally scared I had been of those events at that old babysitting job.  It was two years later, and I was finally getting over the intense paranoia, after I had spent so much time in fear.  I was awake later than usual that night, and as I looked out the window of our first floor dorm from my pillow, I thought how the next night would erase the final pieces of misfortune from my spirit.

Friday night, at the bar, Randall and I met again.  Elizabeth disembarked after a few drinks to another bar with some man I never got a chance to meet or speak to. She came back from the bathroom and announced that she had been introduced to a guy from out of town who wanted to check out the city.  She laughed and pointed in the direction he was waiting, and said that she had a lot to show him.  I tried to check out who she was going out with, but there were too many people at the bar.  So, Randall and I stayed there at the table, and Elizabeth weaved her way through the crowd toward whoever it was out there that she had met.  I watched for a minute as she walked, trying to see between familiar faces from around school, but Randall grabbed my hand, and started to tell me about how pretty I am.  Astonished, at first, I stopped pursuing my roommate and went back to socializing, drinking, talking, and forgetting about my life.

I finally got back to campus after the bars had closed.  I wandered through the dark quad alone.  In my room, the lights were off, and Elizabeth was already in bed.  I, too, fell asleep in a matter of minutes.  In the middle of the night I was awakened to the low sound of a humming.  It sounded faintly reminiscent of the old song that Elizabeth had sang the week before; "O Suzanna."  The humming grew annoying after a couple of minutes, off key, and I was already feeling cold and disoriented from the oncoming hangover.  I got up out of bed, finally, sleepily mumbling for her to keep quiet, as I stumbled over to close the window.  The humming did not stop as I approached the window, and I felt like I was going to puke, the room smelled awful, so I kept the window open and turned around and yelled at her again, but she still did not quit her incessant song.  So, I walked over to her bed and saw that her sheets were over her head.  I pulled them off.  I saw her head was missing off of her shoulders, and the sound of the humming had been wind from the window rushing across her windpipes under the sheets.  My roommate had been murdered.  All the way to the hospital in the ambulance I sang "O Suzanna."

They don't really want you to know this, but some drugs that doctors prescribe their patients work on what is called 'placebo' effect.  This means that the medicine that you get a prescription for is inactive, with no real ingredients, and that you are told to take medicine every day, unaware.  Usually the people who are given these fake drugs are so far out there that they never even realize.  Medical fields based out of scientific research and studies, likely to uphold indisputably conclusive cures, appear inexcusably negligent when 'placebo' drugs are fraudulently handed to already completely disoriented patients.  Still, the government condones the irresponsible conduct, despite all rationality.

Another misconception among patients at psychiatric hospitals is that they are going into a locked cell every night, trapped at all times in a ward that was there not to protect them, but to imprison them.  Sign yourself in, sign yourself out, was meanwhile, the majority of the h hospital policy regarding patient detainment.  There's no reason to exaggerate the effectiveness of the practice of patient therapy, especially while doctors, nurses, workers, and therapists there don't have expectations for full recovery.  If you were there until you died, would be the only perceivable problem.  The reasoning is there would be no insurance payment, although the appearance would be of just yet another unfixable case.

Personally, I wasn't much of an exception to the general rule that a patient would probably decipher at least some of the mysteries on their own, and want to be released as soon as frustrations occurred.  Maybe it was sheer strength, perseverance; my untouched wit led me to the point which I was going crazy that I was locked in a strange world, rather than total insanity by pure nature.

During visitations, I felt disempowered, like an exhibit for my parents, ambassadors of the world outside.  They would come in to the wing of the hospital to see me, like aliens from another planet.  They were like holographic images sent from orbiting satellites far above Earth.

It surprised me that they never initially encouraged my release, so that until I started to calm myself down, I always felt safely suspended in a false reality, like a television show.  The hospital was my set, the nurses and doctors were my supporting cast, and the camera was in my mind, or so I thought.  Really, the cameras were on the ceilings, peeking in at me as I slept on my cot in my small room.

The only reason I came to the realization that I could sign myself out of the hospital, was an interaction with another patient that happened after a month of sedation and deep meditations of my own.  A man who had been recently thrown in with the rest of us drooling, ogling, sometimes delirious psychological experiments, seemed definitely different, more focused and clear-thought.  Altogether I only saw him twice before he disappeared.  Delusional as I was, though, I thought that he looked somehow vaguely familiar.  I questioned a nurse as to where the mysterious man had gone to, and that's when they spilled the truth out that I could emancipate myself at any time.

The last week before release I dreamt that I was trapped in a padded cell, strapped down in a straight jacket.  Out of the window of the cell there was a monstrous patrolling monster.  I was trapped inside the cell, but safe.

Nothing mattered anymore.  People had thrown me off of my high horse once and I had found my way back in to the games of life.  But this time, I was determined to never let anyone else close to me ever again.  I had been changed.

The first major problem after I came home from the hospital was that I had no money of my own.  Work had never been a big concern of mine.  I thought that I would be able to get by after I had graduated from college.  But leaving school with no degree made things difficult.  My financial aid was non-negotiable and all of my scholarships had vanished.  My parents weren't much help.  Instead of a car, they bought me a 'used' dog.  Instead of a job, they put rent up at a downtown apartment in my home town.  There was nothing I could do besides stay indoors for four months, unmotivated even to find employment.  Television replaced most of my old social habits, and my parents were the source of all or most of the food that I barely ate.  All that I had to keep me company was the dog- a greyhound named Xaul.

All that autumn, I watched the people out on the street out of my top story apartment window.  They met, left, walked, ran, conversed, argued, and hated and loved with one another.  Everyone seemed a part character in a long story that stretched out into the setting sun, through the horizon and into outer space.  They lived lives far more attached to a reality that had rejected and ejected me to my tower, here.  Ridiculous as it seemed, by Thanksgiving I was beginning to become jealous of the normal, ordinary people who could continue their benign existence into eternity and never, it seemed, become exposed to the harsh elements that were somewhere out there in the wide wild world, waiting just for me.  In a dark alley, or hiding behind the tombstones of a cemetery, within the tinted windows of the slow drivers in low riding sports cars, between blinds, against edges of any business storefront, panhandling for spare change, everywhere safety's absence became less than top priority to the rest of the world.

Eventually, I exited the apartment one evening and ventured.  I attended a midnight show at the local movie theater.  That was alright, but I soon found that my jealousy had become an unmoving distrust in my heart.  Complete strangers became a target of hatred, criticism, aggravation, pent-up angst.  As I would heatedly complain about popcorn prices, tobacco taxes, grocery receipts, soon, credit items and ATM fees.  I became aware that this lack of trust spawned its own set of problems.  I had become poor, in debt, impoverished, and unclean in my habits.  By Halloween I couldn't even afford candy, but realized that my top floor apartment wouldn't receive visitors, and was shattered to recognize how alone I felt.

Thanksgiving came, and at the dinner table with my parents at my old home, I popped the question right away as my father began carving the turkey.  I remember, he was whistling merrily, as my mother sipped her wine, frowning, rolling her eyes to the window of the dining room.  I asked if I could borrow a large sum of money for the next month, and when my father denied me, I didn't try to negotiate or compromise, but I stormed upstairs to my old bedroom, shouting at my parents to their embarrassment.  I meant to grab some of my old belongings, books, anything I wanted out of the room, but when I got inside I sat on my old bed, and lay back onto the pillow, beginning to cry.  Tears were still forming in the corners of my eyes, and I covered my mouth in disgust at my own ruin.  The money had supposed to have been so that I could start finding work.  I had assumed that I would need extra travel expenses, maybe some new clothes, a cellphone, and of course other household items.  Yet unable to figure out why my father had denied me, I began yelling obscenely how I hated the entire planet, condemning my family, and would just leave, not to ever return again.  I got up and walked out of the bedroom and pushed past my mother in the upstairs hallway, threw on my coat, and started to walk home.  My mind was filled with sorrow, and I had attacked my only source of tangible consolation.  Alone once again, and now with a headache, I charged forth through the snow and wind.

On the second corner after I had left my parents front door, a car came up behind me, flashing headlights in the dark, honking, and splashing.  Then, it suddenly pulled over and stopped a few yards ahead, quite unexpectedly.  There, it waited, as I trudged on.  When I got a little closer, it had begun to roll down the passenger side window.  When I arrived at the rear of the vehicle, I saw that the window had been unrolled all the way.  I pretended not to care, until all at once, out of the car cracked out a cackling and hideous laughter.  I strayed right on the icy sidewalk fast and pushed forth ahead, trying not to look back.  A voice shouted as I huddled my shoulders, eerily echoing through the empty road a voice I couldn't understand.  I pretended the voice had come from some horny teenager attempting to make my desolate night worse.  But although I lived two miles down the road, the sound of the voice wouldn't leave my mind.  It had been a simple sentence that the person had said, but it was so strange that I was beginning to become increasingly extremely worried of every car that rode past me from then on, during the walk.

The last stretch of three blocks that I walked in the cold, I was shaking from not just the severe snowstorm that raged overhead and everywhere in the city streets, but from fear.  Any car I heard move on the street was speculated, I was examining each one when they get farther away to see if it was the same specter, following me down.  This harassment on a holiday was a soft irony to my defense, in face of the fight with my father over money.  Nonetheless, I plunged up the stoop of my apartment and frantically fumbled with my keys, shivering in the frigid air.  As I pushed open the door, sirens erupted in the dark, still night, somewhere.

Hastily, I climbed up the stairs to my apartment.  From each landing's doorways poured out the muffled clamor of Thanksgiving dinners, families filled with spirit and joy, televisions and radios cranked on high volume.  All mocking me and chasing upward through the stairwell, remnants of a lost civilization I no longer should belong to.  At my apartment door, I sniffled my noise and unlocked and pushed open the door, nearly falling face first in sobs into my studio.  I didn't hit the lights before I spun around and slammed the door behind me, leaning against it while I locked the deadbolt.

The dog, Xaul was under the bed, only his tail shook underneath, and I fell down on the covers and into sleep.

The night was bitterly cold, and the temperatures were falling below zero, wind chill was negative eighteen.  The window had been left open, and the whipping of the curtains, and my freezing body woke me up from my slumber at midnight.

I looked at the window and thought I heard Xaul whimper.  He was still under the bed.  I reached down and patted the floor to call him and pet him, but Xaul didn't respond and the whimpering stopped.  Curiosity made me wonder why he was hiding still, so I rolled over on the bed and leaned over the edge to look.  Underneath the bed, a man was laying next to Xaul, a man I had never seen before.  He was chewing the dog's face and reddish dried blood covered his face and hands.  As soon as I saw him, he was already reaching over the dog to grab me by my jaw which had been opened right then to let out a scream.  I blacked out.

The next thing I saw was a bathroom mirror.

Pain was everywhere in my whole body.  I was covered in blood and my eyes were falling asleep as soon as they had been opened.  Behind me, holding my head by my hair and scalp was the man, who by now looked familiar somehow, and in my confusion I lost track of where I was or what I should be paying attention to in order to get out and away from him.

I was looking at the mirror, noticing that I couldn't move my mouth which had actually been duct taped closed, when he pushed my head straight down onto the sink.  Pain again shot through my face, and I felt like my jaw had been slammed into pieces.  I began choking on teeth as he threw my limp body off the sink, out of the bathroom, onto the floor.


Things were moving, I wasn’t ready.
I’d always pictured the North as a cloudy rainstorm, snow-storming, lightning stricken farmland. A land of drawn shades which even in the thickest of nights, could glow against curtains and into lamplights that stood low and hung like the last of the homeless waiting for soup kitchen portions of grub, remaining still in the hazy-eyed fluorescence. It was just a setting sun that only guided down the darkness to the backs of garages and barns, where many houses all faced in the same direction and couldn’t help much but succumb to the most shadiness of an empire’s tribute that was as symbolic in my mind. A brown, underground, and hearty, rock and dirt foundation let through little green beyond that laying behind the soil’s moist nurture of fallen seeds of which once would have been mighty trees that told stories and knew of rich heights. They, though, like the fortitude of civilian life, out here, could only begin to the wondrous climb to the sky that lead their destination into devastated fate of a concealed coverage by the swooping canopies of waving branches and leaves far overhead that had solidified the forests of the Adirondacks. They were stunted and would break, thrashing at the brushing bush, crackling their stump in hollow emphasis of more weakened efforts.
I’d also contemplated in awe, the disconnection from the society that seemed to permeate from over our rainwater reflected horizons of New York. The River Hudson rarely sent vessel of shipment or boatload to our Bay, and that is one reason why, amongst superstitions and against the favoring of commerce to commute as efficiently as possible to the desired location of demand, we all call ourselves citizens of a fragile and thirsty America. We were quenched only by advertised products, as we felt the limbo of a stage of civilization that revolved around the socialness of everyone. The impossibility of the modern human to withstand the call of the changes of progress was a growing sensation of disbelief and frigid discomfort to us, but one that we adapted to the same way as those shrubs and bushes did up North. But the once bravely productive rail had only brought the freight for the last decades, and the skies were filled with phantom lives, flying above us like ghosts, to those of us tortured in the inhumane servitude of our own choices, rather than forces of nature, whether industrial workings or construction, manual labor or commercial service. These were dreams that flew up high, dreams that flew across the Atlantic, and out of our daily minds that came with an air and dignity that held us close into the metropolis as patrons to a future nobody had time to check.
Except, as I knew was the case, we all really did know what lay ahead for us. It was only certain that this flawless life would continue, day by day. I had known of these certain consistencies in the lifespan of an average American, but had only guessed, as youth has tendency to incline us towards, that I would somehow forge forth and charge through the world without noticing the slightest amount of hesitance.
Now, things are moving. I’m not ready…

Although true love may come from just one pair
Be not afraid in times of lonely unseen pain of focus
As useless to survive as the soulless
Only the burned in burden we bear as time slides and slips
Forever open…

In days drawn lead with grass tips green with fresh
How our oft forgot are forth in coming around so frozen
Even in our own friends’ once earthly deaths
Of forgone memory comes the crying and for their despair’s
Eternal oding…


THE DAY by Twyll The ChyllTyrant
There was a simple village that lived with simple times.  They ate, they got hungry, and they always stayed on the sunny side of the past.
One day, a man came into the town, a man they had never seen before.
To them, he gave three choices with no guarantee attached.
They couldn’t be repeated because they weren’t guaranteed and couldn’t be guaranteed because they were never repeated.
Instead, the villagers got upset.  They didn’t do that with any animosity towards the man, but with the Gods did they get upset.
They used amulet after artifact after medicine man after wiseman and king to destroy those options.  But no matter what, they couldn’t shake the man’s words.  They made the words illegal, and punishable by death if spoke, but couldn’t shake his figure.
They couldn’t shake his figures for a long time, because he had moved in the shadows.
But one day they found another man from the village, and pointed all the blame on this one.
It won’t end pretty, he told them again and again.  But no matter what, the old one’s ideas had been so thorough that though the new man was chosen out of envy, the envious only ignored his wisdom for the propaganda of the old one.  It’s all they could do, and had been chosen so wisely that the options had been weighed and forgotten and the shadowy man on the shadowy planet lived to regret that he had only given them the choices so that he could take them away.
That’s another story though, for another rainy day.
Because, all the devious-doings of all of the villagers had been weighed for so long, that even the first man to the second man had been weighed by someone else whose name was long forgotten by anybody.
The loved one, she wept, as all she could do, and the lover was left stunned, as all she saw fell to the earth and vanished so slowly that it left only one in the future with a tear that could never be explained.
So the man, who faced prosecution for his wicked ways, walked to only one, and she was distant to anyone loved, and further than that walked his wild ways to the nearest coyote and asked the coyote for three options of his own.  The coyote did this of course, and vanished, too, when the lover’s eyes fell to the sky’s light whom always had beckoned her.
It was then that the story had gotten so entangled with self-worship that the man returned home.  He was going to die and he had no regrets because he knew where his heart lay and it was in a cold, empty cell that had never been built.
He did this, and wished for one thing.  It was that his lover would remain his mask, and that his coyote would return one day and sweep her off her feet.  But he knew he couldn’t just walk away the next day and sing the glory of the angels to the villagers, for they were still angry with him.  So the loved one came to him in his sleep and saw what he was dreaming of.  She knew then, that she had all the world’s choices and that they were the same as that long forgotten shadowy man, was just what some would call a real “coinkydink”.
No body moved for a night.  And the next day, everything would be made true, they were promised in their sleep.  But even the oldest of all villagers found it difficult to breathe smoothely that morning and they all awoke early.
The golden man was hung.  His praise would never be sung.
But life is so old, that death and it’s reincarnation is forever young.
 The time is nine, in the sky, time died
 The time to try, time is nice to die
 Once by and by, by and by, to die

 The time is nye, my oh my oh my
 The time in the sky, the time to die
 The time to try, by and by, goodbye







I rushed to
the balcony and down the fire escape and held my dying friend in my arms.
 His fall was like a shooting star,
his impact like a meteor.

“You are now bound to infinity. 
Forever.”

“Dear God, what have I done?  Who will save me, now?”

I didn’t even know what happened for the next month, warped out of my mind on adrenaline, drugs, and selfdisgust.
I only remember the first dream.
It would haunt me for eternity.


“my father, the original saint saith unto thee...
be bright, actions speak louder than words
my son, tracked by hell’s angels
the world, no signature as deep
will, the disappearing lights, be
a search begun”
Tyr’s Fall
Book 1 The Ascent...
(Ascent, Kings, Tyr)
Book 2 Ragnarok...
(Draco, Apocalypse, Zion)
Book 3 The Downfall...
(Satan, Odin, Downfall)
Armageddon
I will be back.



Book 1:
The Ascent


Tyr’s Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Tyr’s Fall
Book 1:  The Ascent
ACT 1
Chapter 1
Ascent
Darkness is an inescapable fury.                                                                                   to truth the gods are bound and buried
Complete darkness, that envelops the soul                                            where then through the shades of light was barred.
and body of a life form, is charged.                                                                when then through consciousness lights aren’t.
This is all the development of mind,                                                                             for now this assigned our vice and bane
breaching the darkness and to reach through to light                                                         now only to fall like autumn’s rain
all holy and representative of strength.                                                                                   to rebound and high arise again.
Power, it was a lustful urge within                                                                                within the dreams of summer’s harshness
the burning, lustful, buried soul of darkness.                                                                  bleeding canvas can emote heartless.
Encompassing fury.  Becoming fury.                                                                                              within our burial comes purely
No darkness was ever as pure as Heaven                                                                               or as exactly deceptive perhaps
the Ether Realm of Earth whence Eden collapsed.                                                              smothering belief and faith at last
None ever as final, calling the souls                                                                                 like the bells to the high noon harvest.
of Earth from plague and suffering to complete                                                                       liken the depths of inking artists
overwhelming light, through which beckoned this                                                           revealing the hell of one’s hardship.
existence and deliverance of darkness.                                                                           as well awareness where our heart is.
Solitude was the truest exhibition                                                                                yet if one could breach the other realms
of power among the God’s of the darkness                                                                   then he should surely be held of helm
known as that unspeakable, Ether Realm.                                                                                          of forever for every realm
Solitude, gratitude, and pity.                                                                         and he shall be as tyr to fall and with great cities.








In a world taken over by instinct-feeding zombies, survivors live lives of solitude, underground, existing to each other only in transmissions, trying together to at least dream to build a robot that will wipe out the infected parts of the lifeforms by rewiring neural transmitters with microscopic ant-like androids.  When the scientists speak to each other in complete standard English, they are able to withstand the zombie hordes of “Watchers” a new breed of zombie that infects the minds through eye-to-eye penetration, or skin to skin, smell to smell, etc.  The survivors are lucky, until the end, when they discover that one of the scientists has surpassed himself in egostic corruption and sabotages the machines to attack the people in reverse automation.









 Tyr was not standing, neither was he sitting as he watched the world below and surrounding him.  He watched with patience that came from blindness.  He sought out the different charges of emotion that ran through the thoughts, which soared upward in a constant barrage of feelings from the creatures in the whirlwind ascent.  Souls of generations that surged him with constant charges of trust, love, pain, hatred, came and went.  In one ear and out the other went cries of lust, of fury.
 Tyr was the catalyst.  His creation was that of utmost importance, the single barrier between imagination and reality to the people of Earth.  Time, was not the contingency that one would expect, however, in the catalyst’s eye.  Not that he could not determine the very instant of a soul’s most pleasurable sexual sensation, nor that he could not awaken the hunger and fear in the eye of a single child on Earth.  It was his duty, however, to regulate the emotional sphere of Earth.  This was all that he had for almost as long as he could remember, ever known.
 His being was an ancient, ancient one.  For at one point he had been very strong, and capable of quelling any individual thought process on Earth.   There had, indeed been pieces of history when his reign was supreme and where man and animal had co-existed in complete harmony.  Before his son Zeus had taken the threshold of war and faction of human spirit to new levels, Tyr had long awaited the opportunity to really execute his authority over man.
 It was one common fact at this point, that war was imminent on Earth.  A catastrophic war that would rip the fabric of time and space.  As an Elder God, Tyr was ready to play his part in the fantastic war.  He had long ago been a part of the planning committee.  Here, the Elders of the Ether Realm laid out their separate pieces of the united outline to which Earth would be forced into recognition of its great Gods, of its untold horrors, of its warped existence which had been the creation of the Eldest and Greatest Of Great Gods, Elohim.
 Odin, the once great Elder of War, and the God responsible for the burial of thousands upon thousands of human bodies was still unfit for the task of such a catastrophic war on Earth.  It had been earlier augmented that Tyr would be his successor.  However the Greatest Gods, whose identities always seemed on the verge of revelation yet forever hidden in shadow of darkness to the Elders, who in turn were but shades and hues to the Lesser Gods, gave specific instructions to which the exchange of powers would take place.  A sacred monastery had been created eon ago for the purpose of such a battle of immortal souls, at a Mount Zion, which the Gods were instructed to build with one specific location.
 Both immortals, Odin and Tyr would ride the skies upon each other’s backs and like a tumultuous and unbalanced doppelganger, would collide upon themselves in combat.  Together they would sear the sky magenta, the ground smeared with blood.  Devastate, together they would scorch and smolder hundreds of humans.  They would run and when they would run the earth would quake.  As they yelled out in anguish of battle, the angels of the immortal army of Earth would cry. 
The only recognizable flaw in the plan was Zeus, Lesser God of Fear.  At request of Tyr, to Zeus was left an undecided destination in the catastrophic war.  Tyr knew of his son’s spells of imbalance and anger, being that he was God of the human emotion of Love as well.  He was only uncertain of his son’s final movements for the fact that he had blocked out any retainable memories of his son’s fall from grace after the fall of the Greek empire.  All he would choose to know was that his son had made his decision either for or against him.  Besides this, Tyr was ready, he had already made arrangements for a Protector God to be transplanted on Earth to help him if need be, Aeolus, the Wind God.
The Half-Gods had long been relinquished, and the Lesser Gods stood all watching in awe as their armies of angels began polishing their blades with anticipation and impatience.  Tyr only existed to see the outcome rise upon the moment.  His entire being wound slowly down the whirlwind advance of souls upon his Temple of Godliness.
The time was ripe, rising like a full red moon over the grassy plains, skyscrapers, and mountain ranges of Earth.  Tyr foresaw many perils of the conquest of Earth.  In one day’s time, his son might lose his existence, forever, if man ceased to exist.  He also, as an Elder God of Earth, made no mistake of the other potential participants in the final battle.  Man and God fighting, fist and foot, blade and bullet to the last fallen combatant.  The darkness was ascending.
As the darkness lifted like a curtain of Greek tragedy, Tyr knew that his conquest would not be without possible pitfall and trap.  He knew, for instance, that Netherrealm’s leaders had been changed up quite frequently in just the comparatively recent past.  His distrust of the realm of Hell was due, for as the God of Emotion, he was one of the initial creators of the Netherrealm, where unwanted souls stay.  He knew but one thing, the reigning God Hades, who had been banished from Heaven for misconduct, was a foolish one.  The Least of All, Lucifer, was decisively still lurking somewhere among the shadows of Netherrealm, in all his disgusting, unimaginable ugliness.  Where the flames had yet to strike their sharp flicker, Lucifer, eternal foe of mankind, was surely waiting for some escape to set claim on the souls that he had desired for along the centuries, possibly even rendering Hades an Earthly mortal, or even more dangerous, try to escape for himself to the Earth Realm to set his own bids among the Gods for the remnants of Earth.
Tyr thought all of this through the darkness yet ascending, higher still, and as the whirlwinds of souls began to become more and more distinctly human, and the smells of Earth began to warp his senses.  He could smell at once as the ocean rose below him the blood of a million soldiers falling under sword and gun along the millennia of melee.  He saw at once the rise of Roman coliseums, and the fall of the World Trade Center.  Almost to Earth Realm, now, as the darkness steadily increased it’s rate of secession, he could hear Zeus’s cries of loneliness and fear.  Was it illusion?  What was it that his own son was hiding?
Lightning struck Tyr at every angle, time ripped and stood still.  This was the beginning of the final stages of his transconfiguration from Immortal to Mortal.  The ground began to rip upwards toward his feet faster and faster.  The mothers of Earth, fathers, the sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, all who fell to the whims of insanity, amnesia, the flashes of desperation, the depths of Apocalypse and death’s scythe.
A tear fell from Heaven.  Tyr caught it in his hand and grasped it close to his chest.  As the last of all the mind-blowing whirlwinds slowed to a halt, and the darkness dissipated into flashing bits of floating debris-like chasms, Tyr looked up once more to the Heavens.  His final war cry of complete betrayal of emotion, his throat bellowed out the name of his Father, who he would remember this one last instant, forever.  One last transconfiguration of mind remained.  A voice from Heaven made one simple request:


“Tyr, the time was nigh, and do not give up faith.  The ascent has ended, the descent yet remained!”
Chapter 2

 Almost as soon as I felt the breath of life, I was dead.  As quick as the earth instilled it’s nutrients, it stole them back.  I remember just a few things of when I was alive, and although I could relay them at quite ease in a more comfortable setting, I am not at that certain capacity, yet.  Yet to explain what I’ve seen, I will continue.  I remember another one, who somehow resembled me.  I remember a light, and I remember three wishes that were allowed for my access to the light.  The wishes I have forgotten, but of which I made my final pleas with the light, I was never to be redeemed of life.
 There was a brief moment of inspiration between the light.  It grappled me and threw me which way and that.  I was without honor, without courage, without power at all.   Merely a child caught in a raging storm.
 In the light, in the thrashing and caustic light, which had controlled me from what seemed like years away, I saw the extreme continuity of motion amongst the living soul of Earth.  With one word, I learned to speak.  With another, I learned to argue.  With a motion, I learned to walk, and in turn learned to fight.  With all the beauty of the world at once, I learned the intricacies of seduction.  I learned to betray, at the sight of holocaust.
 When I reached out, I was grabbed by an archangel, Michael, who led me into the World of Gods.  I could see so many beings, guided along in a calm passionate world, by unseen forces that seemed to have always been in place, always strengthening.  Some seemed negligent of me, others merely turned a cheek, left or right, and the angel led me by arm through a vast field of others.
 I learned at an altar, and prayed at a sink basin from which sprung a fountain of evanescent cleansing spirit.  When I drank, I learned of my ancient past as well as my future.  I was taught not to think, or follow instincts.  I was taught intuition.  It was a glorious road for salvation that I sought, yet almost every God and even angel would only look at me haplessly and return often a shrugging complacency.
 I would watch the story of my brother as it climaxed and fell all day.  No thoughts would ever cross my mind on how to change the eventual outcome.  Only a slight tickling behind my eyes that burned as time wore on.  I would watch the world spin on its axis, and I’d watch the holocaust of Judaism all night to stay awake.  I consequently lost my need to sleep, or move.
 It was all in preparation.  That one day would come, one day that would release my soul once more.  The Elder Gods would come to see me, and lay with me, cover me with their arms.  Their old musk still runs through my mind.  I wanted only my brother.  Here in their solace, I would often ask and query.  What was the meaning of life?  When would my chance come to return to the Earth I longed for?  Who would I be...  Who would I have been?  Why did I have to die?  Alas, for naught, I was only captive.
 Then, the Elders would leave, all but one who would gaze at my eyes with pure unfiltered agony.  I knew for the longest time that this was to be one to remember.  His essence would catch up to me, and it would be all revealed at an appropriate time.  But his desire struck out like two jagged knives.  Every night when I laid down to sleep, I prayed Elohim that he leave my chamber.  To no avail, he stayed and stayed longer, gazing into my eyes with a hatred until I would cry.
 His hatred, almost as strong as banished Hades, was it intended for me?  The angels, who seemed to only want to protect me, appeared completely at ease with his being.
 It was a long time in the Ether Realm, before I realized that a God does not have shape and form.  It was a long time before I realized that I would never speak with any of them and be answered.  My lessons became more and more gibberish, incomprehensible.  It was a long time, yet still, before I realized that I would never be reunited with my soulmate.
 One morning, I awoke and the Elder who stood by my bed waiting for my rise each morning pointed toward the dark corner where the “Terrible” one stood and watched me sleep.  He was there, but something was different about him.  I immediately felt such envy and anguish that I stormed out of my chamber.  Everywhere I went, the one I called “Tyr” followed me, and it was soon I realized that I was not in motion at all, and he was only standing watch longer.  I threw myself again on my bed and, frustrated and confused fell back to sleep.
 Only once did I awaken.  I recalled some lessons, as I stared back angrily at Tyr, eyeing him directly in his unformed face.  The Elders had said that one could be completely free from sin on Earth and still never make it to Heaven.  I wondered what had happened to my brother I had left in our mother’s womb when I died at childbirth.  The Elders had insinuated that even Hell had its escape routes.
 Tyr had grown closer to my bed, and was steadily approaching my side.  Unafraid, I turned on my shoulder to face him.
 “Be quiet in thou dormant stance.  Thy vacancy here as a pure soul, would be more than welcome in the Netherrealm!” I yelled, as he grew up closer.
 When he was inches from my forehead, I saw something I had never seen before in his eyes.  It caught me off guard, and I was startled until I peered closer.
 “He’s there!” I gasped, and closed my eyes tight.  I could still feel the heat of Tyr’s glaring eyes on mine.  A tear fell off of my eye.
 I wouldn’t awaken again for quite some time, and when I did, things would be far from normal.




Chapter 3

 “Fucking pigs can fly.  When they spit that sperm out right?  Fucking pigs!”
 “The pussies are a bunch of wimps!  I want my money!”
 “Fuck that!  I’ll shit down your fucking eyeball socket, you ugly turd.”
 “Get off my dick!”
 “Look at him, all proud like a baby...  Sitting there like a damn saint.  Like, we aren’t out here, busting ass.  I’m fucking tired of this shit...”
 “When that one’s head gets nice and limp, I’m going to skull fuck him.”
 “Tournament?  Of hot damn champions?  You all saw what Hades fucking said.  Fucking hot damn champions!  Real champs!  I could blow one of those chumps over with my smaller ball.”
 “You fucking said it, damn right.  Bunch of pansies, if you ask me?  My cock has more muscles than their entire arm!  And I’d ass-fuck the shit out of any one of them by the way, they would be crying for-“ SMACK!
 “Hey look!  They smacked him!  Burn, bitch, burn!”

 Hades, the reigning king of the underworld, was seated on a throne of dragon skeleton.  Blood was dripping on it from above where there were several hanging corpses.  He was barely more than a skeleton himself, with a shawl draped over thin, ashy, cracked skin.
 Hades knew that the Apocalypse was coming for Earth above.  It was his intention to use Tyr’s advance to the lower region of Earth Realm from the Heavens along with his guides’, adversaries’ alike, to create a temporary wormhole in the fabric of Truth and Time.  At this vantage point he would be able to summon the power of his kingdom, to duel with the Ether Realm on Earth.
Presently, a tournament was taking place in the inner ring of Hell.  Hades already had his minions hand-select a chosen few warriors who were fallen from the grace of God to fight to their deaths.  Of course, “death” was a relative word in the land of the undead.  No longer man, of flesh and blood, these warriors were without soul and had nothing much to lose, and a lot to gain by being released back on Earth.
Where names had been forgotten long ago, each warrior herein was given an emblem of a creature found on Earth.  At the moment, there were only eight warriors left.  They wore the marks of burned scarring.  For the recognition purposes, they each were assigned an animal:  a Tarantula, Eel, Cobra, Python, Centipede, Toad, Scorpion, and a Lizard.
Hades thought and thought, weighing every angle of this advantage he had stumbled upon over the Gods.  Of course, he would be expected to have had a terrible time, for his negligence had lead him to these last hours to make a final decision on a plan of attack.  Per the usual, things in the Netherrealm were fast-paced, bloody, and perilous.
The minions raised the cages in the arena of Tarantula and Cobra, who leapt, both, simultaneously from their crouch positions to combat.  Tarantula swept the floor of the ring and flames sprung underneath his foot, but Cobra evaded the attack with a jumping high right kick, which connected with a stunning cheekbone blow, sending Tarantula flying into Eel’s cage.  Eel, a witty and collected man, took his chance and grabbed Tarantula by the arm through the holes in his cage.  Viciously, Cobra began to pound into him with low blows to the ribcage.  Before breaking every rib, Cobra bit off the man’s nose and spit it at Eel.  Eel hissed, howled, and released his victim, letting Tarantula fall to the ground grabbing his falling guts.  With a loud stomp, Cobra succeeded in annihilating Tarantula’s skull into the burning embers of the battlefield.  The minions jumped and held him down, dragging him back into the cage where he would wait for his next battle.
As Scorpion cracked his knuckles in the cage, Hades was hatching a bit of a fury of new plans.  After seeing the mortality of Tarantula taken at such a quick pace, he was determined to have a back-up.
Hades motioned for one of his devils to approach his platform.  The minion did so, objecting by spitting on the burning, bloody, and beaten body of Tarantula on his way over to the throne.  Hades almost cracked a grin, but hid his pleasure.  Instead, he threw the minion against Tarantula’s emptied cage into a jutting spike.  Immediately the ring nearly doubled over in hideous laughter, sounding like the frightening howls of dozens of ancient beasts down the hole of their prey.
The devil grabbed the spike from behind him, and wildly spasmed his limbs off of it.  As fluid fire quickly spewed from the hole in his shoulder, he maliciously licked his lips with a forked tongue at the other devils who were still screaming in laughter.  He began again towards Hades.
Hades had, by the time the devil arrived, perfected his plan.  The bones of Leviathan on which he rested were his inspiration.  He realized that he knew, from the time that he had spent in Hell, only one thing; that ultimate devastation of Earth and the Gods was his entire being and also his ultimate goal.  He wanted to release more than one beast at once to scourge the Earth.  He desired a dragon.
The devil stepped towards the throne.  Hades glanced around and signaled for the next fight to begin.
As the two warriors battled, Hades quickly relayed his idea to the devil.  They had long ago won a tournament to collapse great Eden, and had retrieved a serpent from the gardens.  They had it in Hell, but were unsure of where it had been left to prior their command.
“Lucifer might know where the serpent is, master,” the devil whispered secretively.
“Yes, but how will we locate Lucifer?  One such as him has always been a wily devil, and a bargainer.”
“Perhaps Mephistopheles will be willing to assist us?”
“Mephistopheles has always held a trick up his sleeve as well-“ Hades began, as Eel’s forearm came flying past the throne, nearly swatting him on the head.
The devil turned about face and hissed at the battle’s champion, who was being escorted back to his cage.
Hades stood and waved at his minions as Scorpion re-entered his cage.
As the demons dispersed from out of the inner ring, Hades sat back down on the throne of blood and bone.  Time was pending, and the stench of a fallen God began to warp the arena, bending the fires’ flames, creating vapor lines along the walls.  Hades put a forefinger on his chin, and his middle on his thin, cracked lips.
The war would be a great one.  The entire Netherrealm was charged with impatience, aggravation, and a stuttering ache for Earth’s green pastures to once again return to barren rock and lava, not unlike the Netherrealm.  It was an exciting time for the demonic domain of Hell.  If Draco could finish where Leviathan had begun, they would surely be successful in conquering the realm of Earth.
 Lucifer himself started his tracks.  Lay still a moment.  His dark body became part of the shadows of the wall.  All that remained was the stench of The Beast.  Covering the fecal odor of The False One, and Minotaur of the Ring Walls.  He had made a plan of his own while waiting in the darkness.  His Beastly shape made into but a pattern of flame.
I will be back.












ACT 2
Chapter 1
Kings

Tyr was born of a spirit neither a man nor God.  Wildly warped with the fury of vengeance, and yet pure in form of what was almost completely a status of humanoid body.  He was totally created in the midst of the light, and was therefore created into pure black, the pigment of his skin like a glowing fluorescence.  The embodiment of what was thought to be the purely unsinnable, whence spawned in pure hatred for the powers of the Great Ones Dead in the Etherealm of the now Emotionless Sphere of Elders.  In that the Emotional Sphere of all Realms was then warped, it created devastating effects of allowing spawning of either sides of the coming War Of Gods.  He had possessed the greatest knowledge, and was only now unaffected by human judgment.  His demeanor was to be steady with the energy of chosen ability.  His collision with society among men would be inescapable, yet impertinent to the mission that he was steadfastly prepared to execute.  This was the beginning of The End for humanity, yet his mission would be delivered with an accuracy of a dart’s piercing movement to a bull’s-eye.
However, his new environment on Earth would be extremely perilous, as he must locate Odin, who had taken on a human form as well amongst the people of the Earth Realm.  In anticipation of a great battle, he had hopefully come alone, but may have yet a hidden agenda.
His current accountability and eventual success was to be made solely of the possible places on which to coordinate his being as a mortal.  His conclusion had brought him to the World Trade Center Ground Zero.  He was sure that Odin had become a sorcerer among the populations of mortals.  His was a very foreign and very ancient face in a crowd of young ones.  His first inclination was to guard his ground until he could formulate the shape Odin had taken along the way to Earth.
Here, suspended in the light of Heaven, where form began to settle, thoughts began to intrepidly race.  Yet he knew for one that Ground Zero was most likely guarded by a very serious and severe amount of human soldiers, especially once they realized that there was necromancy roaming about the Ethersphere.  Aeolus was guaranteed for usefulness in finding Odin’s location, once he too had a body.
Odin, as an Elder himself, was given abilities comparable to Tyr, although as God of War, he could only appear on the planet as a human, anywhere else, he would only be as a ghost to an Earthdweller’s dream.
Tyr’s countdown began, as he climbed through the walls of sanity and reality to the epicenter of time, and into the Earthrealm’s existence.  Ground Zero was becoming visible as dust fragments floated and swirled through the existential air of life.  Tyr closed his eyes; he remembered the way Earth had resembled, whilst much of his knowledge was vanishing.
“Aeolus,” said Tyr, “Where you have come from, to guide me, I have granted the ability and power of agility and navigation, as well as a form of man.  Here is where I stand against Odin.  If the battle commences now, blow my cheek to his direction.”
There was a short breath of silence.  Nearby, Aeolus was hesitantly considering the possible alterations in the fabric of the wind.  Soon, though, he detected Odin, and was startled at his appearance.  Nonetheless, he pointed the way.
It would be a dangerous journey across the desert and ocean ways to the Far East for Odin, and a journey slightly shorter to the west for Tyr, so as Tyr was pointed down and to the South to face the land monument of Ground Zero, Aeolus turned and jumped to face his master, straight on.
Tyr quickly opened his eyes.  Aeolus had lightly blown his left cheek in passing.  He saw many human bodies walking, running, standing, sitting, and couldn’t take the time to trivialize and observe their individual appearances.  This was the time to take action.  Tyr’s wish for the spawn of a jagged and pointed blade, made of the purest metals known to exist would be enough for now to protect them from the people that patrolled, as Aeolus’s eyes traced the disgusting level of existence that would be found in Odin’s strange living remnants of Godship, which he had chosen to repossess for the journey into Earth Realm.  He would be an ultimate sorcerer, capable of moving at quick accelerations.  The body was old, but formidably tough and fast, so it would only be moments until they would move towards their destination.  Tyr needed now to acquire comparable mobility as soon as possible.  His once unlimited knowledge of the universe led him to believe that he should temporarily take control of a motorized single cockpit jet.  It seemed that there would indefinitely be a two round battle, and in the end one of the two Gods would die.
“He has come with a pack of wild dogs.  He won’t be hard to find by them, but impossible to capture with them by his side,” said Aeolus.  “Don’t expect to defeat him until we get him trapped in the West.  Chase him there.  You will be successful if you can get him alone, and he knows it.  He has chosen a solemnly disparaging bodily form to fight you.”
 “The place will be called Death Valley.  It will be in the West on the continent we stand.  America will either feign in security until the fight is discontinued, or face utter destruction for the impregnancies of evil wrought along it’s and other nations’ faces and hills.”
 “Conquest will be irrefutable, we are both made to only be destroyed by beings of our Temple of Godship or higher.  However, there will be many factors upon the capture of this land, and Man may become dangerous.  Many other factors, too, remain until we are both returned to Heaven, for there is much unnatural disturbance in the air.  Be weary of that old jackal, Lucifer.  He still may possess the souls of warriors that could run along our path.”
 “Do not forget, my ally, that the men here have strength in numbers.  If they can hold us down, they will.  Let us make haste, then.  I chose this area for its high patrol, and proximity to airports.  We will be safe if we stay in the shadows, but until we reach a jet that will take us to the West, the journey must be as secretive as possible.”
 “Yes, master.  Like the wind we will race, and when our journey begins we will stop for nothing.  Yet there is yet still a diversion I have yet to refer to you.  In the Far East from here, in a land known as Shang’Hai, works an old man who wears yellow garments.  His name is Huang Di.  He is an ancient entity, older even yet than your son Zeus.  He is a brilliant necromancer, and surely is aware of our whereabouts.”
 “Go on, Aeolus.  Tell me more of this Immortal among men.”
 “His soul, is indeed not unlike that of a Half-God’s, master.  For this reason he has a great aptitude for challenge and courage.  Take my word, though, he will be far too smart to allow himself to stray into harm’s way.  At least for now, we will not need worry about his swift hand.  Omoikane, who as a Protector will not show his face, will stop at nothing to create warning signals and guidance for the people of this Realm and others.  He will surely grant access for Huang Di to the greatest warriors of times past on Earth.  Huang Di will have quite an arsenal to choose his methods of creating a barricade for us to overtake if we are to be successful.  Thankfully, however, the people of this Realm are in a constant state of bickering and distaste of such power.  He will surely be a rogue in this war, taking to the shadows as we will.”
 “Enough, then,” Tyr raised his sword straight with his right arm, and stood to his feet.  “We will go now to the immediacy of this war in Death Valley.  Odin will travel as the night sky prevails his horde of beasts to pillage the hillsides and gain number as they attack innocents and take control of their bodies, transforming them into more beasts.  He will thus be in possession of a great army of wild zombies before we collide with him as the night sky collides against the morning horizon.”
 In the distance, a police whistle rang out along the sirens and horns of the great city.  Mayhem would be cascading towards the pair of Gods in a matter of minutes.  Tyr closed his eyes and swung his sword up around his hands before placing it in a sheath on buckle that sat on his left side.
 “Who the fuck are you?” shouted a voice nearby.
 “I am Tyr, step closer, you’ll feel my mighty blade sever your life.”
 “Stop where you stand!”
 A police officer drew his gun haphazardly from behind a patrol car.  Aeolus turned to eye his master head-on from behind viciously slit eyelids, and gave a snarl that showed his readiness to fight.  Tyr immediately glanced at the armed policeman, and jumped through the air towards his new enemy, landing on and crushing the hood of the ground vehicle before a single shot was made.
 Aeolus moved around the back of the car with a speed like a gust of a tornado’s wind.  The officer looked up at Tyr’s blank eyes, staring dead on, devoid of any mark or pupil, with complete astonishment.  Aeolus placed his hands around the back of his jaws and quickly snapped the patrol officer’s neck.
 Tyr, in kneeling position watched as the dead body fell solid as rock to the ground.  As another squad car pulled off to his right with siren blaring, he unsheathed his sword and stood tall on the hood.
 “So it begins.”




Chapter 2

 Huang Di’s loom was of yellow hues and great red circular shapes.  His nimble fingers bent on and off the fabric as he prepared final touches.  His life’s work would seem tedious to most.  Life, as an artisan, was not at all as exciting and full of flare as one might expect.  But his work was magnificent, defined with perfectly wound and weaved threads that garnished unimaginably beautiful garments.
 From the each of the first dancing rays of sunlight a morning awakening that would slight the shades of his countryside windows, blowing fresh breaths onto his closed eyes, to the grandest of golden rays that on sunset every evening, brought close to his long meditations.  Huang Di was a modest man, taking in all.  Long ago dispelling Godship, for the more humble life of servitude, he was much more accustomed to his current mode of labor than he had ever been to his reign as Emperor of the Zhou Dynasty of Ancient China.
 His loom, which was hanging from a rack carved from Dystillium, was positioned in the living space of his three-bedroom house.  Dystillium created much of the small hut he inhabited.  The glass windows always were kept shut, except in the afternoon, when a slight breeze would blow all the way through to the kitchen where tea would be coming to a boil on his stovetop.  The loom would twirl and wave in the wind, and dance to usher in the rising moon.  A new loom every two weeks, consistently was his rate of production.  He would sell the crafted cloths at often most meager prices, dependent on only the rise and fall of tea prices.
 His need to consume any nutrient was extremely minimal, yet he still appeared as only about an 80 year old man, despite his long lifespan, which had lasted for millennia.  Most of his sustenance was extracted purely from the air which would rise and collapse in his lungs during deep meditations every evening, and from his afternoon tea, which he drank exactly on schedule every day.  He was old, and fragile, but quick still.  Sometimes in the morning, he would lean through the window of his house and gaze out upon the river that streamed by his garden and, in total wonderment and awe, observe the fish that would dart through the waters.  He knew that he was old like the rocks that played for wandering fish, a hidden oasis of feeding.  In this way he knew that he would always be available for his peoples’ guidance along the flowing river of life.
 He had a long time past created his own haiku, in ode of life and the fish in his stream:

  A failure follows
 Autumn by first fallow land
   This is the flow way

 Satisfaction to Huang Di, the Yellow Emperor, would be as simple as hearing the grass blades bend outside his cottage in the evening, sunset by teacup, or sitting alone, studying his ancient library.  Huangdi Neijing, his book of medicine, had in the past been handily ready for consultancies.  Passersby, often hungry or beaten by severe weather, almost always could receive proper anointment from the right ingredients and mixtures at the hands of the once greatly revered cleric.
 He also possessed the original Book Of Shadows, which collected dust along the side of his shelf, many scriptures of Siddhartha Guatama and Mahatma Ghandi, the Necromonicron stood alongside the Illiad, Metamorphoses against the Tanakh, and many Western classics stood all having been read and re-read over again.
 Huang Di, the Yellow Emperor, was still now.
 He had sensed something of a physical birth among the antiquities of beings on Earth.  Something familiar was stirring in the afternoon glare, as the sun began its soft shade against the horizon.  A thing of great beauty, that he could smell and hear move like a delicate mantis.  Yet, the being was fully charged with such lustful spirituality that he almost arose to his feet from his embrace of the yellow loom.
 This wasn’t a human soul that he detected.  Not at all, but at the same time, not very much different.  While knowing that he mustn’t be alone in this study, that people around the world must have realized the shift in metaphysical balance, Huang Di nonetheless shut his eyes, contemplated what was coming.
 The weather seemed to change quickly, drastically, disturbing him as he sat and meditated, but he only knew this through his extrasensory perceptions of the environment.  A big storm was coming.  Horizon light was escaping the air of his countryside, and he still was without full knowledge of what shape and form was amidst the otherwise calm world.  He strained to capture the being’s essence, but it was moving too fast, darting from here to there, turning the planet upside down with aggressively charged beauty.  It was almost certainly female in essence, he concluded, but could not do much more to understand than that.
 Suddenly, he was startled into deep lucidity, and was overwhelmed with a barrage of premonitory images.  What he saw would be for sure, impossible to find tangible, but he felt certain of the power of complete chaos on Earth.  Demonic imagery of war and fire rushed over him.  Desperate sights of man against greater powers, a leader that would rise among them, an Apocalypse to humanity, craziness, and insanity, finalizing in the frightening collapsing of Earth Realm.
 There was a knocking on his door that persisted through the dream-like meditation.  The knocking seemed to grow louder, and louder still, until it broke him from his spell at last, and Huang Di jumped to his feet.
 “Who wanders my yard, there?  Who stands at my step and startles me so?”
 “It is I, that does so, old one.  Open for me, you have something in your possession that I have come far to seek out,” said a man’s voice from behind the wooden cottage door.
 Huang Di made to move over towards the silhouette formed window to see whom it was that was banging on his door at such late hour.  But he stopped; for the light outside was so dim that he was unable to even see the stream that flowed by, although he still heard it’s current rush.  He lit a few candles around the living room, and remained calm, collected.
 “What is your name, then?  How have I known you by?”
First there was a lengthy pause, a clearing throat.  Then, a deep entrancing voice burst out;  “It is I, the one called Odin..“
“ I am here only myself, an old man such as yourself, with but a single, simple request of you. “

“Danger lurks, old one, and it is safer inside than out here.   Please, be kind enough to give your kind service.”
 Intrigued by the man’s courtesy and politeness, Huang Di approached the door with cautionary steps.  However, with reproach, took in his hand a dagger from off a hanging golden harness in the unlit entranceway.  As he walked, he stashed the dagger in the back of his gi, on his hand embroidered white belt, which depicted a small yellow lion with a curling orange tongue.
 “Now I will welcome and open for you, but be sure Odin, I have studied well the ways of the Gods, and know exactly who you are, and, too, where you stand in this coming war.  I will indulgently sacrifice my body and life for a cause that will lead to the protection of my people and land.  This I say, while knowing that yes, our ways are soon to change.  You are allowed entrance, then, only in anticipation that as a chameleon strikes a fly from through the shades of it’s surroundings, so does a leader emerge from a crowd.”
 Huang Di swung open the door, and peered out into the swallowing darkness of the storm.
 There was Odin, standing affront a pack of wild and fighting wolves.  The thrashing between the wolfbeasts was not unlike a raging storm itself, and Huang Di was cynically thinking that these were one of the primal reasons for the coming onslaught of weather creeping overhead.
 Odin’s dark blue cloak was loosely tied, and sailed in the blowing wind at the door.  His hood covered his entire face with black shadows that danced in the light of the candles inside the cottage.  Still safe inside, Huang Di was almost angry with the man, for bringing his wild horde so close to the abode, but withdrew from the entrance and allowed Odin in, despite his concern.
Odin stood for no longer than three seconds alone on the step, only long enough for the candlelight to brave past the old man and to shine on his covered face.  He was unspeakable in his elderly stature, decrepit even, and fantastically marked by battles.  Along each cheek, swinging under each eye, even the corners of his mouth were all scars that created zigzags and caught shades of the darkness upwards against his brow, which was high and wrinkled.  His left eye socket was black, an empty void where an eye had once been.  His right eye was dark blue, the same color of his cloak, and his iris was blood tinged and veined.
“Huang Di, the Yellow Emperor.  I have traveled far already, to see you and your spectacular assortment of antiquities,” Odin said as he began to step over the threshold and into the house.  “What I seek here, is of utmost importance to my mission.  A Golden Compass that-“ the candlelights blew out as Odin closed the door behind him, “-could be noticed even in complete darkness of the Ether Realm.”
Quickly, Huang Di reached into his pocket for matches.  Anticipating a fight, he checked the position of his dagger, and drew out a brightly flaming matchstick from inside his gi.  Not so afraid, anymore that this old man posed much of a threat, Huang Di turned to the side and lit the stove.
“I am but an artisan, I cannot imagine what a Golden Compass would mean to a traveler such as yourself.  However, if you wait in that room,” he said, sensing the urgency in the man’s voice, and pointing towards the room with the hanging fabrics, “I will take the time to allow your inspection.”
Odin slid, as if suspended in stasis midair, towards the unlit room.  From out of his cloak, he pulled an ebony walking stick, as he sat down on a rocking chair that stood facing away from a side window.  Huang Di walked through the doorway of his unlit room with the burning matchstick, lighting two hanging candles on either side of the doorway as he went.  For just a brief moment, all that was heard within the small living area from the bleakly dark bedroom was a low flurry of papers being rustled, until suddenly, there was a small creek, and the sound of a small wooden box being closed up.  Then, Huang Di returned behind the doorway with book in arm, and a toy-like box engraved with another lion’s insignia.
“I have here, the Bai Ze Tu.  It is what lead me to suspect your identity, as well as foretell your destiny, with certain insight.  Are you familiar with this scripture?”
“No,” said Odin.  “I am not so interested, however, in my destiny, as I am in the identity and location of a certain God that has come to Earth.  His name is Tyr, and he has arrived this very hour to defeat me in battle.  It is my duty, and obligation to meet him for the final conquest to begin.  That is why I need the Golden Compass, for while he was granted the wish of having a guide, I was old on this planet when the coming war was first conceived in the hearts of Man.  I have walked this world for century and century, with only my beasts by my side, whom I know I mustn’t let alone for too long, lest they take to their own agendas and begin devouring human flesh and blood.  You see, the matters and actions that are pending here, are of complete necessity.  We must move guiltlessly and purposefully with grace and rapidity to the final hour.  Hurry, then, old wise one, show me the Golden Compass.”
Knowing that he had the upper hand, Huang Di continued, “Tyr is a mighty God, Odin.  Are you sure you are ready to face him?  He has the power of all emotional charge, all mental aggravation, to devastate your forces.  I have seen the outcome of this war, in a premonition.  Just as you began knocking on my door, I was enraptured in the revelation of what is to come...”  as he started again towards Odin, “Yes, you may see the compass.  I will coordinate it for the positioning of Tyr, and allow you to carry it with you on your journey.”
Odin’s eye lowered to the box in Huang Di’s hand.
“Say no more, wise one, Yellow Emperor, Huang Di.  I am the one responsible for your immortality on Earth.  You have powers comparable to a God, now that you are closing in on the time span of existence of Man.  The dagger in the back of your gi, it is granted the special magical ability of bringing the dead back to life by it’s bearer’s command.  You must use it with great care and exception to bring back three of Earth’s greatest warriors for one last fight.  Let your wisdom guide you, carefully.”
Huang Di’s eyes widened with surprise.  He slowly reached to his belt and took out the dagger, which was green and had the crest of a dragon on it’s handle.  He had only used it to cut tealeaves, and had never before used it to fight a mortal, much less revive one.
 “My master!  My wish is only your demand, and my labors are of love, now, for you,” Huang Di said, kneeling before Odin.
 “Then, we will be successful in our mission.  I’ve always known that I would be able to trust you with such great sorceries.  What will transpire between now and the end, will be redemption of the Gods to Elohim, the Greatest of all Greats, the Eldest and Wisest of all Gods.  Mortal man, with his constant contract of dilemma of life, will be freed forever to recognize Him.”
Chapter 3

 Sometimes, in the course of an era of human endeavors, enterprise, and progress, through which man has endured, and kept faith in God above, a leader has emerged that is marked from birth, through heritage.  Other times, another leader is formed from the ground up.  Still again, fate may swing her arms to the balance and a great leader is born, that through generations has come to such greatness and durability of spirit, which is unalterable even by the Gods themselves.  Reincarnated souls, trapped between Hell and Earth, were always greedy of these spirits.  They were of the same kin, and yet if a spirit seemed ready for Nirvana and entrance to Heaven, the spirit was usually assigned an unsavory life.
 This is the more telling side of every era of humanity.  How leaders are chosen, is as pivotal to it’s success, or failure, as it’s economic status of wealth, or environmental prosperity.  This is the telling side, as well, because of the fact that this particular generation’s leader would be among the last great ones, and that the leader would arise from between the ashes and dust, dirt and mud, hunger, blood, and oath of purity, truth, would create one of the most incredible tales ever told.
 The man called himself Tank.  At 33 years old, his original birth name was Matthew Briggs, and he was born of a mother named Felicia Jackson, and a father whose name was Johnathan Briggs, who’s mother was Theresa who died at 55, and father was Henry, who’s own mother was Victoria who died at 81, and father was Lester who died at age 72.
 The man was named Matthew because his father and his brothers and sisters had become greatly devoted and prided Catholic Christians since the death of their mother Victoria.  Henry made sure to this, although most of his sons and daughters had primarily gone along in their lives to do not so great things, and later he stayed at Sunday service afterwards every week to flirt with the other patrons of his church.  Henry also, kindly, made sure that his son, Johnathan who had left his old estranged girlfriend, Felicia, and gained the custody of his son, Matthew, had a place to stay.  But in due time, would regret it, as soon Johnathan fell into the same game of cat and white mouse that stole Felicia’s soul and life long ago, shortly after their unsatisfactory and violent courtship, and during the long court custody trials that ensued.
 Matthew was now an ex-marine of five years who had come home to Los Angeles to see his mother poverty-stricken in a run-down tenement in East L.A.  She was foul in stench and crack cocaine had tore her skin, stretched it out so that she was barely recognizable under her stringy, unwashed hair.  She had gone mad, as well, and would be unintelligible for most of their initial rendezvous at a local diner.  Instead of embracing her son, she would only embarrass him, clawing at the inner sleeves of her worn out sweater and denim jacket.  She accidentally coughed once in his black coffee, and her nose was running wildly.  Tank soon politely rose out of his seat and gave her the hug he had been waiting to receive and hid his lie when he told her where he’d be staying in the city.  He silently told himself that he would return for her one day, but didn’t want to see her this way, and was humbled and nervous that she’d run him out of house and home if she knew where he was residing.
 That was nearly a decade ago.  Since then, things had gone well, then slowly tapered off into dismal for Tank.  His father would disappear from his life after cancer struck. 
Tank was the name that he had earned in Marine boot camp, but he had then used for street credibility, and a reference among the other members of his gang.  He hadn’t seen his mother in four whole years, since the one time he had driven up in a Cadillac along a prostitute-ridden side street of the Southside and watched as his companion handed her a bag of coke out of his car window.  He pulled his hood up, and lowered his sunglasses.  Hiding watering eyes, at the exact moment of the hand-off he was already pulling off, going directly to the uptown basement party where he had intended to get laid.
 Tank was 33 now, though, and he was on his way to becoming homeless soon if something didn’t change.  The gang scene was crawling with informants, or so he had believed, and his old set had crumbled under the weight of a fierce police crackdown late in the last decade.  He had been beaten and brutalized, as well, during a big drug raid gone sour, where he had evaded being caught with coke, only to get jumped outside of his friend’s project building.
 “Gangbanging ain’t what the shit was cracked up to be,” he told a young gunner one morning outside of a corner store. 
He quickly realized that his words of advice were only going to fall on deaf ears, possibly encourage rather than discourage the young man.  He wasn’t even sure what the words meant, himself.
 Los Angeles, the City of Angels, would probably be his resting place.  Probably just another veteran’s name engraved on a wall somewhere, was all that he’d amount to.  His thoughts had grown horribly morbid.  He’d even given a clean shot at employment in the last couple of years, and had lasted only six months of real work between two different jobs.
 But Tank was still without serious threat or worry.  He was a survivor, and he still had his gun ready in case an old rival gang picked up on him.  He still walked with a big zip lock bag of marijuana hidden in his boxers wherever he went.  He still had his rosary around his neck, and he still wore his red bandana, even though he had long ago left the gangster life behind him.
 At a high seven feet tall, and weighing only a bit under 300 pounds, Tank was a big, big man.  Intimidatingly large, and mostly was still muscle.  He had short hair, which grew longer on his beard.  His voice was deep, and hoarse after nearly two decades of smoking.
 This momentous day of reckoning for mankind, although unforeseen by Matthew, happened to land three days before Tank’s 34th birthday.  Today, it was raining in L.A., as well as cold.  As the rain poured down, Tank was standing out on the stoop of his apartment building.  His dress was of a camouflage hooded sweatshirt, and blue jeans, a pair of boots, a red bandana.  He was melancholy, watching a group of kids walk down the street, a young multicultural group of students across the road.  Reminiscing the long passed times when he was young as the students, fresh on the streets from his first jail bid, charges of conspiracy and affiliation that would be the only charges he’d ever have to beat.  It had been an armed robbery, and manslaughter for his youthful comrades, and he’d gotten out early for good behavior.  He had only shortly thereafter enlisted directly into the Marines, barely having passed through a certain amount of scrutiny that had resulted from his rap sheet.
 The Marines had changed him, physically, drastically.  Nonetheless, on his return to the street life, his mentality was still solid, hard as a bullet.  He had never been one to rob or steal, although he had been urged to, and he had stayed clean off the drugs that he started selling.  He never was too flashy, besides the new Cadillac that he had bought at age 27.  He had recently sold the car, his prized possession, the year prior, used most of the money to live off of, the rest to start his weed selling career.  The Marines had been a quite good idea as well, and he had been paid very well for his six-year stint.  He had been nominated for promotion to Lieutenant, but had retired as a Sergeant.  Tank still didn’t like to talk about the time he spent in the Marines, with anyone.
 Suddenly, the wave of nostalgia thickened and like a riptide he was brought back to a small room of an old, abandoned building near where he stood right then. 
The strong scent of the incense was still lingering, and he remembered the old woman’s words, “Your kingship will be as a plague on your family tree, and will stem wicked leaves.  But be brave, eat not of the foreign fruit of perdition, until you are ready...   It is by all means your war, boy...  The time is nye, in the sky, the time to die, time to try, once by and by, by and by.”  Her lullaby was sung gently, like a mother he never had. 
“The Muse...  What the hell is going on with me?”  Matthew thought.
As a taxicab pulled up in front of him, Matthew Briggs began to lose concentration.  The rain was coming down hard, and as he turned around, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had stayed in the Marines.  He slowly opened the front door, and took a keycard out of his pocket.  He began to point it towards a sensor near the handle before a woman pushed out through the entrance, allowing him in.
 As he started up the stairs to his studio apartment, he half noticed the lights in the stairwell flickering off for a brief moment, flashing back on as he grabbed the rail.  The nauseating but familiar scents of urine, chicken, cigarettes, and a faint smell of marijuana pervaded the air around him, combined and outbalanced each other between levels of stairs.  When on his floor he saw a man banging on a door, yelling to the other side slews of obscenities, he presumed another domestic dispute.  When he reached his apartment, he looked back and the man was angrily walking away, shaking his head in the dank hall.  The lights flickered again against peeling paint in the hallway, and the sound of his television set leaked out of the door as he pushed in his key and opened it.  Once inside, he shook off his boots, and started towards the kitchen area, to put down his gun, which he grabbed from behind his back.  Tank stepped closer to the table.  Before he tossed his gun down, he made sure the safety was securely in position. 
“One helluva day.”
The moment the gun landed on the table, spinning, he sighed out loud, deep and heavy.  At the moment the gun’s barrel pointed at him, the Earth cracked.  His building collapsed, and Tank was buried beneath tons of rubble.



ACT 3
Chapter 1
Gods

 In and out of Heaven, three wishes are granted by the cherubs there that guard that light.  This was intended only for use by the Elders.  As that only chosen men and women were allowed to enter, there never had been a problem, in the past, of overindulgences.  There had been mostly miracles of a minor scale, and as that all full knowledge was given of the past and future to anyone in Heaven, the miracles were rarely tied closely to the deceased’s life.  Miracles, for example a bleeding statue of Christ, or psychic power, were granted in moderation.
 Tyr lay in the street, shockwaves of the earthquake were still ringing in his ears.  He had been covered in debris, and dust, from head to toe.  His legs were trapped under a piece of wall that had fallen from a nearby building, and most of his upper body as well was trapped.
 “Where is Aeolus?” he wondered.  The Protector God must have left his side, right when he most needed it.  On Earth, Tyr had lost his symbiotic omnipotent knowledge of what was happening at any given moment.  He only retained his mission statement, of defeating Odin.  The absence of Aeolus, in this way, was pivotal and could mean his own untimely demise.  He was sure that this meant a great unnatural disturbance had occurred, that overshadowed the earthquake’s devastating effects.
 A pair of legs began to move towards Tyr’s fallen body, something familiar was in the air that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.  The legs, approaching, were not quite touching the ground, and were surprisingly clean.  They didn’t at all look like one of the patrol officers’ pleated pants that had been on his trail to the airport.  He couldn’t even lift his head far enough to see the on comer’s face, his shoulders weighted heavily down from the massive debris.  As the legs came closer, he struggled to free himself, to grab his sword which lay awkwardly against his thigh, to even identify the being that approached.
 As the fallen wall lifted off of him, thrown, by the mysterious being, Tyr was anxious to see what mystical powers were being used to save him.  But more than anything, Tyr began to feel a claw-like remorse grasp under throat and heart.  After finally raising to his feet, and shaking off the dust, Tyr stared up to greet his savior.
 His eyes, blurry at first, made out the shape of a dark, pretty woman with long flowing red hair.  She was picturesque, standing alone in the street, the epitome of what would personify beauty among Gods and men alike, and her thin face without a trace of any mark.  Her arms and legs covered with a seductive green, embroidered silk, as were her voluptuous breast.  The front of her thong had a red diamond embroidered in the very center.  As his vision cleared, he quickly noticed through the smoke that two dark shadows were following her every movement, stretching and collapsing.  As the smoke cleared a little bit, he saw that the shadows were dark black wings like that of a bald eagle’s behind her.
 “Who...  (cough)... are you?” Tyr gasped out.
 The woman smiled, with her thick red lips, and her tongue licked delicately the side of her mouth.  She giggled.
 “Will you answer me, woman?  I have no time to stand here in the wasteland of the Great City.”
 The woman giggled a little more, and put a finger on her lips to quell her inner little girl.
 “Call me Ishtar,” and she bent in mid-air to put her face within inches of Tyr’s.  Her bright blue eyes shone like two glowing diamonds under the storm ahead, and as a lightning strike flashed, for a brief second Tyr saw her as one of the most beautiful things ever imagined, even in Heaven whence he had come.  She reminded him of humanity’s graces, all welded upon one single, gliding and fluid shape.
 “I will be yours,” she whispered to him, and he could barely make out her voice through the sirens and horns that erupted across the cavernous, buried walls of New York City.  “I will be your love, and I will be your hate.  I will create you in destruction.”
 Her arms wrapped around his neck, softly at angles, and she flew around to his back, to whisper; “I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.”  Her body was warm against his, and he felt her breast land against his shoulder blades, she slid her arms lower across his chest.  He was entranced for a moment.
 “Your old ways will fall to my whim, as I will be the mother of new age.  I will give birth to you, and all of men will know me as their life and sin.  Like an egg hatches a chick, or like the sun showers the skies above, so too will my legs spread to give rise to the dawn of a new era.”
 Tyr closed both of his eyes, as Ishtar reached low and pressed close to his back, her cheek against his, her hair sliding along his bald head.  Suddenly he felt a sensation that he had never felt before, of total lust.  She quickly spun to his front, as if in anticipation of his emotions all along, and her legs he grabbed along his left side, holding her although he knew she was steady.  She didn’t seem to care, and allowed him this trespass, as she allowed his next, to lean towards her closer so that her small nose disappeared under his eyes, which went deeper into hers.  That old feeling returned, and he was stunned into paralysis.
 “Will you be my baby?” the angel-like woman said to him, culling him into her beauty.  “Will you love me?”
 Tyr wanted to nod, but stopped short.  There was something simple yet too eerily familiar about her eyes.  He kept watching them dart around his face.  She was doing something that he had no control over, and yet he didn’t know what to think, until finally she closed her eyes and spoke her sweet melody again.
 “Love me, Tyr.  Love my body against yours tonight, and in the heat of battle you will be immortal.  In the heat of our love, we will rise like a new sun to be forever remembered here on Earth.”
 A temptress, Tyr thought to himself, finally, his spirit slowly beginning to break free from her enchantment.  But her voice, like a white light still called to him.  He was still speechless, as her pounding heart vibrated on her entire body, and her warmth grew deeper in his arms.
 Ishtar put her right hand on her inner thigh, and gently played along the sides of the red diamond, but Tyr was still watching her eyes, hoping just to see some hint that would allow him to break free.  She was good, though, and her eyes did nothing to betray the lust that was still built around her and him, growing in it’s fiery fury.  Ishtar’s left hand reached and touched his cheek, softly; she leaned forward to kiss him.
 Tyr looked down at her banded thighs in the midst of their most passionate kiss.  He knew that as a fallen God, he was giving in to too many of the emotions and forms of a mortal man.  But it had not yet made him mad, until now.  This woman, Ishtar, whose skin was pure like virgins’, was like a succubus.  Yet he knew he couldn’t let his emotions betray his mission...
 One little kiss, her lovely lips and tongue moving against mine.  She is so- suddenly, a knife’s edge cut into his right arm, nearly tearing it off so quickly that he had little time to react.
 Tyr threw the woman off of him, and quickly saw as she retracted another knife from her leg stocking.  There was another one identical to it, still in her left hand.
 “Devil!” he cried, as she beat back her wings to stay afloat.  Simultaneously, Tyr leapt backwards to get his sword, which he had left down on the ground for a moment.  Gunshots were fired in the street, once again startling him, anticipating bullet fire to come from another police dispatch.
 Instead, he felt the purge of the second dagger in his right shoulder.  She had thrown it, wickedly at him, as he was struggling to pick the sword up and evade the rising fires.
 Ishtar’s laugh now was sinisterly adapted to her viciously thrust second knife, this time aiming for Tyr’s heart.  Tyr half-dodged, half-fell back to the ground to evade the strike.  His arm had gone numb from the hit, and he reached up to grab out the dagger that still lay in his shoulder.  When he had removed it, he looked at the woman in awe.
 “Was this the Second Coming?  It can’t be.  She has the power of a God, but vanity that only a human could portray...” he wondered, stabilizing his legs.
 “This is more than a ‘Return’, old fool.  This is revenge.”
 Tyr grabbed the sword off of the ground with his left hand, slashed upward and out at the woman with such power that the swing itself lifted him to his feet, where he turned to run down the street, away from bullets that were whizzing by both of them, and away from Ishtar who adeptly swept the floor with her foot as he ran off, brushing the dagger to her.  Just as she picked it up off the ground and harnessed it, Tyr was leaping over more pieces of a shattered stained glass window.  On the other side of the field of glass, he turned.  She was directly behind him, hovering over the still nearly intact depiction of Jesus Christ, shattered on the ground.
 Tyr raised his sword and pointed the tip to her.
 “The War of Gods commences now.  You will fall to my sword, and I will take no pity upon your body.  Your deception will be useless against me now, you are no match for my ability.”
 Ishtar smiled wider, revealing her teeth.  “Our battle does not end here, though, Tyr.  In the future, we will surely meet again.  For now, I only wanted this introduction to suffice until our final interception.  I too, have greater purposes for being here in the Earth Realm.”
 “Devil!  Face me now while my anger and rage boils for your blood!”
 Ishtar said nothing, and beat her wings, rising upwards towards the thundering sky, both daggers pointing towards Tyr as she raised her head and sang a soothing note across the city, in an intimate yet intimidating sentiment.
 Tyr watched, in fascination as she left him behind a cloud cover from which shot a great bolt of lightning.  He was reminded of his son Zeus, and his promise of thunders and storms that would detain the Earth people from their navigation.  The airport might not have been as good an idea as he had once thought.  He would need all of Aeolus’s strength to reach Death Valley at sunrise.  The night was just beginning, though, and Tyr had faith that if he could stay alive long enough, Aeolus would soon return from whatever affair had taken him.
 As soon as Ishtar’s voice had disappeared, Tyr saw many people had begun to crawl out of the shattered, burning buildings.
 “This could be ugly.”


Chapter 2

 “Zeus knew his father’s essence well,” Adad thought out loud, as he watched the skirmish between Ishtar and Tyr.  “Tyr will fall to a whim, just as he will fall to the blade.”
 Adad had already fought and defeated his nemesis’s guide, Aeolus, the Protector Wind God, but had not yet touched the Elder God’s mortal body.  Tyr would be a much more tough adversary, as his power had been much greater in Heaven.
 His initial thrusting surge of energy upon entering the Realm of Earth had filled Adad with a lustful urge that he was having difficulty controlling.  He was a powerful God, although only a Protector.  But now his mind began wandering and his focus was being powerlessly lost amid a chaos of quaking earth.  Also, somehow the rumbling of Hell had reawakened parts of his powers.  As he looked around, he realized the utter calamity that had befallen the grounds of the land.  Armies were in motion, worldwide, and police patrols, ambulances, firefighters were all rushing around the streets like chickens with their heads cut off.  He was in control of a planet, with gusts of rain now downpouring on the forsaken city.
 Yet still, his lack of inhibitions was getting the best of Adad.  Stretching, he pointed his shoulders back, and leaned upwards towards the sky and raised his hands in duet like a maestro to crashing thunder and lightning in every direction.
 Ishtar was up there, within his clouds, and it made him feel stronger, heavy with pressure and challenge.
 “There, behind me,” he contemplated with the purity of a marksman attaining his arm to steady on a target.  He spun in the air, flying through the stratosphere to chase the idol of his fascination.
 “This woman, this angel,” his thoughts gained speed ever more quickly as he climbed higher towards Ishtar.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of cloud curl, and knew that she was near as his hands grasped it away as if climbing a steep mount, searching for motivation and ignition to spark a quicker ascent.  His thoughts remained steady, however, and he was sure to catch her.
 There, before him, all at once as if slapped with a pure paintbrush, Ishtar appeared, facing him direct on, forcing his abrupt stop.  He smirked at the approach, allowing his soul to access a more hearty ambition.  Ishtar must have seen it, for as immediately as she appeared facing him, she turned down to the side as if to look through the dense clouds towards the planet far below them both.
 Ishtar blew through her lips the most fragrant aromas, like poppy, and her essence was of pure beauty.  Adad could not resist throwing aside the clouds with his magic for the magnificence of her body to reach down like a beacon on the shallow waters, fields, and hollow houses laid beneath them.  The clouds spread at his command and they were both looking down at the city of New York and it’s outstretching neighbors.
 “You, you have much stamina,” Ishtar whispered with a pretty voice that echoed like a thousand symphonic instruments, “but will it be enough?  What you lack is the pure courage to control yourself.  You will see that the planet below us has lost it’s own stamina, and in the same way, it’s self-control.  It has been judged by Utu that you both will fall by Ragnarok.”
 Adad fled.



Chapter 3

 “In the end, when all things have come to a close.  When, what is the emperor’s riddle becomes as the snake’s tail coils to it’s mouth.  There will be moments of pure ecstasy and elation.  The bears will awaken from the deep slumbers of winter and charge the plateaus with fury, the lions will crawl from the dens and spring into motion towards the terrific prey that lies just behind the tiger’s eye that is destroying inhibition.  The nights will become blood fire, and the days will be scorching hot.  Anger and vengeful bloodlust will fall on the greatest men, and the meek shall inherit the earth to be burned down by the blades of the wicked.  The rising tides of hatred and ignorance, will be pooled and ripped towards the collapsing of the machines.  The labor fields will become battlegrounds to the rawest of bones, burned by a summer plague.  Ghosts will rue the rushing forces of good and evil, delve into holes made of lost wishes, and without scruple, terrify the men and women.  Boys and girls will be sacrificed to their lesser good, rape and murder will become as epidemics to the Earth Realm.  We will ascend to the forsaken’s side and collide the powers, forces and combine our own vengeance to overthrow those that oppose us...
 “When I have wondered if I could I ever once again walk on the Heaven’s plain...  To reunite the water dog with it’s owner has often transcended even to myself, one without will.  Is it mere fancy or has the awakening begun?  Upon this discourse I have pondered many moons.  I’ve heard it spoken in ancient tongues; ‘the time is nye.’  Let me say here, now then, It has begun.  To Ragnarok my aides and sorcerers, generals and warriors, we will march as one until the last body has fallen.  Until my return to fortify the kingdom, go now my minions, return will be the satisfaction of Ahriman’s Sacrifice.”
HADES, FROM THE ADDRESS OF HIS MINIONS ON RAGNAROK



 MATTHEW
 Son you have broken your promise. 
 You have read from The Fourth
Scriptures. 
 I know you have, and I can see it in the
eyes
 that you blamefully scorn on me.
  WILLIAM
 Good lord!  You knew that I'd do it! 
You knew
 the library still had copies, what did you
think?
 I'm not stupid, Dad.  I'm not your toy.
 I'm not a criminal.
 You think just because the jihads
stopped,
 I wouldn't know?  Of course I read
Scripture.
 Your father raised You Catholic, didn't
he?
  MATTHEW
 Son, you have broken your promise. 
 There is nothing that I can do.  Alice,
too.
  MATTHEW
 Whatever!  That stupid bitch and mom
can both
 go to hell!
 Or should I say "HER" mom!  You can
fuckin-
WILLIAM
 It's never going to be the same!  You
wait and see!
  MATTHEW
 No, YOU wait and see!  You have no idea
 the powers at work!
 You ain't seen shit little boy!  You wait
until
 the whole world condemns you and you
 have nowhere
 to go!  You wait until the end of time,
 little man.
 You wait there!
  WILLIAM
 Like they already haven't got
 the worst hatred against me! 
 I can't take it!  I couldn't Dad!
 I couldn't take the pain!  I couldn't do
this...
  MATTHEW
 That's not how you talk about family... 
I
 forgive you, though.  Just realize-
  WILLIAM
 Fine!  I Don't Need your FUCKING Help!








Book 2:
Ragnarok




Tyr’s Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Tyr’s Fall





OUTSIDE – DAYLIGHT
(camera shows a vacant parking lot in front of a post office in a downtown metropolitan area of Washington, DC.  A man comes into frame carrying a shotgun.  He begins walking towards the front door.  As he does, a zombie comes out from right screen and begins stumbling aimlessly through the camera frame.  The man is 101.)










1-1111:  “Now we apply particle separater compound into the nanobyte vat.”
1111-1:  “I apply.”
1-11111:  “Now we allow process to adjust internal pocket structure.”
11111-1,11,111,1111:  “Silence on the telecommunication line now.”
11-11111:  “Question:  There is a disruption in the process.”
11111-111111:  “There is an open door.  Sector coordinates 13-13-8a.”
1111111-1:  “Follow breach procedure.”









I was taken at once in my mind to the paradigm that had been my mind’s stigma ever since I was born.  If every disease of mankind had it’s own built-in immunity to natural coexistence with it’s parasitic host, when would man become immune to the one and only virus that targeted the very nature of our own existence?
Immortality was always thought to be unachievable.  Yet the zombies on Earth never slept, never ate, never died.  The saturation of these monsters on the planet had killed off almost all other life-forms that had ever before been alive.  They were worse than a littered, polluted planet, because they prevented ecological growth.  As billions of bodies swayed and tumbled over barren landscapes, destroyed by their controlling hold on the world, we remained underground, hanging on by thin strands of reality such as nourishment and tireless work and effort on the nanobyte army that would hopefully release and reverse the mental mechanisms that the virus targeted.
The telecommunications stations, which comprised of a table with a keyboard behind a touch-sensitive screen used to input simple, short sentences one at a time similarly to ancient braille, remind me that there was once a purpose to our lives.  In those times, there was a goal to reach, an ideal to conquor for the purpose of the advancement and survival of humanity.  I doubt that anyone would have guessed that final test of our evolution would be as direct as to even approach the insanity that had ensued since the initial infection of the zombie virus.
It was nature’s way of saying that we were not perfect.  It had not even been biogenetically engineered as projected by the mountains of cinematic endeavors in the 20th and early 21st centuries.  Nor had it come from an unfathomable alien dimension.  But had come as something more close to what we had been programmed to infer from history.  That which repeats itself does so much more exaggeratedly creatively each time that it does.  But something that evolves in this way, does die.  Everything dies.
Even the climate of Earth itself was waning.  Soon the above world would be nothing but an abyss in the towering walls of time.  The Ice Age had begun while the survivors of the last generation copulated and sacrificed their children to the hidden incubatory computers.  Being born now, during the first years of the surely worsening Ice Age, was where my paradigm ended.  We were all doomed, and there was no amount of thinking or thoughtful remorse that would end our plight.  I was determined to find a way, but only out of refusal to lose my own life.
So if this was nature’s way of modeling itself around the parasitic relationship humans had made with it, then in reciprocity’s continuous acceleration, we were sure to have a breakthrough.  But what would be our fate, if the virus was mimiccing to mirror our minds where we had been alone in existence, and now unite us all in it’s anti-thesis?

In all things that evolved on Earth
The virus was the easiest
Comfortability’s disease
Within one’s own mental constructs
Was our evantual downfall
It was that one beckoning hand
Lulling us to dreams immortal
Froze in hearts’ cold words’ damnation








A survivor among the zombies emerges, unexpectedly, interrupting the process of the nanobytes’ programming.  We discover that the origins of the tunnels were an escape effort of a dieing civilization under the weight of a neovirus that attacked people’s immune system and instinct-controlling hemisphere of the central nervous system.  The tunnels were made underground by robots that also guarded incubatory stations underneath America.  The survivors discover the alien intruder and we wonder at what the possible outcome of this initial conflict will become.










Book 2:  Ragnarok
ACT 1
Chapter 1
Draco
 The swirling overhead clamor of rising and falling thunderclouds that symphonically collided and like the grandest percussions drummed along a rhythm of the march-like calamity and chaos was like a mirage to the wandering pedestrians of the planet Earth.  It was a warning signal for those stragglers left walking through the pouring, torrential downfall of pounding rains.  The black air between the sky and land seemed teemed with blasts of wind, carrying speeds that would crash on windowpanes and inflict seething burns on the faces of the poor people that threw away their lives to the mercy of the Gods.
 Animals and the small creatures that would normally be on scavenging expeditions in their nocturnal ways were buried by the water and mud, or either sprawling their drenched legs and scurrying to dig down into the planet.  Their natural instincts, if not the violent sky, warned them of imminent danger, and they began to behave strangely savage towards one another.  A coyote might strike out viciously at its peers without restraint.  Squirrels fell from the trees tangling themselves in frenzy, landing awkwardly on the waterlogged streets.  Birds struck at each other, soaring raptors of the sky tumbled downwards and crashed their breaking beaks on rocks and boulders.  Even ants below the surface quarreled while trapped in muddy collapse.
 From the spaces above Earth where satellites spun in orbit, astronauts stared in utmost awe at the spectacle of the Earth below them.  Every inch of Earth covered with a black void-like veil of cloud, they knew that their chances of returning home were slimming.  To be trapped, without hope of communication or salvation, caused tensions to raise even in these utopias of scientific exploration.
 The tornadoes were forming rapidly, and within hours of the first lightning bolts, houses were being shorn of shingles, then windows, finally doorways would fill with gasping citizens who would behold the great tumultuous winds that approached.  One or two tornadoes, sometimes three, every square mile, and rain was beginning to flood the riverbanks.
 Glaciers, frozen on the icecaps broke free and sailed outwards toward a desolate sea that blazed with escalating motions of hundred-foot squalls, which even Poseidon would envy.  On shores across the world, people evacuated villages and cities, as waves came hurdling downwards on broken decks and oceanfront residencies.
 Black rain that was as pure as the deepest voids of every man’s knowledge put anyone outside at complete loss of sight.  In missions, reconnaissance or other, a friend or family member who strayed away more than three yards was considered missing, almost immediately.  Abandoned, the lost would often be wickedly struck by the black rain until battered, would fall to the ground and huddle up, crouch and soon lose all rational thought to desolate desperation.
 On all continents people leaned on trees, swaying in the wind, hoping for a haven from the terrific madness.  Children were dying sooner than mothers could rescue them from the War of Gods, which had only just begun.
 Here, in the twilight of the night storm’s fury, was an inescapable emotion that washed over everyone of Earth, including executives and officials of all sorts.  It was a feeling of imminence, a great mourning, and anticipation for the sky.  It was like the feeling that a murderer might have had for a bounty hunter hot on the trail.  A heavy wait, impatience, an urge for finality.
 The ones not touched by this savage commotion were few and far between, standing in radiation-safe shelters deep below the surface.  Here, no light reached the sanctuaries aside from the candles brought in, and most people had not the time to relocate themselves into these cave chambers.  The storm had been so fast, coming like an owl in the night.
 Yet, in a remote part of our memory, as we retain a vigilance, although desperate, for the slain ability of choice in the midst of the great regrets, lay a sole wish made by a sore soul, which had gone unfulfilled.  The wish, it sparkled in the rain and it blossomed in the heart of a handful of singular men and women.  They alone kept close to their blood made oath, and amongst the calamities, the suicides, and the raping, catastrophe, they cried.  This was the moment of clarity to the purging of Ragnarok.  The unity of only a few, that might be able to carry on humanity, if only the sparse remnants, through the barreling onslaught of night approaching through the twilight which bruised the spirit.
 The cry that sounded through the night, fell on the ears of Aeolus, who tossed over on his side on top of the tallest remaining building in all New York City; the old Empire State Building.  Aeolus tossed up a single arm to the sky, and although burned and wounded, he pulled himself up with the gate of the balcony.
 Beneath, Tyr was scrambling still, and above, still, Adad with once prideless eyes was scouring the landscape.  Somewhere in the night Odin was following his call to the Temple, with his pack of beasts at his side.  Through the storm that raged, the Gods were rallying themselves against each other, to this war that they waged.
 “Ragnarok.” whispered Aeolus with his full lungs that blew a wind of air that tumbled back a bit of hanging clouds, and as in synchronic effect, there was a light that sparked in the sky for only a brief second.
 The men and women of the streets below stopped and a hush fell over the great city.  The cry of the chosen heroes fell from a roaring scale to a low whimpering, and as it quickly disappeared, left them all mystified as they had been before, only now with the promise of Heaven so close to their hearts that they made course of the now outrageously raging emotions that spun through their spirits and took to feet to face a fiery light that shone on either horizon or overhead.
 At once, another light emerged from the hole in the dark clouds, and Aeolus winced in the overflowing flames that spewed from the light.  He was determined, however, to face the new confrontation head-on, and shaded a bit of it with his hand up.
 Through the flames and trembling thunder came a new noise.  Foreign to the people of Earth, it was the evil sounds of a snarling demon, a growling dragon, a pounding army that approached through unseen dimensions, through gateway after gateway of Hell.  The piercing shrieks of generations of pure anguish then rose in octave, higher and higher, to pierce like knives, the minds of everybody that stood in listening distance.  Some, closer to the portal that warped the thunderclouds and cityscape, began to bleed from their eyes and ears.
 Aeolus stared onwards, though, and through the broken up region the hush grew more and more quiet, until all that remained were sounds of thunder, rain, the light, and the horrifying screeching howls of Hell that cascaded from the fiery chasm in the sky.
 From out of this penetrating inferno, rode four horsemen.  The first was covered in all white light, so blindingly white and radiant that Aeolus tried to avert his eyes for a moment until the next, on a red steed came galloping, the light reflecting vibrantly blood red rays of a certain refractive element, as if to penetrate utmost fear on any onlooker.  Yet Aeolus stared on in growing, gnawing terror.  A black horse rode through next, and disappeared into the dark night, camouflaged in the black rain.  Then, a pale horse came riding, invisible except for the shimmering flames that distorted it, stampeding through the gateway.
 Neither Aeolus nor Tyr had anticipated that the gates of Hell would open this early.  The omen lead both Gods to quickly realize that their fight would be much more dangerous than either of them had initially suspected.  But for the myriad of people running around on the ground, those that had not fallen in bloodshed already, this meant catastrophe and mayhem between civilians would be only a mere portion of the total slaughter that would ensue. 
 Then the horsemen came down to Earth, and stood perpendicularly facing the light that grew more dense now, watching the pouring flames drench the rain with flickers and the puddle reflections of terrified faces.  The devilish men on horses pulled their reigns up and the beasts they rode stood high on their hind legs, curling their lips and spouting small flames from their nostrils which flared.
 Out of the gateway, now, came something so grotesquely unreal that even Tyr stopped himself in his tracks, and turned to face head on the warping tunnel of flame.
 From out of the fire-fortified portal, flew a massive dragon on wings that spread the length of three miles, each.  The dark green scales shimmered in the pouring rain, and the dragon’s eyes were boiling over with mad anger.  The beating sound was deafening, of it’s mighty wings, as it slid through from Hell like a worm through rain water, or a snake in the sun.
 Ragnarok, the twilight of the Gods, ended, and the sun, although not visible through the fierce clouds, shaded itself to the land of America. 
 Draco, the Serpent of Eden, had been released.  Upon his head stood a small figure, and upon his head stayed a crown of many points like knives.
 Aeolus leapt down and flew to Tyr, holding back the strong gravitational pull of Earth with a strong wind.  Together, they now began the long, haunting, gauntlet of the ravaged roads to the airport.
 Lucifer’s reign on Earth had begun, and the angels of Heaven wept, for they had no power to combat nor deter the pure and unimaginable havoc that would be wreaked on both the less sinful and more sinister men alike of Earth.
 The men that rode the gruesome beasts dispersed in four directions, and started their awful assault.  Draco swept the city, collapsed the Empire State Building with one claw, and began devouring Earth.



Chapter 2

 Tyr was well aware of the notion that the gruesome Horsemen assassins were more or less a kind of second plan, alternative route of mayhem for Hell’s ultimate assault amongst the other destructive elements prevalent on Earth.  If Draco had been released to single-handedly destroy Earth from the Netherrealm, then it was understood that the Horsemen had a slightly different agenda.  In the war that was coming, Tyr would be forced to reanalyze the greater picture of keeping Heaven, his home, safe from these mutinous intruders.  All that he knew was that if he was now to be at all successful, he must not stop at Odin.  To save his Heaven, he would be forced to secure Earth Realm now.  The imbalance would only create a schism and rift in the Realms.
 The rain did little to stop their progress, and Aeolus and Tyr were side by side rushing through the flooded streets to their destination.  The sounds of civilian panic, as well as Draco’s loud mighty wings and shrill shrieks filled the air.  It wouldn’t take long at all for Draco to completely destroy most of the city with his burning breath and gigantic claws.  This being so, Tyr and Aeolus had no choice but to leave the city soon, follow along their path to Death Valley and the Temple.
 The night was thick under the storm clouds, and all of the building lights had been off for hours.  Tyr raced through the bloody waters, sword in it’s sheath, Aeolus guiding him by a few paces.
 When they reached the airstrip, they made quick haste to decide on the appropriate jet to take to Death Valley’s Temple, the War of Gods.  Yet as soon as they came to a quick and solid decision, Tyr noticed a light in the back of the airport.  A piercingly radiant light, which shone across through the dark waters and rain.
 Tyr quickly judged the distances between and, knowing the source was probably that of the Horseman’s, realized that a fight would break out before they had even reached the jet that would carry them to battle with Odin.  Aeolus had proved loyal, but weaker in the battle he alone had fought with Adad.  Tyr motioned for him to stay back, as well realizing that if worse came to worse Aeolus would be physically alright on his own to fly to Death Valley, although it would be crucial for Tyr to be the initiator of the final conflict.
 In the dark monarchy of the night, the rebel of Hell had this chance open.  Take Tyr’s life now, and control the path of Odin with their own hands, or face the bitter and cruel punishments surely awaiting him in Hell from whence he came.
 From the other side of the port, came a shrill, startling whinny out of the hoarse throat of the steed that raised on it’s hind legs, spreading wide it’s light across the runway.  The shining light was so blindingly fluorescent that Tyr fell to his knee and covered his eyes with a strong forearm.  This was going to be a blind battle, and as the great beast leapt and pounded the ground, splashing water with it’s flaming-tipped hooves, Tyr closed his eyes wincingly and stood again.  He took up a forward jog, straining his ears to listen to the oncoming splashing of the Horseman.
 It was then, that Aeolus yelled out “Tyr, beware!  The Horseman has planted on his back a strong bow and quiver!”
 No sooner had this warning been pronounced, had Tyr jumped up in the air above a fallen body of an army officer, and the Horseman simultaneously reached behind him for the bow.  Tyr unsheathed his large sword, midair, and opened only one eye to the sky so as to shield his eyes from the bright light that came forth from the Horseman.  An arrow shone in the sky, that was blazing at it’s sharp, pointed tip as Tyr landed beyond the body, and Tyr swung his sword forward from over his head.  The sword struck this first arrow and sliced it in half, sending splinters of flashing moonlight into the puddles on the runway.
 The second flying arrow was only a few yards behind the first, though, and Tyr rolled to his left to evade it, as the Horseman approached at accelerating speeds.  Tyr closed both of his eyes, once again, preparing for the Horseman, who at this close proximity would be forced to abruptly dismount and attack with brute force.  Aeolus blew the wind to disarray the arsenal of arrows, at the short meter of space, disarming the Horseman.
 The assassin, though, took advantage of his beast’s speed and galloped it closer to Tyr who steadied himself on his feet.  The distorted shouts outside the airport gates nearly distracted him as he spun his sword lengthwise and held out his left hand in defense, anticipating a second chance for the assassin to reassemble an arrow to the bow and strike.  Yet the assassin was smarter still, and restrained himself from using the weapon again.  Instead, he threw the arrow in his hand at Tyr, with his arm, allowing the bow to drop to the side on a sling.
 Tyr, with his eyes still closed, was listening carefully for the bow’s stretch, and when he did not hear the arrow come closer began to step forward.  Aeolus, whose attention had not been diverted by the raising voices behind him, became quickly aware of his hero’s dangerous approach to the arrow.  The flung projectile was only a few inches away from Tyr’s chest when Aeolus focused and blew it clear out of harm’s way.  The assassin now dismounted, jumping down to the ground off the radiant horse, only a dozen paces away from Tyr.
 Tyr, feeling the wind blow the arrow, opened his left eye to watch it fall far down the runway.  He knew that it had been a close call, almost angered at himself for not anticipating the sneak attack.  He threw himself into motion, however, towards the assailant who was in full force.
 In total darkness, the bright assassin was attracting a growing crowd that stood outside of the gates.  No shots had been fired yet, but guns had been raised at the two battlers, and Aeolus knew that if one of them did not fall quickly in the fight, that the men would begin to shoot at either of the Gods.  The Gods were as mortals, in that any fatal weapons and mortal elements of the Earth domain could damage their vitality, so Aeolus turned and crouched behind a group of diesel fuel barrels, silently praying that the crowd would see the danger of the nearby explosive materials and refrain with their idiocy.  Aside from this, he was actually in patient waiting, though if need be, to tackle them down and disarm them.
 Tyr wielded his sword wildly to the approaching Horseman, knowing that his blindness would be an obstacle that he’d only overcome courageously and with intimidation of power.  The Horseman, however, knew that his enemy’s closed eyes, although would have been certainly a hindrance to most humans, would not be much of a problem to this particular target, that his footsteps alone would divulge his position to Tyr, God of Battle.  With this in mind, the Horseman jumped to the right, retreating from his position, hoping to flank Tyr as well as throw off the God’s intuition.
 Tyr was thoroughly focused, though, and did not allow any element of surprise to keep his ultimate mission from being subsided.  He swiftly turned to his right, in an effort to counteract the aversion.  The demonic horsebacked assassin was going to attempt a slide kick, as Tyr could hear by the short stall in movement and the quick backwards stepping that the Horseman used to gain momentum.
 The Horseman, though, in stepping backward, left open a whole range of his front leg.  Tyr was too far for a first strike, and besides which, his back was turned to the enemy in a position that feigned defenselessness.  Aeolus glanced from the rioting crowd to the two combatants.  It was the Horseman’s next move; Tyr was frighteningly close to losing the fight.
 Tyr opened his eyes, still turned the opposite direction of his ugly opponent, who was already plunging his weight into a downward kick.  The crowd was growing, and the growling of the angry people was rising in decibels.  It was Tyr’s move that would decide this fight, and he made his choice fast as the assassin, only a half dozen feet behind him, bent and threw himself against the battering rainfall and ground of the runway.
 Tyr put his concentration to the sword he carried in his right arm, now, and swung it high, to the cloudcover and falling drops that were glowing in the Horseman’s fiery light.  He spun, as the assassin closed in, and pointed the sword directly into the fast fury that came across unto him like a steam engine barreling down a track, water splashing in the air both ways away from the sliding kick.
 The sword pierced the skull of the Horseman, between the eyes.  The light that was so bright that it had a while blinded Tyr quickly faded away as did the assassin into the darkness.  Tyr had defeated the first rider on the storming night, and he sheathed his sword once again, looking over to Aeolus who was still behind the barrels, hiding from the mob whose awe at the battle had dropped their jaws for a moment.  Aeolus didn’t look back as he ran up to Tyr in the runway.  The horse, even, disappeared like a ghost in the night.
 The two Gods were alone in the runway.  They took off to the plane, as the mob began to unsettle themselves.  As Aeolus hopped up the rail to the cockpit entry, a shot was fired, followed by the sound of an AK-47 rattling against the thundering clouds.
 As soon as the jet began taking off, Draco and Lucifer were flying the city’s horizon, leaving behind a long trail of mass destruction, which Tyr and Aeolus crossed on their way to the Temple.
 “The cities will know the deep maniacal suffering under the stretching body of the dragon.  Ragnarok was ended, but Armageddon is yet to begin.  By the names of our peers in Heaven, we must free ourselves from Draco’s scourge, and kill Odin at the Temple, before Lucifer’s potential genocide is realized.  The war, Aeolus, this time, is for more than Earth Realm, or any of it’s inhabitants can ever realize.  The war is for Heaven, and it is for Elohim.”






Chapter 3

 Adad’s mission on Earth was simple, yet the idea behind the mission was what counted.  Of course, he knew that it would only take a few moments to locate and fight Odin.  But where he hoped he would meet him was West of the Temple, and here he would attempt to make his last stand for the right of his benefactor to incarnate himself in the Earth Realm, to defeat Tyr.  The idea was that if Odin was to be destroyed by hands of a Lesser Temple God, it could create the effect of an overall imbalance in the Cipher of Godship, thereby allowing Zeus to take power on Earth comparable of Elohim in Heaven.
 Adad moved at high altitudes and speeds to his destination far out in the West.  Time was ticking, and there could be no stalling.  The clouds tumbled and rolled, spreading the path that Adad followed.  The power to control clouds was as fluent to him as speech.  The entire water cycle, though, was a bit more difficult, like a foreign dialect that one struggled with to emulate.
 His race was at the moment, causing the rain below to fall a slightly lesser rate.  He knew that letting up the downpour would only go to help his enemies, whom he decisively wished to thwart.  But his half-mortal mind had the capability to only commit itself to a certain amount of tasks at once.  The magical powers that he harnessed well were only capable of so much, and although a bit frustrating, were his one advantage.
 Suddenly, as like a truck passing a yellow light on the road of Earth, Adad saw a flashing red between curling cloud shapes.  Suddenly, then, as quick as he could try to slow his pace to avoid collision, the form became visible just to the right as a sword came piercing laterally through the vapors, like a jousting lance of a great medieval knight.
 Adad hadn’t chance to move, as the sword seared and stabbed his right side, under his arm.  He cried and stumbled, mid-air, and began to descend sharply under his weight.  Down upon him came a red, hooded soldier, riding on a flying horse.
 Adad shook as he grabbed his side, but turned and tumbled sideways midfall, to face the soldier while screeching in agony.
 The towering giant on his shining red steed was descending as well, in pursuit of the wounded God.  The sword he held outstretched, across his midsection with a bent elbow, was blood red as if having recently come from tournaments of desecration.  The lunging force of the rider was quickly accelerating him to the disabled figure that flailed his arm up.
 The Horseman prepared for the prey’s sacrifice.  Adad had only one option, as he fell, stunned from the strike.
 Burning in the concentration of a thousand mortal minds, souls under the memories of times and generations, Adad let out a mighty yell.
 The sky seemed to shake and collapse, as the teeming lightning, white like the tip of a tidal wave once against the black, smoky clouds, shot into the air from the ground with a singular busting burst that shone and penetrated the red Horseman.  The rider was thrown off his horse, which plummeted downwards as if lost without retainer and disappeared.
 The Horseman, too, vanished as quickly as he had once come across in the utterly black night.



ACT 2
Chapter 1
Apocalypse

 The Yellow Emperor stared out into the black rain, flooding his land.  Across the field, trees swayed in the torrential downfall.  Complete dark, and the light that struck across the hills flashed to reveal the weather-beaten countryside.  Dark swirling whirlwinds of rainsqualls would splash the old man’s face through the window.  The earthquake had knocked over candles in the rickety shack, and wax puddles lay near dressers, small tables.
 Huang Di had not much time to work, and turned back to his books that he had laid out right next to an array of candles on a table near the back of his living room, behind the yellow loom.  The Gods had chosen him, and he knew that he mustn’t fail them, now.  He had since been rigorously reading to prepare for the reincarnations of three warriors from the past, who would reappear on Earth tonight, help guide the fight for the righteousness of Odin’s cause. 
 He had no idea how to summon the warriors, however he remained undeterred in his ambitious studies that had now gone on over an hour.    It was at certain moments during the night, that he had almost gone delusional in his studious psychological challenge.  There had once been a great wind that had ushered in the door, which had been left unlocked after Odin’s arrival.  Darkened shadows danced on the walls around him, threw themselves along the ceiling, hid in doorways.  His ears had played tricks on him too; demons outside his door morbidly plagued his thoughts.  It had been enough to force him to boil a new kettle of tea in the dark, but he still knew of the fact that it would be a long night.
 “Oh, demons, urchins of our dreams, leave me be!  I am not your target,” he whispered as he began to walk to the table, covered in manuscripts and histories, “I am no necromancer.  The covenant I keep is of loyalty and love, not of evil.”
 The night showers only howled back, and he thought that he heard a snarl and snort in the dark night.  He quickly turned back to the window, to see only the dark shapes continue their nonstop motions, as though propelled by an unseen devil.
 Bodhidharma was his first choice, because of the intense contemplative power that he had possessed as founder of the Zen.
 In a close second was Ghengis Kahn, powerful leader of feudal warlords, who would be almost certainly necessary to accomplish accumulation of armies across populations that would otherwise be lead astray in the night.
 But he had regarded the ideas of doubt, and had weighed possibility after possibility of people, warriors, priests, whom to summon with help of enchantment scrolls retrieved from the Book Of The Dead, which he possessed in his library.  Nonetheless, he was astoundingly dumbfounded at who would be the appropriate choice for a third.
 He decided it would be a good time for some tea.  He left the table of scraps and notes, books and research papers, and entered the kitchen area.  Here, he saw that his teakettle was on the counter, off the stove.  He grabbed it by the handle, which had cooled slightly off in the cold storm.  He grabbed a fresh new teacup off of a rack above the sink basin, and delicately placed it on the counter, pouring the smooth liquid into a mug shaped like a lion’s head.
 As Huang Di sipped the tea, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a dark shadow in the corner of his bedroom, through the open doorway.  He shrugged it off and continued to down the tea in gulps.
 The next thing he knew, Huang Di was down on the floor, struggling to overcome a poison.  He coughed up blood as he noticed a black-cloaked soldier step into sight from behind the bedroom doorway.  Upon stepping into the threshold of the kitchen, the Horseman’s stallion whinnied loudly in the back of the house.
 Huang Di thrust his knife and plunged it into the Horseman, which appeared to kill him instantly, sending him stepping backwards into the loom and crashing into the ground.
 Moments later, Huang Di was dead.



Chapter 2

 The dragon had flown East across the ocean, beating it’s gigantic wings so fast and strong that the clouds above drew a line to it’s current.  Armed citizens and militaries, that still stood, tried at first, without any success, to shoot the beast down as it devoured with it’s scorching breath all of the major cities on the East Coast of America.  There was nothing that the people could do, and as it started towards Europe, the only hope had been nuclear missiles.  However, because of lack of communication between nations, the missile defense system was put on hold for a short time.  The people, of course, had no inclination that the dragon’s mission would be most likely completed by sunrise.
 It was almost all the way to Rome before the first nuclear weapon was detonated.  It was not, though, for the untouchable dragon to worry or fret.  The great dragon lord had been rendered completely impenetrable in it’s transformation from the Gates of the Netherrealm aside from a small portion of his massive underbelly, which was uncovered.  Lucifer had shielded this section with a small wooden platform that he could use as a vantage point to direct the beast’s trail of destruction.  The spiked tail was another minor weakness, because as the scales came down along on his spine, they thinned out to allow more flexibility.  When the missile struck the top of one of Draco’s scaled wings, it did little or no damage to either of the lunatic murderers.  The dragon merely flinched at the excess mass, and Lucifer happily danced on the platform beneath.  The last part of the beast that was left open, was his eyes, which were slit, unfeeling, piercing in the dark night sky.
 Although it was only about thirty seconds later until, like a cricket echoes it’s mate’s call, another atomic missile was detonated, it was not intended for the dragon at all.  Instead, as the dragon was safely sailing across the Atlantic to the European beaches, ripened with human blood, an international emergency and state of war was underway.
 When the first shockwaves of the San Francisco/Oakland bombing hit Los Angeles, Tank was freed from a wrecked building as the debris slid down into chasms growing under the roads.  Within the same moment, as the third strike commenced, two new special visitors of the Realms beyond were making entry into Earth.  Then, the Chinese began arming their nuclear defense missiles, and sending them upwards across oceans to America and Europe.  Japan, at one time peaceful in pacifism, changed sides when their overpopular leader threw off the safety switch to his emergency station’s nuclear system.  The whole world, then, knew the furious devastation of blind religious war.
 To Tank, this was all too familiar territory, total war.  It immediately brought him back to his time in the Marines.  A boxed radio on a top forty station played a muffled sound from down the street as Tank looked around his surroundings from within the veil of rain and splashing mud behind the stoop he had landed next to.  Fires blazed high and violently swayed in the wind inside many of the buildings on his block, reflecting vaguely off puddles.  Around the next corner he saw a man with a rifle, standing like a patrolman, but without uniform.
 The black, rain-filled sky did nothing much to beckon him to leave his safe hole, but the hold of captivity had charged him with impatience.  After three long arduous hours beneath a pile of dirt, mud, and rubble, only barely making progress in an unassisted escape, and having to drink mud water to gain strength, Tank was ready to move.  He wanted to first see if any police were somewhere nearby, rescue teams, ambulances, fire trucks, any of the vital signs of civilization that he had not yet heard inside of the hole he had been trapped in.  Aside from a few distant sirens that were barely audible under the walls, he hadn’t gotten any signals that much, if at all, was being done for this natural disaster.  Ignorance to, yet anticipation of the fact that nuclear war was being undertaken, gave him the dumb stricken motivation that he needed to elude his inhibitions.  Most still believed that the rumbling ground, and shockwaves that struck, were due to the earthquakes, though.  It was a hunch, to Tank, nothing more.
 To his surprise, though, there were no signs of any reinforcements along the street.  “Has the world gone to anarchy this fast?” he wondered to himself.  Flashes of light above the rain lit the area for a few moments here and there, and Tank saw the crumbling buildings in every direction, and a few dead bodies lying motionless like sick mannequins in a mall of mauled civilization.
 “Well, this is the last place you need to be, dude.  Get the fuck out and look around, see if you can find someone that knows what the fuck is going on.”
 He decided that the boom box would be a good place to start searching.  But as he redevoted his thoughts to the boom box, the music reverberating in the air turned to static, and went off. 
 “Or not,” he thought to himself in a feeble effort to lighten the already dismal situation, but it only made his stomach more sick.  His belly grumbled loudly as he looked out at the drenched and empty streets.  “Maybe that motherfucker over there,” as he started walking out into the open, straining to see in the dark rain.  He quickly decided to attempt to cross the street, sneak around the corner to the man standing about one hundred yards away.  He was aware that he might be forced to disarm him, so he took special care.
 Tank jumped over a broken waterline that was spraying at one end of a giant hole that lay beneath.  The jump caused a bit of noise, landing on the other side, and he swiftly looked over to the man to make sure that he had not heard it.  Fortunately, the rainfall must have been loud enough, because the man only turned his head around slightly, and remained standing still.  Lightning flashed, and the rain was somehow growing stronger, blacker, and heavier.
 Tank reached the other side, and began scaling around to the man with the gun.  “This is crazy, fuckin crazy dude,” he kept saying to himself.
 When they were only twenty feet apart, and Tank was only yards away from the end of the fallen building, which was mainly now in all, just a pile of rock-like pieces of foundation, sloping up steeply in sharp, jutting, craggily debris to about two floors height, Tank crouched and whistled.  He immediately regretted it, but knew that he could easily find refuge from gunfire in the wreckage to his side.  He was safe until the man would attempt at a flank, which he could counter, if a fight was started.  The man turned and faced the direction of the whistling, as a long brightened flash of lightning struck, but he did not even notice the massive bulk of Tank’s large body in the shape-swallowing night.
 When the man made eye contact, he approached, and was kind enough to lend a hand to the crouching Tank, who was still feeling anxious of the situation.
 “By God, I didn’t expect you there.  Most of us are arming at the plaza down the street.  There’s a gun shop down there.  It’s war, buddy, fucking nuclear war.  C’mon I’ll bring you down there.”
 Tank stared at the man blankly for a moment still shell shocked and reeling back from the surprise of and escape from entrapment.  Strangely, encountering the man was as much a surprise and escape.  Tank stood, and then stepped forward to follow the man down the street.  The two men tiptoed across broken glass, and dodged grotesque devastation along the cracked streets of East Los Angeles.  Bodies were sometimes seen through the smaller building’s windows, slung over chairs or some even looked like they had been murdered in the most gruesome degrees.
 “It seems like the end of the good ol’ days now, fella.  This isn’t going to get better for a while.  The radio stations are all playing news briefings of where to go; here, there, fuckin every block has a safe house.  And half of em aren’t even there anymore!  They won’t tell us the whole story, damnit.  All they wanna say is that same shit every hour; go here, go there, stay inside, lock doors, get your kids, fuckin bullshit, bullshit, bullshit...” the man trailed off. 
Tank barely said a word the whole walk, only “Yeahs,” “Yeps,” “I knows,” until they were three blocks down.
 “What’s that?” Tank pointed to a tattered building across the street of an intersection they were approaching.  There was a clamor inside that he had noticed from about ten yards behind.  Within a couple steps, the two militiamen heard gunshots.
 “There were only three shots fired-“ Tank started.
 “Nahhh, I think that last one was just loud thunder,” replied the man, who was trying to continue through the rain towards the gun store, holding the illusion that he’d be able to escape the downpour.  He had recently been growing numbly cold in his long patrol.
 “No, let’s go check it out,” Tank demanded, and as he began towards the building, the man reluctantly followed him.
 Suddenly another noise came barreling out of the parking garage, as they approached through crevice and wreckage.  It was like the growl of an insane, rabid dog, and it pierced the thunderclaps above them, with a shrill echo across the broken pavement.  Tank leapt upwards against the cracked walls and grabbed a side rail that hung above them, and began to climb up.  As he did, a bloody and limp body holding a revolver fell from a higher level to the muddy ground below, apparently a victim of suicide, as his throat had been shot into hanging pieces of flesh.
 “Your crazy!” shouted the man.  But when Tank reached a platform, the man threw up his gun to the brave ex-Marine.  This was the last time that he saw of the man, as Tank plunged into the dank darkness inside alone.









 The story goes like this.  Once upon a
time,
 a mouse lived in a field.  One day,
 he decided to cross the river
 that ran by his field, hoping to gather
more food
 on the other side.  So he walked and
walked
 along the river bank and was almost all
out of breath
 before he came upon a frog. 
 So the frog offered to help, he said that
if
 the mouse would grab a piece of string,
 that the frog would pull the mouse
across the river. 
 The mouse, of course, said,
 "I'm sick of this walking, so let's do it."
 Well, the frog tied on one end of the
string,
 and the mouse, the other, and the frog
 jumped into the water.  And soon,
 the mouse was being pulled right
 across the water of the river.
 All the sudden, the frog started thinking. 
 He said to himself,
 "well, i'm a big bullfrog, and this
 little mouse, he'd be just delicious
 if I could just kill him now."
 So down went the frog into the deep
water. 
 And the mouse, too, started to fall
deeper,
 and began to drown.  Just then, a giant
 hawk
 came swooping out of the sky and pulled
the
 mouse out of the water, with the frog
 still attached, by the string
which he was using to kill the mouse. 
 So you see, the hawk got both animals,
 and killed them both to eat.




Chapter 3

 “And with the scourges of men, plagued by wolfbeast across China and the Philippines, devastated by natural disaster in America, by nuclear war in many places around the world, as well as pillages by roaming pirate.  And with the dragon of Eden released on the people of Europe and America, the Middle East and other regions, the fall of Gods and Saviors, of Demons and Warriors upon the Earth Realm.  There was Ragnarok.  There were only a few survivors, after all the tolls had been paid.  Yet it was far from over...  Until the master of the Earth Realm claims his part in history, it will never end.  Until the morning dove climbs the sky with a champion and a king...
 “Modern civilization’s collapse at the hands of the impenetrable extraterrestrials, the Gods upon brave men that stood in fear, and the Apocalypse was at hand.  Apocalypse:  a revelation of revolution.  A War of the Gods.”
 This and more revealed to Matthew, by Bodhidarma and Ghengis Kahn in the dark, moist sanctuary of the abandoned parking garage.  Matthew stared at the apparitions of the ancient priest-warriors like ghosts, and wondered their words over and over.  The words were like a deep hypnosis, a trance that captured his soul and body in the wave-like rhythms in which the men telepathically transitioned his thoughts.
 It had gone on for an hour before Matthew was forced outside into the rain once more.
 From the encounter with the ghosts, he had retained an ultimate mortal power and knowledge that would lead him to victory for humanity over the grandest scale of war ever conceived on Earth.  The dragon beast, it was told, was the size of a large city, and would be so formidable to the men of Earth that it would be impossible to stop alone.  Lucifer would try every trick up his sleeve before giving in.  Matthew would be forced to face beast and God, Immortal and Undead alike.
 As Matthew traversed the rocky terrain with a certain newfound grace that was unparalleled by mortal men, he reconciled differences, internally, with any of the opponents and enemies he had had in life.  Now was only the time for total and complete concentration, for his trust to be instilled in the human spirit, and he leapt like a giant panther in the night from rock to wall to tenement foundation, to pavement, sidewalk, curb, and along the roads he went along his way to Death Valley.
 On the fringes of society, he saw that the roads were less damaged, and took control of a stopped vehicle, forcing the frustrated attendant out into the brutal rain.  The car barely started, but he was soon on his way to the erected Temple.
 Armageddon was on the horizon of foreign shores shining like a gold crust in the slashing lightning bolts.  Hell had broken itself, Earth was next, and Heaven was full of tears.
 This was the end, Apocalypse, of Earth, as foretold by the Oracle, The Muse, so long ago.  What lay across the desert for Matthew inevitably was the final stand of human spirit against blind forces of nature’s magnificent dimension.  It was the fury of the angelic army, and a melee of demonic brigades.  For out of the gates of the Holy Land poured minion upon minion of pig-like appearance into the Realm of Earth, proceeding Hades.
 Apocalypse was brutal in fury, and the bloodshed was great.
 If one listened close enough to the hard bass of the roaring thunder and the treble of the rushing wind, one could almost discern the echoes of an ancient deity. 
 “Go look, for yourself.  The fallacies of the human spirit fill our valleys with pity, the painfully privileged will die as though they never existed, the wickedly tortured brutalized only harder.  Go look, for yourself.  It has begun...”
 The myths had a resilient resonance that carried through tongue and ear to the corners of the city.  People stood and watched the hero, and lined the street.  Hope had arrived for the trapped denizens of Earth Realm at last.
 The apparitions followed Matthew like moths to a flame, on his way through the City of Angels to Death Valley.  They were ghosts of spiritual warriors of a different time.  He was their hero of flesh and blood.
 As they neared the location of the Temple, a jet was flying overhead, circling for a landing, quickly falling to the beaten land.
 “Here is your chance to head off the coming war.”  Bodhidharma whispered, and Khan too, something that only a hero could hear.








MATTHEW
 Thank you father, for I have sinned.
 I have committed unholy acts in noone's
name
 but my own.  I am guilty of sinning,
 and therefore am a sinner.  Please
forgive me,
 as does Jesus Christ our lord savior in
heaven.
 I have witnessed so much father.
 I have witnessed the fall of Asia,
 the rise of the Indian War.  The waste of
America
 against the zombie infestation that
 ravages our neighboring countries.
 I have sinned once more, as I have
committed
 adultry in the form of lust for another
woman.
  PREACHER
 Say no more, my son, you are forgiven,
 in the eyes of Jesus Christ you are
absolved.
  MATTHEW
 No wait, I know this sounds crazy, but
 I think that my son's sins that forthcome
 are my own as well.  I need forgiveness
 for his actions as well.  He has read the
 Sacred Scriptures.
  PREACHER
 What Sacred Scriptures?
  MATTHEW
 Which ones?
 Or what are you saying?
  PREACHER
 What are Sacred in the eyes of God
 are only the testaments of the prophets.
 No mortal man has ever written of
prophecy.
 You must be mistaken.  You must be
thinking
 of...  You must be thinking of something
else
 entirely.  What was- what are you
saying?
  MATTHEW
 The fourth and possibly even the fifth
Scriptures.
 My son has stumbled upon them in a
local library.
 Tell me you know of the Scriptures that
appeared?
  PREACHER
 Appeared?  Where?
  MATTHEW
 The Scriptures have been notarized
 in the Library of Congress Father!  The
Scriptures
 that appeared with the arrival of my son,
 William, on the planet Earth in the gates
of Hell,
 in Jerusalem!
  PREACHER
 Sir, if you'd excuse me for one moment.
  MATTHEW
 What?
 Who are-
  PREACHER
 Sire, your majesty, look here.
  MATTHEW
 What is it?  I can't see you in there.
 What's going o-
  PREACHER
 Look here, sire.  Look into the window.
 Look into the window.  Look close-ly.
  PREACHER
 Be safe, my son.  Be safe.
Matthew bolts out of the church, as the camera swings to follow him down the wall around to the door.
  PREACHER
 We need you.






ACT 3
Chapter 1
Zion

 Tyr had seen the bright headlights flash off across the wet runway pavement, but was undeterred and unworried, at the moment thinking it only to be another wayward civilian, lost in the storm or a potential hijacker trying to take control of the airplane.  Other than him, the runway had been abandoned.  The radio that had been left on in the cockpit had only relayed static buzz the whole way to the West Coast.
 Odin wouldn’t be far off by now, nor Adad.  Tyr quickly made haste then to exit the jet’s interior, which was when he realized the two ghost-like figures behind the car.  Even in the rain, they shone fluorescently.
 “Aeolus, over there!” and as Tyr said this, a blaze of gunfire struck out at the jet.
 Aeolus retreated behind the jet, as Tyr charged.  The cover, though, was not enough, and as the jet began to hiss with fuel leaks, Aeolus quickly moved back.  The plane suddenly exploded on the runway, causing a minute distraction to Tank, who from beside the car, watched as the fuel spilled out into the rain, leaking out towards another nearby jet.
 The leak was slowing and filtered in the puddles, and was soon obliterated by the falling rain.  Tank had lost a moment in the unforeseen charge of Tyr.  So when the next lightning struck bright like a haphazard catalyst to his discovery, revealed the running God, Tank was compelled to reassess his attack strategy.  There was little time to contemplate, however, and as there was not much cover aside from a few bushes outside the gate of the runway, Tank took his last chances with the M-16 as Aeolus ran around the plane wreckage to watch the fight.
 Tyr, meanwhile, was wondering the purpose or disguise of the light forms that stood near his opponent, as he rapidly advanced, knowing that they were neither God nor particularly demonic.  Oddly, they appeared to be unready to do battle, and thus he considered that these were merely guides to the civilian.  When, under cover of night, Tyr approached within forty or so yards of the attacker, he came to the fast conclusion that the man was probably someone with supernatural powers, or great strength that these ancient beings had come for such lengths to assist.
 Tank blindly let off another round of the M-16 into the airport runway.  He sprayed with as much range as he thought was necessary, but when the next thunder clapped above, he waited to grab another clip and instead hesitated, looking for the lightning to reveal a fallen body.  When the lightning finally scorched the sky, Tyr was still in motion, advancing quickly towards the gate, now only fifteen yards or so away.  His run was like a mad sprinter, deep in the glory of a footrace.  Tank knew that the running God would have to jump the high fence, so he rustled and fumbled on his bandolier for another clip.
 Coming to the high fence, Tyr leapt into the air and grabbed a hold of barbed wire that hung above.  The wire stretched down, and Tyr bobbed midair, as his hand felt the pierce of a sharp razor along the bone of his right thumb, but held tight anyway.  Tank had finished reloading, and was raising aim.
 Aeolus, anticipating that this was Tank’s moment of victory seized an opportunity that he thought would just make the slightest difference that his leader would need.  He had seen that Tank wore a red bandana on his chin, and blew a gust of wind across the runway, to the Gods’ newfound nemesis.  The wind blew the damp bandana up over Tank’s cheeks, partially covering his eyes.
 Tyr, not even immediately noticing the clear danger that Tank presented with his gun still aiming only a few yards away, spun his torso backwards and up, cartwheeling over the fence with a swift kick downwards to land on one knee facing Tank, furthering his distance less than twenty feet away.  He unsheathed his sword, raised up to his feet.
 Tank, frustrated slightly by the tricks of the Gods, began carelessly firing at the close range.  The first shot, though, coincidentally bounced off Tyr’s hanging sword, sending it flying back far behind Tyr and rendering the God weaponless.  The other shots went off to the side until half the clip was emptied out, with no signs of blood.  Tank reached up and retrieved the bandana, pulling it up above his brow and tucking the hanging fabric over his head in a calm-like motion.  He soon realized his new advantage of space, and stepped forward to the surprised Tyr.  Yet with his clenched fists up in defensive stature, Tyr did not turn for his sword, but instead began advancing, ducking and bobbing his head around behind arms and hands but not taking his eyes off of Tank. 
Then, Tank bravely looked Tyr directly in the blackness of his piercing eyes as they approached striking distance, and what he saw was so pure.  It wasn’t rage, or anger, but it resembled insanity.  The look in Tyr’s frightening eyes, it didn’t go as far as delusional, but its uninhibited focus was bewilderingly pointed and yet vast.  To some, it would be something like looking at the pyramids of Egypt through a magnified telescope from the atmosphere, yet so much more infinitely intimidating.
It did not stop Tank’s advance.  But when Tyr leapt off the rumbling ground in a spinning roundhouse kick, Tank lost much of the clear sincerity in his state of mind, was lost in a sea of doubt and confusion.  Tyr’s foot came crashing down on Tank’s forehead, and sent him into a concussion on impact, his frame flying onto the hood of the car where it lay still.
The ghosts disappeared into the dark night, never to be seen again for they felt, as many ghosts do, a bewildering shame and a lost, anxious confusion.  The ghosts had done what they could, but the heroes were far from finished in their mission.  Tyr waited a moment for Aeolus, grabbed his sword, and then continued, zealously, his journey to the great Temple.

Chapter 2

 Odin had now traversed the windy waters of the Pacific Ocean, with his pack of beasts splashing above the water behind him.  Although he knew to conserve energy, he had traveled as fast as he thought possible, and the journey had still been cruelly difficult.  The gigantic waves were outrageously tumultuous, and behind the rising and falling walls of water, a few times he had momentarily lost sight of his horde, now hungry again after their binge of blood in Asia.
 The perilous journey he had made across Asia, from his hidden location in the mountains, had lead the wolves through some mildly populated areas, but the canine monsters had mostly behaved themselves, and not strayed from their master’s eye.  The outlook, however, was grim for the populations that waited on the distant shores.  If Odin had redirected his attention for but a moment, it was a certainty that they would go wild with the blood prevalent, even if bitterly dwindling in the cold storm and war.
 When he saw the bluffs, Odin raised his altitude and landed safely, his dogs following up the rocky cliff from the maniacally wild seawaters.  His destination was many miles away, and he knew that his beast-like dogs would need to be watched with extra care.  He turned and looked over the waves and into the surrounding and encompassing ocean horizon that blended with the sky in the rain.
 The dark water had been barely passable to the nearly crippled and ancient deity.  Odin’s cloak was soaked, and he dripped water down his brow, across the vacant eye onto his cheek.  He knelt to the ground and patiently waited for the last beast to struggle upwards onto the bluff.
 As he turned back to this treacherous trail that he had been chosen to take by his peers in Heaven, he knew the meaning of betrayal, yet only could stay fatefully on course to the Temple.  No matter what he thought, what emotions could penetrate his thick skin were reduced short by time of reaction to a pace of urgency that remained constant, yet very daunting in his omniscient expectancy of the certain death in the battle that would begin before sunrise on the land of America.  Death Valley would surely make his grave, and the Temple his mausoleum.
 As Odin moved East into a wooded area, his beasts trailed close behind.  He had always known the wild beasts to be loyal, even if often reckless and restless at all times.  In the Andes they had just come from, the beasts had hidden themselves in caves surrounding Odin’s hidden position.  He suddenly flashed back and remembered their initial travel from the far West, which had occurred during the Holy Roman Empire’s conquest of Europe, his original place of being.  His journey only seemed in retrospect to have been never-ending; in reality he had spent his seasons in solitude, untouched by the elements or changing environment of Earth.  He only had perception of the changes through the sometimes drafting air currents that carried signs of changing times into his deep underground dwelling.  Now was a time of internal realization for Odin, and it saddened him only slightly, subconsciously, to know that it would all be over so soon.  This would not be confused with his inherently undeniable duty and work of appreciation for performance for the human mind’s struggle in warring night, of which he was the main proprietor.  His loyalty to humans was not as grandiose as one might hope, but indeed, he did feel a small, yet certain amount of father-like love for the unaware people of Earth Realm.  He had learned that they were with fault, but forgave them.
 Through the woods the pack and the God raced, like magical cars on a one-way track.  The stakes were high for his survival to Death Valley, but he was not feeling pressured.  Instead he moved with a valuable collectedness, a calm that caused him less worry, more anticipation.
 One of his beasts, then another, suddenly howled out at the moon like a duet of resistance to the journey.  Odin stopped, and started back to tend to the beasts.  He was unsure of what had disturbed them now, and had only seen them act in such insubordination a handful of times through the millenia.  Once, he remembered, they had tried to mate within the pack.  They had howled like this when their newborn came out, deformed and unfit for life.  He remembered that it had looked like a rat with gills, and unformed wings on its shoulders that just jutted out ruggedly.  The pup had died within a few hours, not being able to breathe in the air.  The magic wolves had done this once, but never repeated the procedure again.
 He had named all of the beasts, and remembered them by their name, but never called to them vocally.  It was deemed unnecessary, as they had been created to follow his directions and respond telepathically.  He had a favorite, though, a few actually.  One dog, which he had named Fenris, had saved his life once from near capture when it had growled at a tunnel in his underground abode.  The growl was warranted, for a light had shone past the long weeping stalactites and stalagmites that hung in the damp cave.  Odin had fled the cave with the beasts deeper, only to await the right moment to flee for good into battle with Tyr.
 His thoughts of Tyr were limited to what he knew from his short time in stasis in the Ether Realm.  He knew that he was a catalyst of human emotion, and that at some point that he must have had offspring, because of faith put into certain Gods that had came into theological being along the centuries.  He knew the Gods had chosen justly, for being the God of human emotion, he was surely an adapted warrior, adeptly fierce and fueled by a penetrating anger that he would be almost unable to control in a fight.
 It did not scare Odin, though, and as he walked between the dogs in the dark woods, it was a faded image of Tyr that held to the standard of Godship he remembered from his time in Heaven.  Tyr, Odin contemplated, may make it to the Temple before he arrived in Death Valley, because of the rushing anticipation and anxiety that the wait would cause him.  But as a God, he knew better than to think that Tyr would allow expression of such sensitivities to be seen before a great battle.
 When the dogs had all calmed down, Odin continued the long expedition to Death Valley.  His race was all the more quick, all the more determined.
 Invisible, a fallen body on the ground, now far behind him, raised up to its feet, stretching and looming in the dark forest.  It was the pale rider that had fallen off of his horse in his chase of Odin and the jackals, who had been mauled by the horde of dogs.  He now walked the barren land, potentially for all of eternity, a shape shifting monstrosity not to be seen ever by human or Immortal’s eye except for the disturbances he caused to the ground beneath his feet, the branches he brushed past, and the air that careened and heaved out of his heavy chest.
 Only Aeolus would be prepared for this assassin, with his knowledge of wind currents.  But Aeolus had his hands full at the moment, elsewhere.





WILLIAM
 You know?  Everyone thinks their right.
 Everyone thinks they know everything
 all the time.  It's not fair.
  JACOB
 If it was fair, there'd be no point.
 Life is a challange, William.  A test,
 not a game.
  WILLIAM
 Well, they don't need to be this unfair.
  JACOB
 I know you miss Charlie.  Should we go
 look for him in the morning?
  WILLIAM
 Yeah.
  JACOB
 Okay, sounds good.  I'll get you up early.
 We'll go out in the morning.
  WILLIAM
 It's not fair!  How can they blame me
 for Charlie?  He's all I got!

  WILLIAM
 I can't take it anymore.  I know
 what's going to happen, and I have no
power
 to stop it.  It's not even fair,
 it's not even right.

  WILLIAM
 It's wrong.  It's evil.
  JACOB
 Goodnight, young William.  I'll be
upstairs
 in my chamber, if you need me.
 Just call my name from outside.
  WILLIAM
 It's evil, Jacob.  Oh.  It's bad.
 I can feel it.


Chapter 3

 In the early, sunless morning hours, long after Ragnarok had closed for the Heavenly Gods, the rain began to settle across the planet.  Mud puddles, splashing under the skies, began to coagulate.  The clouds, though not leaving entirely, made their shapes less dense and restrained the constant barrage of downfallen waters that had been like a coating to Earth.
 As Tyr approached the center of Death Valley, he felt that Odin would be not far behind, lurking probably in some dark corner or crevice of the valley, awaiting the Temple to be erected.  At revoke of this, Tyr was extremely grateful that he had arrived at the site first; he knew that this was a good omen, and pulled out his sword from its sheath.  He then thrust it sharply into the ground where he stood and turned to Aeolus.
 “The night, like a wishing well, has collected the power of every poignant moment that has passed under the swinging balances of fate and destiny.  Ragnarok lead us Gods to salvation in the eyes of Elohim, and if Earth will be no more, it will be a righteously sacrificed.  This requiem will forever hold faithfully to the Heavens above.  To believe too much, or too little, will be the decisive angle in this battle of Immortals.”
 Aeolus was silent; he understood that his leader’s short, uncoordinated speech was under weight of privilege and responsibility, while with the same determination of persistent danger that had seemed to lurk around every turn in their mission.
 The sky, suddenly, shone bright for a moment, and the moon reared out of its hidden oasis behind the clouds, to soon meet the destiny of the horizon’s falling.  Another great trembling struck the planted feet of the two determined Gods, and Tyr grabbed his sword from the ground.
 “Odin must be here,” spoke Aeolus.
 Across the valley, to the West, Tyr saw the beasts approach, rising on the horizon, which lay barely distinguishable from the valley’s peaks.  They jumped and tumbled around each other like a boiling pot.  Odin stood between them, holding a cane and with hooded face unflinching.
 The trembling continued, as the greatest Temple ever conceived rose from the ground between the two warriors.  The golden magnificence reflecting the shining moonlight on its side once mirrored the Gods at angles as they began their final walk to battle.  Odin’s beasts remained at the perimeter, as did Aeolus.  This holy and sacred sacrifice was to be made by them, alone.
 Standing high on a far ridge, the black Horseman bled in agony.  He would be useless now, though, and knowing the painfulness of Hell once, poured out the last bit of poison into his wounds.
 Just as his Undead blood began to slow in the cold night, he noticed across the ridge someone he hadn’t expected to see in this moment.  Here, he had failed, but the Fallen Gods of Hell had a trick underway yet to reveal to the two warriors.
 The figure across the ridge let out a howling laughter that echoed from the bowels of Hell.
 A meteor abruptly then came falling and crashing overhead in the sky, through the hole of the moon, and struck the tip of the impenetrable Temple, sending shockwaves across the planet, and crushingly destroying the entirety of the Valley excepting only the Temple.
 On the steps of the Great Temple, Tyr and Odin remained undisturbed. 
 Tyr turned to Odin as the doors of the Temple swung open before them.  “The battle begins,” was all that he said.

MALE ANCHOR
 Today marks a turn in international
events.
 The King of America has, after multiple
instances
 of public drunkenness, been impeached
and overthrown.  His successor has yet
to be named, yet as the world
population dwindles next to extinction,
the masses will have to look extra hard
to find a leader as strong as the once
highly respected and revered King
Matthew.
REPORTER
 The link between the case of the missing
Queen
 and King's pet as well as the strange
emminence
 of supernatural auras surrounding the
Balkans
 may be more than coincidential.
 Multiple dissappearances have been
 Occurring world-wide, and the military
 As well as the national police force is
 Taking all available actions.
  REPORTER
 The general public should stay alert to
updates
 on this developing case, as a worldwide
manhunt
 is beginning this very moment for Queen
Scylla,
 and Charlie, the dog.

  FEMALE ANCHOR
 This also marks the call to an end to the
worldwide
 manhunt for his estranged wife, Queen
Scylla,
 who was last seen entering the
quarantined German
 territory. 

  FEMALE ANCHOR
 As well as the Beginning of the search
for
 Princess Alice.  She, as well as countless
 Others has disappeared without a trace.

  MALE ANCHOR
 We may all mourn our losses tonight, but
none more
 than the loss of our country's beacon of
faith and hope
 in these desparate times.  Prince
William's own turmoil
 came to a halting stop yesterday, too, as
his trial
 ended, finally, after five months of
deliberation of his
 actions in New York, the Empire State,
which lead to the
 deaths of thirty-eight school children.




Book 3:
The Downfall




Tyr’s Fall by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

I only needed to get my dog back...  I needed the companionship, the feeling of a balanced innocense.  What I needed was his soft head in my hand.  His eyes wandering onto me, as if his sole claim.  Until the dog’s name was my own, I wanted to wonder out loud with him the curiosity of his nature.  I wanted to remember every hair on him, and to nurture his lost playground.  I needed the dog back in my arms, lying at my feet, prodding at me his furry paw...
All the things that I would take from him, would be too much, though.  I would take his conscience.  I would take his independence.  I would take his life, in my complete absence of power to the dog’s beautiful heart.  All the things that I would take from him would be perfect.
The dog I wanted so bad...  I was afraid to awaken the good.

Tyr’s Fall
Book 3:  The Downfall
ACT 1
Chapter 1
Satan

 As Hades watched the meteor fall to Earth, and Aeolus scramble up into the air for safety, he laughed sardonically.  It was his only intention now to wait patiently, for what the Temple held was something neither God had been prepared to face.  His tournament to collapse Eden had spawned his greatest fiend, the champion of all angel-killers.  He went now, wherever the Temple went, trapped inside to defend his title.  The battlers would appropriately face Abbadon, The Destroyer, first, as that the hierarchy of Gods and Demons denied the Demon to sidestep his first confrontation.
 Surely, Ishtar would not be far off.  It was her duty to be at Armageddon, and Hades knew much more of her past that remained secret from even the Elder Gods, having had certain elements sinisterly revealed to him by Lucifer long ago.
 All that was needed was for one of these Gods to die in battle, and Hell would have its chance to see Heaven’s gate.  The temporal imbalance would create a wormhole, just large enough for Draco to reach his nose through to Elohim Cipher.  The main distracter of Heaven’s security by the Netherrealm would be Ishtar, who was nowhere to be found by Hell’s minions.  The only sentient being capable of knowing her location was Aeolus, God of Wind, and Protector of Tyr.
 Hades had actually come on a great fortune for Odin’s beasts to binge on the Horseman’s blood, for it now transformed him into a colossus hybrid of beast and invisible assassin.  However, the bastard of Hell had only one choice, which was to follow Hades’ command to kill Aeolus, or at least capture him.  If he did not, he would only face crueler punishment in the Netherrealm from which he had come.  His senses, askew and abnormal, taught him that this was his only hope for salvation, to kill a God.
 Abbadon, The Destroyer, was going to be Tyr’s worst nightmare, and Odin was already aligned against the God.  As for Adad, Hades knew nothing of his intentions, but without doubt his presence had little to do with Hell’s conquest of Earth.
 The clouds still hung low and dark, in the night.  Draco was speeding across them over the Mediterranean, Aeolus, too, across Death Valley.  Aside from them, nobody across the face of the planet saw the moon shine as blue in the night of the war, then.  But it shone and like a mother, it wept.  It was a deep blue that it shone, and the stars sprinkled over the universe were red with anger.
 The Horseman leapt into the air as Aeolus came flying down on a gust of wind.  The sword he held high, and as the two collided over the Temple, Tyr and Odin were only just reaching the great doors to it.
 Aeolus felt the blade cut his right shoulder, tearing into it viciously.  He reached with both arms, fumbling through the air to find the assassin’s body.  Instead, though, he managed to grab a part of the horse’s long mane.  The assassin swung his sword again.  This time Aeolus was ready, and he lifted his left arm out and blocked the Horseman.  With a mighty blow, Aeolus threw his weight into a punch, wildly in the dark air, and hit the Horseman’s chest.  He grabbed on, and slid up over the horse, swinging again a little higher.
 The Horseman struggled, and tried to dodge Aeolus’s attack, but was unsuccessful.  Aeolus’s right cross hit the Horseman in between the eyes, crushing his brow.
 Around the valley was heard the pale Horseman’s bloodcurdling cry.  It rang of reminiscence to the infected wound inflicted on Adad.  But inside the Temple, now, Odin and Tyr were already beginning their final fight.
Chapter 2

 Abbadon, the centaur, The Destroyer, stood between two pillars in the back of the Temple.  He had grafted two flaming swords from the last tournament, which he had clung onto for millennia.  His torso was that of a beastly horse, with hoofed legs.  His body rose off in a 90-degree angle, and his arms hung like giant slabs, swung around with the fiery swords.  His head had a crown of horns that spiked out and jutted in odd directions.
 The Temple, itself, was aglow with a vibrant gold that shone across the floors and ceiling.  It had pillars along the sides that embedded themselves into the high walls.  In the center was a giant pentagram, which was carved into the floor tiles.  The infrastructure was beautiful, but like that of a schizophrenic architect’s wildest imagination.
 Tyr and Odin walked straight forward to begin their battle, but Tyr stopped short when he saw Abbadon advance with a single hoof.
 “What curse binds you to this monastery of monstrosities?  Is your ugly presence not needed elsewhere?”
 The centaur snorted.  He had lost his vocal cords in an earlier battle, as exhibited by a large scar on his neck.  But he did not back off, or advance further.
 Old Odin, while knowing that this would turn into a face-off quick, spun to snarl and spit at the demon.
 Abbadon pointed both of his swords at the Gods, and let out a howling laughter, raucous and brave, mocking.  The door shut closed behind them.
 Tyr stood, tall and strong against the charismatically atrocious tactics, and beheld the presence of the demon that stood in his way.
 “Abbadon, you will fall to my sword’s edge, and plummet back to the abyss from which you came.  Consider this reckoning, if you approach one more step, I will not hesitate.”
 Abbadon, with a wide sinister grin, looked over at Tyr for a brief moment.  In the next second, he leapt his gigantic torso into the air at the God.  He swung his swords together and collided down on Tyr’s who stood with a foot back to hold ground against the downward attack, and with both hands on the handle of his sword.  He felt the strength of the two swords against his one, and when Abbadon’s blades connected in an x against his, he slid back a few yards.  The demon continued moving forward towards Tyr, who tumbled out of the way, rolling over his shoulder behind Odin, who turned with his staff in both hands in defense against the demon.
 Abbadon, The Destroyer quickly shot out his right sword’s broadside and snapped in half Odin’s cane, but continued at Tyr who stood up behind and put a hand on Odin’s shoulder.
 Tyr spun back around Odin with his sword ready for the next move by Abbadon.  The two parried, and as Tyr’s sword came up and down, around and out, back in and through the fierce demon’s flaming blades, Tyr was moved backwards, step by step coming closer to the corner of  the Temple.
 Abbadon kept the motions fluid of his sword.  Tyr’s acrobatics would be for a moment subdued if he could keep the pace on his side.   Tyr kept his head strong, though, and awaited his corner for a moment, allowing the demon to vainly think that he had the upper hand.
 Only a few feet from the corner that would be his trap, Tyr began spinning his body with each block and parry.  It was a confusion tactic, which he needed for his next move.  The spins were swift, and each charging blade was being blocked, the ringing metal echoing off of the ceiling of the Temple.
 Odin, looked at the two fighting, wondered for a moment if he should take action, but knew that Tyr was more adept to win the battle than he.  Nonetheless, after losing his cane, he was mildly angered.  He picked up a splintered piece of the wooden staff at his feet, and tossed it at Abbadon’s back, hoping that it would slice his body.  Instead, it only fell lightly on the demon’s back and bounced off and away from the two battlers.
 The striking cane had the effect of throwing the demon off guard.  Abbadon wanted now, to take Odin’s life, thinking to himself that the God was weak and unable to defend against his power.  He turned quickly on his hind legs, jumping back down facing Odin, and on his front legs, kicked back against Tyr.
 Tyr had been ready to jump up and stab the demon, but the turn of events caused him to unsteady his attack.  The hind leg kick connected, too, and he fell back into the corner.  The hard knock of the hooves against his shoulders lost him his sword on the floor under the demon’s massive body.
 Odin thought to himself the danger of the centaur.  He knew that he would be next to helpless against the giant.  He began to back up, and retreat into the opposite side of the Temple as the demon charged back at him.  Just as the demon approached Odin, he swung both of his swords parallel to one another from over his right shoulder.  Odin’s back stepping, though was not enough to evade the behemoth, and his next move turned the tables.
 Odin, in the middle of the raging onslaught, jumped down towards the centaur’s legs, and grabbed both.  Abbadon’s swords stopped midair, and he prepared to plunge them downwards into Odin’s back.  Odin squeezed together his arms and collapsed the body sideways, landing the demon on his shoulder, hard.
 Tyr ran to grab his sword off the ground, and charged the fallen centaur.  Odin had masterminded Abbadon’s fall, and he had his chance completely open to slay him.  Abbadon scrambled on the floor, with one sword sliding away, its flames vaporizing into the Temple air.
 Tyr decapitated the demon, as it tried to rebalance itself on the floor, and Odin rolled over as the centaur collapsed again, dead on the pentagram.
 The pentagram seemed to swallow the dead demon into its center.
 “Now wasn’t that easy?” Odin said with a hint of sarcasm to Tyr.
 “We will wait until just before sunrise, when the cocks crow.  We will do battle then,” was Tyr’s reply.








Chapter 3

 The dragon, the beast of foretold misfortune, scorching and soaring over the sky with its blazing heat, caused lights on the horizon to shine awkwardly and refract off its beating wings, spreading the clouds.  In the dark night that it chased through the stratosphere, now, was the land of the forsaken.  The Titans of Mount Olympus would appear puny in its silhouette, and the skyscrapers of every major city met with its bellowing fire belly, fell to its humongous jaws and claws.  Across the ocean, it sped, flying with a finesse of complete agonizing beauty.  The dark green scales seething through every cloud that remained over the tumultuous ocean.  Draco was an unthinkable fury of Hell, and Lucifer like the pilot of some World War fighter jet commanded the beast with certainty and disgusting vengeance.  His body stretched and eclipsed the sun where the clouds were dispersed, his breath replacing and exaggerating the heat and light.  When Lucifer poked the beast, with a pitchfork-like trident that he held, Draco would howl and screech, growl and grumble like an orchestra in the epiphany of its ensemble’s chaotic exercise.  Every melee of ground fire, airplane tactic, and missile distraction was met with its twisting, turning, savage and crazed quarrelling fits of rage.  It would stand on hind legs, on all fours, lay upside down on cities, roll, and crush to splinters every inch of land.  Draco was unconsciously the most immense disaster that the world had ever known, and subconsciously instilling the pinnacles of fear of the supernatural that man had ever known.  Leviathan at the wake of genocide, Azazel in the heat of holocaust, even the armies of humanity had never been as frighteningly successful in the complete destruction of Earth in all of time.  Volcanoes that had formed the planet at the beginning of Earth’s formative years had only mirrored the fascinating and enraptured collapse of the planet at Draco’s hands.
 Imagination, has a certain amount of mass in the solar systems of the universe, and has an expansively intruding capacity of enlightenment.  Therefore, the Gods of Earth had only been the natural cause of Man’s aggressive adherence to natural law.  The constant intrepid and integrated imagination of Man had lead to the constructs of material Temple in the electric-atomic level that resided in the Earth Realm.  Gods were more human, than humans, in many ways, yet still contained that unknowable purity of spiritual and metaphysical physique.  In this way, the Gods and Demons, Angels, and all other integral elements were bound to Earth, and magnetically attracted.  When the time had been ripe, and Man had come to grips with Original Sins, fear, Godliness, the unknowable, and love, the Ether Realm and Netherrealm’s adherence to positioning and constant law had developed dimensional mass that constituted their ability to transition to Earth.  Due to this, Hell had become our worst nightmare in reality come true, and Gods had become angered.  The idea had been simple though, to consolidate the Realms, the complexity had been in the execution of Gods and Devils.  Sacrifices had to be made, for permanent belief to combine between Realms.  This was why Zeus was to be sacrificed, along with Odin.  This was why Hades was to be assassinated, and Lucifer allowed one chance to kill the angelic army of Elohim.
 The negotiations had happened a long time ago.  Between all of the sentient beings of the Ether Realm and Netherrealm, including Elohim and Lucifer, had been cast a deal and subsequent treaty of where Faith would be kept.  It had been decided that it would be split between the two sides of Man’s imagination, and that each would govern equally.  Man was allowed to exist within his own laws for a temporary time period, until he had ripened his abilities to become at one with the Faith.  The time was now, and the future was inevitably one much different than what evolution had prepared Man for.  Earth was beginning to become home of God.
 This is why Hades, knowing his chance was coming to be sacrificed, made no hesitations.  Lucifer rode Draco inland, and with fire breath killed Hades atop the Temple of Zion, where inside Tyr and Odin prepared to do battle.
 Draco did not touch the ground again, was sent spiraling upwards to the sun, to find Heaven where the army of Angels that waited within the Gates let out its war cry once more.  The terrible war would be wickedly disheartening for every God to watch alone, but it was the way that had been chosen, long ago.
 The Angels were armed and ready for the War in Heaven to begin.
 Lucifer was carried by a demon to the Gates of Jerusalem, from which poured every foul entity that had ever been imagined, ghosts and ghouls of every demonic level.  Here he would gather his army, and await the battle of Odin and Tyr to end at Mount Zion in Death Valley, and then assemble his troops on Mount Armageddon where the final duel for Man and Earth would be waged.
ACT 2
Chapter 1
Odin

 Tank awoke with a splitting headache, in another hole.  The wheels of the car lay just over the ridge of the hole, perilously hanging over his body.  The first thing that he noticed was that it looked like an aurora borealis across the entire sky.  The wind was still rushing, and clouds still hung comparatively heavy, but the rain had stopped.
 His first attempt at standing to his feet failed, and he came crashing down on the rocks, painfully landing on his arms and knees.  He crawled along the side of the hole, which was only about seven feet deep.  His head felt like he had a hangover, and he was a bit worried that he’d be getting sick as he felt nausea wash over him.  It did not stop him though, and he began to look around in the dark night.  The lights from the sky flashed around the fringes of the clouds and created a kaleidoscope-like effect on the ground below him.  The world looked like it was being stretched, or as if something large was trying to break its way in from another dimension.
 His gun was over near another hole that had formed in the ground while he was unconscious.  Tank walked over and picked it up, and began walking to the center of Death Valley, where he was sure he’d find the fallen Gods.
 The terrain was difficult to traverse, with crevice and chasm, shallow hole, and rocky pile.  Tank climbed each obstacle, and walked carefully to avoid falling into any of the deep chasms that the meteor had created.
 The struggle did not last too long though, and before long Tank saw the cliffs of the great meteor crater.  When he reached the side of the crater, he looked out into the middle.  There was Mount Zion, and the Temple, standing in the very center, surrounded by a pack of wild dogs.
 At first, Tank prepared to descend the crater, but when he stopped and looked further out, wincingly squinted his eyelids through the rushing wind, he noticed a figure kneeling on another side.  Immediately, he knew that it would be Aeolus, Tyr’s assistant and guide in the War of the Gods.  Tank steadied his gun on a rock outside of the crater’s edge and readied his shot.
 Suddenly, Aeolus rose up off his knee and began running around the outside of the crater.  Tank kept his head calm, and fired off a couple of warning shots, followed by a spray of bullets as the God reached a full sprint towards him.  The shots missed, and when the God was a hundred yards away, he suddenly leapt in the air, flying high above the crater towards Tank.
 “Oh shit,” thought Tank, frantically firing off shots at the God.  “So it’s true, these guys are REAL GODS.”
 Aeolus disappeared behind the clouds for a moment, and Tank watched the sky, anticipating that he’d be on his own now to try to bombard the Temple.  Just as soon as he began to move his gun back, to carry it with him down the edge of the crater; down shot Aeolus, spinning in the air, from right above.  He was moving at such high speeds, Tank only had a few seconds to react.  Instinctively, Tank raised his rifle into the air.
 The God came barreling down, and Tank raised his rifle higher, put his finger on the trigger, and pulled it.  One shot did it, and Aeolus was mortally wounded in the chest.
 The God crash landed a few yards away from Tank, who threw down his gun and ran to the God who was profusely bleeding.
 “Hurry, before I die.  I have some words for you,” said Aeolus, lying in a growing pool of blood.
 “Oh God, Jesus Christ man, what the fuck?”  Tank said, now more concerned with his decision to kill the God.  But he still knew that it had been either himself or the God.  Tank approached the God, and knelt beside him, first examining the wounds and then looking Aeolus in his eyes, waiting for him to speak his last words.  Below, the dogs began to howl.
 “You have done what you had to do.  Now your business is finished here, the Temple is impenetrable, and is guarded by that pack of wolves.  They won’t let you enter.  You need to make it to Armageddon.”
 “Aeolus, this all is happening so fast.”
 “Do not hesitate!  Go now!  Commandeer a jet if you have to...”  But it was hopeless, as the God began to disappear into the night.  Tank did not know how to fly.
 Tank turned to face the Temple after the God had whispered his last words, which echoed in his ears.
 “We are without hope, then.  Babylon, the great has fallen.”
 The wind stopped in all directions, and the wolves turned to Tank and howled.
Chapter 2

 The idea of foreign defeat was alien to Adad.  For as long as he had known, the cost of controlling the rolling thunder, and reaction between atomic particles was his whole existence.  He was like a naked soul on the planet Earth, now, though, poisoned, and done in by Elohim nemesis.  As he stood next to the airport, he knew that his time to fall at the moment of Zeus’s spiteful glance would be imminent, and immediate.  He knew that this would be his last stand to tilt the magnetic balances of rationality on the Realms.   Adad had been poisonously wounded, however, and had by that red rider’s sword been caught off guard.  It was no mistake then that he would make in the swirl of events that he would follow, for his stake was death.  All that he knew was that his retainer’s life depended on his.  If he died, Zeus would be capable of choice as sacrifice to depart the Gods of the Netherrealm.
 Adad picked up and began flying in the clouds over Death Valley, its horizon now vaguely receding into the depths of the blue morning that would follow.  His thoughts on leaving his post of charge was that he must only divide the spirits of the Elder Gods with reserve and respect to his master.  This was to be a challenge that he would face alone, so he knew that he would ultimately fail.  He had already lost control of the rain that he once knew so well to be able to create with warming and gentle lulling of clouds, and condensation of particles.  This was his choice, and he made it with an avenging spirit that kept its Protector mind state.
 The mission was simple, but destined was Adad for failure of total completion.  He was certain that the only way to deter the Gods from failing to protect Zeus in his afterlife was through his next actions.
 The crater’s shadow appeared under a thin mist that Adad traveled through to the Temple.  Adad soared and swooped down to the center of which crater, where the Mount of Zion was a hill about 500 cubic feet high.  Below, in a quarrelling bunch of frenzied bodies, lay his target; Odin’s pack of wild wolves.
 Tank lay just out of sight to Adad, as he had begun heading back to the airport.  He was raising his rifle into the air with a tired arm, and popping the scope lens as Adad’s massacre of the dogs one by one initiated.
 Adad’s strikes of heat lightning struck the dogs down, and until they began scurrying he had taken down four.  The gunshots did not stop him, and soon as the wolves began climbing the air to him, Adad slay one after another with blasts of lightning bolts.
 It took Tank’s unsteady arm nine aimed shots before he finally struck Adad.  Adad had narrowed down the slaughter to only two remaining dogs.
 As Adad fell to the rocky basin of the crater, Tank wished only to be with his mother one last time, to see his father’s eyes, even to sleep.  He stopped himself and before he got off track, began back to the airport once more, limping along the craggily, wet desert ground.


Chapter 3

 When Ishtar, the morning star, rose against the purple tapestry of light shaded clouds, slowly disappearing into the sunrays, somewhere a cock crowed.  The Temple, like a crown on Mount Zion stood unshaken, shimmering in the golden rays.  Human life had been expended that night at an all time rate, leaving only a fraction left.  The sky beckoned these people out of their caches of safety.
 The Middle Eastern region of Earth was blanketed by not only night, now, but also an army of demons that awaited their moment to strike.  The Angels, hopelessly flailing to ready themselves for Draco, knew that humanity would be on it’s own in the battle.  The Netherrealm was setting up it’s kingdom on Earth.
 As the second cock crowed, Tyr and Odin sat on opposite sides of the Pentagram, both in deep meditation.  They knew that the first rays of sun strike on the Temple walls would win their battle.  Hurriedly they arose to their feet.
 Their meditations had been pure, sanctified by the walls.  They had come to understand themselves, and their purposes on Earth.  Souls intertwined like snakes, growing within them, and rising to their ultimate prize, eternity or exile.
 Yet as the second cock crowed, Tyr and Odin were ready to fight.  Tyr had his sword ready, and Odin stepped forward to the center of the Pentagram, with both hands up in guard, and a foot forward.
 Without a word, Tyr was about to make the sacrifice that had waited for millennia.


my father, the original saint saith unto thee...
be bright, like moons
across seas, angels of earth, my son
the world, along our lives
will be

ACT 3
Chapter 1
Downfall
 Tank reached the Temple, began to force open the doors, peering behind his back to make sure Odin’s wolves were still out of the way.  He hadn’t heard a sound behind the doors, but the sky was light with the heating morning air.
 “I’m late, the fight must be already over,” as he pulled the door open.
 The door slid easily, and once inside he knew that he’d be bargaining for his life.  He had run almost completely out of ammunition, and he was more than a little tired, shaken up from the long night.
 Inside, he saw Tyr standing over a diagram on the floor.  Odin was nowhere to be seen.  There was no blood, though, and Tank was confused for a moment, but pulled the door closed behind him, blocking them safely from the wolves outside.
 “He fell with honor,” Tyr began.
 “So it’s over?”
 “No, it has just begun.”
 The sounds of barking and howling outside distressed Tank.  “How the hell are we going to get out of here?”
 “I thought when Odin died; his dogs would go, too?  What are we going to do?”
 “It was you, who walked into this Temple, violating the balance of the fortress.  When we leave those doors behind us, the Temple of Zion will disappear.  We will fight the wolves ourselves,” Tyr said, beginning to walk towards the door.
 Tank put a hand out and stopped Tyr as he approached the door.  “Wait, before we do that, what’s going to happen to Earth, now?  The war at Armageddon is going to begin, isn’t it?  Where are we going to go?  What about you?”
 “Too many questions, young soul.  But I will say this; we will almost completely assuredly not make it to Armageddon.  The sides in that war have already been chosen, and we will lose” said Tyr, and he pushed past Tank to the door.
 “Wait, dude, hold up.”
 But it was too late for second thoughts.  Tyr knew that he was expendable now, that he was destined to die here on Earth.  As he pushed open the door, he felt the weight of the world pushing against it.
 “Now stay out of my way, I must take care of Odin’s family, myself.”




Chapter 2

 Garm and Fenris had reached the peaks of their feeding frenzies.   The power of the Gods wrapped their bodies in a heavy musk, sweated and matted their furry backs.  Now, with their brothers relinquished from Earth’s collapsing Realm, they were in a void, roaming freely with no master or hope.  They traveled on instinct alone, and knew only that the smell of their prey was everywhere.  Impatiently, they trod the ground around the temple, waiting for Tyr to exit, to have one last chance at salvation.  Salvation was of course an anomalous concept, yet something drew them to the God.  Their sense of smell could fresh them to the scent of battle, and the two beasts kept hot on their feet.
 Tyr, in the temple with Tank, knew that his chances of survival without a gun would be slim.  His mission had already been completed, and he felt the futility of his predicament settle in.  As he crept to the door, sword in hand, he was aware of the futility of the inevitable outcome of his stand against the wolves.
 As Tyr swung open the Temple door, Tank leapt out in front, kneeling on the rocks outside, rifle raised, trying to find sign of the beasts around the crater.  As soon as Tyr’s feet touched the solid rock off the Temple stair, the Temple disappeared into the desert air, leaving only a mountain of rubble behind them.  Tyr turned back; it was like nothing had ever happened in the Temple, as if the entire mission he had worked so hard to accomplish had never even existed.
 Garm and Fenris, hiding behind the rocks of the crater, began to growl as the scent of Tyr grew stronger.
 Tank, knew that he had very few bullets left, and knew too, that he had a long journey to the Middle East ahead of him if he was still to stop the War on Armageddon.   Knowing this, he refrained from gunfire until he had clear sight of the beasts.  Nonetheless, he was anxious as ever for battle.  This time, he had chosen definite sides.  Tyr, he hoped, would be strong in ways that he wasn’t in the coming war.  He was only self-deceivingly ignorant of the frailty of the Mortal God.
 Garm and Fenris waited out there, and Tyr turned his back to the mountain and proceeded to find his destiny in between the crater walls.  Tyr led the way through the rocky terrain, with Tank following closely behind with his rifle.
 Midway through the desert crater, Garm and Fenris lost their resistance to the scents of the two approaching warriors.  They howled and charged Tyr from behind a nearby boulder, hopping over and around rocks.  Their breaths emanating smoke from behind snarling lips.  They moved as swift as they could, and like darts they pierced through the desert air, lightning fast towards their weary opponents.
 Tank emptied out most of the last of his clip and as each shot ricocheted off of the rocks around them; he knew that it would be up to the God to stand off the dogs, himself.  Tyr threw up a hand and his sword, preparing for the beasts to jump.
 Fenris leapt up at just the right moment, as Tank had only a few shots left.  Tank had his window of opportunity, and shot the beast in its outstretched paw, causing the beast to fall hard on the rocks.
 Garm, though, rose up behind the fallen beast, quicker than Tank could’ve reacted.  He soared down and Tyr’s blade narrowly missed the beast as it came.  Tyr fell back under the weight of the gigantic wolf.
 If Tank hadn’t kicked off the wild dog, it would have mauled him completely, but a single shot between the eyes emptied out the soul of the beast on the crater ground, and the rest of the dwindling ammunition.
 Fenris, though, was not yet dead.  The two warriors had not noticed that it was crawling towards the fallen Tyr.  Quickly, it pounced on Tyr’s side, tearing off an arm from the God’s body with its vicious jaws.
 Tyr screamed in anguish as Tank fumbled for his last clip.
 Fenris hopped away behind a rock, and Tyr was now truly a fallen God on Earth.
Chapter 3

 My own lament was sincere, and heartfelt, for Tyr during those morning hours between when the sun rose.  I watched, once, as my hero Adad fell to Matthew, and again as my once infamous foe turned ally writhed on the ground in fallen anguish.  The beast was slinking through the valley on a wounded paw.
 “Was it too late?  Am I to fall in the same manner of disgrace as Tyr?”
 My heart pounded, as these thoughts raced my mind.  I was certain of the fact that Armageddon was waiting to be waged, and could not afford to waste any more time dawdling.  I would have to fly these two warriors to the forefront of the great army of Hell.
 The human had an imprint on him of one that had been graced by Elohim.  I could tell this by the flow of his movements, as he had kicked off the dog, saving Tyr’s life, and now, as he bent over trying to aid the failed savior.  He would be a necessity against the demons that spawned by the second at the gates of the Holy City, pouring outwards in a constant line of gruesomeness.
 From high above, I had remarked on the almost hopeless situation that lay ahead.  The clouds, vanishing in the glowing sun, were soon to reveal my location to the two, so I had no choice but to descend quickly.
 I quickly swooped down from behind the two saints of modern times, and as I did, Tank’s eyes jumped up to follow me as I turned to Fenris.
 The beast heard my beating wings and began a sprint across the barren landscape.  But to no avail; for, as I came close I hurled a dagger through the air towards it, striking the beast between the ears.  It let out a loud shriek, then, as all of its power was let loose into the Ether Realm from whence it had come.  The stumbling savage zombies that had been captured as prey by the beast swarm of Odin fell to the ground, dead and decaying along the trail that Odin had traveled across the continents of Asia and America.
 I turned face around to look at Tank and Tyr, only fifty yards away.  Tyr, the great warrior God was lying with his head propped up on a rock and facing me.  Tank was standing back up, shaking his head in confusion and disappointment.
 Swerving in midair, I began back to them.
 “I am Ishtar, sister of Solomon.  I have come to bring you to Armageddon, where we shall wage final battle for the security of Earth and all Realms.”  I said as I stripped off the cloth from my body.
 Tank nodded silently, Tyr remained motionless as I bandaged him.
 By both arm, I began to carry the two champions of the Realms in the air, swiftly beating my wings towards the warzone.   I, who moved the sun and stars behind me, was only concentrating focus on the vitality of Earth’s validity in the air of my most inevitable purpose.  If I had any reservations, I would surely not hide them to myself, yet to conquer them would necessitate an extreme prejudice in the midst of adversity.  Whose reservation I did not believe, was one that had been divulged by the Muse, herself.  To him I knew that much more was guaranteed, though, then to me.  Survival of humanity for long enough, only for the final conflict to lead me to Solomon.  Whether they were adept to survival past this was for them to decide.  By the time we reached the plateau of the Middle East, glowing red in the high noon glare, I had vindictively looked at both Tyr and Tank in the face, and relied less and less on my conscience to tell them one thing and one thing alone:
“The Muse beholds the world, and fulfills the soul with ambition.  If you choose to, you will become the ultimate victors, but as the soulless sleep on beds of doubt, the fulfilled may wake to rooms of madness.  And if you are to truly defend yourself, you may not truly defend Man, and will surely lose.  And if you are to truly defend Man, you will surely win.  The Muse obeys her fancy, and to the one who takes the offensive on the road to salvation, she will only grant the win to show the loss that is accompanied.  Lucifer, he is no fool, as he is the pinnacle of negativity, he knows his outcome regardless.  Remember, the prophecies written of.  Elohim, his genius as unequivocal as ever imaginable, will watch, for his plan has been mastered long ago.  This trine, however much more strong then any other, will be the true war waged here at Armageddon.  Good luck to all, I have a more familiar mission at hand to end the war.  Yours is one of challenge and choice.  However you decide, I will be back.”











INTERIOR – NIGHTVISION
(camera zooms and turns through the two tunnels from inside a station, to follow a man crawling through, passing a small area with a windowed room next to a covered vat. The man continues crawling towards the room, past the vat, slowly, as a light stretches suddenly from a flashlight from in the perpindicular tunnel ahead, to the edge of the wall on the left, suddenly.  Inside the small window, the camera turns and focuses on a robotic arm that is aimed at the vat.  The robotic arm charges forth at once as the camera swings back around to see the man’s head come into view in the window.  Suddenly, the man is shot in the brain by a shotgun and we see it splatter on the window as he falls out of sight.)









1-11:  “Question:  You knew of the invasion already 11.”
11=1:  “I agree.”
1-11:  “We will meet at the station in Section 3-3-3b.”
11-1:  “Question:  That is too far.”
111-1:  “The death of 1111 will not deter us from counter attack.”
1-111:  “We will progress to Operation 6.”
111111-111:  “Prepare for war.”
1-11111:  “The nanobytes must be reached to activate the release.”
111-11111:  “Do not close Sector 13-13-8a.”
111111-11111:  “Quarantine the target Sector”







The main thing I was thinking at first was that we might still make it, and that I was prepared to take out the oncomer full on because I had done some practicing with one of the guns at an older station.  The one I was at now, however, had a full range of arsenal still.  I was ready, and had been doing pushups and situps, even lapping as suggested by the incubatory station computer.
Then I started to realize.  Something was changing inside me.










MATTHEW
When I was younger, you know, all of
this?  It all seemed like it wasn’t
happening, but a dream, like a wish had
fallen on my mind.  Someone’s empty
wish, just vanishing into the maze of
incontinuities that I lived through.  I
never thought that I would have you.  I
knew though, that there would be you,
somewhere just waiting to find your way.
 WILLIAM
 This is all that’s left, Dad.  You and me,
and
 Whatever’s out there.
 This is all that we need.  There must be
 Something that we both wanted. 
Something
 To make this all stop.  Nobody needed
 To disappear.  Everyone’s still here. 
They’re-
  MATTHEW
 Lookit!  A shooting star!


  MATTHEW
 They’re waiting for a wish to come true.
 It never will.  Let it rest.
  WILLIAM
 It will, Dad.  It’ll come as it goes.
  MATTHEW
Get some sleep, son.  You’ll need it.





Armageddon
Seal not the sayings of the prophecy
The time is at hand




By Twyll The ChyllTyrant
ONE

 As the time comes is nye
 Ishtar falls to the depths
 Michael slays Draco high!
Tyr once saved did fall by
Armageddon Earth’s defense

TWO

In beauty and disgust
 Oft fails the watcher’s eye
 But with sin and distrust!
Solomon’s return from out
of the Netherrealm’s mine

THREE

 Solomon cipher light
 From out glory of war
 Ishtar and Tyr combine!
Matthew was as king of Earth
and balance was restored

THE END



My father, the original saint saith unto thee…
 Be bright, actions speak louder than words
 My son, tracked by hell’s angels
 The world, no signature as deep
 Will, the desappearing lights, be
 A seach begun
if indefinite memories morphed like moths burned at the flame’s flicker, would we be as the cold coals once more?  many moons have passed, my love, and your child buried in mirror shards of the sun’s passing is now as old as folded photos of my folks.  can i remember our union when it is not a whisper but a roar?  i chose not to forget, and for time longed through the oft harmonious night, like voices in de ja vu, for your voice to speak those final words a’gain, impregnating my soul with bountiful yet dreadful sin.  is it a sin to curse you in my own words?  our child now grown in his loyalty to the fire, gnaws at reality like a damp loaf of bread, disgusted with your complacent deitism.  was it worth every miracle conceived, only to try my failure in pursuant afterlife?  i can only imagine your motives, dear one, as i have only imagined your embrace.  you deserve the unwanted, wanton, prodigal son, as you deserve your place in hell writhing, with your brother’s claws gripping and piercing into your fleshy breast.  did you ever even understand the definition of simple, monotheistic love?

 This is your destiny, as mankind’s ghost.
 The kingdom comes, as the Lord’s final will is done.
 You are now bound to infinity.
 Forever.


By the time I was 13, I was looking my father right in the eye, knowing that we were the last two living human being souls left on the planet.  I recall his crown stood at an angle, and his horrified face was drawn in shadow.  I remember King Matthew’s last words;
“Ragnarok was Nye, yet the Cipher was incomplete.  Your soul is locking away every alternate conclusion.  Listen,-“
 There was no repent, though, as there were no goodbyes.
 The only thing left was the crown, where i stood on the abyss, now.  Shining in the light of the last star, our sun.
 The night had swallowed whole our country, our families, and at the end, even my food sources and almost all of my air supply, to the point that i had dwindled physically to a morsel of a human being who had panted to this last resting ground, the threshold of the abyss.
 I had fallen asleep and dreamt.  I dreamt that I had seen God and Lucifer, Ishtar and Tyr, even yet on the hemisphere was Adad running from Odin’s dogs.  All only characitures of the actual deities that the others including my father had witnessed.  I had read the stories in history books early on, vividly imagining the event of Ragnarok on Earth before I had been born.
 They told me I had a gift, I called it a curse.  I knew that we all knew the truth.
 At childbirth my mother disappeared, they told me.  Ishtar, the heavenly body came and impregnated my father with her last words they told me.  My father even reminded me again and again of this being his fault, for having beared witness to some of the most frightening consequences to his actions as a youth.  As well, for having mistakenly thought out the meticulous fall of the idealic deity to the whims of insanity against her blood brother, he had sealed the fate of mankind.  He knew what side was really being fought for, and knew that she spoke of a harsh future, not too farfetched to actually happen.
His betrayal, he reminded me, was seen as loyalty to the Devil within him. 
I was scared, as a youth, but as time passed, and nothing significant happened in the course of my life, I began to forget.  It wasn’t long until all the transitions had been made internally, within me, to blend in with a failing stability in the space-time continuum.  The only man who seemed sure throughout of the true reason for the random missing people, the opening vacancies, the missing dog population, was my father, was King Matthew.  Most believed the failing economy and population count were due to unresolved causes in the past.
It wasn’t until the death of my dear Lucille that things began to click on inside my head.  I realized what was going on, why the once full streets now were hushed roads with closed shops, why nobody was responding to my pleas for help.  It was because I was alone.
In the beautiful insanity that followed, I was left abandoned in a hospital, only to be evantually rescued by my father.  I was 11 when Lucille died.  I will never forget what happened that night.
The years of my childhood were spent dreaming of becoming a zombie hunter.  There were at first, plenty of undead and infected spreading around the world due to rapid decrease in military power.  They had been spawns of Odin’s pack of wild wolves.  Upon the final wolf’s fall, even, the infected dropped to the ground and transformed into flesh eating, mindless, beasts of the night. 
That all soon ended with the Nuclear Year.  That was the year the hurricanes and earthquakes picked up.  Two major earthquakes wreaked havoc once again inland on America, and the residents of the Internal Church of America were worried that zombie spores would enter mainland or if anything were to happen to bring zombies back over from “Dead Island” as it was called, offshore of California.  They were having similiar disasters in Korea, with the island of Japan almost totally left completely dismantled and infested.  The ICA government gave the okay to my father’s proposed military strike on Dead Island, which resulted in the coalition of Russia and Korea giving a multitude of nuclear detonations to an evacuated Japan. 
What came next was pure ludicrisy.  My father’s military position made the foreign affairs a difficult area of expertise.  He was unable to get China to clear security sanctions to have organized military, despite the conflict of zombie activity in Northern India.  Their intake of Japanese was too high, and he recommended that more of the Japanese immigrants went to Russia.  Instead, as the boats sailed back to America for redeployment, a massive outbreak occurred in Tibet.
It seemed to happen almost overnight, as the zombie horde ravaged all of central and northern China.  The pre-emptive strike by Korea was probably due to the lack of communication and inability of the rescue and destroy fleets to return to Asia in time.  Nevertheless, American armies were already rushing the shores from Alaska after the first deployment of high powered hydrogen bombs over Tibet and central Asia.
With a strained economy, and populations on the decline America was destined to die out.  My father’s kingdom was as soon as it was done being created, being destroyed.  It wasn’t long until we were in debt, and then chaos ensued.
Many African communities, disgruntled and unhappy with the state of global affairs incited riots, created ceremonies of sacrifice against King Matthew.  They had been almost completely untouched by the magnitude of the disaster of Ragnarok, aside from Northern Egypt, whose mighty pyramids had fallen.
Was it coincidence alone that the sacrificial ceremonies often contained reference to my solitude and false savior position by metaphorically using a fish tagged with poison tip darts on it’s fins in the Nile River?  I saw the particular ceremony with my own eyes, while television was still broadcasting, and the fish would swim upstream until it’s fin movements evantually caught the dart on it’s own flesh, and poisoned it.  Then, the television station showed footage of a spasming fish colliding with another fish, infecting it as well.  I abandoned my own faith for a time.
Religious analysts confirmed the identies of the vigilant Gods by tracing religious histories and evolving them where necessary.  My mother, it was said, was Ishtar.  I was her love child conceived overnight in the plagues of zombies that initially crushed the western and eastern shores of America and Asia.  They said that most of the phenomena could only be explained as a collective illusion and worldwide coma that spun the world at a different frequency, in the mental realm of men, then was actually occurring outside the mental realm.  The fluctuation was caused by a number of coincidences, the allignment of the stars, and worldwide mental system failure.  The shared illusions were due to the nature of the coincidences, which were mainly drug and pollutant induced, as well as the frequency at which the light was hitting the planet.  Without humans, in other words, the events would not have occurred, but in physical reality, they had.  I was actually the last of the mindbending dimensional shifts, I appeared in the gate of Hell, after King Matthew’s chi was completely stolen and the strength of his chakra’s created a lifeforce that manifested itself from within Hell.  I was almost his doppleganger, but much fairer, as if born of a white, light haired woman.  Genetic testing failed to find any evidence of lineage besides my father’s chromozomes.
I knew I was a burden, but the words of kindness were enough to withhold my personal distress.  The entire world seemed to be my friend, until I was 8.  I was given the finest education and boarding while my father, the King, attended press and political conferences.  We lived well, until the disappearance of my stepmother, a woman from L.A. who had survived and reunited with my father.  I had liked her a lot, but towards the end her disbelief in the phenomena I was witnessing grated on my nerves and I would often snap and her own lack of retaliation only made things worse for my conscience.
On the other side of the world, northern Europe, where the holocaust had occurred drew the most influential Ether Activity, as the Internal Church called it.  It was evacuated and Britain repopulated after it’s devestation by Draco, along with Spain and Italy.  Britain, though had become a major dissident to the American Military.  The strong and wealthy native residents were alligned with Italian Vatican rogues who preached that Jesus would still return.
 My politics were good, as Prince, but I stayed out of the way until I was in middle school, when I began to passively object to my father’s diplomacy both afront and domestically.  I felt neglected, probably, and wanted compensation by making myself a political liability.  My loud mouth evantually got me in trouble in boarding school, when I accidentally became emotionally attached to a Christian from New York.
 I remember the night was wrought with drug use, I had a tendency of breaking out a batch of what we called “Devil’s Weed”, a highly developed hybrid strain of Salvia and Cannabis Sativa.  We were huddled in the corner of an abandoned building, of which there had been several popping up in her neighborhood, although she lived in Greenwich Village.  This was a neighborhood Stop n Shop, turned room of empty shelves.  There was nearly no patrols anymore, it was like everyone just didn’t care.  Nonetheless it was still a little exciting, and the smell of the drug filled the air, along with our truly prepubescent musk.  We were giggling at a joke she had cracked about how the substitute teacher’s moustache looked like a rat tail.
 I remember the look of innocense in her eyes, as I leaned over to try my first kiss.  She backed me up with her hand, abruptly when our lips were about to meet.  She looked at me in her deep brown eyes, and said “I’m sorry.”
 That was it.  She disappeared into the shadows behind her, and when I pursued back into the dark, unlit storage area, I heard her whimper lightly and then the sound of a match lighting, but no flame.  I passed out, suddenly, as I began to become akin to do in moments of great anxiety, or more pertinently in the midst of the sudden disappearances plagueing the nation.  She was nowhere to be found ever again.  Even her mother pretended as though she had never heard her name.
My mother, Ishtar, was the main spawn of the collapse of human reason.  She was a resurrected soul from the ancient past.  She was the sister of Solomon, son of King David, father also of Yeshua, and Yosef, whose initial battle of wits had culminated in the creation of the Prophetic Man.  Yosef had given birth to Jesus Christ, who had been resurrected in ancient times.
Some American Mormons believed at first that I was the second coming.  Their opinions quickly faded into subculture reference blacklists, as I became less and less newsworthy.  It wasn’t until I was stolen of Lucille’s sweet scent that I had lost my shell of introspection and lowkey status.  At 11 I became an avid activist, but to my surprise, none of the uprising that I would have expected as Prince was successful.
Evantually, I lost confidence in my own family.  My stepmother disappeared one evening when I was 11 and my father blamed me, without restraint.  He wouldn’t stop yelling, on my 12th birthday, after I got in trouble at boarding school for sneaking around getting drunk on school property.  This was shortly after Lucille died, so I left the house alone and empty-handed, never to return again.  I was disassociated with the entire aristocrat society, by this time, and was still not even hitting puberty.  To make matters worse, the very thing that I was fighting against, the random selection of human sacrifices went unnoticed or addressed by the general population.  Until the last days, I maintained my concern, but as people kept vanishing my sanity as well, left my side.
That was the Day of the Demon, as my father would say later, after I was rescued from the Russian solitary confinement, maximum security prison I was sentenced to.  I ask no forgiveness for what I did, from anyone.  I was incapable of saving a bus of children from falling after rolling to a halt on the edge of a thruway bridge upstate of New York City.  I had seen the bus pass by, careening behind on my walk through the underpass, as the driver had mysteriously disappeared from the driver’s seat.  The children were left screaming on the bus.  I quickly ran up the side ramp and ran down the leftside of the guardrail. The bus had of course, broken the guardrail and was balancing on the ledge of a 50 foot overpass.  I was helpless as I watched other cars drive by as if nothing were happening.
Finally, one drove by and stopped, confused as to why the left lane was closed.  I was angry as I called the police.  No answer.  I raised the cellphone in the air and threw it on the ground.
The inappropriateness of my outburst was soon concluded by physical conflict.  It was just my luck to run into an senile ex-Mormon who would accuse me of being a sinful disgrace to my father’s name.  On the record, it was self-defense, but with a bus of dead schoolchildrenand a deliriously mad attack on a civilian bystander, I was in over my head.  The man had crossed a boundary, but the shock of the incident was so clearly exaggerated by my inability to do anything.  I turned 13 the first night in my new cell at the county jail.
The Judge recognized me for having been caught demonstrating in California.  How he knew about it, I have yet to know.  I wonder to this day, if my family had betrayed me, my sister and father.
My sister went missing after I was gone, and my father didn’t have me to blame this time.  But he stopped his correspondence altogether after the funeral that I didn’t have a chance to attend.  His last written letter was short enough that I remember it by heart.
my father, the original saint saith unto thee...
be bright, like moons
across seas, angels of earth, my son
the world, along our lives
will be
He was soon after, arrested for public drunkenness in a state of psychosis by one of the last remaining military police officers in the entire Internal Church Army.  That’s all that I ever heard of his stay in prison.  But his impeachment made my stay all that much more uncomfortable in Russia.
I was abandoned in solitary confinement for 6 months.  My father actually was forced to walk the last 40 miles across the border to Moscow, where I had been transferred to their new containment facility.  According to him, the criminally insane were some of the last to vanish, he was limping from attacks by roaming thieves, and his stumbles down rocky terrains.  He was old, now, at least to me.  He was in his 40’s, and his last two years were obviously not spent taking too good care of himself.  His mind was still intact, surprisingly, though, and he was a good friend at times, although always persistent in his words of mentorship, and at times scorn.
The last night, we were drunk.  I looked him in the eye, and said something I hadn’t been able to tell him for over two years, four if you counted my overly rebellious, exaggerated youth:
I told him I loved him. 
As tears filled my eyes I wrote in the sands of the French shore we had landed ourselves on, the words of his prayer I had received in prison.
The last words I heard him say, were as I fell unconscious to the roar of the waves. 
I just barely awoke to the tide pushing away the last line of the prayer in the sand. 
My father’s body’s imprint lay perpindicular to my own on the beach, but he was gone. 
No footprints lead away either, aside from our two to the final convention of kindred souls, liars both, heirs of their own, and foes until the end. 
I was now alone, with only the crown left sitting on a seashell.
I remember, I picked that shell up and wore it on a necklace I made, until one night I awoke, and even it was gone. 
I never wore the crown.
Tonight, I look out across the abyss, to the shining sun.  Sol, the ancients would call it.  I had decided it’s last flicker upon disappearance, would be known forever as the Final Omen.  I was ready, and I watched, blindly.  I could feel the heat, and as I weezed to breathe, I could feel it fade.  It was now neither hot nor warm nor cold, or cool.  It was just the here, the now.  No time, just myself.  It was nirvana, at once.  I went to fall back, to just lie on this final oasis, and fell on the crown which pierced my skin, and I felt the blood trickle from the impact of the diamonds.  This was it.
I looked up and saw a shape flicker, although I knew that it was physically impossible to see, after having been entrapped in the glare of eternities.  Yet the flicker penetrated the night, and came closer at a fast, and accellerating rate.  It was coming from behind the sun.  Finally, I could see it’s shape, and I was weezing heavily but the glow of it’s presence gave me a little strength that I reached up and grabbed onto air to swing up.  The shape that approached through the thickly dark, unsurpassably menacing night was of a dark skinned man, with sparce facial hair, much like myself.   He reminded me of a different version of my own image.  I was hypnotized by him, and as he opened up to speak, the only thing that stopped me from crying was the look of purity in his eyes.  The eyes on the angellic man kept me from insanely having a seizure, but I remained speechless.





0 oz. (Scene Storyboards 1-4) 4/10-4/18 /14
Act 1  Scene 1
Violet comes to understand that there is a developing military campaign in the classified part of her Utopian government controlled by a clone army.  Walking in to work and organizing papers and then finally sitting down on her cubicle's computer, she is giving a monologue to the audience about the virus that totally eradicated the human race by infecting the nervous system.  If someone who had been exposed to the virus, which had been %100 of humanity at one point, felt any significant kind of emotion, they immediately became enraged to the point of a heart attack.  To suppress any accidental killing of each other, the clone army had been established by a computer generated task force assigned by the United Pandora government to destroy any human capable of having extreme emotions.  People learned to survive by not feeling so much as following instinct and intuition and orders by the government.  The clone army could detect the emotion easier than normal humans because of genetic deficiencies in their mental chemistry.  They needed these receptors, however, to create long term memories, for which they had been successful at keeping a steady balanced population of normal human beings to make up for in the government.  As Violet sits down on her computer she begins by receiving a voice-call through an implanted telecommunication chip.  The sounds of two men picking up the phone is heard as she begins typing with a transparency of not speaking while the other two voices relay to each other the necessity to bring more water-control to a dam in part of the city.  The two men comment on the different shipping methods of supplies to build new control fields for the electrical refinement process when one mentions the nearby location of another dam that might be used to store certain amounts of the shipment.  The other man tells him that it would be impossible to use because of the other shipments being made there for use in the "Secret Project."  The first man replies that he already was aware of the conflict in spaces, but that the outside of the dam could be used as a type of temporary shelter for the supplies if they built an exterior building which could be torn down easily to avoid conflict with building permits.  The second man once again replies that time-limitations may be too short for this idea.  They agree to talk later, and get off the phone.  Violet raises her hand and a superior worker comes to relieve her as she gets out of the cubicle and starts to walk over to a water cooler.  When she picks up a cup another coworker, and another superior coworker walk onstage.  The superior coworker asks Violet how she is feeling that day, to which she responds that she's been feeling poor about the living conditions at home.  The coworker mentions the water supplies and Violet responds that she is suffering from dehydration during the night.  The superior worker asks Violet if she'd like to come over to his home to share his water after work, and invites her to stay and watch a movie with him.  The coworker mentions a few titles of future cinema and Violet says that her mind is elsewhere, actually, that day and mentions the conversation she had just been transcribing.  The superior asks what she thinks the conversation means, and Violet begins telling them how she thought it was interesting that there seemed to be secret space programs in the local government.  The supervisor of the company walks onstage and interrupts the conversation asking Violet to repeat what she had just been saying to the coworkers verbatim, which Violet does.  The supervisor then calls security.  The superior starts to defend Violet's innocence to the supervisor, as Pink & Blue show up and the coworker starts to walk away.  The Pink & Blue tell the coworker that his freedom has been destroyed and kill him.  The supervisor and superior begin escorting Violet offstage as Pink & Blue remove the body.
Scene 2
Wyatt and Evan are outside of the two walking tubes that form the sidewalks along a road.  They are picking trash off of the street and putting it into bags they are carrying.  Evan begins talking about a school project he had been assigned for his graduate program involving how to work on improvements for the water-line system in Utopia.  Wyatt refers to the need to concentrate the water supply into the impoverished areas of the community where there was always a high crime rate and emotional unrest.  Evan seems to agree but objects to point out the inherent needs of people like their friend Matthew who worked in high end electronic development and manufacturing.  Evan also seems to wonder if Matthew will get the promotion in his company to a higher income.  Wyatt replies that he hopes that he does get the promotion but wonders about the effect that his technical presence would mean for the development of more system monitoring equipment for the Pink & Blue reproductive pods.  At that moment, a pod swings through the stage levitating in the air.  Wyatt continues how intrusive it was to have babies that were intellectually inadequate to pass judgment on any actions of the community be the basis of the crime monitoring system.  He says that it could just as easily have been human babies rather than clones that do the monitoring.  Suddenly patrolling clones interrupt the scene with several following human schoolchildren who are on a field trip to study the modern transit system.  The clones refer to Wyatt and Evan as poverty level citizens, which causes Wyatt to stop working as fast and he almost drops a piece of trash after a couple of moments.  The clones point this out as well with the explanation that the nerves of humans are much weaker than Pinks & Blues which is why they needed to be monitored on a constant basis to ensure emotional safety.  The two brothers continue, and the group walks off the scene.
Scene 3
Roman and Virginia are in the armory of the Valley, next to the courtyard.  Roman starts talking about the society's need to find more energy sources aside from wind and water for electricity.  Roman defends the system, though, and points to Lincoln and Suzanne's lives who were lookouts for the Valley.  He tells how they are upstanding citizens.  Virginia points out how the class of Suzanne's parents had caused historic terrible events when the infection-refinement and treatment facility shut down.  Roman heeds her warnings and tells her that the new refinement programs will probably avoid the same casualties from happening again, with new safety measures.  The King and Queen of the Valley, Roman and Virginia call the party to the court.  Roman gives a speech about independence.

Act 2  Scene 1
Wyatt and Evan are on their way home when they are passing a strange building.  They hear voices from inside, and pull out special spying equipment to listen in to the conversation inside.  In the building, Pink & Blue have Lincoln and other Valley refugees held hostage.  They are demanding to know the hideouts of the rest of the Valley people.  Wyatt and Evan are briefly interrupted by a radio transmission from Matthew.  Their sister Violet has uncovered some clues to where the Valley hideouts are in a place called Atlantis.  He also mentions that the hive of the infection is located somewhere between Utopia and Atlantis.  Back inside the building Pink & Blue begin executing hostages until Lincoln reveals the coordinates of the hideout.
Scene 2

Act 3  Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3

...  To be continued.


















Tyr’s Fall by Willard Tyler Moulton