Book two

House of Cush


“But who hath died, and made thee God, Marduk?”

The imperious young Astronaut seemed neither startled by the implications of the question or affected by the impassioned, anguished tone in which it was asked. Before he walked out and closed the door on the woman he loved, he left her with three words which etched themselves permanently on a heart that grew instantly as cold to him as, once, it was warm.

“All of Atlantis.”

The great atrocity

Everyday bitterness gnawed at his brain like starving vermin. He was one of less than 150 Survivors from an entire world. Most things can be forgiven and if there were ever a time for Atlanteans to come together it was now. But he could not forgive what they have done, nor would he forget. The more he thought about the events that led to the total destruction of his world, the more blistering the anger would burn in his heart. All the sordid pieces were coming together and the mosaic that was emerging was far worse than anything he had imagined, even though he had known them capable of depravity that would cause the sun to vomit.
Thoughts of murder and vengeance were his constant companions and the only thing that gave him mastery over the rage, was doubt. He knew of their culpability, but they had not exploded the bombs themselves. How much blame could he justly place at the feet of the Sumerian Sorcerers, when an entire world had followed like sheep, and waded in a sea of blood, misery, and iniquity for a million years, because they would not be discomforted?

Where are all the Prophets? The Meek? The Righteous?

An entire world, gone.

Who are left?

The very Demons the old wild eyed men raved against in their ever heightening shrill, as they tried to warn people that ignored them more and more as each uneventful day passed.

Repent! They had cried; of your sorceries. Repent of your murders, perversions, robberies and oppression of the poor! Repent! Or the most high One, will bring Its judgment upon you and cast you into the eternal fires of hell!
But who had listened to the Prophets preaching penitence, when all the Leaders of all stripes, with one head, were preaching pride, nationalism, and vengeance, even as they perversely joined their voices with those of the Prophets; warning of woes they, themselves had called up from the pits of hades, because evil seeds begot riches and good seeds only begot the reward of implanting angels into the fertile womb of the Universe?

Who had listened? Certainly not he, who had hidden himself from all the world behind the trappings of his riches, powerful friends and private island retreats. From high above the earth, in the safety of their luxurious, opulent mansions on the Planets-- the Sorcerers, Pedophiles, Politicians, Robber Barons, Preachers and lazy Society Elites--the very Sinners the old Mystics had railed against, watched as they partied in good health while the rest of the world burned in flames. And then there was he--with them, without even questioning if he should remain with them or stand up for what is right. It was a painful thought but there was no point in lying to himself now. He was with them because he was one of them--his Father's son, with the same Sorcerer lineage;the same obscene riches. The same privileges. The same emotional distance from the suffering masses. The same...hatred? No! He will accuse himself and accept many rebukes but he never hated...
he never hated!

His solitude was self-imposed punishment for mistakes to great to fix or to forgive oneself for making. The only way to help the people of the world was to hate and destroy openly; to allow others to hate and destroy openly. This he could not do. So he took his riches and ran and hid. True, he had given away far more than he kept--but to build a hideaway on the planet Jupiter still took far more from the world than one man should have claimed in an universe where a single little one die needlessly..

He had watched an entire world destroyed. He could not sleep. But why should he pity the willfully blind? They had knowingly followed those who would lead them to ruin. They had supported the genocides and all of the other crimes committed by demons that were allowed to guide them. Yet, there was a time, before he began to question everything, when even he--with all the resources available to the obscenely rich-- allowed himself to be manipulated by the demons who controlled all of society's instruments of information. Indeed, even he, had supported the works of these demons as if they were the works of idealistic angels.

May the unknowable One have mercy on his soul.

This article was updated on April 27, 2024

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Book one(excerpt)

Nimrod:Lost son of Sumeria

"Our father has sent me here to once again to ask you to come home brother. Sumeria needs you. It is not honorable for you to continue here among the vermin, drinking and marrying, while the heavy burden of Sumeria's very survival rest almost solely on the supreme One's over burdened shoulders."

Nimrod looked at his younger brother with an odd mixture of delight, surprise and a tinge of disapproval. It has been over twenty seasons since he'd last seen his redheaded sibling.

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