Predeterminism series. Volume 4 first chapter
THE WORLD has been devastated over the last decades. Countless wars. Could you imagine living through the end of the world? At least I was a quiet yet tempered schooled church boy in Cuenca, Ecuador. Thinking about it now, I been preparing for it. The rekindled last days. The only Mom I knew was Sister Romas, my foster Mom. I loved her more than anything else. I’m never gonna give up searching for her.
I have no respect for my biological Mother, damned alcoholic she was. Tried searching for her after I ran away from the church when I was young. I never knew my Father’s name, nor do I care. A dumped offed child from the beginning you can say, never knowing his real parents. Left me traumatized, although somehow- I guess you can say supernaturally, not the causes of the anxieties I suffer with now, unfortunately.
I am of flesh and blood. Homo sapiens sapiens. When cut, I will wear my mistakes, and while these wounds are healing, I learn. I have to control these thoughts in my head, not to go crazy. I pretend to be intelligent- stronger than I appear. Over here, working out and trying to keep your physique is challenging. It is wise using regularity to your advantage to maintain sanity. An average thirty-three-year-old depressed hermit, desperate and lost. Banished to another realm or dimension, outside the world we live in. Only a few more days here until I return to the new world, I hope.
I grab some tree bark making a cup shape to store rainwater; then I start a fire to boil the impurities clean. Let the water sit for an hour, giving it constant positivity- obviously not having the resources to implode water efficiently. I could never consume without doing this. The precipitating liquid is poisonous due to the toxic atmosphere and radiation in the sky.
The time that we know of back on earth doesn’t exist. Not here. We are captives in an imprisoned realm. Trapped. Winds scream above us; we cover our ears. Few of us speak of this terror. I converse a rodent, selfish with our food. Literally scavenging for meals with a rat who knows his way around this so-called dimensional world, more than me. What’s could be worst?
Lost in another realm- a rodent knows more than me? Crazy. Huh.
I find a rock and scrap ‘Day 28’ on a boulder. I found this cave the day I reported here and made it my home. I make fires on cold nights, keeping away predators, so I stay warm. Nigel, I named the rat, bites at this dead Rotter- who descended a week ago. What do I care if a measly rat eats from a corpse? Well, what killed this guy unnaturally could cause the rat to die by eating his remains. Unless the man was scared to death, perhaps.Damn!
“So, let’s see if I can get this scenario straight? The mysterious Rotter apparently witnessed the destruction of the world back on Earth- perversely living through the aftermath. He was then cast to this realm we are currently trapped in by a demoniacal Angel or evil spirit. Whatever you want to call it. Then, he finally has the nerve to croak when he got here, of all other events preexisting?”
Wow. A disgusting ass corpse, a scavenger rat, and I- myself talking to one of them. That’s so damn sad. Not the situation I’m in, no that’s actually wonderful. Ha. No, it’s sad that everyone talks to themselves, but at the same time are critical of people thinking out loud. I’m not going to lose my mind stuck here. I have to stay on schedule.
I hate running behind, as I get ready for the friendships in the sun-times. Went most of the night in pain, digging bacteria out of my left ear. Couldn’t go back to sleep. Nigel cannot eat all the insects we have infesting the cave. Wait until I explain what I went through last night. I stumble up a steep hill following a mob of Rotters heading towards the sun. No one sees me coming or going from this place. If they do come down, these traps I made will turn them back. I work to loosen a shiny rock I notice going up the hill. My nerves tremble picking up this rock during this sun-times for some reason. I pretend the rock has unique powers, leaving its light blueish hue behind, and turn up the blind side of the hill to run towards the group.
“Thomas. That is your name right?” I joke to a friend I catch up with. “You are Thomas of Rapture 6th?” No one can remember personal details, like their name, for example, first few days coming to the rapture.
“Duke of Dumb. I must be.” He moans.
“Don’t even ask!” I take my palm and cover my ear in discomfort. How embarrassing. Thomas is one of the people I made my friend when he first reported here. It is day 10 for him, and this will be his second sun-times in the 6th Rapture. The trail to the viewing point for the sun-times is quite a distance away. Talking with Thomas makes the dangerous journey bearable. I witnessed a Rotter die trying to make this trip the previous week. It is always best to have a wingman who you depend on. I hope I am Thomas’s wingman. It’s important to have someone feel like I understand them. People need to know that you are willing to listen to them.
The Guides supply us with enough information to stay alive if you manage to pay them for their services. Still, can’t figure what someone would possibly want for payment here, except to get the hell out. Today, the well-known Guide named Arroyo is leading the sun-times. Our sun-times guide challenges our pace through dense fog and mud dunes. The guide’s walking cane splits beating a Rotter’s back, who we have to rescue from falling in a craven. This helpless Rotter has lost us 15 minutes of the sun-times, and no one is pleased.
Clouds all of a sudden separate in the sky. The doing of the Angels. The spirits can change the aspects of this realm, many people believe. No one knows for sure if this is true, but we all know that the God Realm can recreate the new world. I make a quick pass by Thomas to reach our guide, Arroyo. Not a good idea, but I want to see if I can get some answers from him.
“Hey, I see some of the clouds are starting to separate. Do you know if the Angels can rekindle?” I feel reluctant to ask. Not surprised that Arroyo does not give me an answer. His left brow starts to pull as he sweats more, surprised to hear me speak. It is almost as if he curses me to say a word to him. As I return back down where I had left Thomas, another Rotter overhears my question to Arroyo. He is the same person that fell into the craven. I almost completely ignore him, as I pass him by. He is placed in the center behind the leaders so he will not slow us down.
“You should not speak of the ones who appear out of the sky. The spirits who cast, or the Gods who can rekindle the earth.” He utters, as another Rotter hits him with a walking stick to shut him up.
What does that mean?
As I finally reach Thomas, I notice that the pace of the group speeds up double time. This is strange because we still have a long walk ahead of us, and we should be conserving energy. I don’t want to even question Arroyo again today, although something tells me inadvertently- I changed the pace.
Change or an anomaly doesn’t happen in the new world. Everything that happens on the planet back home is on purpose. Yet here in the Rapture, incongruity is, unfortunately, common. I have never seen an Angel cast someone here during the sun-times, this doesn’t usually happen. What if the Rotter who fell into the Craven, is actually right? I shouldn’t have brought up the Angels.
Our group stumbles off of rough terrain through cracks and ditches, moving faster. I wonder what’s going on. Birds in the sky are just like hungry bats who react and prey on high body temperatures. If you fall to the ground, you could get bacteria infested insects between your clothing, giving off instant infection. I sneeze as the wind separates the dirt from around us. I quickly replenish my thirst with the last of my water.
“What is happening?” Thomas yells to me. “This didn’t happen last time. Why are we moving so fast Duke?” He turns to confront me, frantic. He gets his foot jammed under a covered log. Crashing down on his bone, he starts cursing in agony.
I take a desperate leap over Thomas to keep up on my feet and notice two inches of his femur protruding, as he snatches his leg from under the log. “Oh my God, Thomas!” I shout out, racing back towards him. “Arroyo, please wait!” Blood begins to stream out all over. I turn back to see Thomas on the ground grasping his injury, squirming in my direction. I look up towards our passage way to witness the last Rotter disappear in the distance through the fog. My heart races in panic as I strain someone else’s voice over to the far left. This can’t be happening right now!