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The Long Wait to 2012; Machu Pichu

by Lawrence Finlayson 8 months ago in vr
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Blasar Incorporated

The Long Wait to 2012

To understand the afterlife one must be free from all emotion, free from attachment, and free from allegiance. It was life that brought criticism and unrest, death itself was observant.

Tuk had written often on the plentiful papyrus, sipping on red wine and tasting foreign delicacies, Egypt had the top spot when it came to the living afterlife. Its defenses were yet unmatched and the entire Nile Delta surrounded by sinkholes and Anubites.

In life, Tuk had run his own projects, and he the most proud of the School of the Eagle. Oh, how he used to commune with the Great Serpent in the vision room of the Great Pyramid… as Tuk had carved in the afterlife, it the School of the Serpent, which supplied Egypt with bountiful knowledge for acknowledgement and allegiance, mystical writings of the twenty levels of reality, of which Tuk knew himself to be a level Ten inhabitant by Ra’s standards. Of course, the Pharaoh never knew what he was talking about, figuring it to be a teaching or storytelling.

Tuk traveled by landmark, it was the easiest. He was traveling through California, Los Angeles in an odd state of quiet compared to Maat’s real time depiction of the city. Occasionally he slowed to autopilot and observed the spiritual writings up close.

If it was one thing the long ride was teaching him was the precision and accuracy of Quetzalcoatl’s writing. The Interface view of the magnetic fields indicated that cities were coming under the influence of the Xibalban lord.

Each city there was written upon in the astral plane, every sector of the afterlife in and surrounding the cities had conditions. Indeed to Tuk it seemed like quarantine areas that sapped energy. The Americas were different, everything seemed so…calculated.

Asterick stopped in every now and again to see if he could be of service, but Tuk simply explained that there would be much time for that later, and that he would continue to survey the American astral plane. It was odd to see the world from such objectivity. Each wall represented a boundary, and upon the walls and ground text written.

From the astral perspective one could view the influences of the living, even in their vacancy. Tuk was happy he could not be perceived by the living, for what would they ask of him. Three thousand years had passed since his mortal fall, and still he could hear the beaconing that lead him to his death.

“Step out, will not Egypt protect you from the fall…” He had some words for Quetzalcoatl. Indeed the transmorph had shamed his trust and curiosity.

Machu Pichu

Dying had been the highlight of his life, nobody cared about his knowledge and input. Every day The Mother Mountain this, The Mother Mountain that… but the appreciation she gave was consistent.

Had he not spoken for the spirits of Xibalba his whole life, had he not collected emotions from his people for eight thousand years, leaving them to their health. For all his unilateral assistance he deserved the Negative levels.

For eight thousand years he had sat upon the sun throne and dispensed information where needed, objectively. Jade had no complaints of the afterlife because he was emotionless, but his need for control had remained.

However, it had not been until he had reached the astral plane that he had begun to feel those human emotions again, and if it was one thing that thousands of years had revealed to him was that emotions made people weak and needy.

Jade sat quietly in his Xibalban room and glared at his reflection in the mirror. The demon looking back at him seemed to have caring eyes. The red skin and horns a mere façade. His caring black eyes that usually gleaned with red anger surprised him.

Then, Jade dawned his most infamous form. The white tuxedo, ruby ring and his age showing, he appeared as an older, distinguished man. A woman in a red dress appeared from the dark mists.

“Quetzalcoatl, dearest of my Xibalban lords, what troubles you after so long after your eternal sleep?” The Mother Mountain asked Jade. She laid a hand upon his shoulder and the illusion dispersed, revealing the handsome Mayan. A son of the Heavens long past who would play the part of negativity for a deity that would have it no other way, just to lay blame away from himself.

“I’m starting to feel and react again.” He spoke, quietly…head bowed and there was disappointment in his tone.

“Is that why you avoid the living?” She asked kindly as she always did, he nodded.

The Mother Mountain was beginning to understand the anger he had held in his heart since he perceived the colonizers, which would destroy the lands of Xibalba. She need merely sway away the illusion to reveal the social decay…entropy, the cost of oppression.

Perhaps that was why she had instructed her civilization so, strength and resilience.

There were so many people that needed help.

Jade started to feel sleepy as The Mother Mountain display Quetzal’s favorite dream, his glass office building upon The Mother Mountain.


About the author

Lawrence Finlayson

I started writing at 11. Finished Highschool at 20, still an undergrad at 40, Major Indigenous Studies, Minor Indian Art History; spent much time in the Mining Trade Sector and Community Recreation Sector.

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