Venus Depositions

I'm barely holding on to my life and I'm still thinking about the “little black notebook.” I wish I had never seen it on that shelf, I'm dying because of it. They say knowledge is power, I don't know that to be a fact, but ignorance is bliss. I wish I was once again blissful.

My wounds bleed uncontrollably and it's all still so ironic; more money brought more death, not trouble. Somewhere in New York City there was a basement with three dead bad men. Here is my story as I wait for death.

March 20, 2020 was the first day of the “beginning of my death.” It was a sweltering day that led me into a library for respite. The cities largest library was closed to the public but I knew a “life hack” in the buildings alley to let me in. The City kept the cooling running so books wouldn't mold which was convenient for me. Prior to that day, I set myself up in an abandoned attic in the building before, so I was just sneaking in as always.

That day was different, I heard people in the building and decided to reach my spot by traversing the old closed section of the enormous library. The maze of books eventually led to my hidden attic, but not before the binding on a little black notebook caught my eye. It wasn't made of cloth or black leather, upon closer inspection, it was black moleskin. I worked as a tailor for years before homelessness, I developed an eye for materials. This notebook was expensive and the front cover was singed with the word “Venus’s Deposition.”

The author was named Leon DeLuciferino. But the book wasn't even in English or Latin, I had no idea how I was reading it. It read like an instructional book written by attorneys for their servers. At the time, I thought Lucifer was the name given to Satan. I have to admit, I was more than intrigued. If I thought Satan had wrote this book, I should have left it alone. I read on not fully understanding that Satan is but an opinionated observer in our lives bound by the laws set. I settled in that attic and read on.

By the fifth page, I had ignored the warnings and entered into a pact. I had vowed to protect Venus’s interest and bring her enemies into the light of the Sun. “The Suns are the judge and protectors of the Universe,” it read. I wasn't thinking, I was in a sort of trance I tell myself now. I can't explain why I didn't stop reading something so forewarning. “The heavens have always been at war with the evil imagination inside of men's hearts, it your duty to liberate the souls they have claimed with false love, as Venus wagers on it and debts shall be settled before eternity.” Things were not clear at first but in time I would understand more. Yet, I still don't fully understand what all this means. I do understand that Venus is the spirit of life in the Universe. She has always needed protection since the beginning of time and space but things in our society were upsetting a natural order. Without her contentment, life diminishes and the fabric of space weakens with tears and holes. The universe’s fabric is surrounded by negative dark matter much like air surrounds a balloon, if that ballon were filled with time and space; blackholes are leaks of space and time. Enough of them will cause a deflation or contraction of the universe, in which only female souls live through until it restarts in a Big Bang and new male souls can be made. The suns energy is representative of male souls, a solar pattern that repeats throughout the fabric like sperm. The spirit of life combines with the masculine solar energy to create life, which's free will moves electrons providing the push for the universe’s expansion. As all good is finite, only women souls are recycled, the male God Ra, is reborn of fire. The fire inside men's heart turns evil sometimes, like a virus, it consumes and destroys. A system of checks and balances built like a negative feedback loop. It ensures that only intelligent life break free from the atmospheric vesicle surrounding planets. Humanity is on the way to destroying itself, but things still hinge on her, Venus. Her favor could save us all, the men of earth were her favorite but we were losing it. Meanwhile, it is written on the last page of the little black moleskin notebook, that a greater threat to her than humanity is developed in the far off galaxy and we would could go kill it if our fire needed to be extinguished.

The book said my role and responsibilities are simply to read of it wherever and whenever I feel the “Calling.” “The calling spills truth into the light and fate will do the rest for me,” it read. The knowledge seemed good at first but it is not. It is a heavy burden to serve “endings.” Even cruel men with no compassion buckle under the pressure of truth. That kind of cowardice is disturbing and traumatic even to those delivering it. My job was to read the evil inside men’s hearts incarnate to them as justice for the Goddess Venus. I'm glad I'm dying.

After a few days of reading I was still in the middle of the notebook. After a month, I was still in the center, I still don't understand.

Well into April, I hadn't eaten since touching the book and only grew stronger by the day. When my eyes tired of reading, I exercised or slept. I finally woke up from this state of mind on April 30, 2020; I felt a deep hunger and slowly walked into the city for nourishment and hygiene.

After begging for an hour, I had enough for coffee and bagels. Reflecting on my vagabond life as I ate on a stoop, I was glad not be in an asylum after reading the little black moleskin notebook. How could I read this “mumbo jumbo” looking language and not move beyond the middle of the book no matter how much I read. I was perplexed.

When I got up from that stoop I felt the first calling. A terrible headache overwhelmed me, I closed my eyes and immediately reached for the book in the attic of my mind and it appeared in my hand. I lost it! I threw the book, ran into the street and woke up in the hospital.

After awakening, the nurses looked at me with splendor. When I was greeted they insisted that my name was Leon DeLuciferino—I couldn't remember my name but it sure wasn't Leon. They even matched my finger prints to a social security number with the name. I decided to just shut up and smile for as long as I could.

That day an RN named Cynthia gave me the longest sponge bath ever, and tipped me to what had happened.

Apparently, I was a hero. I had ran into traffic and got hit by a car. The car was driven by a serial killer with a dead girl in the trunk. My accident got him arrested, the reward for the missing girl was $20,000. The news people and State attorneys office were on the way to speak to me and I had been in a coma for a week. I was fortunate to be alive, but my body was a wreck.

The attorney's office reached the hospital first. I signed a waiver for discretion in the victims name and the press were escorted off the premises. I was assured publicity would not be a problem, all parties wanted privacy. It was deduced, I was just at the right place and time to aid the capture. The driver was imprisoned and his insurance was rewarding me $400,000 if no further legal action was taken. I was discharged a month later with a $420,000 check, hospital bills paid and Cynthia’s phone number.

I spent a few days with Cynthia in relative normalcy before things got weird again. The Doctors had said my memories and identity were jumbled after the accident. That in time things would make sense but they still hadn't.

I still don't feel like Leon DeLuciferino.

I hadn't seen the notebook since I had thrown it. I didn't ask for it at the hospital hoping I'd never see it again. I kept my mouth shut and planned to enjoy my money. But while Cynthia was at work her neighbor stopped by to drop off some mail. When I opened the door the calling came again. I closed my eyes extended my hand and the little black moleskin notebook appeared. Cynthia’s neighbor turned pale white and froze. I began reading and when I was finished he walked away.

That night we heard a gun shot. I put some clothes on and ran into the hallway like everyone else in the complex but there was suitcase on Cynthia’s doormat address to Leon. Her neighbor had killed himself, we found out later.

The suit case had money, jewelry and an envelope inside. It read:

“To Leon DeLuciferino,

The money and assets in the suitcase are yours to keep. I have done those evil things your Venus accused me of. Those acts don't go unpunished and now I know she is real. I desecrated women, I will end it all and face my punishment in eternity. Please be discreet in my case for the sake of my son and daughter.”

Cynthia felt I was vague and she was being lied to until I did the notebook out of thin air trick. Then it was too much for her to believe. I gave her the suitcase and decided to book into a hotel room for a few days.

I turned into a hermit for a week in a fancy hotel downtown. It was just what I needed but Cynthia showed up. She was confused, we made love again but this time with a heartfelt intensity lovers get after quarrels. She said, living with me would be dangerous but she has never wanted a man more in her life. She left crying.

Here I was; new identity, money, girl troubles and little black moleskin notebook in my hand. Nothing to do but hide from the next calling; it was no use, it came to me again.

I decided to go out for some food, I was in the heart of Chinatown so noodles and pork belly were on my mind. I sat at a hole in the wall sipping broth from the very top a bowl when, three men sat across from me in business casual fashion. They were two white guys and an Asian but they were all speaking Russian. I began to feel funny and quickly put my phone on audio record. I was mentally mapping out what I would do once the next calling came, but was it or was it something new, I felt immensely stronger then I had ever. With the phone recording in my pocket I stopped fighting and let the calling come.

The recording I played after it all happened gave me insight into what happened to me. It wasn't reading my attackers were mad about. They felt the things I said about them were true. There were dates and other people mentioned, details you'd only know if you were there. They wanted to kill me because they got caught but the calling made sure I lived to finish my delivery. When it was over, I got to my feet and sent the recording to Cynthia with instructions. She and those lawyers will save so many of those girls.

I don't speak Russian but I was sure reading it; when the calling came I went into a seated trance and pulled the book. I began reading a detailed accusation of the three men's dirty dealings in a sex trafficking and murder but they didn't sit idol. My reading caught their ear, they asked me to stop but I kept reading. They asked each other how a knew that information and almost thought the Asian guy had set this up. One of them got so frustrated he slapped my ear but I kept reading. Finally they poured the soup on my lap and began to beat me until I stopped.

When I woke up from the beating, I was being dragged into a basement in the restaurant. I could see the moleskin notebook in one of the guys hands and after catching a glimpse of it I called to it. It appeared in my hand, I read as my head clunked down a flight of stairs, then down a wide stonewalled hallway. One of the men turned in frustration and snatched the notebook out of my hand and I called it again. That's when I was stabbed for the first time in my life. Painful as it was, my body didn't react in agony. It jolted into action, somehow I was on my feet. One shoe still in a Russians hand, I jumped in the air to knee the other on the nose but I was caught in midair and slammed. I felt something break as I landed on a brick but I got back up and used it on a face. I felt the knife pierce my gut again, then get caught in my clothes. I turned like a tornado and found my hand inside a stomach, a loud scream and then a gunshot rang deafening me. I felt the muzzle fire and met the gun with my hands; in another quick motion I was armed, then pulling the trigger, and finally three bad men lay dead.