* White noise blocks sound
They've become blue. They're reacting to my father's death.
The employees of this school have been calling around for me. Probably checking around seats. Adults are so blissfully unaware of their surroundings. They don’t get it. It’s arrogance and ego. Maybe they’re in denial. Harmful to their health finding me will be. These circumstances would have seemed ludicrous to people living twelve years ago.
The translation of my father's Lakota name is Ender Of Power. The Lakota believe my father is the spirit punishing white men for the deeds they had done against Grandmother Earth.
I theorize most organic humans never function in oneness. Not anymore at least. And that is the way in which human beings are different than every other form of life on this planet.
There are literally no Lakota Sioux left in the world anymore. They were the first Dagger people and they are the most powerful Daggers as a result. Even the Sioux children became Daggers, and they will grow into adults and die like any other life form.
The most powerful allies came into this world first and the Sioux were honored in that way. Those first Daggers rained down genocide from the heavens in the United States.
And I don't believe the Dagger people are identifying with the history of the Lakota Sioux, the Sioux are gone and Daggers could never be them. They were a peaceful people. It was more of an elastic snap with that situation. In the end genocide causes more genocide, one way or another. But, when you watch a Lakota Dagger reaping souls, you can kind of see a twinkle in their eye. Like even their blood was seeking vengeance.
But, yeah, what I was going to say?
12 years ago the circumstances here in this school would have seemed odd to you. You would be wondering why there is no military presence. Or police presence. Government security. Or anything like that. I know why that is. Good ol' dad knows what's best. I was a bewildered infant when Heinous Henry created a world with no armies. No police. No government. No anything. And yet, somehow, there are still politicians telling people how to survive and doing more harm than good.
The minor uprisings these politicians- or religious leaders as is often the way I see it- the minor uprisings they cause really resemble mass suicides more than anything. Resistance is futile. They should be running. Nobody should be near me. They should be getting as far away as possible.
I guess they don’t get it.
Have you ever wondered where you go when you die? It’s the dream world.
And what the fuck? I'm alone now? The allies have gone. The spirit is going to speak.
I can hear people calling for me.
An ally whispers some random person’s words to me, “RRRage! Your father is dead! Your father, RRRage! He's dead!” they call out.
“Choke the life from that person.”
An ally is here now before me as a man in dark green guerrilla clothes wearing a black ski mask. “It's a child,” he says.
“Fine. Bring him here.”
In a second from now...
My ally posse threw this child into the room with me. He has wavy blonde hair and is of moderate fear; his eyes are geared into the cement floor. He's in gym clothes, black shorts, white t-shirt, and white sneakers.
“Hey. Who told you my father's dead?”
“It's on the news in all the rooms. Everyone's really happy and hugging.”
“What do you think about it?”
“I don't know. They just sent me to look for you. I volunteered.”
“Heinous Henry is dead and you don't know what you think? How do you think I feel?” He's finally looked up at me. I add, “Hey, you've got soft eyes.”
“You don't feel things, I heard,” he said.
“Yeah. That's right. Listen to me. I’m going to tell you my plan for the next ten minutes. I'm going to do one of two things, ok? I'm either going to kill you, leave you a dead bloodless carcass right there, and then exterminate every man, woman, and child in this building and this city. Or I'm going to let you live and you're going to come with me while I exterminate these people. You have to choose. I have to go pay tribute to the death of the single other like me, and then I'm going to begin a new way of life. What's your choice? I'd like to keep you alive… as a souvenir… of how things used to be…”
“I don't want to die. I'll do what I have to.”
“Ha. Don't choke you little bastard. What's your name?”
“I'm Seth.”
$Mobile Aftermath$
There's something about the sight of a sprawling city burning to the ground in a rear view mirror. Skyscrapers glow like candles. The dark smoke travels west on the breeze. I found myself a Miada with the top down. Texas sun glistening. Houston is in ruins.
I haven't seen this since Rapid City after we demolished Mount Rushmore. I was a toddler when that happened; gazing out the rear view from the back seat. This is better. That was like a hymnal acoustic thing and this is like thrashing electric guitars. What you can't hear is the antimatter. Through death comes the antimatter. Through me comes death. Through me... I am connected to that back there. Houston will be a Dagger city now. Like how Dagger's come through other Daggers; to become High Daggers they come straight through me.
Guess what happened to Seth. He's dead, I killed him. Dropped him out of the sky to be specific. No!! I'm totally joking! He's right here. Semiconscious, but he'll be ok. He's my bargaining chip. You keep listening to this diary and he'll stay alive. If I so much as get a feeling you are looking away from the things I have to say then Seth will die.
Listen. Seth means a lot to me... in this situation... He's going to make a hell of a guerrilla, someday. I require a consultant with organic human feelings. It's a great big world out there. I'm interested to see if he'll lose his humanity. I don't want to see him dead. He's looking at me. Poor bastard can't even move his head. His chin’s coated in dry vomit.
As for me, I'm going to crack a beer and see what happens. One of the most omnipotent things I have seen in my life is the link between spirit, the planet, the dead, the allies, and myself. Everything is this spirit. It’s fuzzy oneness.
Following me is a faint rumble- like the lower tones of fire, amplified. Houston is burning like gasoline, but as for what is happening, that is a completely different story.
I need to maneuver around vehicles that aren’t moving. They have come to complete stops on or a little off the road. The drivers are dead. There's a pickup upside down about 120 yards off in a pasture. That’s the allies doing this. That's what they do. The allies are the most ruthless killers this planet has ever seen. Which, of course, is my fault. I can take the blame for that.
That's nothing though, when you see what Gaia does. Grandmother Earth is all over me.
Right now there is a pending critical mass. Clouds are moving through the sky in a disorientating way; the direction of the wind is shifting in powerful currents. The smoke of the burning city dances. Rain will fall on Houston. This will cause thunderstorms that will kill many in the outlying areas. Here is why; as the dead rise the allies will rejoice and cause the storm to grow exponentially, like a recurring equation. A relatively dry hurricane will be on us in a matter of minutes.
“Seth, wake up. Watch the storm come in.” I tapped him with a bottle of water. He needs to drink something; been vomiting on and off for the past couple hours.
“What storm?”
“Look behind you.”
There's electricity beginning to crackle over the Houston sky. That deep growl you hear is a particularly ominous thunder. I'm punching the accelerator. The tree lines in the distance tear from their roots and fly through the sky in a twisting sort of single file.
What happens next is an onslaught of indistinguishable apparitions; directly upon us. These apparitions thrive on the otherworldly environment of these storms and they choose to reflect the lives of the dead in their ‘faces,’ so to speak. One single ally will display dozens of character portrayals in a single secon
d. At times like this they want to experience the most organic moments they possibly can.
“These are the dead, Seth!”
Oh shit, lightening!