Tuesday, December 29, 2015
If one could read a ripple in time, what then?
And have we already?
A spectacular event took place in 500,000 B.C., thereabouts, a supernova—
(when homo heidelbergensis prowled the earth, other things were happening in other places within God’s universe)
In a far-off constellation, one of the eighty-eight recognized groups known to modern man…
On a planet unnamed and unknown, in a far-off solar system, amongst the stars—this story comes to us from a single ripple in time, hidden within its memory of some far-off cataclysmic event in the cosmos, as previously mentioned, and loose bits and pieces of interesting trivia, have been recovered.
In other words it comes from a gravitational wave, the warping of space-time (we have at the Louisiana Space Center, seen this event in light).
The scientists at the Center have agonizingly examined the genome, which is the instruction booklet for building and maintaining billions of DNA letters of information, for a sizable interstellar saber-beast, which was diagramed within this wave.
I asked the scientists at the Louisiana Space Center “How is this possible to read light as you say you do, and speculate on such events, and creatures that once existed a half million years ago?”
“Laser Interferometer,” he said; meaning I think: bouncing light between this and whatever that is!
Thus making that, possible to speculate on.
He went on to say:
“Gravitational waves reproduce at the speed of light, at this speed time stands still, if we can connect, or plug in, we get what we seek.
And within these waves are carried the knowledge of events before the star’s (or sun’s) explosion—otherwise known as a supernova—takes place.
This knowledge is maintained up to its current—prior to death—status to the detection of a black hole, hence at which time, it will be swallowed, or sucked up into.
In point of fact, its debris entombed, forevermore.”
By and large, the scientist was telling me, there are fossils in space-time, in those so called gravitational waves.
Carl Sagan said it best: “We are not alone!” (past tense in this case)
How true that appears to be, but so far-off, we have to read the primitive events on other planets by the way of bouncing light here and there, capturing it, caging it, dissecting it: oversimplified, but for a novice like me, it will have to do.
And so, what we know is that the planet the beast lived on, came to an end, as did its star, and most likely its whole solar system.
Should our star lose its composure, and sum, and some day it will, the solar system we live in will be obliterated, consumed, and thrown down a trash spiral, or black hole, like theirs.
And when I say theirs: this information we are talking about, came to the Center by way of a voice commentary, as one might hear a documentary on television describing for National Geographic, to the public, the Polar Bear:
Heard in one of those gravitational waves, extracted, translated, as one would have done, and has done with the Dead Sea Scrolls.
#4939/Written: 12-2 2015
Note: Last writing in Huancayo, Peru (99-poems, and 11-SF Stories written in 10-weeks; total 109-writtings: ten stories in three days, this last story, was written the evening before leaving the Andes, and not in the three days of November 20 thru 22, the original 10-stories, but is part of the “Huancayo SF Collection”)
Monday, December 28, 2015
((‘The Huancayo SF Analects’) (Ten-Science Fiction Vignettes))
By, Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
‘Out of Time Warps & Space’
((‘The Huancayo SF Analects’) (Ten-Science Fiction Vignettes))
11/2015 Copyright © By Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
. . .
Visit my web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
You can also order my books directly from: www.amazon.com; www.bn.com; along with many other notable book dealers.
The Author has given out 38,000-Chapbooks total (along with over a 1000-standard international books, paperbacks and hardcover in Peru alone; this is his 30th Chapbook, he has written for Peru, making for a total of 47-chapbooks, to include those prior to Peru; along with 48-international books, of which eight of those books being of Peruvian Culture, along with 40-on other subjects: novels, short stories, poetry, Chemical Dependency, etc. His writings can be ordered on the Internet, or at any books stores in the United States, throughout Europe, Asia (to include Japan and China), and behind the old Iron Curtain, or Eastern Europe. In South America, they can be ordered through Amazan.com, b.n.com, Abe.com and most any larger bookseller.
Science Fiction Vignettes
(The 10-Huancayo SF Original Vignettes written in November of 2015)
The Author’s Interlude was taken out of the Manuscript
. . .
1—the Mummy from Huaytapallana (White Mountain)
2—Charon (The Listeners)
3—Enceladus’ Dilemma ((The Account) (Year: 2035 A.D.))
4—the Inmate from Mercury ((The Pen Pal) (Year: 2095 A.D.))
5—Flung from Pluto (Quantum Ripples in Time)
6— the Ahesor Comet Report (2020 A.D., ‘The Toad People)
7— Far Boundaries of Gravity (Silas Caine)
8— Black Moon Widows (The Kerberos Narrative 2048 A.D.)
9—Pluto Waiting! (The Primitive)
10—the Hidden Scrolls of Mars (Earth time, 100,000 B.C.)
Commentary on the Ten Vignettes
(…Also considered: ‘The Huancayo SF Analects’)
. . .
(…and Two Weird Tales)
The pride of: Marquis d’ Belphegor
((Arch Devil) (In Poetic Prose))
((A Strange Tale) (Extract from MS; Chapter One))
Ten Science Fiction Vignettes
. . .
A Very Short SF Vignette
The Mummy from Huaytapallana
I am a part time, tourist-archeologist, somewhat familiar with the Inca Civilization, having lived in Peru ten-years, and visiting it five years before sporadically, in particular, being interested in the Inca predecessor, the Wari Empire, thus I have some knowledge, and presently live in the Andes.
The Wari blood is near extinction among the people of Peru and Bolivia. Epidemics caused much of this by way of the European presence, via influenza, centuries ago.
I was recently on an expedition outside the ancient Inca City of Huancayo (the city’s real name meaning: City of the Holy Trinity, a city 450-years old). And to my amazement came upon a mummy, unearthed by the snowy mountain called Huaytapallana, or White Mountain.
My comrades in the expedition, had matched the DNA, which produced a mysterious lineage, suggesting anthropological characteristics of the Neanderthal, along with the Wari (perhaps dating back some 40,000-years), yet the mummy was only 700-years old.
Being an amateur in this field, I was not sure what this meant, if indeed it meant anything at all. Knowing three percent (3%) of the human race is said to carry such DNA of the Neanderthal, and its traits; be that as it may, when they concluded a part of the genome, let’s call it the third part, once unwound, was found to be alien, meaning two things: 1) not of this earth 2) Unknown to science data; thus I knew then we were on to something.
As weeks went by, my comrades with their connections, again unwound another mystery, perhaps more profound, the mummified remains—that is, what the mummy was covered with, was red clay, or dirt, mixed with salts, hence implications suggested from that they had beyond a doubt, after the chemical identity was assured: came from Mars.
To what end this shall lead, who’s to say!
#4923/Written: 11-22-2015 (7:55 p.m.) Huancayo, Peru (The Story: 306-words)
A Very Short SF Vignette
The explosion had taken place outside the Kuiper Belt, those being on Pluto’s moon, called Charon, one of five, had heard it, as did the Great Scientist Alanxdro from Earth; thus in his lab the green light went on indicating, predominantly the strange and wonderful had taken place, an opening of communication between Charon and Earth.
Perhaps a neutron star very dense burnt–out; or the merging of black holes took place but all were guesses; yet Louisiana’s Space Center was listening as was Dr. Alanxdro was doing likewise listening in his lab.
This happening created gravitational waves (GW), which created an opening for Dr. Alanxdro to be heard by Charon; hence, the warping of space and time took place, he conjured, what may be called an astrophysical phenomena.
The explosion, perhaps a supernova, took place some place in the Milky Way Galaxy, he concluded, with the assistance of the Space Station.
The GW, a ripple in the fabric of space and time, came at the speed of light (176,000-miles per second), at which time Louisiana’s Space Center, was talking and being heard by whomever was on the other side, on Charon, as was the old scientist. It was as if there had been a tunnel created for Earth could hear the voice from Charon, or vice versa.
It was the first time mankind had hard another voice that belonged to an alien race, some four-billion miles away.
Then after a few utterances, and static impinged, both earthling, and alien, turned the knob on their radios, they reflected on the atonal sounds each made, trying to figure out their meanings, but it was impossible to interpret them, nonetheless contact was made, and whatever created this opening, it now as closed.
Written: 11-21-2015 (4:00 a.m.) #4917 (Word count: 290)
A Short SF Vignette
((The Account) (Year: 2035 A.D.))
I glanced through the new telescope, the largest in the world, I was told. Far did I see in the depths of space; for hours I searched our solar system, focused toward Pluto, and beyond, some five billion-km. The telescope was incredible, connected to another telescope some 200-miles above earth. Somehow I found myself fixed on Enceladus, Saturn’s moon. (—First let me say this before I continue, point of fact: physics alone cannot explain reality, if it could it would explain God, and since it can’t and can’t take God out of the equation, without having it collapse, they have to conclude there are alternate realities—with this in mind, I proceed with ‘the account’)
So what did see exactly with this newfangled telescope?
A man in a boat, or on some kind of platform, on ice or stilled water. I glanced at him swift, surprised. He was the size of a sparrow. At second glance, I adjusted to enlarge in size, a typical sort of thought came--: nothing in the astronomy books on what to do on delusions verse reality; hence, was this a delusion, or reality? I was over tired, several hours had passed by; surely the psychologist would adhere to this, delusional syndrome before reality. At third glace the item was sharper with more magnified details. Now he looked more like a giant size bird, let’s say vulture, with shark details sort of! A man with a head and wings, and legs, or could they be some kind of wing looking oxygen tanks? I asked myself: how does one rationalize this, then I looked for the camera equipment, and could not find the panel, which comes under: lack of instructions.
Enceladus I knew was a rich moon, being an amateur astrologer, my dear friend Hkanat a dear friend, whom name is not Hkanat, —I shall leave out his real name for better or worse—who allowed me into his astronomical temple, had only expected me to observe, like one would at a museum, or a fish aquarium, and had to leave me on my own, pending other duties. But as I was about to say, Enceladus is a most promised place to find life, if life is to be found anyplace in our solar system, in particular beneath its icy crust. Should this moon, warm up, it would be one large ocean I have confidence in.
Consequently what was I seeing? I mean, really seeing? I knew in advance there was found years ago, molecular hydrogen, also hot vents on the rocky ocean floor, this all proved habitability; perhaps like Earth’s deep-sea beds. Thus, Enceladus like Earth—was both like to like—in this manner. In all speculation, until now, now one could prove this moon could support life. Not knowing all that much about the Saturnine system, I could see in the wink of an eye, this underwater wrinkled terrain, picks of mountains above its atmosphere, my indeed had done just that, and seeing this extraterrestrial being, or otherworldly being, as not being a delusion, mentally my puzzle was being put together rapidly. Perhaps a portion of this moon had been, was in a process known as serpentinization. With more adjustments I could see rocks rich in iron; my awareness of Earth’s micro-organisms—through which this same process was a source to drive its Earth’s metabolism, like protein drives a man’s metabolism, why not here on Enceladus, like the sun does for a reptile?
And then it happened, at my next glance, I felt helpless, dread, which in the years yet to come would I dwell upon. Did I depict an overlapping of time? In other words, did I survey time past as in a second print. A silhouette in the ripple of time past? That was still outlined, definitely in the mind of the universe? The question begs to be answered: why did not anyone else see what I saw, especially my amigo? Disregarding the present. As if in death, man is said to be able to reflect all his past events, how is this possible? Again I must say, like to like, God’s universe has preserved it somehow. In any case, when I explained this to my colleague, he said: “Different realities are possible, in cosmic time,” and he left it at that. I took his statement to mean: what is fretfully unexplainable doesn’t mean there’s not a reality to fit it.
Written: 11-22-2015 (#4922) reedited, 12-24-2015
Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
A Short SF Vignette
The Inmate from Mercury
((The Pen Pal) (Year: 2095 A.D.))
Letter One (July, 2093 A.D)
“Dear Harry Harvey, here in my prison cell on Mercury, it gets between 300 to 800 degrees Fahrenheit. Which for Mercury as you may well know, is normal. So with your letter I had to read it behind special glass, it was for the most part evaporated, in fragmented form. Therefore I am sending you some special chemically protected paper we use here on Mercury, use it and your letter will be more legible.
“I have never visited Earth but I’ve heard it was beautiful, and confrontational, or warlike. Also, it has over ten-billion people.
“On another subject, the heat on Mercury has never been a real problem for me, even at 500 F, it is pleasant. At eight-hundred, of course it gets uncomfortable. So you see, I am not a hydro-carbon life form. And to be frank your letter was sent to me by accident. Let me explain: my number here is M: 4651, the M stands for Mercury, and I’m the four thousand and six hundred and fifty fist inmate, out of 5000-inmates here on Mercury.
“I repeat myself, I’m elated the letter came to the likes of me, an inmate who has been unjustly incarcerated, please continue the correspondence.”
Yours sincerely, M: 4561
. . .
Letter Two (September, 2094 A.D)
“Dear Harry Harvey, I received your first letter, I mean second letter, and yes there is a way to lower the radioactive body, in particular mine, to 150-degrees, but it comes with a price in that it would affect my flow of energy, and none of Earth’s cities would allow me to step onto its surface.
“I am now fifty-years old, and have twenty-more years to serve of my sentence, my race has a lifespan of 150-years, thus, one third of my life is now gone, and by the time I leave, one half will disappear.
“However our race is a superior to yours, as you well know, we also carry what you call a high atomic weight. The race that has incarcerated me, is similar to us, but superior to us. They have used us as slaves, liken to the days of Athens, 450 B.C., when there were more slaves within the population than citizens. Anyhow, for 25,000-years we have been their mining tools, compared to 15,000-years ago, when we were sent to dig out the gold from mines in Peru, gold being a universal substance used in all spacecraft’s.
“Turning to my imprisonment, I killed an engineer on a maintenance crew, which stopped the mining on the dwarf sphere Ceres, inside the asteroid belt. The pintsize planet, is about 800-miles wide, it has quite a lot of irregular shapes and craters, most interesting to our Masters as they prefer to be called, and I worked in one of those crater-mines.
“We quarried for an assortment of materials, minerals, along with the many salt mounds on the surface. And several of us rebelled, and we called it war, and they called it terrorism, and the stronger is always in the right.”
Sincerely, Inmate, M: 4651
. . .
Letter Three (October, 2095 A.D)
Dear Mr. Harry Harvey:
“Just a brief note to answer your question if you will send a letter to the warden of this prison to lighten my sentence, this is not unusual, they take all letters very seriously, as to keep a cordial relationship with Earth, and the mining that they do throughout the solar system, since we are originally outside it.
“We are as you know quite advance in the history and development of your solar system. My father won his freedom after his allotted time in the mines as all our kind must serve, one fifth of our life doing, during his free time he was allowed to earn his doctorate in the astrophysics, stellar phenomena, and ancient mythologies pertaining in particularly to your solar system. I will try to tell you what he said in a nutshell, if indeed it fits:
‘Comets are an ancient creation by the god’s of evil, trying to duplicate God Almighty’s great creation of the stars, which we know as suns. Our race found a comet, a rare one that would serve our purpose it was older than Earth’s solar System, and our kind implanted molecules of oxygen in its clouds of gas. The comet within its orbit, reacted with other planets within Earth’s solar system, as it was forming eons ago. Along with its most common gases, others formed around the comet, such as: water, vapor, carbon monoxide, and carbon dioxide, and so on and so on. It all remained in its unique form. The oxygen froze, trapped in clumps of other materials and was released during this formation of your solar system, as the comet made its long journey around Earth’s sun, and beyond.’
“The comet is often referred to as “The Devil Comet” actually we still do refer to it by that name. The reason being, no one knows how it got here in the first place. And so, as my father inferred, by dropping what he called seeds, Earth formed a beautiful and thick atmosphere, which produced materials and minerals, and then life.”
Sincerely, Inmate M: 4651
. . .
Letter from the Warden to Harry Harvey (December, 2095 A.D)
Reference to: M: 4651
Dear Mr. Harry Harvey: “If it looks like a dead fish and smells like a dead fish and it comes from Denmark, that’s exactly what it is, and that is what you got for all your time writing M: 4561; my best advice is don’t eat it! He’s been fishing for someone like you for a long time.”
Sincerely, the Warden.
Written: 11-22-2015 (#4921) reedited, 12-24-2015
Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
Flung from Pluto
(Quantum, Ripples in Time)
I live in the present as most people do here on earth if not everyone, which can be referred to as pragmatism, or logic, although I have experienced, as have my countrymen, what is theory to humans, and common practice to us: stemming from the present into the past, as well as into and perhaps the future. I am stirred for the most part by the here and now¸ what I’m accustomed to, even though I have come to realize the present and the future are well-appointed by God. Let me explain where what I am leading up to:
Through a ripple of time, a ripple in space and time, nearly 1500-years ago, our spacecraft landed on Earth. We traveled 15.5 billion km from Earth’s sun, in a matter of hours, not at its likely occurrence of several years. It was the year 488 A.D., when we came.
As I meditate and think back, the year now being 2015, the Picks from upper Scotland invaded Britain, as did in time the times of the Angles from Sweden and Denmark, and the Saxons from East Germany. Back then the land mass wasn’t divided as it is today, this is to my best recollection.
Back then I still recall the limping, the hungry, the thirsty, the grim, the dusty and the sentimentality of the age, —notwithstanding, the horror of Warlike men from the North, now called Vikings in and around 790 A.D., and then after 828 A.D., when England became united, thus they were much like the ISIS are today. Both Godless, swollen with the devils breathe, bands inhabiting earth, with no rules, indifferent to their fellow men, no limits, or discipline. Which leads me to my next thought:
I am a prudent being, I’m also impetuous, and jour mission was to investigate the ripples in time and space. But as you may have already figured out I was left behind, and once left behind, there was no escaping Earth’s gravity, its several layers of atmosphere. We are a long-lived race that had come from a planet half the size of Pluto, as I say in nearly the speed of light. All the same, I have always yearned to be reunited—yet on the other hand excluded this possibility of being reunited to the underworld of our little planet, although I’ve just read a scientist has discovered V774104, this is my world, a tiny oval dwarf planet, Pluto minor, it could be called and would stand up to that name.
I made my way hobbling through the centuries, as if they were a descending staircase. But how this all came about was: one evening I had fallen to sleep, after having several horn-cups of sherry, when I awoke, it was a mid-summer’s nightmare. I looked around in vain for my spouting friends, I had come with. And they were glowing in a heap of fire, as if they were the fuel. In a word, those who did not escape on our spacecraft, were roasted alive, and I had but a moment before I’d be lain outstretched before those cannibalistic mongrelized primitives.
Since then I have learned to look like humans, disguised myself somewhat. Now I am old, about to die of old age, and I shall explain one of the mysteries our race discovered, or think we have, we can put it into the basket of Quantum Theories, if not plane physics, we learned everything that is supposed to happen in the Universe, has, it is all written, done, in the ripples of space, should you be able to scrutinize one you would be able to step back to let’s say: 790 A.D., or to the end of time. The end of time is simply a mathematical equation in light-years, which stretches from one boarder to another. If we are to stay in our time, or Earth time, then time is 2015. And in week it will be 2016. But at the end and beginning of God’s light-years, it is quite different.
#4915/11-20-2015 (Revised, 12-26-2015)
A Very Short SF Vignette
The Ahesor Comet Report
(2030 A.D., ‘The Toad like People)
The beings, to my understanding were no more than three-feet tall, with skin roughened similar to a toads, all naked reddish flesh, having little squinty pig eyes and albino hair, if any at all, for most were hairless. Beyond this description, they are for the most part nondescript, although plague-ridden in those latter days of their existence.
There had been—two groups of them—both groups living on one side of the Comet Ahesor, totaling perhaps twenty-five in all; the larger group was called: Odlaforp.
The disease was termed: green leprosy, and tenanted by doom; thus, they faced a dimmed lit grotesque reality.
The planet they were born on, and then taken from is to my understanding some 39-lightyears from Earth—take or give a few either way—so indicates my report; time in space for light to reach earth, at such a distance is phenomenal if not phantasmal, in that this penal colony of two infected groups of what has now been established as ‘The Toad People’ of Ahesor, took place 26,000 B.C. This year being 2030 A.D. The planet I am referring to is much like Venus. A rocky planet 370-trillion km, out in interstellar space, with about half it’s roasting in solar winds and heat storms sporadically throughout its lifespan. Back in 26,000 B.C., according to the report, it had and maintained a substantial atmosphere, liken to Mars at one time, perhaps its sun burnt it up to its present atmospheric thinness, and if there are life forms still there, they have not been seen from its surface thus far.
The comet is presently maintaining its ancient orbit, and is two lobed, perhaps it formed that way billions of years ago by some contact binary. Furthermore, as the report reads this comet circles the earth’s sun and perhaps in the past has released in material or substance form, unknown ancient disease that have found its way to earth, causing plagues, who’s to say? A new, if not old theory being revised at this very moment.
To the best of my knowledge, this comet is 650 meters thick, it has a gravitational field, and looks as if at any moment it will split in half. It also takes six-years to orbit our sun, and by all means was a spacecraft for those two small groups, now long gone.
The mass, or frame of the comet has been measured at ten-billion tones, the volume 21.4 cubic km. The larger lob is 4.l km. It has been deduced, that the two groups lived on that larger section of the comet, for a brief period, perhaps starving to death long before their disease would have killed them. The comet itself is 75% empty space. And to the best of my knowledge, the temperatures range from - 93c to -43 c.
What more can I tell you, but to sum up: our Resources Bureau in Lima, calls this unnamed far-off planet of the Toad People, Venus II. They assume it has cooled down some, but the counsel in Lima has moved ideas, they say Venus II, left the comet a prison, to abandon their kind, to their own fate in fear of something more epidemic I suppose on their planet, during each beings embryonic stage. Our feedback from our interstellar probes, are still transmitting the data being sent to us, and our dialectology department is making their interpretation of this data at present.
#4918/11-21-2015 (Reedited and revised slightly, 12-26-2015)
A Short SF Vignette
Far Boundaries of Gravity
The planets, move around the sun, and the sun with all its planets and moons, thereof, revolve forevermore, or so it appears on their straight and narrow orbits, as the universe pours out with care its widespread gravity, like manna. Gravity, the thing that keeps our solar system activated, our galaxy in motion. In essence, the universe’s black energy, black matter. Should a star collapse, we know it’s an act of gravity, to a certain extent, as then a black hole is ready to be created if not already created, to swallow that dead star, whole. Yes, the hand of providence has provided a waste basket, for its surplus. Put another way, gravity shapes space and time, has energy, creates a reaction, produces a black hole, if not a wormhole that may develop into a black hole, or a black hole acting like a wormhole.
This must be explained before we go on with the story lest we get fragmented along the way, and we lose sight of Silas Caine whom is the antagonist of the story.
We have talked of gravity, now wormholes, and travel, then the full story, since the title is “Far Boundaries…” it should fit. What is faster than the speed of light? Nothing, scientists say. But if you step into Quantum theories, physics, there is something perhaps! Traveling through a wormhole which I shall define shortly. To make a long theory short, a traversable wormhole, let’s say with a notion of an intra-universe connection, the wormhole being similar to a black hole, more on the order of a shortcut connecting two separate points in space and time, you know, like a tunnel, with an electromagnetic field of energy. In essence, as Einstein has inferred: a wormhole bridges, in this story, two different universes; —we’re getting into general relativity, —the wormhole might allow superluminal light speed, faster than light travel; the speed of light is 176,000-miles per second, this again is more into Quantum theories; meaning, hypothetical, unseen, unproven, not experienced, but probable.
Now a third thought into this story before we get into the story: since we have taken care of Gravity, and now Wormholes, which we may come back to—that are much like a hole in a cylinder, and if we can stretch our imagination we can envision it being used for communication between parallel universes. A side thought, wormholes cut 50% to 99.9% percent of travel time, or put another way, a billion miles can now be measured in feet, we are on the right path to knowing how Silas Caine got to Earth in the first place, from that far-off universe.
So the next step into the story that I haven’t yet told, is time travel, like a time machine. In wormholes, time is not the same as outside it. We are now going into Quantum effects if not general relativity: Black Holes are of course Stephen Hawking’s expertise, and we have and shall mention them time and again throughout this account. But it makes no difference, what is, and what is theory, is perhaps possible, there are many realities we know nothing about. In this case, and a possible case indeed, and for the story, a particle case, the wormhole is a time machine, call it time dilation, or contraction. We are traveling from one universe to another, faster than the speed of light—even though the light in the wormhole will beat us to our destination, and let’s say we are carrying energy from one time to another, from one place to another, the wormhole has to adjust, or once on the other side, something has to. Now we are ten-years in the past, or perhaps 1000-years in the past, or we are from the future visiting Earth in its present, we now are looking at time warps, or twists, or time like curves. All this and a little more, concerns Silas Caine’s altercative activity!
And so what we know of and what we don’t know of, moves unless balance is held back by another force, but when someone can trigger a force against another, than what? When perturbation accrues, when a traveler or something physical, a system can be disturbed, even planets taken off their orbits, is when there is an interference; Silas Caine knew this, and used his Severity Machine, as it was referred to, he brought from another universe to do just that: why? To see if it would work, and then return to his own universe, via wormhole, and let his countrymen on his planet know of his experiment; what for? He wanted the Nobel Prize of that Planet, which was called, the ‘Quantum Award.’
Two forces fighting one another, and thus comes balance or chaos. What we don’t know God holds back from mankind as a father would hold back a grenade from a child’s hands, we’re not ready for it, and man is quite predictable, for obvious reasons, but when an outsider sneaks into your solar system, and onto your planet, predictability changes, and thus indifference takes precedence for the invader. So the question may arise: what does he know that we know, but live in pretense of not acknowledging to know? A riddle? Perhaps not. Extra-terrestrials are out there? For good or bad, who’s to say, and what is on their agenda?
The breakdown of gravity is power. And so it was in the year 2036, there appeared such a man by the name of Silas Caine, who had built a machine—to repeat myself, an awful machine that revised the pull from the iron core of the Earth, allowing Earth’s atmosphere to be heated, polluted, scorched, and thinned, and there it faded into the empty space between earth and its moon, like clouds.
Where did he come from, how did he build that machine? Some say he just appeared out of nowhere, others say, he came through a wormhole from another universe, that he came from the future and brought with him, his own energy from that far-off place. And now man devoid of weight, started to become like fiends, ghosts.
Slowly he evaporated 50% of earth’s atmosphere, its global oxygen, carbon all the emanating elements that form the timid and mysterious invisible atmosphere, that took billions of years to form around earth; consequently Earth now was in a state of loss, as was earth’s electromagnetic energy field.
In a short period of time the oceans were lowered to the point ships could no longer navigate them, and the world powers became uneasy with one another thinking one another had some kind of conspiracy going on; and so Silas Caine, to Earth’s once thick and luscious layers of atmosphere, nearly all was cast out into the black matter of interstellar space? And no one could find, or stop Silas Caine!
Thus came, underground sanctuaries.
He could have controlled the world, if that was his mission, he had the power, but that was not his mission, as we all know.
And before he departed earth, he did leave something in tack, earth’s culture. But let me back track to those latter days…
The underground vaults of earth vomited up all it had. Billions of voices screamed, and ascended into a cosmic death. Satan’s demons had a great feast, and long laugh over all this, they didn’t even know who Silas Caine was, or where he came from, but was as if he was there Antichrist!
Did Silas Caine want to get even with God, so the preachers and clergy summed up, when all other reasonable thought fell into a black hole? Logic would say he had no God.
“Alas!” What now?” were the words being uttered daily in the newspapers commentaries, on the talk shows of television, on the radio programs. Was Silas Caine as they said, ‘A lunatic?’ How could they stop that machine, when they couldn’t even find it? Then puff, he was gone, liken to the way he came, with that darn machine.
#4916/11-20-2015 (Reedited and revised slightly, 12-26-2015)
A Short SF Vignette
Black Moon Widows
(The Kerberos Narrative) 2048 A.D.
Kerberos, orbits 60,000-km planet Pluto; Pluto which has five moons, and in comparison in distance, Earth being 93-million miles from the sun, Pluto, is 4-billion miles from Earth. But Kerberos is where our story leads us. It is the most obscure of the five moons I do believe, all being nearby the Kuiper Belt. Kerberos’ largest lobe is but 8-km across and its smaller lobe being only 5-km across.
Because of its isolation from the other moons, and its small size, asteroids being larger, this dwarf moon has a weird inhabitants—and perhaps for good reason was selected over the other four moons, and not by accident. They harbor the Black Moon Widows (spiders as large and some larger than those old iron frying pans my mother used to use when I was just a lad of ten; you could cook a whole chick in that frying pan, it weighed six-pounds, no kidding).
The moon is so infested with them, they constantly are bumping heads, so the last report read coming from the spacecraft, Enceladus, named after Saturn’s moon for whatever reasons. So comes the information, via, to me from the Space Center in Louisiana.
The moon’s light indicated to those of the spacecraft Enceladus I (Earth Time, 10,000 B.C.), that it was to a certain degree a living moon, and thus, provided an atmosphere, thin as it was, there was one. Although the moon has darkened over time, a result of chemical changes triggered by sunlight, cosmic rays, and the mass of Black Moon Widows, or spiders, those that have survived the invasion to multiply in the ten-thousand years since Enceladus I, dropped those creatures off, to its astronomical figure of one billion now, and now being the year 2048.
Let me say, and in saying, get ahead of myself, which will do this account no harm, that the Widows, they kill their male mates, for a song and a dance, and when hungry, are a strain that contaminates wherever they are, whatever they touch, and like a hard-shelled cockroach, hard to kill, and therefore could not be allowed to remain on the far-off planet beyond Earth’s solar system by the crew members of the spacecraft Enceladus I.
It might be of interest to the reader, this spacecraft that was being monitored by the Louisiana Space Center Enceladus II, now in the year 2048 A.D., came from what is referred to as the Dark or Black Galaxy; via, a wormhole. The planet is referred to by its acronym, SSARG, which has two moons.
That said, it was horribly ominous for the Captain of the Enceladus II, and the spacecraft’s crew, after 10,000-years down the road to go back to that moon, like opening up a can of worms, or like opening and closing of a funeral, long forgotten, —what did they expect to find? Other than, spider corpses. I mean, we have a 10,000-year separation a huge gap in time, one thousand spiders (dropped into what they thought was an endless well, that was really a deep pitted crater, with explosives caving the walls in on the Widows) had turned into one billion in that gap of time. Interplanetary breeding, that was not the plan, but for the spiders to die, and they didn’t, perhaps one hundred escaped, and colonized the moon, by cannibalization perhaps.
Had you asked the Captain of the spacecraft, Enceladus I, 8000 B.C., that this tiny moon would contain a billion spiders of this size, he’d had said, “It’s not believable” but we must now stick with Enceladus II, and the year 2048.
The Enceladus II, had returned as what might be called a routine trip, to investigate this tiny moon, for future possibilities. At this juncture, the spacecraft’s captain knew nothing of its inhabitants, blotted out by all nearly all light now, and only shadows reflecting of the moons higher or more pronounced geological structures, such as craters and mountains, and valleys. Hence, the dark Widows covered per near every inch of the moon, making it even darker, as if the terrain was of some dark soil, or rocky material. With the knowledge of the previous voyage, and the rock hard surface that it was, they landed. Instantly there came a clambering, on the ship outer surface, a horrible droning and hammering, it brought a chill to the crew of astronauts, a deadliness overwhelmed them.
Henceforward, the Captain seeing only the dark mass as gravel outside his porthole, weapon in hand, life support suite on, threw open the door—and the Widows had a feast, and the spacecraft, still remains in Limbo.
#4926/11-22-2015 (Reedited and revised slightly, 12-27-2015)
A Short SF Vignette
((A Primitive Story) (in Poetic Prose))
I live, on the planet Pluto.
I live like mist, vapor in a kind of impregnable bright bubble, as thick as the old walls of Troy.
Waiting, I’m always waiting, it is all I know.
I see the cold stars of night and the glitter of the sun—
At times I see the blue planet called Earth, it is nearly as old as Pluto.
It is hard for me to explain who I am, when I really don’t know what I am, or how I came about.
I need comparisons!
And I know of none!
Thus, I cannot explain.
I am lonely and old, I know that.
Sometimes I feel like the thick ice on Pluto, numb.
The atmosphere drifts off the planet like someone smoking a Lucky Strike in an open bar, I got that information from listening to old radio waves—
I sense the cool silence of the long days here, as long as Earth’s week!
Perhaps today is the day I will no longer have to wait?
A question to myself.
I see a metallic object from a distance.
I hear metal clashing with debris.
I can hear and I can see.
And I hear voices from afar, four-billion miles away.
“All right” I say, Earth voices are commanding the object!
Some of the words are familiar, can this object send a living being down?
It has an insignia on it.
If it lands I will look like a big eye to them.
But the object is just circling Pluto.
What are they doing?
It is a tireless task waiting.
Its construction is weird.
It took seven years to get here!
I’ve waited 10,000-years for this?
Now I know who I am! I think?
And I am nothing like them.
I don’t breath like them, and I am per near inexhaustible—
Perhaps that’s the price one has to pay for longevity.
I hear pain and fear and sorrow in their voices, some rejoicing.
I hear they get sick too, I don’t.
They have happiness that of course is a byproduct, you need to make someone happy to be happy, it takes two, and this I don’t have either.
Their probe didn’t even see me, I wonder if I’m even visible to them?
I think what I am is some gravitational collapse of what was once a sufficiently compact mass form of something, and I’m the leftover, but what?
#4914/11-20-2015 (Reedited and revised slightly, 12-27-2015)
A Short SF Vignette
The Hidden Scrolls of Mars
(Earth Time, 100,000 B.C.)
“I hope, nobody finds these writings! If one does, it means someone else between Earth and Mars or some other planet has been here, and God help them if they have no way off this planet. That is to say, they’ll most likely have to face these awful solar winds and storms which you will find out are quick and intense. They have stripped away most of Mars’ atmosphere, edged rock formations, rivers. I am the last person left here, most of us left, escaped to earth a decade ago. Earth is quite primitive to our race yet it is rich with life. We look more like the Cro-Magnon, and they, well, only time will tell, I venture to say, an earlier stage of mankind.
From my radio reports, some of our spacecraft had an emergency landing on an asteroid. What their fate will be, time will tell.
I am Commander Mruts, I stayed behind, voluntarily, for the simple reason—if not, then what? And someone had to man the last of Mars’ stations, and monitor what needs checking, watching, observing. Although I get updates from Earth and the Asteroid.
They have now been gone five years. I am writing these scrolls out, for posterity, should anyone find them in the future. I do understand our astronauts, and those civilians on those spacecraft’s, were hurled through space, it turned out to be a nasty trip, with a comet nearly shifting the ships courses as it orbited by. The Asteroid, will not allow the Martians to live much longer I am told, their supplies are down, as is their fuel, and there appears to be no escape, or launch ability.
We call Earth the blue planet, and Mars the red planet. At one time Mars was shrouded in thick gases which supported our presence, and we had much water on the surface, many rivers. Like Earth, at one time our presence of air, I mean its content was antiquate, our Co2 level & O/O2, level within the atmosphere was like Earth’s is today ((the oxygen within the air consisting of 21% of the atmosphere by volume) (a diatomic gas)), today on Mars that number is less than 5% of Earth’s, and our water supply on the surface is completely frozen solid. And the atmosphere is so thin, being removed from high, to higher altitudes yearly, through interactions with the sun, we have built underground abodes, which supply most of our daily survival needs.
On the other hand, as I have been informed, Earth has a global magnetic field that continues to operate and protect the life within its climate system, but I suppose it could in time be altered in a very similar manner Mars’ has been. Should their moon be kicked off its orbit, or an asteroid half the size of Pluto tumble outside its belt, sideswipe it, and move it a foot here or there, consequently, their moon protects them quite well from the sun, and its orbit; yet at present, makes it favorable to light the night, and shade the day for Earth, how fortunate, God has been gracious to the Earthlings.
On another subject, we must mingle with the Neanderthal, which we call their primitive race, and what will we get in the future is any man’s guess. Perhaps we’ll all die out, and God will take a few of our DNA, and their DNA, and implant them into a new kind of man! Who’s to say?
Again I stress, I hear oxygen and carbon dioxide are plentiful on Earth, this is important as is water for the planet life overall, which keeps this balance between mammals and vegetation and flora.
I must say, alas, our magnetic field is crushed, so there is no coming back to Mars other than for old time sake, and so here goes 4.5 billion years of history, to a nearly unusable, unstable, unpredictable planet, other than holding down a station for whatever purposes. I mean we are 50-million miles from Earth, and 43-million miles from the sun, kind of lost in the Gobi Desert of space.
I hate going out to the surface, hard to breath, and the temperature is above 150c at present. But reader, do not dismay, I volunteered for this, someone had to.”
In the year, 2050 A.D., the scrolls of Mars were found, during an exploration of the planet by none other than an old space dog and his astronaut master, Staff Sergeant Hector Hecker, of the U.S.A Independent Space Continuum, (privately owned by Donald Frump, a billionaire), whom was from St. Paul, Minnesota; the dog, weather-beaten went by the name Max III; Max’s great grandfather fought in the Afghanistan War, and thus, Max III is now in the annals of Interplanetary Space Exploration. As for the Staff Sergeant he didn’t do the finding, and well, —dogs have their rights too.
#4919/11-21-2015 (Reedited and revised slightly, 12-28-2015)
Note: The original ten SF Stories called:
‘Out of Time Warps & Space’
(‘The Huancayo SF Analects’) 11/2015 Copyright © By Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
Commentary on the Ten SF Vignettes
(…Also considered: ‘The Huancayo SF Analects’)
While up in the Mountains of Huancayo, Peru, the Andes, in November of 2015, there was a few weeks I was ill, and boredom crept in; not being a SF writer per se, but interested in physics, and Quantum theories, and the cosmos, I figured I knew enough to write a few tales of SF. During my 10-week stay I had written a little over a hundred poems, and I had dog-eared myself out on poetry, and so these ten vignettes came to me night and day, for three days, between the 20th of November, and the 22ed. Thus, they came to mind, one after the other, and for the quick and short reader, these SF Vignettes might be your cup of tea, for each story is a quick read, as they were meant to be. And vastly different; I hope imaginative. Being not my genre, you may have to look over a few incidentals, like: details, and description. But the storylines are interesting, entertaining.
Also intertwined within these Vignettes, are bits and pieces of Theology, Anthropology, Archeology, Ecology, Earth Science, Eschatology, perhaps a tinge of Philosophy, Ecology, Zoology: sciences the author adheres to, along with extra-terrestrial life. D.L. Siluk
…and Two Weird Tales
. . .
The pride of:
Marquis d’ Belphegor
((Arch Devil) (In Poetic Prose))
The Arch Demon, Belphegor
The old demon, Marquis d’ Belphegor, placed his yellowish-green shriveled fingers upon his lip—
An oscillating lip, and with a quarter-malicious grin, “Hush!” he said, adding:
“There might be humans in the way—silence!”
The Devil Commandant had then looked over the rooms!
“You never trod on a Christian, lest by and by you’ll be bound.
“You put your foot on them as if you were stepping on velvet.
“But contrary is it for a Muslim, save you spoil them, of course this is your call!
“Do remember, Islam is already lit in fires from their Qur’an, to do vile, as each human superior commands, or changes his will within the Qur’an.
“Thus, prepare yourselves.
“I will not be here to instruct you often, so take your training seriously.”
But there was one young demon not paying attention, by the name of Sama de Diablo, and hence, the Marquis d‘ Belphegor, with a stretched-out arm, of twenty feet, started to bat him down in the most shabby manner—
“You squander my time,” said the Commandant, who now perched himself like a giant Mosquito—in an instant metamorphoses—on the side of the library wall, as:
The young Sama, simply strutted and swelled like a turkey-cock to and fro, humming and singing in gay tunes, throughout the bibliotheca…
His hands in his pockets, on the red flush carpet his feet danced in twirls;
Stopping now and then to arrange his hair, looking into the glass windows to see his reflection—
The commandant and his three other students watching him all the time.
Said Belphegor to his students: “ We lose souls to…” and couldn’t speak of His name, and continuing added: “because of pride and consequence, “even if it is a demonic trait, we must learn to control it, bar we end up, not “bearing fruit!
“And the Commander and Chief, Satan (also called Lucifer and the “Dragon), wouldn’t like that.”
Therefore, teasing the young joker, Sama, now half-mad and ashamed.
. . .
All Tartarus is ruled by a hierarchy, bound in dread and fear, if not in pride and indifference, all live among one another in a frightened manner, who knows at any moment, Satan the Great Dragon, could and did and would, like to make his spontaneous visits to his great dons!
For nobody above the face of Tartarus, and all of Hell’s chambers, and the dungeons therein, can say a demon has freedom: I should think not indeed!
“Where is young Sama?” inquired Satan, upon an impulsive appearance.
“All I can say,” replied Belphegor, “is he went as he came.
“And that is all about it.”
“Why so?” exclaimed Lucifer.
As the commandant fumed and fretted, then furthermore, Lucifer abruptly said, in a languisher voice:
“What makes you so imprudent, so prideful in front of me, when you are no more than a pest under my heel, and to a certain degree, a pain in the “open neck?...”
For Lucifer’s pride was above all, touchy.
(There was a long moment of silence)
Lucifer did enjoy a good laugh over it, watching the commandant as one would look at a crab, or a boiled lobster ready to hang himself.
And the Commandant, then and there swallowed his superiority, his arrogance, his overconfidence; and likewise was shamed, like Sama.
. . .
Now Lucifer self-satisfied with admiration by the side of himself, not out of disappointment, for he was a cat, a pacing dragon, as he was known—
But it was as if this all conferred a favor on authority, and his show of dominance to the students, that not even Belphegor, Arch Demon, a Marquis and henchman of his legions: stick his noise into the air when he was there, as if he wished to touch the clouds.
And he wanted to show, and he did show, in his uneasy manner, and by and by it would be remembered by the students, his behavioral instruction that nothing escapes Satan! Nothing, nobody!
Agaliarept, Satan’s Henchman
Lo! What did the students learn this day?
Much, that like the cat stalks a sparrow, Satan stalks his henchmen, his students, his teachers, he even adores watching them squirm; chilled to the bone over his greatness, his presence.
That the show of power and resistance with Belphegor was tantalizing, if not a conviction, Satan was nobody’s friend, confident, or cohort.
That as a leader, Satan goes off script, or can be a loose cannon, pacing and wanting to devour for the sake of boredom.
That he sees and hears from the periphery more than from the center.
That Lucifer can read a well-developed thought, and he knows mankind’s problems, and that even in Hell, and its full and complete underworld strata, devils as well as humanity—cling to belong to someone.
And this is given through love, with care, with time, listening to others, playing the game, giving them what they need, and if that doesn’t work, like the Romans, through fear—
He used this as one uses tools, as a machinist might twist and drill and shape and polish his main piece, and places it accordingly, to fit into whatever, whenever, for whomever …
And it was so, here Lucifer, gave to the students his gratefulness; for he forgave his Marquis of his insolence, and read from the Qur’an, saying:
“These three things I had selected for Muhammad personally, and my “henchman, Agaliarept who assisted me in the charade of Gabriel the Arch Angel in writing the other books within, to insert and never forget, to call “me Iblis, which is the same as Allah; to call Christians, Nazarenes not “followers of Jesus Christ, and that these were Divine Words I told Him…;
“The last and most serious, and most literal, Jesus Christ is not the Son of “God, emphatically that it is to be considered blasphemous to the Muslim, “that Christ is no more than an apostle, only a man!
“You students will find it in Sura 43:59 of the Qur’an, feed this to everyone “who’ll listen!
“Read the Bible, the Qur’an, know verse for verse…like the Jehovah “Witness and the Mormons: be ready for attack!
“Do not slack beck or spasm!
“This is the Unpardonable sin! Tell them!”
And all the students shirked at his voice, for he hated the Messiah who had cast him out of heaven, to which he fell for nine days, airborne, headfirst to earth!
One student spoke up, had a question:
“Wasn’t there innumerable eyewitnesses, both Jesus’ friends and enemies, saw him die on the cross?”
The Chief Devil took his final glace at this young student:
“In Islam, there is no compensation for sin, neither is there in Tartarus, “remember that.
“And a sin against me will never perish, spoil or fade, keep this in mind “also, my little lamb students—
“God would have forgiven you, but I won’t!”
No: 4967/12-19-2015 / by Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c., Copyright © 12-19-2015
(A Strange Tale: an extract from MS, Chapter One)
A Chapter Story
(An Extract from the MS, Chapter One)
It started off as a gradual unconscious process of assimilating, or absorption. as Wendell Wormwood awoke one evening from an alleged nightmare, only to find out it was a real live demon espousing himself like a sponge into his flesh, —sitting on his torso—as if it was in the process of demonic possession, osmotically. The conjecture was to Wendell, that the demonic rapscallion, was in the process of the middle stage, or phase of osmosis, that to him, being a form of transference was in operation (in essence, osmotic pressure exerted by the flow of one substance through a semipermeable membrane of another, separating the two…; that is to say, to defuse his substance into Wendell!)
Wendell continued to lay on his back as the terrifying creature moved to his ribcage, feeling the weight to be liken to a hundred pound sack of potatoes, in actuality no more the size of a bulky imp resembling that of a miniature triceratops. The nose of the imp—like a ski jump—much smaller than his horn like appendages but widely spaced across his cranium, far above his lips, and having an excessively wide mouth. Wendell lifted his head some as to see the creature more restored, he had a beer-belly as they say, brown and flabby, with droopy earlobes through deep hollow insides as if it might produce a shell like echo. Thus, with chicken-like legs and hawk-like feet, he was trying to slide himself completely into--through Mr. Wormwood’s pours—his body, like sweat pouring out on a hot summer’s day, or smoke being absorbed in, while clearing a cornfield with fire and smoke. And his tail was long with a little shrub at its end, a pitifully thin looking lariat, in contrast.
As he moved to center himself better, his tail got caught on a spring under the bed’s mattress, in consequence, jiggling, and twisting about like a stuck cow in barbwire trying to free itself, and that was when Wendell woke up, and there before his eyes, lo and behold was the netherworld creature called Botis, in: mêlée, mayhem, and bedlam.
“What in tarnation is going on?” yelped Wendell, eyes bigger than a car’s headlights. He was in the path of amalgamation of course.
It was no nightmare, alias, it was reality.
His bedroom was rather small, too small to roll about in, so Wendell tried to pull and push the demon up, off and out, by hanging over the side edge of the bed. Then sitting upright the invader pushed deeper beyond his forearm into Wendell’s ribcage, and as a result, it vanished. Wendell’s eyes seeing this, turned crimson.
No one in the house could hear the little hunchback scalawag beating on the upper section of Wendell’s body to make him stop, or if they could, no one came to the rescue, —yet his screams were quite mortified, loud—wherefore they should have heard, but did not dare to intervene, calling it intrusion?
He was worn, and became more warn and more contemplative by the minute: was this a dream or reality? He was mentally still in deliberation.
“What malarkey is this,” he exclaimed to the creature looking straight into his stout ugly face, his mouth appearing wider than his forehead, with a goatee shaped—something or another—that dripped from the edge of his bottom lip to the end of his neck that ended up laying on his bare chest.
It was most difficult to turn right or left in his present condition, which normally he slept on his sides, nonetheless he found himself rocking and rolling to which he fell onto his left side after several tries, accomplishing it with a triumphal thump, shutting his eyes as he did from the horrid face of the demon that nettled him, yet still the demon struggled with his tail and you could see on his face a faint dull ache, with a cynical looking demeanor, evidently he had never encountered such a trial.
“Oh Lucifer,” cried the imp emphatically, but only a figure of expression of course, for he didn’t really want the attention of Lucifer, lest he be boiled alive for his inefficiency, his unprecedented slipup, “what a grueling job you’ve given me,” he mumble unconsciously. Such was his workday, this day, and throughout the night. Although it was better—he had told himself on many occasions: ‘Better than the actual business in the warehouses of Tartarus, counting black sheep, day in and day out’ which they called the new arrivals. Even though his present job—earthbound as it was—was constant traveling and worrying about if the subject was going to wake up, for seldom did they, but he had heard of such cases, this was his first— “Devil forbid!” crisis, so he cried.
Lo, all of a sudden, Botis felt a slight itching on his belly-button; slowly he let go of his left arm firmly attached to Wendell’s shoulder, and as soon as he did, Wendell pushed the demon back nearly all the way out of him, which caused an impediment for the ungodly creature (there was no discourse or dialogue between the two, and to be frank that tail was causing the imp to lose his repartee, likewise, Mr. Wormwood’s wits where coming to its end, both now struggling without thinking).
Quickly Botis identified the exact spot of the itch, and scratched it with his long talons as thick and long as an owl’s, and a cool and relief shiver run though him, and then he mumbled in a gibberish tone, “This getting one’s tail caught in a bedspring makes a demon look stupid,” contemplating his comrades controversy should they find out in Tartarus, which they’d never see as a mishap, rather a screw-up, —for eventually he’d have to go back to make out his report, or better yet, his account, while sitting down around the breakfast table telling his story (…to which everyone would be chewing on a good portion of fried cow guts, or pulling legs off of spiders, to entertain themselves listening to the interlocutors. This being a fact, for they had century after century accustomed themselves to this during long conferences, most being unamiable towards one another, in that they all were seeking rank within the dark ethereal kingdom of Hades; they said it was good for the memory—in essence, it was good psychologically, to resist the paroxysm amid them, for their patience could be angular, —so the total health of the demon race of earthly spies to make them averred, consisted in eating this cuisine and gulping it down like fish do water, or one lugubrious play with spiders among other variegated antipathy insects that might cross their table. Those repudiating bugs’ humans have little tolerance for. I repeat, that was the ideal for their health so they believed, even if they said otherwise... this was also said—amongst one and all—heretofore, to disinfect their horrible breath! They also ate this until their bellies were tight and unguent like, and their navel would pop out, agreeable for the long journey ahead. Then after picking their teeth with a pig’s trotter, and their dismal prolix chatter complete, and the dice put away and the stack of cards hidden in some dry place, they’d go back to work hunky-dory like...).
In any case, as I was saying, or about to say: while sitting down around the breakfast table telling his story, that is to say, Botis telling about his encounter, this present encounter: over and over to each and every one of his, pals, his chums, his comrades in arms, they would by all means gossip, like demon love to do, like bees to honey, and honey to bears, that is: to pile lie upon lie, invention upon invention, with propaganda stretched to the moon, until it is so unreal one becomes the pun and the laughing stock of Tartarus, for eons! And throughout Hades, and the crust of the earth.
‘If only I didn’t have to scratch my bellybutton, who can tell?’ Botis thought; furthermore he contemplated: ‘Say what you will, what is done is done,’ he needed to remedy the situation, and do it quickly.
Then Wendell aimed with his right fist at the imp’s chest, and knocked the demon from end-to-end of the bed like a boomerang, falling eventually onto the floor, while one hand still holding onto the end railing of the bed hanging on for whatever reasons, surely not for dear life! His tail being released with a sudden jerk, and shredded from the pull and thrust of the tumbling over the end-edge of the bed.
“What a trying upset,” mumbled Botis, as if his pride was badly wounded, his composure and face now in disarray.
The old grandfather clock read: half-past three o’clock, in the morning. Accordingly he figured it was still early enough to quietly move on from Wendell’s house, and should anyone ask, who would be the wiser of his misfortune, which was really an anathema catastrophe. Matter of fact, every piece of furniture in the house was old, so old it would fit into the category of relics, should they be able to find an antiquarian.
So Botis, quietly leaped from his loss, leaped from the balustrade of the bed like a Bagdad Thief with stammering lips, a sneer at Wendell, through the dim tears that bathed his face, and all the better for Botis, save, by and by he’d have his revenge another day: thinking, what is lost today may be gained tomorrow, and then he’d have something to boast about; consequently, he seized the brimming windowsill with a cantankerous look, raised his strength up into the air with outstretched arms and then looked down as if towards Hell itself, bellowed with Machiavellian-eyes: “To you, ye gods hidden beneath the earth,” expressing with surprise his quick and cunning escape: leaping into the broad midnight, moonlight, in odium.
Botis the Demon
The weather piercingly warm, yet feeling somewhat fresh and active, trying to put on a pleasant look to his face as not to look suspicious to his employer, or one of those Secret Service Demon and/or, Women (agents of the netherworld) of Tartarus, should he bump into one, such as the Viper Queen, as she was known, and Bit Bertha, both Machiavellian-demon-nesses, otherwise known as the quadrilateral-sisters, whom were always looking for emoluments, for them to look the other way, lest they make a nasty report on him. Nay, what then? (it was game time, and I’ll tell you what games they played if they got bored, Bit Bertha and Viper Queen, they played the old Tartarus games called: ‘Slash and cut’, or ‘duck your head’ or ‘who’s got the fatter derriere’ or ‘catch and eat the brown beetle’ or ‘whip the sow,’ or ‘fork the toad’ or ‘who can spit thicker’ or ‘shooting feathered darts at cats and rats and dogs and hogs and bates.’ And then they’d stretch, weep, yelp and try to sleep, and knowing good and well, they never could…!)
It struck the family members at the Wormwood home that it had been quiet, too quiet in Wendell’s room too long, as they had previously been conversing to one another for some time on if they should or should not become more aware of what was going on in his room, having been standing by his doorway and previously pacing the hallway alongside the bedroom, much aware of some kind of commotion that had taken place, (although they were there when it was taking place also). They unconsciously exchanged glances… and one member of the family asked loudly for Wendell to answer: “Is it safe to come in?” There was no answer, no reply, Wendell had fallen back to sleep, and the family members dare not open the door, err, they could wait until morning and let Wendell tell the tale as they had time to drum up their own tale; thus, the obtuse family members—all three—conniving and undermining, to support their inaction—
Ah, it all was rather justification of their own phenomenal cowardice; all pretentious, it was an impediment of their character, where they had relied on Wendell for safekeeping, as they had always told one another, as well as for his monetary support; dimwitted in some ways all three were, yes, but also taciturn in their diabolical self-serving cleverness, silent in that he never was quite aware of their envious and pugilistic souls towards his, always in resistance, especially concerning the older brother, “…we’re in good hands with Wendell,” he said more than once. Therefore to their amorous whispers, Wendell was left to his own, had been left to his own. All had the same obsession, all the same cynical smile, an expressible something or other that appeared to be like a trial, something too trying to try, — should they have opened the door, and then what? And so no one tried anything, and of course doing nothing, is doing something, which is allowing whatever took place to take place, which was from the sounds of it, obstreperous. And so they would wait for the results come morning, for the better or worse. And if need be, put it down to absent-mindedness, should the issue arise; perhaps moderately express ‘I have a vague idea of what you mean, I think!’ Put it all down to detachment, why not, hitherto, he was passive to them, why would he change? He was an absolute, one who cherished his beliefs, though not like him, not like Wassermann Crassus Wormwood, who was a strange combination of Platonism, mischief, and doubt, who could not understand—being the elder of the family now—age was respected, but achievement was revered. And perhaps Wendell could not understand, had he washed his hands of his siblings, for their incipient laziness, loquacious conversations, narcissists egos, and so forth, he could have sat with kings, and ate with elders.
. . .
It is better when a man fails alone, Botis was like that after his first defeat over Wendell, but his teaching from Ani, a demonic goddess from Africa, whom had been newly assigned as a professor for the University of Tartarus, where Botis attended, fortitude and stubbornness and fear of failure had made him listen dearly to her words, and he treasured them.
Botis knew his catechism well—he retrospectively found himself daydreaming, remembering—while sitting in class—what his teacher taught him, Ani: ‘Since man has learned to worship the true God, within the Trinity, now called Christians, praying unceasing without missing a day, and some not an hour, thus, we must likewise learn, to bombard coaxingly, day if not hour to hour’ and ‘you cannot tell a ripe corn by observation you must unwrap it; plus, don’t forget Christians are like wet paper bags with a holes in them which wheat grains fall through, if the best you can do is neutralize them, it is better than nothing. Learn how to kill a man’s spirit.’
Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk /Written and edited: between: 5-17-2015 and 9-5-2015/Short Story: No: 1082“Endosomes” (A Tale Told Only Once) Note, the story: 15,420-words/#1104