(0327) This strange post first, then another snooze till, say, 0800 again.
Resisting to the bitter end
Toodles remembered the very end of my long book Masquerade (which few will ever read) but that end was written later than the events of the bulk of the book and had three or four rewritings to take into account the events of today … it was finished around 2018.
Synopsis: teacher goes to Russia on a teaching stint, gets caught up in events (pre the SMO), scene shifts to France, thence to Britain, thence to the middle-east, as a ragtag of disparate dissidents hide from a lawless world which has now fallen apart, this global PTB having got the longtime brainwashed population to not fight their impending demise …
… and at that point, around 2007, I ran out of ideas how to take this into a future scenario and left the story for awhile, coming back in 2017/18 in the light of events, plus Toodles. In fact, I venture post-Armageddon, which actually does take place, along with the antiChrist etc., to detail future events as eyewitness accounts by little people such as us, as distinct from an account of the events themselves … only at a distance.
One of the key themes of that end-days section is that the people of the world had become so hardwired in their wrongheaded ideas (e.g. Wokery) that all reason had been lost … people were now like rudderless boats, shifting sands … except for the few … not only this ragtag but silent support worldwide from quite a few of the downtrodden … also not unlike right now over the epar sgnag.
And once having crossed the Styx, there were three houses humanity went through, the third being a huge Mediterranean type valley/field, with a stage on a terrace further down, where some entity, a voice, was calling out to the assembled world population (I presume it was done in shifts, maybe in alphabetial order, who knows) and there were two doors … the one on the left looked nasty, the one on the right seemed possibly good, the way to being judged “saved” … I didn’t get specifically religious, except generally at a distance.
Mind you, none of this was planned, I just wrote and wrote and wrote as it suddenly sprang to mind. So this below is the point, the final point, on the hillside before that terrace and those two doors, where this begins below:
“After a further delay, the voice began calling out names from a scroll – and when the particular person called reached the rostrum and approached the voice, he or she might go through that door on the right and all seemed quite calm, perfunctory, almost as if it were a homecoming.
Others though were drawn against their will towards the door on the left and that was distressing – they were often kicking and screaming, dragged by no visible force, at least to the two of them, to who knew where? Well they did know but did not wish to face it.
They watched one spiv, he’d been called, he tried to sweet talk the Voice, tried to cut a deal, tried to justify himself. He went the way of the others and this was the thing – screaming fit to burst, all spivviness now gone, a wreck of a soul – through he went.
To what though? They shuddered. They could hear his screams even now trailing away.
One woman tried bombast as a ploy, they watched her, as did the whole plain and he observed the woman. She was large but not fat, very tall, and when she turned this way, appealing to ‘them out there’, it was with a hard, brutal face and manner, a hard voice, as if ‘them out there’ had been given even the slightest consideration in her life.
She demanded a retrial, another hearing – she went the same way – it was embarrassing the way she lost it completely at the end, a formidable woman who could have been a much beloved Queen – but she had instead become gnarled and bitter.
‘I pray I go with dignity,’ said Nikki beside him, a turn up for her to use that word ‘pray’. She tried to take his hand but that time had now passed – still, they both knew what the gesture had signified and they could both still smile.
‘Hugh Jensen.’ The voice rang out like a clarion.
Gulp. So soon.”