Aphelion Issue 250, Volume 24
May 2020
 
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El Viento Redentor

by H. L. Dowless




The majestic Sierra Geral hillside provided an extraordinary view across the vast metropolis of my royal empire. In the hazy distance lay the sea, faintly observable from my three story Bastille wall. My personal observatory office is inside the ninth guard tower, down from the northern end. My twelve feet thick earth, brick, and mortar walls are slightly angled inward, to deflect projectiles of any sort. Massive anti-aircraft guns are positioned on each corner of my elegant, league square, Bastille. Mounted fifty caliber machine guns guard the central areas of my wall. A twenty four hour armed guard does routine patrol along this wall, moving from the northern end, downward to ward the southern end, both the eastern and western walls, pausing at each guard tower, going up the winding staircases, observing, then racing downward again. Security cameras in company with AI android facial recognition systems covertly guard the outside area and the walls. Inside myself, my beautiful family, my associates and those of theirs, and all of our security forces, are totally safe.

Behind this astonishing Bastille fortress stands our blessed cathedral styled castle abode. Here the walls are also twelve fee thick, being tactfully constructed of solid concrete, and an elegant decorate stone covering. Beneath the cathedral, deep underground, are positioned grand chambers, with catacombs some thirty fathoms down constructed into the mountain side. The walls of these catacombs are also some twelve feet thick.

These concrete tunnels interconnect, moving from the living chambers, creating alternative exit points, with concealed exit points on the beach itself, in the city underneath cathedral worship areas, age old libraries, distilleries, vineyards, market places, and trading areas of a vast multiplicity in sorts. On the surface these exit points are concealed as being basement storage areas, storage buildings, closets, warehouses for grapes, apples, condiments at large, garages, and in many more contexts forming a list far too exhaustive to make note of here. Should an air attack ever commence, our entire forces and our presence shall be totally preserved beneath the very earth and concrete rubble of our massive castle and Bastille, with every precious element being much more secure even in its very destruction, as we continue to wage holy war upon the aggressive enemy without!

There exists a series of strategically situated driving carts inside our tunnel complex, where we can ride in groups, exiting from the castle complex, into any area found in the reaches of my vast empire, including the dense jungle itself. At various strategically located areas throughout our subterranean tunnel network, are massive twelve feet thick, automatic doors of concrete and steel. With a single click of a button on our infra-red wand, these doors open. Should our motorized mechanism for opening these doors ever become disabled, one classified secret is that these doors are designed to be manually locked or unlocked from a handle concealed inside the concrete itself in an area found at the top center of the nine foot door, which is balanced into an absolute perfection. Though each door literally weighs in at a ton, a ten year old child can ease the door open without stressing.

Frequently our security men don themselves as mere commoners, exiting at different points, conducting patrols, placing covert microphones and security cameras inside areas of proletariat congregation and crowd movement. Even a slight whisper made can be detected by our ultra-sensitive AI systems, an AP alert silently transmitted throughout our entire security network system, a photographic identification of perpetrator distributed in the passing of an instant, with any potentially dangerous dissident being clandestinely arrested on the spot before he can even exit the area in which the forbidden comment was made. A cloth coated in easily obtainable chloroform makes an excellent silencer on the offender, who is them whisked away before any individual inside the crowd even notices.

When he awakens he finds himself inside our special subterranean dungeon, chained and shackled to the concrete wall. He may scream in his own astonishment of his personal situation, but not only are the walls sound proof, they are also designed to radiate that sound back into the central area of the room where it is magnified ten times over, causing terrible pain to the ears of he who is enchained. Our security men, however, wear special hearing devices designed to squelch loud sounds. Should the condemned person scream, they are consequently immune to the magnified sound.

Usually these dissidents are repetitive. We have a well developed formula for effectively dealing with such people, however. Our process involved proceeds along a clearly specified and deductively determined course. What we strongly desire above all other effects is a patriotic citizen reformation, rather than any type of punitive. Elimination is a least considered option.

Inside the very holding cell itself, a four by six wooden table is positioned in the center of the concrete floor. A chair is placed on either side of the table. The enchained violator is attached to a chain comfortably extending into the center of the chamber. The lights are quashed until there is only total darkness. A candle is lit and positioned inside the center of the table. There are three security officials inside the dungeon behind the bars. One of them is the interviewer. Three more stand at guard on the outside of the dungeon bars. The dissident takes up a position on the side of the table toward the wall, while the interviewer takes a position in the directly opposite chair. The other two security officials take their own rigid positions behind the interviewer, or on either end of the table.

The candle burns for a few moments as the two glare forward into each other’s faces without any display of emotion what so ever. The golden light dances in the faces of the two, and upon the walls, filling the entire chamber with an amazing brilliance. Even the security guards behind the bars could clearly be discerned in what would ordinarily be a total void of light. The rough, weather scarred face of the mustachioed interviewer, suddenly shattered a nerve racking silence with its ragged but harshly firm voice;

“So they call you John El Diablo. Did I get that right?”

“Why should I even reply to the likes you?,” the violator asked without any sign of emotion in the flickering light.

The interviewer glances around the room toward the others, laughing, as the others chimed in.

“Take a look around here son.” returned the interviewer with the palms of both hands turned up and spread out. “Where in hell do you think it is that you are? La Guarida Del Conejito Roho ?”

Both the interviewer and the guards burst out in harsh, cruel sounding laughter. The interviewer suddenly arose from his seat, moving toward the accused.

“Or might it be the Fairmont Francisco Suites?,” he thundered. The accused made no reply.

All laughter abruptly ceased. All crude smiles transformed into cruel mustachioed sneers. Nothing more was said for what felt like a few minutes. The silence suddenly shattered again with the interviewer’s low rumble.

“Indeed you are the last of your kind, John. You dwell in the most luxuriant kingdom on earth! Are you aware of this fact? Reality of this situation with you truly staggers all of our minds. The name is called The Kingdom Of The Sun! Say our honored name with pride, boy. Say it, now-!”

The condemned dissident remained firmly silent for what felt like an hour.

The interviewer rushed up, seizing the man by the face where his mouth was, continuing to speak through tightly clenched teeth.

“Its El Gran Reino Del Sol. Feel the name roll off your lips as it leaves your tongue, and in its place following its exit, a sweetness in likeness to no other. Say the blessed name now, boy!”

Suddenly the interviewer proceeds to slap the dissident sharply with his opened right palm as he firmly grasps the man’s face with his left hand, and speaks through tightly clenched teeth.

“Say the blessed words, my boy, speak the elegant name of the greatest kingdom on all of emerald earth. Allow the flow to move from your throat, across your tongue, and over your lips, now! Say it!”

He proceeded to slap the man again, one time after another with his right hand, though the man still remained rigid in his composure, ignoring the pain. Without any prior indication, suddenly the man in chains leaped upward from his chair, though both hands were shackled securely in irons.

“Stop it! Just stop it! I have had enough of this abuse! Stop it now!”

The interviewer and his fellow security accomplices burst into a laughter that now grew louder and seemed to continue on for what felt like hours. The sound grew so intense in the head of the chained dissident, that he clenched both ears with his shacked hands and wrists, squinting his eyes, and wincing in near unbearable pain. The guards laughed on for a time feeling as though it would never end. He continued clenching his ears and teeth, until he staggered backward to collapse against the wall, eventually sagging into the floor while the security officials continued roaring their coarse laughter.

He awoke, finding himself still in chains laying at the foot of the wall. The room was one of a pitch black darkness. He somehow could barely make out the form of a table that was now fading, as his dizzy intellect and the darkness played merciless tricks on his mind and eyes. The security men were gone, and the iron doors were firmly locked. What now was he going to do? Where would he wind up going? Who could he now call to inform them of his personal tragedy? How?

So it goes with these dissidents periodically. We have a highly developed methodology in dealing with these types. Our system works in the area of citizen reform. Punitive acknowledgments were only systematically delegated on an appropriated occasion. Eliminations were virtually unheard of. Indeed, no records of such occurrences even existed inside any national file. International investigators often searched diligently due to dissident claims of mass executions occurring inside our divine homeland of infinite tranquility, and nothing ever was brought to the surface; not even an old blood stain on a dungeon floor, let alone some half buried wilderness bone pile, somewhere in a long forgotten peat bog. How dare these crass, imposing imperialistic foreigners insult our holy name, in company with our general national dictate!

No kingdom or city existing in our present day even remotely resembles ours. Our chief patron God is the same as holy Indra, in the far east across the distant water, aye, the same as Manco Copac! He is also the same divine entity as Viracochas, who constructed the mighty city, Teotihuacan, in the far north. We, who dwell in El Gran Reino Del Sol, have our own title for our divine entity, Zorothrauzi!

Zorothauzi founded El Puerto De Tranquilidad, nine thousand solar revolutions ago. We label this twelve month measure of time in our own vernacular as a solar epoch. We, the citizen lords of progress, dwelt in an air of complete peace and total prosperity. Our marvelous city covers the mountainous valley, with central complexes inside the pit of massive extinct volcanoes surrounding our primary metropolis. We are totally liberated, free to dwell according to our own design, and most importantly of all, to prosper! Individual enterprise is esteemed above all else. We submit to no outside dominion of any sort. No church, no central banking system or dynastic financiers, we have no debt from national entities outside of our own, praise be to God. Indeed, dear reader, we submit unto no power found on earth, other than the force of reason and logic!

We live far better than any among those who surround us. We are more industrious, are more creative, better educated, more civilized, and far wealthier by a long shot! We even possess a vastly different appearance from any among those found in the surrounding lands. Our hair and flesh radiate forth the very light of the sun. Our eyes exude the brilliant cerulean effulgence of the immaculate skies above. Our hair flows in succinct strands resembling the healthiest threads of flaxen. Our physical form is near five cubits in height, and perfectly sculptured forms of supreme fitness and health. On our bodies there are no blemishes, yea, no imperfections neither nor upon the surface.

When Pizarro El Conquistador entered our supreme kingdom, there was no conquest. Nay, on the contrary, there was a respectful embrace! He exalted in our presence, gave us sustenance, granted us his own personal guarantee of indefinite liberty. He adored our inheritance of organization ordained by the divine gods in the heavens beyond. He deeply desired that we retain our traditions, our celestial constitution, our inherent plan of life, and our individual liberty. Our women were viewed as exotic sublime queens among his men; yea, even our individual men, as native bastions of intellectualism, philosophy, accomplishment and raw strength!

Others arrived here into our land. Welcomed immigrants from among those who dreamed of conquering the great Golden Circle, flooding forth upon our golden in waves, eventually gravitating into our midst. They were fleeing persecution in their own land by the laden greed of the banking dynasties, the corporations, and their colluding collective absolute authority in congress. Our latest degree of prosperity has been credited by our own present day historians, unto them. Our illustrious ancient banner of the glorious Saint Andrews Cross, was inherited from them. Still, to this very moment in time, we ardently welcome those who can prove a genetic connection from this heritage population, with wide open arms. Thus, via our heritage and embrace, we consequently prospered from that time forward, while all others fell prostrate before imperialism’s incessant advance.

In our own time, our success, our individualism, our lucid patrimony, our physical beauty, our intellectualism, the undeniable degree of sophistication, is the envy of the entire world! Those who envy our patrimony, our success, our traditions the most, originate from among the western imperialists. I say, they indeed can fly far away from us, with all of their dissident accomplices!

The present time was midnight on the outside. Our dissident prisoner had been employed steadily for twelve hours down in the western tunnel sections. He was not allowed sleep the night before, he had labored for twelve hours, and in all probability, he would receive no sleep on this night in addition. Again the table of wood had been positioned in the chamber’s midst. The central candle promptly lit. He sat on the side of the table facing the wall, while his interviewer sat at the other directly from him. The timeless light danced on the face of every person present. The rumble of the interviewer’s voice shattered the heavy silence.

“Look at me, boy. I say, just look directly into my face, and answer my questions!”

The dissident breathed heavily as the interviewer spoke his words.

“Do we have an understanding?

The dissident made no reply.

“Boy, I asked you, do we have an understanding?”

The interviewer abruptly rushed up to the dissident on the other side of the table, slapping the chained dissident one time after the other with the back side of his right hand. Blood began to splatter the floor and the plain concrete wall, being clearly noticeable in the flicker of the candle light. The dissident sagged from the chair, onto the cold concrete floor beneath him.

“You are going to look at me when I speak to you! Do we have a clear understanding?

The interviewer began kicking him in his sides, in his groin, in his face, time and time again. The excruciating pain caused him to believe his ribs had been shattered.

“Do we have an understanding between us two now?"

The dissident forced himself to nod yes as he lay on his side upon the concrete chamber floor.

“Excellent, excellent! Now that’s what I like to hear, cooperating men discussing serious details on level playing fields. Now get up from that floor, and sit back in your seat!, ” the interviewer roared in a more calmed tone of voice.

The dissident struggled to pick himself up and take his seat. He forced himself to gaze upon the government interviewer.

“Now, I am going to speak in plain simplistic words, asking you a series of questions. You simply give me a direct response. Are you with me on this?

The dissident forced himself to nod yes. His eyes flicked from his interviewer’s hardened face, to the table, then back up.

“Are you who they call John El Diablo?

The chained dissident nodded a strained yes.

“Did you originate with the group referred to euphemistically as The Liberators?

The dissident forced himself to nod yes again after a lengthy pause. The interviewer smiled, then arose from his seat.

“Your cooperation level at this point is staggeringly outstanding. Now I am going to ask you a few questions in regard to this organization, The Liberators, alright?”

The dissident paused, then nodded yes, with an extremely nervous hesitation.

“Did this group, The Liberators, originate with the northern imperialists?”

There was a momentary pause, then a hesitating nod yes. The dissident began to inhale deeply in seething anger.

“Outstanding, excellent, and just what I had already supposed. So how long have you been in league with this group?”

There was a long pause, and no answer.

“I said, boy, how long have you been with this group?,” the interviewer screamed as he rushed up again, slapping the dissident with the back side of his hand repeatedly, until he collapsed out onto the cold concrete floor again. When the dissent fell from his seat, the interviewer commenced to kick him in the face until he lost two teeth, and blood flowed from his mouth into a warm, thick oozing puddle on the cold concrete floor, in which he lay struggling to breath.

“Seven years,” the dissident struggled to say as he began to choke on his own blood. He spit blood several times as he finally arose into a sitting position on the concrete. The interviewer stopped beating him, then paced back and forth in the cell, walking around the table repeatedly.

“Outstanding, virtually beyond belief as to assigning value level to the information we have now harvested. Men, assist our inmate here back into his seat. Turn on the lighting. Give him our best pasta and meat dish. Give him fresh milk to drink. Everything we are dealing with here is just as our investigators had already surmised.

“I simply cannot for the life of me comprehend why a person would embrace the false claims of some foreign imperialist, when he lives in the greatest land on the face of the earth. He has access to everything right here. He can prosper without repression, while all of the northern lands enslave their citizens to the chains of a central bank, where their congressional legislators can take out loans in complete absence of any regulating check, then force the installment payments back down upon the heads of its citizen base. Can you really believe they call this form of systemic indebtedness freedom? Convincing citizens to believe this lie surely must demand the very best in the world’s artifacts of creative propaganda. And according to our present comprehension of facts harvested in recent weeks, their secret service has invaded our boarders and convinced at least one group, The Liberators, to embrace their own bondage? My God, this reality defies all forms of logic and reason! How many of you are there?”

The dissident didn’t return any reply.

“I asked you a direct question. How many of you are there?”

The dissident paused, then finally forced his own reply.

“Three thousand.”

The interviewer circled the table in his own obvious display of seething anger, repeatedly saying;

“My word, oh divine Zorothauzi, I simply can’t believe what my poor ears are hearing. My throbbing mind can’t accept what my ears are hearing tonight!”

He continued to pace nervously around the table.

“Do you know of any other dissident groups?”

The dissident finally spoke following another pause.

“I have heard of three, but I don’t know who they are, or how many members are in these groups.”

The interviewer continued to pace around the cell, gritting his teeth in seething anger. He inhaled deeply as the depth of his rage motivated him. He finally spoke.

“I shall pass all of this valuable information on to the king. Take the other dissidents to the pool of lampreys inside the twelfth subterranean corridor,” the interviewer roared to his surrounding accomplices. “There is no more value for us to make of them. Us, the king, and all of you are finally going to have a banquet party tonight, in spite of these possible threats to our position. Get them stripped down and covered in bacon grease and molasses! Fetch in all of the many meat varieties, the rum, the bourbon, the sugar cane white lightning, and the native herb. A few comfort women mixed in with this exuberant celebration of darkness being conquered, will be good. Indeed, the grand climax shall be my favorite part!,” he laughed as he glared down at the chained dissident, who only hung his head in abject despair.

On the third of March I received the interviewer’s elaborately detailed note. He informed me of every planned detail. The resulting party the night before really had been great . The female dissidents were compelled by flames to service all of us in every conceivable way imagined. I got really excited when we brought in the great Danes. A few of them refused, but we had artfully anticipated this possibility earlier on.

Within the past month we forced all of these kittens to inject needles filled with heroine. They fought us bitterly at the onset, but soon came to relish the very moment of our strategically offered occasional gifts. By the moment of our great party, they were all completely addicted. When we offered them additional hits, they soon relented on their forbearance, and merrily serviced the Danes right there before all of us, in every conceivable manner. I personally got a kick out of the two on one scenes. We all roared with laughter as we witnessed them degrade themselves with the great Danes from every perceivable perception of possibility. This specific party was about the wildest time I ever encountered under these gross circumstances.

At the parties conclusive moments, the males were thrown totally nude into the pool of lampreys, while their very bones were soon licked perfectly clean of all flesh by these hysterical eels. It was really fun shoving, or kicking them back into the pool, as they struggled to clamber out onto the edge, hoping to escape our starving eels, as our eels licked virtual gaping holes into their very bodies, going into a crazed feeding frenzy as the water saturated heavy red with blood. The water in the pool seemed to literally boil as these eels went mad. We all laughed until our sides ached, and we could hardly breathe. Here it is a week later and I am at my office in the Bastille tower, contemplating my offensive move on our newly certified enemies.

A hundred and fifty years ago, huge waves of persecuted illustrious, elegant, and wealthy immigrants migrated here from the huge kingdom to the far north. We welcomed them all with wide open arms. We needed them, and they needed us. Their government hated them for not submitting to the extortion of the banking dynasties, and the corporations financed by them. They fought a vicious four year long battle with their own greed intoxicated government, who callously reduced their precious homeland and illustrious assets, into smoldering rubble. Their government even proceeded to blame them for starting the war, continuing to attack their heritage, their patrimony, their family structure, their religion, indeed must I say, their culture at large. Obviously the effort of their own government was and is, to exterminate them outright!

Because we welcomed in these innocent asylum seekers with wide opened arms, as we still do, their government hates us in a likewise fashion, seeking to destroy us in their continuing attack on them as they relish here in their patrimonial culture. Its not going to happen the way these corrupted leaders think this time around. I hereby declare to the earth without, I am king, and that much makes all the difference!

Though the remaining citizens of this northern land were once fabulously wealthy, the greed of their own leadership has now reduced multitudes into abject poverty. They, as individuals, have lost all of their personal and individual liberty at large. They have a constitutional amendment allowing them to own firearms firmly fixed into place, and their government desperately seeks to render this heritage law impotent. Once this measure is secured, no barrier will then prohibit their government from rendering their population completely into slave status to the banks, the corporations, and their governmental allies. Their constitutional inalienable right to own property, secured in a document known to them as The Bill Of Rights, has been stolen right out from underneath their own feet, in their own faces! They are compelled to pay a virtual government lease installment, on an indefinite recurring time schedule, consequently robbing their secured right to own property from their very grasp; and yet not a single citizen ever dares to voice the concern! Their corrupted present day system is one virtually identical to those who live by the old Fabian law far across the water, yet their prevailing ignorance proselytized by their own government causes them to be blind to the fact.

In their government officials own corrupted minds, their boarders are to remain open due to their own perverse, if not mandated, ideology embracing a collectivist notion of brotherly love. I have ardently studied their legal system, their laws, their daily costumes. My double agents have already entered into their boarders by the virtual multitudes. I am educated in regard to their weaknesses. My discoveries run as such;

They have sent away their own production base. The prevailing greed of government and corporation has allowed their developed industry to exit their own national boarders. Their economy only stands on their service industries, which pay little, while offering virtually no benefits and no employment security, with only a few exceptions at an apex virtually unattainable by the broad masses; an exact opposite to the way it was when they possessed a developed production base.

According to great investigative research, their largest weakness for the purpose of our exploitation, lies in their medical industry, and general health services. Because of their corporate and government greed, accessing these services is almost beyond reach of the average person. Two thirds of their people have no health insurance, since it is so ridiculously overpriced; especially in lieu of their production base being shipped offshore, and their best paying jobs in number going with it. My first direct attack will be there, on their medical system. My intent is to saturate their system with medical cases in the hundreds of millions.

On the stormy twelfth striking of early April, I covertly spoke with the darkly cloaked occultist priests of Harmule, found inside the natural cave networks of the mountainside surrounding our capitol metropolis inside our blessed Empire Of The Sun, in concerns to us cooking up a special potency for our enemies' disaster. We prayed collectively to Vichama, the ancient God Of Death, for a viable solution, in accordance to the nature of our own intellect. During the course of my ayahuasca induced midnight fantasy, I visualized myself as being the timeless Angel Of Death. A potent vapor, a debilitating mist of massive disaster, moving forward upon the face of the earth earth with horrendous trepidation! I become extremely excited at the thought of a million millions perishing by the power of a grandiose miasma I release at my own liberty. I desire not for instant death, mind you, however. No! What I desire most of all is a delayed death or effect, no less than three months!

I visualize a formidable death, where the brains transform into soupy jell, then leak from the nose. A pestilence where the genitalia is filled with devouring maggots. The very vision of me crafting such a thing really excites my inner being to the fullest! I desire an ultra-communicable pestilence manufactured to transform eyes into liquid, while it gnaws at the very flesh. I want the inner organs to transform into mucilaginous jello.

Their suffering shall endure for a period of twelve days, so that vast multitudes shall saturate their medical centers, their care stations, their individual homes, their schools, even their places of worship; not only in search of medical facilitation, but also in a quest of comfort found in some philosophical comprehension of their all encompassing seemingly spontaneous emerging situation. If I can’t wipe their population from the face of the earth, then I desire at least eighty percent; nay, even seventy percent! Even with their death rate standing above fifty percent, I will be overjoyed!

I visualize myself as being a secular restoration of El Santa De La Muerta! I exonerate her immaculate effigy. I kneel even as I pen these very words, in her presence. I seek a certain non-quantifiable solitude. I beseech her divine blessing in my quest for an inheritance of power granted unto me by her emerging spectrum before me. Her very form abides with me. Her words whisper into my waiting ear. She offers her divine instruction as she paints a portrait of the death scene in the eye of my most vividly exotic mid-night fantasies.

My might, my force, my passion, my rage, transforms into a mist, a hazy heavy saturated mid-night fog. Silently I cross the vast norther ocean, entering the open boarders of the nation designing to do my anointed kingdom harm. These boarders remain unguarded not out of intentional idealistic carelessness, as their government relays unto its masses for the purpose of courting an allying majority, but out of an arrogance provoking intimidation to the neighboring nations of the earth! Inside secret labs among the occultist priests from the dark dogma of Harmule, have been harvested certain specific herbs from the jungle heart, combining specific chemicals extracted from these herbs with virus microbes. These specially selected chemicals engender a dramatic increase in a level of toxicity manufactured inside the host body from any infestation of these special virus microbes. These chemicals also allow this germ to feed from the light of the sun, from upon the oxygen in the surrounding air, until it magnifies itself into an invisible mist or haze.

We have already isolated the labeling code, H1N1, aye, the dreaded Iberian Terror! My priestly assistants have manipulated this germ in ways rendering it totally immune to any antibiotics presently available. Not only may it be inhaled, it may also be absorbed through the skin, the eyes, even an exposed patch of flesh the size of a small American quarter! Far more than that, this manufactured virus is invisible to the eye, the nose, the sense of taste, while still yet possessing an ability to infect, yet lay dormant for ninety days in the initiative following ingestion.

Our special ops agents known as El Fuego De Dragon, have already entered in through their southern boarder, as it lays so arrogantly open and waiting. They will never suspect our intentions or presence, as we move around donned in the garb of vagrants. Our well educated special ops speak their language fluently, in their own accents.

Entering in was a ridiculously simplistic act. Our agents silently walked through the desert at mid-night, donned in black, green, and yellow hooded cloaks, manufactured with a built-in red-out heat seal. Our valiant sleuth warriors lived on packed water and pemmican as they traveled, slyly walking passed their visual indicators perched on posts, and patrolling the drone saturated skies above. Our covert forces are in likeness to forest fog, as they have so been designed by intent and routine experimentation. They move where they please, enter inside as they feel motivated. I gloat with great pride as I relay the report detailing how they they artfully and so silently swam the river boarder!

The terrible formula for the death fog is carefully locked away in the minds of each agent. They collect necessary corroborating herbal substitutions from the enemies own countryside. They manipulate the virus microbes while doing so covertly inside their own caves! These carefully composed formulas are sealed inside vials crafted from shells harvested inside their own desert, or brown beer bottles castaway by various vagrant interlopers passing through.

Our ninety holy agents of the divine order, scatter all across their great land, entering into their largest airport facilities, their buss stations, their subway stations. They enter into their largest malls, their enclosed sporting events of any magnitude, their largest places of worship! These vials are opened and the terrible cloud is released simultaneously, according to a prearranged synchronized time formula. This whiff released from these covert vials, reproduces on the air within these facilities, being inhaled deeply by every living being present, even to include beasts of the field and house hold pets. Zorothrauzi is so great!

From these areas this ultra-contagious death vapor shall be transported into the schools, the homes, even into the most remote areas. Without firing a single shot our forces shall bring our arrogant enemy to its very knees, devastating its health care industry, its service industry from which it supports itself, acting as its own infecting agent in and of itself. Eventually its economy shall cease in all production, with a loss totaling into the trillions on top of the gross debt margin it already carries. So be its justified well earned consequence for violating the divine commandment to avoid all debt.

Inside the ninety day incubation period our submarines shall lay in waiting along the bottom of international waters. Our presence is perfectly legal, according to international law. Upon incubation, when this carefully designed devastation is at its height, according to the word given by our special agents, our newly developed electromagnetic missile system shall be launched. This missile system also has been routinely tested as being totally undetectable.

The divine number of seven is enough to detonate in outer space above their twelve primary economic metropolitan areas. Should our weapons system fail to eradicate their entire national power grid, certainly the power shall be zapped from these twelve central areas, eventually milking all power from the outlying areas beyond. Any survivors shall consequently turn on his neighbor, eliminating him and serving to spread our magnificent victory vapor even farther. For virtual pennies on the dollar, and without firing a single shot, our forces from the Elysium realm in the beyond, shall totally annihilate a land noted as being the greatest nation on the face of the earth! Hail to the supreme God Of All, Zorothrauzi! Hail Zorothrauzi!

Our euphemism code name for our death cloud weapon is El Viento Redentor! Yes, through it our honor and respect has truly been redeemed. Our might, through the power it shall exert, shall be inherently resurrected, for ever more. Our national honor and our blood heritage shall be preserved indefinitely, via the presence of it’s very being. Viva El Gran Reino Del Sol! Viva El Puerto De Tranquilidad!



THE END


2020 H. L. Dowless

Bio: The author is an international ESL Instructor. He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing, and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines; Leaves Of Ink, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales.

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