Children of the Program Read online

  Children of

  The Program

  Brad W. Cox

  Copyright © 2015 Brad W. Cox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Brad W. Cox. For information regarding permission, write to: P.O. Box 591, Bel Air, MD 21014-0591.

  First edition.

  ISBN-13: 978-1517361723

  ISBN-10: 1517361729

  Pride & Condolences

  I would like to extend my deepest apologies and gratitude, to anyone who has ever chosen to take this hell-bent ride I call my imagination. Your unwavering support has been a godsend — seriously, I appreciate your efforts. This includes, but is not limited to: My terrestrial friends, family, band mates, and, of course, the spiritual family acknowledged herein. Above and beyond ‘em all, and most importantly, I’d like to thank my beautiful and steadfast wife. All things are possible when you have someone to catch your fall, or to rescue you from the shower.

  CONTENTS

  Cast and Conspirators

  of The Program

  viii

  The Counsel of

  The Lords

  ix

  1

  Hallway of Sorrows

  1

  2

  Reborn into Forever

  8

  3

  Exposition

  14

  4

  Paint the Desert

  with My Heart

  25

  5

  Leaving Tonight

  32

  6

  Back from a Suicide

  40

  7

  Visions of the Red Bird (Anan)

  45

  8

  Long Hard Road Home

  51

  9

  The Gathering and

  the Mission

  59

  10

  The Eyes of Madness

  70

  11

  Visions of the Gray Bird (Than)

  76

  12

  A Sorrowful Toast

  80

  13

  Lifers

  85

  14

  Downtown

  91

  15

  Eyes of Merlin

  98

  16

  Visions of the White Bird (Ath)

  105

  17

  Revelations

  110

  18

  Cadence of the Sun

  118

  19

  Fool for Harder Times

  125

  20

  Revolver

  132

  21

  The Comedown

  139

  22

  The Sharper Your Love

  145

  23

  This is a Warning

  152

  24

  Lottery of the Souls

  163

  25

  The Lamb

  168

  26

  Ashes Rising

  178

  27

  The Devil May Run

  183

  28

  Join the Cult

  190

  29

  Shock Waves

  199

  30

  God Complex

  207

  31

  Ash to Ashes

  219

  32

  The War Begins

  223

  33

  The Eclipse of Icarus

  232

  34

  Ashes of September

  240

  35

  Run, Run, Run

  248

  36

  Homecoming

  257

  37

  The Road

  263

  38

  Remember?

  268

  39

  The Truth

  275

  40

  East

  280

  41

  11:11

  285

  42

  The Hunt

  290

  43

  Like a Dog

  297

  44

  The Long Goodbye

  304

  45

  The Masquerade

  310

  46

  The Vision of the Black Bird (Isis)

  320

  47

  Firefight

  323

  48

  Letters to the Lords

  329

  Epilogue

  The Song Remains the Same

  335

  About the Author

  Steal their hearts or capture their imaginations…

  (Dedicated to Grayson Miller)

  Cast and Conspirators of The Program

  Neco Baal – Baltimore, Maryland.

  (Referenced in 1st and 3rd person)

  Simon Peter – Abu Ghosh, Israel

  Ash McKenzie – Aberdeen, Scotland

  Rand Backer – Kassel, Germany

  Dez Nave – Tecolotito, New Mexico

  Grayson Miller – Brooklyn, New York

  Magnus West – Chicago, Illinois

  Elisa Tate – Los Angeles, California

  Benjamin Maynard – London, England

  Zane Brennan – Dublin, Ireland

  Juno Vestris – Palestrina, Italy

  Icarus Kali – Piraeus, Greece

  The Council of the Lords

  Anan (Red Bird) – Time and Space

  Ath (White Bird) – Knowledge

  Isis (Black Bird) – Creationist

  (Derives its name from the Egyptian God of magic and fertility. Note: This bird is not a terrorist.)

  Than (Gray Bird) - Death

  Chapter 1

  Hallway of sorrows

  The forgotten yet familiar smell of ash and sulfur bullied away the cleanest of air. Time was of no real consequence. Everything had an eternal value; just as every grain of sand is a moment, every moment a memory, and every memory a map of a person trapped between the past and the future. We were trapped in the now.

  “Is this hell?” I wondered.

  Our cells were cold, dank and littered with countless aggravated souls, all wrenching for peace. Rust stains and blood antagonistically dripped and shrouded our naked bodies; we were thirsty for our confiscated dignity. Our flesh was tattooed by the human fluids of anonymous hosts. The aggravation and pain was unlike anything we had experienced on Earth. The damned awaited trial.

  We were begrudgingly shackled to walls of granite, some elevated above others. We were spared the inferno's unquenchable palate, but could still smell death's warning and hear the screams of less fortunate souls. These beings were mercilessly tortured and rejuvenated for amusement.

  This was purgatory; a backstage pass to the worst horror movie imaginable. The only light came from the flickering underworld of burning bodies, miles below our unwashed feet.

  It was ghastly.

  In cycles, the Council of the Lords would allow 12 individuals to enter The Program. Twelve was an undisclosed metaphor. The odds of being chosen were in no one's favor; it was based on a spiritual lottery. The Program did provide relief from the pressures of purgatory and judgment and had been in place since the beginning. No one really understood The Program's complexity, only that there was no escaping it.

  As I lay lifeless, freezing and fighting for my willed sanity, a long oxidized iron rod reached toward the asphyxiating cuff around my throat a
nd disconnected me from the Wailing Wall. Instantly, I fell through a sea of chained bodies, and crashed upon a small rocky platform. My shins buckled, thick skull cracked and muscles tensed. A musing grotesque monstrous figure yanked me to my shaky hooves and dragged my nervous body down an endlessly dark and narrow hallway. Misery lurked, as countless hands reached through the void and clawed my rebellious flesh, longing to lay their five-fingered oppression upon my fleeting moments of freedom. Once human, these beasts howled like possessed animals. By all indications, I was being escorted to judgment.

  As we marched forward, their staunch cries ceased. For a moment, everything went deafeningly silent and uncomfortably still ­— even our footsteps were robbed of their guiding vibration. We stopped before a gigantic golden door, framed by the darkness and bedazzled in precious stones. It was carved with unfamiliar symbols; it began to open. A radiant sapphire light briefly illuminated the long Hallway of Sorrows. For a moment, I gazed back, before an energy pulled me from the creature’s grip and into a magnificent spherical room. My demonic escort was paralyzed by a brilliant indigo light, unable to cross the threshold of divinity.

  The door slowly shut. Death was left to its duty; my paramania quelled.

  The new floor felt smooth and sterile. The feeling of being trapped under ice passed. I was made comfortable and no longer aware of my naked form. An unknown source of light seemed to be reflecting immense and unknown colors off of the crystal walls, while a choir of 6,500 languages gracefully danced through the reverent air. The voices were humble, grateful and sanctified — a distant cry from the wails of the underworld or the moans of purgatory. It was beautiful and surreal.

  Resurrecting to my sturdy feet, my eyes were captured by a large onyx table with 12 golden thrones, all facing the Council of Lords. Seated were the silhouettes of 11 individuals. They were adorned in the finest of linens and robes. An emerald hue surrounded them. They seemed like statues, locked in a forward position and unaware of my arrival. Scribed upon their chairs were the names: Rand, Simon, Juno, Icarus, Zane, Benjamin, Dez, Neco, Grayson, Ash, Elisa and Magnus.

  Crowded by disbelief, a thunderous yet compassionate voice requested my attendance. I cautiously stepped toward the anonymous human frames and took my place in the vacant throne.

  It was then I was able to recall my eternal name; it was Neco. As I lowered myself into my throne, my body was instantly clothed in a golden robe and fixed into place. My lifetimes were projected upon large crystal walls. Every visceral memory came rushing back, as if it was being downloaded into my spirit. I was forced to relive every tragic and beautiful moment of my physical journey. I not only recalled my times on Earth, but could also feel the horror of my previous afterlives.

  I had been selected for The Program.

  +++

  The Council of the Lords consisted of red, white, black and gray birds, small in stature and similar to a raven. Each bird sat poised, stern and centered before couplings of three seated chosen ones. Their legs, feet and razor-sharp beaks were golden and their eyes burned like rubies.

  The red bird represented time and space and was called Anan.

  The white bird represented knowledge and was called Ath.

  The black bird represented creation and was called Isis.

  The gray bird represented death and was called Than.

  Together they formed the basis for everything.

  “Time is an illusion of space. With the division of space, there's time,” Anan repeatedly spoke.

  “From nothing comes everything,” Ath crowed in all languages.

  The Council's message reverberated through the room, in a choir of echoes. We could feel the gravity of their diction and understand inception through words. Our souls shattered like heavenly mitosis.

  “All things have a beginning,” bellowed Isis.

  “All things have an end,” whispered Than.

  Our eyes remained open, while the Council paused to allow infinite wisdom to illuminate our beings.

  We were becoming angelic hybrids.

  With motion, the birds directed our attention toward the interior of the crystal expanse and merged into a singular entity. A magnificent light vibrated through our souls, as the shape of a dual-gendered being reflected our image. The Council's illumination allowed our enervated minds the ability to palate its presence, without suffering a swift cognitive obliteration. It then morphed into a pulsating spherical energy and began expanding to engulf the entire chamber. We were surrounded by fire and light.

  The heavens spoke.

  “You have been chosen to lead a new world. Your children will be part mortal and divine by decree. They will be equipped with the knowledge of our ages, given dominion over past lives and the ability to feel the dimensionality of time. They will have the authority to bring an end to what was begun and the wisdom to breathe new life into future generations,” it proclaimed.

  The room shook.

  “You will be imprisoned by physical dictates of life and death, unable to enter The Beyond, until a miracle child is born of a beloved mortal. The children of tomorrow will be known as The Crystalline. Failure to produce a child will result in a reincarnated life. Once your child is born, your participation in The Program will cease and you will ascend. Your free will cannot be interfered with,” it added.

  The whites of our eyes blackened, allowing our pupils to fully access to The Council's proclamation.

  “Your memories will be vanquished, until the earth stone has made 18 revolutions around the sun. Your reintegration into society is of dire importance. You must know their law, as they understand it, and relearn the basic principles of science, math and history, as to build a basis for the information that will be unlocked in your human body. This will help you to avoid premature shock or brain damage. To be a perfect union, your Earth born baby must be conceived with the person you hold most dear. This undeniable union is paramount in producing a Crystalline,” it furthered.

  Our heartbeats reverberated and pounded throughout the chamber.

  “When it's time, The Council will call you all back together. Now, go and choose your earthly family!”

  Like a clock, we were then directed and isolated into 12 corners of the chamber and able to observe infinite projections of earthly couples, due to conceive. It was up to us to determine the best scenario for actuation in The Program. Most chose stable families, as they felt it would provide them security in the formative years, while others desired autonomy and deliberately picked dysfunctional homes; they felt this would best-equip them for the mission and limit any personal attachments or distractions, as darker forces would inevitably be out to stop us from bringing a Crystalline into existence.

  I could feel peoples' lives, as I reached into the vivid projections. I could sense their pains and see their auras. Instantly, their memories were uploaded into my spirit for discernment. I dissected and studied thousands of potential hosts. With time an immeasurable variable, we used dreams to communicate with potential surrogates. When I chose my earthly father, we met in a vision and reviewed his significance and my purpose in The Program.

  He accepted.

  In this dream, landscapes still appeared earthly, but matter no longer existed. We sat on a green hillside and gazed upon the ocean. Even in transparency, we could still hear and feel the waves crash upon the shore and smell the fresh blades of grass. These were the constructs of his creation, as he imagined them. I vividly recall the skyline. It was a beautiful combination of orchid rings and tangerine.

  As we parted ways, he awoke with no memory of this account.

  Grace would guide him.

  chapter 2

  Reborn into forever

  Vociferous screams filled an anticipating hospital room. My indignant mother launched an all-out attack of off-color and unintelligible word combinations toward my patient and unguarded father; her general lack of poise wasn't uncommon, but on this ceremonious occasion her temper tantrum was warranted. The walls, which b
ore witness to the event, were a cold yellow, like the autumn air surrounding the St. Joseph's Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland.

  The day was September 24th and the year has been erased from record.

  My overwrought mother had been in delivery for 18 painful hours. The spell cast by the epidural had long run dry. Even her persistent tears had given up their plight and succumbed to the stark reality their tiny lubricating wishes were only making a nuisance of the situation. Gowned in the whitest of cloaks, the doctors and nurses stood like angels. They never wavered their attention and refused to leave her post.

  In the unreachable corner of the room stood an old Solid State 12'' black and white television. Static flickered, before an American flag ushered in the National Anthem, indicating a new day had come and it was time to sign-off on the past. There was always a certain uneasiness the image suggested. It may have been its association with the witching hours, or simply because it signified a pause in our access to humanity. For whatever the reason, it was fitting. By all accounts, I was entering an old downtrodden world and tasked with rebuilding a fallen empire; I was just unaware.