The End of Games - The Water Note

Energy delivered from stars guarded my form.

This text will be read by thirty six million, four hundred thousand people in the next two hundred years. Of the millions reading, only four hundred special individuals will grasp what is written here. I write this for them, as my way to reach out, and yes, to have fun.
To have fun like Gotamo did, like Aristotle, like Jesus. Those guys knew how to live, man. They knew how to focus their power.

It's my turn now.

My turn to share, I mean, to help. Call me Olympia. This work is my best effort to spread the Truth.

My people have tolerated dozens of names through the centuries. The masses shouted Witch! They called us Druid and Shaman and healer; charmer and necromancer, siren and sorcerer. If you like those words, that's fine with me, but the word we use among ourselves is Awake. You're lucky to be hearing it.

I am Awake. This manuscript targets four hundred among you primed to join me.

Here we go. Jesus smiled a lot, and you can too. Read between the lines and-

Six plumes of hot water blasted my body from jets staggered around the tiled walk in. Round windows cast shafts of sun light and liquid, silver strings pressed dimples in my breasts. Which feels really good.

I pulled on socks that rose an inch above running shoes, linen shorts, black tank top with a tiny “S” logo in the middle of the chest. For superwoman. A clip held my hair in a ponytail; it's hard to work with hair in my face.

And I work a lot; I'm always busy. I'm the latest link in a direct, unbroken chain of three thousand six hundred and twenty four Masters that recedes into the ages. Me and my peers, I'm not the only one.

A leather pouch holds my tools, potions, and weapons and I snugged the strap around my waist.

The front door of my house swung closed as I jumped down the five steps of my stoop. I left the doors unlocked; my home is well protected by spells, plus, it's watched 24/7 by the Feds anyway; no ones getting in there.

Brownstones rose four stories and ranked each side of the street. Beyond their flat roofs, a swatch of pale blue swooped over my head and beckoned towards Broadway. I jogged and followed the blue sky; the tree line loomed three blocks away.

Dappled light played on Mrs. Loner's tier of red and yellow roses and I switched viewpoints.

I dove into the flower bed. I hovered above ragged, brown mulch. Bright green, prickly stems circled me as I rose along the titanic pillars; water glittered in the nooks of branches.
Wind triggered a red and yellow, sun shot, patchwork cathedral of petals above me. Bolts of light receded in space. I breached the dazzling canopy. I merged with a silky, crimson petal. A giant ant faced me, and I experienced- joyous. The creature's brown, bristling, damp, segmented mouth chewed green mush. I compared nothing; I defined nothing- joyous.

When I switch viewpoints? I'm still tending my body. I'm running in my body, looking at the street, and hovering among roses facing a giant ant at the same time. No problem. Take time to smell the flowers, man. Only a tiny fraction who overcome indoctrination will breathe the scent. I'm not a body and neither are you; you are a being who operates a body. Every devious consideration is welded in place to blind you. The Truth belongs to few; the Awake.

Trees and twitching shadows focused in front of my eyes; I ran.

My neighbor John stood half a block away, sweeping his steps, waiting for me.

“Hi, Oly.”

“Hey, man.”

A large, woven basket materialized a foot above John's head. Not that he could see it; your eyes see almost nothing. The basket filled with red and white leaves of energy.

“What are you up to?” John said.

“I'm on my way to work.”

The cosmos charged my being; the Universe hummed. The basket tipped, and red and white flakes showered and flashed over John. A riot of red and white energy swirled around him. His aura lightened; tiny, energetic threads dashed through the pale, turquoise space surrounding him and-

Energy delivered from stars boosted John's vitality.

A deep breath expanded his chest; his eye's closed for two seconds. “Thank you, Olympia.”

“You bet.” John is an awesome person. He creates a geometrically progressive matrix of positive thoughts and actions that nourishes the world.  I do my part by keeping his body healthy. John knows I am Awake.

I ran. The morning sun pushed my shadow in front of me; I chased myself.

I triggered my phone. “Pick me up on the corner of third and sixth.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

The dark windows of the Hummer reflected the constant stream of yellow cabs. “Morning, General.”

I choke down laughter when I hear that, but it's got to be official so I can get my paychecks.

“Dan, my schedule's tight today, there's no time for traffic between here and La Guardia.”

“Copy that.” He spoke quietly into a slim radio. He met my eyes in the rear view. “You're good to go. The Park in three minutes.”

An image of my bare legs flashed through Dan's head for a split second, I saw it. A right turn on Broadway, three blocks to Central Park and I stepped out of the Hummer and started running.

The helicopter rotors never slowed down as I jumped in. The pilots mouth fell open when he looked at me. “You ... Are ... Beautiful.”

It's more the way people feel around me than how I look that makes them say stuff like that. “Thanks, that's sweet. You make a lot of pickups in the park?”

“No, a few times a month. My last victim was a guy bit on the thumb by a cobra. Dude's got a damned cobra as a pet. I had him in the hospital in less than two minutes.”

And he set me down a short trot from my airplane in four minutes.

The plane boomed into the sky. The leather couch felt cool against my thighs as we rocketed through mile long clouds. Streaks of blue peeked through white tufts.

I sensed one of the Awake. My friend, Sarah, originated communication; our conversation passed through the ether.

“Hi, Olympia. Wanna hook up at the Magician's Palace?”

“Love to,” I said. “I'm there.”

And I was.

The Magician's Palace, one of the coolest places in the Universe. It's been around for 185, 000 years.
It's as real as the chair you're sitting in, as solid as a box of spoons dumped on your head. The structure of the Palace is a reality of agreement, sustained by powerful beings- me and my friends.

Fat pillars rose either side of the entrance; three story high elephants stood on hind legs and braced massive struts that girded the cathedral of the Palace. Sunlight fell a hundred feet and struck flower beds, bushes dotted with fruit, and the emerald moss spanning the ground. Light streaked through trees. The wide, sparkling torrents of two waterfalls fed a pool along the far wall.

Sarah and I sat at a simple wooden table. She watched the diamond-splash at the bottom of the falls. “Seen any good movies?”

Sarah hates films made in America. I teased her with: “Sure, Chasing Liberty, with Jimmy Cahn.”

Her hair shook as she laughed. “Sweet Jesus. I meant something made in the last year maybe; that flick is thirty years old. I haven't seen a good movie since the Scent of Green Papaya.”

“That's hardcore picky.”

“Yeah. You ready to work? Look at the size of that rock, babe.”

I turned my attention to a sector of space three hundred thousand miles away. “I see it.”

The titanic, pitted meteor hurtled through space. Stars blinked as the black mass blocked them from view. I hung a view point behind the hulking thing; peeked over the edge of it. Our green and blue Earth loomed in its path; the juggernaut would smash Australia to fine powder.

More of my friends joined me. Thomas appeared beside me, then Sophia. And Jennifer and Katherine; and Odin. Odin is ultra cool. Love that guy; the strong silent type.

Vast, empty space surrounded me. I made myself fifty miles tall.

Sarah laughed. “Cute.”

“Oh God, look at those b***s.” From Thomas.

A deep, broad rumble from Odin.

Size doesn't matter of course, I could have projected any size. “Ready?”

Seven Awake beings focused their power through me. I pinched the meteor between my fingers. It cracked, split; jagged, harmless chunks tumbled and rolled through space.

Laughter. “Nice, Olympia.”

“Thanks. Your turn on the next one, Sarah. I gotta go. Bye guys.” I switched viewpoints.

My plane boomed through the sky.

Catastrophe is avoided a dozen times a year when gigantic rocks miss striking our planet. The Awake do that... you're welcome.

Astoroids are easy. Fixing wars is harder. Altering the convoluted, hard-wired beliefs of a billion considerations is an impossible task. A billion considerations create a vast, cosmic matrix of energy that is difficult to target. The construct isn't just immense beyond reason, the architecture is like seven, seven dimensional cubes occupying the same space. The mass is right there, you can look at it; that's what it looks like. You guys sorta suck for creating it. If you think about war? You're making it happen. You have to think about... not war. How often do you do that? Do you know how? Would you like to know?

Don't worry though. We won't allow the planet to explode or anything; that's what we're here for.

***

My plane landed in- I can't tell you where. What follows affected many people and is easily researched.

I jogged on the dusty sidewalk towards a police officer standing in a doorway. Stains showed on the front of his tan uniform. I closed distance; the way he stood, the angle looked good.

He looked at the taut fabric across my chest; I smiled brightly. My right leg swung a perfect dropkick; my instep smashed the mans crotch. His knees struck the pavement as he fell; he folded over. He's done, man. He's not getting up, right? I still hit him with a potion; the gas from a yellow egg spurted under his nose and the spell of sleep kept him down.

Now, all the talking going on next happened in Spanish, but I'm going to translate for you to keep it simple. I like simple; it's sort of my motto.

As I stepped into the police precinct, one of the cops told a joke. “Your wife and a lawyer are drowning. You've got a difficult choice to make- you going to a movie or a soccer game?”

I laughed. “Hi, guys.”

“Hello, Senorita.” The cop stared at my breasts.

Listen, I've been keeping this hidden from you because I didn't want to freak you out anymore than you're already freaked- my body is only eighteen years old. So, I surprise a lot of bad guys.
A twist of my fingers activated two eggs and I cast smoke and noise in the room. Roiling white clouds filled the space and struck the enemy blind.

“What the f**k!”

Dense smoke billowed around me; the noise-maker thundered nonstop. I ignored both. I saw my targets as four shimmering auras; smoke doesn't operate on the Astral plane.
Shouts bounced back and forth between cops.

“Watch the crossfire! Don't shoot! I can't see a damn thing!”

I stood cloaked; I experienced- joyous.

I plucked four darts from my pouch. The first left my fingers and streaked towards the red aura of a screaming, uniformed a*****e. The nimbus of red energy settled to the floor. He didn't make a sound. A second dart pierced another's chest and he fell.

A window mounted air conditioner blasted holes in the smoke; one of the cops saw me for an instant.

His weapon gleamed through gaps in the shifting white; the weapon tracked for me; his fingertip paled as it bore down on the trigger.

I hung a viewpoint directly under the barrel. Watch this; it's cool as hell in slow motion. The immense, grooved, spinning bullet hung in a dense cloud of smoke that blurred the yawning, black hole of the barrel. The brassy, stubby missile passed slowly over me like an airplane. I love the smell of cordite in the morning; take time to smell the bullets, man. I hovered behind the bullet and saw it was going to hit me! Me, I'm bulletproof, just like you, but my body isn't.

Gunshot!

The cosmos charged my aura; a trillion trillion atoms leaped together before me; zero point energy tamped them tight and-

Armor delivered from stars guarded my form.

The bullet stopped dead in the cosmic shield, hung suspended. I breathed again; the bullet dropped, struck the ground by my feet. I can't stop bullets all day long; they move really fast on the physical plane.

Gunshot!

That's a miss; the guy's shaking hands provoked a bad shot. Plus, most bad guys don't practice enough. I practice a lot. The four inch dart slipped through the air- twenty one feet, four inches. The point buried itself in the nerve clusters banding the shooter's shoulder.

Gunshot!

Miss.

The man screamed, dropped his gun, yanked the dart out of his shoulder and passed out, absorbed by the spell of sleep.

It's pointless to kill an a*****e. In eighteen years, he or she is walking the earth again and doing the same s**t. Or the f**k-tard incarnates on another planet, same diff.

I triggered my phone and talked to the feds. “Pick up at the cop house.”

***

I'm back on the plane then I'm off the plane and a two mile run later I stood looking at a hospital in Hutchinson, Kansas. Hundreds of lights made the hospital sparkle in the night.

At the front desk I said, “Hi, I'm looking for the Malawe family? My cousin just had a baby an hour ago.”

“How wonderful, dear.” Her fingers brushed the touch-screen monitor. “That makes, um, six babies born here today.”

“That's nice. Do me a favor and forget about me after I'm gone, OK?”

“Sure.”

The security cameras around me would record nothing but static while I worked in the hospital.

I had to find Hitler again. Or call him Khan, or Og Te or... any of his four hundred plus names. Waves of hate surged over me. He knew I was coming. He screamed into the ether in a hundred languages.

No!

Oh, yes; me again. I walked down hallways, ignored by the immature, primitive eyes of those around me; invisible. A man passed me, a doctor, he projected powerful, racist thoughts.

N*****s, Spics, Kikes, and F**s. I laughed. The complex lies held in place to sustain such ideas is staggering. These poor babies. Only a few would ever understand.
Their whole life is a goal that they asked for. Control a white body in one life, a black one in the next. Its just fun! You picked the body you have on purpose! Every mechanism is in place to hide the truth at all costs. You don't want to know the truth. The Truth is the end of playtime; the genesis of responsibility. Me? I'm responsible.
I don't play games. More then that, games agreed upon by the teeming populace bounce off me, which is nice.

I exist in a state of no games.

I looked through the thick glass of the new born nursery. The ageless lunatic, just hours old, lay six feet beyond the glass. He looked directly at me. One nurse made rounds to each child, another sat writing on a stool by the door.

What would you do right now if you knew you lived forever and nothing could hurt you? The real you. The definition of Energy: it's never created or destroyed, it always has been and always will be. It moves into form, through form, and out of form.

The definition of God: ditto.

That is the Truth.

Og Te picked a nice vessel this time around. Dark, fine hair covered the infant's head; dim light struck rich, tea colored skin.

Your awareness doesn't occupy the inside of your head, it's an energy field. Timeless. Indestructible.
It ranges in size from a pinpoint (wretched) to several feet across (me). Four hundred of you reading this will prove it to yourself, don't take my word for it. Every facet of your life is manipulated to blind you.

I hung a viewpoint inside the infant's chest and looked at its heart. I tickled the aorta.

You chose the script of your life because thats what you want. You ordered your life from a twisted menu to play various and silly games. You just can't remember. Games like time, (what a freakin' joke- it does not exist) games like poverty, and asthma and cancer and race and gender. Only the Awake escape the trap; join us.

Baby Khan screamed. He tried to move his useless body but it just looked pathetic.

I punched holes in the heart with an Astral ice pick. The creature spasmed, eyes wide; tiny, star shaped hands clawing. The body died.

I compared nothing; I defined nothing; I experienced- joyous.

In a year or two the Awake will find him and kill his next body. And the next. His black energy is beyond repair.

I am Olympia, my craft is the Truth; I am the Way; call me the Light; I am God-force. I am cause.

I am the end of games.

Mind your thoughts, they create everything you see and taste. If you want my help, you have to ask. Call me and your voice will rise above a billion prayers.

Where am I now? I'm hovering right next to you my friend.
Out,
Olympia.

-------------------------------------//

The following text is attributed to the author of the above though the two are not always published together.

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The Water Note

The 400 will drink a gallon of water a day.
O.

Reviews

[Lady Alyria]

I thought the concept was novel. I actually made up a religion similar to this idea my Freshman year of college. It was a fun read. I do have a philosophical question about the work. The Awake prevent disasters and destroy those born with "bad energy", however people choose their lives before living them. To do that that means that the universe is fated to unfold a certain way. If that is true there would be no need for it to be maintained.

[Hedra Helix]

wow.

[Hedra Helix]

you are amazing. We need to be real friends. Ok, If I may, this too, certainly, please. Wow, but you are bad a*s. real, dream. imaginary, light, heavy, images galore, speed, intensity, humor, vagueness to define the sharp, f**k man. you are amazing. We need to be real friends.

The scent of green papaya;) whoo and the ants;) Awsome.