A Pack of Camals

Swimmodsponge's submission to the first ever Uemb writing competition! He won fifth place as well as the Bad Sex and Bulwer-Lytton award!

“A Pack of Camels”

A blazing iridescence shone out like a beacon across the desert, the gold-plating on the completed sections of the prodigious monolith reflecting the heat of the mid-day sun with an inspirational flame. Some ways away from the base of the structure; dwarfed by the towering colossus but still of impressive size, there sat a shimmering city upon a hill. The white marble and sandstone facades at the top of the mound were festooned with colored lanterns and murals painted with rich and varied hues; opulent gardens cascaded over the multi-tiered parapets, fed by fountains and springs of cold clear water. As one may imagine by the natural order of such things, the quality of stonework on the homes and storefronts which made up the community slowly decreased as the city stretched out from its gleaming crystalline center. The chips in the white clay walls which appeared on the buildings near the gates of the zenith grew steadily larger the further down the hill one traveled, until finally the bare stacked stone and decaying mortar beneath was clearly visible. Further still, the quality of the masonry decreased; from crumbled and badly patched shingles, to simple stacks of rocks, held in place by densely packed dung and straw. By this point in the slope of the city, even the vast and level sands of the desert towered above; the lowest-class structures located directly within the massive excavation which had provided the stone upon which the hill was built, and which was presently in the process of providing the stone required to complete the great monolith. Like a colony of ants, the innumerable swarms of humans saw to the dredging and the cutting and the dragging of stone. At once the bellow of a great horn announced mid-day, and the masses turned their attention towards sustenance.

She dropped the pile of refuse she held in her arms into the nearest rubbish pit as she too turned and ran towards the open center of the pit where the others now gathered. Her legs burning with the effort of exertion, she threw herself down at the water trough; elbows splayed out defensively to secure her stake, legs tucked in tightly beneath her in an attempt to ward off any man that might try to take advantage of her from behind. It was a trick she had picked up when she was thirteen, though she wished she knew about it when she was nine. She did not have a name, she did not have parentage; something as simple as the concept of ownership was entirely alien to her. Right now, she held on to the water, as she greedily guzzled it down. Holding on was enough. She gasped as she was pulled roughly from her place, the troughs packed with other bodies fighting for their share. She lifted herself from the hard stone and scraped away the tiny granules of sand which had ground their way into her as she landed, rivulets of blood condensing on her ebony skin where the scratches ran the deepest. She looked up from her rapidly bruising arm, momentarily blinded by the glare of the great golden tower as she surveyed the other areas of the quarry. Apart from the water troughs; which were all that were provided to servants like herself at mid-day, there were many rows of tables where the workers sat with their wooden bowls of salted rice and animal fat. Many of them were also inhaling smoke from paper-wrapped leaves, an image of a camel burned into a seal near the base of each. Between the two groups stalked a handful of shepherds; their duty to enforce the strict segregation between the masses.

“I had one once, you know,” stated an old man lying near her as he caught her gaze lingering on the burning embers or a worker’s cigarette. “Back in the rebellious days of my youth, of course. Wouldn’t do them any good to string up an old man for sins committed long ago.”

“It’s still a dangerous thing to admit,” she said. Indeed, the punishment for knowing of such a crime and not going to the shepherds immediately was a week with no feedings.

““I get the feeling you won’t tell anyone,” said the old man before turning to look directly at the monolith; his white glazed eyes unaffected by the fiery light. “It will never be done,” he continued. “It’s been this way since I was your age, and decades before. I’ve watched it collapse on more days than you’ve been alive. It will collapse again.”

She stared at him for a moment, aghast by his blasphemy. Her attention was soon diverted however, by the sound of another loud horn. A large group of shepherds paraded past the rows of tables where the workers sat, within the center sat a noble; finely dressed in silk robes, atop a white camel trimmed with gold. He smiled as he waved to the workers, tossing out handfuls of cigarettes as he surveyed the progress. His smile faded as he reached the periphery of the servant crowd, where he instructed his shepherds to part the seas of people fighting for the water troughs. They quickly cleared a path, using their staves to beat back any who did not grovel at the feet of the better who graced them with his presence. Riding his golden camel, he reached the edge of the barely potable water. He reached into a fold of the luxurious fabric to pull out a small glass vile of a white powdery substance, which he enthusiastically inhaled. Turning in his saddle, he loosened his robes and began to urinate into it.

“All right, that’s enough of a break,” he shouted. “Let’s get these people back to work!” Thunderous applause echoed through the quarry as he disembarked, waving and throwing a few more handfuls of cigarettes as his envoy ascended the hill. As he left, the shepherds descended on the crowds, the cracks of their leathery whips audible as the construction continued.

Night fell as the workers returned to their homes for their afternoon meal, the servants being fed the remnants of the table scraps from the day before. She and all the others dug in at the piles, each one hoping to find the fabled bit of cake, or at least some meat that had not been too badly spoiled. She grabbed a husk of bread greedily and upon turning it over was elated to find that it had been spread with some type of cream.

“You’re lucky,” said the old man who once again sat in front of her. “I knew I saw something in you.” His attention turned to the burning monolith, the tip of which so incredibly high that it still reflected the light from the sun which had long since disappeared over the horizon. “It always comes down,” he said bitterly. “It comes down because we cannot let it stand. Each time I have seen it fall, it fell because of one of us. And it fell, because it needed to fall.”

A needle, to pierce the heavens. To split the sky, to rain down the bread and fruit from on high to all mankind. Our greatest achievement, the aspiration of all humanity. Fitful sleep wracked at her as she dreamed the promises of eternal life in the glory of our lord and savior; the promises of freedom, of Eden, to be bestowed upon those who would work for the glory of our salvation. The promises of a broken monument. In her sleep she saw the embers of a lit cigarette, handed to her by the old man. She saw the needle burning; its blinding fire extinguishing everything beyond.

“This is her,” said the shepherd as he pulled the bright light from her face, her eyes flashing open in a panic. Two more shepherds grabbed her; gagging her, tying her, dragging her from her home.

“This is the one, your honor,” said the shepherd as he tossed her before the feet of the great white beast.

“Yes, this is her all right,” said the robed man as another shepherd helped him from his camel. “This is the one I saw. She looks good, which is rare for a servant, but I like it. Hell of a rack on her, I’d love to play the back nine. All right,” he said, turning and being lifted back onto his magnificent golden mount. “Hose her on off and bring her up. I want her in bed in an hour and back down here twenty minutes after that, you understand me?”

She woke bleeding at the door of a hut, the bright light of the morning reflecting from the tip of the needle into her face. Horns blared in the distance to signify the dawn of a new day. She stood and faced the monolith, the blinding light burning directly into her eyes. She did not blink.

As a servant, she was used to running among the crowds; darting here and there, cleaning, making deliveries, other menial tasks. She knew where to find a hammer, she knew where the scaffold was weak, where the cement was wet. With white knuckles she clenched the sledge, walking with grim determination towards oblivion. The iron-strong grip of a worker held her back as it closed around her throat.

“We got a traitor!” the man shouted at the top of his lungs. “We’ve got a traitor in here!”

From behind a support column, the old man lunged, an improvised blade fastened from a stake in his hands. Pierced through the chest the younger man roared as he threw his attacker against the column, a loud crack audible as he landed at an odd angle, fracturing his wrist. The old man groaned in agony.

“What’s going on here?” asked the nobleman on the white camel as his cadre of shepherds poured into the room.

“We’re setting the last of the concrete in the archway my lord,” said the bleeding worker. “I saw her coming at the scaffolding with a hammer, could have taken the whole thing down.”

“Shepherds,” commanded the noble. “Have his wounds taken care of, then get this n****r some pork, he’s earned it.” A handful of the shepherds saw to the request, while the others remained; towering over the two infidels, waiting for judgement to be passed.

“Please, she’s simple-minded, she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” pleaded the old man. “I told her I found a sliver of cake, and said I’d give it to her if she did as I asked. I am the one who betrayed you, she is innocent.”

“Hardly,” said the noble, looking at her lustily. “Kill him,” he said, and in an instant they tore the hammer from her hands; swinging it in a wide arc, impacting the old man’s skull with enough force to send the mans lower jaw through his eye socket- and further yet; cleaving straight through the top of his head, bits of brain flying from the maul, imbedding into the cement of the ornate archway. “And her, I think her a*s would benefit from a few days of missed feedings. Then send her to me before the ceremony, it’d be a shame to waste her.”

The horns blared again over the roar of a triumphant crowd. Servant, worker, and shepherd alike stood together cheering before an enormous amphitheater. There on that triumphant stage, the great golden obelisk stretching off into space behind them, a great rippling banner at its base, stood the noble class. They were the best beings in all of humanity, standing before the greatest achievement mankind had ever known. The crowds roared as the spoke in turn, each congratulating one another on the momentous victory of this occasion. Finally, he stood; the man who had been riding the white camel, the President of the United States, Mr. Donald J. Trump.

“This is indeed, a proud moment,” he began as a group of shepherds brought her, bound, gagged, and wearing a black hood before him. “But even in our greatest and best times as a nation, there are those who wish to harm us.” The crowd erupted in an angry roar before he continued. “There are those, like this one, who do not want to work for the eternal paradise we’ve been promised; who are content to be miserable, at the bottom rungs of society, to suckle at the teat of their betters, to steal your cigarettes, the very bread and butter from your table!” again, the crowds roared. “Get her out of here!” he shouted, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to the edge of the stage. She fought weakly against her restraints as he tossed her to the ravenous crowd below. The mob descended upon her, a swarm of hands tearing the bag from her head and handfuls of hair from her scalp in an instant. Fingers clawed and grabbed at every part of her; jabbed into her eye sockets, inside her mouth, wrapping and pulling at her jaw. The gag torn from her, she screamed as they dragged her down; a pop and the sound of ripping flesh as her limps were pulled from their sockets. With a smile and a wave, the men on stage turned toward the monolith. A final horn blared as the giant curtain fell, revealing the massive eye of the golden needle. The president mounted his camel, as did the other men around him. Taking his place at the front of the line, he began his caravan through the great passageway.

When the last of the nobles crossed the divine threshold, the skies did indeed part. Holy light shone down from on high, as a great staircase of clouds materialized before them. At the top of the staircase; enshrined by the aura of Yahweh, there stood the blonde-haired, blue-eyed figure of Jesus.

“You have been absolved, my sons,” said the deity to the men seeking entrance to the kingdom of heaven. “Your sins are washed clean.” With that, he approached Donald Trump on the lead camel. “Welcome home, my favorite angel.” With ever-loving grace, he reached up into the luxuriant robes worn by the man atop the golden beast, gently grasping his penis in hand. With smooth, soft motions Jesus stroked at Trump’s hardening member, his other hand reaching up to gently fondle the testicles, a playful tickle in his caress. Jesus brought his mouth down onto the great man before him; the taste of ejaculate already dribbling from the bulbous, swollen purple head. Donald Trump ran his fingers through Jesus’s perfectly blonde Aryan hair as he prepared to orgasm. There was the sound of soft whistling in the distance, before a series of blinding flashes went off across the horizon. Plumes of flame erupted, washing across the desert in a wave of super-heated energy. In an instant, the lone and level sands of a dying world melted into glass.