Category: history



Monsieur. Madame, bonjour! ( Opening line on one of my all-time favourite anime, Gankutsuou, of course, tweaked to suit the time of the day, but, I digress)
I have missed you.
Believe me? No? Good.
What i have missed is writing. Writing something that makes me chuckle as i think up ridiculous dialogues.
I have therefore decided, to help kick-start my flailing writing career, to start a weekly ‘column’ of sorts.
Satirical Saturday.
I love satires. I love humorous satires. I love my brand of humorous biblical satires. (Merely revealing the human side!)
(Why Saturday? What better day to have sit than the sabbath eh?)
Important disclaimer: This is in no way  mockery. I seek to write in new characters to familiar stories. Characters oft forgotten because we’re too focused on the biggies. They would be of different nationalities (mostly Nigerian, because, Nigerians are funny people).
I would not change ow the stories go and/or end, no fears.
I have actually done something similar here, (A Play)
Enough chitchat.
I do hope you enjoy the first of its kind!

 

Satirical Saturday: The King and The Psychologist

“So…Mr…Solomon?”
“Mr?”
Awkward silence and shuffling of feet. “Oh Pardon me! KING Solomon”
“Should I?”
“Eh…that was just an expression Sir.”
A raised eyebrow. “Sir?”
“Eh..King?”
Regal sigh. “O King, Mr Psychologist. O King”
Awkward shuffling of papers. “Alright, O King. So. You need my help. What might be the problem?”
“What isn’t?”
“Sir? I mean. O King?”
“Yes. What isn’t a problem? Look at the world today. From the state of its dire affairs to that colour of shirt you have on, my good man. Everything is a problem. Though I must add…your shirt really is a fat kid. It takes the cake.”
“Oh. Wow. What interesting…humour King”
Shuffling papers. “Fair enough. So, your notes say you have trouble sleeping?”
“What is sleep?”
“Er. Sleep is a restful period your bod…”
“Rhetorical, Psychologist. Rhetorical”
The King studies his nails.
Beginning to feel unsure of himself. “So…King?”
“You know, starting a sentence with ‘So’ is a sign of one’s intelligence or indeed, as portrayed by you, a lack of one. Such a plebeian thing to do. Tut tut”
“Pardon my ordinariness, Highness”
“Pardoned”
Pause. “That was sarcasm”
“So was my reply. Carry on”
A sigh. “So…I mean. Well. You have described feelings of emptiness? ‘Vanity upon Vanity? All is Vanity?’ I believe was how you put it?”
“Isn’t it?”
Pause. “Isn’t it what?”
“Vanity. Pay attention please. Poor as you are,  you can pretend to manage that yes?”
“Yes I ca…huh.”
A frown.
The King examines his nails.
“You know. I find it worrying that this speck of gold under my nail, inanimate as it is, is doing a better job at holding my attention compared to you, a man who wasted four years of his life in a place of learning. What school was that again? Covenant? Hah! What would a heathen know about Covenant?”
Mumbling under breath.
“Say something?”
Flushed. “Eh! No! Yes! You have gold under your nails??”
A long, calculated look.
“Insolence, dear man. Remember whose presence you sit before”
Whispers. “Apologies”
“Mm. To answer your question. Yes, gold. An ornately designed bedpost and a young dark maiden from a faraway land. Well…former maiden”
A shrug.
“Ah. Ok. Good thing you have mentioned that. Let’s talk about it”
Affronted, half-rising. “Talk about what, you filthy man! My nightly activities? You Philistine! Perversion! Guards!”
Two burly Nigerian touts troupe in.
“AH OMO WEREY! YOU DEY CRASE! YOU WAN DIE?”
“Mercy, King! Mercy!”
One breaks a bottle on his own head.
“IF I FIT NACK MYSELF YOU THINK SAY I NO GO NACK YOU!”
Psychologist falls in a dead faint.
King claps and his guards retreat.
He sits back, watching the prone form of the man on the floor.
Whispers. “O-ye-de-po”
Eyes flutter wide  open and he jumps up.
“Please. Take a seat.”
“In..interesting guards”
“Ah yes. Kamaru and Kasali. Came with one of the maidens. I forget which.”
“Ah” Clears throat. “Well, to carry on. I believe you have…698 wives?”
“700. Just 700. I have two alliances to seal with two warring kingdoms.”
“And you marry their daughters?”
“Indeed. It is part of the Peace treaty”
“I know this may be a top-secret information but permit me one question. How?”
A beatific smile. “Well, as you have gracefully admitted to your wholesome ignorance, I shall give an explanation to my actions. For people must admire my wisdom.”
“You have just insulted me. Sir. King”
A raised royal brow. “Problem?”
Pause. “Now, these two warring kingdoms are indeed so because both Kings have failed to produce male offspring. And because of a lingering distrust, one cannot marry off the daughter to another kingdom without the other feeling threatened. In I come, the wisest man to ever walk on earth. That is a fact by the way. God said so himself.”
“Ah..”
“Do not interrupt me. As I said, In I come. I provide a most suitable solution. I marry both dashing damsels and thus, no reason to fear a betrayal.”
“But, who then rules after the Kings die?”
Another beatific smile. “I would. Of course. Wisdom, my good man. Wisdom”
Clears throat. “Would you say your acquiring of maidens both legally and illegally…300 concubines it says here”
“And counting”
“Oh… Ok… Well would you say your predilection for women is an attempt to stifle your boredom that comes with having it all?””
“As alluring as women are, gentle creatures, they do not ‘stifle’ my boredom. They in fact play no part in relieving me of my, as you put it, ‘boredom that comes with having it all’. Quote. Unquote.”
“Don’t you think having 1000 women for yoursels if a bit..i don’t know… over the top?”
“It is?”
“Indeed! You essentially sleep with a whole village of women! How? Do you have a timetable? Some men are single out here. Don’t you think you’re stealing their future brides?”
A suspicious glare. “You do seem very interested in my women, Philistine. Are you married?”
“Eh. No Sir. I’m still young. I’m only 28”
Snort. “Young. How cute. I was already King then, leading God’s own nation.  I had the wealth of many nations. The gold, the onyx, prized horses of Egypt. Ah… good ole days. But we can’t all be successful people can we? I shall pretend to understand your…struggle life. Awks.”
*Sips tea*
“It can pain. One advice. Get a wife. I do not want to see you sniffing where my ladies are kept. Running to hold the horns of the tabernacle would not save you. Ask Joab. Didn’t save him. ”
Nervously clears throat. “I was planning no such thing Sir King”
“Good”
Silence. Shuffling paper.
An impatient sigh. The King arises.
“Er, we’re not done yet Sir. You paid for an hour’s session”
“I’m taking a walk in my garden to talk to the worms in the soil, Mr Psychologist. They most likely would do a better job at alleviating my burden than you have done.”
Mouth wide open.
King stops mid-stride. “Oh and Mr?”
A whisper. “Yes?”
“Kindly return my money to the treasury. I trust you have not soiled them with your fingerprints? I’d have to throw them into a furnace to have them purified of dirt if you have.”
Without waiting for a reply, King Solomon exits the room.
The psychologist is slumped in his seat, rubbing his face. “Man, I hate rich people. Need a fucking psychologist myself!”
A Nigerian servant nearby. “Oga, abeg dey go. Dem say make I sweep you and your dotti comot for this room”
The Psychologist stand angry. “How dare you! Do you know who I am! I graduated with a PhD! PhD!”
Nigerian servant, unfazed. “How dat wan take consign me? If I close my eye open am and you still dey here ehn! I go wipe you dis broom!”
Psychologist quickly exits the room.
Nigerian servant begins sweeping, whistling.

Palet, Deliverer


Hi.
I know, crucify me. I haven’t been writing awhile now.
This would be my first proper story since October last year and hence, my first story of the year.
Hope you enjoy it!

————————————————————————————————————————————-

PALET, DELIVERER

He hid himself in the shadow of a tall column, momentarily whispering a prayer of thanks for Sethis, the Pharaoh, and his obsession with the odd pillars. When he heard the last shuffling of the feet of worshippers in the temple and the last whispers as acolytes left, he made ready to move. Silence descended and he slowly padded on his bare feet, walking familiar steps as he had every day since he began to come in here.

In his head, he counted until his feet met the first raised dais. He climbed the stairs until he got to the top, facing the altar. He sidestepped the altar and walked into an inconspicuous room at the side. Inside the room lay what he came to find.

His heart thudded in his head and his blood rushed with the euphoria that came with doing a bad deed.

He knelt blindly, feeling with his hands for the tell-tale shape of the box. When his hands brushed past an oblong object, he retraced his movements till he touched the box.

Yes. This one.

His fingers caressed the symbol of the ibis engraved.

He put his hands into the shift he wore, slipping out a key he had early pilfered from the Chief Priest. He inserted the key and twisting, he opened the box. He dipped his hand in, brushing away the slips of silk used to cover the item he was after.

At the first feel of solidity, he smiled and using both hands, he brought out the tablets of gold. His breath hitched at their surprisingly heavy weight. He stood, holding the tablets to his chest and not as quick as before, he made his way out of the room. He gingerly walked past the altar, to the stairs and down. So intent on keeping his footing, he didn’t notice the guard creeping up behind him.

“Halt!” The Egyptian guard shouted and he stopped abruptly, his heart suddenly thumping harder with adrenaline.

“Who are you? What are you carrying?”

The man stood still, mind calculating. Making up his mind, he set his burden down slowly.

The guard shifted, his stance showing he was ready for whatever happened.

“I said who are you!”

“At ease” the man whispered and the guard gasped his name in recognition. He relaxed and was suddenly wondering what had just happened when a sharp pain bloomed at the side of his head. He collapsed, and the man caught his dropping body before he thudded and alerted more people. He put his hands under his nose to check if he was still alive. Ascertaining he was dead, he picked up his burden and walked away.

He did not notice the second guard who had heard his name said and seconds later, watch his comrade get killed. The guard quickly left to report.

The man, hiding through shadows finally got to his room and with a thud, he shut the door. He dumped his load on the bed.

Walking to the table, he kindled a lamp and smiled softly at the golden tablets, glowing beautifully.

Ramoses’ eyes glinted as he eyed the Sacred Book of Thoth.

——————————————————————————————–

He crept out of the room, making sure he had hidden the tablets properly. Breathing deeply, he decided to take a stroll, allowing himself to be guided by his feet. The guards posted to the palace at night were used to the late-night strolls of the Princess’s son. With a small bow, they acknowledged him and returning their bows with a wave, he walked into the night, his nose instantly flaring at the mixed smell of spices to drive the Nile’s blood-sucking insects back and burning wood.

He walked aimlessly, allowing his fingers touch stones and pillars, reminiscing. Unconsciously, he walked through the Israelites’ quarters, deserted. They weren’t ones to hang around at night. It wasn’t even safe for them during the day.

His sandaled feet met with cobbled stones and he hummed a little tune as he walked through what would be a bubbling market in the day but was quiet now, save for a few who walked quickly into homes.

His attention was caught by raised voices and curious, he walked towards them. In an alley dimly lit my burning torches, two Israelites argued and suddenly feeling the need to play mediator, he walked to them.
“Peace my friends” he called out.

“Who are you? Who is your friend” One spat, eyes shifty with apprehension.

He walked closer and when they saw his face, they gasped.

“Ramoses!”

His face was a popular one. He smiled.

“Ye..”

“You! Killer!”

Ramoses stopped. “What? What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“Do you want to kill us like you killed the guard? I overheard the guards just a few minutes ag..”

Fast-thinking and without waiting for the man to finish, Ramoses fled.

They knew!

How?

He didn’t allow his mind dwell on that, focusing on getting himself back to his quarters.

Suddenly he heard voices of guards coming closer.

Quickly, he used the not so-well known route he had traipsed with Rameses when they were children, beating his way to the palace. He had to get to his room before they thought to search it!

In and out of alleys, he disappeared, mind churning with apprehension. How had they known?!. Soon, he was outside the window of his room. With care, he climbed and praying he had not shut it from the inside, he shifted the wood aperture and tumbled into his room.

Quick, he searched for the tablets and finding them, he breathed a sigh of relief. They had not been in there yet.

He wrapped the tablets in bales of clothes and quickly changing, he put on a Israelite cloak he had bought out of a whim, after finding out about his secret parentage. Disguising himself with soot to darken his hair and roughen his face, he hefted the clothes and grimaced at their weight.

He opened the window and stumbled out.

As he shut the window, he heard the clamour of guards just at the door and as the window thud shut, they burst open.

Quickly, he disappeared, making his way out of Egypt.

Any place was better than Egypt…for now.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Zipporah looked at the man who had been with them for the past two week out of the corner of her eyes with distrust. He had come, claiming to be an escaped Israelite from Egypt. She didn’t know much about the world but what she knew was that no Israelite escaped from Egypt. He claimed to be called Moses and he wouldn’t let her help carry his sack when he had come. In fact, with the way he had acted when she had offered to help with the sack, she knew he definitely had something to hide.

Hmmm…

She watched him laugh with her father Jethro as they shared lunch.

Just who was he and what secret was he hiding? Why was he abusing her father’s hospitality by claiming to be who he wasn’t?

Curiosity got the better of her and suddenly, she got up and slowly walked out of the tent. Out, she quickly ran to the tent they had set up for him as her father’s guest after he had helped them with the thieving Amalekites who came to steal her father’s sheep.

She crept in and eyeing his bedding, she found the mounds of cloth.

She walked to it and uncovering, she gasped.

Gold.

Glimmering, shining gold.

Even more fascinating were the scrawls on them she was sure were letterings. She could not read. She had always been fascinated with words but her father never understood the need for her to learn, seeing as she was a woman. He had asked her to put more effort into being pleasing enough to be a bride when she had asked to be taught.

She sighed as her fingers caressed the engraved words.  Taking the second tablet, she stared at it in awe.

Beautiful.

The third was a much thinner sheet and had pictures of men and women with animal heads. She stared, unaware of the shadow that grew behind her back.

“You looked through my things” Ramoses said softly.

She jumped; dropping the sheet she had in her hands in a hurry and getting up, suddenly cautious of how small the tent was. Was he going to harm her?

She cleared her throat. “Who are you?” she asked, staring at him warily.

“You have seen the book.”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to where she had dropped the tablet. “I cannot read but I know real gold. What is an Israelite doing with something…like this?”

He eyed her “And since when did I have to answer to a mere slip of a girl?”

Her eyes flash with anger and she stood to her full height. “Since this mere slip of a girl can tell her father that his guest could be a thief.”

He stared at her and she stared right back, as if daring him to call her bluff.

“Ramoses. Son of Nepheri, Princess of Egypt…or so I thought”

She laughed in derision. “A Prince. Really. I might be a woman but I am not stupid.”

He frowned. “I am…was a Prince”

“Am. Was. You lie.” She sniffed, folding her hands under her arm.

“Would a common Israelite have this kind of book in his possession?”

“You stole it” she hit back.

He sighed, exasperated. “Stole a treasured book? How does a lowly Israelite get into a Holy Temple to steal a Book of Gold?”

She paused, biting her lip in thought. She suddenly stared at him with renewed interest.

“You’re not lying?”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I am not, woman!”

He sat down and rearranged the bundle, pushing the golden tablets back into the fold of the cloth.

“A former Prince of Egypt…” she murmured in thought, gaze faraway. His shuffling brought her back to the present and she turned to him. “How?”

He looked up. “How?”

She settled herself down on the bedding. “Yes! How? It must be a fascinating story, like the type Papa used to tell us as kids!”

He looked into her inquisitive eyes quivering with excitement and shook his head.

“I am sorry. My story isn’t a child’s fairy tale. And it is not safe information”

“I know it is no child’s story and I am not a child. I want to know. I yearn to know. I am imprisoned here by my duties to family. Only by stories can my mind soar free”

“Zipporah, there are some things you cannot know. It isn’t safe”

“Oh please Moses! Who would I tell? My sisters? They have no other dream but to get married to the man Papa chooses for them. I promise on my life to keep your secret safe” she pressed her hands to her heart solemnly.

He looked at her expectant face and smiled a little.

“Well, I was a Prince, yes. I was born a Prince, brought up a Prince in the temple of Ra himself, I was an acolyte. A scholar. With no chance of taking the throne, I buried myself in the study of our gods. I immersed myself in the study of the book you just held.”

He paused, mind far away.

As she opened her mouth to urge him, he continued.

“I found out I wasn’t a prince after all. My mother…foster mother told me. I had been drawn out of water. I sought out my real parents but couldn’t find them…Israelites of the House of Levi.”

She stared at him in fascination. “What is Egypt really like? Does the Queen bathe in milk like the merchants that come around here say? Is her skin as white as alabaster?”

“Egypt…” he sighed. “Both beautiful and deadly. Like the Egyptian snake. And the Queen might bath in milk but you’re prettier than she is.”

She shushed him, trying to hide a small smile.  “And why did you take the book? What is in it?”

He thought.

“Why indeed” he murmured.

Lying on the bed, he hooked both arms under his head.

“I took it on a whim. Maybe the god the Israelites worship would show me what to do with it.” He said sardonically. “There has always been talks about a deliverer among them. Maybe…maybe I took it for him. What if he came? It would be a good weapon against the Egyptians…”

She shook her head. “What is in the book? How can you go from an Egypt- loving Prince to a Egypt- hating Israelite in a matter of days? It is…not right.”

He studied her intently, mind suddenly wondering how he never noticed how lovely her lips were. Sure, she wasn’t as pretty as her other sisters but there was something about her inquisitiveness that gave her a strong aura.

At that moment, he decided she was a good woman.

He smiled at her. “As I said, Egypt was both beautiful and deadly. Even as a Prince, I had no love for Egyptians. The cruelty…” he paused, brows creased in a frown. “I once had dreams that I would somehow be the Pharaoh and the first thing I’d do would be to give slaves their freedom.”

He laughed; short and bitter.

“And the book?”

“Magic.” He smiled mischievously. “Magic of the Earth, of the skies. Words of Power. That is what is in the book.”

She looked at him, trying to see if he was joking. Something about the book she had touched left her with a feeling that he wasn’t.

She shivered.

“Magic…” she murmured.

A month later, they departed as husband and wife. He married her to ensure his secret remind close to home; She married him for adventure.

They journeyed together to Egypt, where his destiny awaited him.

—————————————————————————————————————

“I require an audience with the Pharaoh” Moses said boldly to the court official.

The bald, fat man eyed the Israel in his presence with such contempt. “The Pharaoh does not speak to slaves.”

Moses smiled. “Tell him this slave holds The Book.”

The official raised a pencilled eyebrow. “The Book?”

“Thoth” Moses whispered and the countenance of the man change from surprise to fear to apprehension. He stared harder at Moses, as if trying to strip away the beard and the premature lines on his forehead. His eyes widened in recognition.

“Ramoses!” he gasped.

“Moses. Tell him, Moses.”

Ramses sat on his throne, eyeing the man before him.

“You came back. Where is the book?”

Moses smiled at his one-time friend. The look on the Pharaoh’s face showed exactly what he thought of their friendship.

“It is where it is, until we reach an agreement. Harm me, and you’ll never find the book. You will never find it if you try to be sneaky too. If you threaten my life, I would teach the Israelites the words of Thoth and we’d see how it feels to be mastered, Ramses”

“Pharaoh to you” Ramses muttered furious

“You will meet my demands and then, you can have your Book.”

Pharaoh eyed him.

“And what are these…demands.”

“Free the Israelite slaves.”

Ramses jumped off the throne in ire. “Impossible!”

Moses watched him as he paced, his short brown legs pumping furiously as they took him up and down.

“Impossible!” he sat back on his throne.

Moses shrugged.

“I could reinstate you as Prince. You could have the finest Princesses from Ethiopia for wife. Gold! Rubies! Jade!”

“Free the Israel” Moses murmured.

Angrily, the Pharaoh called the guards who he had dismissed to have a private word with the renegade thief.

“Take him out of here but do not harm him”

As he was being led out, Moses turned.

“You’ll send for me”

Ramses eyed his back as he left, churning inside.

Two days later, Ramses sat agitated, fingers drumming on the elaborately gilded armrest. He heard croaks and gritted his teeth as a frog leapt on his arm. He swiped it with irritation, yelling for a guard to kill it.

“And where is the whoreson!” he yelled and the court officials nervously twitched, unsure of what to do.

“He would be with us soon, Pharaoh”

He hissed, spitting. “Frogs. Using our magic against us. The cheek! I should kill him!”

“But Pharaoh!” One of the plump officials with a high reedy voice quipped. “He said he’d destroy the book if we killed him!”

“Yes! Yes! Bring him here already” the Pharaoh angrily muttered.

A second later, the tall arrogant frame of Moses filled the hallway and he walked to him.

“Ramses. You sent for me.”

“Of course I sent for you! How dare you!” The Pharaoh’s eyes widened with rage as he tried to control his temper. Breathing deeply, he calmed.

“Banish the frogs to the Nile”

Moses pointed at the Head Sorcerer who stood among the officials. “He is a sorcerer. He can do it.”

“He could have done it had you not commanded ALL THE FROGS IN THE NILE OUT!”

The Head Sorcerer threw Moses a look of disgust. “Cheap tricks” he muttered.

Moses turned to him. “Cheap tricks? Or maybe the god of Israel is using me to punish you” He smiled and turned to the Pharaoh. “Free the Israelites and I will banish the frogs”

“No!” The Pharaoh’s voice boomed.

Moses chuckled and turned to leave.

“Stay right there!” Pharaoh commanded he paused. “Yes?” he asked without turning back.

“Fine! Go! And return the Book!”

Smiling, Moses left and the officials gathered round their King.

“But Pharaoh!…”

“You can’t…”

“Free them?…”

“SILENCE!” The Pharaoh commanded and a hush fell.

He looked at his subjects and smiled. “Of course I would not release the Israelites. But he doesn’t know that…”

He chuckled.

It wasn’t long before Moses made another appearance in the courts of the Pharaoh.

“Darkness! Hail! Locusts! Turning the Nile to blood! A curse on you and the filthy Israelite woman that birth you! A curse on the people you champion! Go! Go! Out of my sight! And give us our Book!”

Without any acknowledgement, Moses went back to the Israel quarters, where the Elders of the community waited.

“Would he release us?!…”

“Are we free to go?…”

Moses held a hand up at the clamouring. When it was quiet, he sat down.

“He would not release us.”

The Elders groaned, cursing.

Moses held a hand up and again, they hushed.

“I will force his hand and this time, he will let us go” he murmured to the gathered men.

“What will you do Moses?…”

“What power do you use?…”

“Why does the Pharaoh fear you!”

Moses waited till the noise quietened.

“It is the power of a God” he whispered. “And a God will deliver us. Make ready. Three days from now, we will leave the land of Egypt.”

“How!…”

“Tell us Moses!…”

“Deliverer! The Deliverer!…”

*********************************************

Moses sat in his room, the golden book on the table. The lamp illuminated the strange writings.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and let it out. Slowly, he began to recite, arms wide, voice in whispers.

A shadow made of dark matter formed and whispering commands, the shadow dispersed.

He sat down shaking, wiping off the beaded sweat on his brows. He closed his eyes and muttering, a bright light appeared on his table.

Seconds later, he covered the tablets and made it ready.

The Pharaoh would let them go now, His Book to be returned.

He made ready and headed to the Palace.

His attention would be needed.

***********************************************

“You killed my son. My only son.”

“You caused it, Ramses.”

“You killed the first son of my people…for Israelite slaves”

“Can we go now?”

Ramses nodded, resigned “Go. If I see your face again Ramoses, you will surely die. Drop the book here. Drop it and leave. You and your accursed people!”

Moses dropped the bundle on the table and left.

Outside the courts, he laughed, face alight with victory.

“Freedom!” He screamed.

“Freedom!”

****************************************************

They left with all they had, leaving nothing behind.

“Your day of Deliverance has come” he spoke in a loud voice.

The people roared in approval, shaking the foundations of Mizraim.

430 years in slavery and they were finally free.

“Freedom!” Moses cried.

The people of Israel echoed his cry.

“Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

***************************************************

“What do you mean!?”

The Head Sorcerer swallowed. “Pharaoh, this is not the Book of Thoth.”

The Pharaoh touched the golden tablets. “Feels real. Explain!”

The sorcerer closed his eyes, whispering and the air shimmered.

On the table where the golden tablets were before, laid three bricks.

The silence evaded the air. Then the Pharaoh let out a roar of rage, causing the sorcerer to fall back in fright.

The guards rushed in in alarm.

He sat on back on his seat, head pounding.

“Summon the Commander of my army.” He whispered. “Summon the commander of my chariots.”

The guards rushed out and the Sorcerer took the opportunity to make his escape.

“Free my slaves. Trick the Pharaoh. He will surely die…” he murmured, making a tight fist with his hands.

“He will die!”

He slammed his hand on the desk vehemently.

“Ramoses!”

 

Forty Years Later.

Moses walked to the Tent of Meeting, followed behind by the young man and would-be successor he had chosen, Joshua, who had a bag slung over his shoulder. He breathed heavily at the weight.

“What is in the bag?” he asked for the umpteenth time that night and Moses ignored him.

Inside the tent, Moses commanded him to leave the bag and step out.

Once out, Moses gingerly moved the bag into the Holiest of the Holies.

He stopped to admire the golden Ark of Covenant which was placed in the middle.

Slowly, he pushed off the lid of the ark.

Forcing his old muscles to move, he hefted each tablet placing them into the Box.

When the third sheet was in, he breathed hard, wiping his forehead. With shaking hands, he pulled back the lid to the Ark of the Covenant.

The next day, he gathered the High Priest and Levites.

“The Ark of the Covenant must never be opened. It is a Symbol of a God’s Power and Knowledge” he whispered to the small gathering. “It shall be carried by the Levites after they have sanctified themselves”

They nodded in agreement.

Moses sighed and closed his eyes, satisfied.

He had found a new home for the Sacred Book of Thoth.

The End

——————————————————————————————————-

Fact or Fantastic Fiction?

Day 15


Hey guys! Today, I’ll be doing another freeform writing, seeing as I have nothing set to offer.
Good luck!

___________________

Mama, they marched us to the parade ground. I held the hand of Nahor. He didn’t let me go even as I stumbled. They shouted at me roughly, Mama. It made me sad. You never shout at me even when I am naughty.
After marching us to the ground, they made us take off our clothes. They said we might have diseases. They shaved my hair too. I am not happy. I miss my curly hair, Mama. I miss your fingers running through my curls.
Where are you mama? Hope they’re not shouting at you? No one shouts at my Mama!
They’re taking us into a chamber mama. They said it’s to bath us.
I hope I’ll be able to see you tonight. Nahor misses you too but he’s ‘being a man’.
They’re pushing us roughly into the chamber.
Nahor is shaking.
It’s just a bath. I wonder why he’s afraid…

***********************

They captured us from our homes. Rounded us up like animals. Don’t take anything! Out! They screamed at us, hate twisting their faces, guns pointed at us. We obeyed.
We’re on a train huddled together.
Where is our destination, an old man asked. They hit him and told him to him up.
We’re watching landscape change in silence. Someone tries to sing but no one responds. Our hearts are heavy.
We’ve passed familiar places, Towns we visited in happier times.
The train stops at a station and more people are pushed in.
Where are you taking us to? An indignant man asks. One of the guards shoots him in the chest, laughing and leaves him in the carriage. The younger children are screaming. 
Some of the girls are crying.
Why us?
What did we do?
The men are trying to move the body to another part of the already cramped coach.
The train passes a post that reads ‘Auschwitz’.
I watch the sign even as it had passed out of view. Fear twists my heart.
Bubbe holds my hands tightly, her frail body quivering with exhaustion and age.
We wonder what we’ll find there…

******************

Cries.
Screams.
Their voices are raised, day and night.
Black smoke pours out of the huge chimneys attached to the chambers.
Cries.
Screams.
They’re being burned alive.
Eli Eli lama sabachtani?

———————–

That’s it.
Dunno why they came to mind; those children in 1942.
They went to Auschwitz- Birkenau.
They never came back…

Sigh.


*set to In The End by Vanessa Carlton*

The keys black and white, like him and her.

His ochre skin glistened with sweat as he thrust into her, over and over. She arched her back into him, crying furiously as he took her. She wrapped her hand around his neck and squeezed, her wiry fingers compressing his windpipe with unnatural strength. Her eyes were sad, but they shone with a preternatural light as his thrusts intensified with the tightening of her fingers. He began to gasp as her body began to spasm under him and he buried himself deep into her, his outstretched arms  rested on flat palms on either side of her face. In a mindless lust filled haze, she bucked and was rewarded with a resounding snap. His head lolled and his arms gave way, his naked body collapsing onto hers. She wrapped her hands around his torso and cried softly, the relief of taking a life washing over her, silently savouring the warmth leave his body and the gentle weight that slowly grew on her as his blood stopped to flow and his limbs turned to lead.

It took ten minutes for his body to transmute from healthy ochre to a sickly ash and she laid under him through it all, arms wrapped around his neck, legs spread beneath him. With some effort she crawled out from under him, the smell of death upon her. It is just as it should be, she thought to herself, walking through the dimly lit belfry towards the little square of light cast by the moon through the stained glass window. The kaleidoscope of colours bathed her pale skin in the glorious hues, a mockery of the blackness she was inside. Her youthful skin, milky white in spite of the years she spent in the desert sun, playing away the beautiful concertos that she had longed to play in the darkened halls with beautiful high ceilings. Her breasts blue and yellow from the light cast by the robes and cherubic face of the Christ child, they had stayed small as they were when He first fondled them in that back alley, when he made her spirit soar and her skin flush with light and her womb bloom with his seed. Her flat belly was the cream of the sheep that lay beside the manger, the fertile pudgy sheep that bowed its head in adoration of the child. Hers would never rise, never. He’d taken that from her because she took his seed away from him. The only thing that continued to thrive was her raven hair falling to her plump buttocks, hiding the scars of her trysts with Him as He prod her over and over, every season she sook him out to lay with her.  He’d obliged her each time, but he forbade her to look upon his beautiful face, bent her over and took her, sinking his claws into the small of her back and raking deep gouges that took a year to heal. He thought he was punishing her, but she knew better, he was the only one who could hurt her and pain was better than the numbness she felt.

He would ask her to play for Him wherever they met, in a crowded market or a dingy slum or an upscale hotel. It never mattered to him how many would die after. It never did.

“I have missed my violin, Tana.” He would say. “Play me a little piece? I want to hear if he has been tuned and oiled like you promised.”

She would play, from mournful to joyous, from jubilant to brooding, astute to languid, and they paused  where the music carried. Young, old, beautiful, juvenile; it didn’t matter to Tana Brooks’ violin. They would stop in their tracks and gather around her, transfixed by the sounds her bow wrought. He would disappear into the mist as he always did, smiling at his creation. She would play as long as they wished her to, minutes, hours, even days. She would tap out melodies that reminded suited business men of their childhood dancing to folk songs and they would dance in helpless abandon while she cried for now she was so in tune with the violin she could see the deaths that would come for them. Eventually they would all get sated with her and as a swarm they would disappear to their deaths and leave her with the burden of being judge and executioner. And she would disappear until, her scars healed and compulsion drew her to seek Belial again.

“Doh! Doh! Doh!” came the melodious whisper from the aged piano in the corner. Tana shook herself from her reverie and noticed the light was much stronger now; she had stood there for hours. She turned to the sound and a smile parted her lips. Ashy and stiff, he perched naked on the tiny stool that faithfully stood beside the crumbling piano hidden in the darkened corner of the room, his frozen fingers picking notes of a child’s lullaby. His neck jutted out an angle and his glassy eyes stared into the dark but he didn’t need to see the keys to play. She stood in the light and watched in awe as his skin regained its lustre and his joints became fluid once again, his neck slowly inching its way back up, righting his head full of curly hair. She saw it every other night, but each time he rose from where they had coupled and healed, it awed her over again. He turned his now straight head at her and smiled ruefully, seguing from the jaunty march he had been playing into a languid waltz. Play with me, his eyes pleaded.

Tana picked her violin from where she’d laid it by the window sill and tightened the frogs. She tested a few notes ensuring her notes rang true to his, and plunged herself into the music; following his lead, complementing his dips and shoring the silences between his transitions. They played so beautifully, two angels of death, harbingers of doom, cursed by their chance meetings with Lilith and Belial to wreak death in all they did. She played the half tones that her heart had longed to sing and the dirges she couldn’t play at the funerals of all the people she’d loved from afar and watched slip into darkness and he played the grand hymns he had dreamed of subsuming himself in at the cathedral where he had grown up, on the colossus of an organ behind which he had prayed for eighteen years tightening screws and waiting for his turn to glory in its melodies. Lilith found him and cursed his eyes to stay forever open and his hands to freeze in death each time he ever played for another’s entertainment, she’d taken all he cared for away from him on a petulant whim.  She was his salvation and he her companion, the perfect waltz, the girl on the violin and the boy on the piano.

——————————————————————–

This piece was written in 45 minutes as an imagined sequel to the  epic Girl On The Violin (read it here) set to the haunting song In the End by Vanessa Carlton. Our boy on the piano is none other than Johnny Depp. I hope I did justice to Tana Brooks. Shalom.

Yetsi’at


Her tongue slowly slid out of her lips. She flicked them in the air, tasting; waiting. Her lips parted, revealing teeth that shone in the darkness.
She smiled and began singing softly, under her breath.

He sat, bare back hunched. Long, unbound white hair fell across his face, obscuring his visage. His fingers glided hesitantly on the strings of the instrument he carried on his arm. Head cocked, he listened to the sound of her voice. The soft whispering voice that sang in his head.

She sniffed the air, taking in the smell of sand and burnt spices. Her tongue slipped out again, measuring. She opened her eyes and stared out into the darkness, barely illuminated by pinprick glows of flickering flames. She saw nothing.  Eyes filmed over. No sight.

He cleared his throat.
“You shall not be afraid…of the terror..by night…”. His voice broke.

“Or of the arrow that fly by day…” she whispered out loud.

A slight wind buffeted the dark robes she was swaddled in, which hid her body frame from view. Only her head was bared.

He smiled and gently plucked his strings. He lived in his world of silence; silence broken by her voice. He plays to her voice.
He’s deaf.

The air thrummed with energy. Her tongue swayed expertly, gathering the energy to her palate, extracting the information she needed.
Assimilating.
Discerning.
It was almost time.

His fingers continued their labour of love. They kept picking and strumming even though they knew their owner would never enjoy the fruits of their labour. It soothed him. That was all that mattered to them.
Slender, pale fingers, kept working.

“It’s time” she whispered and he stopped, mid-play.They were apart on a high crag formed by a sand dune. A cool wind blew, as if in affirmation of this statement; its chilly fingers playing tenderly with her flowing mass of dark hair. She steadily walked towards him, unmindful of the sand that tended to give way under one’s foot. He watched her gracefully stand beside him and touch his shoulders. He felt shivers down his back and he inclined his head towards her.

The sound of skin splitting was stolen away by the slowly increasing howl of the wind.
Dark gashes appeared at his back and slowly, his wings revealed themselves. He stood up, great in height, instrument in hand. The paleness of his bared torso glowed in the dark. His hair took on a golden hue and his eyes glowed, a vivid shade of red. His wings, the purest of white and his instrument, the dullest shade of sienna.

Slowly, her dark robes began unfurling themselves, fabric waving noiselessly in the air. The mass of it blocked her equally pale skin from view. Her wings peeked from sheets.
“We ride” she whispered even as the unfurling continued.
He nodded.
Together, they walked to the edge and without hesitation, fell into the waiting arms of darkness.

——————————-

I watch the faces gathered around the fire. Facial expressions mirror one another.
Fear.
Confusion.
Yhuda, my older brother looks grimly into the fire, arm slung over the shoulder of his twin brother Iuda.
Tateh’s eyes are closed, eyebrows knitted. That is his thinking face, my Tateh. Little Yochanan is sitted near Tateh, eyes wide, staring hypnotised, into the fire. Mameh and my sisters are trying to get some unleavened bread ready. I can hear Mameh scolding Hephzibah. She’s a clumsy one, our sister.
I clear my throat.
“Tateh..papa…”
His eyes snap open and turn to me.
“Amram” he said, his way of asking me what ails.
“Why are we doing this?” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.
He coughs, ridding his chest cavity of phlegm and spits into the fire.
The small flames sizzle.
“Moshe Rabbenu says we shall be free people tonight. He says HaShem would deliver us. We have done all that he says. All we have to do is wait.”
I nod, even though I do not really understand.
Yhuda looks at me briefly at throws me a smile. I smile back, uncertain. Earlier, we had killed a lamb with Dod Ishkar’s family. We ate them roasted, with very bitter herbs and hard bread. Mameh had said the bread was made without the raising thing. Forget the word the Mitzrayim call it. We had eaten it in a hurry, as Moshe had told us to do. I had watched as Dod and Papa painted the door frames with the blood of the lamb killed. According to Moshe, the ceremony was to be called Pesach.
Dod had said gruffly that it would keep out Mal’ach Hamavet, when i asked what the blood was going to do.
Mal’ach Hamavet. Death.
That thought disturbs me.
Keep out Death? How? I will not ask Tateh. He is no good at explanation.
I’d ask Yhuda later.
“How will we know when we’re delivered?” I turn to ask Yhuda
He shrugs. “We will know”
Iuda nods at this and repeat the same words.
Tateh nods in approval.
We will know.
We fall back into silence.
I bring my meager belongings Moshe had said we should pack, closer and hug it, eyes open but mind lost in thought.

—————————–

Land became visible and his eyes could pick out shadows of people who passed, amongst other things.They slowed and smoothly descended at the bank of the Great River.
“Praa” she whispered to him as his wings retracted. Her robes once again moulded around her.
He nodded and together, they walked to do their duty.

———————-

Mashuy walked aimlessly, tired. He could not sit and rest.
Guard duty.
There was an increase in the number of guards tonight.
The Praa wanted to make sure Ramoses didn’t organise an assassination on the Royal Son, and then claim it as his ‘god’s work’.
It was his first night guarding the Praa.
He stood beside the door, trying not to lean. He would be whipped severely if seen by the Guard Master.
He allowed his eyes glaze, staring at nothing but the play of shadows.
Suddenly his back arched and he jerked to an upright stance.
The door opened on its own. He glanced at the other guards who stood watch, but they hadn’t moved a muscle.
He stared back at the door and was surprised to see it closed.
He thought his tiredness was getting to him.
He began pacing again.

——————————-

The demons stared at the two figures that approached, baleful, from where their statues were. The blind woman could not see them but her flickering tongue could taste their sweet, smarmy stench of corruption. Only Bastet and Hathor stood from their crouched positions, glowing in their ornaments of rubies and emeralds. They looked haughtily at the two emissaries, orb-like eyes shining dully in the dim room. They bared the way. The woman walked up to them and as she approached, the two goddesses shrank back. The woman’s hair rose from her back and like a whip, it lashed the demon goddesses away. They whimpered, eyes burning with hatred as they slunk back, failed sentries. They walked into his chamber and stared at his sleeping body, covered in silk. He, being the Royal Son. The first son of Praa.

She walked to his bedside as if with sight and cast her blind gaze on him.
The deaf man walked to the other side and gently fingered the forelock of the sleeping King-to-be, black against his bronze skin.
The deaf man looked at her and feeling her gaze on him, she nodded.
He brought forth his stringed instrument and humming, he began playing. His skin began to glow as the tune he played progressed.
The boy tossed on the bed, as if struggling. His eyes opened and he sat up with a jolt, mouth open in a silent scream.
The musician played his instrument faster, fingers flying over strings.
The boy flopped back on the bed, his writhing causing the bed to quake, bed clothes bunched around his almost naked body. He was fighting a losing battle. His spasms decreasing in intensity. With one final jerk, and a faint cry from his slack lips, his body stilled. Slowly, soul separated from flesh. Sensing the emergence, she stretched out her hand through her robes, gathering the smoke-like Ba that rose. She opened her mouth and threw it.
He stopped playing and stared at the boy, sadly.
“Come. Many more await.” she said.

—————————

Anahita opened the door and entered into her house under the cover of darkness. Her father would kill her if he found out she had just come in. She quickly walked to her room, and on second thoughts, suddenly stopped. She hadn’t seen her brother, Amen, since the sun rose. He was recovering from the boils which her father believed was inflicted on him by the accursed Ramose…or Moshe as the Habiru slaves called him.
She tiptoed into his room and poked her head in.
The torch flames had not been doused yet, she noticed angrily. The rustling of sheet drew her eyes to the figure of her father’s first boy on the make shift bed.
Her eyes widened in growing horror as she watched her brother jerk, eyes open, arms splayed to his sides.
She screamed…

——————————-

…and we all jerk in alarm.
The twins sit up, ears cocked.
Even Mameh stopped her kneading.
She walks over to Tateh and asks him what it is.
Tateh has no idea, I know, but he doesn’t say it.
“Moshe” is all he says. The name has turned into a talisman.
We all trust Moshe.
Again, the scream is repeated, this time, farther away. It is joined by another scream.
And another.
And another.We all stand, unable to hide the alarm anymore.

Yhuda voices what we had all noticed.
“It comes from the Mitzrayim side ” he whispers.
Yochanan looks more afraid  and he clings to Tateh, eyes getting wider.
Tateh disengages himself from him and walks over to Mameh.
He wants to go check what is happening outside.
“Moshe said to stay in. Remember. Mal’ach Hamavet ” she says in a hushed voice.
Tateh sighs and nods.
He motions us to sit back down while Mameh goes back to her little corner. She begins scolding Hephzibah again. It seems she’s crying. Ona, my elder sister shushes her brusquely.
This is going to be a long night.

————————————————-

They walked out of the last building.
“All done” the blind woman whispered, face turned to the sky.
“All done” he replied.
Screams of anguish rent the air but they are oblivious to it.
After all, he is deaf. He cannot hear them.
She is blind, she cannot see them.
Together they walk into the darkness, the emissaries of Death.

———————————————–

There is heavy pounding at the door and we all jump up.
Dod Ishakar’s voice asks for entrance and Yhuda is quick enough to go and open.
Tateh rises too and goes to meet his brother.
“Moshe says to move. We are free.”
I cannot believe it.
I stand, oblivious to the sudden increase in activity around me.
“Amram!” my Mameh says hastily, and I’m freed from the bondage of my reverie. I turn to face her and see she was holding a sack to my face.
“Quick!” Tateh says “If we don’t leave now, we might never leave again!”
The talk of missing our chance galvanizes us into action.
After 430 years of slavery, it seems we are finally free.
Baruch atah Adonai.

——————————————————-

Yetsi’at – The Exodus
HaShem – The Name
Tateh- Papa
Mameh- Mama
Mitzrayim- Egypt
Baset/ Haroth- Egyptian goddesses of protection.
Dod- Uncle
Mal’ach Hamavet – Angel of Death
Praa – Pharaoh.
Moshe Rabbenu – Moses, our Teacher
Ramoses- Moses’ real name according to some Egyptologists and  some Scholars.

————————————-

Originally had two tales in mind but this is a merger of both. This is dedicated to the people of HaShem everywhere in the world, celebrating the feast of Pesach (Passover).
Hope you enjoyed that. You can lie if you didn’t 😀

Why did the chicken cross the road?


Start.

Decided to walk on sunshine for this post, in lieu of the usual ‘doom and gloom’ ( 😦 ). This was something I wrote a long time ago (ok about three years old). Enjoy.

——————————————————————–

I am sure you are all wondering why i am writing this ridiculous note with a ridiculous title.
“What a silly question!” some of you are already saying.
“To get to the other side” others are answering.

But are you right?
Is there more to that other side than what meets the eye?
Let me take you on a history roll; blast from the past if you like…

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
June 28, 1914

An odd flock of chickens were seen crossing the Latin Bridge. Minutes later, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, were assassinated. This led to a chain of events that brought about World War I.

Munich, Germany
February 27, 1925

A couple of our feathery friends escaped a cellar where a meeting was being held. This meeting was where Hitler, refounded the Nazi party. He then went on to build up the German army and take over Poland. In September 1939, World War II began when Britain and France declared war on the Germans. We know how it spirals down to the concentration camps and what’s not.

 

Hiroshima/Nagasaki, Japan
August 5, 1945

The Japs began to notice chickens crossing the road in groups.
The next day, A-BOMBs by the United States. This was the only time when nuclear weapons were used in a war to date. (Let’s pray it stays so.)

 

 

 

Dallas, Texas, USA
November 22, 1963

The driver of the presidential car noticed a strange phenomenon of chickens crossing the road.
Few minutes later J.F Kennedy was assassinated.

Newyork City, USA
February 21, 1965

Several people noticed some chickens escaping the kitchen adjacent to a ballroom in Washington heights with a cry of victory.
Minutes later, Malcolm X was assassinated.

South East, Nigeria
May 30, 1966

A cock, his hen and their chicks made their way out of Eastern Nigeria under the first glares of sunrise. Later that day, Colonel Odumegwu Ojukwu, declared the Eastern region of Nigeria, independent, forming The Republic of Biafra. Peace accords fell through, and as usual, things went south and on July 6, 1967, the Nigerian Civil War began.

Memphis, Tennessee USA
April 4, 1968

A black, mad man noticed chickens flying out of a balcony and landing like gymnasts. With unruffled feathers, they crossed the road. He crossed himself and muttered The Lord’s Prayer in Latin.
Few minutes later Martin Luther King Jr. was shot in the neck on that balcony.

Munich, SW Germany
September 5, 1972

A hen, meant to be breakfast for the athletes escaped and immediately it crossed, a group of men invaded and held the Israeli Olympic team hostage. These were a Palestinian group called Black September. Unfortunately, all of the Israelis were killed. Five of the kidnappers were killed as well and three were arrested and later released following the hijacking of a Lufthansa airline by the aforementioned group. (sigh)

Ok, bringing the time line closer

Newyork City USA
September 11, 2001

Couple of fat geezers noticed running chickens crossing the road just opposite the WTC. ‘Probably escaping from the nearest McDonald’ they thought aloud laughing. You all know what happened next…

What is the moral of this story? I have no idea!
I know the chickens did not cross the road just to get to the other side. Neither did they cross the road because it was December 25, a day of genocide for their ilk.
No, its more than that…

There is more to the “Joke”…
There is a sinister plot going on.
Do these chickens have a sixth sense?
Are they the real reason behind these events?
We’d never know.
Whatever the case may be, if you see chickens crossing the road, do not stop to look at them…

RUN.

(Lets be frank, humans are to be blamed for these issues. Why we choose the path of violence to bring peace is beyond me. Why we kill/main/destroy because a certain people do not fit our religions/social/racial group is beyond me. We can’t blame the Devil, or God. Humans are the reason humans suffer. These instances might look like Old history but the same thing is still happening around the world. *sigh* This wasn’t much of a ‘sunshine’ post right? A clear reflection of my true self I guess.)

P.S: Chicken is actually a wrong term to describe a live fowl. Chicken is what the feathery fiends are called when they are boiled, fried or whatever you do to yours. ‘Chickens’ is even more wrong but who cares.

Stop.

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