Serendipidus

Jennifer Ott

Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Ott

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Serendipidus 1

“My reign is over,” said a woman in a deep, raspy voice. Light gray cigarette smoke swirled against the black sky. Black leather swathed finger pressed an intercom button and repeated one phrase in several different languages—English, Japanese, Arabic, Spanish and Nigerian, “Ready for operation M.”

From the dungeons of the Tower of London, filthy hooligans dumped tons of sewage waste into the Thames River. “Choke on that,” said one of the hooligans in a heavy cockney accent. Black sludge and indescribable rubbish flowed down the river polluting every small town in its path.

A yacht named “Medusa,” sailed across the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. On the horizon sat several large oil platforms. Large, hairy hands pressed a handheld button and one by one the oil rigs exploded, sending billowing exhausts into the air and a puddle of slick oil across the water’s surface.

Dressed in a white lab coat, a Japanese electrical technician crept through the fluorescent floodlit hallways of the plant. He peaked over his shoulder and when sure no one was around he unlocked the door to an electrical grid that held the electricity for all of southern Japan. Flicking all the switches, he illuminated Japan so brightly it could be seen from outer space, sending mass amounts of greenhouse gasses into their air.

Armed guerillas ignited sticks of dynamite throughout the South American jungle. The dynamite exploded and started a slow burn to the underbrush of the damp rainforest. Soon, steamy smoke arose from the dampness of the rainforest as it erupted into an orange inferno.

Arabians dumped buckets of oil around rigs. The desert glimmered like black ice. From a safe distance away, the Arabians set the oil on fire and ran for cover. The desert burst into massive explosions.

A jeep filled with African rebels sped across the savannah and stopped abruptly. A slightly overweight African man puffed on a cigar as he studied the vast, dry plains. Slowly and with great deliberation, he dropped his cigar into the grass. The cigar smoldered until it flickered into flames. As the long stems of grass kindled like a match stick, the men fled away. Herds of animals—giraffes, zebras, gazelles, hogs, jackals and lions fled for safety. The fires overcame the jungle and villages.

From the safety of her yacht, a gaunt, black-eyed woman, Medusa Dominatrix dragged on her cigarette as one would do after satisfying sex. In fact, the ecstasy of world destruction deserved yet another long, soothing drag, which the woman did so with an orgasmic sigh. “That felt real good,” she moaned.

Sunshine weaved between the upwardly reaching leaves, greedy for the sun’s light. Broken rays of light beamed through a dirty window and blanketed a Saint Bernard, a long-haired terrier and a tabby cat snuggling together on a white shag carpet. The animals opened their eyes as the sun’s light crossed over a pink satin bedspread where a fair beauty laid peacefully—her long, golden curls strewn across the ruffled pillow.

Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World played from an alarm and greeted the beauty to the morning. She stretched out her long slender arms and arched her lithe body to a new day. Her pets leaped on the bed and covered her with wet kisses. “Come now. We have a lot to do today.”

Humming What a Wonderful World, the beauty stepped out of bed into her pink slippers and terry cloth robe. With an optimistic yawn to start the day she stepped into the bathroom, followed by her pets. Without hesitance she turned around to shut the door, but before closing she lovingly patted her pets on their heads. “A little privacy please.” The door was closed and the animals settled disappointed outside the bathroom.

For a woman of such beauty, many would anticipate a counter full of products—astringents, cleansers, toners, masks, and moisturizers. But for this beauty, she only washed her face with a bar of natural olive soap. She brushed her teeth with a tasty peppermint paste—cinnamon had a little too much zest. As the peppermint foamed around her full lips she continued to hum.

Her morning shower was her favorite time of the day. The stream of hot water cleansed her body and the steam that rose around her face cleared all her senses. Her showers were more than a physical cleansing; they purified her entire body and soul, preparing her for the day. Finally, the bathroom door opened with a veil of steam and out steppe freshly made for the day—supermodel Venetia DE Mille.

With a cup of chamomile tea touched with a spoonful of honey for sweetness Venetia opened up her penthouse balcony door to her garden terrace that overlooked Manhattan and was unexpectedly met with a toxic cloud of smog. She choked. Her cleansing shower was now sullied by city grime. It was hard for an optimist to see the deterioration of the world.

Often Venetia donned her designer rose-colored glasses. She loved her rose-colored shades, but today, even those rose-color shades were covered with a layer of filth that made it hard to see the world as a good place. Things were much different to the life she once lived; a life that seemed like it was ages ago.

It was only a few years ago when Venetia, a knobby-kneed teen with her bobby socks loose around her slender ankles and stringy blonde braids bounded across a meadow of wild flowers. She spun in a jubilant circle until dizzy and stopped to see the earth swirling around her.

When the world stopped spinning, she gazed over the edge of the hill and looked down at a quaint country convent below nestled in quiet woods of Oneida, New York. It was a brilliant life for the spirited Venetia, full of peace with nature and untainted from the world outside. She never had the cares, nor concerns of young girls her age—peer pressure, competition and social status. She was never tortured by a harsh word, an insult or physically bullied. Her life was of purity like few have ever experienced.

The nuns who lived at the convent never spoke of how they found her, or where she came from; they only said, “She was a gift from God.” What Venetia didn’t know is what the nuns said when she was not around.

In a small dining room illumed by colored sunlight from stained glass, the nuns sipped tea from dainty porcelain cup and nibbled on freshly baked snicker doodles. One of the nuns cooled her tea with a soft blow and said, “What are we going to do about Venetia? She shows no interest in the nunnery. She lacks the discipline for our faith and skill at virtually any task. Not to mention she pays no attention to her lessons.”

“She really turned into an odd bird,” replied another plump cherry-cheeked nun. “She talks more to animals then she does with any of us. Just yesterday I saw her having a conversation with a squirrel and she honestly acted as if the squirrel was talking back.”

“Personally I have tried everything to instill a strong work ethic in Venetia to prepare for the world outside, but then I found her napping in the garden,” replied a stern-looking nun. “And she’s impossible to reprimand. She just looks up at you with those big, innocent blue eyes.”

“Oh that dear girl sobbed all night when I cut roses from the bush from our rectory. The way she carried on; one would think I was cutting her with the scissors,” replied a young and pretty nun.

“What she needs is a dose of reality,” said the stern nun, “Maybe it’s time we introduce her to the big city.” The nuns nodded their acceptance of the idea and then all delicately sipped their tea.

Later that evening, Venetia slouched on her bed, removing braids from her hair. Her empty suitcase set open on the desk by the window. She didn’t want to leave and couldn’t imagine why the nuns wanted her to go. I thought they liked me. The empty feeling the swelled in her stomach did very little to motivate her to pack.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Venetia responded.

The pretty nun opened the door and stepped inside. “We wanted to give you this,” she said presenting Venetia with a gift. “It was placed inside your bassinet when we found you.

“Where did you find me?” asked Venetia unwrapping the present.

“On the convent steps with a note that read: fill her with peace and love. Allow her to be at one with nature,” said the nun. “It was hard for some of the others who wanted to teach you the ways of the church and our faith but we obeyed the instructions of the note.”

Venetia unwrapped her gift. Inside the box was a silver chain with an odd charm—a bent bar with what looked like a setting sun on one side and a rising sun on the other. She lifted the charm to study more carefully. “What does it mean?”

“We don’t know,” admitted the nun. “We suspect you will find out at some time in your life. It could be your destiny.” She shrugged. “Or it can mean nothing at all.”

Cupping the charm in her palm, Venetia slumped forward. “Why must I leave?”

“Because your place is not here; you are not fit for the nunnery,” replied the nun.

“Then where do I fit in?” asked Venetia.

The pretty nun placed her hand on Venetia’s knee. “That is for you to find out.” She gave Venetia a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry. We will still be here if you need us, but you need to find your own way.”

When the nun left, Venetia fell back onto her bed and turned off the table lamp. Only the moon’s blue light entered through the window and illumed the tears that filled Venetia’s eyes. She had never felt such heartache forced to leave the only home she knew and the creatures she loved. The world outside was surely hell.

Stepping off the train at New York City’s Grand Central station Venetia never saw so many people. It was chaos—the shouting, train horns blaring and the cops whistling. All the noises blended into one shrill shriek that sent shock waves through Venetia’s quiet and peaceful demeanor. The noises tried to corrupt the sweetness of her soul, but Venetia held her hands to her ears to drown all out as best as possible.

Crowds of commuters pushed and shoved as if they didn’t even see her. Paralyzed with fear she turned in circles, clutching her small suitcase that contained only items of modest clothes and intimates. Finally, she gave in to the madness and moved in the only direction possible, with the crowds.

The nuns at the convent found her a place to stay—a Catholic dormitory for girl. But there always seemed to be boys sneaking around inside often times with minimal or no clothing. Seeing boys in varies stages of dress flustered Venetia. She gasped and covered her eyes at the sight. Although the nuns assured Venetia the dormitory was decent, she found these girls smoking, drinking and sometimes shockingly kissing with tongues.

Venetia, the once spirited girl who ran through the meadows barefoot and slept peacefully in the gardens locked herself away covering her ears from the bass-thumping music, screaming and orgasmic late night moans. No one, however, heard Venetia’s cries of loneliness. When the hallways were clear of boys she called home to the convent and begged to let her come home. Her pleads were left unfulfilled.

Within a couple weeks Venetia found work—the perfect job—cleaning up litter at Central Park for the sanitation department. Dressed in her orange overalls she surveyed the park for pieces of paper, empty food containers, drug paraphernalia, and used condoms. She didn’t know what half of the stuff she was cleaning up was, but she knew she was doing a good deed and that was all that mattered.

The added benefit to the job was she was able to make friends. Often a pigeon would ride along on her shoulder, small song birds sang to her from the trees and she buddied with a gang of squirrels and chatted with the occasional rat. It was as if she were home at the convent.

One day a hip, shaggy-haired man approached Venetia while she cleaned up vomit around a trash can. “You have a very lovely face,” said the shaggy-haired man.

“Are you trying to get fresh with me, because I’m not that kind of girl,” Venetia replied sticking to her task.

“No, no,” the man said with a laugh. “No, you’re a very beautiful girl, so natural, fresh,” he paused, “pure.”

“Well, I was raised in a convent,” said Venetia.

He chuckled. “Of course,” He retrieved a card from his wallet. “My same is Sergio Rodriguez. I’m a photographer for Haute Magazine.”

Venetia gazed at his card confused. “Haute Magazine?”

“Yes, it is the top fashion magazine in the world,” he said, handing Venetia his card. “Gee, you weren’t kidding, raised in a convent. You should come down to the studio. I might be able to get you some modeling work and get you out of this dump.”

Venetia fumbled with the card. “What do I need to do?”

Sergio grinned. “Just be your beautiful self.”

Her face smudged with dirt, Venetia stared at the man confused. “I’ll try.”

Venetia squirmed in her seat as a tattooed artist covered her face with makeup and looked into the mirror at Sergio. “I thought you liked my face?”

Sergio leaned forward and massaged Venetia’s shoulders. “Your face is beautiful in natural lights, but we’re going to be shooting you in harsh lights.”

“You’re going to be shooting me?” she asked.

Sergio laughed. “You’re so sweet, so innocent. I know you are going to be a smash.”

The artist masked Venetia’s eyes with heavy black outline, heavy brush strokes of rouge and heavy lipstick. Looking into the mirror, Venetia didn’t even recognize herself. She cringed as a hair dresser pulled tugged and sprayed Venetia’s hair until it was standing upright from its roots. I look downright monstrous.

The actual photo shoot wasn’t better, as she stood before a green screen while a strobe light flashed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. Just be natural,” Sergio said, snapping shots.

“Natural, there is nothing natural about this,” said Venetia blinded by the lights.

“You, you’re the natural,” replied Sergio.

Afterward, Venetia returned home to the girl’s hostel still caked in the scary makeup and sprayed hair. She felt ridiculous and thought she looked even worse, but everyone back at the hostel looked at her differently. Girls stopped their conversations and stared. Some girls even invited her to have dinner and drinks. For some strange reason, everyone suddenly wanted to be her friend.

Since then, Venetia’s world moved so fast. In a flash, she was on top of the world—photography shoots on mountaintops and sky scrapers around the world. She met so many people she barely remembered one name but they all remembered hers and wanted desperately to be her friend or lover. Despite a world of people surrounding her, she had never been so sad and lonely.

She bought a high rise penthouse apartment far away from the demands and created an oasis with loving pets and garden terrace. It was here she felt most at home, loved and peaceful. Not another human soul ever entered her oasis.

Smoke from fires blazing around the world filtered into the atmosphere, creating a thin gray glaze over the planet. Explosions that rumbled sent shockwaves into the Earth’s crust, vibrating every crevice. Underground dwellers—insects and rodents scurried to the top only to be greeted by high levels of toxicity in the air. Nowhere was safe, not land, water, sky or subterranean. There was catastrophe in the air and it was the world’s smallest creatures who felt it first.

Standing on her balcony, Venetia found the plants of her garden wilting in the stale air— ivies yellowing, flowers with limp limbs and droopy foliage plants. Even though she tended to her garden with such devotion, feeding each plant with not just water and food, but with love and conversation, her plants struggled to stay alive.

It wasn’t just the plants; it was the other creatures too. A sickly squirrel teetered dangerously along the edge of the balcony as if dosed with a hallucinogenic. Rats and mice laid lethargic in the soil of her garden, lazily waiting for droppings of food instead of scavenging. A single cockroach scooted in a circle distressed and lacking direction. What has happened to my wonderful world? Venetia thought.

She took a long sip of her tea to calm already shaken nerves and lifted her long, svelte arm toward the sky and to her horror a one-legged pigeon crash landed on her wrist. “Schmittie,” she said, “What happened?” The poor bird fell from her hand and collapsed onto the granite floor of her garden terrace.

Panicked, Venetia set down her tea and lifted poor Schmittie bird and carried it into her kitchen where she tried to revive it with fresh water. But it was no use; Schmittie was a goner. Venetia sank to her floor. A poor creature of the world died in my hands. Looking up to the sprawled out wings and disfigured legs of the deceased bird on her kitchen countertop, she cried.

Venetia didn’t realize how long she was slumped on the floor and how long she cried, but it was a phone ringing that alerted her back to a present state of consciousness. Wiping her eyes, she rose to her feet. She tiptoed over her pets in search for her phone. “Hello,” said Venetia with a tearful sniff.

“Where are you?” asked an angry effeminate male voice. “You are holding up the entire shoot!”

Venetia turned mournfully back at the pigeon on her kitchen counter. “I don’t think I can make it in today. Schmittie passed away.”

“Well I’m sorry about that, Venetia,” replied the male voice feigning compassion, “but so will our contract with the Chagrin campaign if you don’t get your little fanny in here.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be their shortly.

Venetia flicked off her phone and turned her attention to Schmittie. Carefully she wrapped the bird in a towel, carried it back out to the garden and laid the bird to rest in her garden. She knelt quietly for a moment in sad reflection and brushed dirt from her hands. With her heart broken, she stepped back inside, locking the balcony door shut to the pollution outside.

Life outside on the streets of Manhattan was a golden blur of smog, soot and neon lights that flashed unreadable advertisements. People’s shouts, alarms, construction and the blaring of music competed to be heard, yet nothing was audible. It sounded like an out of tune orchestra with instruments playing different parts of the symphony.

Venetia entered the hustle and bustle of the city street. People pushed and shoved one another. There were no “Excuse me,” or “Sorry.” Knocked around in the crowd, feeling knuckles against her back, elbows in her ribs, Venetia gazed upward to see the shimmering image of her bikini-clad body on billboard above. Ashamed and vulnerable, she slouched and pushed forward with the crowd. She really had no idea how she would manage through the day with such heartbreak.

Serendipidus 2

Wind blew through open windows of a hardwood floor, loft studio. White curtains fluttered like flags of surrender. Colorful ribbons, fabric remnants twirled randomly about the room. Martin Meelander a flame red-haired and flamboyantly attired male stylist postured before famous fashion designer, Milo Chagrin whose hair and face were so tight any sudden expression would seemingly crack his entire body.

In a grand, dramatic gesture Martin said, “It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to “Forever Fashion.” He turned and screamed harshly, “May I have the first model please!”

A lifeless model entered the studio wearing a cone-shaped Styrofoam brassiere. “The bust of the new millennium,” said Martin with gleeful pride. “Light weight, enduring—a bust that will never, ever disintegrate. It will be bust that will be admired until the next Millennium!”

Suddenly Venetia stumbled inside. Frizzed hair surrounded her face like a lion’s mane. Soot smudged on her cheeks and nose. She looked absolutely primal. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said, gasping for breath.

Martin gave Milo an apologetic grin and stepped toward Venetia. He cupped her soiled cheeks. “Darling,” he whispered, “I don’t expect you to be able to tell time; I just expect you to be pretty and prompt.” He noticed her red swollen eyes, her dirty face and mangy hair. “And now, you’re not even that. You need to get yourself into makeup pronto.”

Venetia nodded obediently as she entered the dressing room where models meandered about in various stages of dress. Bashfully Venetia disrobed behind a curtain away from the spying eyes of her model colleagues.

Suddenly black leather-clad claws ripped open Venetia’s curtain. Venetia gathered her clothes to protect her nakedness. Medusa held out a cellophane dress to Venetia. “Here’s your dress sweetie,” said Medusa with a cigarette perched between her wiry, dry lips.

Venetia stared at the dress with reservation. “This dress is…well, it’s transparent. I might as well be,” she whispered, “naked.”

Medusa grinned with the cigarette erect between her lips. “Honey, it’s only natural. You were born naked.”

Venetia stared at the cellophane dress limp in her hands. Natural, there is nothing natural about this dress. Doubt flooded Venetia’s rosy optimism, but then today seemed to be a change of all things. Today, nature fell from the sky and died in her hands.

“Medusa!” called Martin from the studio. “We are ready for you, gorgeous!”

Medusa puffed smoke in Venetia’s face. “I’m wanted,” she said and strutted in her spiked heels toward the studio. She paraded around the studio before Martin and Milo wearing a hard, plastic bustier.

“Hard, impenetrable, and permanent,” described Martin with daring conviction to Milo. Milo nodded his leather faced approval without a wrinkle of expression, while Medusa strode across the studio floor satisfied.

With his well-manicured hands pressed together, Martin called for his next model. “Venetia, darling! We’re ready for you!” Venetia did not come forth. Martin chuckled nervously. “Venetia sweetheart, don’t be a little prissy.” Venetia still didn’t appear. “Venetia!” Martin howled angrily, stepped behind the curtain and pulled Venetia out before Milo.

Venetia stood before Milo covering her revered private parts visible behind the clear cellophane dress. Martin wrestled Venetia’s hands away and exposed her to Milo. “Expose, Display, Reveal,” Martin demonstrated Venetia’s nakedness to Milo, “Taking something natural, beautiful and preserving for eternity—forever.” Milo grinned smugly; Venetia lowered her head ashamed.

Venetia returned to the dressing room and released a few tears of pride as she changed back into her clothes. She had been modeling for a few years, but never had she been so humiliated. It was something about the modeling industry she didn’t understand, if models were considered to be the epitome of human beauty, then why try to make them look so hideous. Why adorn natural beauty with artificial embellishments?

While she dressed, she spied Medusa through the curtain. She had never worked with Medusa before, but she definitely heard about her modeling reign, her affairs with rock stars, athletes and politicians. Any model who tried to compete for Medusa’s spotlight was run off the catwalk, blinded by high-powered camera flashes, or poisoned with tainted make up. Danger surrounded Medusa and Venetia knew very well to keep her distance.

Behind the curtain Venetia watched with curiosity as Medusa lit another cigarette and strode confidently toward the door. She waited to come out from behind the curtain until Medusa was gone. Last thing Venetia wanted was any confrontation from the most terrifying woman on the planet.

Wearing shades and a cigarette dangling between her wiry lips, Medusa sashayed a head above the pedestrian crowd. She was careless of the people beneath her, prodding them with her bony elbows, pushing them out of her way. Cabs, trucks and cars swerved to avoid her and crashed as she crossed the street.

Medusa continued unfazed by the fiery accidents in her wake and tossed her cigarette butt into a baby’s carriage completely unconscious of the mother trying to blow out the spark. She lit another cigarette and exhaled in the face of an elderly man, who collapsed of a heart attack. Without missing stride, she stepped over the man’s body and approached a magazine stand. To her dissatisfaction, it was Venetia’s glossy picture adorned on every magazine cover.

“That dear girl is going to burn herself out,” said Medusa. She removed the cigarette from between her lips and ignited the magazine stand on fire. She left as the newsstand and Venetia’s pretty face erupted into flames and walked inside a beauty salon.

Inside, all five beauticians with pink smocks were waiting for one customer—Medusa Dominatrix. One beautician draped a robe over Medusa’s shoulders and escorted her to a leather reclining chair. As another poured Medusa a class of champagne the others downed a quick bubbling shot to prepare themselves for the task at hand.

Medusa sipped her champagne and puffed on her cigarette perched between her lips. Just as a beautician was about to place cucumbers over her eyes, Medusa spied a glossy cover of Venetia. “Do you think she’s more beautiful than me?” she asked of the beauticians.

The beauticians looked accusingly at each other for leaving the Venetia’s cover in Medusa’s sight. One beautician shamefully removed the magazine while another answered Medusa, “How long can she maintain her beauty?”

“Yes!” another beautician responded, “You’ve been one of the world’s top supermodels for the last twenty years.”

Medusa lifted one of the cucumbers form her eye. “Thirty darling,” she responded proudly, “an illustrious thirty year career. She settled into the reclining, vibrating leather chair as each beautician took one of Medusa’s limbs to beautify.

Three-year-old Medusa Alexandra Catherine Josephine Dominatrix was heir to the biggest family fortune ever quantified. The tubby heiress was raised on a yacht somewhere in an undisclosed area of an undisclosed sea. No one other than those who served her every whim knew her whereabouts.

To all her servant’s surprise, Medusa shed her baby fat and grew into a striking teenager—svelte, leggy and stood over six feet tall. Her hair was jet black and her eyes were even darker. She was something to behold and definitely something to fear. Her beauty was only understated by Medusa’s demanding and tempestuous personality. She was something to admire at a distance, or even in a photograph.

By age fifteen, she had seduced every male servant and in turn, her father had them banished from humanity for fraternizing with his daughter. There were very few who would take on the responsibility to mind this precocious teen and those who did only lasted a few months. After her debutante ball, Medusa Alexandra Catherine Josephine Dominatrix was introduced to the world. The paparazzi were immediately taken with her brazen brand of dark beauty. Bold and brash Suitors from around the world sought her hand in marriage.

Of all the men the brazen beauty could capture, Medusa fell for the glistening toothy smile and captivating blue-eyed man from down under—Nick McDonald, heir to the McDonald Uranium Mines. Medusa had never seen eyes so blue and his warm embrace filled every cold, nook and cranny in her body. Medusa never knew love until she met Nick and never had she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

Lounging under the fragrant Eucalyptus trees, Medusa believed she could give up it all for her man—her modeling career, notoriety and fame. Why would she need it when between the two of them their family dynasties had more money and power; they could buy the world over several times. All Medusa wanted was her Nick; nothing else in the world had any meaning.

Nick, however, developed a nasty habit and that was a conscience. He protested against his family’s stripping the land and poisoning the Earth with toxic Uranium depletion and in doing so, he rebelled against Medusa’s dreams of a life of money and power. Nick’s inclination toward caring for others diminished Medusa’s passion; she simply would not and could not share him with others. Unfortunately troubles persisted when the couple learned of her pregnancy.

Medusa stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching her belly swell, and her beautiful svelte body developing unsightly curves. Will I lose my status in the world? Will I lose Nick’s affection? Her fears came true when Nick’s attention was averted. He became obsessed with the baby growing in her womb. Medusa was in danger of losing the love of her life to her unborn child. She didn’t mind too much, as soon as the bugger would be born, it would be handed off to the Dominatrix nannies and once again, her and Nick will get back to the way things were.

While Medusa terrorized doctors and nurses in labor, her staff of nannies, chefs, maids and butlers cowered in a hospital corner. What was to be expected of the demon child? Would it throw uncontrollable tantrums? Would it teeth on the arms and legs of the servants? Would it eat their peas? The questions mounted in the minds of the concerned who would have to tend to the every demand of the child.

When the announcement of the child’s birth rang through all the dark corners of the world, Nick marched past the trembling servants and daringly into Medusa’s hospital room. Before the doctor could rest the child into Medusa’s arms, Nick took the baby.

“What are you doing?” questioned Medusa.

“Medusa, I am not going allow my child to be raised by nannies and servants,” Nick replied, gazing into the big eyes of his child. “Maybe someday we will learn there is good inside you, Medusa, but until then I will not subject our child into a life of complete evil and corruption.”

“You can take the baby and your morals, but one day Nick, when there is nothing standing between us, you’ll see,” said Medusa.

“A cold day in the fiery pits of hell, I suppose,” he said as he beamed at his beautiful child.

“If that is what it will take,” Medusa spat.

“G’day, Medusa.” Nick left the room with the baby in the arms. Passing all the servants he made a snide remark, “You are all off the hook.” A sigh of relief rang loudly through the corridors.

Medusa rested, childless. For the very first time in her life, she felt powerless. She had lost all the dominance in her Dominatrix name. Nick was the love she never knew existed and now he was gone. “Good Riddance to you both,” she said as she lit a cigarette.

“Honey, there is no smoking in the hospital,” said the nurse.

Medusa flicked ashes at the nurse. “I am Medusa Dominatrix; I do as I please.” As the nurse was leaving, Medusa called out, “You can send in my visitors now.”

The nurse turned back with a grin. “You have none.”

Medusa puffed thoughtfully on her cigarette. It was an early lesson for the young heiress— love sucks. What’s the point of loving if people change? What’s the point of loving if you can’t control what will happen? Next time love would be considered much more strategically.

Prince Edmund of Canterbury literally fell head over heels for Medusa at a polo match, but slow motion replay showed Medusa knocking the prince from his horse with her polo stick. She swung her horse around and trotted the horse to the fallen prince. Placing the head of the polo mallet into the prince’s neck and said, “Marry me!”

The frightened prince choked, “It would be an honor.”

But alas, the marriage would not last more than a year when her young Anglo love was killed by friendly fire in a foxhunt. Despite the scandal, Medusa found herself destined for England’s throne and access to the British crown’s fortune.

A few short months later, at a hotel in Paris a rich and loud Texan man with a big brass buckle, big Stetson and big wallet waved American dollars at the bartender like he was waving the American flag. “Bar keep!” called the Texan, “Hey Gar-con! Can I get some service down here?”

The bartender refilled the Texans’ pint. Gazing downward to sip the foam of his cold lager, the Texan caught the striking sight of Medusa’s crossed legs a couple stools down. “Whew wee, take a look at ‘er. Ain’t she a sight for sore eyes?

The Texan slid his big butt from his stool and dared to approach Medusa with all the bravado of the state of Texas. “Hank Johnston’s my name; oil’s my game,” he said as he lit her cigarette.

Medusa leaned forward and said, “There’s nothing that turns me on more than a man who gives me a light.”

That was all the encouragement the Texan needed. He hoisted his belt buckle and boldly invited Medusa back to his room. Riding her Texan bucking bronco, she soon took control of the reins and hog tied him with her silk stocking.

With his feet and hands hog-tied and a handkerchief shoved in his mouth the Texan mumbled, “Wow Miss Medusa, I have never met a woman like you. Do me the honor and be my bride.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hank Johnston arrived at his Texas ranch in a stretch limousine decorated with large cattle horns on the front grill. Hank lifted his bride Medusa in his arms and carried her into the ranch and directly into a bedroom. But in the honeymoon festivities, Texan Hank Johnston accidently hung himself from the ceiling fan with a silk stocking. Days later, Medusa collected her inheritance—large oil barge in the Gulf of Mexico.

Hank’s unfortunate demise did not stymie Medusa’s career. It wasn’t long until she traveled to South America were she posed seductively wearing the skimpiest of bikinis before an erupting volcano. Medusa raised her arms in their air and arched her head back in ecstasy as fireballs exploded from the mountaintop.

Circling above in a helicopter was El Presidente Jorge Jesus Salazar of a small South American country. From above El Presidente became overly smitten and immediately ordered his staff to bring her to his mountain plantation. So before the ground settled in the grave of her former Texan spouse, she wed her Latin love and learned of his secret underworld of drugs and weaponry. During a romantic evening walk, El Presidente Jorge Jesus Salazar took an unfortunate tumble into the active the volcano. With Medusa’s powers of persuasion she rallied El Presidente’s troops, his money and an arsenal of weapons of mass destruction.

Eiko Yamashiro, CEO of a large Japanese electronics’ company emerged from his Geishas completely stirred by Medusa’s exquisite poise. Eiko took Medusa as his wife. After a night of hot oils, steamy baths, sweet Sake and bad Sushi Eiko fell to an untimely death of natural causes and Medusa became head of a the world’s largest electronics company.

Medusa mourned her late Japanese husband by going on Safari. Nothing healed Medusa’s broken heart more than taking aim on Africa’s endangered species. From the back of his rebel’s military jeep General Atto fixed his binoculars on Medusa. “Bring her too me,” commanded General Atto to his rebels.

Wrangling Medusa was harder than any foe the African rebels faced; in fact several men didn’t survive. But they were able to capture Medusa and bring her before the general. General Atto stepped off the jeep to confront her. “I never saw a woman shoot like you.”

“You haven’t seen anything,” she responded with a seductive grin. “Man is my favorite target.”

General Atto laughed. “You are quite the dangerous woman. You are a good ally for a man to have. I would hate to have you as my enemy.” Within weeks Medusa became General Atto’s wife and within another few weeks, somber African rebels paraded their slain General through the streets to his burial site.

By this time, Medusa had money and power in abundance. She played every fool, tricked every con and defeated every adversary. With world in her grasp, what was she to do with it?

Medusa’s evil nature shined through the green mask. A beauty attendant removed the mask from her face which did little to improve Medusa’s ashy complexion. Sitting upright in the leather reclining chair, Medusa lit a cigarette and admired her appearance in the mirror. “Thanks girls, I feel like a brand new woman. All a woman needs is a little pampering and a little perspective and she is ready to conquer the world.”

Serendipidus 3

Dark, menacing clouds swirled in the sky. Fierce winds blew. Trash lofted in gusts and even birds had trouble fighting the strong squall. Venetia lowered her head, sheltering her face as she plowed forward with the crowd. She didn’t notice when she treaded over a short, square- looking man, knocking him face first to the cement sidewalk. His briefcase cracked open and papers spewed across the sidewalk.

“Oh no,” said Venetia, kneeling to the man’s aid. “I didn’t see you.”

The man popped upright proudly straightening his bow tie. Despite the seriousness, there gleamed a sensibility in his eyes. “Well, then perhaps you should open your eyes.” Staring straight at Venetia his shorter stature gave him direct eye contact with the nape of her slender neck. He squared his shoulders, adjusted his black thick rimmed glasses and looked up into her eyes. “You could be quite dangerous to others when you’re not watching where you’re going.”

“But it’s hard to see in this wind,” replied Venetia, “the trash and dust could sting my eyes.”

“Or you could trample over a fellow citizen,” the man scolded.

Venetia did not like the man’s tone with her, especially since it was an accident. She was well acquainted with those who talked down to her, talked around her and even talked as if she wasn’t there at all, but seldom was she scolded by a serious, scowling pint-sized man. All she wanted to do was thrust her hands to her hips and give him a piece of her mind. “Well, I’m sorry.”

The man scoffed as he lowered to retrieve his belongings—a broken pointer, documents with pedestrian foot prints and sketches ripped to shreds. “I am a scientist!” the man cried out, “I do not have time for a stampede of civilization!”

Suddenly shameful of her judgment, Venetia numbly watched the man struggle against the tide of people. “You are a scientist?”

Hugging his broken pointer and shredded documents dearly to his chest, he pressed his thick glasses to his face. “Miss, I am Doctor Poindexter Scheigopherer,” he said as if he was a household name. “Do you realize that the increased amount of toxins in the earth’s atmosphere is causing the earth to turn at a faster rotation, thus devastating the fabric of our very existence?”

“Is that why it has been so windy?” asked Venetia.

Poindexter chuckled. “Why aren’t you the smart one?”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it! I was only asking,” replied Venetia.

One of Poindexter’s fliers blew around Venetia’s ankles. She reached for the flier and read, how excess toxins in the earth’s atmosphere increase the rate of rotation. The admirable Doctor Poindexter Scheigopherer demonstrates his theory of ARR at the World’s Fair. “ARR?” questioned Venetia curiously.

“Yes. Accelerated Rapid Rotation—ARR.” Poindexter ripped the flier from her hand. “Now if you don’t mind, I have important business to attend.”

With his arms full he headed off, leaving Venetia filled with questions and doubt.

Later as Poindexter exited the subway in Harlem, sirens blared and gunfire pierced the dimming sky as he neared a rundown, brownstone building with windows secured behind iron bars. He searched his pockets for his keys, locked out again. Checking over his shoulder to see if there were any prying eyes, he turned down a dark alley filled with the yellow eyes of stray cats and feral dogs.

Laying his precious vinyl briefcase on the top of a dumpster, Poindexter hoisted himself on top and tossed his briefcase on the first level of a fire escape. On the tips of his toes he reached for the fire escape ladder and pulled himself up. Walking up two flights he came to an industrial glass window left slightly ajar in case of such emergencies. He threw his brief case inside and slenderized himself through the window. Home at last.

Poindexter switched on a single light bulb. Meandering through a maze of mice traps to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator for a refreshing beverage—cherry cola. He entered his living space with a dusty old couch and several out-of-date television screens. He turned on each television which portrayed a spinning globe at a different location—Empire State Building, Hollywood sign, Eiffel Tower, an Igloo at the North Pole, Taj Mahal, and on top of a water buffalo.

Poindexter sat closer to the monitors and noticed one horrifying statistic—they were all spinning much faster than the last recorded time. “ARR increased nearly ten times!” This was not good, but who would listen? Decades have passed for Poindexter trying to sell his ARR theory, yet no one took him seriously. He suffered the worst reputation any scientist could encounter—a quack.

It doesn’t seem possible it was nearly a generation ago when Poindexter was an eager young climatology major at Queens City College. Dressed in his best tweed coat with the standard leather patches and his good luck bow tie, Poindexter presented his ARR theory to his colleagues with much zeal and determination.

“A.R.R.,” Poindexter wrote in bold letters across the chalk board. He turned to his tired professors and uninspired students and demonstrated each letter with the tip of his pointer. “A. R. R. Accelerated Rapid Rotation. I have discovered an increase in the amount of toxins in the earth’s atmosphere has had an effect on our weather pattern causing an increased rate of rotation of the earth’s axis.”

He switched on a television monitor that displayed a plastic globe spinning on top of a New York City brownstone. “I have conducted experiments with a device I like to call the Globevane. You see, the Globevane is made of a special porous plastic material that detects pollutants in the atmosphere. I have concluded the higher the amount of pollutants, the faster the Globevane spins, thus proving my theory of ARR.

Silence filled the room of professors and students until a few released quiet snickers. Poindexter held tightly to his theory and his pointer. “Are there any questions?”

A gray-bearded scientist, Doctor Dubious rubbed his chin and said, “Do you really expect someone to fund this hogwash?”

A deep scowl line crossed over Poindexter’s brow. “Yes sir, I do. I believe the future of our planet depends on it.”

Doctor Dubious sat upright in his seat. “Is there anywhere in your experiment that ruled out the wind.”

“The wind,” repeated Poindexter.

Fellow students erupted into laughter.

“Yes, well don’t you think the wind could rotate one of your…,” Doctor Dubious paused momentarily to keep from laughing, “Globe-vanes?”

“Why yes,” declared Poindexter passionately.

“Young man, you’re a more suited to be a television weatherman than a research scientist,” said Doctor Dubious. “If you want to persist with this theory of argh,” he mocked, “than I suggest you do so independently.”

Poindexter snapped his pointer in two. “I don’t need you!” yelled Poindexter. “I don’t need any of you! One day I will prove you all wrong. You’ll see and then you’ll be begging for my help!”

After collecting all his papers and television monitor he exited in a huff. Standing alone in the hallway with his pride, he could still hear the stifled laughter. He had worked so hard—days slaving over equations and theories, countless nights in contemplative solitude and where did it get him—alone.

He reminded himself constantly that great discoveries and great inventions were often the product of solitary confinement. Albert Einstein spent days, weeks and sometimes months in isolation while conducting his theory of relativity. To Poindexter it was all relative. Some folks invested in love, marriage and family and for Poindexter science was his one true love.

Twenty years later, snuggling up with his love of science, Poindexter shook off his past reflection. He was always one to believe in learning lessons from the past, but what lesson did he learn from such scorn—his colleagues lacked imagination and conscience; they were too frightened to read between the lines of a textbook. What happens to the world when the science stopped evolving?

That evening Venetia nestled in bed with her beloved pets and watched television. Even the love and affection of her pets could not overcome the collision with that serious little scientist. She reflected on Poindexter’s theory of ARR. “Who ever heard of something so silly? And people say I’m simple-minded,” she said with a chuckle and a hug of her pets

Venetia’s bed trembled. Picture fell from the walls and decorations tumbled from tables. The wind banged against her window. She switched off the television and opened the balcony door. Stepping out onto the patio the wind played havoc with her long golden curls. Leaves from her plants were ripped from the stems, leaving only sickly sticks poking out of the ground.

Below on the street, parked cars crashed, trash floated in the wind and trees bent double. A strong gust of wind pushed Venetia back inside as she fought to close the balcony door. Turning toward her bedroom she found her pets cowering under the bed. “ARR, something’s not right,” she muttered. If anyone could help explain, it would be Poindexter.

Serendipidus 4

In the sweltering heat of late summer, swarms of people crowded a carnival with bright colored banners and flashing neon lights. Cola cups, wrappers and scraps of food littered the ground muddied with footprints.

Inventors and businesspersons promoted their new devices that would make civilized life more convenient—microwave ovens for automobiles, televisions for showers and refrigerators inside furniture. Scientists exhibited new and improved disposable items—clothing, electronics and computers. You name it; a cheap disposable version had been developed and sold for the cheapest prices. Life on Earth had never been so easy, rip off the plastic wrap, use and dispose.

Elsewhere activists campaign for animal rights, human rights and rights of the spiritual and supernatural. With all the causes, it was hard to know what and who to believe. Lobbyist urged people to donate money and sign petitions—pro guns, anti-guns, tobacco, health foods and fast foods. Prophets preached and predicted the rise and fall of society.

Among the selling, protesting and preaching families strolled around the grounds eating ice cream cones and licking large candy lollipops. Children rode amusement park rides. Young men showed off their target-shooting prowess to their dates by winning large stuffed animals. For most, it was a fun-filled day.

Venetia strolled through the carnival on a mission to find Poindexter. Ever since she knocked him over a few days ago, she couldn’t get ARR out of her mind. The thought of the earth accelerating at a faster rate due to pollution frightened Venetia. She simply had to find Poindexter to learn more.

Wrapped up in her worldly concerns she barely noticed the activists and prophets beseech for her attention. “Miss DE Mille, may we have a moment? Miss DE Mille, we’d like to tell you about our new product! Miss DE Mille can we have a photograph? Miss DE Mille! Miss DE Mille!” Venetia had no mind for any of them; she pressed on as all the calls blended into one.

“Snob!” an activist yelled.

“Bitch!” cried out a prophet.

Despite her mission to find Poindexter, the words struck Venetia’s heart. She hated to be unfriendly and was just about to turn around and address her fans when she spied a small pop-up tent with a white flag flying half-mast with the logo, “ARR.” Venetia sighed relieved and headed straight for the tent.

Inside the tent, bored and over-heated spectators fanned themselves to keep cool. They had no interest as Poindexter set up a black and white film projector. One of the spectators slurped his soda.

Poindexter stopped and stared annoyed. “Please. I am about to start.” Another spectator coughed. Poindexter cleared his throat and gripped his pointer. “People, I cannot begin with these interruptions.” A Spectator snickered.

Poindexter pulled himself together and addressed the small, uninterested audience. “Have you ever asked why time seems to pass so quickly?” With the aid of his pointer, he demonstrated a poster with the letters, “ARR, Accelerated, Rapid, Rotation—I have concluded the toxins in the Earth’s atmosphere has an impact on the rate of rotation.”

A bright light appeared through the opening of tent distracting Poindexter. Venetia slipped inside and took a seat in the back. “Excuse me Miss. I don’t like to be interrupted while making a presentation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” replied Venetia.

Poindexter nodded with reproach not recognizing Venetia in the glare and continued his speech. “I have set up control studies around the globe that monitor ARR.” He turned on the film projector and stood back with his arms firmly folded across his chest. The projector illuminated a newsreel.

A deep, male voice narrated Poindexter’s film, “Control studies have been set up around the world to monitor the ever-increasing rate of the Earth’s rotation.” On the screen a montage of Globevanes spun at various rates world white—Empire State Building, Hollywood sign, Eiffel Tower, Taj Mahal, an igloo at the North Pole, and a water buffalo in Africa.

“I have deducted the Earth’s rotation varies with the level of toxins in the air. The speed of the Globevane’s rotation is fastest on top of the Empire State Building due to the heavy concentration of air pollution in contrast to the slower rotation of the Globevane on the top of the water buffalo,” said the deep-voiced narrator. A landscape of ecological demise appeared on the film screen. “This is the future of our Earth if we do not do something about ARR!” A white light show on the screen and then film flickered from the projector.

The audience giggled as they filtered out of the tent. “That was hysterical,” said someone as they exited.

Venetia remained with a few snoozing people who fell asleep during the presentation. She approved Poindexter and said, “Doctor Schiegopherer.”

Poindexter studied her carefully from behind his thick-framed classes. “Do I know you?”

“I accidently knocked you over in the street,” replied Venetia bashfully, “But I didn’t mean it. I swear. Well, I really don’t swear, but…”

Poindexter raised his hand to stop her mumbling. “Have you come to finish me off?”

“Oh no, I want to make a donation to your research,” she said.

“Don’t tease me Miss. ARR is a serious subject,” said Poindexter.

Venetia reached inside her pocketbook, retrieved her check book and started writing. “Who should I make it out to?”

Poindexter adjusted his glasses to make sure he was seeing the situation clearly. “You can make it out do Doctor Poindexter Schiegopherer.” He glanced at the amount she was writing and his glasses steamed with excitement. “A million dollars, that’s a lot of a money.”

Venetia handed him the check assured. “I’m a supermodel.”

Poindexter fumbled the check in his fingers. “Well, that explains it.”

“Doctor Schiegopherer, I couldn’t stop thinking of what you said about worldwide devastation. We have to do everything we can to fix it,” said Venetia.

“Stop it? No honey, it can’t be stopped. Once ARR started, it can’t be reversed.” He crumbled the check in his hand. “Now all we can do is prepare for the inevitable. Now if you don’t mind, I need to prepare for my next demonstration.”

“But…,” sighed Venetia. “Who’s going to save the planet?”

Poindexter chortled. “You’re a supermodel; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He waved his hand. “Now scat.”

Venetia left Poindexter’s white, pop-up tent with tears in her eyes. She gazed around, finding the day an ashy, pale color with a strange orange hue. Despite the strong wind, the air she breathed was stale and suffocating. A sense of alarm filled her chest, but no one else seemed to care or notice. Something’s not right.

Walking down the street, toward busier avenues the air grew denser and the orange haze brighter. It was weird and Venetia didn’t know what was going on. Scratching her head she saw the indifference in people’s eyes.

A crowd was gathering outside the theater where the fashion show was to take place. As Venetia neared, fans stopped their conversations to gawk. Some pressed her for autographs while other’s snapped photographs. Venetia couldn’t be more bothered the people cared more for seeing her than the world that seemed to be smoldering in the strange orange fog.

Inside lights lit up the catwalk. Hard pounding techno music thumped. Suddenly the silhouette of a lifeless model posed against a back drop of photographic images of garbage. Wearing a Styrofoam pointed brassiere and opaque tights, the model paraded down the runway with a vacant look in her eyes and her arms limp by her side.

“The bust of the new Millennium—light weight, enduring!” introduced a women with a strong, matronly voice. “A bust that will never lose its shape and will be admired until the next Millennium.”

Back stage Martin paced nervously through a blur of color—draping fabric of gowns and naked flesh of the models. “Oh Venetia, where are you?”

Medusa appeared dressed in Venetia’s cellophane dress with a cigarette dangling between her lips. She looked like a dried old, freeze dried chicken that was way beyond its expiration. “No worries Martin,” she said with the puff of her cigarette. “I am here.”

“Medusa, you’re a doll, but we need Venetia,” replied Martin. He cupped Medusa’s ashy cheeks, “You are hard and impenetrable. You are not our fresh, forever fashion. Now hurry and quick change back into your assigned gown.”

Biting down on her cigarette, Medusa turned on her heel in a huff and disappeared behind the curtain. She changed into her cone-shaped bustier and spiked heels. Standing for the curtain, her shadow cast a frightening image as she awaited her turn on the runway.

The curtain opened and Medusa swaggered into a stream of harsh fluorescent lights. The music was a sharp as a razor’s edge. The same shrilly matronly voice echoed, “A look so hard, so impenetrable, its destruction is impossible.”

With her cigarette polluting the air, Medusa strutted down the runway, stopping at the end. She stopped firm with her legs spread and hands posed on her hips. She studied the indifferent faces of the audience. No one was looking at her, so she flicked her ashes on an unsuspecting patron and returned behind the curtain with a callous uncaring sashay.

Backstage Martin paced nervously and jumped for glee upon seeing Venetia enter. “Oh, darling, where have you been?” he asked, guiding her immediately to the dressing station.

“Martin, something’s happening,” said Venetia with wide-eyed alarm.

“Yes darling, they call it a fashion show,” replied Martin trying to undress her.

Venetia threw up her arms in protest. “No Martin. It’s ARR!”

“ARR, Venetia that is right if you don’t quickly get into costume,” said Martin.

“No, Accelerated Rapid Rotation. It’s happening. The Earth is rotating faster due to the increased amount of pollution. The world is in great peril,” cried Venetia.

Martin twisted Venetia’s naked body into a sheet of cellophane. “This fashion show will be in great peril if you don’t get your fresh little fanny out there!” He gave Venetia a shove toward the runway. “You are the future of Milo Chagrin designs!”

Before a large, brightly illuminated picture of piles of plastic, Venetia stood before the audience naked and exposed, draped only in clear cellophane. The crowd cheered. With every unsteady step, Venetia felt every single stare glued to her naked body. Tears streamed from her as she turned at the end of catwalk, careful not to rip the seam that holds the entire dress together.

Hidden behind the curtain Venetia wiped her tears. Martin encouraged her to go out for her encore but she refused. “Darling, they love you! You are their star!”

“Well they will have to find someone else to gawk at. I’m through Martin! I quit!” Venetia stormed outside without changing back into her street clothes. Outside, she entertained the mass pedestrian crow with her see-through cellophane gown. Cat calls and shouts rang through the streets and Venetia hurried home.

Meanwhile, around the world, ignitable vapors seeped into the many crevices of the earth and reacted chemically with the soil. Tremors occurred from deep below the surface rising to the top in violent quakes worldwide. Mountain passes of the coast of Northern California and Oregon slid into the sea, taking full towns into a watery grave. Off the coast of Indonesia, an earthquake resulted in a massive tsunami, flooding entire islands. A major shock rippled across the cradle of civilization, from the rivers of Babylon to the Nile. Oil rigs, high rise buildings and ancient relics exploded from the build-up of underground gasses. The smoke and debris rose high into the air, blocking out the sky. A black rain swirled over the land.

Back at his brownstone apartment, Poindexter monitored his stack of computers, he felt a violent tremor and suddenly red lights illuminated on his dashboard and alarm bells rang. He urgently fiddled with the knobs and buttons on his dashboard as he watched each one of his thoughtfully placed Globevanes. “Oh no, this doesn’t look good.”

Poindexter watched the Globevane explode into pieces on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. On another monitor he watched the Globevane on the Eiffel Tower flatten between steel beams. Another monitor displaying a Globevane once placed on the Hollywood sign rolled down the mountainside, forming a huge avalanche that crushed unsuspecting tourists. He observed a Globevane dissolve from radioactive fallout on top of the Tah Mahal. A Globevane floated in a puddle that used to be an igloo and a Globevane spun on the carcass of a water buffalo.

Looking out the window he noticed orange clouds covering the blackening sky. The wind carried trash and any creature too small to fight.

As a scientist, curiosity got the best of Poindexter. He stepped out onto the streets. A strong wind blew and lifted Poindexter high into the air, carried him several feet and dropped him over a sidewalk grate. He crashed through into slime of the sewer. Discouraged and distraught, Poindexter slumped against the cold cement wall.

Throughout the city the storm intensified. Menacing clouds covered the sky. A lightning bolt struck Lady Liberty’s torch. The torch plummeted into the dark swelling waters of Liberty Harbor. The wind howled and ripped the crown from her head and carried it across the water where it crashed into City Hall. A toxic tornado of garbage whipped up garbage and grew into a massive funnel as it picked up more power and more trash as it hit land over Manhattan. No one was safe.

City wide chaos erupted with cars crashing, fire hydrants erupting and buildings swaying dangerously in the wind. Scaffolding folded onto sidewalks crushing pedestrians. Steel girders that held up bridges broke and tipped traffic into the surging rivers below. Passengers screamed as they fell to their ultimate demise in the filthy waters below.

Even those fortunate enough to be inside doors felt the force of the storm. Glitter balls shattered over partygoers. Fallen dancers laid battered and bruised covered in sparkles. Windows crashed into family brownstones. Unstable floors fell below onto the next flight.

High above the city, in her penthouse apartment Medusa watched the chaos with a wicked grin. Out there in the city, people will lose their lives and their loves. As she dragged on her cigarette, her smile began to fade and she reflected on her life, recalling occurrences that changed her life and took away her love. “It serves them right. They asked for it, living in oblivion.”

In Central Park Venetia fought the wind in her blowing cellophane dress. She covered herself as best she could and looked up to see lightening break across the sky. The wind blew her curls in every direction. Below on the ground she witnessed wounded birds that could not fight the storm, furry creatures taking cover under rocks and bushes. Suddenly bubble wrap fluttering in the wind covered her face and then a plastic toy hit her head with a squeak. She felt her body pelted with Styrofoam popcorn. She was under attack from a trash strewn storm.

Ahead Venetia found safety under nature. She wrapped her arms firmly around the sturdy trunk of an old oak tree. But even the old oak had a hard time fighting the storm as Venetia felt every cell in the tree fighting to stay upright. She could only hope the tree was strong enough.

Looking up at the sky, she witnessed what she believed to be a shooting star. At first it was beautiful, but as it grew closer it became too bright to look at. She shielded her eyes from the sight. The large thud and violent quake knocked Venetia against the trunk and unconscious.

Serendipidus 5

Venetia woke under a pile of leaves. Gazing upward she saw the once mighty oak with its once green leaves now barren. Only wretched bare branches stretched upward to a warm pinkish colored sky blending beautifully with deep indigo. Bright vivid stars illuminated the Manhattan skyline like never before. The air was surprisingly clean and crisp. The storm gusts must have cleared the air. Thankfully a few leaves from the oak stuck to Venetia’s cellophane dress naturally covering all her private parts.

Car horns and hollers of morning commuters grew louder as Venetia made her way toward the streets. Stepping into the curb, she bore witness to one of the most horrifying automobile accidents—cars, cabs, trucks towering on top of one another, reaching to the height of a sky scraper. Drivers and passengers stuck inside the crushed cars screamed for help, as emergency vehicles tried to make it to scene.

“Lady, get out of the way,” called a burly crane operator from way up high.

Barefoot, Venetia tip-toed through the glass and rubble covered streets to the sidewalks where the pavement was even more treacherous. Nearing an electronics store she noticed a shopkeeper sweeping up shattered televisions.

A television playing the news caught the attention of Venetia and many worn and ragged pedestrians. They watched Nadine Blywather; a toothy female newscaster broadcast the news with an award-winning smile. “Today on Wide Awake America, we are going to discuss table manners to impress the in laws and later on in the show, Fashions for Fido.”

The angry shopkeeper swept them all with his broom and shouted, “You watch it; you buy it!”

What happened last night? Why wasn’t the storm on the news? Certainly a storm of that magnitude would be newsworthy. Venetia thought as she walked away.

Continuing on her journey home, she passed others—clothes torn and soiled. Shattered glass and rubble was everywhere. Limbs and body parts lay lifeless under scaffolding, cars and buildings. It was horrible, but as soon as Venetia turned her head to the sky, she couldn’t help be taken with the beauty of pink, indigo starry sky. Could I have woken in n another world? Could I still be dreaming?

Venetia returned home to her penthouse apartment to find her furniture tossed throughout the rooms and no sign of her pets. No Saint Bernard came lumbering to greet her; no friendly yapping terrier and no deep-throated meow. “Where is everyone?” she called, “I’m home.”

A large Saint Bernard leaped out of the bathtub and appeared from behind the bathroom door. The terrier crawled from beneath the bed and the cat jumped from high above on the cupboard. Venetia greeted them all with kisses and hugs. “Thank goodness you are all okay!”

She opened her door to her balcony garden with a view of the bright vivid starry. With Saint Bernard and her terrier by her feet, she cradled the cat in her arms as she contemplated the sky. Despite the beauty of the starry sky, something struck Venetia as terribly wrong.

Changing from her leaf-covered cellophane dress into more casual jeans and T shirt, Venetia watched the news hoping for an update to the strange occurrence, but still nothing about the accidents or the storm. The world was continuing as if nothing ever happened. Somewhere out there someone must have noticed.

Laying in the sludge of the sewer, Poindexter slowly regained consciousness from his fall. His body was paralyzed with aches and sores. Noticing the passing pedestrians above, he shouted, “Help! Someone help me!” He watched soles of footsteps trample above carelessly, some dropped wads of paper, chewed gum and even cigarette butts into the gutter.

His attention was drawn beyond the careless pedestrians to the sky. Squinting through the slime on his glasses he stared at the sky. Something was amiss—the pinkish dawn, the bright vivid stars. He checked his watch; it was noon. “The sun should be at full in the sky by now.”

Poindexter lifted himself onto his elbows and contemplated the strangeness. Shimmying up the slime-covered wall to the street, he mumbled. “This is worse than I expected; this is DER.” Standing on his feet he faced a wall of people, but Poindexter remained firm in his determination and pushed himself through the crowd, “Excuse me, scientist coming through.”

As usual no one gave Poindexter any respect. “Science is for nerds who can’t get laid,” said a young woman who elbowed Poindexter in the ribs.

Pushing through the crowd, he wondered why he should even help these people. Why enlighten people who cannot see their hand before their face. Sometimes despite his determination he pondered his investment. “DER! You people deserve your fate!” he yelled.

“Get off your soap box you religious zealot!” argued a man.

A vein pulsated in his forehead. “This is not religion!” screamed Poindexter, “This is science!” It was all Poindexter could take. He had to get back home.

Medusa slept on a cold table of steel with no pillow to rest her hard skull and no a mattress to lay her body. The air around her was still and stagnant. Her black eyes opened to a gray light that filtered in through her window and smile crept across her wrinkled grin. Last night’s orgasmic destruction wore her out.

She looked out her open window and could make out little of the details, only billows of smoke that circled upward. She lit a cigarette and watched the swirling gray fog elevate into nothingness. Shrieks and cries gave her an exciting tingling feeling throughout her body. Too bad she was alone and had no one to share sensation.

All her dreams came true in one night of destruction. In the massive annihilation and confusion, she could gain more power. Frightened people will be looking for someone to turn. But not only will people turn to her, she would have the power to handpick those she deemed worthy of her company. The rest could perish. She sucked on the butt of her cigarette until there was nothing but ash. “It’s going to be a great day.”

Models strode across a hardwood floor decorated with bloody glass shards, rubble and charred bits of metal, their faces painted with white makeup and eyes darkened for a ghastly appearance of death. Once again, Martin presented the line to Milo who watched with the same dim expression, “Chaos, destruction - Feeeel the drama!”

A lifeless model swayed before Milo in a lace dress beaded with gravel. Martin continued his presentation, “Here is Tiffany in what I like to call, “Death to the Adorned.” It represents the contraction between beauty and destruction. Her dress is made of the finest Chantilly lace from France beaded with rubble from recently destroyed Tah Mahal, flown in especially today.”

Milo forced a grin with his hard leather face and waved his approval.

Martin gestured for another model. “Next is Bianca, blazing in a daring silk dress singed to her panties. Ooh, la, la! She wears straps of bullets that cross over her breasts that scream, “Stop don’t go there!”

Suddenly Venetia burst through the door, a wreck in her wild curls and jeans. “Stop don’t come in here!” yelled Martin.

“I need to talk to someone!” cried Venetia.

“You quit, remember and therefore you are trespassing,” replied Martin.

Venetia stared at a model wearing a red-stained and burnt wedding dress. “What is that?”

Martin pushed Venetia toward the door. “That is art. Art is decay, decay is art. It is the latest trend.”

“You’re celebrating death and decay? Martin how could you?” asked Venetia. “You should be celebrating life.”

Martin squared Venetia’s shoulders. “That is the problem with you Venetia, you never understood fashion. It’s about what’s hip, what’s here, what’s now. We gotta jump on this destruction thing before anyone else or else it will be too late!” He shoved her out the door. “Now run along and celebrate life elsewhere.”

Turning to Milo with the apologetic grin he introduced the next model, “And now Cindy Lou, show us Shrapnel City!”

Outside Venetia wandered the street as commuters went about their daily business annoyed by the delays of cleaning up the dead and destroyed. She ducked inside a café to collect her thoughts.

A waiter passed balancing five plates in his arms. “Miss, if you want to sit here, you’re going to have to buy something.”

Venetia gazed up at the waiter just about to speak when she saw a small television behind the counter broadcasting Nadine Blywather, “We are back on Wide Awake in America and Americans are asking themselves, ‘How can I permanently rid myself of unsightly body hair.”’

Leaping from the chair, Venetia raced out of the café and hurried down the street toward a large crowd outside the television studio. She mixed with the excited crowd and forced her way toward the security guard. Breathlessly she introduced herself, “I’m Supermodel Venetia DE Mille.”

The security guard scrutinized her mangy hair, soiled face and wrinkled clothes. “You don’t look like a supermodel.”

These were desperate times and Venetia did only what she thought was necessary. She lifted her T shirt to show the security guard her bra.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t recognize you,” said the security guard and let Venetia pass.

A jolly weatherman put his arm around two beauty contestants in sequined bathing suits. “What do we have here, a bunch of bathing beauties?”

“We’re all finalists in the Miss American Pie contest,” replied a bubble-headed bathing beauty.

“Well, you’re all just pretty enough to eat,” said the weatherman winking to the cameraman. “And now for the weather.” With a jolly smile he displayed a screen showing global devastation, “Storms occurred though out the East Coast, Mid-West, Deep South and Pacific West.” He draped his around one of the bathing beauties, “But today in New York, it will be pretty as a picture.”

Venetia sneaked past the weatherman and escaped the camera, entering the studio unnoticed. When the director signaled cut, Venetia popped on the couch alongside Nadine. “I have something important to say to your viewers,” she whispered.

When they went back on air, Nadine reported, “Oh, well it seems we have a surprise guest today. She is supermodel Venetia DE Mille, who stunned the world last night in forever fresh fashion.” Nadine turned toward Venetia, “You made a stellar impression last night my dear with your fresh fashion, but I must say you’re not looking too fresh today, sweetie. Rough night partying with all the beautiful people.”

“No,” replied Venetia, “that’s not why I’m…”

Nadine interrupted, “I guess the question all women out there are asking is how do I make cellophane work for me? Most women do not have your figure?”

“I want to talk about last night’s disasters,” said Venetia, “Not fashion.”

“Oh,” said Nadine with a slight fade to her smile, “Yes, very devastating. Very sad indeed.”

Venetia looked directly into the camera. “I just think people should understand what a big tragedy this has become. How are we going to help everyone affected by the storm?”

“Venetia you have been associated with many different causes over the years. How do you plan to promote this latest cause—a telethon and benefit concert?” asked Nadine.

The camera focused on Venetia. “I don’t know. This is too big for me alone.” She pleaded to the camera. “I need the help of all of you. Please, for the sake of the planet. Help me!”

Nadine leaned forward and tapped Venetia on the knee. “Well, good luck to you.” The camera turned back on Nadine, “And now apples, do they really keep the doctors away?”

Venetia stepped outside the studio dejected. The crowd outside swarmed her with pens and paper. “Miss DE Mille, saw you on television. Gosh, you aren’t so pretty. Can I have your autograph?”

Venetia pushed herself away. With all the devastation bringing her down, one thing can light her up—Poindexter.

Serendipidus 6

The trip back to his home was much more challenging than Poindexter anticipated. A group of coffee addicts sacked a coffee cart, fighting for the last drop of Joe. The mob overturned the cart. The cart owner begged for his life. “Help! Someone help!”

Continuing down the street Poindexter passed open fire hydrants. A few children played in the water as car and trucks flooded and stalled. Poindexter waded through the water up to knees. Once he reached the safety of dry land he sighed seeing the pavement clear of pedestrians. Suddenly a socialite with blonde coifed hair, expensive jewelry and clothing encumbered Poindexter’s progress and tossed her purse into a department store window.

“Seventy percent off my ass, we’re going for one hundred!” she screamed like the tribal leader of an ancient warrior squadron. “Come on ladies!” Hundreds of socialites mobbed the store, stealing shoes, clothing and jewelry.

Frustrated workers tossed shredded documents and computers from twenty story buildings. Poindexter covered his head and ran for safety. Small fires erupted from the corporate building. Presidents and CEOs of companies fled down the streets, escaping irate employees looking for revenge. Drivers refused to stop for passengers. Poindexter turned in circled surveying the madness. His face turned reddish purple with anger. “Crimeny sakes people!”

Through the broken glasses and shredded documents, Poindexter pulled through and finally made it to his neighborhood, where gangs hung out on street corners and porches. Thankfully, the gangs of the neighborhood who knew of Poindexter parted giving him access to his apartment.

Home, Poindexter switched on a television with a spark and puff of smoke. He studied through the static screen shreds of Globevane on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Switching on the next monitor he noticed Globevane pieces dangling from the steel beams of the Eiffel Tower, and in the blackness of night, he saw his Globevane, a glowing, molten mass of nuclear radiated, oozing over the top of the Taj Mahal.

A knock on his door invaded his concentration. “Not now, the world is in crisis!”

It’s me, Venetia,” she said softly through the door.

Poindexter paused and on instinct he started to tidy up his messy bachelor apartment and even took the time to check his look in the mirror. He was filthy, still not bathed from his fall in the sewer. “Ah, I’m busy. Can you come back in an hour?”

Venetia woefully pressed her cheek against the wooden door. “It’s important. I’m afraid something terrible happened last night and you’re the only person I can talk to.”

Poindexter couldn’t resist; he opened the door exposing his dirty, filthy self.

Venetia looked over him and covered her nose to protect herself from the stench. “What happened?”

“It is a worse fate then ARR; it is DER,” said Poindexter.

Venetia bit her bottom lip as she entered Poindexter’s apartment. It was the first time she was alone in an apartment with man and she was quite nervous. Inside she studied what looked to be Poindexter’s mad scientist’s lair—monitors, electrical switchboards, dials and wires. With all this stuff she was convinced; Poindexter was a genius. She knew she was in the right hands. “So it’s not ARR?”

“DER,” corrected Poindexter.

“Der?” Venetia questioned.

“Decelerated Earth Rotation,” responded Poindexter as he dug a telescope out from a cluttered closet and aimed it outside through barred window. Staring through the site, he saw nothing but treetops, telephone wires and brick façade. “Oh, I cannot affix any kind of point from this location,” he grumbled. Stepping away from the telescope he turned to Venetia and said, “Come with me.”

Venetia helped Poindexter carry his telescope up the fire escape to the roof top where groovy music blared. All around coed tenants danced in bikinis and volleyed a rainbow color beach ball. “Who are all these girls?”

“Just some people who live in the building, I guess,” he said stepping over the sun-bathing girls to find an empty spot to set up the telescope.

“Watch it Poindexter!” yelled one of the girls.

A male radio announcer broadcasted on a small transistor radio, “That was the Beach Boys with I Get Around and here’s Elllvvisss!”

“Hey, you guys have any booze you can spare? We’re sure getting thirsty over here!” called a bikini-clad girl to a party happening on the next rooftop. A pompous man in Bermuda shorts and polo shirt tossed a bottle to the girl. Coeds cheered.

Meanwhile Venetia and Poindexter found a clearing in the part near the far corner of the building. Venetia peered over the cityscape of Poindexter’s brownstone building. Below traffic blared, people shouted and random gunfire burst. Across the cool, morning sunshine, clouds of smoke billowed upward.

Poindexter gazed through the telescope and watched the sky intensely.

“What are you looking for?” asked Venetia arching her neck to the sky.

“They sky relative to the time of day. My watch says it’s two o’clock in the afternoon however it looks like sunrise.” He removed his glasses thoughtfully and squinted at Venetia. “I fear the earth has stopped rotating.”

“That’s impossible, right?” asked Venetia.

“It defies every law of physics and every astrological principle,” said Poindexter with beet red intensity. “Unless, unless…something struck the earth. See here, the Earth spins and will only stop unless something opposed it.”

“What could do that to the Earth?” questioned Venetia.

Poindexter stared into his telescope. “Meteor or a comet.”

“I didn’t hear anything about a meteor.” Venetia’s face lit up. “I did see a shooting star last night.” She scratched her head. “Or at least I think it was a shooting star. Last night was fuzzy.”

Poindexter gazed though the site at the sky. “Most people’s lives are fuzzy. That’s the problem with the world. No one stops to think.”

“If the Earth really stopped, if it were possible, what does that mean?” Venetia asked fearful of the answer.

Poindexter turned from the telescope and pressed his glasses to his face. “I’m afraid cataclysmic ecological destruction. The Earth will simply fade away.”

Venetia dropped her head. As hard as she tried, she could not hold back the tears. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

Poindexter sighed. “Without knowing the severity of the damage, I have no idea how to rectify.”

“We must find someone who can help. Surely there must be a way out of this?” Venetia asked hopeful. “Maybe if we can alert more people, we can find the answer.” Her eyes lit up. “I think I know someone who can help!”

Venetia and Poindexter arrived outside a brownstone in Brooklyn. A blend of punk, hip hop and Reggae music blared from an open window. Poindexter adjusted his glasses on his face. “This is what you have in mind to alert the people?”

Venetia gazed up at the open window with the doe-eyed stare of an adoring fan. “Blade Urban, people listen to him.”

Poindexter raised his eyebrows. “I guess if people will listen; it doesn’t matter who it comes from,” he said as Venetia already had made her way to the door.

“Are you coming?” she called from inside. Reluctantly, Poindexter followed.

Winding up the staircase where the music grew to an earsplitting level—the bass turned up so high the interior of the building shook almost as much as last night’s storm. At the top floor, Venetia watched pretty boy rock superstar Blade Urban with long hair, tattoos and tight leather pants. Blade screeched at the top of his lungs and grinded against the microphone stand. When she entered the room, one by one the band stopped playing, leaving Blade singing unaccompanied.

After a few notes, Blade realized the music has stopped and Venetia was in the doorway. “Venetia love, could it be true? Have you finally given into the Blade?” he asked giving her a slobbering kiss.

Venetia brushed herself away from Blade’s advances. “I need your help.”

Blade released her seeing Poindexter in doorway. “Ah, I see you’re not alone. You brought your own protection,” he said with a wily grin.

“He’s a brilliant scientist. He discovered ARR…well, now DER,” said Venetia, waving Poindexter inside the door.

“I don’t do DER, but I am always good for ARR,” Blade growled.

“Stop your messing around; this is serious,” replied Venetia.

“Got it. We all saw your bit on the tele and we’ve already started recording a song for your benefit gig,” replied Blade.

Venetia bit her fingernail and said, “I think it’s a little more serious and will take a lot more than song.”

“How do you mean love?” asked Blade, “A song can change the world.”

Carefully stepping over electrical cords and drunk groupies, Venetia walked to the window. “I’m not sure you noticed, but take a look at the sky. Don’t you think it’s a little weird? I mean it looks like sunrise all day.”

Blade squinted out the window at the pinkish indigo and brightly lit starry sky. “Wow, look at those stars man. It reminds me of the night in Machu Picchu where we all took..,” he paused and gazed at Venetia, “That’s bizarre; I’m not even on anything. What’s it all mean?”

“Poindexter, come in and explain your theory to Blade,” Venetia said and turned to Blade. “He’s rather shy about his theories. They have been controversial.”

“Controversy, now you’re speaking my language,” said Blade

In the presence of the rockers, Poindexter squared his shoulders and pressed his glasses to his face. “Well it’s all very simple; the earth has stopped rotating.”

Blade and his band stared at Poindexter in disbelieve. “What does that mean?”

“The world has stopped spinning,” replied Poindexter, “The earth had stopped moving.” He looked at Blade with all earnest. “The rock had stopped rolling.”

“The rock had stopped rolling,” he muttered. He looked up at Venetia. “Well, even if the rock isn’t rolling we can continue to sing.”

Within a few hours Blade Urban and his band recorded a new song. Blade sang:

Spin my world down the alley of shame

into the gutter of my heart.

Spin the world, oooh, oooh,

Spin the world, baby.”

Venetia sighed. “That’s great Blade. Hopefully people will listen.”

“Everyone listens to me babe; it’s only a matter of time until it hits the charts,” he replied.

“We don’t have time. People need to hear it now,” urged Venetia. She sighed disappointed and left the studio. Venetia and Poindexter left Blade’s apartment building. “We have to do something. We have to tell the people the earth has stopped spinning,” she said.

“Why? Let them die in ignorance. Won’t it be better than them knowing their fate?” Poindexter questioned.

Burying her face in her hand, Venetia started to cry. “We can’t just let it happen. You’re a scientist—a genius, we have to try. We have to.”

The world had stopping spinning and as far as Poindexter was concerned, there was nothing that could be done, but ease Venetia’s aching heart. “Okay. Let’s see what we can do, but I make no promises.”

Venetia wiped her tears. “I knew I could count on you.”

Serendipidus 7

Poindexter carried his telescope across the sands of the Jersey shore polluted with fat hairy men smoking cigars, families’ charcoal grilling homogenized hot dogs and ladies squirting themselves with yellowing chemical oils to give themselves a natural tan. He found an empty space and set up his telescope. Squinting through the thick lens of his glasses he studied the sky and saw nothing but haze and suddenly everything went black and Poindexter retracted in fear.

“Whatcha looking at Mister?” asked a fat little boy with mustard and ketchup stained face.

Poindexter regarded the boy with a look of bother. “The sky relative to the time of day. You see I’m trying to collect data to establish the theory of DER and how much time we have until we all die an agonizing death.”

The boy screamed, “Mommy!”

Poindexter reaffixed his gaze through the telescope until he was met with blackness once again, but this time it was the mad fist of a large mother in a flouncy flower swim dress. “Don’t be scaring young boys with crackpot theories! It’s just not right!”

As Poindexter recovered, wiping sand from his glasses, the mother stormed away.

Meanwhile pale and shriveled surfers paddled in flat-lined surf. Suddenly, Venetia emerged from the water in a wet bikini and greeted the surfers. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the sun has not risen fully and will not set—ever. Without the rise and of the sun and the moon there will be no tide and no surf. You fellas are wasting your time waiting for a wave that will never come.”

“Whoa that’s heavy,” replied one of the surfers.

“Like no wonder it’s seems like we been out here forever,” said another.

“Don’t you think you should come back to shore,” suggested Venetia.

The surfers chuckled at the prospect of going back to shore with Venetia. “No babe, I think we’ll just wait it out.” Venetia shrugged and swam to shore.

As Venetia and Poindexter returned to the city, traffic extended the length of the expressway. Through the back of the car, Manhattan was barely visible through the smog and the beautiful pinkish indigo starry sky disappearing. Venetia’s heart sank in despair. She looked up toward the sky.

Later at the Museum of Modern Art, Poindexter approached a man studying a painting. “The earth has stopping rotating. Time has stopped. If we don’t do something, start spreading the word, we will all die,” said Poindexter.

The man scratched his chin in thought and shook his head. “No, I’m not getting that,” the man said continuing to regard the painting and Poindexter moved onto the next patron.

Meanwhile in the Bronx, a wild-haired Civil Rights leader stared dumbfounded. He tapped his thick fingers on a messy wooden desk as sirens blared through an open window. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

Venetia sat forward waving away the fumes from the exhaust from outside. “I’m asking you for your help to alert people the earth has stopped spinning. People listen to you. They believe what you say.”

“You want me to tell people their earth has stopped spinning, that time has essentially halted, leaving this world in a paralyzed state of mass annihilation,” replied the Civil Rights Leader.

“Yes, will you?” asked Venetia with rising hope.

The Civil Rights Leader laughed. “Look sister, I don’t know if I’m your man.

Venetia slumped into her seat. “Why not?”

“Because how am I going to convince my people to believe something I don’t believe?” he asked. “People don’t follow words; they follow conviction and without conviction the words are meaningless.”

“But I have conviction!” said Venetia. “We must save the world.”

“Honey, you come to me trying to convince me of your troubles. Well, let me tell you something, many people already have troubles and quite honestly they would welcome the world’s end,” replied the Civil Rights Leader.

Venetia sat quietly, choking down her tears. She rose from her seat and said, “Then I guess the good news is when we die, we all die together. In death, we are all equal.

Inside a deserted cable television studio, two technical assistants monitor programmed commercial television, eating microwaved nachos and French fries. “It wouldn’t make any sense for the Klingons to destroy the Earth,” said one of the assistant, “They signed a treaty with the Federation. Now the Romulans on the other hand, they need a planet.”

“If the Romulans destroy our planet, it will do them no good. It has to be the Klingons. They are upset with our treaty with the Vulcans,” argued the other assistant.

Suddenly Poindexter burst through the door. “I need immediate access to your station.”

One of the assistants sat upright in his chair, wiping crumbs form his chin. “Do you have authorization?”

“I have this!” exclaimed Poindexter displaying shredded Globevane.

“Sorry dude, we could get in a lot of trouble letting you on the air. We just can’t let any lunatic on television,” replied the other assistant.

“What difference would you make to you, the planet Earth won’t be around another week?” questioned Poindexter emphatically.

The assistants shrugged their shoulders and escorted Poindexter to the studio. They set up the camera and sound equipment as Poindexter arranged his demonstration. One assistant stepped behind the camera and counted with his fingers, “Okay you’re on in one, two, and three…”

Channel 647 displayed its station identification. A deep voiced announcer talked over the logo, “The following public service announcement does not represent the opinions of this station.”

Poindexter appeared on television, demonstrating his shredded Globevane with a pointer. “I bring to you a dire warning about the recent disaster to our beloved planet. Our Earth was struck by a large structure, most likely a meteor and has entered into a state of immobilization.”

From the foot of a bed of expensive silk sheets, a rich, grey-haired man with monogramed slippers watched Poindexter’s broadcast on a large screen television. The man raised the volume of the television.

“If you look outside,” said Poindexter, “You will notice the sky has been at sunrise now all day.”

A nervous middle-aged woman rocked in her chair knitting a sweater no one will ever wear. Her attention turned to Poindexter. “Heavens,” she muttered.

“What does this mean for the Earth?” questioned Poindexter before the camera. “Without the rotation of the Earth, changing of the times and tides, we are subject to a slow, decaying death.”

Elsewhere a lonely young woman stroked her cat as she watched Poindexter’s announcement. She hugged her cat tightly as a sad tear came to her eye. “Say it isn’t so.”

“As unbelievable as my theory of DER appears, the indication is clear, our Earth is in a state of peril.” The camera focused on Poindexter’s serious wrinkled face. “It’s up to all of us to save our planet.”

The two technical assistants sat speechless as the stations phones lit up with hysterical callers. They turned to each other, not knowing how to handle this auspicious event that was propelled upon them. “Dude, that’s crazy. What can we do?” asked one of the assistants.

Poindexter was at a loss. He had the theories, but he did not have the solution. “Prepare for the end,” he said.

“The end of what?” asked the other assistant.

“The world,” said Poindexter seriously, as he exited with his shredded Globevane.

“Wait! Was it the Klingons or the Romulans?” shouted one of the assistants.

The towering spires of the cathedral intimidated Venetia as if God is repressing his dominion onto all his followers. But was it really God’s oppression or man’s. Venetia thought. God didn’t build this cathedral; man did. Can I find the God’s answers in a building built by man? She didn’t have these doubts when growing up in the convent, but then she was hardly the ideal Christian, always late for mass, never attending her studies. Venetia sighed. I wish I paid more attention.

She walked slowly toward the pulpit and knelt alongside devout people praying desperately to be saved. The interior echoed with their desperate prayers. Venetia glanced upward as if to see if anyone was listening above.

“My dear what sorrow could cause such stress to such an angelic face?” rang a deep male voice from above.

The sudden voice frightened Venetia. She looked up and into the warm dark eyes of a priest. “The earth has stopped spinning,” muttered Venetia. “I fear we will all die.”

“Please do not fret. If the earth is to die, it will be by God’s doing,” said the priest.

“But how can we let that happen?” asked Venetia.

“There is a time for living and a time for dying and it is only for our Lord to decide.”

Venetia lowered her head in prayer and closed her eyes so tightly tears streamed down her check.

“Don’t cry, as the good will be saved and escorted to the kingdom of heaven. Have you confessed your sins?” he asked.

“Well no. I dunno,” said Venetia.

“Everyone has sinned. You wouldn’t be human if you haven’t sinned,” replied the priest. He pressed his palms together. “Now how can I help you enter the kingdom?”

Venetia clasped her hands tightly together. “Well, see here’s the thing. I’m not ready to enter to the kingdom of heaven. The Earth is in turmoil and I want to help save it.”

“You can’t save what is already lost. You can only save yourself,” said the priest.

Her clasp grew tighter, whitening her knuckles. She closed her eyes so tightly; she squeezed out tears. “I’m not ready for it to end. I’m not ready to go.”

“No one is ready to go. We have no say to God’s will. He is the great commander and if he is calling back the righteous, we must go.” The priest laid a hand over Venetia’s head. “Are you among the righteous? Are you a believer?”

Venetia tipped her head back as tears rolled down her cheek. “I dunno.”

The priest patted her on the head. “Well, you are in the right place. Keep praying and you may find the answer.”

As the priest walked away to offer his service to another person, Venetia lowered her head and prayed as hard as she could but she found no answer. She wiped her tears, rose and left the cathedral.

Serendipidus 8

Venetia returned to her penthouse apartment and thrust herself face-down on her couch. Her Saint Bernard and terrier came out from their hiding place and cuddled next to Venetia. She sat up and wrapped her arms around them. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She kissed their fuzzy faces. “I can’t believe this is the end for us all.”

Poindexter stood in the doorway and stared down at her helpless. There he was in the penthouse of the most beautiful woman in the world and all he could think was DER. How could I be so stupid? I was so busy with ARR; never did I think of DER. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I wish I could offer my services further.

Venetia rolled over and wiped tears from her eyes. She stared passionately at Poindexter. “You, you’re the only one who knows, who sees, and who cares.”

Poindexter stepped inside her apartment and walked to the window. Looking out over the streets, he saw the doom. The sky had not changed this whole time and all the people failed to realize, yet the strain and the fatigue was beginning to show on their faces.

“There’s gotta be someone who will believe,” said Venetia. “Someone in the world has got to believe. What about any of your colleagues or professors, will they help?

Poindexter lowered his head, recalling the ridicule he endured over the years. “No, I doubt it.”

“Not even in such times, please we must try,” urged Venetia.

“All right,” Poindexter sighed.

Party lights decorated the exterior of an empty trash barge docked at New York City’s South Port Seaport. Swanky Manhattanites and socialites stepped on the deck ready for the party of their lives. It was of course sponsored by the queen of all parties—Medusa Dominatrix. It was to be the parties of all parties—the party to the end of times and only elite of the elite were invited.

Waiters dressed as skeletons served ghoulish cocktails to the guests as they boarded—voluptuous blue-eyed starlet, Hazel Grey and her square-headed jock boyfriend Chet Donnelly, timid heiress Teensie Fairchild, famous photographer Garfield Wright, socialite Justine Hoight, oil tycoon, Willie Wiggim, fashionista Mira Mirabella and financial CEO Frank Pearce. From the edge of the trash barrage, dressed in their best clothes they admired the starry pink dawn sky and breathed in the already stale, musty air.

“It smells like my Grand-pappy’s Eighteen century mansion,” said Frank. “Gosh, those were the good-old days. Dead wood, you can’t beat the smell.”

Teensie whiffed the air. “I do detect a hint of ammonia. Reminds of the time when our maid Manuela cleaned our house,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I miss her.”

Hazel sprayed perfume before each of her steps. “It’s disgusting,” She flipped back her hair, swatting Chet carelessly in the face. “But I came prepared,” she said within her cloud of Hazel Grey blue perfume #1.

Garfield walked past waving away the perfume. “Personally, I’d rather smell the stench of decay.” He pressed his hand to his chest dramatically. “It is all part of life—of art. Decay is real and it is happening before our eyes. Magnificent!”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“I don’t care about all this!” bellowed Willie. “Where’s the lady of the hour?”

Medusa sashayed toward her guests and dragged on her cigarette. “How are we all doing?”

“Wonderful idea for a party, Medusa,” said Justine as she swirled her martini, “I just love the doom and gloom theme. You know I can’t wait until Milo Chagrin’s newest line—the Death of Fashion. It’s going to be life-changing.”

“Well, you all haven’t seen anything yet,” replied Medusa. “Just wait until we set sail. You will have a first-hand look at the end of the world.”

“How exciting! And think of all those poor wretches watching it on television,” laughed Justine.

Medusa raised her class to the man. “To the end with the elite!”

“Here, here!” cheered the guests.

Poindexter and Venetia arrived at Queens College to find the classroom empty except for an elderly professor slumped over his desk. “That’s him,” Poindexter growled. “That’s the man who ruined my reputation—Doctor Dubious.”

Doctor Dubious glanced up, his white hair standing on end. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“It’s me, Poindexter Scheigopherer. You ruined my career and my reputation. Remember?”

Doctor Dubious fixed glasses on his gruff face. “Huh, I don’t remember.”

“Let me give you a clue,” replied Poindexter, “ARR!”

A crooked smile crossed the grumpy man’s face. “Are you still on that?” Doctor Dubious asked laughing.

“No. DER,” said Poindexter sternly. “Decelerated Earth Rotation.”

“Der. Preposterous! The Earth won’t stop spinning unless something stops it.” He roared. “Maybe it was an alien’s death ray.”

“If you saw all the violent wreckage in the streets from the storm, it’s not hard to believe something big exploded into the atmosphere and came crashing back down.” Poindexter pressed his glasses to his face. “But thanks to our upstanding tabloid news, we may never find out.”

“It would have to be something big—Mount Everest exploded from the Himalayas and landed in Siberia perhaps.” Doctor Dubious and suddenly noticed Venetia’s glowing silhouette shining in the doorway. “Who’s the angel?”

Poindexter turned and witnessed the same angelic sight as his mentor. He didn’t know quite how to refer Venetia. Was she a friend, a colleague, or just another concerned citizen? She is supermodel, Venetia DE Mille. He lifted his head and squared his shoulders. “She is my benefactor.”

“Your benefactor?” Doctor Dubious rose slowly from his seat and stood in a slumped position. “Well, bring her down. I’d like to meet your benefactor.”

When Poindexter gestured, Venetia approached. She extended her hand to Doctor Dubious. “How do you do? I am super model Venetia DE Mille.”

Doctor Dubious admired Venetia. “Yes you are.” He glanced around—at his chalk board, the papers on his desk and back to Venetia. “Poindexter says you are his benefactor.”

“Yes, I am a firm believer in ARR, or was, and now DER. I’m really quite confused,” Venetia admitted.

“I’m not surprised,” Doctor Dubious said.

“We are afraid something terrible happened after yesterday’s storm.” She looked at Poindexter. “You tell him. You tell him about the Earth has stopped spinning.”

Doctor Dubious crossed his arms and glanced at Poindexter with a wily grin. “Yes, I heard, der.”

“Yes, DER,” replied Venetia. “We need help in reaching the people. Tell them about their pending doom.”

“Doom? Is that why no one showed up to my class, everyone is partying because it’s the end of the world.” questioned Doctor Dubious.

A vein pulsated in Poindexter’s forehead. “If you would step outside you will see the sun has not changed positions in the sky in over hours. The tides are completely flat. The air has gone still. We have stopped rotating.” Poindexter glared at Doctor Dubious. “I’m sure a man of your intellect could understand the devastation this would pose to the Earth and all living creatures.”

“Even if I’d say, go along with your theory of DER, you know nobody believes scientists any more. What you need is a celebrity,” replied Doctor Dubious.

“We have Venetia,” said Poindexter.

Doctor Dubious gazed at Venetia earnestly. “Then the responsibility is yours to alert the world. Are you up to the challenge?”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Venetia replied soberly

She and Poindexter returned to the street. Venetia gazed up at the pink morning sky and then around at wilting trees. “What should we do? Where should we go? No one seems to be listening at all.”

Poindexter lowered his head. Years ago he traveled the world trying to convince people the theory of ARR. All he found was more ridicule and it was ridicule he couldn’t bear. “I don’t know.”

Venetia turned to him with desperate eyes. “We can’t just stay here. How can we not do anything?”

Not being able to resist Venetia, Poindexter pressed his glasses to his face. “We take it to the world. You are indeed a world celebrity. They won’t listen to me, but surely they will listen to you.”

While Medusa’s party ship of socialites and celebrities set sail from the docks, Venetia and Poindexter neared a crusty-old sea captain and his fishing trawler. “How much to rent your boat sir,” asked Venetia.

Captain Namouth widened his eyes, puffed on an old pipe, and stared at Venetia as if she was an illusion. He was slow to respond but then stated, “Sweetheart, there’s nothing biting. Renting my boat to you would be like stealing your money.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to go fishing. We’re on a mission to tell the world the Earth stopped spinning,” she said, gazing toward Poindexter.

The Captain Namouth lit his pipe and puffed. “Is that why the fish ain’t biting?”

“Captain, I’m afraid the fish are dying,” said Poindexter.

“If we don’t convince people to help, all the fish will die,” Venetia added.

“What will I do for a living? I am a fisherman.”

“If you let us charter your boat, we can help save the fish for you,” suggested Poindexter.

The Captain looked around at the flat, lifeless harbor. “Well, I have nothing else to do. I’ll take you. Where do you want to go?”

Venetia paused. “I know there are a lot of smart people in England. They wear tweed and talk so smart. I’m sure there is someone there who can help.”

“Then it’s off to Jolly-old,” agreed the Captain and opened the gate for Venetia and Poindexter to board.

For the first time since the Earth stopped, Venetia had a glimmer of hope.

Hours later, Venetia stood at the bow of the boat looking out over the ocean. She noticed the poor shark resting partly on its side. Venetia leaned over and pet the shark to ease its suffering. The shark’s eyes rolled toward her. Its expression showed appreciation, but it knew its fate. The shark drifted away and submerged in the water. Venetia sat back on her knees and started to cry.

Captain Namouth looked out cabin window at Venetia. “What’s her problem?”

Sitting in the corner, a pale shade of green, Poindexter said, “I think she’s upset at the death.”

Steering the ship with puffs of smoke from his pipe, Captain Namouth said, “Well its life. Everything is born; everything dies.”

“That’s hardly encouraging,” wheezed Poindexter as he grasped his stomach. Poindexter sat in the corner with a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

Captain Namouth nodded at Poindexter, “Sea’s as flat as skating rink and Poindexter’s getting motion sickness.”

“I have a very sensitive stomach,” replied Poindexter

“The world is in great hands—a babbling broad and a nerd. Just great,” said Captain Namouth as the boat hit a bump. “Go out and see what it is?”

Poindexter rolled his eyes behind his thick glasses. Reluctantly he obeyed and carefully guided himself to the front of the boat. When he looked over, a weak spout of water hit him in his face. He turned back to the cabin and said, “We ran a shore a gray whale.”

Venetia rushed up to see, nearly flinging herself overboard. She reached out to the poor creature. “Oh no! The ocean is dying. It’s too late. It’s already too late.”

Poindexter looked into the water and saw a sea of dying fish that stretched to the horizon. This was only the beginning of the devastation. Soon these waters will be completely toxic.

Serendipidus 9

Nadine Blywather’s face appeared on a grainy television. She gave the camera a toothy grin. “The end of the world; what does it mean to you? We take you live to our reporter Chaz Michaels in the streets. Chaz, what’s going on out there?”

Chaz rubbed his cleft chin and exposed his pearly whites for the viewers. “As you can imagine Nadine there is a great excitement building. Some people are for the end of the world and others are against it. I’d say we have a fifty, fifty mix.” He turned to a grungy teen. “So you’re a young man, how do you feel about not having a life to live? The end is coming early for you.”

The teen took the microphone from Chaz. “You believe this crap America! This end of the world crap is just another government conspiracy. The earth hasn’t stopped rotating, it’s just the government’s control of the planet. They’re trying to make us crazy so we’ll be compliant with their evil plan. Don’t believe a word of the government controlled media.”

Chaz laughed and elbowed the grungy teen out of the way. “Kids today.” He took the microphone from the teen and placed it before the lips of a lonely woman. “And how about you, miss. Are you going to miss the world?”

“If you ask me, life sucked. I’m glad it’s over. No more lonely Saturday nights without a date,” she said.

“I hear there’s a Lonely Hearts Club who will be gathering together for the end,” said Chaz with a smile to the camera.

“Yes, we may have been alone in life, but we’ll be together in death. It’s quite beautiful you know, just like a Sylvia Plath poem.” She looked up at Chaz with adoring eyes and recited,

“I walk alone

The midnight street

Spins itself from under my feet;

My eyes shut

These dreaming houses all snuff out;

Through the whim of mine

Over Gables of the moon’s celestial onion

Hangs high.”

“Whatever,” Chaz muttered, pushing the lonely woman away.

“It’s Sylvia Path,” she said as she was pushed into the crowd.

Chaz smiled for the camera. “I’m Chaz Michaels and this has been the word on the street. Back to you Nadine.”

A young girl tugged on Chaz’s coat. “Mister, please say it isn’t so. I don’t want to die.”

Chaz forced a compassionate smile for the camera and rubbed the girl’s head. “I don’t make up the news, sweetheart, I just report it.”

“There must be someone who will save us!” the girl exclaimed.

“Superman doesn’t exist, honey. This isn’t the movies,” Chaz said with a wink. “Now back to you Nadine.

Nadine beamed before the camera and winked. “Tweet us. We’d like to know your end of the world plans. How and more importantly who are you spending the last days on Earth with?”

Leaders of many nations convened over the telephone. The President of the United States paced around his desk in the Oval Office with his phone on speaker. “I know many accuse us leaders of not doing anything for their people, but if anyone has any ideas now would be a great time.”

“We have elections next month,” said the President of France. “I’d hate to make the wrong decision.” On the phone there was mumbled agreement.

“There’s not going to be elections if we don’t come up with something,” replied the President of Uruguay. Another round of mumbled agreements sounded on the President’s phone

There was a knock at the President’s door. “I have to cut this short,” said the President. I have people at my door.” He hung up the phone and yelled, “Come in!” In walked a military general and a NASA scientist. “Do we have any idea how this could have happened?”

“We don’t have any details yet, sir,” said the scientist, “but the only thing that could stop the rotation was the Earth was struck by an object—meteor most likely.

“And we have no idea where this meteor struck?” asked the President.

“Sir, communications are down in many countries. We have lost all contact with Australia; it’s like they are no longer on the map.”

The President collapsed in his seat. “Shame. I like the Aussies—good people. Why couldn’t it have been the Chinese? That would have been one way to get out of debt?” He chuckled ironically and dumped his head in his hands. “Why did this have to happen on my watch? Surely, I’m going to be blamed. My presidential legacy will be the end of the world.”

The general and the scientist glanced at each other. “What is your command?” asked the general.

The President lifted his head. “What if we got our fastest and most powerful jets and flew them around the planet. Maybe the force could Earth spinning again,”

Again the general and the scientist glanced at one another.

“Do either of you have a better idea?” asked the President.

“We’ll get right on it,” said the general.

When the general and the scientist exited, the President rose from his desk and looked out the window. There was a thin line of grey smog against the pink dawn sky now covering the White House lawn. If they didn’t act soon, they would be suffocated by the toxic fog. “God help us.”

Somewhere, deep within the Brazilian jungle, natives with red monkey masks and wilted leaf headdresses inspect a strange sighting—the remains of a huge smoking pyramid pierced point first into the earth. They carefully stalked around the perimeter looking for signs of life. The natives hesitated, fearful of going near the upside-down pyramid. Slowly, they all backed away with spears perched in self-defense.

By the time Venetia and Poindexter reached the shores of England the sun struggled to overcome thick smog clouds. Captain Namouth steered his boat through the sludge of the channel with Venetia and Poindexter flanked on either side. Captain Namouth puffed smoke from his pipe. “Doesn’t look too promising lady.”

Unrecognizable trash floated on the surface. Venetia could hardly handle the stench of decay, but something made her stay outside. She had to see it all first hand, take in all the devastation as if it just wasn’t it real yet enough.

Captain Namouth sailed up the Thames, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. There was eeriness surrounding them. The Tower of London cast a grim shadow as Captain Namouth sailed his boat to the dock.

Venetia and Poindexter disembarked. “You’ll be waiting for us?” Venetia asked.

“And where am I going to go?” Captain Namouth said as he lit is pipe and puffed.

Venetia nodded, but she was unsure. She wasn’t sure she could trust Captain Namouth. How could I trust anyone who doesn’t seem to care? She tried not to let it bother her as she and Poindexter strolled down the vacant streets of London.

There was no hustle and bustle of cars, no businessmen, politician or tourists snapping photos. Flowers were placed around the Trafalgar Square as memorial to Britain that was once great, but now a ghost town. The only sound was the ringing of church bells.

Suddenly they heard an announcement in a polite British male voice. “Please stay inside your homes. The government is doing all it can to make sure we greet our demise in an orderly fashion.”

Turning around on the street, Venetia and Poindexter heard the voice repeat. “Please stay inside your homes. The government is doing…” As they looked down the street they saw an ambulance approaching with speakers on top. “…all it can to make sure we greet our demise in an orderly fashion.”

Suddenly a flaming tire rolled down the street and crashed into the ambulance. “Stay plinside yer momes…” mumbled the recording as the ambulance erupted in to fire. “Bla blubberment id dwoing.” Another flaming tire spun by, hitting the ambulance causing it to explode before Venetia and Poindexter.

Venetia and Poindexter looked up the street as another flaming tire came rolling toward them. Venetia rushed to Poindexter’s rescue and pushed him out of the way. Lying on the ground, Poindexter fixed his glasses to his face. “Was that necessary?”

“Runaway tire,” Venetia replied out of breath as she watched the tire roll to the bottom of the street and fall onto its side.

As they witnessed more flaming tires roll down the street, they heard the roar of a young boy. “I am Jimmy Pop, King of Kensington!” Several more tires rolled past.

Carefully she approached Jimmy Pop, a red-haired freckle-faced boy who wore tattered clothes. His face was covered in soot and his hair stood on end. “Jimmy, you should be a home with your family.”

“I was told to go out and play!” he yelled and rolled another tire down the street.

“Jimmy, this is trying times. A young boy needs to be with his family,” urged Venetia.

“Family, schmaily. I don’t hae a family, just the old creepy nuns at the orphanage. They said I was uncringible.”

Poindexter cleaned his glasses. “Do you mean incorrigible?”

Jimmy stood erect and gave Poindexter and Venetia a cocky gaze. “Who are yeh two septic tanks?”

“Oh, no we’re not septic tanks; we’re people,” said Venetia.

Jimmy roared with laughter. “Yanks! Yeh sure a wazzock bint.”

Venetia stood upright and scratched her head. “What? I don’t understand scamp, but I do speak Italian.”

“Yeh out of this world, yeh and that quack square-head,” replied Jimmy.

A vein pulsated in Poindexter’s forehead. I don’t need to take insults from a scamp. “I am a Doctor Poindexter Schiegopherer. I am a world renowned scientist.”

“Yeh! Right! Yeh’re just a poindexter,” Jimmy laughed.

Venetia leaned forward to Jimmy and smiled sweetly. “I understand; I too was an orphan living with nuns.

“Yeh so, yeh think yeh know me, yeh can relate to me. Ha! Yeh don’t know nothing about this dustbin lid. Go back to playin’ patty-cake with the sisters, lady.”

Venetia stared down at Jimmy. “Do you know what is happening, Jimmy?”

“It’s the end of the world, so? Who gives a crap?” he questioned with a careless shrug.

“I do!” exclaimed Venetia. She could feel herself growing angry and she had to stop herself. She took a few deep breaths and said, “Jimmy, do you want to come along with us?”

“What?” responded Poindexter.

“Why would I wanna to go with yeh and that poindexter?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, why would he come along?” Poindexter questioned, pressing his glasses to his face.

“Listen man,” argued Jimmy, “the lady’s asking.”

“Adventure, you can be a real hero. Jimmy Pop saves the world,” said Venetia.

Jimmy cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest. “I do like the sound of that. What do I need to do?”

“Well, we’re looking for the smartest person in England, someone who could help us save the world. Do you know who that is?” asked Venetia.

“Of course, everyone in England knows; it’s Merlin,” said Jimmy.

Poindexter threw his hands in the air. “Merlin! Merlin! Really, Merlin! Why don’t we go find Sir Isaac Newton?”

“Well, we can find him too,” said Venetia. “Anybody who can help.”

Poindexter’s head reddened and the vein in his forehead pulsated to the point of explosion. “Argh!”

“No, Its not ARR; it’s DER, remember?” Venetia took Jimmy’s hand in hers. “Let’s go find Merlin.”

Poindexter lingered behind Venetia and Jimmy as they headed back to Captain Namouth’s boat. So many brilliant people in England and the supermodel had taken the aid of a delinquent.

Medusa’s party barrage floated through the ocean graveyard. Patrons of her party over-looked the ghastly scene of dying sea-creatures—octopus tangled tentacles, sharks floated belly up and sad looking dolphins rest on their sides. Between the larger fish were slimy remains of jelly and star fish. Several of the partiers snap photographs of the scene.

“The mixture of these colors match perfectly to the décor of my country house,” replied Teensie as she took quick snapshots with her digital camera.

“Oh no,” argued Garfield. “This is a true work of art that belongs solely in a gallery.” He waved his hand dramatically. “I’m going to call it Horizon of Death. It’s so ghastly and grim; it’s sure to be a big hit.”

Cigarette smoke swirled above their heads and they all turned to find Medusa dressed in a black cat suit. “I hope you are all enjoying the scenery.”

“Why yes,” replied Mira, “How do you ever manage to make death so fashionable with such depth and intrigue. It all just fascinates me to pieces. I’m sure it will make the runway of Milo Chagrin’s fall line.” She waved her arm, draped with a pashmina. “A mirage of pale colors. I see scales, skins and many furs. It will be quite fabulous.”

With her martini glass in her hand, Justine drunkenly stepped out of the boat onto the hump of a dying whale. Carefully she tiptoed from one dying fish to another. “Look at me; I’m walking at water, just like Jesus. Whoa, Whoa!” She yelled slipped off and into the poisonous water. She raised her martini glass above the surface. “Can anyone give me…” and she submerged into the water. The olive from her martini bobbed up in the water like a ghoulish green eyeball with a red iris.

Garfield snapped a picture of the bobbing olive eyeball. “Perfect. I will call it, Martini Drowning. It will be my revolutionary piece.”

Frank tapped Garfield on the shoulder. “I’d like to make the first bid on that one. It would go great in our boardroom.”

Garfield scoffed. “My work is not for sale. You cannot commercialize works of great art!”

Hazel leaned over the boat, her breasts nearly falling out of her tiny bikini. “Good riddance, she was drinking more than her fair share.” She turned around, leaned against Chet’s manly chest and handed him her glass. “Can you get me another?”

“Sure thing, pumpkin,” he said giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“Great showing, Medusa!” Willie said raising his high ball glass to her.

Medusa released a grin. “I’m glad you’re all enjoying the trip so far.”

She walked away from her guest to the front of the boat. She dragged on her cigarette, gazing over the decaying sea. She hated people, but it was their attention and admiration for which she grew power. There was that one time in her life, when one person drew away all her power; no way was that happening again. She dragged on her cigarette and flicked the butt into the ocean. “I should have just destroyed this place instead of letting it all linger.”

Captain Namouth’s trawler sailed through murky, green swill of the river Avon. The Captain, Venetia, Poindexter and Jimmy watched the coastline from inside looking for life. “The ancient Celts believed the Avon River had magical healing powers,” said Captain Namouth.

Jimmy held his nose to protect from the stench. “Doesn’t smell magical.”

“It’s not,” said Poindexter. “If it was magical, it could clean itself of the pollution. If magic existed we could snap our fingers and the Earth will be rotating again.” He snapped his fingers. “Nope, not moving.”

“I once saw bloke saw a bint in half. It was fab!” exclaimed Jimmy. “I wonder if he could help us.”

“A magician that saws people in half, yes, that is indeed an idea.” Poindexter raised his eyebrows and suddenly, something clanged against the window of the cabin. “What was that?”

A shower of metal shattered against the boat. Jimmy Pop peered over the window edge. “It’s forks!”

Venetia popped up. “Forks? Why are they shooting forks at us?”

“Perhaps they’re hungry,” said Captain Namouth.

The thought of starving Englanders terrified them as they huddled together. Venetia looked out the window and witnessed silverware raining from shoreline. “We have to talk to these people.”

“Are you crazy? They are savages and we are dinner,” replied Poindexter.

Venetia sighed deeply. “They may know how to find Merlin.” She looked to Captain Namouth. “Bring the boat ashore.”

When the boat neared the edge, Venetia carefully leaped over the water to land. Poindexter shrugged, pressed his glasses to his face and stepped off the boat, followed by Jimmy while Captain Namouth stayed with his boat.

Waving through the wilting high weeds and limp underbrush, they came across a muddy mob armed with forks and butter knifes. This certainly wasn’t what she expected of Great Britain; no one was wearing tweed or talking very intellectually. In fact, they were all rambling like savages, yet in polite British accents.

“Please, take us to your leader, Merlin. Is there anyone named Merlin among you? I am looking for the smartest person in England!” Venetia called out.

A muddy mobster wearing a stained wool sweater poked his knife and fork at Venetia and grunted for her to follow. Surrounded by the mob, Venetia, Poindexter and Jimmy followed them through the forest.

Up ahead in the distance they saw a bright red light. Venetia grew excited with hope—the light she was longing for, but when they arrived she found the red light the burning flame of a funeral pyre.

Standing on a tall ladder, above the pyre was a statuesque, raven-haired woman. The woman held a trash bin above the fire and called out in a strong voice, “We must rid the land of this waste and return to the natural way. We must purify our tainted beings so that our young may one day walk on this Earth. Until then our souls remain immortal in the death of the place we call home. We will all continue to walk these fields just as our ancestors have for centuries. We will join with them all now and become one.” The crowd of muddy mobsters hailed as she emptied the trash pail into the fire and it erupting in a huge toxic inferno.

Jimmy turned back and tugged Venetia’s shirt. “I don’t want to walk with the other souls.”

The woman looked down at Jimmy and the crowd that gathered around his fire. She didn’t know what to say, or what to do? Does anyone really know what to do at the end of times? For the woman, it was a blessing and a eulogy to the world she loved. The sight of Jimmy made her sad heart cry out even harder in despair. She climbed down off the ladder and approached them. “Who do we have here?”

Venetia put her arm around Jimmy. “I am super model Venetia DE Mille, this is the world renowned scientist Doctor Schiegopherer and orphan Jimmy Pop.”

The woman brushed back strands of her dark hair and shook each of their hands. “Sullie Sullivan.” She looked at Poindexter. “What kind of scientist are you?”

“Climatology,” he responded. “It all started years ago with my theory of ARR, but when the whole world ignored my warnings of ARR, after the huge storm the world went into rapid DER.”

“Der?” repeated Sullie.

“Decreased Earth Rotation,” said Venetia.

“Of course. So this is what we got, a model and a quack here to save the world.” Sullie laughed.

“Isn’t it better than whipping the people into a muddy frenzy. I mean, like, how is that helpful?” replied Venetia, hugging Jimmy. “Plus you’re scaring young boys.”

“You think that is what I am doing?” questioned Sullie.

“What are you doing…exactly?” asked Poindexter sternly.

“Becoming one with nature, mankind separated himself from nature and ultimately destroyed the planet. Only becoming one with the Earth, do we have a chance of survival,” Sullie argued.

Sullie’s passionate declaration reminded Venetia of her time back at the orphanage, lying in the flower beds, talking to the plants in the garden and playing with squirrels. Everything seemed so perfect. Thoughtfully, she twisted the charm around her neck. “You’re right. We lost touch with nature.”

Sullie noticed the charm around Venetia’s neck. “What’s that?”

“The nuns found it on me when they found me on the doorstep of the convent. Do you know what it means?” asked Venetia.

Sullie studied the charm from Venetia’s neck. “It looks like a sunset and a sunrise. I study many ancient symbols, especially those of the Celts and I have never seen anything like this. It must have a very special meaning.”

“I don’t know,” said Venetia shyly and tucked the charm back in her shirt. “The world needs help and we need as many people as we can. Would you help us?”

Looking into Venetia’s radiant blue eyes, Sullie could not refuse. “Come with me.”

Sullie escorted them through the flaccid forest to a green painted door with a mistletoe wreath and gestured them all to enter. She sat down in a rocking chair and swayed back and forth in thought. A black cat jumped into her lap and wearily laid its head down.

“Are you a witch?” asked Jimmy, looking around her home decorated with jars filled with mysterious specimens, weird symbols and paintings on the wall. “Do you know how to find Merlin?

“No, I don’t know where to find Merlin,” Sullie laughed and gazed at Poindexter. “but, I too am a scientist.”

Poindexter scoffed. “Exactly what kind of scientist are you.”

“A scientist of nature,” responded Sullie.

“And they call me a quack,” muttered Poindexter.

“Sir, if you were indeed so brilliant, you would not be in my home. You would have it figured out…DER,” said Sullie. “Magic is more than just hocus-pocus. It is rooted in nature.” She cuddled the black cat. “Mother Nature herself is very mysterious, and like all women it takes careful prodding to uncover her secrets. It takes a delicate, empathic approach.”

Venetia sat on a chair opposite Sullie. She was growing more hopeful. “Is there anything you can do—magic-wise?”

“Yeh! Magic! Do a magic trick!” yelled Jimmy.

“Yes, do a magic trick,” muttered Poindexter.

“I don’t do magic tricks.” Sullie sighed, set the cat down on the floor. “Alright, All I can offer is a calling.”

“A calling,” replied Poindexter skeptical.

“Of the winds, the winds have stopped. Perhaps we can call them back,” explained Sullie.

Sullie rose from her chair and gestured for them to follow through her house and outside to a small backyard surrounded by a brick wall on all sides and a clothes line that dangled above. Sullie reached for Venetia and Jimmy’s hands. “You see, we are one with the Earth. If we put our powers together, we may be able to call it back.”

“And that’s going to start the Earth rotating,” quipped Poindexter.

Venetia gave Poindexter a scolding glance and took his hand. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“It’s magic,” said Jimmy as he took Poindexter’s hand and closed the circle.

Sullie lifted her head toward the sun and said, “North winds, of cold and might we need your strength to move the Earth. East winds of minds so bright we need you to cast a light that will inspire others to rise. South winds, of passion we need you to urge people to help the cause. West winds so gentle, we need your healing power to make things grow.”

The group held so tightly to one another's hand, yet felt no wind, not even the slightest breeze. Dejected, they released hands. “Maybe it doesn't work right away,” said Venetia.

Sullie looked around at her disappointed guests. Surely, she would have liked to evoke a miracle and if not, maybe brew up some hope. She had offered nothing. “I am terribly sorry. I could make you all some prayer bracelets, but I'm afraid that too will not suffice.”

She led the group back inside the house and prepared a pot of tea. While every sipped on steaming brewed tea of blackberry, clove and chamomile, Sullie strung beads with Jimmy's help. “Each of these beads represents a continent—brown bead for Africa, rose for the Americas, green for Europe, aqua for Oceania and yellow for Asia.”

Jimmy slipped a beaded bracelet on his wrist. “How does it work?”

“Well, you hold each bead between your fingers,” Sullie explained demonstrating on another bracelet and repeat this chant, “Our father may peace and love reign on the Earth and forgive us for hurting our Mother the earth. Help us to teach others the way of caring. You repeat that chant on each bead and the healing energy will arise.”

Jimmy closed his eyes and fingered the beads. “Our father may peace and love…”

“That is beautiful. Does it really work?” asked Venetia.

Sullie handed Venetia a bracelet. “The more people who chant, the greater chance we have.”

Venetia placed the bracelet on her wrist and closed her eyes. “Our father may peace and love reign upon the Earth and forgive us for hurting…”

Poindexter stood from his seat and approached Sullie. “I am a man of science. There is no study that concluded evidence magic charms and bracelets work. All it does it elicit false hopes.” He held out his hand for a bracelet.

Sullie grinned and placed a bracelet on his wrist. “There is a time for science and there is a time for magic. There comes a time we all must believe.” She looked around at everyone’s somber expression. “So what’s next? We can’t give up. So what if only a few believe, we can be the tide that starts it moving.”

Venetia regarded Sullie’s strong expression with gratitude. “Divine intervention: we go to the person closest to God for help.”

“An act of God?” asked Poindexter.

“Where are we going to find God?” questioned Jimmy.

“You don’t mind if I tag along,” said Sullie.

Feeling hope restoring, Venetia replied, “the more the merrier.”

Serendipidus 10

The President watched from the control tower of Andrew’s Air Force Base as America’s top fleet of jet planes took off. One by one, the planes disappeared into the haze with only their white vapors visible. Flanked by his many aids, the general and the scientist he asked, “How long will until we know it was a success or not?”

The scientist tried to his discouraged expression. “Hard to say. If they get enough speed and force, I’d say almost instantaneously.” He sighed. “All we can do is wait and see.”

“We don’t have time to wait. Mass hysteria is building in the streets. We need to give the people something—hope,” replied the President.

“Hope?” questioned the general.

“We need to give them something. I’m not sure bad news is it,” replied the President.

“With all due respect, sir,” said the general, “I would be less concerned about popularity in the polls and more with the truth.”

“The truth does no one any good when we are still without so many answers.” The President looked to the sky. “Better to go out with hope in your heart than with fear.” He turned and walked away.

The general turned to the scientist for an answer. The scientist shrugged and shook his head. “We need to be with our families.”

The scientist too walked away from the crowd of men, leaving the general alone with the men. He knew if the military wasn’t working on the solution, they should be controlling the mass mob. For once, he wanted the military to be part of the solution and not the problem. The general folded his arms and stared at the sky.

Sullie joined the group as they headed back to Captain Namouth's boat. When they arrived at the small fishing trawler docked in the river, Sullie’s eyes widened. “We're saving the world in this cardboard box?”

“Who's the broad?” Captain Namouth asked Venetia and Poindexter.

“Sullie Sullivan, she’s a scientist,” Venetia replied.

“A scientist,” murmured Poindexter.

“She makes beaded bracelets and talks to the wind,” added Jimmy.

“And these are the hands I give my fate?” muttered Captain Namouth under his breath. “Okay, let go folks, Earth's not going to wait around that much longer.

As Captain Namouth sailed back down the Thames, Sullie stood at the bow of the boat like an ancient maritime statue, her gaze peering into the dense fog. Venetia stood alongside Sullie. “Sorry for Poindexter. He is very proud.”

“It is the curse of man. No matter how good their intentions, they always let their pride in the way,” Sullie replied without turning to look at Venetia.

“Poindexter's not like that. He's very sweet…”

Sullie glared down at Venetia. “Don't let your feelings for your boyfriend get in the way of your calling.”

Venetia blushed and gasped, “He's not my boyfriend, no. He's just this guy I know who is a scientist. I wouldn't be here, alerting the world about DER if it wasn't for him.” Sullie grinned and walked back in the boat without a word. Venetia had no idea what that meant.

Inside the cabin, Poindexter curled up in his corner. He turned and noticed Jimmy paging through his prized science journal with all his theories and equations

He grimaced. “Hey, give that back to me.”

“Poindexter, yeh need to be more careful with yer stuff,” said Jimmy, casually flipping through the book. “What exactly is a Globevane?”

Poindexter reached for his journal. “None of your business, now hand it over.”

“Sounds like a magic trick. Are they really globes, or are they balloons that look like globes?” questioned Jimmy.

“It is science; you wouldn’t understanding.” said Poindexter dramatically gesturing for his journal back.

Jimmy held the journal in the air, away from Poindexter. “Try me.”

Poindexter sighed and pressed his glasses to his face. “They are special globes made with a highly porous material that calculates the toxins in the air. Now give it back!”

“No need for a Barney Rubble. I was just lookin’”. Jimmy tossed the journal back to Poindexter. “Yeh really should be more aware of yer belongings,” said Jimmy

Sullie entered the cabin and through the window she saw the mouth of the Thames with the Channel in sight. “So where are we going ashore—Calais, Dunkirk, Ostend?”

“Ashore? No, we are sailing around,” said Captain Namouth.

“You're kidding right. You want to save the world, or are we on a pleasure cruise?” questioned Sullie.

“Look lady, I don't even wanna be here. The blonde’s paying to charter this here… cardboard box!” yelled Captain Namouth.

Venetia entered the cabin and witnessed everyone arguing. “People, how can we resolve the world’s problems if we’re all bickering?”

“I am only suggesting to the Captain we sail to one of the port cities and cut through the mainland. It will be faster than sailing around Europe,” said Sullie. “Politeness is one things, good ideas are another.

“Calling the winds—a good idea,” muttered Poindexter.

“I have been hired to sail a boat and that is what I am doing,” said Captain Namouth.

“Well it would be faster if we cut across land,” said Venetia, “We're kinda in a time crunch.”

Captain Namouth flew up his arms. “Whatever you ladies say.”

“How are we going to get there once we hit land?” asked Poindexter.

“Car, truck, bus, train, anything with wheels. You’ve have heard of the invention, Doctor—the wheel?” said Sullie.

“Well that's great. See the more minds the better,” said Venetia trying desperately trying to restore peace.

Everyone glared at her. The problem was all too obvious, all good people—tired, hungry and gravely concerned for their future. If it were going to be hard for her to restore order with her small group, she could only imagine the rest of the world.

Medusa’s party barge sailed up the Congo River and was greeted by a band of Africa rebels armed with machine guns. They manhandled Medusa’s party guests from the boat and onto a flatbed truck. Surrounded by the armed guards the once high-minded guests started to show their worry.

Hazel shook away from one of the rebel’s grasp. “You touch me again; I’ll contact my agent and my lawyer.” Chet tried to intervene, but was thwarted by the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle.

Another rebel threw Teensie over his shoulder and dumped her on the truck, while another grabbed CEO Frank. “Watch it, that’s imported Italian silk!”

“Medusa could you tell your friends we are very important people and shouldn’t be handled with such utter disrespect,” said Mira with a dramatic whirl of her pashmina.

Garfield tried to snap pictures of the rebels, but one grabbed the camera and dragged the photographer by his neck to the truck. “There is no need to be rude. It is art.”

“Where are they taking us, Medusa?” called out Willie.

“Fantasy land!” she said, dropping a lit cigarette on the dried brush and climbed in the back seat of limousine that waved flags bearing the Medusa family crest. As the limousine peeled away, the dried savanna burst into a raging ball of fire.

Traveling through the jungle, the partiers snapped pictures of the jungle wonderland—wilting tress, monkeys hanging limply by their tails, some falling weakly to the ground in a thump.

Soon they arrived at a large ranch and were ordered off the truck. Natives served Medusa’s guests glasses of palm wine and various appetizers—ostrich pate, antelope meatballs, and seared zebra. The exotic cuisine tantalized the tongues of the rich and famous.

“Yum, who knew zebra was so tender,” said Mira

Willie licked the plate of his ostrich pate, “Yes, too bad these animals are endangered; I would stock this stuff for sure.”

Off in the distance the guests witnessed lumbering cheetahs too slow to catch their dinner, silent lions, the air too stifling to roar, giraffes too weary to hold up their own necks and lethargic elephants standing as still as mountains.

“Why they don’t look dangerous at all. Why I think I can go right out there and pet them,” said Teensie. Carefully, she stepped through the dried grass toward a lounging lioness. Ferocity showed in the big cat’s eyes, but the feline had no strength to move. “Why aren’t you a pretty kitty,” she said, petting the lion.

One of the armed guards handed Medusa a rifle. “Anyone interested in hunting big game,” she said to the rest of the group. “Easy prey as you can see.”

Garfield took the gun from Medusa, peered through the sights of all the animals and decided to take his shot on the heiress. Teensie slumped slowly, surprised by being shot and fell limply over a lioness. Garfield lowered his rifle and said, “She had no appreciation for art.”

A sharp studio light shined on a gaunt pasty-faced model, wrapped head to toe in gauze. “I want my Mummy,” squealed Martin off camera as the model tried to walk in the tight encasement. “Petrified for all the eternity.” The model jumped in a small circle and teetered back, where another model stood waiting.

The next, red, bulgy-eyed model draped in a ripped, dirty gown languished down the runway. “If you’re going to be caught dead in anything, let it be, “You, Me and My Zombie.” Martin pressed his hands together. “Gorgeous.”

“And for all you ladies, looking to leave this world with your one true love, we present Bride Bequeath Me.” A sickly model appeared in a stained bridal gown and tattered veil. “Sensational!”

The camera turned its focus on Nadine, seated next to designer Milo Chagrin. “I must say Milo, you’re designs have something for every end of the world occasion—theme parties, suicide gatherings and end of the world marriages.”

Milo grumbled an unintelligible response.

“Fascinating,” beamed Nadine. She looked into the camera. “Well, the end of the world seems to be doing great things for the marriage industry. Nobody wants to leave the world alone.” She smiled. “Please tweet us your end of the world love story. We’d love to hear from you. Next up, we’ll be talking to travel correspondent Jacque Vasquez. He will be telling us the best end of the world getaway packages.”

Captain Namouth sailed the fishing trawler to the shores of Normandy as far as he could go. Poindexter, Jimmy and Sullie leaped into the slimy water and quickly ran to shore. Venetia paused and said to Captain Namouth. “Are you coming with us?”

“And leave my ship? She has been my mate since I can remember,” he said

“But we need you,” urged Venetia.

“What’s a captain without his ship?” questioned Captain Namouth.

“Still a captain. Still a man who is needed,” said Venetia.

Captain Namouth puffed on his pipe. “What am I going to do?”

Venetia gave him her hand. “Help.”

Captain Namouth took Venetia’s hand and the both jumped into the water and tread to the beach to meet the others. “Now what?” she asked.

“We look for transport,” said Sullie. She started headed up the beach. The rest followed. It was a short walk down the country road when they found an abandoned truck. Sullie checked inside. “It has almost a full tank.” She checked the ignition. “No keys.”

Jimmy pushed her aside. “I can handle this.” He climbed inside the car and hot-wired the ignition. When the engine rumbled, he looked at everyone. “Are yeh coming?” Sullie and Captain Namouth climbed inside while Venetia and Poindexter waited outside. “What’s the matter?” asked Jimmy.

“Jimmy, that’s stealing,” said Venetia.

Sullie poked her head out the window. “It’s the end of the world V; get in the car!”

Reluctantly, Poindexter and Venetia got in the backseat of the car while Jimmy took off, speeding wildly down the street. Holding onto for dear life, Poindexter asked, “Jimmy, you’re so young. Wherever did you learn to drive?”

“Orphanage!” Jimmy yelled over the engine. “I useta hotwire the nun’s cars all the time.”

While the streets of London were vacant, people marched the streets of France carrying pitchforks, hollering injustices of a corrupt society. They waved flags and shouted, “Vive Le France! France shall overcome! Off with their heads!” Someone was going to pay for their demise.

Jimmy sped the truck through the thick crowds. Venetia, Poindexter, Sullie and Captain Namouth cowered inside as the French pounded their fists against the window, but Jimmy kept it moving forward and soon she was able to escape the unruly crowd.

Venetia turned back to see the wave of pitchforks and flags thrust in the air. “I don’t understand.”

“Someone has to take responsibility,” Sullie said.

“We’re all responsible,” replied Poindexter.

“Are we?” challenged Sullie. “Some of us respect the land. We honor it with our prayers and our songs. Even you have gone to great lengths to protect it with your theories and studies. Then there are those who just don’t care—carelessly living and miss using the planet. They are the ones who must pay.”

Serendipidus 11

Around the world people responded to Earth’s pending doom. World leaders did their best to try to maintain order. In some countries words of hope were raised, in others the military was out in force to squelch panic. Researchers and scientists scurried to come up with solutions. There was looting and war, suicide rallies, mega parties and a small growing trend—prayer.

In synagogues Rabbis issued their sermons to their faithful. Muslim clergy made proclamations of a time to overcome inner Jihads in order to be welcomed into Paradise. There was deep grief, mourning in prayer, clinging to every ounce of faith they could muster. Many shed tears of guilt. Had they only not judged their neighbor, helped a friend, not fallen into a life of greed and materialism. If only they appreciated the Earth and all beings on it, they may not be in this situation. It was a fate, many in the world knew they had coming. Was it too late?

The streets of Rome were jammed with people. There was barely any room to move. Venetia, Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, and Sullie held hands as they snaked their way through masses, but the crowds only grew thicker as they neared the Vatican.

“Do you really think you can gain an audience with the Pope?” asked Captain Namouth.

“Venetia is a supermodel; she has an audience with whomever she pleases,” replied Poindexter.

It was true, their group was growing stronger—a celebrity, a scientist, a captain, an orphan, and a healer, now they needed a man of God, but their hopes faded when they hit an impenetrable wall of people in the Vatican square.

“Please, I am supermodel, Venetia DE Mille, I must get through to see the pope,” she said surprisingly in perfect Italian.

Several people balked at her, boasted obscene gestures and some even spat. Venetia was shocked people could be so hostile at the end of the world; we were of course all in it together. There was no need to mean.

Suddenly the pope appeared to the masses. He raised his hands high to the people and lowered his head, pressing his hands together in prayer. Loud speakers placed in all four corners of Vatican square broadcasted his requiem,

“Revelations 17:1-3 And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.

And I saw another angel ascending from the east, having the seal of the living God: and he cried with a loud voice to the four angels, to whom it was given to hurt the earth and the sea,

Saying, Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads.”

The Pope lifted his head to view the sober crowd and continued,

“This land has provided us well. It has given us life, air to breath, soil to grow our foods, rain and sunlight to feed our crops, creatures of all kinds to share our bounty and yes, it has even given us riches beyond our wildest dreams. And for all of this, we pray in kind, loving memory of mother Earth. But mankind’s greed destroyed here and thus, destroying mankind.”

The Pope raised his head to the sky and spoke,

“I pray to you Lord to send down your angels and guide those of pure, kind and loving hearts to be with you in the kingdom of heaven. Lord, may mankind find peace with you there. Amen.”

The Pope turned his back and returned inside the Vatican as the people cried and screamed. There was growing hysteria in the air. No one knew what to do, or how to react. They needed answers and they needed guidance.

“What’s going on? What’s he saying,” asked Jimmy.

Sullie hugged his shoulders. “He gave his last prayer for Mother Earth.”

“This isn’t the end right?” he asked with hopeful eyes that Venetia could not resist.

While people buried themselves in their grief, Venetia plowed through the crowd following by her gang. They neared the entrance of the Vatican and stood before one of the Swiss Guards. Despite maintaining his serious, military stance tears fell from his eyes.

“You must allow us an audience with the pope,” she pleaded.

The guard soberly shook his head. “No one is allowed inside. They are in conclave. No one is allowed in or out.

“So they will not come out and face it like the rest of us,” replied Poindexter. “This is not very Godly of them. Cowardly more like it.”

“They are locked in prayer for all our souls. You should be grateful. I suspect sir, your soul needs saving,” replied the guard firmly.

A red vein pulsated in Poindexter’s forehead as he pressed his glasses against his face. “My soul is quite fine, thank you.”

“Please, we are not here to argue. We want to encourage them to pray for hope, not for lost causes,” said Venetia. “Do you know anyone we can turn to?”

The guard broke his stance and lowered his gun. “I have an uncle who resides in a small parish in Gaeta, a small down just south of Rome. I hear he too has been locked in prayer since the end began. He may see you. He may offer you what you are looking for.”

Venetia kissed the guard on the cheek and the guard turned beet red. “Thank you. You may have helped save the world.”

In the darkness of pre-dawn, large stadium lights shone down the hundred rocket engines across the Nevada dessert. One by one, soldiers turned on the engines. What started as a dull rumble, escalated to a deafening roar. The Earth shook and even began to crack beneath the feet of the soldiers,

The general watched through binoculars from a high plateau as his army desperately tried to move the planet back into rotation, even if it meant by rocket force. All it seemed to do was make the ground quake. He lowered his binoculars disgusted. “Man’s greatest power and we still can’t get this rock moving?”

“I believe the Russians are launching a rockets tied to mountain tops in the Urals. I suspect there are going to try to tug the Earth back into the rotation,” replied a lieutenant.

“Russians, great. Just what we need is the Russians getting the Earth moving first.” The general turned to the lieutenant. “Get on this now! We have the Rockies. We can’t let the Russians spin the world before we do! We will never hear the end of it.” When the lieutenant left, the general ordered the rocket engines to be turned off.

Short, round and balding, Father Seppi, as many in the town fondly called him knelt at the base of a towering cross. With his hands pressed firmly together in prayer glanced tearfully up at the face of Christ. Despite being a religious man, he never truly believed in the apocalypse, or at least never believed he would see it in his lifetime.

Many family and friends have come to see him desperate to be saved for their sins. He was surprised how many people living lives of debauchery and how frightened they were of their final judgment day. With tears in his eyes, he lowered his head in prayed,

“Lord make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

And where there is sadness, joy.

O divine master grant that I may

not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love

For it is in giving that we receive-

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.”

“Hello!” a voice rang through the church.

Father Seppi gazed up at the Christ statue and then looked around the church believing it to be a supernatural voice. Maybe my time has come, he thought. Turning fully around, he saw a group of people standing in the doorway—an angelic, blonde beauty, a short, square-headed man, wild-haired boy, crusty old man and a robust, raven goddess.

Not recognizing any of them from his village he stood and addressed them in Italian, “May I help you?”

“Do you speak English?” asked Venetia in Italian.

Father Seppi nodded. “Yes.”

“Your nephew, a guard at the Vatican, suggested we come see you. He said you were a man of faith and that is what we are searching.” Venetia stepped forward from the group and approached Father Seppi. “We’re not looking for prayers or eulogies; we’re not looking to save souls, but to save the Earth. We have tried to alert the world with celebrity and science. We have tried healing magic and so far nothing has worked. Can you help?”

“I am a man of God and not a scientist nor magician. I can only offer guidance,” he said. Noticing the group’s dejected looks. “Please, come join me in prayer. Together we can ask for heavenly guidance.”

“Thank you,” said Venetia, “Allow me to introduce my friends—Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, and Sullie.”

“Nice to meet you all,” said Father Seppi and gestured for them to kneel before the cross. The group knelt. For some, it’s been quite a long while since they talked to God and others have never made his acquaintance. Doubt set into the minds of the disbelievers.

Poindexter a man of science never gave much credibility to the mysterious work of the divine. Captain Namouth followed the Gods of the seas for his direction. Jimmy’s wildness had him cast out of the church by age five and Sullie never fancied herself a woman of a man’s religion but that prayed to the powers of the Earth.

Venetia struggled most. Raised in a convent, she berated herself for not keeping in touch with her faith. Why should God listen to me now, when I ignored him for so many years?

Father Seppi sensed everyone’s hesitation. “I’m sorry, are you not believers?” Their silence provided the answer. “The Lord is most loving and merciful. He understands the hearts of men and women. If you come to me with good intentions, you are meant to accept his prayer. Please,” Father Seppi urged. “Pray with me.” As he lowered his head in prayer, the others imitated. He spoke,

“Lamentations 3:22-24 The unfailing love of the Lord never ends! By his mercies we have been kept from complete destruction. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each day. I say to myself, "The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him! Amen.”

Father Seppi lowered his arms and glanced aside at his visitors. “It is now in the Lord’s hands. Faith and hope is what we must hold onto.” When no one responded he asked, “Can I offer you some food? You must be hungry from your travels.” No one was ready to refuse food.

As the group retreated to a dark, cool wine cellar, Father Seppi served them plain pasta. “Italy was always famous for its delicious sauces but I’m afraid they’ve all gone bad. All I can offer is boiled noodles.”

Starving, everyone scoffed down the food without even looking up from their bowls.

“This is wonderful,” said Venetia.

“I can offer our family’s vintage wine. We might as well enjoy in these times,” said Father Seppi pouring them each a drink.

Neither Venetia, nor Poindexter drank alcohol and were slow to take a sip. It was Jimmy who drank down his glass in one gulp. Jimmy pounded his cup down on the table “Pour me some more of that spiffin’ stuff?”

“Why not,” said Father Seppi, pouring the youngster more wine and with that, Venetia and Poindexter raised their glasses. “Wait!” exclaimed Father Seppi. “We must toast.” He raised his glass, “Heavenly Father, thank you for the visitors you have brought to my service, may we all be successful in restoring peace and love among the land.”

It was something Venetia could surely drink to. Upon taking her first sips of wine, she silently confessed it tasted very good. She was definitely going to want more.

“So what’s next on our journey?” asked Father Seppi as he took a seat at the table.

“I was thinking in the end of times, perhaps we should visit the beginning of times,” suggested Sullie.

Venetia gave Sullie sideways glance. This is my crusade. Why is Sullie taking charge? “What do you expect to find there?” she asked with a daring tone.

“Eden?” questioned Captain Namouth.

Sullie took a bite of her bland pasta and took a sip of wine to wash it down. “The ancients had a strong connection to the universe. Perhaps, the answers we are seeking go further back.”

“Further back than God?” asked Father Seppi.

“Further back than your God,” replied Sullie.

Everyone sat silent, unsure of Sullie’s suggestions, especially Venetia. Surprisingly it was Poindexter who spoke in agreement. “The ancients were working with a different kind of technology that many in my community have yet to solve. I think it’s worth the investigation.”

Father Seppi slammed his palm on the table. “That’s it. We’ll leave in the morning.” He glanced toward the sunshine beaming through the open holes of his wine cellar door, not sure what time it actually was. The sun has been shining for days now. “Or, after we get some rest.”

“We don’t have time for rest,” said Venetia. “I think we need to press on after dinner.”

“A quick nap won’t hurt,” replied Sullie. “We all are weary from the travel. We’ll be fresher of mind,” she glanced at Venetia, “and mood if we rest for a bit.”

“Fine,” Venetia said, not be able to control her snippy tone.

The two women, Venetia and Sullie spread out blankets and pillows in a small room of Father Seppi’s church. Sully shut the blinds to close out the sun and lay down on the blanket. Venetia curled up in the corner and silently chanted on the beaded bracelet Sullie made. She couldn’t help the tears from flowing.

‘It’s going to be alright,” said Sullie with her eyes closed.

“How can you be so sure when science, magic and even God failed? This is God’s will.” questioned Venetia.

Sullie propped herself up on her elbow. “Perhaps, but God created you. God gave you Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, and me. He brought us to Father Seppi, who offered us a prayer of hope, food and refuge. This too is God’s will.”

Venetia widened her eyes, encouraged by Sullie’s words. “Do you really think…?”

“Yes.” Sullie sat upright and stared at Venetia. “I can sense you’re upset with me. You feel I am taking over, but I’m not. There is a reason you came to me, because I may have answers you don’t. We all have answers that need to be shared. No one can do it alone. It’s off your shoulders, Venetia. The burden you no longer have to carry alone.”

Venetia lay down on the blanket and sighed. “I hope you’re right.” Sullie’s words and confidence resounded Venetia’s heart. All this time, she had been shedding tears of mourning, but as she closed her eyes to sleep, she cried of hope.

Serendipidus 12

Boats docked at the Port of Gaeta were plentiful—expensive yachts to small rowboats, there for the taking. “What’s your poison?” asked Captain Namouth. “We can ride in style.”

“I think we should take the fastest,” replied Venetia.

“Your wish is my command,” said Captain Poindexter. Walking through the marina, Captain Namouth studied the ships and finally came across a medium-sized speedboat. While everyone waited on the dock, Captain Namouth jumped on board and checked to see if it was vacant and had gasoline. He turned around and gave the group the thumbs up.

Sullie stepped onboard and admired the posh leather seats. “This is a big step up from your cardboard box. Sure you can handle this thing?”

Captain Namouth blew smoke from his pipe. “Lady, I can handle more power than you can imagine.”

“How fast does it go?” asked Jimmy excitedly, jumping on board.

“Well, let’s get her out to sea and find out!” Captain Namouth turned on the ignition. Smoke choked from the exhaust, as the engine rumbled. “Buckle down folks; we’re going for a ride!”

Venetia sat outside and gazed over the horizon of empty boats. Poindexter took refuge in the cabin. Jimmy perched at the front of the boat ready for adventure and Father Seppi found a seat next to Venetia, clinging to his Bible. Captain Namouth put the boat in gear and zipped out of the marina with a huge spray of water, drenching everyone on board.

“Captain!” Father Seppi yelled, “I’ll have you know I’ve already been baptized!”

“If this your way of trying to get rid of us, it isn’t going to work!” exclaimed Poindexter.

“Slow down Captain!” ordered Sullie. “We could crash into someone or something!”

“Lady, no one tells a captain what to do while he is driving his boat and secondly no one is in these waters. Poseidon himself would not be able to survive.”

Venetia leaned over the side to see the once beautiful aqua-blue Mediterranean a muddy brown. The mass deaths of sea life have fallen into the depths of the watery grave, leaving a foamy decomposition on the surface. The coastline showed little refuge—towering rock cliffs with bare, jagged branches.

Captain Namouth studied Venetia’s sullen expression. “I’d say we crossed over to the world of Hades. Any of these river inlets could lead us to Styx.”

“Don’t taunt her captain,” said Sullie.

“Sweetheart, we are all in this together. We live together; we will die together,” replied Captain Namouth.

Sullie leaned on the edge of the boat. It was harder on her than she wanted to show. Deep inside she was crying like Venetia, but she would not show her weakness, especially to Captain Namouth. Looking out over the landscape, she said to anyone who was listening, “It seems we are tumbling like a tower. First the modern world and slowly we see our past slowly slipping away until there will be nothing left of us but fossils to a future civilization.” She turned to Venetia and Father Seppi. “Man has been slipping backward for ages. The more advanced we became the more primitive we grew.”

“I have seen all the works which have been done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and striving after wind,” muttered Father Seppi to himself.

“You said it, Father,” replied Sullie.

“Do you think the ancients had a clue?” asked Venetia. “Do you think we’ll find answers at the cradle of civilization?”

“I believe where civilization began, civilization will end,” said Sullie. “I believe we will know our fate when we arrive there.”

Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of the Arabian Sea Medusa’s partiers dined on exotic game, sipped vintage wines and lounged beneath the beating high noon sun. Even the world’s elite however could not overcome the growing destruction—their tanned skin wrinkled with dehydration and exposure and their eyes bloodshot from all the toxins in the air.

Hazel waved a fan over her face. “I wish someone would do something about this foul odor. Its smells like someone died.”

Chet snapped his fingers for Medusa’s servants. “Can you please do something? This smell is burning the insides of our nostrils.”

“Yes sir,” replied a servant with a bow and lit sweet smelling incense and sprayed splashes of Fabreeze around the guests, leaving them in a fragrant fog.

Hazel took a long deep breath. “Ah, that’s much better. Ocean breeze, nothing smells better.” She lifted her head and glared at Willie. “What are you looking at?”

“Sweetheart, you look like a raison!” declared Willie.

Mira peaked through her pashmina she had wrapped around her head. “This sun does nothing for the complexion.”

“Everyone knows a tan is attractive,” argued Hazel with an aggravated wiggle. She held out her glass. “Chet, be a doll and get me another drink.”

“Better hurry Chet before your girlfriend dries up,” said Frank behind the pages of the Wall Street Journal.

Garfield focused his camera on the horizon. In the haze he saw the silhouette of a ship. He took a few shots and paused at it grew closer.

At the helm of the ship, Medusa stared out of the murky water with a pair of binoculars. “I see a ship coming up on us port side.” She lowered the binoculars and turned to her man-sailing servants in white sailor uniforms. “You know what to do.”

As Medusa’s yacht neared the side of a pirate ship, the pirates reached out their arms to the yacht. “Please help us!” yelled one of the pirates.

Medusa’s man-servants leaped aboard and raided the pirate ship for the little fortune it had on board—money, jewels, food and liquor. The pirates gave little resistance as they were far too weak to defend themselves from Medusa’s well-fed servants.

Stunned by the pirate ship, Chet spilled Hazel’s drink into her shriveling belly button. “Watch you steroidal buffoon!” she yelled.

“Shush,” he said, standing next to Garfield.

“Don’t you shush me…,” and Hazel paused seeing the pirate ship. “I hope they don’t take me prisoner. I’d hate to be captive to all those wanton pirates.”

Mira removed her pashmina. “Wanton pirates, where?”

“Ladies, please. You and your fantasies. You want a real man, you got one right ‘ere,” said Willie.

“You’re about five men, Willie,” quipped Mira.

Medusa’s servants climbed back on the deck and presented her with the pirate’s treasure. She stared at it all and scoffed. “You’d think pirates would have better bounty. This stuff is crap! Beef jerky, dried figs,” she paused and yelled, “Nuts! I can’t serve my guests nuts. Nuts are for the common.” She flipped the entire pirate’s bounty into the sea. “Maybe the next band of filthy pirates will have a better bounty.”

Nadine’s never fading smile dimmed on the television. Her bright, perky eyes show fatigue. Below her talking face broadcasted a banner: Rotation Gate. “We are just minutes away from the President’s address. However, before we take you to the Rose Garden an interesting research poll suggests who is to blame for halt of the Earth’s rotation. Our research poll indicates a whopping fifty six percent of the population blame the President, ten percent blame the rich, eight percent blame the poor, six percent blame the Muslims, but there seems to be a growing number of people who blame Satan.”

She glanced sideways and then forced a smile for the camera. “It looks like we’re ready with the President.”

The camera shifted focus and zoomed in the desperate looking President. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the United States, I am here not just to give you dire information, but to issue some hope. We have the greatest scientists and generals in the country working on this grave situation and I can assure we will not give up until the very last second. We will fight for the Earth until our last breaths.”

A reporter raised his hands. “Have we found the persons responsible? Was it a terrorist bomb?”

“We have received no terrorist threat. No one has come forward to claim responsibility. We are looking at this as being a natural occurrence,” said the President.

“Are you saying this has to do with global warming,” rebuked another reporter.

“Something like that,” said the President. The mumbling below in the press corps indicated they weren’t buying his speech. They wanted someone to blame to make their stories complete. “This is disasters is of ecological origins, if you want someone to blame perhaps you can find it in the mirror.”

“How about the reports of the Egyptian Pyramid of Giza being found in the Amazon jungle?’ asked another reporter.

The President stared at the reporter in disbelief. “What?”

“So it is another Muslim terrorist act. They stopped the world by thrusting a pyramid at the West,” assumed yet another reporter.

“Now hold on, hold on!” exclaimed the President. “We have no intelligence of a pyramid launched at the West.” He glanced to his general who shook his head. “Thank you. That will be all for now,” the President said and walked back inside.

“Wait!” hollered a chorus of reporters, yet the President did not return.

The camera turned back to Nadine posed with a smile. “Congressman, tell me what do you make of the pyramid theory?”

A fat, balding congressmen with a Southern drawl appeared on the screen. “It is just like this President to hold back about the pyramid. I believe he knew the Muslims were engaged with the Russians in pyramid technology for years. We should have no doubt they would have used this against us.”

“Why Brazil?” asked Nadine.

“Well, pyramid launching is a new a technology,” said the congressman. “They have not yet perfected their aim. We have heard reports the target was New York City.”

Nadine nodded numbly. “But why do something that would affect the entire world? Surely, the Muslims too will be affected.”

The congressman sighed dramatically. “Nadine, it’s the great Jihad. They’re all going to Paradise. They’re all over their celebrating!”

“Fascinating.” Do we have footage of the pyramid strike in Brazil yet?” Nadine questioned to her staff off set. When there was no response, she grinned at the camera. “Stay tuned for late breaking news on a terrorist pyramid strike.”

The sunshine grew hotter as Captain Namouth docked his shipped in the port city of Haifa in northern Israel. To protect themselves from the blazing sun, they covered their heads in old rags and draped their bodies and loose fitting robes. Looking like a biblical people searching for the Promise Land, Venetia and her band headed toward the heart of the ancient city.

“We’re going to need to find some fresh water soon,” said Poindexter as he cleaned the dust from his glasses with the cloth. “Or we’re all going to die of dehydration.”

“I’d be satisfied with water. I don’t care if it is fresh,” replied Sullie wearily.

Upon arriving to the city center, they looked around disheartened. No one needed to say a word; they all knew. Human angst and the intense heat had gotten the best of all the citizens. The city has been destroyed by mortar fire, ripped apart by bullets and burned by fires. They had just walked onto hell. It seemed as though Sullie’s prophesy was correct—the beginning of civilization was the end of civilization and they were all gone.

“Do you think there are any survivors?” asked Venetia dejected.

Captain Namouth surveyed the tops of the buildings for snipers. “Hard to say, people could be hiding anywhere.”

“My guess most people retreated to the outskirts of the city,” replied Poindexter. “I suggest we all stay close. Lawlessness has taken over this land.”

They huddled together as they walked down the streets. Venetia looked through the broken windows of homes. She wanted to knock on doors, talk with the people and encourage them to see another way then war and looting, but there was no one around.

“This must be the end,” said Father Seppi. “It is the home land and it is completely and utterly destroyed. “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.”

“We don’t know that yet,” replied Sullie. “Until we find the people, we don’t know exactly what happened.”

Venetia stepped in circles, wondering what direction they should travel. The abandonment of the town was even more terrifying than if they encountered people.

“Maybe they all turned to zombies,” said Jimmy.

It was a grim thought, but as time passed the human condition would be deteriorating. If life still existed, it was guaranteed to be rather scary sight.

Father Seppi squinted and saw four dots silhouetted against the glare of the bright sun. “What's that ahead?”

As the four dots moved closer, Captain Namouth took a step backward. “I don't think we should stick around to find out.”

Growing closer the shadows appeared as four men on horses. “I agree,” said Sullie, pulling Jimmy by the shoulders, “We should get out of here.”

As Sullie, Jimmy, Father Seppi and Captain Namouth started to run, the horsemen trotted faster in their direction.

Poindexter knew he didn't have the athletic ability to out run men on horses so he looked for a place to hide—an overturned oil drum would do the trick. As he hid underneath he witnessed the horseman galloping toward them.

“I think we should wait and talk to them!” yelled Venetia just as a horseman draped in white silk grabbed Venetia by the waist and swung her onto this horse. The horseman galloped away and out of sight.

Poindexter ran into the road. “Venetia!” he screamed. A horseman in red brocade swept him up.

A horseman dressed in a black cloak decorated with beads chased Sullie and Jimmy down the road until he was able to lift them both into his arms. No matter how fast Captain Namouth or Father Seppi ran a Pale horseman wrapped in light blue gauze captured them. The horsemen ran toward the horizon and disappeared in the bright sun.

Serendipidus 13

Medusa's ship sailed up the blood red, Red Sea when the guests were infested with flies, buzzing around their faces, landing on their decadent pastries and pates and getting stuck in their sticky sun-tanned lotion.

“I have a fly in my chardonnay!” screamed Mira.

Hazel waved her hand in disgust. “Oh, this is nasty. Someone needs to do something.”

Medusa servants arrived on the deck armed with cans of Raid aerosol and sprayed toxic fumes until a grey cloud appeared that covered the entire ship. As the guest coughed and choked, they were escorted inside the main cabin. Still not being able to see from the smog of Raid, they heard an echo of chirps, followed by a loud crunching.

“Hum, what is that?” yelled Willie. “I feel something biting at my ankles.”

When the fog cleared the partiers found themselves ankle deep in locusts.

“Oh gross!” exclaimed Hazel. “I’m all for themed parties, but this is pushing it a little too far.

Medusa’s servants swept up the locusts in a heap, tossed gasoline on them, lit a match and tossed the fiery mound into the murky water. As the shipped sailed on, Medusa’s guests watched from a distance the fire engulf the Red Sea.

“Ah beautiful,” replied Garfield as he snapped a series of shots.

“Yeah, but that ugly mark on your face is not,” quipped Hazel.

Garfield ran his hand over his gruff face and felt a large welt. Looking back at Hazel he saw a large boil on her lip. “By that scab on your lip, I’d question where your boyfriend was.”

Hazel bit her lip and frantically searched for her compact mirror in her purse. Seeing the growing welt on her lip she screamed! “Chet!”

Chet came immediately to her side and the backed away. “What is that on your face?”

“Eeew, what is that on your nose?” she squealed.

Under the sweltering heat they regarded each other. All were had growing scabs and boils. The Mira covered her face with her scarf. “Medusa, we must tell her.”

“We need an ointment of some sorts,” said Willie.

They headed back to the cabin, but found Medusa had locked them all outside. From inside side she puffed on her cigarette. “We’ll be docking soon,” she mouthed through the window.

Medusa’s partiers fell back onto the deck all horrified by their appearance. “This is so not fun anymore,” whined Hazel.

As Venetia snoozed peacefully, the shadow of a large machete crossed her face. Opening her eyes, she saw a tall, striking man wearing a white turban and silk robe tied loosely around his waist exposing his tanned chest. “Who are you and why have you kidnapped us?” she asked unafraid.

“I am the Sultan Saosh! Who are you?” He asked pointing the tip of the knife at the nape of her neck.

“I am supermodel Venetia DE Mille,” she replied.

“What are you doing here?” he asked daringly.

“Why did your thugs bought us here? What do you want?” Venetia asked.

Saosh pressed the knife deeper into her neck, just enough not to pierce skin. “What were you doing in Haifa?”

“Looking for answers.” Venetia pushed the knife away from her neck and sat up. “My friends and I are trying to save the world. We have tried science, healing magic, prayer and now we are here at the cradle of civilization looking for answers.”

“Impossible! It is I who is going to save the world. I am the Sultan Saosh. I am the descendent of Aushedarapmah, who is the descendent of Ansedhar.” He swung his arm in a dramatic gesture. “It has been written from many ages ago when the sun hung motionless in the sky my ancestors met with the angels and returned them to Earth to bring peace and righteousness to humanity. As my ancestors have done so in the past, I will do. I am waiting for my angel.” Saosh glanced down at Venetia's beautiful face and vivid blue eyes and believed she had arrived.

Venetia admired the dashing Saosh and his passionate declarations. Is it possible? Could I be his angel? Could this be fate, destiny? “How do you know when she…your angel will arrive. What are you supposed to do?

Saosh thoughtfully pressed the tip of his sword into the sand. “My angel will tell me what to do, what to say. My angel will give me the answers humanity needs to hear. Do you know the answer?” he asked curiously.

“No,” said Venetia. “Sadly, I don’t, that is why my friends and I are searching.” She looked around at the cool, peaceful canopy which gave her and the rest shelter. She then turned her attention to the poor souls treading across the hot, red sand outside the canopy. The people screamed as the earth scalded their feet. Some people melted to the earth’s surface in hellish disfigurements. “Who are they? What don’t you give them shelter if you are truly the champion on humanity?”

“Those are the evil doers that cannot be saved,” said Saosh

“Everyone deserves saved, even the evil,” said Venetia.

Saosh gives her a big, white toothy smile. “You are indeed an angel. You believe in humanity—all of humanity, but you see I cannot save those who cannot see.” He displayed the sheltered oasis. “We are in a mirage—a mirage of hope and faith. If people cannot see it, they cannot be a part of it.”

“Wow,” sighed Venetia, “that’s deep, Saosh.”

“I know,” he replied with mighty grin.

Venetia looked around the mirage. She saw her companions sleeping peacefully and the other horsemen tending to the horses by a watering hole. “Who are they?”

“They are champions of the world. Anzor comes from the north and brings the message that even in end of times there is a beginning. Hassan rides from the south with news of change and Carl, he is from the west. His message is wisdom.” Saosh bowed. “And yours truly arrives from the East. I bring news of the celebration of rebirth. Banded together we are here to lead the believers to the new future. It is our belief, our faith and our hope that created this paradise.”

Saosh lowered his large, masculine hand for Venetia. “Come, allow me to shelter you.” Venetia followed Saosh. He was indeed a dashing figure; a girl could easily get swept away with his square jaw, curly locks, bare chest and righteousness. “You can bathe here in this pool and then please help yourself to some dates. You will feel much better and will be of clearer mind.”

Shyly, Venetia slipped out of her clothes and into a cloth tunic she found hanging from the line. She slipped into the water. It felt so good to was away all the stress of a dying world. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them Saosh was in the pool naked. She covered her eyes ashamed; never have seeing a naked man before.

“It is okay, my angel, everything is pure of sight if you are pure of mind,” he said.

Venetia smiled. Not only was Saosh dashing, he was very wise. She ran her hand across the warm, clean water. “Saosh, we can’t stay with you here; we must find a way to save the world.”

“I agree my angel and now that you are here, we can,” he said.

“Saosh, I am not your angel. I have no answers to give you. I can’t help you save humanity as you were destined to do,” Venetia responded.

“I must come with you, we must go to the highest of the land for wisdom,” said Saosh.

“Mount Everest?” she asked.

Saosh flashed a bright smile. “See you do have the answers.”

Venetia relined in the pool. Under the cool canopy as palm trees she saw her friends stirring, all waking into the comforting mirage while others suffered. “Can we stay here for a bit? My friends need some shelter.”

“Now that you arrived here, there is no leaving. The mirage of faith and hope will always give you support and comfort,” replied Saosh.

For the first time in days, Venetia smiled. Saosh was a gift from heaven. She knew it.

Poindexter rose from his sleep, wiped the sand from his glasses. He studied his surrounding—Captain Namouth snoring alongside him and Father Seppi seemingly muttering prayers in his sleep. A few feet away, he saw Jimmy curled up in Sullie’s arms and when he put them on he saw Venetia seated in the pool with a naked man. “Crimeny!”

He leaped to his feet and rushed over to the pool, his forehead pulsating with rage. “What is going on here?”

Saosh stood up from the pool, fully exposed to those around him. “Greetings! I am Sultan Saosh of the East. I was just offering the angel shelter.”

Sullie opened her eyes, hearing Saosh’s declaration. “Oh my,” she sighed, covering Jimmy’s tired eyes.

“Shelter!” Poindexter exclaimed, “You are naked!”

“Indeed!” proclaimed Saosh.

“It’s okay, everything is pure of sight if you are pure of mind,” said Venetia. “Besides Saosh is going to help us. We’re going to Mount Everest.”

Poindexter pressed his glasses to his face. “Why?”

“It’s the highest place on Earth. Closest to heaven!” said Saosh with a wide sweeping gesture.

Poindexter grumbled. “I guess it is okay.” He pointed at Saosh. “As long as he puts on pants!”

Saosh laughed and hugged Poindexter tightly. “Sure thing little man!”

Serendipidus 14

Planes from every nation circled the rain forest of Brazil. From above the hollowed pyramid lay bottom-up among the heavy bush of the jungle. Below reporters and researchers tried to gain access to this most prized sight, but it was the governments of the world who keep the scene sealed off. Who knows what secrets were to be revealed now that pyramid was somehow turned upside down?

The US President toured the sight along with leaders of other nations. The question on everyone’s mind was how. Even the greatest scientists of the world were completely baffled. Those even more baffled were the leaders and scientists who observed a hole in the Egyptian dessert where the great pyramid once stood. Many stood at the dark hole—charred with soot.

An Egyptian scientist climbed out of the hole and addressed the many onlookers, “Definitely an explosion of some kind. We need to take samples back to the lab to find out exactly what caused the blast.”

The French President peered over the edge of the dark hole. “How deep?”

“We have not yet determine the depth,” replied the scientist.

“Is there anything you do know?” questioned the French President.

“I know there is a lot I don’t know yet,” replied the scientist.

“People want answers! We need answers!” screamed the French President.

The scientist shrugged and with a wily smug replied, “Tell them aliens, but all I can say for now is an explosion of some kind erupted from way below.”

A shockwave of murmurs rumbled through the many reporters. “Aliens? It is aliens! I do remember seeing a sighting.”

The French President threw up his hands and stormed away.

Seated at the base of a towering palm was Father Seppi, looking rather unsure of this heaven on Earth. Before him sat Anzor, the horseman in black, grinning at Father Seppi. Anzor offered him fresh coconut water and dates. Father Seppi was slow to take the offering from the black garbed horseman. Surely he did not want to tempt his fate or his faith.

Anzor urged. “Please, it will revive you.”

“Yes, before it kills me,” muttered Father Seppi.

Anzor smiled. “Yes, it will kill the suspicion inside you.”

Father Seppi widened his eyes and stared at the dark, rugged face hidden within the black cloak. He weighed his options; he could die of heat and dehydration, or he could potentially die of a poisoned date. Being the world was coming to an end he put his fears aside and took the date. Upon first taste, it was quite delightful, releasing sugary syrup in his mouth and he was still alive upon swallowing.

“See!” Anzor bellowed. “I have killed you! You are no longer afraid!”

“Praise be! I am not!” Father Seppi exclaimed and then drank down the coconut milk. It coursed through his veins with a freshness that invigorated his weary body.

Elsewhere under the canopy Sullie cuddled around a fire pit in the mirage paradise next to Hasan, the horseman dressed in red brocade. Both pressed their palms near the heat of the fire, absorbing the energy.

Sullie felt a power surge and passions ignite. She turned and looked into Hassan’s eyes. Surprisingly they had the same color eyes—hazel with reflects of emerald green. She peered so deeply she could see his soul and it was connected to hers. Sullie knew they were going to be a success. It was a work of magic and a miracle that bought her to Hassan and him to her. Their destiny was sealed.

So caught in the glory of a romantic encounter, Sullie did not notice Jimmy run by with Captain Namouth’s pipe. Captain Namouth nearly lost his footing, trying to catch Jimmy. “Give me back my pipe, you rapscallion!” he shouted.

Jimmy laughed as he sprinted past Saosh and Venetia, circling Poindexter as Captain Namouth scurried to keep up. Jimmy chicken-stepped and then hurdled between Father Seppi and Anzor, while Captain Namouth fell between them.

Sitting in reflective meditation, Carl, draped in pale blue gauze stuck out his foot and tripped Jimmy. Jimmy plummeted to the ground, losing the pipe that bounced right back to Captain Namouth. “Hey man!” Jimmy shouted to Carl, “What gives?”

Captain Namouth inserted the pipe between his crusty lips. “Ha, take that kid.”

“Aw, I was just playin’. I was gonna give it back,” said Jimmy.

“Either you play for keeps, or you don’t play at all,” replied Carl.

“So you’re saying I should have kept his pipe,” questioned Jimmy.

“I’m saying a man does not play with the emotions of others. Heroes play it straight, not twists and turns,” Carl explained.

Jimmy gazed into Carl’s pale blue eyes. His skin was nearly translucent. “Are you a ghost?”

“I am,” said Carl.

“Wow, cool. Ooooh, Ooooh! Ha! Ha!” Jimmy laughed.

“We’re all ghosts of our former selves and past lives,” replied Carl seriously.

“You mean I’m a ghost too,” said Jimmy.

“Yes, of who you were before you came on this journey.” Carl glanced up at Captain Namouth whose pipe was dangling from his lips. “Are you the same man you were before the trip started?”

“I don’t think I will ever be the same again,” said Captain Namouth.

Jimmy sat back on his heels and stared at the ground. He poked himself in the arm. “Look, I’m real. I can’t put my finger through my body.”

“You stop being a ghost when you leave your past to become the man you are destined to be—a true hero,” said Carl.

Jimmy thought of Carl’s words. To be a hero, I must be a man. I cannot be a ghost. “Whoa, man that whacked!”

Captain Namouth shook his head and walked away, grumbling. It was just too much thinking for an old sea captain. He passed Poindexter, sitting cross legged between Venetia and Saosh, and watching Venetia gaze into Saosh’s dark eyes while he lovingly fed her grapes. “Do you think we should be saving the world instead of feeding each other?” asked Poindexter.

She bit down on a grape, tasting such a divine sweetness. It was hard to believe the world was coming to an end. “Poindexter relax,” sighed Venetia dreamily. “We have plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time?” he questioned. “Venetia, people are dying; animals are dying; the world is dying.”

Venetia smiled at Saosh. “He is right. We should be moving on.”

“Whatever you say my angel.” Saosh snapped his fingers for his horsemen. “Anzor, Hasan, Carl, let’s prepare to ride.”

Lost in Hassan’s eyes, Sullie called out, “Can’t we stay a little longer?”

“Paradise is anywhere with you,” Hassan whispered and it was enough to rise Sullie to her feet.

“The rest of the world needs us.” Venetia pointed to the weary souls melting to the scorching Earth outside the canopy. “How can we let them go on?”

“All they have to do is believe,” said Saosh. “All they have to do is open their eyes and they can join us.”

It was true; it was the people’s prerogative. They could live in hell, or they could live in heaven, but that wasn’t the answer. “We must make Heaven a place on Earth,” Venetia said.

“My angel is right!” replied Saosh dramatically. “And it is Heaven we must go.”

The horseman saddled up. Hassan carried Sullie across his lap. With mighty strength Anzor lifted Father Seppi and Poindexter onto his black stallion and Carl pulled Jimmy and Captain Namouth onto the back of his gray mare.

In one swoop, Saosh swung Venetia onto the back of his white steed and started galloping across the dessert, her blonde curls rolling the behind, while the other horses followed. “How long will it take us on horseback?” she whispered into his ear.

“Our horses break all barriers. You shall not worry my angel,” said Saosh.

Venetia held tight to Saosh’s strong chest as he rode valiantly across the desert. The carnage of the end was a blur to Venetia—camels and horses fallen to the ground, convoys of weary travelers in search of shelter and sustenance. She wanted to stop and help them—all of them, but she was at the mercy of the Saosh and his horsemen. Mount Everest seemed a mighty long way, especially on horseback. Could we make it in time?

Dressed in a black palazzo pants and hooded tunic Medusa's boat ran a shore on the dry basin of the Red Sea. The plank was lowered and Medusa sashayed downward toward the dried sea bed covered with jagged coral, and petrified fish. Her guests were of course hesitant getting off the boat as the high noon sun reflected an eerie hellish horizon against the rugged landscape.

“Watch your step,” said Medusa, “these corals are razor sharp.”

Chet lifted Hazel in his arms and carefully followed Medusa. “Don’t worry babe, I got you.”

“Please tell me there is a five star hotel in the vicinity,” said Frank carefully measuring his steps.

“I am in need of a facial—stat,” replied Hazel.

Mira gingerly placed her high heels between petrified fish. “I could use a drink—stat!” She exclaimed just has her pashmina got caught on the coral. She screamed falling backward into the arms of Willie.

“I gotcha sweetheart,” he boomed.

Mira wrestled free. “I'm okay!”

“Don’t get your feathers in a bunch there honey, just trying to be a gentleman,” said Willlie.

Mira swept her pashmina over her shoulder. “If you were a gentleman you wouldn’t have your hands all over me.”

“Lighten up, hey?” said Garfield. “This is an experience of the life time. Look around you—death!” He snapped pictures. “This is going to be my greatest work yet.”

“Can we get over the experience? What is needed is some emergency pampering—a massage, a hot bath,” said Frank.

“How about a cold shower. This heat is unbearable,” said Willie sweating profusely from his pits.

“Any kind of bath. I’m tired of smelling you. You’re more toxic than the air,” scoffed Hazel.”

“Hey sweetheart, you ain't so fresh either,” quipped Willie.

As they reached the bank of the sea to tall parched weeds, Mira called out. “How much longer to the hotel?”

“Yeah Medusa,” said Frankie. “We need to know when the end is coming.”

“It better be sensational, that's all I have to say,” replied Hazel, “I didn't pay for anything less.”

Medusa didn't turn back. Growing tired of their whining, she took a few more steps, turned around and pointed to a rocky hill in the valley. “There is a Hilton just past those rocks. You can start heading there if you'd like.”

The weary partiers looked off in the direction of the red rocky landscape.

Mira strained her neck to see. “I think I can see it.”

Frank adjusted his dusty glasses. “Where?”

Garfield looked through the viewfinder of his camera and zoomed in. “I don't see it. Not from this angle anyway.”

“Well let's not stand 'ere. Let's git a move on,” said Willie.

“Yes, get a move on,” said Medusa as she gestured for them to start walking toward the rock formation.

“You're not coming with us?” asked Hazel.

“You go ahead. I’ll be right behind,” Medusa said with a grin.

The partiers headed into the heat of the dessert toward the rocky formations in search of a Hilton. Medusa waited until they were out of sight. She lit a cigarette, puffed and reflected leaving the partiers alone to wander the desert wilderness.

At first she was turned on by their attention and admiration, but posers, clingers and wannabes get old real quick and Medusa was ready to take her mission to the next level. She was ready to take her end to the beginning.

In the distance she saw dots lining the horizon. She dragged hard on her cigarette to release a signal. Smoke from her cigarette spiraled in the air and within a few minutes her Bedouin tribe arrived on camel back to rescue her.

“I thought there were to be others?” asked the lead Bedouin behind his black mask.

Medusa flicked her cigarette in the sand. “They are off looking for the Hilton?”

“Hilton?” the Bedouin repeated.

Medusa laughed. “Yes, the Hilton mirage.” One of the camels lowered and Medusa swung her bony leg over the saddle. With a solid whip of the backside, the camel rose to its feet. “I love these animals. If only man were so compliant.” She whipped the camel and started galloping off into the horizon as the rest of the Bedouin’s followed.

Large pulleys attached to the four corners of the bottom-up pyramid and linked to steel ropes connected to four helicopters circling above the jungle. Indian natives, construction workers, archeologists, world leaders and reporters looked onward anxiously as if pulling the great pyramid of Giza out of the Amazon jungle would solve the world’s problems.

The helicopters rose slowly, steadily, but stalled and fluttered as they tried to live the massive structure the ground. Slowly, the earth shook below everyone’s feet; dirt fell from the sides of the point that was raised. It was working.

When the tip of the pyramid surfaced, construction workers signaled to the helicopters to lower slowly. The pyramid was gently rested on its side and released from the pulleys. Archeologists rushed inside the bottom of the pyramid only to find the walls charred and covered with soot from the explosion. “I detect natural gas, and traces of uranium,” said one of the scientists.

“There is gas and uranium at the base of the pyramid?” questioned one of the reporters.

“There seems to be,” replied the scientist. “I suspect underground pressure of gasses caused the explosion.”

“That’s some explosion,” remarked one of the reporters.

A construction worker removed his hard hat. “It rocked the world to a standstill.”

The United States President stares at the early morning sky and gazed at the scientist. “Great, we know what caused it, now what are we going to do about it?” He turned his attention to the construction worker. “How do we get this rock rolling again?”

Saosh and his horseman stopped on a high mountain plain. In the distance the Himalayas were barely visible in the smog. Only the jagged tips of the mountains could be seen stretching to the sky.

“You think your horses can get up there?” questioned Poindexter.

“Our horses can go anywhere,” Anzor replied.

“Are you guys really real, or just figments or our imagination?” questioned Captain Namouth.

“They are ghosts. We’re all ghosts,” said Jimmy. He looked hard at his hand, seeing if he could see through it. “When will I stop being a ghost?”

“When you stop trying to see through your hand,” said Carl.

“You can see us. You can feel us,” said Saosh. “Go ahead feel me! Angel put your arms around my chest and feel my realness.”

Venetia hugged Saosh’s manly body tightly; he was indeed a real man. She looked around the Saosh and the horsemen; they were indeed mysterious in a fabulous sort of way, and she had to admit highly fashionable too. “I agree with Jimmy. We needn’t question, we just need to move forward,” she said.

Sully ran her hands over Hassan’s biceps. “Yes, they are real.”

Poindexter rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“What do you say men, shall we break here?” Saosh asked.

Jimmy jumped off Carl’s horse. It felt good to walk and as soon as he had space he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. This was indeed the best adventure a scamp from London could ever imagine. When breathing became difficult from the thin air he turned back and watched the Horsemen and his group relaxing. He smiled and skipped back.

“Carl!” Jimmy yelled. “Can ghosts run; can they shout?”

“Yes they can, yet no one sees them or hears them. Their actions and screams are forgotten almost immediately. What makes a man real is when his actions and words become memorable. Are your actions and shouts memorable, Jimmy? How soon will they be forgotten?”

“What?” questioned Jimmy.

Carl laughed. “Exactly!”

Elsewhere Father Seppi walked to the edge of the high plains and looked off in the distance to smog filled valley. Nothing could be seen below. “I feel sorry for those poor souls. They must be suffocating.” Anzor stood beside him with his head bowed under his black cloak. “It would make me feel a lot better if you wouldn’t go stalking people in that black hood,” Father Seppi said.

“Why does my appearance frighten you,” asked Anzor with a wily smile.

“Well you can stop with the grinning,” said Father Seppi. “And black cloaks don’t have the best reputations if you know what I mean.”

Anzor regarded Father Seppi’s attire. “Father, your attire is black. Would it ease you if I were to wear a white collar such as yourself? Is there so much meaning in a white collar?”

Father Seppi fumbled with his collar. “It is a symbol of my faith.”

“How is it working?” questioned Anzor

“Just fine!” replied Father Seppi. He walked away from Anzor and found a quiet place underneath a Neem tree and buried his face in his bible.

“I wonder what is going on in the rest of the world. How many are left?” questioned Venetia.

Saosh brushed his grisly cheek against hers. “Don’t worry your pretty head of present conditions; we must remain positive to our mission.”

Venetia bit down on the date; it was bitter. How could he be so sure? How could he remain positive? She looked at Hassan and Sullie nuzzling. “How can they be falling in love? Beside her Poindexter was writing in his journal. Jimmy gazed dreamily at the horizon and Father Seppi chanted silently on his rosary. How can Poindexter think? How can Jimmy daydream? How can Father Seppi pray? She was interrupted by Captain Namouth’s snores. She let out a discouraged sigh.

As millions of people greeted the end with battles, suicides or parties, a small group emerged. They congregated in churches and prayed not for their souls to be saved, but in desperate hope the planet could be saved. Many retreated to the countryside and forests, sitting in meditation under large barren and willowing trees, while others concocted potions and devised spells in hopes to conjure the Mother Earth’s spirit. Although nothing seemed to be appropriately working, these resilient people never gave up.

Serendipidus 15

Medusa and the Bedouins tribe arrived at the town of Muscat in the country of Oman. Standing on the shore, Medusa stared out of the shimmering oil slick that covered the gulf; the hot sun reflected streaks of iridescent colors.

Off in the distance a periscope peaked from the slick. “That’s my ride,” Medusa said to the Bedouins and stepped onto the dock and headed toward the end of the pier where she waited for the submarine to emerge.

The hatch opened and a Russian sailor greeted her. “Ms. Dominatrix?”

“Right on schedule,” Medusa said, taking the sailor’s hand. “One thing I always appreciated about the Russians—punctuality.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the sailor. “Follow me.”

Inside the narrow gangways of the Russian submarine, many sailors peaked out of their cabins as she passed. When Medusa shot out an evil eye, they all ducked back inside. Her sailor guide showed her to her cabin. “This will be your cabin for the trip.”

Medusa was exhausted from her grueling trip across the sea, through Africa and up the Red Sea and around the dessert, not to mention the tiring chore of entertaining her whiny guests. Looking around her cabin, she grumbled and lit a cigarette. “I don’t even take a shit in bathrooms this small,” she muttered and sat her butt on the bunk.

Outside the small round window, she could see fish bones floating past in the black water. They have already submerged and on their way. What she wanted; what she always wanted was excitement, passion and a love she could never bring herself to feel. She carelessly lit a cigarette and puffed.

There was a knock on the door of her cabin. “What do you want?” she yelled.

“Madam, we have some refreshments for you!” called a voice from the other side of the door. The door opened and another sailor, carrying a silver tray entered. “Madam, caviar and Vodka.”

Medusa sat upright as the sailor set down the tray. “Is it fresh?”

“Freshly spawned before the storm,” replied the sailor.

It was the first thing Medusa was thankful for since she destroyed the planet. “Thank you.” She nodded for the sailor to leave. Alone she dived into the caviar and Vodka and thought nothing of the world falling apart around her.

Saosh and his horsemen slowly climbed the mountains with Venetia and the others on the backs of their horses. The trip grew arduous and fatigue showed in the eyes of the horses. It was far too dangerous to stop on the steep incline, so they plowed ahead until they reached a plateau, where to everyone’s surprise flowers bloomed all around.

Venetia slipped off the back of Saosh’s white steed and walked with her palms touching the tips of the high grass. All around were fields of blue asters, yellow daisies, star-shaped white edelweiss and snow lotus. She spun in circles elated. “This is amazing! Do you think our troubles are over? Do you think the Earth has started to rotate?”

Seated on Hassan’s horse, Sullie spread her arms wide and lifted her head to the setting sun. “I feel no wind.”

Poindexter moved to get off Anzor’s horse, but fell to the ground. He sat upright and fixed his glasses to his face. Pulling himself up quickly to not make a scene of his clumsiness, he limped around the horses, gazing at the sunset. He made a made a few equations in his notebook and summarized, “Based on the planet’s alignment, I’d still say we’re stuck.”

“Why are the flowers blooming while everything else in the world is dying?” asked Venetia.

“Why ask?” Captain Namouth as he stumbled to the ground from Carl’s horse. “Ah, so much for sea legs, talk about horse legs,” he moaned with a loud sigh and lay back in the blue flowers. “Shouldn’t we be glad, we found a place untouched by the misery of the rest of the world?”

“This is the top of the world, my angel,” said Saosh. He leaped off his horse in one full swoosh and draped his arm around Venetia’s shoulder. “It is heaven.”

Poindexter rolled his eyes. “For some.”

“We would have to be dead for it to be heaven,” remarked Father Seppi.

Everyone fell into a grim silence. Perhaps it all was just a dream. Maybe the paradise mirage in the dessert was their entrance into Heaven, while everyone else was in Hell.

“If you ask me, you’re all ghosts. We’re all ghosts! We died somewhere at some time. Maybe it was in Haifa, maybe it was in the desert. You men are ghosts who have taken our spirits,” Father Seppi said.

“No! I am Saosh!” exclaimed Saosh with a dramatic gesture.

“Yes, I know,” replied Father Seppi, “but who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here? How are you living in a strange mirage when everyone else is dying?”

“And I am Anzor of the North,” replied Anzor with his never fading smile. “I was arrested for a crime I didn’t commit. When the storm knocked out all the power of my prison I escaped. I rode south until I could ride no longer. It was in paradise where I met Saosh, Hassan and Carl.”

“Paradise! See paradise. You’re dead Anzor! You died and are in Paradise—Heaven! Don’t you get it?” argued Father Seppi.

Captain Namouth looked curiously at Anzor. “The Father has a point.”

“Paradise, Father is in the mind, not in the body,” answered Anzor. “You will remain in your hell of judgment until you free yourself.”

Captain Namouth shook his head. “Just what happened in Israel? It looked like war killed off everyone!”

“The Earth shook violently. Buildings crumbled and people ran for their lives, disappearing in their own Heaven or Hell, leaving behind their ghosts, but they will love or die elsewhere,” explained Carl.

“Those are the people, dying in the desert. The ones that couldn’t be saved,” said Venetia.

Saosh put his arm around Venetia’s shoulder. “Yes, angel.”

Poindexter inserted himself between Saosh and Venetia. “You’re saying we’re all alive and kicking, but we left ghosts of our former selves behind. Preposterous! There is no such thing as ghosts. There is no such thing as Heaven or Hell. I suspect these men are just schemers and shysters, taking advantage of our good nature and hope.” He glared at Hassan. “And romancing women only to leave them wrecked and heartbroken.”

Sullie turned sharply to Hassan, wondering if she could have been a victim of disingenuous seduction.

Hassan slid off his horse and looked down at Poindexter. His hazel eyes lit a cold fire. “How can a man who has never known a women’s love, talk as such an expert?” Poindexter grumbled awkwardly before Hassan. “A man of such intellectual passion and knowledge may need to understand that it is not just the brain that leads to the world’s advances, but the heart. When a man follows his heart with true passion, he will never be led astray.” Hassan looked up at Sullie, still seated on his stallion and offered her his hand. “I lead you to my heart,” he said as he helped her down and into his arms. With such a declaration, Sullie only fell deeper for her dashing stud.

Father Seppi turned to Anzor and gazed into his black eyes. “What were you accused of?”

“Mass murder,” Anzor replied earnestly and unashamed.

“Mass murder? Huh! Who were you accused of killing?” Father Seppi grunted.

“The guilty,” said Anzor.

There was no doubt for Father Seppi, Anzor was his nemesis, everything he feared despised, but most of all misunderstood. Father Seppi backed away from Anzor and slipped, almost falling down the embankment to the valley below.

Anzor reached out and grabbed Father Seppi’s collar to save him. “You have many demons inside you Father.”

Father Seppi pulled himself away from Anzor’s grasp. He was without words, not knowing how to respond. He had always had preconceived notions with demons and death, none of which he believed were inside him. Gazing down at the hidden valley below, he believed it was time for an exorcism.

“Hello!” called a pleasant male voice. They all turned to see a monk, draped in a saffron robe approach. “Hello,” he said, bowing before each of them. “Hello, hello, hello. Greetings.”

“Hello!” bellowed Saosh. “I am Saosh, champion of the East, these are my horsemen Hassan, Anzor, and Carl, and this is my angel Venetia. We are all here to save the world!”

“Welcome,” said the monk.

“Where are we?” asked Sullie.

“Ngaiu,” said the Monk.

“Well, that answers that,” replied Captain Namouth, sarcastically with a puff of his pipe.

“Why are the flowers in bloom? The whole world is dying, but life is blooming here?” asked Venetia.

The monk studied the horsemen and Venetia’s friends. “You must come with me.”

They all followed the Monk down a path toward a small wooden temple opening the doors, the group found many more monks in deep meditation. They were so still, stomachs unmoving with breath.

“Are they alive?” asked Captain Namouth.

“Very much so,” said the monk. “Much more alive than any of you.”

“So then we have died?” questioned Father Seppi.

The monk gave Father Seppi and the others a curious gaze. “No, you have only been asleep.”

“What a minute! We’re asleep, and the slumbering monks with closed eyes are awake,” muttered Captain Namouth. “I’m sure the world stopped as it has turned backwards. Is anyone making sense of this?”

Jimmy studied the monks and scratches his head. “I don’t understand. Are you sure they haven’t died and turned into zombies.” He moved about and danced a few steps. “You see, we’re moving.”

The monk chuckled. “Quite sure. They all have reached a higher level of consciousness in which they are connecting to the earth. Healing…” said the monk, pointing to his head, “…is in here…” He pointed to his heart. “…and in here.” He smiled and bowed before them. “Please follow.”

The monk led the group to an outside patio of wilted plants and flowers. “Healing begins with a conscious connection.”

“Science was not able to make any tangible connections to the actual powers consciousness,” replied Poindexter.

“Everyone thought the world was flat until Columbus sailed to America.” The monk turned to Poindexter gave him a genuine smile. “This science; it is constantly changing man’s willingness to expand his consciousness.”

“Der,” Sullie grunted quietly.

Poindexter shot her a look and bit his lip. She shouldn’t talk; her magic got us nowhere.

“Now, I ask you all to have a seat here in my garden.” The monk watched as the group took their seats—Sullie and Hassan held hands around a stick that once bloomed beautiful orchids, Anzor perched before leaning Juniper tree, Carl reclined among droopy daisies, Jimmy sat in flat bed of ferns, Captain Namouth nestled in tall, dried grass, Father Seppi wilted lilies and Venetia, Saosh and Poindexter all gathered before a flowerless, thorny rose bush.

“Close your eyes,” the monk instructed. “All you have to do is breathe.”

“How can I breathe when the air is so still and so stale?” mumbled Captain Namouth with his eyes closed.

“Because your breath is all you have at this very moment,” replied monk softly.

The monk sat in lotus position and closed his eyes. He breathed conscious of every breathe that flowed in him and out of him. His nostrils flared and constricted; his belly rose and flatten and then a serene smile crossed his face. Oddly he was at peace at such a precarious time.

“As we breathe,” said the monk with his eyes closed, “we breathe life not only within ourselves but to everything we are connected to—the earth, the trees, the plants, the bird, and the animals. All we need to do is breathe.”

Sullie closed her eyes and focused on her breath—the cool sensation as it flowed into her nose and the warmth as it flowed out. With each breath brought calmness and peace.

“Now feel the energies in your body rise,” said the monk.

Venetia felt an electrical charge surge through her spine and a tingling sensation on her skin. She breathed in the thin air deeply, let it set in her belly and exhaled even slower. Reaching her hands out, she placed her hands on each of Saosh’s and Poindexter’s thighs. Both took her hand in theirs. A smile crossed her face. She knew the feeling she was long missing and it was love.

“Feel the earth beneath your seat. Feel the energy of the plants before you. Feel yourself become one with the plant,” said the monk.

Jimmy rested his hands on the ferns beside him. Underneath his palms he could feel the leaves rise. “Whoa!” he shouted excitedly. “It’s working! I can feel it!”

Everyone lifted open one eye and stared at Jimmy, witnessing for themselves the rebirth of ferns.”

“You see nothing ever really dies. The life force hibernates until better living conditions are provided,” explained the monk. “The fern merely felt Jimmy youthful zeal and exuberance.”

With energy created within Hassan and Sullie’s circle orchids miraculously bloomed into beautiful pink flowers. Both opened their eyes and watched the magic they created.

“Love’s healing energy resurrects everything,” said the monk.

Seated around the Juniper tree, Anzor was able to use his conscious powers to straighten the leaning tree. Daisies popped up about Carl, grass grew around Captain Namouth and lilies revived among Father Seppi. It seemed like a miracle, but it wasn’t really. It was the healing presence they all had from the start.

As Venetia sat crossed legged and breathed the wilted plants grew stronger with her natural synergy with nature. The musty scent of decaying leaves was overcome with the sweet aroma of newly formed rose blossoms. It was a magnificent feeling as once again she grew strength from nature. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find herself sitting in a thriving garden. The stems and buds arched toward the sky in hopes of new life.

“The answers you have been seeking have been within you all the while. You become one with the Earth; the Earth will become one with you. You live against the Earth; the Earth will live against you. The Earth is a living breathing organism, just like you,” explained the monk.

“This is all great,” said Poindexter. “But DER, the Earth stopped spinning. How do we get it to start rotating again?”

The monk raised his finger and grinned. “What do you think?”

Poindexter stared at the monk and at Venetia who held not only his hand, but Saosh’s. He felt a fool, not just as a scientist, but as a man. He had given his life, his heart to this woman who believed in him and whom he believed, and now it seemed she turned her affections to a dashing sultan. He rose to his feet. “Obviously, what I think doesn’t matter,” he stated and walked inside the temple where all the other monks meditated.

“What’s eating him?” asked Jimmy.

“I suspect love,” replied Captain Namouth.

Venetia turned her head in the direction Poindexter retreated. “Excuse me,” she said and followed Poindexter inside the temple. When she reached him, she could not contain her anger. “What’s the matter with you?” she scolded. “We have all just witnessed the rebirth of life and you’re throwing a temper tantrum.”

“Don’t you get it? I’m a quack!” he shouted among all the meditators, although none had lifted an eye. “I have been bested by a magical healer, a priest, a monk,” he breathed deeply, “An attractive Sultan!” When he looked around and saw all the meditating monks staring at him. “Sorry, I am a failure. I have failed you! I have failed the world!” He stormed out of the temple, raging with anguish.

Venetia remained torn between the miracle she just witnessed and the heartache of a man she cared deeply. She bit her lip and followed Poindexter out of the temple. “If it wasn’t for you none of this would be possible.”

Poindexter stared over the beautiful plateau in full bloom and the setting sun. He never imagined being part of such a humanitarian venture with such a stunning woman; it was just the disappointment that the love he was beginning to feel belonged to another man. He sucked up his pride. “I know.”

Venetia shrugged her shoulders disappointed. “We need you Poindexter. I need you,” she said and when he didn’t turn around. “I hope you will consider continuing with us.” Poindexter didn’t respond. “Maybe Hassan was right. You need to start thinking with your heart and not with your head.” She sighed discouraged and returned to the temple.

Like every man, he had his adversary. His entire life he blamed the science community for rebutting his work and Doctor Dubious for his mocking. Standing alone on the Tibetan plateau, Poindexter finally came face to face with his foe—himself, his pride and his ego. It is so easy for man to lose himself in his mastery, when he has nothing else. Maybe it’s time to set aside intellectualism, and experience the wonders of things that can’t be explained.

Serendipidus 16

Partiers in New York City teetered in their zombie apocalypse costumes. Celebrating to the end of the world was getting flat-out exhausting for those who weren’t wasted or passed out. All the Hollywood stories of zombies and the end of the world resulted in a whole bunch of nothingness. Those who have lacked the faith and hope have already vacated the Earth in mass suicides, searching for their souls in Heaven, or where ever they believed was their infinite destiny.

It was the dawn of peace and resilience for those who didn’t give up. With the now calm and quiet streets, many came out of their homes armed with brooms and dustpans. They cleaned up the trash-filled streets and hauled away all the rubble form the storm to empty lots. New York City has never been cleaner.

These people of hope for the world didn’t care whose company they shared. They didn’t need to be with a lover, a spouse, family, or friend. There was compassion and love for all, even those who couldn’t help themselves—the derelicts and homeless. Everyone was welcomed to the change that was occurring in people’s hearts.

Across the world, silhouetted against the setting sun, Saosh and Venetia embraced. A tear rolled down Venetia’s cheek. “I wish you could finish the journey with us,” said Venetia.

“It’s my fate—my destiny!” Saosh declared and pressed his cheek against hers. “I met my angel; she took me to heaven to find Earth’s answers and now it’s time for me to return to Persia and tell my people the gardens of Babylon will hang once again!”

“Will I ever see you again?” asked Venetia, growing lost in his sultry eyes.

“As long as the pulse of Mother Earth still beats, you will always be in my heart,” said Saosh. He nodded toward Poindexter who watched their emotional goodbye from behind a bush. “There is a man who believes in you, loves you and will follow you to the end of the Earth. He is the one who deserves to wake every morning to your beauty.”

Venetia noticed Poindexter. She giggled a tearful laugh. It was true; Poindexter had been with her through it all and he still is. What a sweet, loving man behind those thick-rimmed spectacles and serious gaze. How could any woman resist? Venetia let go of Saosh’s manly hands and nodded, wiping her tears.

Saosh leaned toward her, kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “Go to him.” He pulled away and yelled out, “Men mount your horses! It’s back to Persia; we ride!”

Hassan and Sullie melted into a passionate kiss. They withdrew from one another and stared into each other’s hazel eyes. No goodbyes were needed, they were connected and it would only be time before they saw each other again. Hassan bowed before his goddess and kissed her hand. He leaped on to his horse and saluted her.

Carl shook Jimmy’s hand and stared deep into his eyes clear through to Jimmy’s soul. “I can see in you the hero emerge. Keep an eye out for the others. They will depend on you.”

“Me? I’m just a kid,” said Jimmy.

“If you were just a kid, you wouldn’t be on this journey. You were chosen to be their hero; be one.” Carl swung onto his horse and rode off to join Hassan and Saosh.

“Right on, Carl! I won’t let them down!” Jimmy yelled as he waved goodbye.

Father Seppi approached Anzor and held out his hand. “May God bless you.”

Anzor shook Father Seppi’s hand. “He already has.” He jumped onto his black stallion and reared the horse against the sunset.

In his grasp, Father Seppi clutched his bible and nodded as Anzor rode away. He didn’t doubt Anzor’s words. God had blessed them all; they were the fortunate ones.

Saosh and his horseman rode off, disappearing beyond the horizon.

“Well, that ends that,” said Venetia sadly.

Poindexter approached Venetia. “He is something.”

Venetia smiled warmly at Poindexter. “So are you.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She was taken immediately by an electrical surge that vibrated through her entire body, giving her goose bumps. “Oh my! We should, you know, like be getting along. I’ll, we should get the others. We should be leaving too.”

A hot rush pulsated through Poindexter’s veins and he felt the strength of ten Saoshes. He stood awkwardly, not expecting their chemistry to be quite so strong. He removed his glasses to wipe off the steam. “Yes, yes…sounds like a good idea.

Venetia walked across the grass of the high mountain plain. Poindexter daringly took her hand as they returned to the monk’s temple. When they arrived they saw Sherpas loading a sleigh that will take them to lower ground.

Sullie and Jimmy climbed in the back of the sleigh, with Captain Namouth and Father Seppi in the front. “Come on!” Jimmy yelled to Venetia and Poindexter. “Get in before there is no room left!”

Poindexter lifted Venetia onto the sleigh and leaped inside with little effort. He was amazed by his sudden strength, but the love a good woman did that to a man. Venetia may have been Saosh’s fate, but Poindexter grinned, knowing he was Venetia’s.

The Sherpas tugged at a rope that started the sleigh down a slope. As they reached the Himalayas they were discouraged to find the glaciers melted into massive rivers. Fortunately for all, the sleigh was able to stay afloat even with all them cramped inside.

They held on tight and screamed as the sleigh plummeted down waterfalls and bounce through roaring rapids. Sullie held on tight to Jimmy to keep him from falling off. Venetia clung to Poindexter for safety and the Captain and the Father gripped for dear life, while the Sherpa drivers tried their best to maneuver through raging waters, around rocks and tree trunks. After their long journey they all feared their fate would end against jagged rocks.

Finally, they had come to flat land where the water settled into a large lake that extended in every direction, as far as the eye could see. Regaining control of their senses and stomachs, Venetia asked the Sherpa, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere in India I imagine,” he said.

India was flooded by the melted ice of the mountains. There was no way of knowing what city or town lurked beneath them. They sailed across the lake seeing flowered garlands floating in the water and decorative temple spires poking through the water’s surface, while the smell of curry lofted in the air.

“Yes, we must be in India,” said Sullie. “I always loved Indian food.”

They continued as far as they could until the sleigh hit mud and could go no further. With wobbly knees they fell out of the sleigh and onto soggy land. Once again, not a soul was in sight.

“They must have escaped to higher land,” said Captain Namouth

“If they made it to higher land,” replied Father Seppi. “God save their souls.”

The group walked through a small village, even dared to enter homes looking for human life, or at least proof that human life once existed. Jimmy entered a house and ran outside screaming. “It’s Merlin! I found Merlin! Merlin is here!”

“Merlin?” Sullie questioned, running to the house.

All rushed to meet this magical Merlin only to find an aged yogi levitating in a lotus position.

“What in the world is he doing?” asked Captain Namouth.

“Levitating, meditating,” said Sullie with wide-eyed fascination. “I never knew it’s possible.”

“It’s not,” said Poindexter. “It’s scientifically impossible.”

“Yes, with our minds we were able to make plants bloom,” retorted Sullie. “Explain that Doctor?”

“Look lady, I am tired of you challenging everything I say and do. You’re just some crazy witch who believes that concocting some spell, or rubbing beads and crystals will save the world. You lady, are a hack.”

Sullie put her hands on her hips. “I’m hack? I’m not the laughing stock of the entire scientific community.”

Captain Namouth lit his pipe and puffed. “If you ask me, you’re all on the right side of looney.” He nodded Father Seppi. “Except you father, you travel with the good word of the Lord.”

Father Seppi clenched his drenched bible. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh please!” argued Sullie. “That’s his problem; he uses it as a shield too afraid to truly face the problems of the world. That’s what Anzor has been trying to tell you, but you’re too scared.”

“I’m here on this ill-conceived journey. I did believe in you people, but you are reaching in so many directions like that of a jagged old tree.” Father Seppi replied.

Captain Namouth approached the yogi. “I wonder what this old codger’s secret is?” He felt around the yogi’s body. “There are no strings, no ropes. There is nothing keeping him up.”

“Devilish tricks, I suspect,” said Father Seppi. “What defies nature, defies God, must be the work of the devil. This is all the world of the devil.”

Venetia turned to them all. “We have no idea who he is, or how he is doing it. Open minds, good hearts and best intentions got us this far. We cannot lose our minds over something we cannot understand.”

“For God’s sake, shut up!” echoed a voice through the room.

The group silenced, glanced around the room and then at the motionless yogi.

She turned toward the man and smiled prettily. “Hello.”

The yogi did not respond.

“Excuse me sir,” continued Venetia. “I am Supermodel Venetia DE Mille. These are my friends Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, Sullie and Father Seppi. We have traveled around the world in search of answers to save the world.”

The yogi did not flinch.

“Good wise sir, we have tried science, magic, prayer and meditation. We have after all this time made a connection to the Earth and believe we have the ability to start healing, but we must get home to tell the others…if the others are still alive,” explained Venetia.

The voice radiated through the room: “Yet the Earth still does not move.”

“Sorcery!” replied Father Seppi.

“I bet this is just a hologram and there is some wise one lurking behind one of these walls. It’s like that movie Oz. Somewhere behind these walls is an old man with a sense of humor,” Captain Namouth.

Venetia gestured for Captain Namouth to remain quiet as she too looked around to see where the voice was coming from. “You’re right. The Earth is not spinning.”

“What do you expect us to do—the whole world jog in direction to get it jump started,” joked Captain Namouth.

“You know your remarks are not just disrespectful, they’re stupid,” said Sullie.

“Too bad there was never a man to put you in your place,” Captain Namouth retorted back.

Sullie scoffed. “No woman would have you on land, so you took a plastic doll with you out to sea.”

“Enough!” scolded the voice. “Is this the best humanity has to offer? If so, then we are all doomed.

Sullie and Captain Namouth lowered their head.

“And you Doctor and Father, separating yourself behind a book, separating yourselves with theories and ideologies and stealing from one another for self-gratification. What is this?”

Father Sappi and Poindexter bowed ashamed.

‘Sir, we apologize, it’s been a long exhausting trip. They are good people,” said Venetia.

“And you,” echoed the voice.

“Me?” asked Venetia.

“Your heart is bitter with distaste. You spread love around with the creatures of the world, but you have chosen a life of isolation away from those you fear and judge.”

Venetia jerked her head to the side. The yogi’s magical words struck her core, knowing the distance she positioned herself form the nuns at the convent, the girls at the home, her fellow models and even at times her own group. Why do I do this? How does the yogi know?

“We are one. With universal consciousness the impossible becomes possible,” the voice echoed. “If you cannot reach a state of utter oneness with each other, how do you expect to solve anything? Separate the world will crumble; together the world will thrive.”

“So we’re to mediate on the universe, like with did with the plants?” asked Sullie. “We brought plants back to life; we can bring the universe to order.”

“No,” bellowed the voice. “What brought you to me? What brought you together?”

Venetia and her group looked dumfounded. It was the riddles of all riddles; the riddle that would save mankind. Venetia walked outside the house, followed by the rest. She looked up at the setting sun and reflected on her journey. It began at sunrise on the other side of the Earth and here she was with the sun about to set. Was this the end, or is it just beginning?

“Now what?” asked Jimmy.

Venetia closed her eyes tightly trying desperately to meditate. A tingling sensation suddenly came over her body and she found herself enveloped in a warm white veil of peace. She opened her eyes. In the sky, she couldn’t believe. It was a vulture circling in the sky.

Daringly Venetia raised her arm to the sky. The vulture soared onward and landed firmly on her wrist. She looked into the vulture’s eyes. “Consciousness is the core of humanity. It can be a curse or it can be a cure,” said the vulture in the voice of the yogi. “Only humanity can decide how to break the curse and be the cure.

“But how?” asked Venetia.

“It only takes one to break the spell.” And then the bird soared away into the sky, disappearing from sight.

Venetia turned back and found her friends standing on the porch.

“Was that a talking bird?” asked Captain Namouth. “Now I have seen everything.”

With his bible clenched to his chest, Father Seppi fell to his knees and started to cry. His cries turned to sobs. They all couldn’t help it; everyone began to cry with increased hope. Now all they had to do was get back to alert all the survivors of the miracles they experienced.

Serendipidus 17

On the beach of Puri, India the group was encouraged to see a small ripple of tide coming in, which could only indicate one thing. There was some movement in the Earth’s rotation. “It’s gotta be ERA,” said Poindexter.

“I’d say it’s gotta be a new era. Things ain’t gonna be the same after this mess,” said Captain Namouth with a puff of smoke from his pipe.

“No ERA. Earth Rotation Accelerating,” remarked Poindexter strongly.

“It doesn’t matter what era it is if we’re stuck here,” said Venetia. She gazed up and down the coast line and all saw washed up rowboats that from a distance looked like beached wales. “We need to find people. I hate to think we’re the only people left on earth.”

“Well if we’re going to have to start repopulating the planet, I need to find my Hassan,” said Sullie.

“Let’s finish this first before you start your fantasy romance,” said Poindexter.

“What are you complaining about, Poindexter. You got your girl,” Sullie remarked with a wink.

Poindexter glanced at Venetia and smile appeared on his normally cross face. If he had to be one of the people left in the world, he was happy it was with Venetia.

The group walked up the beach studying many colorful small row boats varied in destruction—some had large holes, others broken to pieces and others had minor cracks. Captain Namouth walked among them to find one suitable for floating.

“I am not getting in one of those,” said Sullie.

“We only need it to take us to the next big port city where we can find something bigger,” said Captain Namouth. “We either float down the coast or walk.” He turned and looked Sullie in the eye. “Which do you think will get us there faster?”

“If we sink, I’d say walking would get us there faster,” remarked Sullie.

Poindexter pressed his glasses to his face. He was now man enough to take a stand against the raging goddess. “That captain is right. We need to go by water.”

“Huh, I’m putting that in my pipe and I’m smokin’ it,” said Captain Namouth to Sullie.

Sullie threw her arms up in the air. “Looks like now we’re just going have Father Seppi’s prayers to keep us afloat.”

Everyone joined in finding a suitable boat to carry them, but many had cracks and holes from being thrust on shore by the storm. Finally, they found one that had no cracks or visible damage.

All took paddles except for Poindexter who would be their navigation. Once they set sail, paddling was easier than expected as a gentle breeze helped them along. The gentle ripple in the water gave them all hope they were on the right course.

Venetia glance upward at the sky, hoping to see more birds, but only saw the setting sun that didn’t seem to be dimming. Perhaps it was just a trick of the old yogi.

They rowed for hours but still found no sight of life or a large port that would offer them a bigger boat. Venetia paddled; her arms feeling like lead weights. She didn’t know how much further she could go.

“I’m getting tired,” whined Jimmy.

“Yes, dear Lord, can we please rest for a bit,” said Father Seppi.

Sullie rested the paddle on her lap and raised her head to the slightest of breezes. It felt so good on her body. “I say we let the wind take us and why not, we always end up where we supposed to be.”

Captain Namouth looked to the sunset horizon. They had been rowing for some time and still the sky hadn’t darkened. “Everything looks the same.”

Venetia alone kept paddling; she wasn’t giving up. Her conviction grew stronger. “We’ll have time to rest when we find others who can help. Until then, we are all we have.”

Wearily the group rowed, but exhaustion soon overcame them. Their strokes grew weaker and slower until everyone stopped. The gentle waves rocking the boat lulled everyone to sleep. Into the Bay of Bengal their tiny fishing boat drifted.

Medusa reclined in her cabin, impatiently sipping in her vodka, dragging on her cigarette. She sat forward and looked out the round window; she saw nothing. Suddenly, the submarine shook, causing her vodka to spill. “For God’s sake!”

The submarined turned sideways and upside down. Medusa tried hard to keep her drink from spilling. “Captain! Captain!”

She opened the door to the gangway where red lights flashed. “Captain! Captain!”

Despite the violent agitations of the ship, Medusa sashayed in her high heels as if walking down the catwalk. “Captain!”

When she reached the bridge she found the captain and several sailors were strapped against the panels. “Ms. Dominatrix, I suggest you stay in your cabin,” replied the captain. “We have encountered a huge storm.”

“My drink spilled,” she said. “I need service.”

The captain had nearly enough. “Madam, if you don’t shut it I’ll give you a demonstration of our torpedo hatch, up close and personal.”

Medusa’s eyes widened with fury. She had never been talked to in such a manner and she looked around the cabin for some sort of retaliation, unfortunately she had no power over any of the sailors who had unsurpassed loyalty to their captain. It was something even she hadn’t planned, as the world was on the precipice of disaster, there was nothing left to fear—not even her.

She sank back against a control panel. As the cabin shook and rattled, Medusa’s life flashed before her dull, soulless eyes—the blue Mediterranean she never appreciated as a child, the servants she treated so badly, her fans she carelessly brushed aside, her lack of guilt for the premature demise of her husbands and the world she destroyed.

An uncomfortable feeling bubbled up in Medusa’s hard, cold body that she couldn’t quite identify, but it was oddly familiar. It brought back memories of the sweet smell of eucalyptus. “Will we make it? Tell me, will we make it? I have to make it.”

The captain stared at her. “I don’t know.”

Falling back against the wall, Medusa weakened. Suddenly her heart filled with panic and fear—the once mighty Medusa, reduced to mush. I have to make it, if not everything would have been a waste.

Venetia woke seeing dark, gray circling clouds above. They were afloat in the great big sea with no sight of land in any direction. Urgently she sat upright, seeing the others asleep in the boat. From a distance Venetia observed a deluge dumping gallons of water into the ocean. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Everyone emerged from their slumber shocked to see the storm. As water filled the hull of the boat, they did their best to using the palms of their hands to empty the water back into the sea.

“This is no use!” cried Venetia. “It's pointless; we can't keep up with the rain.”

“What are we going to do!” screamed Jimmy.

Poindexter glanced overboard and saw a circling whirl pool. They were soon to be flushed into the depths of the Indian Ocean. He wiped the water from his glasses. “We're gonna have to hold on tight and let it take us.” He looked around at the group and yelled, “Faith!”

They all knew faith had brought them this far and where ever the storm will take them was where they are meant to be. As the gang grabbed hold of the railing, Father Seppi issued them a prayer. “O God, our heavenly Father, whose glory fills the whole creation, and whose presence we find wherever we go: Preserve my companions, Venetia, Poindexter, Jimmy, Sullie, and Captain Namouth and surround them with your loving care; protect them from every danger; and bring them in safety to their journey's end; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

The tiny boat swirled into the whirlpool. Buoys flew from the floor of the boat, wood beams shattered and suddenly the hull started to crack and break apart. Poindexter reached for Venetia and she grabbed hold of Jimmy. Jimmy hugged the sturdy waist of Sullie, who held onto Father Seppi's hand. Father Seppi reached for Captain Namouth's hand, but it was too late.

The boat broke in half. Captain Namouth yelled out and stretched his arm desperately. “Help! Someone help!”

Jimmy found a rope on the floor and tied it around his waist. He tossed the end to Captain Namouth. “Captain, grab hold!”

Captain Namouth struggled, but was able to grab hold of the rope and hung on for dear life, trailing behind Jimmy who had a strong hold on the boat.

The boat tossed and turned under the swirling water. They all tried their best to hold onto each other. If this was indeed going to be their end—drowning in the Indian Ocean, then they will go down together.

Venetia held her breath and looked around the water. She could not tell which way was up and which way was down, the only thing she knew was she held tightly to Poindexter and Sullie’s hand and she was not for her life letting go. She gave up her fate to the swirling ocean.

Serendipidus 18

Nadine slumped over her reporting desk. A large finger poked her on the shoulder. She awoke without a hair out of place and a bright beaming smile. “Good morning and welcome to Wide Awake America.” She glared at the teleprompter trying to make out the words through blurred vision. “We take you live to Central Park where a big protest is now happening. People seem to coming out in mass, protesting the end of the world. Chaz what’s going on out there?”

Reporter at large, Chaz Michael wiped his tired eyes and cleft chin. “Hello Nadine, it seems we have a sit-in. People have been camping out here for hours.” The camera pulled back to reveal a large group of people sitting quietly in lotus position surrounded by police in riot gear at the ready to get them to move upon command.

Chaz poked a seated dude in the shoulder and put the microphone by his lips. “Sir, can you tell me the nature of your protest and what you hope to accomplish?”

The dude didn’t respond to Chaz, but continued to quietly sit in silence.

Frustrated, Chaz approached a young coed seated in meditation. “Hi, can you tell me what is going on here? Why are you sitting here?”

Still Chaz received no answer and shrugged his arms disappointed. He walked through the maze of meditators, looking for signs of flinching, but everyone was deep in focus. “Maybe we can get the cops to get them to talk,” he muttered loudly and turned to face the camera. “It seems Nadine, people in Central Park are just checking out. What a waste of humanity.”

Back to Nadine, she smiled. “Different strokes for different folks, I guess,” she said mindlessly and laid her head back down on the table.

The rain soaked beach pulsated with mounds of sand that seemed to be alive. A hand protruded the sand mound. Venetia forced her arm through the mud and dragged herself from her beach burial. Gasping for air, she looked around at the other heaving heaps of heaving sand. “Poindexter!” she cried in a raspy voice. When she saw Poindexter’s broken glasses in the sand, she grew teary-eyed. “Oh Poindexter.”

Suddenly Poindexter pulled himself from the sand, reached for his glasses and pressed them to his face. Through the cracks it was hard to determine their location, but he was able to make out Venetia’s beautiful frame. “Thank goodness you are alright.”

“You too,” she said, hugging him tightly.

Behind them emerged Sullie’s large frame and Jimmy shimmied out of his mound. They joined Venetia and Poindexter, recovering from their ordeal. Jimmy pulled on the rope around his waist until he was able to find the mound that entombed Captain Namouth.

Captain Namouth’s pipe peaked through the sand. Jimmy leaped up to help uncover his captain. Captain Namouth sat upright. He puffed on his pipe, spitting out mud. “Wow, that was a ride,” said Captain Namouth.

“Where's Father Seppi?” Venetia asked.

They looked around and saw a large hump of mud sinking in the ground. Together they tried to dig him out, but more rain water just filled up the wholes they dug.

“It's too late!” cried Sullie. “We can't save him.”

“We can’t give up. He is our faith!” Venetia yelled.

They dug deep into the mud until they found Father Seppi face down in the mud. With all their might they pulled him out and he wheezed and coughed, choking on the stale, damp air. He wheezed deeply trying to catch his breath and bowed in prayer to his saviors.

“Thank you my friends.” He looked around for his lost his bible. At first he was frantic, searching the mud for his solace in text, but stopped. Faith and friends saved him, not the book. Father Seppi laughed uncontrollably.

“The journey finally crack you, father?” asked Captain Namouth who was trying to light his pipe in the deluge.

“No,” Father Seppi roared, “The journey finally freed me.” He raised his head to the rain and allowed the water to wash away the mud on his face. “I believe!” he screamed and fell backwards into the mud.

The group watched Father Seppi as he happily made mud angels. Sullie laughed and she too fell backwards, swaying her arm and legs. Venetia and Jimmy shortly joined the fun. They didn’t care of the mud, the rain, one again faith and hope overcame disaster.

Poindexter tried to clean mud from his glasses, but it was no use. “I wonder where we are now?”

Venetia and Sullie sat up and gazed around at their strange surroundings—swaying towers of muds. It was if they landed on a mud planet. When Sullie started walking, the other's followed.

As they headed uphill, a covered truck pulled alongside them. A middle-aged man rolled down the window. He had a smile the glistened in the darkness. “Howdy mates, can I give yaz a lift?” They gladly climbed in the back seat of the covered truck. Finally refuge from the rain.

“Well, that solves one mystery. We're in Australia,” said Sullie as she wiped mud from her face.

“All around the world, weather stopped? Why is it raining here?” Venetia asked.

Poindexter spit out mud. "They must be stuck in a storm."

"I wonder where he is taking us," said Venetia.

"Anywhere out of the rain is fine with me," replied Sullie.

Poindexter and Jimmy nodded their agreement with that sentiment.

Finally, the truck came to a halt and their driver opened the canvas cover. “You can come in and clean yourselves up inside,” he said.

Climbing out of the truck, they all noticed a large ranch with bare eucalyptus trees. Through the front window they saw what looked to be a roaring fire. The man escorted his muddy guests toward his home. “It might be best to hose you off under the porch canopy.” He turned on the hose and rinsed the mud from each of their bodies. Once inside he offered them warm blankets and steaming cups of tea.

“Sorry about the smoke. I can’t keep the firewood dry,” he said and put another log on the fire. “I sure hope this storm ends soon.”

Venetia exchanged glances with the others and said. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what? We’ve been without power since this storm started,” the man replied.

“Uhm, sorry to tell you this sir, but the world has stopped spinning. You are stuck for eternity in the deluge,” explained Venetia. She sighed apologetically, drying her face and neck with the towel. “Poindexter here first theorized it was ARR, but then after the big storm, we realized it was DER. We were hoping we would be in ERA, but unfortunately DER.”

“Der,” said the man, staring at Venetia, Poindexter and the rest.

They all nodded their heads. “DER.”

“Ah huh,” he sighed. His attention suddenly turned to the charm around Venetia’s neck. “Where did you get that?”

“I was orphaned at a convent,” Venetia replied casually. She stared at the man; his eyes were the bluest she had ever seen. “It was with me since I can remember. I never did learn what it meant.”

The man breathed deeply and ran his hand through his greying hair. “Convent in Oneida, New York?”

“Yes. How did you know?” asked Venetia.

Kneeling before Venetia, he looked into her eyes—his eyes and held the charm in his large fingers. “It’s an Aborigine symbol that means Mother Earth rising. “I always believed that despite the mankind’s destructions, Mother Earth would rise again, if not in my lifetime, but in future generations.” The man studied Venetia carefully. “Can I ask what brought you to the land down under?”

Venetia studied the man’s face and she knew. “You,” she muttered.

Sullie noticed the strange connection between Venetia and the man. She interjected the conversation. “We are in search of humanity when the storm washed the boat ashore.”

“Humanity?” The man questioned with a chuckle.

“What so funny?” asked Venetia.

“I witnessed it once, or so I thought, but I was mistaken.” The man stood and walked in circles. “So how did the Earth stop spinning. DER is it?”

“Decelerated Rapid Rotation.” Poindexter sat forward on his chair. “I didn’t have time to analyze all the data due to the urgency of the situation, but I theorize the cataclysmic storm must have done something to our rotation.” Poindexter gave Venetia a loving glance. “It was Venetia here who encouraged us all to journey to save the world, by trying to find people to help. And thanks to her I think we have begun a new ERA.”

“Era?” the man asked.

“Earth rotation accelerating,” recited the entire group together.

Suddenly their conversation as interrupted by a knock at the door. The man appeared shocked to have visitors. “Sorry, let me see who’s at the door.”

Walking to the door, he could feel the cold presence of the person on the opposite side. He paused, deciding whether he should let them in. He sighed, reluctant and opened the door.

Outside, Medusa draped in a black, stylish oil cloth duster studied Nick. She wondered after all the years, would she still feel the same? Would he still be as attractive? Staring at his wrinkled, yet rugged face Medusa was glad to see age had caught up to him, but once she looked into his radiant blue eyes she was a goner, just like she was years ago. “Nick,” she sighed.

For Nick it was looking into the past he was trying to forget. Surprisingly, all these years he couldn’t find a love like Medusa and it surprised him most of all. He thought her the most vile person on the face of the planet, but he never stopped loving her. Despite everything, he too lost a bit of himself looking into her pale, plastic face. “What in the world brings you to my door after all these years?”

“I had to see you once more. Even at the end of time Nick, you cannot refuse me,” she said.

Nick paused before at the door, deciding whether to let her inside.

“Nick, you’re not going to let me inside.” She huddled inside the duster. “It’s cold and raining outside.”

“I want to see if you’ll melt first,” he said with a chuckle. “I mean, you’re one of the most beautiful women on the planet, yet I have never seen anyone plaster on such an erroneous façade.”

“Always the jokester.” Medusa boldly stepped inside. “You’re going to refuse me, even if we’re the last two people on Earth?”

Nick grinned awkwardly and gestured to Venetia and his guests seated in his living room. “But as you see darling, we are not.”

Seeing Venetia Medusa gasped in a raspy voice. “You!”

“You?” questioned Venetia curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s not for you to ask me what I’m doing here. Nick was once my lover,” explained Medusa,

“What!” cried Poindexter.

Nick shrugged awkwardly. “Every man has a weakness.”

Medusa removed her duster and tossed it at Nick. She lit a cigarette and Nick took it immediately from her wiry lips. “No smoking in my house.”

She gave him a dead stare and turned on Venetia. “It still doesn’t explain you.”

“It was just an accident. We washed ashore and he gave us a lift,” replied Venetia.

Nick surveyed the incredible situation before his eyes. In this madness, there was a miracle. His family—his love, his daughter were all reunited. “Medusa, and as I recall I once told you I believed there was good somewhere inside you,” said Nick with the most wily of grins and gestured to Venetia. “You gave birth to it. Venetia is your daughter.”

“Daughter! Impossible!” Medusa let out a bellowing laugh. “No way this whiny, little creature is my daughter?”

Venetia stared at the floor stunned. “Medusa Dominatrix is my mother? There has to be some mistake.”

“This is a joke, Nick?” questioned Medusa. “Please tell me you are joking.”

Nick flashed a smile and the look in his bright blue eyes and both Medusa and Venetia knew the truth. “When I left the hospital with our child in our arms, I knew she would never have a peaceful, quiet life. My family, your family would corrupt her innocence with their greed and power. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I have given Venetia to a quiet convent in the hills, where she could be raised with virtue along with nature.”

Medusa stared at Nick. “Are you mad? You gave our child to a convent?”

Nick walked to the fireplace and poked the flames. “The decision always haunted me. I feared she would never know her parents. I feared what she we would think of me, what she would think when she found out her mother was one of the cruelest women on the planet.” He turned to Venetia. “You can only imagine my surprise to see you take the same modeling path as your mother.”

“But I hated it! I always have!” Venetia protested. “I always wanted my life to have more meaning, but nobody would listen.” She lowered her head. “No one every listened.”

Nick knelt before Venetia, lifted her chin with his finger and glanced sideways at Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, Sullie and Father Seppi. “Five people listened. You just need to trust your voice.”

Venetia threw her arms around Nick. “I can’t believe it! This is amazing!”

“Oh geez!” Medusa grunted. “What have I walked into—the sugary sweet happy ending of some sappy movie?”

Venetia rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around Medusa’s bony shoulders. “Who would have thought I knew my mother all this time. I wish I never thought all those mean things about you. If I knew, I would have loved you.”

Feeling Venetia’s warmth, Medusa’s rigid body went limp, a soul through her empty eyes and Medusa finally melted into the mother she never was. As Venetia hugged tighter, she flooded Medusa with her goodness. Medusa painfully knew all Venetia’s good was Nick; it was Nick who bought out the goodness in her and it was Nick who gave it to Venetia.

As Medusa began to shrink further into guilt, Venetia held her up. “You mustn’t let the past haunt. We are a family now,” whispered Venetia. “I am so glad I found you.”

Nick joined the mother, daughter embrace, hugging them both tightly. It was the family he wanted from the beginning. Perhaps finally, in the end they may be able to start again.

“This is all sweet,” said Captain Namouth, “But the Earth, I mean is this it for us?”

Venetia, Medusa and Nick turned to Poindexter, Captain Namouth, Jimmy, Sullie and Father Seppi. “I can offer you all refuge until our destiny unfolds,” said Nick. “You are all welcome.”

It was sober solace for them all. The end may be near, but they at least had family and friends. Together they all huddled around Nick’s smoky fire place, sipping tea and relating their journey and the people they met along the way.

Serendipidus 19

Silence invaded the entire world as armies dropped their weapons, businessmen put away their coin counters, the media turned off their cameras and politicians calmed their rhetoric. There were no celebrations to be had and no more tears to cry.

The end was near. It was a time of huddled prayer, reflection and unity with loved ones and enemies. People of many races held hands in churches, those of different faiths focused on one thing and one thing only—the planet that gave them life.

Venetia awoke peacefully in the comfort of her father’s home. There was something about sleeping under the same roof as family; it heighted the sense of security. No matter the consequences of the world, her father, her mother, her love Poindexter and her dear friends were near.

When she turned her head, her eyes were stabbed by a blinding white light. She squinted and mumbled, “What is it?” As her eyes adjusted to the glare she noticed the morning shining through the window. The sun? It stopped raining!

Quickly she dressed and ran through the house. “Everyone, the sun! The sun! Wake up everyone the sun!” As Venetia ran through the house, she realized she was alone. “Where is everyone?”

Glancing out the window she saw Sullie’s statuesque frame, the outline of Captain Namouth’s cap and smoke that swirled from his pipe. She rushed outside to the porch where everyone was greeting the morning sun.

“It stopped raining!” exclaimed Jimmy.

“It’s a miracle!” proclaimed Father Seppi.

Captain Namouth puffed on his pipe. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

“But how?” questioned Venetia. She turned to Sullie. “It’s impossible right?”

Sullie raised her head to the sky to feel the soft breeze against her face. The aroma of eucalyptus rejuvenated her body. “It’s Mother Nature. Never under estimate her power.”

Nick put his around Venetia and Medusa. “Never under estimate the power of convictions.”

Everyone wore smiles that could easily crack wide open in utter ecstasy, even Medusa shined under the light of the sun. Conviction, belief, faith—anything is possible. All the world searching and the answers were within me all along. Venetia studied the elated faces of her friends and family. Perhaps all I needed was to believe and have faith in others as they do me? “Does this mean the Earth is rotating again?”

Nick gestured to Poindexter who was affixing a sundial nearby in the front yard. “Why don’t you ask you boyfriend.”

Venetia stepped through the still muddy land in her bare feet, but she didn’t care. She stood next to Poindexter. “Yes, what is it?”

Poindexter broke a wide smile across his face. “The storm passed and based on my study it seems the earth rotated last night and we are now six hours ahead. Night time passed to day.”

She didn’t know how and she didn’t care. Venetia broke into sobbing tears and hugged Poindexter tightly, kissing his face and neck.

Poindexter awkwardly pushed her away. “You’re parents are watching.”

“Right,” Venetia said shyly, pulling herself away, but her happiness turned to giddiness. The Earth was moving again.

The group stayed with Nick and Medusa for a couple days, relishing the days—the mornings, the afternoons and the nights. Each morning they dined with a great breakfast feast and as the sun set, they celebrated around the Barbie. But soon it was time to go and discover the rest of the world, or what was left of it.

The Perth airport was in a disastrous state with few workers minding the planes, but they were able to find one on route back to Europe and another to North America. It was a time for Venetia to say goodbye to her companions.

Venetia hugged Jimmy tightly. “You are a true hero, Jimmy. You saved Captain Namouth’s life; you saved all of our lives with your spirit.”

Captain Namouth puffed on his pipe. “Jimmy, you are my honored first mate.”

Jimmy stood proudly. This was it; the time Carl said would happen. He was no longer a ghost, but a real, live man ready for his next adventure. “Thanks for giving a scamp from the East Side a chance.”

Sullie gave Venetia a strong hug. “You did it,” she said.

“We did it,” replied Venetia. “Thanks for believing in us.”

Captain Namouth opened his arms to Sullie. “Lady, you have proven yourself worthy of being a figurehead on my helm.”

Sullie patted Captain Namouth on the shoulder. “I will definitely take that as a compliment. She reached out for Poindexter’s hand. “Doctor. I look forward to reading about ERA in the latest science magazines.”

“Indeed you will,” replied Poindexter proudly.

While Sullie and Jimmy boarded the plane, Father Seppi lingered behind. “God bless you both. It is your faith that has gotten us through.”

“And it is your faith that kept us going,” said Venetia.

“Our lives will never be the same because of you.” Father Seppi hugged Venetia and Poindexter and rushed on the plane to meet with Sullie and Jimmy.

Venetia and Poindexter waved to their dear friends as the plane took off into the sunny sky. Venetia turned around and faced her parents. She could hardly believe after such an ordeal she would find her origins and herself. Finding them now, she did not want to leave she wanted to stay in Australia with them forever.

Nick stepped forward and cupped his daughter’s cheeks in his rough, calloused hands. “This is now your time—your time to truly shine, to be who you really are.”

When Nick backed away, Medusa took Venetia by the arm and walked her to a place where they could talk in private. Venetia had looked into Medusa’s dark eyes many times, and all those times she had saw only a void, but now she saw a woman of strength and determination.

Medusa grasped Venetia’s arm strongly. “As your mother I have this to say to you. You have much more power inside you than you realize. Take a lesson from your mother’s faults, don’t let love evade you - embrace it, be it!” She shook Venetia roughly. “Let your love conquer the world.”

Venetia smiled. “Yes mom. I will. I promise.”

Smoke from Captain Namouth’s pipe lofted from the stairs to the plane. “Come on folks, we haven’t got all day!”

Venetia cried as she hugged her mother and father once more. “I love you both and I will see you soon.”

“Not if we see you first,” said Nick with a wink.

Poindexter took Venetia’s hand as they boarded the plane heading back to America. Soaring over the Indian Ocean, Venetia tilted her head to view the bright, clear sky. Gulls flew in triangle formations. Looking below in the water she saw the fins of dolphins rolling in and out of the surface. It is indeed a fresh new era.

Serendipidus 20

World leaders took to their stages to proclaim their success in saving the world, yet deep in the hearts of all the survivors they knew it was their hope and faith that got them through, no matter what religion they believed. The people of the world understood it was their unity that created the change. No longer will they accept the dividing and conquering of these leaders to keep power. The power was now with the people.

Models paraded around a studio. Their faces were clean with no trace of makeup, only their nature beauty was to be reflected. Martin pressed his hands together in total joy as he presented the line to Milo. “It is my great honor to present to you Cindy Lou in Lively Ivy.”

Cindy Lou appeared clean-faced, her long red hair draped delicately on her bare shoulder. She turned in circles for Milo wearing a natural gown woven only of ivy, adorned with wildflowers. Milo’s hard face cracked with a wide, toothy smile. He stood up from his seat and applauded.

Outside, New York City was never so fresh and clean, not even in its early days of discovery. Citizens planted gardens on rooftops and every small patch of earth they could find. It was fresh flowers and vegetables for all. No one in the Big Apple was to go hungry again; there was plenty to share with all. In the park masses meditated and in the churches many prayed. It was now a way of life to connect with something greater than oneself, but the whole. The age of selfishness and greed was a way of the past.

Before a lively crowd at New York’s Rockefeller Center, rocker Blade Urban stood sang in his number one hit, Spin the World before a rousing crowd:

Spin my world down the alley of shame

Into the gutter of my heart.

Spin the world, oooh, oooh,

Spin the world, baby.”

When the song was over, Blade paused thoughtfully and said to the crowd. “This next song I’d like to dedicate to a very special lady, Venetia DE Mille, who reminds us all that a little caring and compassion goes a long way. Venetia, babe, this is for you.” Blade swooned:

“Mother Nature put'er foot down

And stopped this ball a rollin'

She let us know she’s in control of this ball

We cannot go on without caring

For Mother Nature and her peeps

As she will surrender us into eternal sleep

Serendipity fell upon our wretched souls

But thanks to the hearts of the hopeful

We can have a life more noble.”

When the song was over, the camera cut to the show’s host Nadine Blywather who greeted the world with a bright toothy grin. “That was Blade Urban delighting the crowd with his hit, Serendipity and here with me now is his muse, former supermodel Venetia DE Mille.”

Nadine shifted sideways as the camera pulled out to reveal a natural Venetia dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and work boots. “Geez, the past day has been a whirl wind for you, you traveled the world in search of someone to help save the planet. How did you do it?”

“Me! No, it wasn’t me!” Venetia laughed. “I did nothing, but care; I cared deeply.”

Nadine chuckled before the camera. “Now Venetia, you can’t save the world simply by caring. You must have done something.”

“I had friends, who also cared deeply. There were people around the world who never gave up hope even in the darkest days. They too are heroes. There is a hero in all of us.” Venetia smiled for the camera. “Too bad you can’t have everyone on your show.”

“I don’t think we have enough room in our studio for everyone,” replied Nadine. “Tell us about your friends who accompanied you on your journey.”

Venetia reflected fondly. “Well there was Captain Namouth who gave up his livelihood and offered us his boat, without him we would have gone nowhere.”

Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean Captain Namouth dragged pollution with his fisherman's net. As the mess of trash and debris tumbled onto his deck, so did Justine, the tipsy socialite who fell from Medusa’s party barge. Pasty and covered with goo, the tipsy socialite lifted to martini glass. “I'd like a refill garcon.”

Captain Namouth puffed on his piped and looked around, tempted to push her back into the sea, yet he helped her to her feet and gave her some fresh water.

Back at the studio, Venetia smiled fondly. “There was an orphan Jimmy Pop who offered us his youthful zeal and exuberance and earth healer Sullie Sullivan who provided strength and courage,” she said.

Jimmy sold beaded earth bracelets on a London street. “Come one, come all! Get your earth bracelet here. Be a part of the change, cost to you is only pocket change!”

Carl extended his pale arm decorated from wrist to elbow with Earth bracelets with a smile to all those who stopped by. The patrons stared into Carl’s ice-blue eyes and somehow felt more alive—fresh and free.

“How much?” asked patron.

“Whatever you can afford,” replied Carl with gleaming grin.

Money flew at Jimmy as the commuters pulled beaded Earth bracelets from Carl’s arm.

Meanwhile, in the depth of the dark woods of England, Sullie and her passionate lover Hassan held a fully charged healing circle. The group’s focused intent blew strong gusts across the land, clearing away toxins in the air in a dark spiraling cone. The tornado blew across the land picking up more and more pollution and then suddenly picked off the ground disappearing into the sky.

As the Africa savannah came back to life, Teensie the timid heiress woke to the blinding sunshine and a tickling sensation on her right shoulder. She giggled brushing her hand and turned serious upon feeling the sharp teeth of a lioness.

Carefully she opened her eyes, finding herself surrounded by a pride of lions and the lioness licking her wound. Teensie let out a shriek, but there was no one around to here. The timid heiress found herself adopted by a family of lions with no means of escape.

Back in New York City, Venetia explained to Nadine and the viewers, “What we soon realized we lacked faith. We needed something to believe in. So we traveled to Italy.”

Father Seppi led his parishioners outside the church, where they prayed in a garden. Plump red tomatoes grew from their stalks, large pumpkins flourished on their vines, beans sprouted from their blossoms.

They all raised a cautions and curious eye to Anzor, draped in his dark cloak, tilling the garden with his scythe, who grinned amicably at the parishioners. “Good day to you all. We’re going to make a killing with these crops.”

Father Seppi crossed himself. “Dear Lord I hope so.”

Venetia swooned on camera. “Oh and then there was The Sultan Saosh. He gave and his men gave us his champion spirit. Let us believe, our life is what we see. We all must see to believe.”

The Middle East again flourished with a bounty as it did in the times of Eden, but it was no longer a mirage for the worthy few, it was for all. In all his dazzling glory, Saosh stood on the balcony of a palace overlooking Bagdad. “Greetings I am the Sultan of Saosh. Paradise welcomes all believers. Thanks to my angel Venetia DE Mille the Gardens of Babylon once again bloom!” The crowds below cheered and danced in celebration.

Elsewhere in the Arabian dessert, Medusa’s partiers—their faces scorched from the sun, parched from the heat finally arrived at the doorsteps of a Hilton resort. Walking inside the cool, tiled lobby they reached reception.

The receptionist looked over the ragged group. “We do have a dress code.”

Mira stumbled forward. “Do you know who I am? I am Mira Mirabella. I’m world famous fashionista.”

The receptionist studied the computer. “Do you have a reservation?”

“We’re guests of a Medusa Dominatrix,” said Frank. “She must have reserved a group of rooms.”

“Nope, not seeing a Medusa Dominatrix.” The receptionist smiled. “If you’d like, there is a hostel down the road. I’m sure they’ll have room for you.”

“I am Hazel Grey,” said the wrinkled starlet. “It is not safe for me to around the common man. They all would want me.”

The receptionist grinned. “Sorry. I can call a cab for you if you’d like.”

“Cab?” the all gasped.

“Come one everyone. Let’s get out of here,” said Willie and with that they all lumbered out of the Hilton and back into the hot sun. Somewhere down the road is a place that will accept them.

Venetia’s expression bloomed remembering their arrival in Tibet. “We were shocked to find flowers blossoming all over the Tibetan plateau. It was like Heaven and we weren’t sure if it was real or not, but a delightful monk taught us we can change the world for the better with our intent,” said Venetia

High above in the mountains of the Himalayas flowered erupted all over the plains and spread down into the valleys of the Near East. Once armed insurgents came out of their caves and saw the all the world in blooming with flowers. As nature sprung up around them all, it was hard to think about killing. They put down their weapons and explored the miracle happening before their eyes.

Nadine stared at Venetia in disbelief. “How is that possible? How can you change things with just your mind?”

“It wasn’t just our mind; it was our life energy that resurrected the planet. We give to the Earth, the Earth gives back to us,” replied Venetia.

“That’s beautiful.” Nadine paused. “Tell us about the old yogi. I have heard all kinds of mysterious stories.”

Venetia laughed. “Yes, he really had us going with his shape-shifting and levitating. You see we are a fragment of our perception. What we perceive we are and the impossible is possible when we share a collected consciousness. When we are united, when we are one anything is possible. Therefore, you see, it wasn't me. It was everyone. Everyone around the world, who hoped, prayed and had faith. Together we made the change.”

“As we can with so many others reunited in the parks and churches,” said Nadine.

“Exactly, that is why we are all heroes,” said Venetia.

“I also hear you were also united with your long lost parents. How did you react to the news your arch rival Medusa Dominatrix is your mother?”

“Well, at first I was shocked but then I saw our similarity and it made me quite proud.”

Nadine raised her eyes. “And what pray tell could be the similarity between you and Medusa?”

Venetia laughed. “Well, we're both very determined when it comes to a specific goal. When we put our minds to something, no one can stop us.”

“Yes, we heard the rumor it was your mother, Medusa responsible for trying to destroy the world?” asked Nadine to a chorus of boos.

“My mother lost her way in love. Now, I am happy to say, both my mother and I have joined forces with my father to restore the planet's health and make it livable for all creatures.”

Seated on a love seat, before a large screen television, Nick and Medusa cuddled and watched their daughter shine for the world to see. For Medusa, she came to realize, her reign was indeed over and now she proudly hand over her crown to her daughter. Medusa was intent spending the rest of her life, by Nick’s side.

The nuns at the convent gathered before the television with proud smiles, all taking credit for the goodness they instilled in Venetia. But it was the pretty, young nun who looked around and saw the birds perched on the windowsill and the squirrels seated on the tops of the chairs; she knew it was Venetia who inspired the good in them.

Nadine grinned at the camera. “Let it be known viewers, I have saved the best for last. I hear Venetia you are to be married.”

Venetia blushed. “Yes, he is the most special man in the world, my Poindexter. He had the answers all along when no one listened and he had the courage and the faith to stand by me through the entire journey. Without him, none of this would be possible.”

Poindexter scribbled his theories on the chalk board for a large auditorium filled with students, many adoring female fans. They didn’t impress Poindexter at all; his heart beat only for one woman—his bride to be, world humanitarian Venetia DE Mille.

Venetia left the television studio surrounding by her fans. She rode her bike through the city, over the George Washington Bridge and into the country side to a small house she shared with Poindexter. When she arrived home, she greeted her St Bernard, her terrier and cat with a big hug and kisses. As she walked into the back yard, she blew kisses to all the plants that bloomed in her garden. She lifted her arm to the sky. Circling from above was a pigeon. The bird flew down and landed on Venetia’s fingers. “I shall name you Schmitte II,” she said.

The End