Category: literature promotion

The Gods Must Be Furious–Chapter Four

The next day, the incident was discussed on social media. Of course, virtually nobody, outside of a few in the neopagan community, mentioned the face in the water.

“I have no sympathy for the dead,” one embittered woman, one of the staff on the yacht, said about the wealthy there. “I overheard their conversations while I was serving them. They showed no sympathy for how the economy was affecting the poor. They were also often rude and impatient with our service. Why should I feel bad for them?”

The woman who’d tried to help clean the bad-tempered guest’s dress said this about her: “The ocean cleaned her dress. Good enough.”

Michelle and Gary were in a group chat with their friend, Nina.

“So, you had the same dream as us?” Gary asked Nina.

“Judging by how the two of you described it, I’d say I had the exact same dream as you,” Nina said. “I know there were a few people who claim they saw a bearded face in the clouds the night of the thunderstorm, and a bearded face on the waves when the yacht sank.”

“Were the people who saw the face any of the staff on that yacht?” Michelle asked.

“No, they were people on the rescue boat, including people who don’t believe in any gods, just people too shocked to believe their own eyes,” Nina said, “and too reluctant to go public with what they saw.” 

“Another thing should be talked about,” Gary said. “The people who were killed were all rich and powerful.”

“They were also widely hated,” Nina added.

“Yes,” Michelle said. “And when you put that together with the fact that the world is being destroyed by global warming, constant wars, and economic hardship, you can see why the gods are intervening. Us all having the same dream, the faces of—let’s use Greek names, for convenience—Zeus and Poseidon in the clouds and water, these are clear signs that something major is happening. This is all way beyond mere synchronicity.”

“We can be sure of one thing,” Gary said. “The gods are very, very angry.”

“Angry?” Nina said. “They’re enraged.”

“Infuriated,” Michelle said.

“As they said in the dream, man’s wickedness has gone too far, and the gods don’t wish to sit idly by anymore,” Gary said.

“We’re going to have to keep our eyes and ears open,” Nina said. “Something big is going to happen, and we don’t want to be among those who suffer and die in it. We must discuss this with more of our friends and fellow believers, as well as our families.”

“My brother manages a country club where lots of rich folks go to play golf,” Gary said. “I have a premonition something’s going to happen there. I had a dream in which I saw the earth-goddess’s weeping face. It ended with the green of a golf course. It really looked like the one in my brother’s country club.”

“Oh, my God!” Michelle said. “Did you see the globe of the Earth with a woman’s crying face, coming nearer and nearer to you, like a camera closeup?”

Gary gulped and said, “Yes.”

“So did I,” Michelle said.

“So did I,” Nina said. “Exactly as you both described.”

None of them said anything for several more seconds.

Gary was the first to type something next: “Some of us have family who won’t ever open their minds to anything even remotely pagan. Still, that won’t stop us from loving them. My brother, whom I mentioned a little while ago, is such a person. How are we going to convince them to do what needs to be done, if a worldwide disaster is coming, as all the signs seem to be showing?”

“That’s a good question,” Michelle responded. “My mother is a Christian, but the books I’ve bought her over the years, ones by Bishop ‘Jack’ Spong, have opened her mind up a little. I might be able to get her to listen to reason, but I don’t think it will be easy. I wonder if she’s had the same dreams as us.”

“Let’s pray for the best,” Nina said. “My husband doesn’t share my faith, either, but I bet I can nag him to do what needs to be done. As I said, let’s pray to the gods for help when this all starts to get scary, as it looks like it will.”

The Gods Must Be Furious–Chapter Three

A week later, Mr. and Ms. Plantagenet, owners of a large investment company named after themselves, were on their yacht with some wealthy friends on a California shore. The yacht was tied to the pier, and all the people aboard had each already had several drinks.

“I’m so glad the stock market crash didn’t affect any of us, Tom,” a female guest said to Mr. Plantagenet.

“That’s because, due to our ability to pull the strings of the banks and the federal government, we could prevent the stock market crash from affecting us,” Tom said.

All the guests chuckled.

“A phone call here, an email there, and our representatives can bail out anyone we need them to,” Ms. Plantagenet said.

“That’s so reassuring, Donna,” a male guest said to Ms. Plantagenet. “Since my company was one of the ones that needed a bailout.”

“As Donna and I know, let the common people suffer under the bad economy, not us,” Tom said.

The rope that moored the yacht was loosening and untying…all by itself.

“I agree, Tom,” the male guest said. “The masses are not our problem.”

“Hear, hear,” Tom said. All the guests clinked their champagne glasses together.

“If the masses don’t want to suffer, they should lay off the drugs and stop wasting money on non-essentials,” Donna said.

“Agreed,” the others said together.

The boat was drifting into the ocean, though everyone was too caught up in the conversation to notice.

“A most annoying thing happened to us while at work today, you know,” Tom said.

“Oh, and what was that?” the male guest asked.

“A bunch of university students were protesting in front of our building this morning, can you believe that?” Donna said with a sneer.

“Protesting about what?” the female guest asked.

“Oh, the usual bullshit,” Tom grunted as he had his glass refilled. “We’ve too much influence on the banks and the government, we have too much money and they have too little, all that crap.”

The other guests groaned in annoyance.

“What did you do about it?” another guest asked.

“We called the cops and got rid of them, of course,” Donna said. “A few of the long-haired young men resisted arrest, so the cops beat them.”

“Served the bastards right,” Tom said.

“Oh, definitely,” the third guest said.

Finally, one of them looked out at the water. “Where are we?” she asked.

“What do you mean, ‘where are we’?” Tom asked, then looked out at the ocean. “What?”

Everyone was looking out at the water now.

The pier and shore were nowhere in sight.

The sun had set. Clouds were covering the moon and stars. The guests had only the yacht’s electricity for light. Worried murmurs were heard.

“Derrick?” Donna called out to a staff member. “Radio the Yacht Club onshore. Ask for help.”

“Yes, Donna,” Derrick said, then went off to do it.

Heavy gusts of wind started blowing. The waves were rocking the yacht. Drinks were spilt.

“Dammit!” one of the guests yelled at the stain on her dress. “You!” she shouted at one of the female staff. “Come with me and help me clean this!” They left for the washroom.

The wind and rocking of the yacht continued; it was getting more intense. It also started to rain.

“Oh, no!” Donna said. “Derrick, have you contacted the Yacht Club? What did they say?”

“There’s something wrong with the radio,” he said. “I can’t get any connection with the shore. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t.”

“What are we going to do?” a guest said. “It’s looking like a storm out there!”

A sudden crack of thunder startled everyone.

A flash of lightning scared them even more.

The rain was splashing down. The rocking of the yacht was giving everyone the feeling of a real possibility of capsizing. Everyone onboard was panicking.

Derrick looked out on the water. He blinked and looked again. When the lightning flashed and provided some brief light, he was sure he saw a man’s bearded face among the waves. Apart from the moving of the waves distorting the image, it was as precise as a photograph. The face looked malevolent.

I haven’t had a drop of booze tonight, he thought. No pot, no LSD. And I never hallucinate.

Suddenly, there were bumping, crunching, and snapping sounds, as well as several great jerks as the yacht hit a rock.

The screaming got louder as the yacht was sinking. Everyone was trying to hang onto something to stay above the water, but only the staff managed to do so. Tom, Donna, and all their guests went straight underwater; it felt as though watery arms were pulling them all down. Some of them thought they actually saw and felt watery arms grabbing their bodies.

Before they all passed out, the last thing they saw, because of a few more lightning flashes, was that same bearded, scowling face among the shadows of the deep.

Hardly a second passed by since the last of the rich drowned, then the storm ended. The stars and the moon reappeared, restoring some light to the scene. The staff, hanging onto pieces of the broken yacht or to the huge rock it had smashed into, saw a boat approaching. A light from the boat shone on them. The staff cheered at their rescuers. 

As they got on the boat, a few of them, including Derrick, looked into the water, and with the light from the boat shining out onto the water, they saw that bearded face. Their eyes all widened.

This time, the face was smiling.

Cake

S
w
i
f
t
i
e
s
were swooning
at the wedding
Taylor-made in
Madison Square Garden.
Closing off major roads,
costing the city millions,
and making a public spectacle out
of a private union are no object to
billionaires and their excesses. It’s
a society as tiered as a wedding cake that
we all live in. ‘Let them eat cake,’ the rich
will say. ‘Eat the rich,’ is how we’d answer.
Let the Swifties boast of their heroine’s ineffectual
charity work. May their red-lipped idol, and all her
wealthy ilk, go the bloody way of Marie Antoinette.

The Gods Must Be Furious–Chapter Two

The next day, social media was all abuzz about the freak accident. A few mentioned seeing a face in the clouds, but no one believed them.

A former employee of the Wellses, Jonathan Bailey, remembered how mean and stingy the two were, always paying him the minimum to slave away in a kitchen cooking for them, washing their dishes, taking out the garbage, and helping with the cleaning up of the mansion in general.

In his comments on the news story, he stressed the connection between their business, a weapons manufacturing company, and how the military is the world’s worst polluter and contributor to climate change.

“I’m not shedding one tear for them,” he commented. “Their death tells us that, apparently, there is a God.”

“Or that there are many gods,” Michelle replied to his comment.

“My comment was just meant as an expression,” Jonathan replied to her. “I don’t believe in any gods. The world’s too cruel a place to believe in any kind of divine justice.”

“Mine was literal,” she said. “In fact, I have a friend living in the area who claims she saw a face in the clouds during and after the thunderstorm.”

“If so, then I’d say I need to find her dealer,” he said in the comments with a lol. “I’ll bet she gets some good shit from him.”

She responded with a lol of her own. “Is there anyone else out there, a part of this discussion, who saw the face, or who knows someone who claims to have seen the face? I’d really like to know, for confirmation of my friend’s report.”

No replies.

“Anyone at all?”

Still no replies. 

Finally, Gary said, “I don’t know anybody who does, Michelle, but I’m a neopagan like you (I assume), and I’ll ask around the neopagan community, online and irl, if anyone else has seen, or knows anyone who’s seen, a face in the clouds that night.”

“Thanks, Gary,” she said. “I appreciate it. Add me as a Facebook friend, and if you know any others, we can discuss what happened from our perspective.”

“Cool,” Gary said. “I’ll be glad to help, and to friend you.”

Five minutes later, not only were Michelle and Gary Facebook friends, they were also engaging in a private message about the divine phenomena.

“A funny thing happened to me, several nights before that thunderstorm,” Michelle said. “I had a dream about the gods assembled in a dark…cave, or something, and they were all discussing how fed up they were with the wickedness of man, and they were planning to wipe out such men, while also giving warnings to everyone, though the wicked would never heed the warning.”

Gary paused with a gasp before typing his reply. “Did the gods discuss the ecological degradation, the endless wars, the war-god never getting a chance to sleep because of the wars, and the earth goddess weeping over these evils?”

Now, Michelle was the one gasping before replying. “My God, yes! Those exact things happened in my dream. Did you dream the same thing, around the same time as I did?”

“Not only did I have such a dream, like you, about two or three nights before the thunderstorm,” Gary typed. “So did a number of friends of mine, and other members of the neopagan community.”

Now both of them were gasping, and for a dozen seconds, they were unable to think about what to type next.

“Do you think there could be a connection between our shared dream and what happened to the Wellses, Gary?” Michelle asked.

“Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions for now,” he answered. “Let’s wait and see if any more ‘freak accidents’ like that happen over the next few weeks or so.”

Stripes

We need not see white stars against a blue background
to know the blood of the red against the white. As early
as the Mystic Massacre of the Pequot, we already have
the proof we need to see the bloodlust of the 13 British
colonies, whose men began the first phase of the killing, with stripes of red on
red skin, hardly thanksgiving for all the good the aboriginals did for us whites.
We were helped in the cold; we burned them alive in their villages and tepees.

The Gods Must Be Furious–Chapter One

Kurt Wells and his wife, Samantha, were being driven home from dinner in a French restaurant one night in Vermont. He was looking through the business section of a newspaper, checking his stocks.

“How are your investments doing, Kurt?” she asked.

“Wonderful!” he said. “Excellent! They’re the highest they’ve been in…oh…four years.”

“Really?” she asked. “And so many people complain about the economy.”

“The people who don’t matter complain,” he said. “And the people who do matter, don’t complain.”

Their chauffeur, worried about his unemployed brother, tried to keep his sigh inaudible.

A sudden, loud crack of thunder startled all three of them. Then the rain started to fall.

“Have our large umbrella ready for us, Phil,” she told their driver.

“Yes, ma’am,” Phil said.

A huge gust of wind whistled by the car, startling them all again.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “This is going to be a nasty one.”

A flash of lightning switched the black of night to white for a split second. The rain was coming down heavily now, drenching the car.

The Wellses could see their mansion, surrounded by its large, gated lawn. In the flashing lightning and black of night, it looked to Phil like Dracula’s castle.

The gates opened, and the car went in. A bolt of lightning hit the right side of the gate just after the car drove past.

“My God!” Kurt shouted. “That scared the life out of me!”

“Oh, the gate is destroyed,” Samantha said. “How much it will cost to replace it!”

You can afford it, you billionaire bitch, Phil thought.

“Drop us off by the front door, and have our umbrella ready,” Kurt said. “I don’t want to go through the annoyance of parking in the basement parking lot, and then having to go up the stairs to the ground floor, what with my gout.”

Phil parked as instructed, and had the umbrella in his hand. He got out of the car and went over to open the right back door of the limo. He had the umbrella over himself for the moment.

“The umbrella is not for you, Phil, it’s for us!” Kurt snapped at him; then he held it over Kurt and Samantha.

Yeah, I’ve gotta get totally soaked for you, don’t I, you selfish oligarch bastard, Phil thought.

The couple got out of the car. A gust of wind blew rain all over Kurt and Samantha. His black tuxedo and her dark red evening gown were soaked.

“Phil, be careful!” she shouted. “Make sure the umbrella protects us from the rain!”

Yeah, like I’m supposed to be able to predict when the wind’s gonna blow the rain which way, Phil thought.

A bolt of lightning hit the walkway just a few feet behind where the three of them were.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed.

“Hurry up and get us inside, you lazy fool!” Kurt shouted.

Since when am I dawdling, you grumpy piece of shit? Phil thought. I wanna get out of this storm as quickly as you do. I can’t help it if the wind and rain are slowing us all down.

They’d reached the front door of the mansion and the butler opened it to let the couple in. Just then, the loudest crack of thunder they’d hear that night jolted all four of them.

Immediately after that, without even a second to calm down, a jagged fork of lightning came right at Kurt and Samantha, not only electrifying them, but also impaling them with its points.

They both screamed as their bodies shook and their blood sprayed and mixed with the rain. After several more seconds of this screaming, shaking, and spraying of blood—their bodies lit up like Christmas trees and burning to crisps—the forked spear of a lightning bolt disappeared, and the two lifeless bodies fell face-forward on the walkway immediately in front of the door.

They were charred black from head to toe. Holes in their chests, the diameter of thick spears, went all the way through from their backs to their fronts. Phil and the butler—shaking as much as their dead bosses had just been, their eyes and mouths agape—could see through their bosses’ backs to the concrete underneath. The two servants would keep shaking for another two minutes, always staring at the corpses.

Finally, Phil looked up at the night sky, for the storm had stopped just after Kurt and Samantha died. It stopped as quickly as it had begun. He intuited, correctly, that it was as if the whole purpose of the storm had been to cause the deaths of his wealthy bosses.

As he looked up there, he sensed how correct he had been to assume that it had, indeed, been the purpose of the storm, for Phil could clearly make out, in the darker spots inside the clouds, a large man’s face: eyes, nostrils, a smiling mouth, and even a beard.

It wasn’t pareidolia, either: it was too perfectly proportioned for that. In fact, Phil was sure he saw the eyes and mouth move.

The Gods Must Be Furious–Prologue

This was the dream.

There was a meeting of all the gods in a place so dark—was it a cave? Was it the bottom of the ocean? Was it in a starless part of outer space?—only their divine eyesight allowed them to see each other.

The gods looked upon the weeping goddess of the Earth, and on those who were her stewards, with near despair.

“Something must be done,” the sky-father said in a deep voice. “We have been dormant for too long. We have allowed man to abuse our grandmother of the Earth several hundred years now. It cannot go on.”

“They stopped praying to us centuries ago,” the god of the sea said. “We tolerated that, but their sin has reached such lows. We cannot tolerate it anymore.”

“Since the praying stopped, we have been dormant, in a state of hibernation for so long,” the king of the underworld said.

“Not I,” the god of war said. “On the contrary, I have hardly been allowed to sleep since the filth has gone into the clouds, the sea, and on the land. My energy is nearly spent. I crave rest.”

“Man is killing me, and all of my children,” the earth mother goddess sobbed. “Man is killing himself, too, only he is too blind and foolish to see it. Save us, brothers and sisters—I beseech you.”

“Our grandmother in body, and sister in spirit, we know your pain,” the sky-god said.

“We will help you, dear sister, have no fear,” the goddess of the grains said. 

“All man cares about is money,” the god of commerce said. “He must either be freed of his slavish devotion to it, or he must be killed.”

“Not all of them,” the sky-father said. “There are a few good men, women, and all the innocent children who can be spared…or resurrected later, at least. First, we will seek out a select few of the evil ones to slay, as a message of warning to the others. Those who have ears, and will listen, we will provide them with protection when we destroy the rest. As for the evil ones, we will first provide fair warning.”

“They will not heed the warning, to be sure,” the sea-god said.

“No, they will not,” the sky-father said. “We will give them warning even still, for it is the just thing to do. Their unwillingness to heed our warnings will be upon them, not upon us.”

“How shall we do it?” the god of the underworld asked. “How shall we warn them?”

“Each of us will choose a group of victims and slay them,” the sky-father said. “You, my brother, find someone in the mining business, or in the hydraulic fracturing business, and destroy him. You, our grandmother of the Earth and our spiritual sister, find fitting victims. You, my brother of the sea, can find some wealthy sorts on their yachts and lead them to their doom. I, too, will find victims. After these attacks, we will await the world’s reaction, and act in a manner fitting.”

“So the people will know that these acts are not freak occurrences of nature, but deliberately carried out by us, we will have to leave signs,” the sea-god said.

“Yes,” said the sky-father. “When the attacks are finished, we will allow ourselves to be seen: me in the sky, you, Brother, on the waves of the water, on the grassy ground for you, our sister of the Earth, and in the underground rock for you, our brother. Someone will report on the sight of our images, and though most won’t believe, enough will—those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. These ones will have the faith to be saved.”

The dream ended there.

Who woke from it?

Many, many people saw and heard the exact same dream…all over the Earth.

These dreamers all wondered: was this dream mere wish-fulfillment, a wish that the wicked would be destroyed and the Earth saved…or was the dream prophetic?

“That dream felt so real,” Michelle said with a yawn. “Were the gods talking to me?”

“Why would I dream of something like that?” Gary asked himself as he sat up in bed. “Wish fulfillment? Do I want the gods to intervene in our shitty world that badly?”

Nina was rubbing her eyes and watching her husband sleeping peacefully beside her. I feel rather disappointed that that was only a dream, she thought. Since nobody else is doing anything about the Earth’s problems, a little divine intervention for the sake of our Mother Earth would be a good thing.

Shelly woke up with a start. Then she closed her eyes again, put her hands together, and prayed: “O gods, please do what I just dreamed…but show mercy, even to the wicked.”

Across the road from Michelle’s house, her mother woke up, too.

Why would I, a Bible-believing Christian, dream about pagan gods? she wondered. That was the kind of thing my daughter would have dreamt. Or were they angels? I’d rather believe that.

Cam woke up. “What a ridiculous dream, something Gary would have dreamed,” he whispered, then went right back to sleep.