Sleeper Cell
“I’ll take the rap, I’ll take the heat, I’m the fall guy,” his head lunged forward slightly as he spoke the words. He knew it would be difficult and fraught with danger, but the rewards were worth it. Voices wailed through the night, thudding sounds on the back door, mysterious hissing sounds coming from the window as soon as he lay down. Staying up for 78 hours and drinking their vile concoction, meth added to the coffee, so they said, he had no way of proving it. Surreptitious lies from the north, south, east and west, tales of violence and gore that rang through the walls , long into the evening and lasting till dawn, when the sound of a door closing was the last thing you heard , then silence.
Spirit worlds, mysterious beings from the 4th dimension, that ordinarily lived in a black rectangular box, lured to this dimension and enslaved to serve their evil masters, outrageous tales that conjured up lurid visions and entertained the third eye wanderer. Arcturian emissaries that escorted the 4 corners back to their dimension, no longer serving the wants of the despotic 12.
They sat, with their web cast into the night and the early morning to ensnare the traveller, hinder progress that led to revelation and learning from the Akashic records. Sent back in time to fathom the mysterious ways of the coven that lay in ambush for the unwary traveller, trapped within these earthly bounds, a thousand years past, and he saw their mysterious ways, the woodland sentinel in the night, the hand draped upon the bark of the tree in the starlight, that led to the mushroom used for divining and prophecy. Seeing the ways of the assassin that plotted the downfall of his master, his teacher, unaware, drinking their potion that ended his life. He tracked them to the tavern of Robespierre and watched as he slapped the table in front of him and heard the thud of fist on table, softly sounding through his meditation as he sat and watched.
Scouring the streets he flew, witch like until finding the high priests of doom, the ones that confined the seeker of wisdom and sought to hold the knowledge to themselves. They wanted to know who stood outside their houses and made enquiries as to his identity, he said nought, and moved to the next destination, their next house of ill repute. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with here,” intoned the speaker, and all lay silent.
