FOCAL IMPACT

cia-1984-west-001

It was with a heavy heart yet one filled with dread expectation that Luke left the confines of the apartment, the more than somewhat grotesque and overbearing ridges of the beginning mountains careening like some ever-seeing and fell spies in front of him – between him and they only a few sparse miles of flatland before the expanse of the regional mountain range sprang up suddenly, thousands of feet in height and containing within many untold secrets and many chances at untimely death. Such untimely death, either administered via the auspices of the treachery of nature itself or via the hands of his associates within the clandestine organization whom he believed might choose – at any presentable random juncture – to push him over the edge, not in the figurative sense, and, by so doing, to propitiate whatever noxious deity was presently being worshiped in the region.

His beginnings within the clandestine organization had been sealed with such a different consciousness of what was to transpire in the future according to his expectations then. Many overtures had been made concerning the concept of a shared honor amongst subversives – similar to the presumably cherished (yet seldom practiced, as he had learned historically from his time in university) “honor among thieves.” Some had fed a similar line in terms of “solidarity” during his early tenure – though the term left him with a dirty taste in his mouth, due to its obvious leftist connotations. But this had all been, as the case may be, long ago – and as well – administered under deucedly false pretenses.

He, like many others, had been fed a certain agenda and certain rules of engagement under increasingly fraudulent auspices – the classic “bait and switch” – so beloved of legitimate cult groups whose upper sectors possessed a sociopathic tendency unsuspected by those who chose to subscribe themselves to the same. How horrible it was – yet enlivening beyond any situation that he could have experienced otherwise, and that he well knew – that all was not as it seemed within those circumstances which he now found himself inextricably situated. Standing upon the terrace he never fathomed what would occur within the figurative (and perhaps soon, literal) oubliette. He would find out however, soon enough. From the upper window of the apartment he had just departed he heard a maniacal laughter that made him shudder involuntarily – it would be a long day ahead. – Tempel ov Blood, 2014

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