How long do you think we'll last? Options

[sporadic]

Things have never been wonderful in the world (at least, not after "civilization" was invented) but things just seem awful. We have intolerance, discrimination, prejudice, hate... For some reason, I have this awful feeling that humans are only going to last for a few more centuries. I don't know. Maybe I'm over-exaggerating and being paranoid. Perhaps I've reached a new point of awareness, where all of a sudden I see all the end-of-the-world movies and horrible things that go on in the shadows.

How long do you think the human race will last?

[Sumiaki]

Soon. We've been overdue for a major war. Once a war starts with nuclear weapons, we're all done for. Maybe in the next decade or two.

[ryfitaDF]

i feel the same way, but it's not awful. all things must come to an end. humanity has been around 2000 years to many.

[heyyfrankie]

i don't really know. but if we do get into another world war, with nuclear weapons, most of us will probably die. if anybody survives, it will be the richest and most powerful nations. but even people there will die.

[*tweeak*]

according to the mayans(?), only till 2012. personal, until either the sun dies or we war ourselves to the end

[.kyan]

i think we're gonna die a watery death with the ice all melting.
and those nuclear bombs? oh yes, we're so gonna die by it.
and thats kinda unfair to the rest of the world who havent contributed to anything.

[azn_r4pf4n]

thats something i'll never know. maybe soon.

[ComradeRed]

The average species survival time for a warm blooded species is about two and a half million years.

We've still got over a million to go.

[pandamonium]

yea there are a lot of factors to think about ... how long this world is gunna last. why cant we all just get a long. and keep the peace.

i think the movie the Time Machine was great you should watch it. it shows about the future.

[ComradeRed]

Because we all know movie producers are that great at telling the future

[DaTru KataLYST]

What does Nostradamus say about this?

[sunissed14127]

i personally,i have no idea. i guess it will come when it comes. but Bush isnt helping out at all.....

[xquizit]

You know what. Why are we even thinking about this. It's irrelevant. Enjoy life. The end.

[pandamonium]

You know what. Why are we even thinking about this. It's irrelevant. Enjoy life. The end.

good point!

[angel-roh]

yeah like Roxanne says lol

anyways if there'll be a world war 3, that's when everyone dies in this earth because that's when the north korean will use their nuclear bombs. i know because im korean lol

[Sumiaki]

What does Nostradamus say about this?

He doesn't matter. I believe he just makes a bunch of vague statements and people suddenly draw connections to it. He is like the modern day Jonathan Edwards where his vague statements get him famous.

[aznxdreamer]

the worlds gonna blow up in 2012.

if the world doesnt blow up in eight years, the american civilization is not gonna last. probably 200 more years at the most. americas too screwed up.

personally, i think we're gonna blow ourselves up with bombs. either that or fires gonna rain down from the sky all over the world and burn us all.

arent i such a happy happy person???

[DaTru KataLYST]

O boy I can't wait to see our extra-terrestrial masters!

[ghjgfkgfk]

i really think we never "die out", i think we'll last forever. i feel stupid saying that because i have nothing to prove it but, it's just something that i have a feeling about.

the whole idea of the sun burning out or starting a world war 3 just seems insane to me. i think neither will happen and i'm too stubborn to change that.

This post has been edited by airam: Dec 8 2004, 09:31 PM

[gelionie]

I think we'll die in a hundred years (or earlier).
We'll either die of (random order):
- severely-polluted air
- a completely destroyed ozone layer
- too hot/cold
- flood
- war
- radiation (from anything that has monitors, e.g. televisions, cell phones, computers... etc.)

... etc.

[stryker76]

Considering how incredible Stupid Humans are as a whole....i think we will kill our selves off whether it be biologically or with nuclear war. Maybe even technology with turn on us when we create AI......nobody knows

[Jealousy]

This is a very interesting and thought provoking question.

I dont think the human race will ever die out because we are so adaptable.
We build things and change the environment so that it suits what we need.

If the sun were to "burn out" as mentioned, there would probably be lights like in a taning salon everywhere. And if there were no oxygen because we polluted it too much, there would just be some medication to make our lungs work with carbon dioxide or a machine to make oxygen.

A war could kill alot of people, but I dont think it would kill everyone in the world, the country that nuked everyone would still be alive and after it was safe again, those people would spread and migrate to other places on earth.

And don't forget that we can almost live on mars

[aznxdreamer]

And don't forget that we can almost live on mars

we're not 100% sure of that. remember mars is smaller than earth and we already have trouble with the population in some countries like china. and besides..if the sun blows up, theres probably a pretty big change that its gonna destroy a few other planets too, not just earth. and it pretty hectic for the goverment to try to transfer everyone on this world to mars.

[weirdness]

Who knows. We might even die tomarrow.



















LOL jk. :P o____O;;... well not really but ehh... whatever.

[smile4me]

not too long. just look at the bashing that goes on on the internet.

[aznxdreamer]

we're all so happy about this topic.

[topsyturvy]

Who knows. We might even die tomarrow.



















LOL jk. :P o____O;;... well not really but ehh... whatever.

AAHHH THATS SCARY!!

[*not_your_average*]

You know? Roxanne's right! Let's just enjoy what we have now and not think about this!

[demolished]

i think we will ddied when the sun is gone, scientist saids around this time, the sun is gonna explode .. something like that but its scary . i rather died peacefully .. not a disaster

[relicwcircuits]

eh, we'll prolly all die of nuclear war or something

[*Weird addiction*]

wow how shld we know...

[comeupon]

i think we will ddied when the sun is gone, scientist saids around this time, the sun is gonna explode .. something like that but its scary . i rather died peacefully .. not a disaster 

What do you mean scientists said the sun is going to blow up around this time? According to scientists the Sun has enough hydrogen to burn for another 5 billion years.

[Teesa]

The average species survival time for a warm blooded species is about two and a half million years.

We've still got over a million to go.

Yep, that's what I think. we still have a lot of time left. hopefully

[mechwarrior1989]

Evolution would never allow us to die out. We would adapt with the ever changing world. As such we would basically survive forever unless the sun suddenly decided to go super nova on us before we got to space. But our sun still has a few billion more years to live out it's life so we'll basically have a long time to live. We must also look at the fact that pressure fuels development. With increased pressure the chance of us creating new technology to help us survive increases. I can foresee a colony on Mars by 2100 and by 2250 we'll have most of the solar system. 2400 and we'll be sending missions to other solar systems. This will thus ensure the survival of our species though by then we may be very different from what we are now.

[sammi rules you]

susan, other people will use their nuclear bombs too. not just north korea.

all good things must come to an end. you gotta admit though...a huuuge world war will be terrifying, but..cool to see. in a way. yea, it's sad how the human race will more than likely end, but if you witness it..it would be so..interesting.

[D4rkf4m3]

armageddon will soon take us all...god's retribution will be the end of us,we will cause our civilization to implode ourselves with all the fights over power and wealth...the mayans i believe that they are correct.. 2012 is the end!!

Mayan related story:

(yea i kno its long but what the hell)

The Fourt movement - Proluge
THE TOMB- YR WYDDFA (1995)




To kill somebody you once loved, to save somebody you would die for; you have to go to the extreme.


*


In the Brythonic language of the Welsh Celts it was known as Yr Wyddfa. Translated into the tongue of it’s Anglo-Saxon neighbour the mountain was “The Tomb”. Visitors that walked through its national park knew it as Mount Snowdon, the highest peak in England and Wales.


**


It was a fresh September morning, inside the guesthouse an aroma of cooked breakfast greeted the two men from their rooms.
Mrs Edwards, the landlady of the Ty-Nant in Betws-y-Coed remembered the two men from their previous trips and had prepared a cardiologist delight for them. Bacon, sausages and black pudding, eggs, beans and tomatoes, toast, fresh coffee and orange juice had all been served up. A hearty meal to see them on their way. The old lady knew that they would need the nourishment, Ty-Nant’s wallpaper was covered with Mrs Edwards ear prints.


**


Three hours had past since the feast, both men stood on the spine of Crib Coch, a slender, rocky arête that approached the summit of Yr Wyddfa. Mountaineering to some is a physical and mental challenge, to others a religious experience, today would encompass all of those feelings and so much more. The crag had transported them to a different plane, totally alien from the mountain village that they had set off from. How quickly the elements had closed in on them. Firstly, they had worn T-shirts as they left the car park at Pen-y Pass, then a fleece was added as they came into view of Llan Llydaw, the mythical place where Arthur had met the lady of the Lake. Now the next layer was waiting, folded in their rucksacks and the lake was a distant memory, shrouded by the mist.
Breathing heavily, with damp vapours filling their nostrils they doggedly marched onwards until they found an area wide enough to unhitch their rucksacks.
Newly attired in their ‘Thinsulate’ overcoats, they quickly fastened the Velcro collars around their necks and pulled on the cords to secure their hoods, each man was unaware that the mist had encircled them. Then, in one swift movement, it had engulfed them.
Both men munched their muesli bars in natures silence.
“I think we should move on?”
“No cup of tea then?”
“Not now, wait till we reach the top, this is set in for the day, pointless wasting time.” The younger man was eager to get moving and looked into the void..
“Take it slow,” said his companion.


**


Looking downwards they slowly continued along the arête. Sheets of water filled their vision like a sea of distortion created from the spray of a tsunami. Ten seconds passed, and then the mist retreated as if it was sizing up its quarry before it came upon them again. Like a predator running into the pack, it was looking for the weakest target. Looking for a life to claim.
Continuously the pattern was repeated, momentarily, the figures would disappear from each other’s vision and then reappear like apparitions. The survivor would describe how his partner had disappeared like a ghost.
“One second he was there and the next he was gone”, he stuttered, the cold affecting his speech, his hands clasped around a warm mug of tea. Both the police and mountain rescue reported nothing suspicious. To them the situation was familiar. One trip or a high gust of wind on Crib Coch was all it took to send a person to certain death. Every year seasoned climbers and misguided adventurers died in Snowdonia regardless of the warnings posted in the car parks.
Gradually, the gap between the two figures increased. The larger figure stopped, sensed his partner was no longer in close contact and looked over his shoulder. Staring into the grey, wet blanket that covered the vista, he strained to focus. Hurriedly, he raised his hand to wipe away the clinging moisture, but the gesture made no difference. Visually, the scene before him was devoid of human life, he loosened the cord that held his hood tight, but all he could hear was the angry wind. The mist retreated slightly, but still nothing.
Where was he?
At first he hesitated, then decided to retrace his steps. It was a military instinct; a memory from the distant past that told him something was wrong, very wrong. Tense and nervous he began to wade through the mist like a child approaching the sea for the first time. After twenty stressful yards he could just make out the outline of a smaller figure right on the arêtes spine, then it disappeared. Inhaling deeply, he held his breath and then let out a sigh of relief as his partner reappeared the exhalation forming little clouds in front of his tired face.
But all was not well; the smaller figure was beckoning him over with a wave of his hand. His instinct had been right, something was wrong, he started to walk towards him, then stopped momentarily as he realised he was approaching an extremely narrow traverse. His partner waved again. Continuing, his anxiety increased with each step.
Had he turned over on his ankle? Eight metres.
What was the matter? Six metres.
What the f**k was going on? Four metres.
Why had he stopped here? Two metres.
He reached his partner and they started to talk. Calmly at first like the voices of priest and sinner in a confessional, then the younger man held out his hand and slowly opened his fist to reveal a small square piece of metal.
Silence.
The taller man starred at the cufflink, then words rose, fermenting into a heated exchange that flew on the wind. Words full of passion and hatred swirled around the jagged outcrops of Crib Coch, some looking for forgiveness, others looking for guidance, but they found no solace in the crevices of the arête, the plan would be executed one way or another – words meant nothing now. This day had been set in stone and there was nowhere to hide. The argument ended with a new sound riding on the wind as a tortured soul fell from the rocky spine.
Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom tried to smother the cry with her wind and rain, she had witnessed his crimes and was passing her own judgement.
Three seconds passed then the body connected with the rocks jutting out from the face: he descended in stops and starts, bouncing on, then off the cliff face, again and again like a rag doll falling down a spiral staircase.
First the sixth and seventh ribs broke on his left side; then his head hit the rock face fracturing his right maxilla, zygomatic arch and frontal bone, the next contact caused trauma to his cervical vertebrae and the cartilage in his right knee imploded as his leg doubled back on it’s self.
Finally, the broken body came to rest, slumped on a granite outcrop one hundred and fifty metres below Crib Coch. The contents of his rucksack lay strewn around his body like the offerings of some ancient ritual. His face held a peaceful, almost sacred expression, the fractured cheek giving him the smile of a medieval simpleton. Perhaps the nightmare was over – for everyone?
In an instant the portrait changed colour as blood emerged from under his hairline, quickly it mixed with the descending rain, and together the liquids covered his face in a spattered death mask. In the mist above a solitary raven circled the fallen man, like a vulture circling a dying beast.
Purposefully, the remaining figure on the crag knelt and dispatched the climber's friend - a safety device - from the crack into which it had been placed. The young man held the rope that passed through its runner and paused a moment, his mind contemplating what had just happened, gently his strong rough hands caressed the threads as if they could take away his problems.
Worry beads for a troubled man.
Gradually, he untied the figure of eight knot and unclipped the carabineer from his lightweight harness hidden beneath his coat. Somehow the menial tasks carried away his melancholy. The preparation for this event had been precise but one undertaking was left to complete; he had to reach the body to make sure his partner was dead. The body had fallen into the mist and was out of his sight. He had to make sure. He needed to check for any vital signs, and if necessary he would finish it, there and then. He owed him that much.
Arching his back, he loosened his rucksack and let it drop onto the uneven surface, turned, and knelt. Cold fingers separated the two plastic clips to expose its contents, a thermos, a lunch box and a phone rested upon two ropes laying on top of each other. At the bottom was a double stop action descender required to abseil down Crib Coch.
Reaching into the rucksack with his left hand he retrieved the phone and held it in his right hand while the left fingers punched in the digits, 999.
This must look like an accident. He told himself. Then he heard a noise that would accompany his future nightmares. It was a herald of death piercing through the mist. The solitary raven crowed, then crowed again before it began to feast. Yr Wyddfa had received a fresh offering.


**


For love he had gone to the extreme.


***















REBORN - 2010



The young couple on Bus X119 were glad to be on their way. Autopista 150 would take them away from the polluted, sprawling mass of concrete, tarmac, cars and people that characterised Mexico City. Slowly the motorway would snake its way along the Pueblo Valley and into the heart of the country, where they could finally inhale untainted air.
Looking over her shoulder the young woman waved goodbye to the boys in the bus station. In her lap she held the fresh fruit that she had purchased from their grubby little hands. Next to her sat a man stoically looking out of the window. He continued to stare out through the glass as the bus escaped the effluence, transfixed, he was waiting for a sign, waiting for the city of Pueblo. It was there that they would join Autopista 190 and continue through the valley towards the famous hot springs of Tehuacan.
Four hours passed before the travellers saw the slopes of the volcanic Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl rising up from the valley floor. The man felt nervous, he knew that they were approaching the historical city that was etched deep within his soul.


*


Cholula or Chollula is the oldest inhabited town in Mexico and home to three hundred and sixty five churches, it serves as a convenient stopover between the capital and Tehuacan. It is a relaxed market town that attracts visitors from all over the world to witness its layers of history. Popular guidebooks tell the European and North American visitors that they can pray every day of the year in Cholula and not stand in front of the same altar twice. In fact this is a false statement and proof you should never believe what you read. One truth is that they can pray in a colonial church built on top of the remains of the partially excavated Tepanapa Pyramid, the largest pyramid ever constructed.
As they approach from Pueblo along Autopista 190, a religious panorama provided from a nearby rise in the landscape awaits the tourists Cannon or Nikon. Tourist coaches arriving in the morning stop at the mirador – vantagepoint – and whilst their passengers disembark the drivers grab a quick cigarette and chat about politics, football and P**sy. Gently the golden sphere of the sun rises over Popocatepetl – The Smoking Mountain- and the short wearing, pasty skinned foreigners stand in awe as the grey blanket of the morning is rolled back by the sun. Then, in a ringing crescendo, the belfries rejoice in the celebration of a new day.
Spiritually, the churches could uplift even the most agnostic visitor, but they stand in religious insignificance when compared to the most sacred places in the region - the mountain peaks. A sacred place that the tourists would not understand but Mexican pilgrims of pre-Hispanic descent could. Their ancestors, the Nahuatl speaking peoples of Central America; the Aztec, Mixtec, Toltec and Maya, held an especially deep reverence for the twin volcanoes of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl that the young couple have just passed.
To the Aztecs, life originated from Popocatepetls volcanic heart. The ash from its mouth provided them with fertile soil and the obsidian - natural glass created during an eruption - provided them with a medium to make their jewellery, artwork and the sacrificial blades that were used by the high priests. To them every mountain was a place of magic, a place of celestial contact with their cosmological deities but Popocatepetl was special. It was their primeval mound. A place of supreme power.
Each mountain was part of their cosmos, mountain slopes sent the water that irrigated the volcanic soil and without irrigation the crops would fail and wither; without agriculture their civilisation would collapse. It was through an understanding of the cycles of nature and their astrological alignments that the priests could predict the seasons and cosmic events, thereby reinforcing their sacred position within society. Water was a precious gift from the gods and the priests could perform sacred rituals to ask for their blessings. To the lay man they controlled the water and thereby they controlled him.
But the gods were in constant struggle.
Four times the world had descended into chaos and each time Quetzalcoatl had either aided or rebuilt the world of man. The priests told their leaders how to appease the forces of chaos, destruction, famine and death. There was only one way to keep Quetzalcoatl’s son rising in the east and setting in the west. They had to follow his lead and sacrifice their sons on the pyramids that represented the smoking mountains of celestial contact - Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl. In return they would receive material wealth, powers and postpone the end of their world. Paradoxically their sons would become their spirit guide, a local deity who could mediate with the gods over their personnel concerns and the concerns of their subjects.
As the end of their world approached, sacrifices of those chosen by their lineage became inadequate. More blood was required to stave of the inevitable. The battle cry was heralded and slaves and captives from war were sacrificed in their thousands.
It was the priests who ruled the ancient societies. Hidden and disguised behind the veil of a king reincarnated from a god.
A god that they had created.


**


The young man stared up at the sacred peak of Popocatepetl; majestically it looked down on him and the city that silhouetted his frame. He had risen early that morning, leaving his lover asleep with a penned note. Behind him, in the distance, stood the church spires, belfries and images of Christ that represented the modern day Cholula. This was the view that the primeval spirits of the mountain had of their town. Defiantly the Son of God stared back at them. It was his abode now.
The man stood between two worlds, straddling the ancient and the modern. Turning around he looked back at the city unaware of the forthcoming prophecy that he was part of.


***


Prophecies, five hundred years ago, men of the cross had taken and destroyed the ancient city, but they could not destroy its gods, they retreated above the clouds and dispersed into the memory of their people. Later the Aztec gods and their traditions would reappear in the services of the Mexican Catholic Church. Chronicler Fray Diego Duran, who wrote in the shadow of Popocatepetl recognised the subversion in their prayers and church activities. However, his greatest dread was their calendar.
Cholula was where Duran had wrote ‘The Book of Gods and Rites’, it had also been the spiritual seat of the plumed serpent god Quetzalcoatl, the god who according to legend had been in a self-imposed exile. Daily, his Aztec priests received his sacrifices, and before them the priests of the Teotihuacan and Tula had performed the sacred rituals. Ironically, Quetzalcoatl the real man had tried to stop the practice of human sacrifice. However the priests had manipulated his teachings after his ‘self imposed’ exile had began. An exile enforced through their deceit and trickery that culminated in Quetzalcoatl’s incest with his sister. Legends passed down to Duran tells us that his twin brother took up his title, controlled by the priests he was given the name Tezcatilpoca - Smoking Mirror. With passion and fury he pursued a bloody agenda as the human sacrifices continued and increased. Like every good dictator he ruled by fear. Slowly he purged the priests until he gained ultimate power.
According to the Aztec calendar their society was in the death throes of the final cycle of creation. The apocalyptic prophecy fuelled their dependency on sacrificing human victims to their gods, desperately Montezuma tried to stall the end of their fifth and finale era, an era that ended on the ritual date ‘Fourth Movement’.
Then on the 16th of October in the year of our Lord 1519, the sacrifices reached a climax. On this date the Serpent god returned and the false prophecy of the priests was fulfilled. He spoke a heavenly language and sat astride a beast with flaring nostrils.
Hernan Cortes rode into Cholula and massacred all of its inhabitants' men, women and children. Unsatisfied with the human destruction, Cortes then laid waste to the cities four hundred temples and the largest pyramid ever built on Earth. The gods had never seen so much blood. Smoking Mirror was pleased.

**


The young man walked further upwards and away from the town, he was following a dirt road towards a dirty past. In the distance, church bells called the faithful to pray but he was drawn to a different altar.
Eventually he reached his objective as the burnt out ruins of a myth appeared, like a skeleton from his past it stirred his soul, closing his eyes he tried to visualise what the remains once were. He had been told of their layout and had seen the satellite photographs of the site. His preparation had been methodical.
Slowly the research centre appeared like a mirage in his mind, just as it had to the local’s during the summer of 1976. They did not know the reason for its existence and nobody told them. Protective fencing, four watchtowers and armed guards secured the compound and enforced its isolation. And it’s secrets.
He scanned the perimeter of the site as if he was starring through a periscope, unseen by the guards within the confines of his mind. He could see some of the staff, like him they were all gringos. His reconnaissance training told him their provisions were bought in from the town. He was right, no local had ever entered its compound and nobody had ever wanted to. According to the young men of Cholula it was home to liquichiris or vampires.
In his mind he walked across the courtyard and into the building, then he turned down a corridor. At the bottom of the hallway he could see a set of swing doors, reaching out he pushed them open.
The delivery room at the navel of the complex was white and sterile. Large and symmetrical, it was sparsely filled with the best equipment that money could buy. At the centre of the room a woman lay on a metal table. Sweating profusely with a tortured look she writhed in agony as the pain pulsed through her body. Masked women to her side urged her to push but she wanted to close her legs in the hope that the pain would disappear, but she tried in vain as her ankles were manacled to stirrups at the bottom of the table.
The man winced behind his closed eyelids. Helpless, he stood in the ruins as the vision from the past continued to be played out within his mind. He had to see this through; this was why he had travelled to this place.
Wasn’t it?
A surgeon observed her swollen vagina and waited for the new arrival. Elisabeth screamed again as the wall of her vagina tore and the crown of the head appeared for a couple of seconds then disappeared back inside her. Blood escaped from between her legs and started to crawl out over the stainless steel surface. The rivers of bright red slowed down every time the woman rested, forming small pools where the metal alloy was dented from her struggles.
Then the head appeared again, once more it retreated from the gaze of the outside world. The assembly of eyes peered over their cotton masks and watched in anticipation.
Like an anthropologist watching an ancient ritual the young man stood in the corner of the room. Unlike the humanities scholar he could not remain removed. A single tear started to form in the corner of his left eye; it had been a long time since he had cried. His eyes tightened and the fleshy dam of his eyelid held back the human fluid.
The masks showed no such feeling, only expectation could be seen in their hypnotic eyes, to them the woman was a necessary pawn, she had been paid well for the conception and delivery. They did not care if she lived or died. She was picked because of her strength, her beauty and her name. Elisabeth was consecrated to God. If she died, it would be more appropriate, and closer to the prophecy.
The tear escaped its barrier and ran down his face. The woman screamed and shouted “ Puta, puta ! Joder. Puta! ”
Then her need for oxygen took control as she concentrated on the black rubber mask being placed over her face. With her cotton gown soaked in sweat she approached her destiny in life. Desperately she tried to dig her crimson nails into the table, but they just quivered like the strings on a cello until they finally snapped.
Then a sound he knew too well filled the room. Elisabeth turned her head away from the oxygen and screamed from the bottom of her soul. The sound was a herald for the first god as it slid out from its carrier extending the fresh cut further along the vagina wall and increasing her blood loss. Distraught the young man placed his hands in front of his closed eyes, but the vision was behind them and imbedded in his psyche. He could not escape.
Elisabeth just wanted it out.
He wanted out.
The twin wanted out.
Eventually the brother followed just as its mother was beginning to lose consciousness. The crimson, cloaked human slid out through the birth canal and joined its twin in a chorus of wails. Their combined sounds filled the room and the young man fell to his knees. With tears in his eyes and his body bent forward, he reached out into the dirt, his hands searching for something that was not there.
“Why? Why? Why? ” he shouted.
Nobody had an answer, and the mountain remained silent.


***


Cholula had a purpose, a meaning in Nahuatl - the language of the Aztecs - it was a place of retreat, a place of strength, a place of rebirth.


****





Part 1
Part One

The fields from Islington to Marybone,
To Primrose Hill and Saint John’s Wood,
Were builded over with pillars of gold,
And there Jerusalem’s pillars stood


William Blake, Verse 1 “The fields from Islington to Marybone”




















SACRIFICE




Flickering torches illuminated the temple walls with a sinister glow, at its northern entrance the red and orange flames warmed the stone pillars of Jachim and Boaz. Ancient sentries rising from the cold grey slabs of the temple floor guarding the entrance of the inner sanctum. Magnificently adorned in ancient Canaanite texts, they reminded the worshippers of their duties to the Priesthood, the Priesthood that had educated them in the laws of God. At the southern end of the sanctuary there lay a raised blue stone altar, resting on a basalt base.
The gathering had assembled and every figure in the sanctuary looked towards the offering that was laid out on its crest. Everyone except the victim knew what was going to happen next. Suddenly and purposefully a blade descended through the air. Thud! The sickening sound, then a searing pain woke the victim out of his stupor. Methodically the point of the dagger pierced the white flesh and began to work its way around the breast area. A gushing geyser of blood escaped from the victim and spurted his tormentors.
Helpless, stunned, shocked and recovering from his spiked last meal, the drugged victim realised what he had become part of, but it was too late. Held tightly by ropes tied around his ankles and wrists, he tried in vain to lash out, but the ropes were taut and firmly secured to four small stone serpent-headed pillars. Like ornate twins they guarded each end of their victim, devouring the ropes that slid into their smiling mouths. Their jade eyes showed no compassion. Silent and piercing they starred blankly at the struggling man.
Mathew continued to fight and with his flesh twisting against the flax it began to blister. In disbelieving terror he looked at the three robed figures standing over him.
God! What have I done to deserve this?
Quickly, like a cat about to flee, but caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck he focused on each figure: down towards his feet the black robed priest was pushing down on his shins. Above him he could see a figure in red, his hood looking down at him, face hidden, no features, no pity, the priest firmly held his shoulders down against the smooth basalt surface of the altar.
Mathews face pleaded with his audience, he wanted to speak, to beg for mercy, but all he could do was bite on the cloth that covered his mouth. In desperation he rolled his head from side to side, pivoting on the knot secured at the base of his skull.
No. He screamed but nobody heard.
Again his body went taut as the blade turned and began to cut around his heart.
Almost there thought the High Priest.
Mathew knew his life was being drained away, but he had to fight. Perhaps it was a nightmare; perhaps he would wake up.
Please wake up Mathew, please God, please wake me...
Resplendent in purple the High Priest peered over him like a surgeon with his pupils standing on pedestals. With medical precision he used the sacrificial blade to cut the veins and arteries securing the victims heart in its rightful place. Finally the cardiac organ broke free and more blood spattered over his robe.
The congregation, dressed in matching white robes, watched the ritual, enthralled and motionless. With their ears pricked intently, they listened in a state of celestial contentment to the final echoes of the victims muffled screams. Softly they rebounded off the walls and ceiling of the temple until his final chilling cry broke the embodiment of the ritual.
Mathew had loosened the gag from around his face.
Some of the congregation jumped, whilst others –the more experienced- smiled knowingly. Matthew’s painfully pitiful sound continued to reverberate around the cavernous structure even though he had died.
Perhaps the cry was his soul trying to escape; perhaps he had been right to struggle.
Perhaps God had finally heard Mathew.
The organ was then excavated to the left of the spinal column and passed back over the remains of Mathew’s crimson breast. His dead, dilated, stationary pupils stared at his heart in unseeing terror. Then the heart heaved, beating, thump, thump, a noise that Mathew could no longer hear.
The High Priest preciously cupped the heart in his blood-strewn hands and held it up as an offering to their deity, to their true god, his god. Around him the red and orange flames continued to flicker up the walls like the devilish tongues from the serpent headed gorgon, their lights propelling shadows across the temple providing the altar priests with an ethereal quality.
Slowly the high priest moved forward placing the gift onto a small receptacle, strategically situated between him and the assembly of believers. Nobody was innocent. Everybody was culpable through attendance. Guilt through association.
Fierce and red, the heart continued to beat -thump, thump- it had reached a natural rhythm with the flickering flames.
Behind the High Priest, Mathew’s blood overflowed from the sacrificial altar, like a snake descending the rocks of an ancient temple the warm liquid slithered down the sides of the basalt structure guided by channels chiselled into its surface. At the base of the altar four bronze catchment bowls shaped like the hooves of mythical beasts and adorned with Aztec glyphs gathered the man’s blood.
After the sermon the blood would be collected and used in other rituals of a more intimate kind. The high priest’s tongue gently pushed between his lips and wetted their dry surface, like a lizard tasting the air he was anticipating the carnal dessert.
Leaning forward the High Priest laid the dagger down on the altar. The blade shaped from obsidian was bathed in blood and decorated with small pieces of flesh and bone that had caught on its serrated edges. The volcanic glass glinted in the light of the torches as the high priest began to address his flock.
“Brothers and sisters it is time to spread the fear. It is time to tear one strip away from our flesh, so that we may harden our skin for the events that will befall us and our children. We must become strong in mind and body. We are the weapons of heavenly retribution, we will build a new land and cast the diseased into the flames of Atum!”
He raised his hands to the heavens and stared at the gathering before him. The large hood protected his face from their gaze as they followed his lead and raised their arms upwards. Unlike the high priest who watched them, the white robes looked up, just like they had on countless other occasions to ‘The ceiling of origin’. The carvings, glyhps and hieroglyphs above them depicted the story of their arrival, survival and dominance in the new lands. It inspired them and reinforced their identity as they chanted the name of their God.
“Atum, Atum….”, they recited as the high priest led them on a doctrine of Darwinian proportions. Like faithful students they responded in unison, until he stopped, held his breath, and scanned the believers as though he was looking right into their souls. Then he spoke again as they continued to chant.
“Father we pave the way for your vengeance, we are your warriors, your almighty power shall cleanse the world of its failures. We shall become its new gods in your image. We are your messengers of truth.”
Like an eastern mantra they chanted together.
“Atum, Atum, we are your children. Atum, Atum, you are our Father. Atum, Atum, we are your children. Atum, Atum, we are....”
His voice was stronger and deeper then the others and it echoed above the sound emanating from the congregation. He was in control. He knew how they feared, loved, and respected him. He could do anything, for they were all his children and he was the son of their true god.
The chant increased in intensity as the high priest brought the hot red pumping organ to his lips. Usually the heart of the victim was burnt in an offering to Atum, but ‘The Fourth Movement’ was imminent.
Opening his mouth, he sunk his teeth into the body part and began to masticate. The blood from the vessels escaped, down his throat at first, but the volume was to great and it overflowed out of his mouth and down onto his royal robes of purple.


*


The young initiate left the temple with the rest of the group and passed in between the pillars of Jachim and Boaz. Her heart was racing, but strangely her mind was focused, she felt strong and alive. This was the first time she had witnessed a human sacrifice and she felt a personal bond with the victim. Then she felt her erect nipples rubbing against the cotton robe, the ritual had excited her, had made her wet. Aroused, she made her way down the corridor and then glanced at her watch. Jane Richards had to be in Parliament in two hours. Lucky she carried a spare pare of knickers.
God, life was a bitch.

[waccoon]

susan, other people will use their nuclear bombs too. not just north korea.

all good things must come to an end. you gotta admit though...a huuuge world war will be terrifying, but..cool to see. in a way. yea, it's sad how the human race will more than likely end, but if you witness it..it would be so..interesting.

OH MY GOD LETS GET POPCORN, KOREA'S GONNA NUKE THE SHIT OUT OF US!

[bad_girl]

another decade.. maybe?

[ohBrian]

really soon like 2010..

this man who claimed to see the future says the world is gonna end in 2010, and it is because of nuclear war

[inthemudhole]

Are we going to trust that man who claimed to see the future?

For all we know, he could be insane.

[remini]

I don't think we'll die out very soon, but if the world is ever going to end, it's going to be because humans are so barbaric they kill themselves.
And the whole sun blowing up thing, well, I don't think that's happening very very soon.
Either that or we get an armaggedon type thing.
We have such a bleak future unless we somehow magically find peace among us.

[heyisti]

as long as we people still "F" each other like rabbit, yes human will still be here, if there is a Armegadon then okie human all dead

[mirage]

I think that human will last as long that the resources in Earth will. All the factories and companies spilling wastes on the street and killing trees and animal is just killing ourself in the future. We might be able to reach another planet by then but could we adjust to a place where so many of our resources can't be found?

[HelloSunshine]

Soon. We've been overdue for a major war. Once a war starts with nuclear weapons, we're all done for. Maybe in the next decade or two.

agreed.

[azn_r4pf4n]

What do you mean scientists said the sun is going to blow up around this time? According to scientists the Sun has enough hydrogen to burn for another 5 billion years.

im amazed somebody actually said the sun was gonna burn out soon, but comeupon is right. the sun will blow up in another 5 billion years, accordin to scientists.

[inthemudhole]

wow how shld we know...

Dude, we're not asking you if you know, or not.
This is debate.
The point is to come in and state your opinion and what you think is right, what you think will happen, etc.
It's a matter of opinions.
It's not a matter of coming in here to get your post count up another by stating "how should we know" solely to get another post.
If you have something to add (that is relevant to the subject), please do so.
If you don't, then don't post.

T_T