Three White Lions - Book Two
Chapter 1, "Wisdom Am I " by Gloria Christie. Magic Realism. Preview.
The shimmering 20-foot tall White Lion, Barbara, continued to curl in a protective three-quarters circle around the President as they lay within the solid protection of the Virginia Great Cherry Tree. The static of her hair mildly prickled the leader of the free world even though the two did not touch.
The earth trembled then thrust upward as if trying to turn itself inside-out. Again and again it tore at itself in this paroxysmic dance. The lioness could have transformed herself into her human being, but there was no need to gain her black mane. Certainly, Mr. President knew exactly what the three magnificent otherworldly Lions looked like. He had invoked them.
And little did people know that the interior of certain great trees was far greater than their exteriors. After all, these little measurements were merely man-made attempts to understand then control their own lives. In truth the measurements were simply scratch marks to count bags of grain scores of thousands of years ago when the origins of numbers split humanity into two basic categories. One intuitive and the other the fundamental of greed.
Washington D.C. used to be more equally split between those who believed in the value of life and those who valued numbers. The whole situation was a bit insane given that the numeric systems politicians carried to extreme resulted in soulless men and women haunting the city's streets and terrorizing America's citizens.
But were those who developed the programs any more helpful when their invented systems grew bloated with red tape, rules, and regulations? Unrefined, systems run amuk until they smush the very people they were meant to help.
The sitting President of the Phoenix party was old. In America, “old” is a pejorative word that people quickly chew up and spit out. This President was in truth a relic of another time. One when neighbors helped neighbors rather than racing into their garages and being swallowed by security systems of some or none value.
The President understood that humans could only survive as part of a group interlocking with other groups — not at war against one another. He turned to Barbara and she waited for him to understand the words he spoke.
‘I am wise. I bring the wisdom of decades’ experience in the Senate. And I know this, if I don't succeed at pulling the country away from the Soulless Ones then we will become a dead country. ‘
Barbara nodded. She knew that talking released understanding and blotted the fatal renting of America's fabric.
‘Whuh…whuh…’
Few people realized Prey Seeker, better known as the Senate Minority Leader was no Turkey. Now he couldn't seem to make the words come out of his mouth. He was flat on his back in a hospital bed in a room garnished with dusty plastic flowers. The walls were a faded cream. Their English garden-green wallpapered trim clashed rudely with the curtains last factory stitched when olive and orange worked.
His knee was killing him, so he called out “Hey!” Or at least he thought he did. But his voice was less than a whisper.
The Prey Seeker could hear people outside his closed door, their voices muted between the clanks of silverware against china.
The old man's power had been stripped from him somehow. He thought:
‘Where the hell is my security detail? Someone is going to pay for this! I'll bet The Dud is behind such an atrocity! I'll probably have get a whole ‘nother detail, and that's more time I don't have to fritter.’
The Minority Leader trembled with impotent anger. But that only made his knee hurt worse. His throat was parched. And whoever they were had given him some drugs that bent time around the corners of his mind.
The old politician tried to sit up but he was too weak. The supposed Turkey heard a man in the next room wailing, wailing endlessly wailing. He hated this raw feeling of vulnerability. At last the fallen Prey Seeker heard someone fussing about his door. Suddenly it blew open.
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Gloria