Divine Awakening

Ash strode quickly out of the kitchen, skirted the four-person table, and cursed quietly as the plate of reheated chilaquiles burned his hands. He dropped the dish on the end table next to the fake La-Z-Boy his grandpa had bought thirty years ago and shook his hands to cool his fingers. Sitting in the still comfortable chair he wondered how burnt orange could have ever been fashionable.

Before turning the TV on, Ash tilted his head and listened for his grandpa on the far side of the small house. The old man should still be sleeping this early in the morning, and Ash returned his attention to the nineteen-inch lcd that still proudly displayed a silver 720p sticker. Like everything else here, it had passed its prime.

Normally Ash ignored the television, but normal had disappeared a week ago, along with most of Cairo.

The news called it the Clypse, an almost apocalypse or maybe just half of one, Ash didn’t know, but the Clypse had changed the world.

Ash turned the TV on and winced at the blaring volume. Christ almighty, his grandpa was going deaf. Ash hit mute and waited quietly to see if the old man had noticed. Grandpa Pine didn’t approve of Ash’s obsession with the Clypse and the Pit.

The house remained silent, and Ash sighed with mixed feelings. Not waking his grandpa meant he’d avoided a lecture, but his grandpa remained sleeping because his sickness exhausted him.

The road to Grandpa Pine’s current state had taken many years. Ash had begun to consistently beat his grandpa when sparring two years ago. Ash didn’t know if that occurred because of his advancing skills or his grandpa’s declining health.

In any event, Grandpa claimed to be a Master of the Bamboo Viper Steps, which in Ash’s mind meant he had the qualifications as well. Bamboo Viper Clan this, family secret that, his grandpa said a lot of crazy crap, so who knew if any of it was true.

The thought of all those stories made Ash’s stomach turn and he glanced at the small table near the window which held two things: a half dead plant and a framed five by seven drawing of a man’s face. The picture originated from a fever dream, or a hallucination, Ash had suffered years ago. Even if he’d convinced himself the whole thing had been his imagination, the feelings of immense gratitude had never disappeared.

People didn’t help Ash. To his mother’s people his light skin made him a gringo and having rarely visited his dad’s brother in Colorado, the states only highlighted how crappy his life was in Mexico. That, and how out of step he was with American teenagers. The problems he faced while protecting their small family avocado farm didn’t translate well into a social media post.

But the man in the picture had helped Ash. The stranger had smashed lifesaving berries into Ash’s mouth, picked him up, and thrown him to safety—away from the ten-foot vipers that had surrounded him. An act of insanity and kindness. The man had appeared half monster himself, wearing the head of one of the Elder Vipers like a helmet, the snake’s blood streaking his face like war paint. The man’s intense blue eyes had pierced Ash like spears.

That experience had given Ash pause, and he’d listened more respectfully to his grandpa’s stories but still dismissed the old man as half-senile.

Thinking of the bizarre event caused Ash to glance at the second hard to explain event that had occurred in the past few years. Just below his left shoulder a pink “Hello Kitty” Band-Aid stood out like a beacon, calling every bully within sight to harass him. As if he needed another reason to make himself different.

Ash had tried to scrape the tattoo off, burn it, freeze it, and even cut it out, but it remained like some type of infernal bandage. He had searched the grove for the seven-year-old blonde girl that had placed it on him, but he now believed the girl was a bruja and stopped looking. Fighting off the narcos that wanted their farm proved challenging enough, so battling a witch was a step he wouldn’t willingly take.

Focusing back on the TV, Ash inched the volume up, stabbed his breakfast with a fork, and eagerly listened to the coverage of the Clypse.

“…we think the connection to our ground team recovered,” the anchor said. “Michelle, can you hear me?”

“Yes, good evening Drew, or I guess, good morning to you,” Michelle said with a practiced laugh. She turned and waved her arm. “As you can see, even here in Alexandria, electronics are affected.”

The video feed glitched and Michelle twisted across the screen until the video feed stabilized. A graphic detailing ground-zero of the Clypse appeared and Ash leaned forward trying to absorb it all.

The Sphinx, the pyramids, in fact the entire Giza plateau now sat at the bottom of a massive hole of an unknown depth. Most of Cairo also lay at the bottom and the Egyptian government was desperate to find survivors. Over eight million people had disappeared down that hole and not a single body had been recovered.

Michelle spoke over the graphic. “Rescue operations continue but are hampered by the instability the Pit generates.”

That’s what they called it: the Pit.

“Michelle,” Drew said. “There are reports the Egyptian government allowed both a Chinese and Russian team access to the Pit. Can you confirm?”

“Yes, Drew, we heard the same and can confirm. The Chinese descended in custom gliders obviously of military design and the Russians parachuted down.”

“What of the American teams?”

The Egyptians had made a deal with the Americans and given them first access after the Egyptian search teams had disappeared without a trace.

Ash took a quick drink of water, turning his head so he could see the TV with one eye. He didn’t want to miss anything. Diagrams of the Chinese gliders filled the screen for a few seconds.

“No news on when the US will try another team, but our contacts informed us of a new attempt to get pictures from inside the Pit. They called it ‘old school’ and said it involved balloons and antique cameras.”

“The collective curiosity of the world would make those pictures priceless,” Drew said with a small laugh. The video feed failed before Michelle could respond and the Pit graphic disappeared, replaced by Drew’s chiseled face. “We will return to Michelle as soon as we can. Moving on to other news, demonstrators descended on Washington, DC yesterday, demanding transparency on the government’s efforts to identify Clypsers.”

Ash froze, a forkful of fried tortillas halfway to his mouth.

The TV displayed a small group of people and the camera panned across the demonstration, before cutting to one of the protesters holding a picture of teenage girl around Ash’s age. The middle-aged man had written her name in large letters on the homemade sign—Lilly. Lilly hunched over in the picture, hands on her thighs, and from her clothes and the background it appeared she’d just represented Stanford in a track meet. She looked up at the camera with a half-smile, her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Ash wasn’t surprised why they focused on this parent, as the man’s daughter was stunningly beautiful, her light grey eyes giving her an angelic look.

“They took my daughter,” the dad said. “Nobody knows who authorized it or even what department did it. What kind of country do we live in? We have rights. The government can’t take people and make them disappear. If it can happen to me, it can happen to you. Wake up America, the government is taking our children!”

The clip ended and Ash slowly put his fork down. Drew turned to a guest. A long list of qualifications appeared under his name, but Ash ignored them.

“Well, Kevin, there are a lot of upset people,” Drew stated.

Kevin nodded. “The fact is the government can take people and hold them. They’ve had that power since the old Patriot Act.”

“What have your contacts in the Pentagon told you about the Martial Law?” Drew asked. “Will it end soon?”

“Likely not,” Kevin replied. “There are too many variables and with other nation states on high alert, the US will remain so as well.”

“There are pictures out of China of a giant,” Drew paused, “I guess I’ll just say it, dragon, destroying a pair of fighter jets. Initial inspection doesn’t show any photoshopping. Are these stories real?”

Kevin looked uncomfortable.

Drew continued. “There are reports of elves in the Canadian Rockies and parts of Montana and even Colorado. Do you think these are pranks? Troublemakers wearing fake ears?”

“Possibly,” Kevin said. “But there is no hard proof either way.”

Drew nodded. “Looping back to the Clypsers. Should we hide our children from the government? If these reports are true, it seems like an overreach.”

Kevin winced. “We know whatever happened in the Pit affected the entire world. My kids complain constantly that their phones are unreliable, and the internet has the same problem. I point this out because it’s possible that whatever happened that impacted our electronics, also affected some people in ways that might prove dangerous.”

“Like a virus?” Drew asked. “We didn’t handle the pandemics very well, did we?”

“No, we didn’t. And please don’t think I’m saying these Clypsers are dangerous. They are unknowns, and it’s in the government’s best interest to evaluate them. I am sure all these people will return shortly.”

“They’re calling them mutants after the popular comics. It’s like fiction come alive.”

Kevin smiled. “There is no proof of any of that. It’s more likely that whatever energy has escaped the Pit made some people sick and the government doesn’t want that to spread.”

“What should you do if you think the Pit has made you sick?” Drew asked in a too casual voice.

Ash’s Throat chakra located between his Adam’s apple and torso warmed, the heat radiating upward across his jaw and cheeks and into his ears. It informed him Drew had spoken insincerely or faked his behavior, which meant this entire segment had been orchestrated, likely by the US government.

“Great question, Drew. You should immediately call the closest FBI field office and explain your symptoms.” Kevin laughed, but it wasn’t nearly as practiced as Michelle’s. “With big data constantly looking for anomalies, the government will find you eventually. It’s a symptom of the world we live in.”

Drew turned to the camera. “We’ll be back with more coverage of the Clypse after these messages.”

The TV cut to a commercial from one of the hundreds of companies offering to test what they called Meridians. They offered accurate results that could instantly change your life. For some, it had been like winning the lottery.

But Ash didn’t need testing, because on the night the Pit appeared in such spectacular fashion, his world had changed as well.

Since Ash could remember, especially the older he became, the luckier he got. Not like guessing the next card lucky, but more like, is there a narco with a gun behind this door, lucky. That luck had kept the avocado grove out of the narcos’ hands although that became harder each year.

Harder until eighteen months ago when the narcos had stopped trying. Or something, Ash suspected, had kept most of them away. Others had caught glimpses of a massive chupacabra, or at least something that looked like the mythical coyote-reptile-porcupine, which certainly didn’t belong in Jalisco.

As the years passed Ash learned to interpret his Third Eye chakra better and better. It took time and experience to learn the language the chakras used to communicate, and each one differed. Grandpa assured Ash everything would get easier after he awakened them, but he’d been trying to do just that for his whole life and only his Root chakra had awakened. Barely.

On the night the Pit appeared, Ash’s chakras hadn’t responded at all, but meditating had begun causing vertigo. Normally every morning, afternoon, and evening he’d meditate for ten minutes, perform the tai-chi-like forms for ten, and meditate again for ten minutes. The simple forms didn’t hold a candle to the complexity of his Bamboo Viper Steps, but Grandpa Pine insisted he do them three times every day.

Grandpa Pine rarely meditated because of his health, and Ash hadn’t mentioned the vertigo because his grandpa would just think he wanted to slack off. But since the Clypse, he’d stopped meditation all together.

Maybe more concerning than the dizziness, Ash’s body felt different, although he couldn’t point to exactly why. The fact he’d felt different had sealed the decision to stop meditation. If the Pit’s energy changed people, he didn’t want to speed it up without knowing more about it. Of course, it might just be in his head like some spiritual hypochondriac.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that meditating let whatever leaked out of that Pit into Ash’s body, and that scared the hell out of him. Even though none of his chakras complained or warned him he still didn’t trust that energy. For all he knew, maybe his chakras only recognized threats from earth sources, and this came from some alien place. No thank you. He’d wait and let some other crazy person find out what that energy did.

Ash and his family had hidden their expertise with chakras for hundreds of generations. The fact chakras took decades to awaken and use effectively made hiding them easier. This energy infusion he experienced with the meditation had been the opposite, with the effects occurring immediately. He worried it would mark him as a Clypser and some government would nab him.

This new worry had become another reason Ash now listened to his grandpa more carefully. Ash had always thought he lived in some type of cult, as no one he knew, read about, or seen on TV, had a life like he did.

Ash woke at four in the morning every day and spent thirty minutes meditating and performing the tai-chi-like forms. The next thirty minutes consisted of what his grandpa called activating his chakras, which Ash still didn’t understand. Usually, he just continued to meditate for thirty minutes, but since the Pit and vertigo he now skipped it completely.

The sun had usually risen by this point, and Ash practiced the sacred Steps for four hours—two hours on the Bamboo Steps and two for the Viper. According to his grandpa, the Steps had originated thousands of years ago, had come from the mouth of god, and been entrusted to their tribe, of which only their family remained.

After Step practice, Ash would leave the avocado grove for home, eat the breakfast his grandpa prepared and then shower. Chakra meditation came next, and he usually returned to the trees for that. It consumed another four hours, thirty minutes per chakra, and each one required its own mantra to aid in the awakening.

Whenever Ash confronted his grandpa about the Buddhist new age crap they practiced in the middle of Mexico, the old man agreed many of the concepts overlapped, but fervently defended the assertion that this eastern philosophy had originated in the mountains of Peru thousands of years ago.

That foolish assertion only reinforced Ash’s belief his grandpa had gone nuts, but he couldn’t just leave the farm. It would be a death sentence for his grandpa, and since Ash had to stay, he followed his grandpa’s wishes and continued the routine he’d practiced since he could remember.

All that training did nothing to put food in their mouths, so Ash spent the next six hours working the small avocado farm. After supper he spent two hours studying before his time finally became his own. Usually, he just fell exhausted into bed so he could get up the next day ready to do it all again.

A cult for sure. Although a small one since it only included him and his grandpa. The only time he’d considered his grandpa’s words might contain some truth had come after the out of body experience he’d had after touching one of his grandpa’s sacred stones. The place where he’d met the blue-eyed snake-psycho-Samaritan.

Then the Clypse occurred, the Pit appeared, and Ash’s body had absorbed the energy, forcing him to face the possible truth of his grandpa’s words once again.

Ash needed to consider if he, like the girl the US government had taken, was a Clypser.

Ash didn’t fear the Mexican government, as too much corruption existed for it to operate efficiently, but he feared the Americans. His birth in Colorado gave him the rights of a US citizen, rights he’d just learned didn’t matter. If anyone discovered he was a Clypser they’d take him away, and who would protect the farm and take care of Grandpa Pine?

The rest of Ash’s breakfast sat on the end table uneaten, his appetite gone. He muted the TV, as the newscaster asked the same questions and received the same qualified non-answers.

The Root chakra at the base of Ash’s spine, while barely awakened, still provided him with important benefits. He used this chakra most of the time as it connected him to the earth and more importantly, to his survival instinct. The Root worked closely with his Third Eye which had allowed him to continually beat the odds for years.

And right now, it felt like his Root chakra had exploded.

Never, in all the horrors Ash had survived in his short life, had his Root chakra flared as it did now. It felt like death had arrived and just given him a hug. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from screaming.

A quiet, repetitive sound, almost like scratching, came from behind Ash.

Terrified, Ash slowly turned and peeked out from the side of the orange chair.

A middle-aged gringo in a sombrero and multi-colored sarape sat at the table facing Ash. Next to him a seven-year-old girl with blonde pigtails sat in a booster seat, her legs swinging as she colored something. She looked up at the box of Crayola crayons, plucked a blood red one from the neatly arranged colors, and started on her picture again.

Ash recognized her and whispered what he’d only suspected before, but now, most certainly, he knew.

“Bruja.”