Serendipidus

By Jennifer Ott

"Maybe it's time to set aside intellectualism and experiences the wonders of things that can't be explained."

The Earth has stopped rotating and no one seems to notice, except for bleeding-heart, supermodel Venetia DeMille. While Mother Earth begins to fade into a silent death, Venetia clings to hope. She solicits the help of a scientist, but no avail. Not to be hindered in her quest to save the Earth, Venetia sets out on a journey around the world to find like-minded people and caring souls - an exuberant youth, a magical healer and a man of God. Although together they are able to rekindle faith, their effort still does not provide results. It is a mysterious meeting of four horsemen that carry them to the east where they experience a connection to the earth and each other. Could the forces that gather with their united efforts prove to be the remedy to save the planet?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Ott
• Release date: Feb 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310295454

Jennifer Ott

After graduating college with a degree in fashion design and fine arts, I moved to New York City where I studied screen writing with the Gotham Writer's group and attended NYU part-time studying filmmaking and acting. Learning how to write screenplays taught me how to write tight storylines and acting helped master dialog. Living in New York City, inflicted with credit card debt, impassioned me to write my first non-fiction satire, Ooh Baby Compound Me which compares the credit card industry to fraternity hazing. Bad dating experiences inspired Wild Horses and eventually after much research - Love and Handicapping. My book, The Tourist reflects the dreamer's plight in an overly commercial and corporate world which many can relate. Saying Goodbye, What the World Doesn't Know, I can only say was channeled by from an unknown source. I became consumed by a real-life love story and felt compelled to write. The repressed eighth grade journalist arose and I dug deep into uncovering a hidden love story. The same force encouraged The Insurrectionist - a story so powerful and intense, it had to be told. After writing The Insurrection I needed something light and fun was desperately needed - One with the Wind. Throughout the years, I have learned stories are a dime a dozen, characters can blend into one and the same dialog can be repeated in many different ways, but the best writing comes from what we are most passionate. If the story compels the writer to near madness, it is a story that must be written.

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Serendipidus

Jennifer Ott

Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Ott

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Serendipidus 1

My reign is over, said a woman in a deep, raspy voice. Light gray cigarette smoke swirled against the black sky. Black leather swathed finger pressed an intercom button and repeated one phrase in several different languages—English, Japanese, Arabic, Spanish and Nigerian, Ready for operation M.

From the dungeons of the Tower of London, filthy hooligans dumped tons of sewage waste into the Thames River. Choke on that, said one of the hooligans in a heavy cockney accent. Black sludge and indescribable rubbish flowed down the river polluting every small town in its path.

A yacht named Medusa, sailed across the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. On the horizon sat several large oil platforms. Large, hairy hands pressed a handheld button and one by one the oil rigs exploded, sending billowing exhausts into the air and a puddle of slick oil across the water’s surface.

Dressed in a white lab coat, a Japanese electrical technician crept through the fluorescent floodlit hallways of the plant. He peaked over his shoulder and when sure no one was around he unlocked the door to an electrical grid that held the electricity for all of southern Japan. Flicking all the switches, he illuminated Japan so brightly it could be seen from outer space, sending mass amounts of greenhouse gasses into their air.

Armed guerillas ignited sticks of dynamite throughout the South American jungle. The dynamite exploded and started a slow burn to the underbrush of the damp rainforest. Soon, steamy smoke arose from the dampness of the rainforest as it erupted into an orange inferno.

Arabians dumped buckets of oil around rigs. The desert glimmered like black ice. From a safe distance away, the Arabians set the oil on fire and ran for cover. The desert burst into massive explosions.

A jeep filled with African rebels sped across the savannah and stopped abruptly. A slightly overweight African man puffed on a cigar as he studied the vast, dry plains. Slowly and with great deliberation, he dropped his cigar into the grass. The cigar smoldered until it flickered into flames. As the long stems of grass kindled like a match stick, the men fled away. Herds of animals—giraffes, zebras, gazelles, hogs, jackals and lions fled for safety. The fires overcame the jungle and villages.

From the safety of her yacht, a gaunt, black-eyed woman, Medusa Dominatrix dragged on her cigarette as one would do after satisfying sex. In fact, the ecstasy of world destruction deserved yet another long, soothing drag, which the woman did so with an orgasmic sigh. That felt real good, she moaned.

Sunshine weaved between the upwardly reaching leaves, greedy for the sun’s light. Broken rays of light beamed through a dirty window and blanketed a Saint Bernard, a long-haired terrier and a tabby cat snuggling together on a white shag carpet. The animals opened their eyes as the sun’s light crossed over a pink satin bedspread where a fair beauty laid peacefully—her long, golden curls strewn across the ruffled pillow.

Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World played from an alarm and greeted the beauty to the morning. She stretched out her long slender arms and arched her lithe body to a new day. Her pets leaped on the bed and covered her with wet kisses. Come now. We have a lot to do today.

Humming What a Wonderful World, the beauty stepped out of bed into her pink slippers and terry cloth robe. With an optimistic yawn to start the day she stepped into the bathroom, followed by her pets. Without hesitance she turned around to shut the door, but before closing she lovingly patted her pets on their heads. A little privacy please. The door was closed and the animals settled disappointed outside the bathroom.

For a woman of such beauty, many would anticipate a counter full of products—astringents, cleansers, toners, masks, and moisturizers. But for this beauty, she only washed her face with a bar of natural olive soap. She brushed her teeth with a tasty peppermint paste—cinnamon had a little too much zest. As the peppermint foamed around her full lips she continued to hum.

Her morning shower was her favorite time of the day. The stream of hot water cleansed her body and the steam that rose around her face cleared all her senses. Her showers were more than a physical cleansing; they purified her entire body and soul, preparing her for the day. Finally, the bathroom door opened with a veil of steam and out steppe freshly made for the day—supermodel Venetia DE Mille.

With a cup of chamomile tea touched with a spoonful of honey for sweetness Venetia opened up her penthouse balcony door to her garden terrace that overlooked Manhattan and was unexpectedly met with a toxic cloud of smog. She choked. Her cleansing shower was now sullied by city grime. It was hard for an optimist to see the deterioration of the world.

Often Venetia donned her designer rose-colored glasses. She loved her rose-colored shades, but today, even those rose-color shades were covered with a layer of filth that made it hard to see the world as a good place. Things were much different to the life she once lived; a life that seemed like it was ages ago.

It was only a few years ago when Venetia, a knobby-kneed teen with her bobby socks loose around her slender ankles and stringy blonde braids bounded across a meadow of wild flowers. She spun in a jubilant circle until dizzy and stopped to see the earth swirling around her.

When the world stopped spinning, she gazed over the edge of the hill and looked down at a quaint country convent below nestled in quiet woods of Oneida, New York. It was a brilliant life for the spirited Venetia, full of peace with nature and untainted from the world outside. She never had the cares, nor concerns of young girls her age—peer pressure, competition and social status. She was never tortured by a harsh word, an insult or physically bullied. Her life was of purity like few have ever experienced.

The nuns who lived at the convent never spoke of how they found her, or where she came from; they only said, She was a gift from God. What Venetia didn’t know is what the nuns said when she was not around.

In a small dining room illumed by colored sunlight from stained glass, the nuns sipped tea from dainty porcelain cup and nibbled on freshly baked snicker doodles. One of the nuns cooled her tea with a soft blow and said, What are we going to do about Venetia? She shows no interest in the nunnery. She lacks the discipline for our faith and skill at virtually any task. Not to mention she pays no attention to her lessons.

She really turned into an odd bird, replied another plump cherry-cheeked nun. She talks more to animals then she does with any of us. Just yesterday I saw her having a conversation with a squirrel and she honestly acted as if the squirrel was talking back.

Personally I have tried everything to instill a strong work ethic in Venetia to prepare for the world outside, but then I found her napping in the garden, replied a stern-looking nun. And she’s impossible to reprimand. She just looks up at you with those big, innocent blue eyes.

Oh that dear girl sobbed all night when I cut roses from the bush from our rectory. The way she carried on; one would think I was cutting her with the scissors, replied a young and pretty nun.

What she needs is a dose of reality, said the stern nun, Maybe it’s time we introduce her to the big city. The nuns nodded their acceptance of the idea and then all delicately sipped their tea.

Later that evening, Venetia slouched on her bed, removing braids from her hair. Her empty suitcase set open on the desk by the window. She didn’t want to leave and couldn’t imagine why the nuns wanted her to go. I thought they liked me. The empty feeling the swelled in her stomach did very little to motivate her to pack.

There was a knock at the door. Come in, Venetia responded.

The pretty nun opened the door and stepped inside. We wanted to give you this, she said presenting Venetia with a gift. "It was placed inside your bassinet when we found you.

Where did you find me? asked Venetia unwrapping the present.

On the convent steps with a note that read: fill her with peace and love. Allow her to be at one with nature, said the nun. It was hard for some of the others who wanted to teach you the ways of the church and our faith but we obeyed the instructions of the note.

Venetia unwrapped her gift. Inside the box was a silver chain with an odd charm—a bent bar with what looked like a setting sun on one side and a rising sun on the other. She lifted the charm to study more carefully. What does it mean?

We don’t know, admitted the nun. We suspect you will find out at some time in your life. It could be your destiny. She shrugged. Or it can mean nothing at all.

Cupping the charm in her palm, Venetia slumped forward. Why must I leave?

Because your place is not here; you are not fit for the nunnery, replied the nun.

Then where do I fit in? asked Venetia.

The pretty nun placed her hand on Venetia’s knee. That is for you to find out. She gave Venetia a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Don’t worry. We will still be here if you need us, but you need to find your own way.

When the nun left, Venetia fell back onto her bed and turned off the table lamp. Only the moon’s blue light entered through the window and illumed the tears that filled Venetia’s eyes. She had never felt such heartache forced to leave the only home she knew and the creatures she loved. The world outside was surely hell.

Stepping off the train at New York City’s Grand Central station Venetia never saw so many people. It was chaos—the shouting, train horns blaring and the cops whistling. All the noises blended into one shrill shriek that sent shock waves through Venetia’s quiet and peaceful demeanor. The noises tried to corrupt the sweetness of her soul, but Venetia held her hands to her ears to drown all out as best as possible.

Crowds of commuters pushed and shoved as if they didn’t even see her. Paralyzed with fear she turned in circles, clutching her small suitcase that contained only items of modest clothes and intimates. Finally, she gave in to the madness and moved in the only direction possible, with the crowds.

The nuns at the convent found her a place to stay—a Catholic dormitory for girl. But there always seemed to be boys sneaking around inside often times with minimal or no clothing. Seeing boys in varies stages of dress flustered Venetia. She gasped and covered her eyes at the sight. Although the nuns assured Venetia the dormitory was decent, she found these girls smoking, drinking and sometimes shockingly kissing with tongues.

Venetia, the once spirited girl who ran through the meadows barefoot and slept peacefully in the gardens locked herself away covering her ears from the bass-thumping music, screaming and orgasmic late night moans. No one, however, heard Venetia’s cries of loneliness. When the hallways were clear of boys she called home to the convent and begged to let her come home. Her pleads were left unfulfilled.

Within a couple weeks Venetia found work—the perfect job—cleaning up litter at Central Park for the sanitation department. Dressed in her orange overalls she surveyed the park for pieces of paper, empty food containers, drug paraphernalia, and used condoms. She didn’t know what half of the stuff she was cleaning up was, but she knew she was doing a good deed and that was all that mattered.

The added benefit to the job was she was able to make friends. Often a pigeon would ride along on her shoulder, small song birds sang to her from the trees and she buddied with a gang of squirrels and chatted with the occasional rat. It was as if she were home at the convent.

One day a hip, shaggy-haired man approached Venetia while she cleaned up vomit around a trash can. You have a very lovely face, said the shaggy-haired man.

Are you trying to get fresh with me, because I’m not that kind of girl, Venetia replied sticking to her task.

No, no, the man said with a laugh. No, you’re a very beautiful girl, so natural, fresh, he paused, pure.

Well, I was raised in a convent, said Venetia.

He chuckled. Of course, He retrieved a card from his wallet. "My same is Sergio Rodriguez. I’m a photographer for