Star Teen for Freedom

By Billie Heir

This book as a training manual for businesses:
Clorissa: “As bright warriors, you have all been delegated with the authority to use the supernatural weapons of increased brain power on our evil common enemy.
Remember a true warrior has the cur, cur … courage to live out an apology, and not just talk about it. Be wary of the ones who are quick to talk, yet slow to cha, cha … change their behaviors.
Clorissa: “Once they settle for slovenliness and go off of the admiral’s road, they are in enemy held territory, and prey to the deceits of an easy journey, and susceptible to the illusion of a special life.”
Clorissa: “Sometimes while on the road of good intentions, they are side tracked into excessive concerns for their neighbors.
Clorissa: “Sometimes while on the road of good intentions, they are side tracked into excessive concerns for their neighbors.
Explain that drafting in the falsehearted wind of gossip blows them up them into road rage and then into a demolition derby of relationships where they crash and burn.”
For some, it is the internal combustion of gossip which drives their minds. Once internalized, one tiny cog of a fear based lie influences many other mental cogs into unbalanced spinning which retools their cam drive onto repeating poor choices.
In the gossip age, they lazily put their minds on autopilot, and allow computers to decide right from wrong, and how to navigate life’s hazards.
For example, something like: pray one rain drop into a spring shower, pray a half penny into a mortgage payment, pray respect for your spouse into a solid marriage, pray a pre-natal baby into a healthy teenager, pray one note into the cosmic opera sung out against evil!


The admiral: “Rightfully someone could choose to stop chain smoking, someone could choose a lifestyle of personal responsibility without complaining about my other children, or someone could choose to stop binge watching screens of violence and of naughtiness.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483555300

Book preview

978-1-4835553-0-0

Field trip to the Liquid Arch

Incoming plasma beam, bellows a teen-aged unknown soldier which could be anyone, just as his flesh is beginning to melt from the intense heat of the plasma broiling up his once hairy legs.

Frighteningly, his belief system only allows him to click the customer help button on his personal electronic device, as his humanness is being burned off the sneering face of a world gone weird. His carbon based flesh is now de-evolving into a knee high puddle of goo, which he is painfully sinking into.

His soul belief in a silicon based theocracy is not saving him from the enemy’s applications. Helplessly watching his flesh melting down into a puddle, which is now almost waist deep, is filling his mind with terror, and with uncertainties about the salesman’s extended warranty plan for his device.

His alcohol impregnated liver explodes like a Molotov cocktail. The obese fat which imprisons his abdominal region glows like a candle burning at both ends. His tobacco stained lungs inflame with the stench of an oil refinery blaze.

The soldiers in his battalion are too clever to give a man a hand because each of them is clinging on to their personal smarty-ask screens for dear life, while they flip-off the archetypal application created by the manufacturer himself to raise them out of harm’s way.

Twinkling light energies of past memories stored in his brain are now escaping through his optic nerves, as his life passes before his eyes. Nonchalantly he offers a halfhearted prayer as the enemy’s weapon for tolerant hypocrites tightens about his neck like a noose of the hoodwinked.

Incredibly to his mind’s eye, a down pouring of some amazingly graceful energy is opening above the fox hole of his worldly position. Flowing from a dazzling green energy ring which surrounds an admirable chair, the marvelous down pouring appears to be composed of the friendly colorings of the visible light spectrum, like a rainbow of coolness.

Suddenly he hears a familial sweet bass voice from inside of the green energy ring, yet above the din of all universe bubbles. The very phonemes of speech are majestically carried within atoms of hydrogen.

The sweet bass voice: "My child I placed one call per day to you, yet since the y-2-k infection you have not been listening, and are confused about the locator bearings to your homeland.

Have you remembered when we clearly and dearly beheld and hugged each other in our mutual self image? Have you remembered as I am offering you a re-assignment within my honor corps? Have you remembered as I am offering you a beautiful garland to replace your wasted ashes?

Have you remembered as I am offering you a jar full of joyous oil to replace your mourning? Have you remembered as I am offering you a new garment to replace your failing spirit?

Choosing to believe other soldiers, you also misplaced your first love when you chose to stare blankly at the wily animated, yet lifeless smarty-ask screen.

Disastrously that visage which you can only glimpse when your back is to the sun, is neither your reflection nor mine, but is the face of evil distracting his latest appetizer just before the next bar-b-que of his kind of people.

Behold, I tell you a mystery. You shall not sleep, but you shall be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be …."

Terrifically there comes an electronic shrieking of mind piercing frequency which interferes with the message. The enemy of all humanity is hacking the unknown teen’s mind, is hijacking the unknown teen’s freedom, is dissolving the unknown teen’s self confidence, and is cursing all teens everywhere of their self worth proclamations.

Sabotaging his fall, while coyly fraternizing with the enemy, the mental constructs of the physical world have become deeply imbedded into his personality.

Grinding in the crucible of this life or death moment, the new world ordered values are desperately fighting to isolate his conscience from the … cool word energy flowing down the waterslide of life.

His last chance visualization up the waterslide is eclipsed by the falling acidity of his fermenting tongue. Like vomiting coffee grounds, the carbon of his last breath is oozing over his tart lips.

Voice of the teen-aged unknown soldier: Dammit all, eternity isn’t digital after all-ahhh!

Choosing instead to listen to bullies’ echoes chasing him from embarrassing social media, then chastising him, he speaks his last rights over himself, just as he has been secretly rehearsing since he accepted the teen challenge.

Sinking into the depths of misery, his organs are being flash-fried like giblets at a cannibal’s holiday. For every day that the righteous warriors are caught off guard becomes the enemy’s feast day. Every person giving ground feels like they have become targeted as a buffet item.

Dishearteningly, if he had a stomach, he would be nauseously retching. Tragically with diaphragm now sizzling like a greasy burger on a short order grill, it’s too late for him to speak. Ironically if he had a mouth he would scream like a banshee, but too late.

If he had ears he could listen, but too late. If he had hands he could reach, but too late. Too late he understands that the digital world is really only a hollow mockery of reality.

Harrowingly, as his self identity is oozing away, his lonely heart begins showing spider web cracks of betrayal as the unbegotten ribs are being charbroiled. With ever increasing pressure from the enemy, his irregular heart begins vibrating in time to their violent frequencies.

But wait, something is waddling onto the field of battle. Its round, brown, and it is singing a song.

Goofy song: La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la.

Victory is yet his choice, if only he could remember the lines from his training manual. But alas, with the rupturing pain of irredeemable agony, his exquisite heart shatters like an exploding crystal chalice.

Precariously another casualty of the populist, yet ambivalent worldly belief system, his loyalties have been thrashing back and forth like loose but explosive cannon on the slick and insecure decking of the world’s platform.

Tilting upon a bony atlas the skull staggers between a port of fools and a starboard ark of salvation, like a titter totter of destiny. Inescapably his lurching skull begins ominously listing to port as he is getting an ear full of the boiling pus.

Suffering through a teen lifetime of bytes of techno-maggots, his disembodied skull is overburdened, and the unknown skull is flipped upside down in the world’s volatile economy.

The chic yellow smiley face that has been his mask for too long, is now glowing through the hot wavelengths of orange, red, crimson, and finally to the fiery scarlet of a lifetime embarrassment of worshipping a binary-being.

Horrifically as his life’s desires are being converted into dark energy, he is sinking away from the zesty covering of the coolness of the visible light spectrum, through the anti-rainbow energies of darkness and down into the invisible dark spectrum where the enemy have been quarantined from time immemorial.

Like an ark top-heavy with head knowledge floating totally alone, lost on a seemingly endless sea of sorrows, his victimized head is aimlessly drifting atop a puddle of dirty melting flesh.

His pony tail is burning away like strands of a rope ladder; his last tears vaporizing like joyous oil destroyed on an alter of fire brick.

The ramshackle mind of once infinite potential now lost in the growling tempest, is overly filled with worldly information and is sinking into the flames ignited by his own hot flesh.

Tragically like a rudderless pleasure yacht who wandered away from the north-star and now is captured in volcanic lava flows, his last rights are becoming a casualty.

Sparkling like the Fourth of July, the cocaine in the brain ignites his cells into an aurora borealis of dementia projecting ghastly phantoms inside the cavalier skull … uhhh ahhh! Totally unreal and eternally unimportant, knowledge, feelings, and opinions are escaping like gas bubbles passing.

Held captive in an aimless skull lost and adrift in its’ own idolatries, the null brain succumbs to a rolling boil, and a once unique personality drowns in sulphuric fuming grey sludge.

Vaporizing away like gas from a savage teakettle, a lifetime’s self esteem of memory storage in this ravaged mind, burned by its’ own co-dependency to flesh, is reluctantly letting off steam.

Sadistically in the last irony, the lost vapor is accused of adding particulate matter to the new world’s atmosphere which will not tolerate freedom choices … and he is dead forever.

His one sided over reliance upon worldly applications has caused his skull to capsize, to go down by the head and to become just only another statistic … of the fiery rip tides of pandemonium.

Foolishly rushing into the death zone comes something resembling an obese teenaged cinnamon bear singing a goofy song as she skips along.

Goofy song: La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la.

Unexpectedly to all in the world, his life was merely a vapor and so all teen-aged unknown soldiers go. All that is left of a rewarding lifetime is a digital device floating atop the charred carbon based sludge.

Ironically, as if it had a mind of its own, an application is playing a song about being a small world after all. The enemy’s sonic weapons are vibrating old mommy earth’s tectonic plates until all plates are strung out like trinkets on the enemy’s bracelet of charm.

A putrefying stench like rotten eggs is broiling up from the diseased bowels of old mother earth. In celebration of an easy victory, a shrieking of evil laughter is splitting the air molecules as the red mushroom shaped plasma explosion wipes out another wave of the righteous humans.

Being pounded down by the stresses of the fearful red energy plasma weapon bombardment, various human groups are divisively blaming each other for the enemy attacks.

It was the best of times, yet now it is becoming the worst of humans’ time. The world is off its hinges, the walls are down, the foundations are crumbling the gateway is broken; the bridge to the future is twisted back upon itself in the perpetual addictions of self pleasure.

Marketing commandoes are offering the emotional bait of pseudo-safety in exchange for total surrendering of personal liberties.

A new world order is fraudulently being conjured together with disingenuous promises of legalese and the shaming of psychobabble. In the face of enemy fear the new world order wasn’t founded upon rock, but upon four hyper inflated bubbles of gaseous reassurances.

First the selfish bubble of self indulgence, then the savings and loan bubble, then the housing bubble followed quickly by the investment bubble.

In the days of mutual respect for law and order this battlefield was known as the school of hard knocks. However the front line warriors valiantly believe in victory but put no trust in surrender.

Seemingly oblivious to the battle of supernatural life or death which is over shadowing the world, the obese teen of some brownish appearance continues skipping into harm’s way as she sings even louder.

Goofy song: La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la.

Losing friends and new families faster than they can be replaced, and succumbing to the finality of universal genocide, a minority of peoples of the planet is reuniting against humanity’s common enemy. Proudly displaced on the right shoulders of their refitted uniforms are the letters u-s-a.

In accommodation they stand as the united spiritual authority. Misunderstood, these besieged warriors from the seven continents under the command of Captain Josh, and submariners from the seven seas lead by Commander R’bec’, are making the last stand in some old adobe buildings on school ground. Bravely the bullet scarred adobe is being used as a command and control center.

Under relentless attacks from the inhuman stalkers of life’s energies which are the common enemy of humanity, all systems of cooperation have been undermined, and the last stand has become the world school for all humans at risk of broken heartedness.

The weapons of the u-s authority are positioned upon a tripod of agreement, which is similar to a fifty caliber machine gun mounted on a physical tripod.

Infinitely more powerful, these mental energy weapons are activated by one warrior plus one submariner plus one teen standing together, like a faithful family united against the one and only enemy.

Regrettably, now the evil sounds of the enemy sonic slander-weapon are criss-crossing in front of the school, tearing out pieces of human flesh as the evil infantry beguiles the home guard of our warriors with word curses.

The enemy’s whisperings of gossip and false accusations are still igniting friendly fire within the family of human kind.

Captain Josh: Commander R’bec’, call admiral ad infinitum for reinforcements. Report that we have a hopeless broken arrow situation. Hey, where is that peculiar company B that were being held in reserve? Are they on the lamb, or are they still deployed in that flanking maneuver through the electro-chem forest of mulberry trees?

Commander R’bec’: Sir, there is so many enemy distractions, that’s it’s difficult to be sure of our orders. There is so much static on the line, oh stand by, I believe headquarters on the perfect planet is redeploying company B for some secret operation deep behind enemy lines.

Captain Josh: Rebecca, it’s too late, every man warrior of ya fall back, evacuate the command base! Now the enemy is using some type of neutron weaponry, because it attacks only flesh, yet selectively protects silicon based infrastructure as the fittest to survive. We must hold until the last! Rebecca is there any word from headquarters, Rebecca?

Commander R’bec’: Oh no, the enemy has unleashed a broadside. Joshua, all is lost until the admiral sends help. Stand by … a fragmented message … losing signal … sumpthin’ ‘bout deployin’ sum portly shield bearin’ … and, and that’s all sir.

Clorissa, a chubby teenager, waddles in from far beyond left field of the school’s baseball diamond. She is wearing a faux, yet pompous cinnamon bear-coat complete with a hoodie and two cloth ears.

Ironically ambivalent, the right ear is perking up and moving forward, yet surprisingly the left ear has drooped down behind her apathy, as if teenagers are double minded.

This trend setting ensemble exaggerates her limp, pondering walk. But having a heart to share with others, she is bringing a tin box of cookies to the exhausted warriors. She is rebuked, and hollered