Cradle of Chaos

By Minnie Lahongrais

Teenager Dante Blanco has experienced much loss in his life. When his mother was killed during a mugging, he moved to Southern California with his mother's best friend, Maggie. One night at the water's edge at Mission Beach, he encounters a silver orb bobbing on the ocean's surface while tossing sea shells. What Dante doesn't know is that the orb is part of an icon revered by alien creatures called Trans-Celestials and it has been purposely dropped to Earth by a hybrid alien creature. When another breed of Trans-Celestial beings from a land called Orbitia make contact with him, Dante learns he has been chosen to return the orb to its rightful place. This seems impossible as he is faced with one obstacle after another. Will he accomplish his mission?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lahongrais Enterprises, LLC
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780988401648

Minnie Lahongrais

Author of speculative fiction with a paranormal edge, I am a native New Yorker raised in East Harlem and educated in NYC's public school system. I later studied at Borough of Manhattan Community College, also in New York.My debut novel, “Sinner’s Ride” was released in 2011. It was followed by “Divergent Lives” a year later. Inspired, I went to work on what she thought would be just one book entitled "Resurrection of Dead Dreams." This story has turned into an ambitious fantasy saga told in multiple books still in progress.When the COVID pandemic grabbed a hold of the world and began to spread, I chose to resign from my job as a Legal Secretary at a prominent law firm in New York’s Times Square. While self-isolating, I turned to WIPS in my file and settled on CRADLE OF CHAOS. This fantasy story was inspired by current worldwide events and re-written in an attempt to offer an explanation for the world’s current woes using alien creatures I dubbed “Trans-Celestials”.I currently live in a suburb of New Jersey.

Book preview

Cradle of ChaosFull Page Image

Copyright © 2021 by Minnie Lahongrais

Cover Design Copyright © 2021 by Dayne Peterkin

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021910529

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission in writing from the copyright owner (the author), except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cradle of Chaos

How a Teenager Helps Save Two Worlds

Minnie Lahongrais

Cover Design by

Dayne Peterkin

Lahongrais Enterprises, LLC

Contents

Humanity

Prologue

Rampant Evil Deeds

Catalina

The Blancos

Angel’s Abusive Ways

Angel’s Shenanigans

Damon Hollis

Angel’s Release

Damon and Catalina

Catalina’s Death

Dante Blanco

Dante and the Trans Celestials

A Disturbing Re-Appearance

It Begins

Doubt

A Revelation

Aliens do Exist

Angel Enacts his Plan

The Press is Alerted

Earth Meet Orbitia

Can Mankind Save Itself?

Earth, A Cradle of Chaos

Earth, Meet Humanica

What Propelled Humanica’s Visit?

The Clamor for Dante

End Results

Dante, Meet Ovus Marinus

Ovus Marinus and Angel on a Mission

Mayhem and Upheaval

We’re Not on Earth Anymore

Pain Goes Hand in Hand with Tragedy

Nes’ochistic Ritual and Ceremony

Epilogue

Orbitians and Humans Unite

Final Thoughts

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Minnie Lahongrais

Humanity

What you might see as depravity is, to me, just another aspect of the human condition. ~~ Asia Argento

Prologue

Earth's beauty has been destroyed. The greatest country on Earth is painfully struggling to climb atop its shaky foundation of feigned democracy, equality and peace. Sustained trauma has normalized violence.

Attempts to conquer the disease no one could get a handle on, gripped the medical community and held it in a stranglehold. Two years in, a vaccine becomes accessible, and all are required to carry proof of vaccination.

Twenty years since the last known victim passed away. Little acknowledgment was made of the event because the pain and horror of it all did not end. Leaders the world over continue to splash screens with ads showing positive images, lying to the public, as they televise messages of hope and promises of progress to their gas-lit viewers.

Responsibility for true recovery and growth falls not on the shoulders of the leaders of the free world, but on the back of a young soul chosen to complete the formidable mission of protecting humanity's existence while saving an alien culture from annihilation.

In addition, another world war might be brewing. Protests on behalf of racial equality in America spring up everywhere as allies around the world join in the protest against global and systemic racial injustice.

Rampant Evil Deeds

Ican't breathe! Get. Off. Me! I. C... c... can't breathe!

Last words uttered by a homeless teenage boy as he took his final breaths while being held by a policeman on the ground in an illegal choke hold in Houston, Texas.

Yo! My man! He can't breathe! a bystander filming the incident yells.

Two of the officer's teammates look around, unsure what to do next. Both of the rookies are shocked by what is happening. Many of the outraged spectators are people of color, further elevating the cops' fear.

He's not moving. Shouldn't you check on him?, one of the rookies questioned the senior officer, the one choking the life out of another human being. The rookie couldn't wrap his head around the idea he had to ask permission to check on a person's well-being.

Nah. He's good. If he can talk, he can breathe. Go back to your post.

Let... me ... g...

There was a gurgle, then a whisper.

I can't ... I ca... t.

I'm calling for transport to the hospital.

No! Go back to your post! That's an order!

Aren't you going to help him? the person filming the officer's actions hollered.

Roll him on to his back! He's not breathing, shouted another witness.

Upset by having to bear witness to such a sight, the rookie gagged. He turned his back on his superior officer, walked away, and reached for his cellphone.

I can't let this happen.

The rookie defied his superior's orders and called for an ambulance. By the time help arrived, it was too late.

Another innocent African American young man was assassinated in broad day light and in plain view of multiple witnesses by another white cop.

Why?

Because he was given a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill while begging on the streets.

$20! Enough to go right to the deli and buy something to drink and a sandwich!

The homeless teenager ordered a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, a bottle of water and a cup of coffee. When he tried to pay, the cashier stalled.

Please wait here a moment. I need to get the key to the register.

No problem, he replied.

It's not like I have somewhere to go.

Thanks. I'll be right back.

The store owner headed toward the back office to call the police. Bedlam followed.

Someone in the crowd tossed a half-full paper coffee cup. It torpedoed toward the officer making the arrest and hit him on the forehead, drenching him in sizzling hot, black coffee. He snatched his weapon from his holster and fired into the crowd. Six people were shot, two dead. An investigation was conducted. Two weeks later, all three policemen were arrested and charged with murder.

The trial is still pending as protests the world over spring up in support of, not only this victim, but all victims of police brutality.

Springtime in New York City is a whole experience. Affairs such as Fashion and Restaurant Weeks electrify the town. Museums are packed and outdoor functions are scheduled. As a bonus, the sunset as always, is gorgeous.

One evening, the sun sported an orange glow, showcasing itself spectacularly through the windows of the famous Walter's Grill in Greenwich Village, where expectant fathers, John and Bill are having an after-dinner drink.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

It's time!

John's smile broadened as he whispered excitedly to his partner, who also received the same message.

Gather our things. I'll go find out what's holding up the check.

John rose from the table with a nervous sigh. He retrieved his wallet from his pocket and headed toward the cashier.

After settling their bill, the giddy, hand holding couple left the restaurant, bouncing on the balls of their feet with joy and exuberance in their eyes. Their eagerly awaited baby was making its way into the world. It took a great deal of inner strength for them not to explode with glee as they attempted to hail a cab.

I think it would be quicker if we just walk to the hospital, babe, a nervous Bill suggested to his partner of ten years.

Both were anxious with worry, particularly Bill. He believed it a waste of time to try to get a cab anywhere near the eerily quiet street.

Yeah, I suppose, John relented with hesitation.

Something feels off.

Oh, come on! It's a gorgeous night, Bill insisted.

Yes, it is.

John forced a smile.

This will probably be the last time we're able to do anything like this again, you know, just the two of us taking a walk.

Bill rambled on, not actually expecting a response. John considered his partner’s suggestion, but before he could decide, he was being pulled along, turning then walking swiftly.

Excuse me, please?

The couple had only gone a few feet before they were interrupted by a middle-aged, clean-shaven man who wore a baseball cap and a dark blue, lightweight jacket. His voice was deep, with a distinct, yet unrecognizable accent.

Hate to bother you, he began.

I need help finding my way. Which way to the nearest train station? Can you point me in the right direction?

The man held out a map of the New York City Transit System with a shaky hand.

Bill wanted to pretend not to notice this intrusion. He wanted to continue on their way. John felt danger roiling in his gut but ignored the warning.

Sure. Let me see, John peered down at the small print on the faded paper, folded into three long flaps.

Oh, you only need to go four blocks south. This is where we are.

Take this street, John began, pointing in the direction the man needed to go.

It will take you to the West 4th Street subway station. You'll see the entrance as you approach. You can't miss it. That station is a major exchange point, so you'll be able to board any train you need.

The smile on John's face was so bright it could be heard in his voice.

Hope that helps, he added as he handed the map back to the man.

John turned from the stranger and began walking away, easily matching Bill's quick pace. The bad feeling he had was getting stronger.

There was another tug at his shirtsleeve.

I'm sorry, sir?

Again, the man advanced toward him.

I'm not from these parts and I'm confused. Can you please show me the route again?

John, Bill sighed in anxious protest.

Don't worry. There is plenty of time. Relax. This will only take a second.

Rounding his cheeks with exasperation before blowing out a puff of garlicky breath, John released Bill's hand to reach for the stranger's map once more.

Alright then. Let me show you where to look for your landmarks.

The couple barely realized what was happening. Time crawled, but the acts of violence came in a flurry. Neither of the men could defend themselves or each other. One minute John stood proudly upright while helping a man with directions. The next, he was on the ground bleeding heavily.

The subway map fluttered to the ground as if in a movie. John grabbed a hold of his fire-hot rib cage. The warmth of his blood rushing from him; the sight of it dripping from his hand to the ground – he gasped. Terror echoed within him, his mouth agape as he frantically searched for his partner.

Bill?

Sadly, Bill was prone on the ground just a few feet away from the love of his life. John could not bear to watch as he clawed at his throat for air. He closed his eyes in despair.

We should be admiring our baby, not dying on a street in Greenwich Village.

Brain matter oozed from the back of Bill's head, the result of a huge gaping hole made with a bat wielded by a second quick moving accomplice, dressed similarly to the first man.

As he looked down at his victims, the first assailant’s mouth moved. Mercifully, neither of the victims could read lips. They did not understand what was being spewed about them, their lifestyle. The attacker’s words were so ugly, so vile no one should speak them, let alone think them.

Just as they had lived, they died in tandem as blood flowed from their bodies. Gurgling bile, blood and saliva trapped their last breaths in their throats while the cowards who did this rummaged through their pockets. Once cash and credit cards were re-possessed, the lovers were left sprawled on the street like garbage.

Months later, the neighborhood where this occurred still felt frustrated by law enforcement. There was no security video and no one who would go on the record. The stranger who approached the happy couple and his accomplice were never found. Justice would never prevail.

Alittle over a month after the murders of John and Bill, a bell rang at a high school in Hamtramck, Michigan signaling the start of the weekend. Fatimah Saadiq, a sophomore, quickly gathered her books, anxious to leave the school grounds. Amirah, her new baby sister, was home waiting, and she couldn't wait to play with her little human doll.

I need to make the first bus out.

Fatimah, please stop by my desk on your way out, Mr. Basel, her homeroom teacher requested as the classroom emptied.

Irritated, Fatimah zipped her bag closed and trudged to her teacher's desk.

Yes?

Fatimah, I wanted to talk to you about your grades.

Um, ok.

Please, Have a seat.

He gestured at an empty desk in the front row. Fatimah shifted her weight from one leg to the other, almost stomping her feet in protest.

Mr. Basel, can't this wait until Monday? Please? I've got to be on that first bus out.

This will only take a minute. Please, sit.

Fine, she answered, before she slammed her book bag on the desk her teacher pointed to.

Fatimah noisily dragged out the chair from behind it and flung herself into it, huffing as she crossed her arms against her chest. Mr. Basel sighed. He sat on the edge of his desk; feet crossed at the ankles; his hands toyed with a black dry marker as he eyed his favorite student.

Why is she so upset?

He waited for her to calm down.

Ordinarily, Fatimah, your work is outstanding. But I noticed a steady decline lately. What's going on?

Nothing's going on, she replied with a suck of her teeth.

He tried once more.

How are things at home?

Everything is fine, she shrugged with a smirk.

Congratulations on the new baby sister! Amirah, is it?

Fatimah tucked her chin into her chest while eyeing her teacher.

Yes, Amirah, and thank you.

I would imagine things must be hectic with a new baby.

Well, yeah, they are, but I'm fine. I'll study harder; bring my grades up, if that is what you're getting at.

He blinked.

Would you like me to schedule time with a tutor for you?

No, thank you.

Mr. Basel tilted his head.

No, she repeated.

I'm good. Thank you, once again, for your consideration, but I can manage.

Fatimah discreetly glanced at the digital clock on the wall right above Mr. Basel's balding head. Wispy salt and pepper curls framed his shiny baldness creating the illusion of a glowing halo if the light was just right. She stared as the red LED light flipped from six to seven minutes after the hour.

It is past three. No choice now.

Are you sure?

Fatimah re-focused on Mr. Basel before eyeing him.

I'm sorry. What?

Are you sure you don't want me to arrange for a tutor?

Oh! Yes. Yes, sir, I'm sure. Is that all?

Mr. Basel pursed his lips, frustrated he couldn't reach her.

Yes, that is all. You can go, but don't forget. I'm here to help you in any way, Fatimah.

Yes, I know, she snapped then remembered her manners.

Thank you, Mr. Basel.

Alright now, go on. Enjoy the weekend.

Fatimah rushed out of the classroom. Her heart pounded in her throat as she left the room. Upon arriving at the bus stop, she saw her long-time tormentors were still hanging around.

Why are they still here? I'm not riding with them.

Fatimah pulled her shoulders back and straightened up before losing her resolve.

They'll think I'm scared of them.

The teenager struggled with her inner self, but in the end, she decided to walk home. With renewed determination, she took a deep breath, held her head higher than usual and bravely walked past her oppressors, her eyes looking straight ahead and unblinking for fear of crying.

Fatty Ma! Why do you always wear black?

Hey Fat! Are you in mourning?

She ain't in mourning! She's wearing a black bed sheet because she ain't got no clothes that fit her Fat Ass! It shoulda been white, then she could be, like, you know, Casper the Friendly Ghost's sister!

They carried on with their hurtful teasing as she tried to keep it together. She succeeded -- for about a minute. Then she heard their spiteful laughter.

Damned witch! You're so evil, you gotta pray five times a day to cleanse your soul!

Don't blow us up! Please! My life matters!

As tears stung her eyes, her nose tingled, and their words tore away pieces of her soul. Still, she refused to let them see her break. Fatimah bit down on her lower lip and continued moving forward until she could no longer hear their vile taunts.

She walked along and forced herself to think about pleasantries, like Amirah, bringing a bright smile to Fatimah's face. Her baby sister was such a happy baby. She couldn't wait to cuddle with her, make her giggle while playing tickle games and excite the child to the point where all you hear is uncontrolled laughter.

She smiled.

Mr. Basel was right. My grades have slipped. I'll work harder; bring them back up.

She was no longer thinking about her troubles. Humming a pleasant tune, Fatimah walked past the last house on Hollow Strip. Suddenly, her head jerked back with a hard pull of her hijab and hair. Fatimah fell backward in slow motion as she struggled against an unknown force to steady herself.

They followed me!

She was angry and prepared to fight back with all she had. Fatimah turned to eye her attacker. Her heart gripped with fear, she realized this was not someone she recognized. The man was dirty, obviously homeless. Little gray balls of lint sprinkled his matted beard. She spotted specks of crusted blood around his nostrils above his gnarly grin, baring teeth trimmed with black plaque. His clothes made her gag from the acrid smell of stale urine.

Fatimah let out such a gut-wrenching howl, she didn't recognize it herself. Undeterred, he held his prey vise-like in his arms while clamping a giant, grimy hand over her mouth before dragging her behind a thick bush large enough to keep them hidden from view.

Boldly, Fatimah thrashed about, feebly elbowing her captor. He pressed harder on her mouth, almost suffocating her with his massive hand. She shook her head violently to get him off her. That didn't work. Instead, he tightened his grip. Fatimah took a ragged breath before she bit into his stinky, filthy hand as hard as she could, and drew blood. The pain she inflicted on him released the clamp on her face. She took off running for the edge of the yard.

This is it. All I have to do is get out of this yard.

The poor girl