The Box, and the Shiny Red Ball

By Mark A. Fettig

After drifting off into every realm imaginable, a curiosity soon came to mind about another world - a world where spirits played. As the shiny red ball bounced around in my box minded head, I wondered - can the spirit be released through the use of cryogenic storage, and, if so, would the spirit respect its obligation towards the body when it thawed?
...And then comes the spiritual worlds inclusion to the argument, "What kind of knowledge would it allow to be shared?"
The story begins in a land many times long ago, during a period when the planets ability to sustain life was failing to keep up with the radical changes of its seemingly final days.
Many years before this, a man had won one granting from G.O.D. - to be the last man left alive.
Set aside (but not lost) a single cell now rested frozen in a womb - buried beneath the barrens of an ice laden land.
Once it had become created the being had the same rights offered to all mankind to give birth to a spirit, and so forth, forced a new beginning, and eventually lead to the creation of the minds that we now know.
Utilizing a primitive frame, the art of cryogenics becomes normal practice for a man that refused to ever die, as if to prevent mankind from having the same end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9781477162989

Mark A. Fettig

Born outside of Seattle, February of 1969, Mark Fettig has traveled the United States extensively, living each day for the stories that only life can create. Utilizing a ‘school of hard knocks’ education, here, within these pages, his words…lie.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

_____________________

FORGOTTEN SOULS

It was the sixth full turn of a lune, 4130—not A.D., nor was it considered B.C.

Sitting inside of a small office in a very distanced time and place—a couple was awaiting the start of a presentation. From the back side of two brown-haired heads; a man, was sitting beside a woman, holding a ratty edged picture of an environment’s design…

"Does it really feel worth it?" the man asked casually.

"It most likely will when we are finished here; only then will we really know," the woman replied much the same.

The man swiped a handful of locks, running his fingers through the full length of her manicured strands—causing the echo of a silk-like rustle to rise as her hair was being shifted from a combed look, into something more enticing.

Be nice! Sachula scorned playfully.

. . . As a couple, Habidsut and Sachula had been saving their credits for over three bintons now, and they had quite a lot to invest—two-hundred thousand lickboons to be exact.

I know you’ve always dreamed of having your own, natural surroundings, style of dwelling…

Instead of that drably downscale one we’re in now? Sachula interrupted.

"Soon enough, it will come," Habidsut said.

After a while, the two set the picture to the side, sitting then silent as they held one another’s hand. Flashes came before them as they remembered the spiel that was given.

It will seem as if you had drifted into a very long sleep, and then woke up again—only it won’t be, the very next day.

Habidsut snapped from his flash as if to be waking up from a drift, and then, after a short gaze towards her, he whispered into her ear, I had a wonderful time with you last night.

Do you think you’ll be ready again when this is over? Sachula asked finally, sparking a smile between the two.

Another moment passed as a thousand thoughts ran through.

Looking up at a frame-less wall, Habidsut passed a vibration her way I hope I can wait that long.

He then sent a mysterious glance towards her, his nuptualistic adorner, suggesting a need for another session might need to come sooner.

Sex (in their world) was as casual as a mere handshake, but it wasn’t translated quite the same as some have come to define it; theirs was meant solely for the fulfillment of inner needs; never was there shame within their minds.

. . . But, the people of their time had nothing more than a life to live; at least, that’s what has come to be understood (in ours).

As situations dwell, the couple became restless, so they went into a special space, created just for that purpose.

As soon as the door closed around them, they spent a short while embracing in the form for the act, and then they slipped right into the flow without concern. For fifteen minutes, all they did was enjoy the passion the act created, while ecstasy was at its peak.

The door slid open mid-drift, and in walked two nurses, accompanied by a man known only as, Dr. Phurbish.

Trying not to spoil their mood, he looked around for a starting point, Hello to you. the Dr. began, "If you need a few more moments—perhaps it would be more exciting if we all took part?"

We were enjoying quite a moment, yes, but we are finished for a while, I think? replied Habidsut, looking towards Sachula.

How long ago was it that you first nupped? The doctor asked next.

We first nupped six bintons ago in a quickie captivator—it was just a short time after our first meeting, back in Yourmanit. Habidsut replied happily.

Dr. Phurbish turned towards Sachula, who was smiling his way contentedly.

"There were many a room visited that week, but we stopped not there, as we first seen come round a binton, before we’d realized a lune had even turned," replied Sachula while grabbing a good hold onto Habidsut’s hand.

Yes… well, it looks as if the two of you fit together quite fine. The doctor said, motioning for them to follow as he and his words went trailing off across the walkway—it’s good to see such innocence his thoughts reminded.

Stopping as if to be seeing something in the distance, he slowly allowed his gaze to follow until it made the full turn into Sachula’s eyes, where he held the stare for a moment, and then he let it drift on to Habidsut before he spoke again.

"We will need to separate you into your own areas for the rest of the afternock, but we will first need to go over the finer toothed details of this experiment—and I need to caution you a bit against some of the more than necessary activities… like intercourse." he added while stepping over to a desk.

The desire for more credits was what had drawn them into the experiment.

When the two of them were invited to take part, they were elated, but in order to receive their bounty, they would need to spend the next five years sealed in a strange box.

How big is this box, again? Habidsut asked reluctantly.

The doctor stood for several moments before turning towards them.

Yeah, if we are going to be in there for five years, we’ll need something to do besides sit around, won’t we? Sachula asked timidly.

Twelve by seven-six feet tall. The doctor replied.

And how will we get our nourishments?

During the experiment, you will be frozen at over 400 degrees below zero.

"If you think we will take part in that, you are absolutely nuts!" Sachula shouted.

"Aside from my personal guarantee over your safety, you have already agreed to endure this experiment no matter how grueling a time it becomes beforehand—during won’t be an issue."

Dr. Phurbish stood with his hand on his head, smiling at the two with a glow to his eyes.

They can’t back out, now.

Dreaming within his mind as to what the unlimited possibilities were that this true survival technique would be providing for society—it was unimaginable in the sight of his motives.

As quickly as his power trip came, he overpowered it and gained composure, stepping his words into a more compassionate tone.

"I must be fair; there are some things that we still aren’t sure of—as I have explained through our use of the term ‘experiment’.

We are 95 percent sure that you can both be brought back; the unsure part has to do with whether or not you will survive with all of your memories secured.

Stopping to look around the room—he wanted to ease some of the tension with a joke, but there was too much to talk about, so he kept to the points of interest.

"The first thing you need to know is the most important one to understand. Our intention with this project, as you know, is to sustain life for a very long period of time, so that, in the event an unfavorable change should occur in our environment, it won’t leave our planet uninhabited.

"What we’re trying to accomplish will be a reinvented procedure called cryogenics, also known as freezing to some," he added, pointing at the two of them.

"We will need to study the effects that this may have on both, the body and the mind, as it is a potentially risky proposal.

"We also need to be sure that the metals we’ve chosen will not dissolve under these, or any other circumstances, as it would be most unfortunate to find yourself prematurely thawing out in a still uninhabitable world.

"There have been three missions to the planet Stanzafar, our mother world. It is, as you probably have heard, still uninhabited, but it does provide us with the ore we need.

". . . After we acquired the base materials, they were then mixed to form the composite for the outer structure of the boxes.

We are using the same designs that were used during the first visits here, so we are sure that these boxes will hold up and ‘survive the tests of eternity.’ he added, with a wink towards a nurse.

"You also may know, but if you have been living in a closet—the Governing Order of Derth expects the volcanic activities around the planet to continue in their instability—we fear that things will become so unstable by the year 4200, that the air will eventually choke us out of our natural existence.

"Over the last twelve bintons, twenty-five engineers have been deployed to the planet Marsula, colonizing it successfully so far.

"They have been very successful in finding the necessary gas, and I must say, it was quite a joyful moment when word came back so quickly—we are one mission away from having enough to fill all of the boxes."

By the time the preparations, we will have our quota—and then some. Dr. Phurbish added.

It sounds so risky. Sachula said, "Have you yourself considered being placed in that state of being?"

As Dr. Phurbish spoke silently, he thought about that very situation, during which time, Habidsut was drawn to Sachula—she was shedding a fearful tear, and trembling slightly.

The thought alone—being frozen alive, and not waking up again until all we knew of was gone? Dr. Phurbish reiterated.

"It is hitting my reality; center and full to the point. she replied gracefully, and then, the images frosted her eye’s interpretation, causing her emotions to all but freeze into a harshly cold stare, What if this doesn’t work—will we die?"

"You will most certainly die sooner or later—if our projections are correct, it might be sooner for all of us—if we can’t make this project a success, that is." he continued.

"We may only take on a turn for the better if the increasingly volatile activities cease, but there is nothing we can foresee which will alter this from happening any time soon.

"Our society has entered the planet too early in her cycle, that’s all; but if it helps make you feel any better, we have been doing this for five bintons now.

What exactly is the survival rate? Habidsut asked.

"We have never lost a human specimen yet; you however, are to be the first human test pilots to be placed in the pod; but none to worry—flesh is flesh." the doctor answered coldly.

As it seems right now, if we live, there wouldn’t be much to live for. Habidsut said, trying to spark some confidence.

Worry isn’t one of my natural reactions, but it’s beginning to swell some. Sachula admitted wearily.

As they plunged into the depths of the iris’s that each shared, a deeper understanding flowed, almost as if the two were sharing their currents wirelessly.

The nurse stepped up and took the two by their shoulders with her Helga-like arms I would like to apologize for his bedside mannerisms—he can be a bit insensitive, we’ve been trying to get him to lighten up, but he’s just too clinical.

Dr. Phurbish looked to her with a rather odd smile, suggesting that deeper designs of thought were lurking.

"About the test boxes; each unit is totally self-contained, and each of them can even generate their own power using a little something we call radiationism."

"What exactly is ‘radiationism’?" Habidsut asked.

Radiationism is an experimental power supply which regenerates itself indefinitely by burning it cylindrically into other forms of energy.

Looking dissatisfied, Habidsut and Sachula stared into their images of what life in the box would be like, while Dr. Phurbish wrote down some numbers.

The nurse laughed to herself—she knew how he was within these reaches, but with strangers, he was too much (stranger).

On the outside, he was smug and professional—on the inside he was gleaming.

While their words weren’t within earshot, she complimented his composure, while drawing from his confidence.

This is the best audience you’ve had yet.

Why do you say that?

"At least they are human."

He turned, looking at the couple as he leaned to his desk, Yeah, and I guess intermission’s almost over… are we ready for the next step?

Always doctor… always.

The doctor walked over to the couple, startling them as to how close he’d managed to get.

Relax you two. Aside from time’s passing, you will have nothing to worry about. We will be monitoring your box continuously, and after the experiment is completed, you will be stripped clean of any damage that may occur.

As long as we don’t die first, right?

Right… so if there are no questions, we will be ready to begin the next stage. he added smugly.

Habidsut and Sachula had gone from feeling confident, to a point rarely reached in their culture-scared, but not terrified—with a few wordless acknowledgments, they shied from the torrents of questions normal to their confusion.

Reluctantly, they agreed, and so, they were led to the room which would prepare them for the encapsulation within their new home, the box.

. . . Very well equipped, it had all the signs to suggest that this was not just an experiment, but that they would be enduring a true test of time’s tempers instead.

While Habidsut and Sachula were being walked through the many gadgets—and as the different procedures were explained, they even began to believe as if they would be coming out into a world where there was only the two of them.

Later on, you will be encoded with the necessary information regarding how to release yourselves from the containment pods, and then you will be shown how to operate the Archive—you can even see what’s going on outside on this monitor; which displays the temperature—and air quality too! Dr. Phurbish said, pointing at a blank screen nearby.

Tomorrow you will learn the basics on the proper operation of the electronic wombs. They are used for growing basic specimens, allowing you the ability to regenerate the many life forms that are currently available.

Are we getting hungry? Sachula piped, noting the growl from Habidsut’s belly.

Dr. Phurbish looked at the two as if he’d nearly forgotten, ". . . And last for today, you are about to learn of a new supplement we call, the sponge pill.

The proper use and preparation of the food supply tablets are very important—you can’t eat too many, and one is always enough.

Why the supplement? Habidsut asked offside.

You never know—it just might end up being the only edible food available… the nurse chimed.

With a look from the Dr., she stood aside.

Dr. Phurbish handed them each a pill, and the nurse pulled a couple of water supply bottles from a pocket, Just enough to get it down—that’s all you get. she added noticing their looks towards the bottle’s small size.

. . . After six weeks of preparation, they were separated into their containment pods, but before being frozen, they were protected (by inoculation) from every virus known to date.

With a push of a button, a robotic arm swung out and an intravenous injection was administered containing the many vaccines, and then an agent, similar to antifreeze, which would keep the body’s center from solidifying.

The agent, a hormone extracted from the forga’s rear glands, was the most significant part of the procedure.

If the precise amount wasn’t given in its entirety, ice crystals would form within the small amounts of liquid left within—if too much was given, the toxicity would cause the organs to fail.

. . . The lids of their inner capsules were set in place, and then locked tightly in order to protect them from being directly exposed to the gas.

Frostbite can make for a miserable thaw, and with the threat of a future where hospitals might not exist, death would most certainly define the experience, as a wasted effort. The Dr. explained, as if to calm his subjects before the grueling pain began.

After a few moments, the gas began to enter the box. As the pressure began to increase, the temperature started to drop, and, just before the air within reached the point of no return, both Habidsut and Sachula began to tremble.

Dr. Phurbish! Sachula cried out, I’m so ca, ca, cold… .

They’d gone into the hypothermic stage, where the two bounced and flopped around a bit, before becoming still…

Almost immediately after it began, the process was complete. The gas had reached the point where, at just the right level of pressure, it had turned frigid; as long as the pressure remained the same, they would remain frozen within.

After setting their box aside, an empty one was moved into the ready position, and a new couple, Ttsunimar, and his maitris Gwendora, were the next to be placed.

No strangers to the cause, Sachula and Ttsunimar had met each other while they were still kids, and had even grown up in the same subterranean village.

Sachula, unable to remove the boyhood memories of his face, was never able to see Ttsunimar as the true man he’d become.

Eventually, as the years passed, and, knowing he had only grown fonder for her, she found the need for a distraction.

It was just after she’d met Habidsut. That’s when Sachula had introduced Ttsunimar to Gwendora, a less significant friend, in order to draw Gwendora’s attention away from the newly discovered Habidsut. One thing led to another, and here they all were.

. . . While the final preparations were being completed, Ttsunimar thought to himself about the last six weeks. Drifting back to his last visit with Sachula and Habidsut, he remembered the last conversation they’d shared…

If all goes well, we will see each other again someday. he remembered saying.

But if we don’t meet again, only then will my world have changed for the worst. was Sachula’s reply.

They’d eaten dinner with each other on so many countless occasions. How odd it now seemed that the next evenings would be so far away, yet at the same time, when they were to be awakened, it would seem as if it were only the next day.

. . . After placing them into their pods, the door was sealed, and once again, the temperature would drop as the pressure began to rise.

Soon the temperature dropped to just above 33 degrees within the pod. From 33 degrees, the pod then took a dive to over four hundred degrees below zero, in the flash of an eye, freezing the two bodies instantly.

The process was then repeated until only three pods were left empty.

Looking around the laboratory, Dr. Phurbish seemed pleased. Not only had he managed to convince the world leaders of the need for such measures as these, but he had also found the necessary subjects to be more than just willing to risk dying, solely for the sake of mankind.

. . . With the boxes filled, there wasn’t much to do aside from the occasional dusting, so Dr. Phurbish took the liberty of relaxing, something he rarely did.

At his home, the doctor found his days were amiss somehow, so he delved into an old book, and read each page twice to be sure he hadn’t missed anything valuable to his cause.

The book was consuming, as it had come from an older world than this. The spoken language had changed in many ways since the writings had been stored, and because he had been forced to adapt within the confines of these changes, the text seemed strange to him, almost as if it were foreign now.

There were many things that were different from the old world though; this one had no moon, and this one had no spiritual menu.

. . . But this world was young, and in order to regain some of his old world’s charm, the experiment would need to be more than just a study… it would need to allow this world to learn about the truth, the knowledge his subjects would return with.

. . . Two years would go by very well for the people of Derth. The volcanic activity began dropping as rapidly as it had risen. Soon, the people began to move on with their normal lives, and soon too, the Marsulan expeditions were cut to the bare minimum—all but twelve men and women were left to run the operations there.

Dr. Phurbish was instructed to terminate the project at the end of the five-year program amidst his strong suggestions to continue the precautionary measures. In his argument, he tried to be convincing, as he was sure that, eventually, life would need to be sustained somehow while the Planet Derth went through her strange quirks.

Since so little was known about her, there were a lot of events to foresee… too many things that needed to be prepared for, blindly.

And as the doctor was now indecisive about opening the boxes when the five years were up, he’d only promised to put an end to this project if it was deemed to be a failure. His decision was not by any reason evil or sinister, there was just a very strong inclination in his mind that told him to remain prepared… .

How many boxes have been filled? a member of the Order had asked.

Three… the rest are being destroyed as we speak. The doctor had replied.

When can we expect to see the emptied boxes? asked another.

By next week, I expect to have the thawing rooms vacated; so many subjects have crowded my staff—the workload has been tripled as it is.

. . . And the good doctor had avoided a catastrophic failure of his plan’s completion; but the woods were still thick with demons.

Within the next couple of years, volcanic activities reversed again, escalating to an all-time high in just six short months. With the influx of toxins, the quality of the air went spiraling, and the Derthian’s future took a turn for the worst.

With such a grave error in their hands, the Order announced its apologies to the doctor, begging him for help of some kind.

If you can spare us, and as many of the good people of Derth as you can, we will save the less fortunate ones such misery as they will soon be dying through their own need to breath…

Two of the last three boxes were filled with the last four Order’s members, crammed tightly within their walls.

As per request of the Order’s wishes, a large number of explosive devices (with the comparable capabilities of today’s atomic weaponry) were placed around all of the major cities, in an attempt to end the misery of the many that managed to survive this long.

The devastation not only killed the remaining people, but the clouds of radiation swept the world over and destroyed every other form of life that was left exposed, too—all but the ‘fortunate’ ones who had been frozen in their pods here, and the fortunate members of the Marsulan colony.

CHAPTER 2

_____________________

MINING FOR GOLD

Modern man’s time, on Earth

It was an early fall, in the year of 1886—two scraggly dressed men stood just outside of the High Point Saloon.

You got us kicked out! said Jimbo, spitting as his words flew.

It’s a your a fault! If you’d a ever learned a any manners… Bob retorted.

Hmmph! Jimbo grumbled, "You ain’t a got any manners nor a any smarts… or anything else a fur that matter!"

I can work a harder day than a you can. Bob prodded, knowing that he could.

If it a weren’t a fur me, you a couldn’t find you’re way home from a this saloon! Jimbo piped back, knowing it wasn’t (true).

Passing them in the street, the Reverend James stopped to do his duty—helping those with troubled souls find peace.

"Neither one of you are responsible enough to lead the other one in, much less home again. he snapped, And how do you consider a campsite a home?"

As long as a man can find his way a home… and in time to be at a his a best when he’s a needed… he’s as good a man as a any as fur as I can see. Jimbo replied, grabbing Bob by the arm before half-dragging him on down the street.

The two of them had met through this kind of thinking; becoming friends right off the get go—but close friends by morning led different meanings by the time the afternoon hours came; life, more often than not, drew them into an argumentative mood, much like they were in today.

To stand back and watch them, people would swear that they enjoyed taunting one another; but as rumor had it, rarely did either one outsmart the other.

The two had a tendency to ridicule one another and anybody else about anything they could find arguable; especially around the people they’d already known to be smarter and more educated than they (that was just about everyone they’d ever met).

Jimbo swore it was just a thing he did to keep Bob from looking so stupid. Bob would always agree with Jimbo on this issue—and while he’d always meant to change a part of it, someday he hoped he would get it right.

The two were daily conversation pieces around here; in fact, most of the town folk just thought it was a routine the two did, as nobody could tell which one was capable of acting dumber than the other.

Neither had ever seen a day of school, and neither one of them knew much about how the rest of the world looked outside of small towns like this one was.

As it was, High Point was typical of so many of the basic, three to four building towns which made up the hubs of this young world.

Here, the High Point Saloon sat in the center of town, acting as City Hall—for the most part, it held the town together, but most times too, its true purpose was confusing—drunken men often end up tearing things apart.

Rarely did folks here fall to blows though; in fact, the High Point had never even seen a bullet fly within its walls.

Slower than most saloons, on this day too, only two customers remained, quietly sitting in the corner table—playing out their last hand in a friendly game of cards.

The barkeep, watching them from behind the wood, sat without words, noting the mannerisms within their play; the two treated the game as if it were a business—playing each hand as if it would lead to the harvest.

The bet’s to you Hubert. said a handsome, middle-aged man dressed in finer clothes than most folks here would ever own.

Just hold on a second, would ya, Mr. Stoneberger? Hubert replied, I’m thinking.

Hubert put a hand to his head, leaving the familiar outline where his fingers passed though his wiry hair.

Mr. Stoneberger looked at it as if it was a wild card, but smiled not at the clue, You should fold. he said firmly, holding his own cards to cover his unchanging expression.

Hubert looked at Mr. Stoneberger coldly, I’m just trying to figure out how much to raise you to.

Mr. Stoneberger pulled a time piece from his pocket, flipping it open so he could see the hands. Satisfied, he snapped it closed, flipping it upwards as he did. The snap still echoed on as he snatched the piece mid-air, giving way to the rattle of a chain as he returned the watch to his pocket.

Put it all in, Mr. Stoneberger prodded, it’s almost time for the gathering.

Looking over to the barkeep he nodded, and then looked back to Hubert for his decision.

The barkeep brought Mr. Stoneberger’s shot, and waited quietly for his dues. Throwing it back, Mr. Stoneberger then set the glass to the opposite side, commencing to his waiting stance unaffected.

Hubert ran his hands through his hair once more, trying to find an edge. When nothing came, he pushed the rest of his coins to the center—all thirty cents worth.

I’ll call your bluff. he replied with a fresh loss of confidence in his tone.

Mr. Stoneberger rose slowly, never taking his eyes off of Hubert.

Without warning, he flicked a coin to the barkeep, and then placed his cards to the deck, "I think it may just be my turn to fold."

With a heading set towards the door, he paused halfway across the bar and cocked his head. The only sound following his footstep’s echo was the rustle of Hubert’s fingers as they were being pushed through his hair.

Don’t peek. Mr. Stoneberger said, peering now over the top of the bar’s front doors.

The hinges whined as he drew a single panel slowly inward. After a few moments, the wood clicked—just after the three clicks of Mr. Stoneberger’s feet on the wooden walk outside.

Picking up the change, Hubert stood to follow, grabbing at the deck of cards as he set his cards atop Mr. Stoneberger’s.

Dropping them, they landed upright; four aces were visible within the count of the top ten cards—a rustling sound was heard once again as Hubert passed his fingers through once more.

. . . Once outside, Hubert found Mr. Stoneberger casually waiting for him at the end of the bar’s wooden walk.

Having trouble figuring me out? Mr. Stoneberger asked.

"You sure are a different kind of man." Hubert said, attempting to draw an explanation from deep inside of where life’s little secrets often lie.

Mr. Stoneberger—after seeing a familiar flash from a distanced face—thought back to the first time he’d ridden into this town. Back then, not a single building had stood.

But just about then, he looked around again at what was here now, just as the wind shifted, allowing him to catch the pungent scent of horse manure.

Looking toward a better thought, he watched the rag-tag crowd that had gathered. While they awaited his presence for the evening meal, their words echoed towards him, but the wind was delivering them too distorted to understand.

The street’s scent was again carried past his nose, causing him to think of life here as miserable—how do they survive his next thought passed.

Almost forgetting that they knew not all he had come to know, he thought again of better days; soon enough, they will be overwhelmed with knowledge; for now, there wasn’t a single amenity he could truly respect.

The street was almost ready to be paved in horse manure—sitting wet still in the mud from the weekend’s rain. Carried stronger now within the wind, the stench was beginning to acquire the support of his body’s natural desire to rebuke the spirits held so loosely now within him.

"At least the festivities are upwind from this sewer you’ve called a town, Hubert." Mr. Stoneberger said, motioning for his colleague to move along.

His heart sat comforted; his mission here was limited. As the head of a team of men he’d hired personally—their lives would soon be in his hands.

Hired hands for his expedition, they were all pulling out in the morning to a heading not far outside of a place called Denver. As he thought of their plans, he drifted back to the last words spoken to them as a group.

"We will be searching for gold, but you will be expected to report on any other findings as well, no matter what the value might seem to be; and try to stay sober—the trip out will be both long and hard!"

Three months of waiting. It was only yesterday that the last piece of equipment had arrived—his time in the squalor he’d been confined to was complete, excepting the stay of a final night.

Unable to stand the stench of the street any longer, he then followed Hubert to the table, where something worthwhile was awaiting his palate-food-and lots of it.

After taking a look at the different dishes set out, he and Hubert took their seats, amidst a conversation between Bob and Jimbo, being flung without concern for the ears nearby.

Jimbo! The Reverend James popped, "Don’t you ever shut up?"

Bob is the one a who talks a too much. Jimbo said pointing Bob’s way.

Just shut up for a spell, will ya? The Reverend warned.

Looking to each other, only their faces moved; their words were withheld for the lack of a fresh argument. The Reverend then sat back in silence, drifting to a spot within the Last Supper scene, which was being painted so wrongfully right now.

Dressed much like a carpet bagger, the Reverend had made his niche here not long after the town had begun, now, as he stood, he looked around at the various walks of life that had come here, and then he spied a dish he liked.

I think it’s time to call the group’s attention in order to give thanks. he began.

Bowing his head, he waited, looking through his brow as each man’s reluctance gave way to a bowing of his own head. When the last head was dropped, he began his