Awaken

By Latoya Green and Crown Phoenix

"A story about not giving up and fighting for the power within." The notion to begin again.

When the world as it was known is destroyed by a darkness that has finally descended, a man is found in a delicate position he doesn't think himself ready for.

He has lost a great deal, but he must bring solace to his give

• Language: English
• Publisher: Latoya Green
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9789692692236

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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he evil was manipulating, harming, killing, destroying and darkening the world. Nature was foggy and silenced. The negative aspect of life has overpowered most of the world. Instead of people going within to tap into their own power, they fed off one of many sent to be an example of what could be done, not to be competed with. Competition only caused friction and loss time especially for the chosen ones, who only saw lost time and lessons as a thing to conquer. The help was often sabotaged and imprisoned, used against their own hearts and good intentions, forced to fight harder for their blessings and what was already theirs to collect and to mention.

They were accompanied by a maze left for death and alienation, often a runner for life. Giving much freely as they positioned for their own, their works felt like they were going in vain. No help for the strong...even though we all need it. The world feasts off their energy while creating false narratives of themselves and the electives. An understanding was the simple need, but many chose to be blinded for their own gain and greed. The enemy became themselves as they created the dark forces. Do not pity the fool, empathize with those who have good intentions for all...enlightenment. Rays of clarity, nature's sunshine and rain, but storms brew when things are out of alignment, out of whack. A call for an author and creators of new beginnings, where we were once connected, a departure of ruins had now run the land.

A purpose for the good hearted, earth angels of all kinds were birthed by a special chosen earth angel to armor up for the Gods after so many losses. The angel dripped in grief, awakened the dead with his strength of love. He had a shattered, stabbed heart given to the Almighty, with those and the things he loved. He is now ignoring the world, shutting out chances of love to protect his strength and children, even though love is what he longs for and deserves.

The soldier was tired of fighting and became weary after so much loss and was constantly reminded of grief from trauma; he can often feel it in his body. He was willing to move on and accept defeat, his pain so heavy, like the burdens he had to fight off him to move forward. The goal was to cement the quick sand that often kept him draining and fighting to live, gasping for air, like a fish out of water, out of order. He was not willing to further expand his own lineage in a world that kept him bonded and constantly under attack, but he was protective over the children he did have. He would not allow the world to weaken his strength and freewill like Samson. He felt hopeless until he remembered that he has the true powers to make change happen for him, his and the greater good, leaving no exception. Discovering he is the author of his life and the fate of mankind.

Some of the soldiers' own family committed to harming him and his children along with strangers who envied his strength, courage, gifts and light. Writing became a way to manifest a new beginning. Empowered by music of the heart and hunger. I have no choice but to write again, says the soldier. He glanced at the hour glass sitting on the table and proceeded to turn it over, just as the tables had turned. The fight had begun. The awakening, the ghosts and soldiers were now united. People of all walks of life joined his side, no matter the sexualities, religions, race or gender; none of that mattered, but they did. It was about not harming innocent people or invading someone else's life or world. Justice was prevailing. Those who have harmed the innocent people and light workers were now faced with their own mirrors and karma. The soldiers had moves as if Bruce Lee and Mr. Miyagi taught them himself--super powers were in them.

CHAPTER 1

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here was a girl, discovered after the awakening, known as Ghost, because she was mysterious and mystic at the same time. Her name was Precious Marie like a jewel, sent to fight alongside the electives. She was mine, because her smile said so. Brighter than a hello, ignited my heart chakra, saying words I didn’t know were already embedded in my soul’s north node. So I followed it, anxious to find home.

She decorated the view quite well, with her bright eyes and rainbow heart. I stood proudly along her side, for her strength craved mine. We held a silent note, a song I'm sure we both know, but not yet written. Blessed to be connected for we painted the walls that settled the foundation of this legacy of a powerful empire. Her emotions caused the seasons and her love and loyalty flowed like water that floats my boat. A community of hope, we taught each other. A special love was still hidden like the passion in her eyes, sacred, but longing to flow freely into my arms.

I waited long, for moments of safe surrender and reciprocal gestures. Fighting against the strong winds of improper love was all I’ve known.The other half of my wing is connected to hers, like something even a battlefield didn’t know of--my secret weapon. My second chance has come to get me. That meeting in the middle where we’are standing… if only. Wars rage for truth and freedom, but there’s a world longing to be chorused together. Our merging band created a promised land. Paradise, she’s leading the way. After the long disconnect, I was glad to be connected to her. Like Sarah Lee, I loved what she was baking, intrigued by her determination and ideals, I was inspired to be her strength where she felt abandoned. She is quite a scholar and I wanted to be her prize, for she was my treasure’s sake. I want to keep, so with every breath I built up the wit to let her know.

Connected to her, she’s connected to me. The story of my heart is written by her pen. Something out of this world to end a worldly war. I watched the way she fought and even my darkness turned to light. The only way to get to her was to fight my own demons...so I slayed to conquer her heart. Her love was the quench I needed to satisfy this thirst of desire and flame of passion. Here again, but this time… I won’t ever let her go...alone. I’m sure, with me is where she belongs. I don’t care...she’s what I care about. So let’s get through the war that separates home.

She is fine like wine, but that is not the reason my heart beats for her, considering the fact, even, that she doesn't dress like wine. She is not sparkling on the outside, like one would expect of an Arabian princess. There are no enduring golds or materials of gemstones on her fair skin, but she shines bright in my mind all the same. It is a battlefield and there are no provisions for enrapturing perfumes and such scents, like one would expect of a royal blood, but my soul tingles with excitement all over when she is near all the same. I smell her and want to bask in that breath forever. There is no time to be all that dazzling light on the exterior, but that silent existence of all of it on the inside is sufficient and so much more so.

Ghost loves her black cloths, the ones that pluralize her mysticism. You think you know her, because you can sense that light within her soul, but you don't in essence. Her mysteriousness is like layers upon layers of coverings that cannot be peeled away totally.

Nonetheless, she is not obnoxious and irritatingly annoying. She is not the kind one would give up on for being that closed up and almost inaccessible. No, in actual fact, she is the kind you continue to seek out until you find, kind of like a jewel.

We met before and, now, we are meeting again. It cannot be a coincidence or a god's sick joke after too much wine in the heavenlies. It must be a Divine arrangement. And, even if it may not be so, I choose to see it like that. I think that it is important for my sanity...the little of it that I have left.

Because my nights are plagued, my dreams haunted, and my sleep disturbed, it only makes sense that I find a means of getting solace. Is it me trying to be selfish? I don't think so, or rather do not want to think so because, then, I will feel more miserable than I already am.

We may have been quickened and awakened to fight against injustice and try to create a new world by purging what we have of evil, but it doesn't change the fact that many things have been left dead within. And I can't just run away from them. None of us can, and not even with this new birth. Death won't move on though it is a finality. It stays trying to grasp and claim and claw. It wants more parts of the living than it is contented with the dead it has acquired and keeps trapped. It desires to take over everything, not sparing nothing. And, of a truth, with how the mind cannot rest most times, maybe it has succeeded.

In those darkest hours, when it is just me left with the flash after flash of all that has happened and been stolen, I am helpless and forget how strong I have been made. Maybe it is just a strengthening of the body and nothing to do with the mind, after all. Maybe the body can be deceived and manipulated to push beyond its limits, but the same cannot be said of the mind. No.

So what cannot be filled with all the endowments and trainings and willpower, she fills. It is a big vacuum and so it is a great task. Fortunate, it is, that she doesn't know about it. The knowledge of how she lives in me will leave her exhausted, because I am a big man with too many taunting memories. Fortunate for her is the ignorance, but unfortunate it is for me.

My days have light because of her; though I cannot make it known to her yet. I can't wait to find the words and the courage. Most importantly, however, is the question of timing.

We are in the middle of this hard, hard war. Many people look up to me as their confidence, strength and solace all in one. They expect that I am more of a god than them all and that I have, in some way or the other, transcended the level of being disturbed by occurrences...that I have, somehow, learnt to not feel.

But how do you forget pain from seeing the destruction of innocent folks? How do you stop your ears from hearing their cries from the ground? How do you tell yourself to start afresh when the anguish and grief remains a part of your existence.

No, I am not the people's refuge and stay. I don't feel like one. I am hardly standing myself, and my very breath is a miracle.

I know she is my oxygen, but how do I ask for both of us to bask in that life when it is almost a daily situation of death? Either we are preparing for it or we are making it happen. And there doesn't seem to be any hope of stopping until the evil is totally vanquished and the light is everywhere and not just inside a sole woman like Precious. The mandate I was giving...we were all given, is this war. It is the sole purpose we were infused with powers and brought together to put them to good use. We are instruments of peace to be brought about by this war. Yet, none of us are at peace within us and we only try to cope however we can. We call it coping mechanisms, but it really is a continuous, fruitless grasp for a sanity that keeps eluding us and taunting from afar.

The only thing is that some of us have hope; some people, more than others. Is it unfair? Maybe, but it can be a curse by nature too. Because, though the abundant hope comes from having found the probability of salvation in love for another, that love may never happen. Most times, like in my case, it is prohibited and we may only be deceiving ourselves, which is another way to be at the mercy of this deriding sanity we are all longing for. Hence, at the end of the day, we are all the same—beings subject to forces beyond our control. We believe we have a good grip over our minds, but the best of us are not alive inside. Every day, we wake up (for those who are able to sleep), and go about the business we have been called to do with such vigour and perseverance. We push our physical side beyond limits and behave like we are immortals because we have been given abilities. We know, however, that none of it is the truth we are left with when the day is over and it is just us lying on the sleeping bed inside the tent or outside, looking up into the night sky.

The truth looks back at us and winks. The truth looks back at me and reminds me of who I am. A grieving man...

Now, how can a man of grief make a girl whole?

CHAPTER 2

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here is darkness, a state of dreaminess. Everything is peaceful in that realm of sleep. There is no care in the world and no need to the soul. All is well, and I would rather I am here from the rest of my life.

But everything changes so quickly and suddenly. It is still darkness, but chaotic. The peaceful night rest is rended with sounds. The sounds drum at the heart, fast, and then tear it apart so that there is already a little death before the guns and machetes come. The people who raise them over and against defenseless, suddenly-alert people have such hate and murder in their eyes. There are other things too, the smaller things—lies, covetousness, jealousy, unforgiveness, ego—that led to the big things. The people about to be killed don't know it, but those little things were nurtured over time till they graduated into these things that now turn men into the savages not caring a hoot about taking a life.

As the disturbed darkness looked on, the blood spilled and cries of anguish rent the air. The cries were the most horrifying after those hating eyes. The cries were from deep within the soul as men and women and children were at different stages of dying.

It was the cries of the little children that were more devastating. You could here the strength leave their bodies with it. They became weak as a whisper, life ebbing away and then they were just not there anymore.

I am conscious of the sounds. They are coming to me from every angle, but I am not on the floor or thrown across a death pile. I know that much.