Seasons' Banquet: Parts 1 and 2

By Mildred Cooper

Pitney Kee Knowles takes her last ten-minute break in this world. She won't be the only one who will be translated from her familiar surroundings to encounter a strange and benevolent creature called Weather who has four different personalities-Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter-and who is the guardian, the guide, and the host of the Seasons' Banquet. He was chosen by a higher authority to play a pivotal role in the guests' journey, and one guest in particular, Pitney, will come to understand that her fragmented self requires healing. She is made to face her personal challenges in a way she could never have imagined and, in the process, becomes the fearless leader she has always aspired to be.

Pitney, along with other hungry souls, are lured to the Seasons' Banquet through their incessant displeasure with the weather. At the banquet, they will undergo a transformation that no eye has ever seen or ear has ever heard before, and after their glorious transformation, another Seasons' Banquet will ensue to eradicate forever a host of malevolent beings that have been a constant threat and a fatal impediment to them and other creatures of earth. The Seasons' Banquet finale will be a celebration that the guests-or Selves-and the creatures of the new world will never forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649526724

Book preview

One Second

It was Monday morning, January 20, one of the coldest days on record in Philadelphia. The roads were icy, and it had been snowing since 6 pm the previous day. The morning traffic was a nightmare. Once I arrived at work, I was not emotionally ready to brief management at 10 am on ways to improve employee morale in the workplace.

There had been rumors that two employees were ready to quit because they were tired of the negative hype in the news media over the morality of human gene tracking, and they were afraid because of the threats from special interest groups to put a stop to our research.

Gene tracking is the search for and destruction of genes that harbor unwanted physical attributes or traits. Once the offending genes are removed and replaced with good ones, then and only then can the human cell be cloned. The question on everyone’s mind was whether anyone with a clear conscience could define an undesirable trait without bringing their personal prejudices to the table.

The controversy over gene tracking was so intense that management needed to restore the employees’ confidence that the research they were performing on human beings was a good thing. At the same time, management had to convince the public and special interest groups that this research would benefit mankind by speeding up the human species’ evolutionary quest to become perfect and independent—that is, independent of any higher, more intelligent source.

When I wrote my briefing the night before, I was confident that if management followed the strategy I presented to them, they would not only make the employees feel empowered again, but they would also satisfy the public’s curiosity and the media’s relentless inquiries and they would put to rest the protests of the special interest groups once and for all. Management would come out smelling like a rose.

But the snowstorm had disturbed me to the point that I wasn’t looking forward to briefing management. Winter storms were a reminder of two incidents in my life that, no matter what I did or where I went, I just couldn’t seem to forget. These traumatic memories wouldn’t leave me alone. Oh, how I hated the winter months! I wished that this season never existed. I needed a boost for my own morale that particular morning.

I hurried to my office and peeled off the layers of thick, warm clothing that protected me from the biting cold and penetrating wind. I made a hot cup of coffee and sat down to take a final look at my presentation, but I just couldn’t concentrate on my work. I turned around in my squeaky, hand-me-down executive swivel chair and gazed out the office window. The never-ending snowstorm was pounding the daylights out of Philadelphia. I wondered what would happen if we had only one season. An eternal spring would be my season of choice.

I was born and raised in St. Louis, and after graduating from the University of Missouri with a master’s degree in psychology, I needed a change of scenery with beautiful weather year-round. The tropical paradise I always dreamed of was Hawaii. However, my dream of living and working in Hawaii was short-lived. Professor Uberri, my psychology instructor, contacted me and said his friend at the Gene Tracking and Cloning Research Center in Philadelphia was looking for a human resource specialist, and since I was one of his top students, he highly recommended me for the job.

Even though I was a recent graduate with no experience, his friend was interested in offering me the position. The pay was good for a rookie like me. So instead of following my heart, I followed my pocketbook. Instead of basking in the sun in Maui, I ended up in Philadelphia, with winter waiting in the wings and repressed memories of traumatic experiences rearing their ugly heads.

The day I left St. Louis for the last time, my mom and older brother, Reggie, took me to the airport and wished me the best of luck in the big city. I didn’t know anyone in Philadelphia, and we didn’t have any relatives living there. My mom and brother were concerned about my welfare, but I told them I would be fine. My mom gave me one final hug and then whispered in my ear, You stay warm in Philadelphia. It’s bone-chilling cold there. We held each other tightly, and then I looked into her eyes and told her half-heartedly that I couldn’t turn down an opportunity to work at the prestigious research center that was on the cutting edge of developing a perfect human specimen—or rather, human being—even if it meant putting paradise on hold for a season.

My colleagues at the Gene Tracking and Cloning Research Center were very helpful in making my transition from a small town to a big city as painless as possible. They helped me find a nice apartment, and they told me that Ray’s Deli had the best corned beef sandwiches in the city. I didn’t have to purchase a car because the center was only a few blocks away from my apartment and the market was just one block east of the center.

Yet there I was, sitting in my office, looking out the window, watching the heavy snowfall, not emotionally ready to give the briefing to management, and wishing I could forget the awful circumstances that profoundly changed the way I feel about winter.

My negative feelings toward winter started when I was nine years old. I lived in a tiny flat with my mom and older brother on Biddle Street in St. Louis. My dad passed away after a long bout with colon cancer before my eighth birthday. I missed him a lot. Every night, he would read a new poem to me, and in the morning, he would be thrilled to hear me recite the poem verbatim. Now that he’s gone, I don’t memorize poems anymore.

The flat where we lived was always freezing cold in the winter and sweltering hot in the summer. These extremes were due to the poor heating and cooling systems endemic to that neighborhood. We were then in the dead of winter, and there was very little heat in the house. The only thing I took off when I came in from the outdoors was my little backpack full of coloring books, crayons, pencils, rulers, and candy—lots of candy.

I attended Carr Lane Elementary School, and Mr. Ewing was my favorite teacher. In fact, the whole class was fond of him because he loved to talk with us and not just to us like most adults tended to do. When we asked him a question, he would involve the whole class by encouraging each student to express his or her opinion on how to resolve the problem. He would always give us the credit for coming up with the solution even though we could not have done it without his guidance.

I missed my dad, but Mr. Ewing was a perfect substitute, and I loved and respected him as such.

One afternoon, he showed us how to make a candle by melting some wax, pouring it in a metal container, and then putting a thin piece of rope in the middle of the wax while it hardened. He wanted us to ask our parents to buy the necessary materials so that we could make our own homemade candles. He didn’t tell us the reason he wanted us to make candles. He probably just thought it was a cool idea. Nevertheless, we were excited about the project because most of us had never made anything from scratch before.

The next day, we brought our homemade candles to class for Mr. Ewing’s approval. He was so pleased with our little creations that he cleared off his desk and arranged our candles in a circular formation that he said reminded him of the sun. He turned off the overhead lights and told us to gather around his desk. He lit each candle and then sat down and