As Long as There is a Tomorrow, There is Hope

By Gwendolyn Washington

The present-day millennials live in the backdrop of New Orleans voodoo and camouflage of Jim Crow that seeps heavy in their history. For Autumn, every day was a new adventure; every day was a memory of yesterday and the conjured spirits chanting "Zebu, Zebu, Zephyr,Ge-Son Andre-Le-at-at-ma" to destroy Dominique. Dominique lived with Autumn's daily rituals as she struggled to find the reason for her season between the conflict and confusion of the uprising Nazi Cult who called themselves NWO (New World Organization) and the Klu Klux Klan. Dominique's jungle in life with all the twists and turns intertwined in a web of deceit. Click, click, Dominique's mind bounced back to the yesteryears of 1972 at the University of Munich where she was a writer for the school newspaper, the beginning of her affair with the N WO, who wanted to keep Hitler's dream alive. Click, click, the present days of 1982, Governor Louis York's son was killed, April Davis has been arrested for negligent homicide, and Dawn Davis has been hospitalized at Ochsner Foundation and is in critical condition. Steven York's funeral with both a somber mood and excitement of the band and the crowd prancing with that New Orleans flavor, twirling colorful umbrellas and strutting in that famous New Orleans second line. Louis York, the Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan, was running for President of the United States. Dominique's determination to avenge her father's death. The NWO and the Klu Klux Klan planning the dates for assassinations of governors and mayors in different states with the climax on Mardi Gras Day in New Orleans and Mardi Gras Day in Germany, which is celebrated on the same day. Each character follows their destinies to a climax on the Bonnie Carrie Spillway. Louis York's death to be announced on Dominique's weekly television show, New Orleans Weekly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642989502

Book preview

Chapter One

January 6, 1982. As life went on, Autumn would become infected with the voodoo worship of her ancestors to destroy Dominique.

1972 to 1982

Autumn

Thunder exploded, and lightning bounced from wall to wall as the room opened up, while Autumn had been hoisted up to different levels of consciousness between past and presence. Long-ago odors rushed back to her: burned cat’s hair, burned candle wax, and cooked herbs. She heard her momma saying, You can control people, their minds, their thoughts, their actions. You can make people do what you want them to do. This can kill people, this can make them sick, this can make them well.

Autumn saw dead cats and frogs with their throats slashed. She heard tormented cries, she saw bloody bodies stacked on top of each other, and through a suspended fog a compelling melody lead Autumn to Santo Dominigo, the jungles of her ancestors. The phone rang, and she jumped up, her curly hair lay in ringlets damp with perspiration, her huge brown eyes larger than usual perched as if waiting to jump out like a jack-in-the-box. She reached for the phone. Hello? More silence. She placed the phone back in its cradle. She got up, carrying her uneven leg to the bathroom. Her left leg was a half inch shorter than her right leg, but this was her secret. No one knew. She took a sleeping pill. Please, God, or whoever, don’t let the dream come back.

She limped back to bed, hoping to sleep, but the dream returned seconds later.

Autumn tossed and turned. No, no, go away. But the cancerous shadows continued to annul her efforts to sleep. She jumped up. Leave me along. She sat up, staring into the darkness of night for a few seconds. She moaned, I am so tired, so tired, and lay back down. Seconds later, Autumn found herself standing in the center of the room while naked men and women with many colors painted on their bodies who appeared to be a thousand years old danced around her. Bongos and drums were beating along with the music of melodic flutes that swarmed around her like bees with glazed chanting. Ah, ah, Zebu, A, ah, aa, Zebu, Zebu. On and on it went. Between intoxicated sleep and partial awareness, she put the pillow over her head, and said, Go away, go away. Autumn squirmed from side to side. She felt hands touching her gently, and she heard voices saying, We will protect you.

Protect me? Protect me from what? she moaned.

Our power is strong, don’t be afraid.

Afraid, afraid of what? she moaned. Someone led her to her study, and when she opened her eyes, she saw an altar with twenty-one candles in a seven-star-shaped semicircle.

There were seven black candles, seven yellow candles, seven red candles, and a purple candle at each point of the star. The candlelit room collected all of the colors and movements into one entity. There were colored pictures of St. Anthony, St. Michael, and St. Joseph guarding the altar. In front of the altar lay a tiny black coffin with a doll lying in it. Exalted high above the altar was Zebu, a domesticated Ox from Africa that symbolized the God of power for the people of Santo Domingo. Lightning enveloped the room, and Autumn prayed in a strange voice. Zephyr, Zephyr. Zephyr, meaning west wind, the most-high god her people prayed to. Her voice impregnated the air, Zebu, Zebu, Zephyr, ay, ay, ma, a, a. She raised up, choking on the humming sounds, A, a, ya, ma, a, a. She opened her eyes. That’s it, enough is enough. Go away, go away, leave me alone. What do you want? She sat up for a few minutes, but the pill had done its damage, and she lay back down and went back to