The City of Sand: Book 3: America the Free!

By Louis T Bruno

For Sam Tremo, the journey to America has been long. With Jerusalem and the Middle East free from Imam Kahn's wrath, he finds himself in Latin America, with Alista, his wife, as it would be the easiest way to invade America. He must find it within to face his opponent, as the Golden Robe continues to speak to him, causing unknown frictions on hi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fire Street Publishing
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869110015

Book preview

We engage in postmodern diplomacy.

Frank Miller Holy Terror

No, it is the fear of failing and remaining here in this life. That is the fear. The fear of living.

Andre Dubus III The Garden of Last Days

It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.

Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet

"As you walked next to death, I admired your size

And your lightness both ascending the abrupt rise

Like twin comrades awaking at dawn to report"

Nikos Kazantzakis Zorba the Greek

The east has been scattered to torn parchments. The east is moving against Imam Kahn. He sits alone in the White House, frantically praying so that he won’t die. He prays harder every day knowing that he has lost track of Sam Tremo. He has fallen off the Grid. The Terror King is making his move. He grabs his Golden AK-47 and he says, So, you have come for me. You better kill me this time, because I won’t stop until you are dead. He prays to Allah, and he hopes his Astrologer can give him a good prediction. Because if he doesn’t survive, all will perish with him. But before that, he would find the virgin wife of Sam Bremo and ruin her as well. All would feel his blade.

1

All is fair for tearing one in half

The jungles of the South America were hot, and sweaty, and he felt his balls itch. He brought baby wipes with him so that he could keep his crotch clean for the long terrains through South America. The jungles. The sweat beneath the tree saps, and the water Sam collects with purifying tablets. The alcohol was brewed with seventy five percent burn to the throat. The experience of the heat only made his stomach burn for real food. The cows were being milked by young girls. They understood hard work. Some of the bums on the street begged for money. The small town of Ippaya had remained interesting as they felt it divide themselves. The heat surrounded Sam Tremo, the Terror King. He felt hot, sweaty, and the jungle heat ached his hands. The people in Ippaya were so gentle, calm, as they gave him fresh pork, and roasted green peppers and brown beans. These people deserved to be free. Imam Kahn knew nothing of this. Simplistic, but not reserved, always out of kindness. The sounds of bugs filled Sam’s ears, and he kept hearing cicadas in the air. They were brilliant. The land was unspoiled. If Imam Kahn did anything right for Latin America, it was acting as a benevolent leader.

Sam, and the rest of Latin America, wondered when that might stop. When he might actually reveal the side, Sam knew. But those who didn’t see it were stonewalled, as the extreme dissonance foretold in the wisdom of the land was nothing that he could take. The Astrologer had given him a dream. The way he would travel would surely take the Imam by surprise. An entrance into the United States would move through Latin America. But he enjoyed walking all the way through the jungles, the division of mankind settling into itself.

But there was always a tradeoff. They asked for complete submission, but there were outposts throughout the jungle. He kept low and he didn’t mind crawling through the mud. The Ippayan's sat beside him, as he sat and he ate his tortilla and carnitas. It was the only thing that kept him going. Although it was the brimming excellence of his weight fully given to the extreme coding against the Golden Robe, as much of what Sam learned came every day, and infrequently. It’s the codes that he was interested in. The Golden Robs unholy masquerade still looking at him, and the Jinni powers surged with the rare earth minerals. He was nevertheless molded by Alista; it made him curious as the flames of the campfire grew even higher.

They had home brewed coffee, and when they sat still, they didn’t stifle his own satisfaction. The era of his own dilution, the futility of the suit killing and strengthening his bones, but it made sense what happened to him. The Mermaids had given him the free pass, taking on Eppiphas, and they had taken out the ships in the sea, it only allowed him the chance to float across. The fuming elegance of the natural mushrooms still not assuaging the illustrious metals pain, confounding the era of masculinity, but Sam knew he was going to give the Arabs what they wanted.

A chance for Imam Kahn to die by Sam’s hands. The experts couldn’t stop his fascination with the Golden Robe’s natural insistence to kill the wearer, but choosing Sam, with curious inclinations. The sounds of Uruguay were exotic; the sounds someone would play before they went to sleep. But he sat and loved the sounds. For a few minutes, they could have the experience they needed, but he destroyed the tortillas passing flesh with savoring accommodations.

After Sam ate, he and Alista were talking to the peasants. They asked if they had any churches left. The experience of it made sure that whatever they felt was often the mistake of the gods staring at them, but God, singular was watching. Uruguay was the experience that the rebellion needed, pushing south north.

But the illustrious metals, fuming as it rose within, even as the experienced tools they had did not work on the Golden Robe, was reworking itself and harnessing new metals, through quick puffs of air. It was experiencing a data keepsake. Sam had to file out what he saw was the wrong and the right versions of the system, as each name had to be quantified, but no name was found. It’s a bodice pushing through him, as the pain in his lower back increased, and he only felt rest when he was moving. The basic illustrations in the HUD map kept telling him to do.

The impossible notion of relaxation still at alert. The impending doom was coming, but the prophecy was bound to the Astrologer, who said that there was a priest that would need saving to lead the people onto revolution. His revolution of it is doomed if he is not saved.

The flies traveled over the dead carcasses of the cattle they had to eat. The peaceful surroundings the imposition is the opposite romance certainly washing their hands through the demented causeways. But the roads were simple and plain. If Imam Kahn was kind to Latin America, he only asked for total submission. And the destruction of Christianity. He didn’t have to shoot down one building. He could use his Arab guilt to make the world hate Christianity. But everything the Imam said was lies and the more they felt close enough to subsidize the imposition of the flesh, aroused by the common beetle staring into the sky, and even what others have noticed, the Uruguayans have not been able to surface out of poverty, not allowed to keep money they spend through laboring for unknown metals.

The romance soldier, Sam Tremo, thinks he can fight his way through to Islam’s beating heart. But that heart was failing, and whatever Sam Tremo saw, it was poverty that kept Latin America from rising. It’s the bottomless division of the dreams that build up the testament of Sam’s Golden Robe.

Sam Tremo was identifying and studying the land, inching out toward the same delusion he thought could happen. He could fight his way up, and lead the people toward the border. Yes, it was crazy, but it seemed like the people needed to overthrow the Imam. The Uruguay people wanted to go back to church, and nobody ever went to the Mosque’s except for the Mech(a) soldiers. They felt Islam was a Muslim Communist system all over again. The Latin Americans had no room for the way they thought, and missed the churches again, even if it had problems. But the hope that after the dangerous skelter careened through the fuming soil, the open causeways sustaining boom, even as they seem to lose the dangerous melting lakes brimming with fire.

Alligators peak their eyes out of the waterholes. They stay clear but to notice this predator, like Islam, always surfaced and then disappeared, because that’s how the enemy of the people existed. Each time they studied the water, there was a complication of the terraforming land that seemed to move on its own. The implication of the paradigm shift, certainly awakening the blossoming shadows as they fear it’s the central hive mind, allowing the pulse to shake notorious demented heights of unmistakable shadows that form in the trees.

Sam Tremo kept analyzing the way they acted in the feudal schematics with the Jinni system, as it was never conflicted.  When he sat and watched the way they acted, there is enough resin that burns in the night. Sam studies the preemptive strike. But his suit had been cut off and no matter the way he felt, he was away from the sight of the Imam. The experience of disappearance; compromising skies etched out in the local hive mind, allowing the practice of the flesh to circumnavigate the Golden Robes voice, pushing back his temptations. Those who seek further into the contours of God are without limits.

The infinite complexities are surpassed Jinni thought: survived in the heart of the Uruguayans and what they felt the Golden Robe fiercely moving Sam’s body on his own. He can feel the HUD allowing him to see through the night. The Satellites couldn’t pick up his suit. His ancient Golden Robe allowed Sam access to the way people acted.  He had been away from society, but even in the small flesh kept Sam’s heart from becoming dull.

He stood as he felt the movement of his team sit backwards, compounding the small earth minerals creating scatological ambition crowding Sam’s bones, like a balloon refilling his soul every time. They drink, but very sparingly in the Cantina. The Imam limited their drinking supplies. This wasn’t the world, and no one ever limited people’s drinks. This wasn’t the world and he wanted to kill and destroy the carcasses of dead Imams who would help fight against the American Brotherhood.

Sam Tremo can patch into the neural networks easier than he could in the middle east electrical outlets or preexisting modern schematics. Uruguay had a neural network into the America’s and more materials being made in Latin America, (called Latin X, by progressives) was best for Sam to start. Yes, sure, the rare earth mineral, were plentiful in the middle east, but the power of the earth metals only could have kept the suit from killing his body, and now, with the upgrades, he could wear the suit at all times and not feel as stiff as he once did, staving off some pain.

When it came to the suits,  Alista was studying the calibrations of the rare earth minerals divinations learning to bite through the delayed equipment. Whether the flesh Sam had would be corrupted was not out of question, but the suit’s metals were compacted and absorbed to protect the suit from eating away at the body, but also mix the earth materials to apply to his skin. The red jewels, the sacrifice he had given to the Jinni in Jerusalem, allowed Sam to suffice the Golden Robe’s hunger.

He could pick up his gun as his blood being sucked away from the suits power, and Golden AR-15 connected through the tubing that allowed the gun to fire. But even now, he had destroyed the connector piece that allowed him to sustain the stamina that he had before. But ever since he disconnected, fearing the idea of submission. How could he break away their illustrious sights of futile destruction when they were facing off against a mighty empire? It’s the bottom that people feared the most. The implicitness of the same purpose that one had to gauge as they lost the same principle fear as they sought to dispel agony within.

But the only agony he felt was not able to conquer the festivities the Ippayan’s had prepared for him. He didn’t find himself a dancer, but he liked watching the others dance. But Alista grabbed Sam and they started dancing. He just followed her and she didn’t care.

For the moment, she was happy, and that was all he could caress in the humid weather. The surrounding chaos Sam felt inner pressure, as they felt it weigh down the souls of mankind as they are bound within the dance within the Golden Robe. The fires formed their festivities. They didn’t need electricity to make them happy, but they saw him, and the women laughed at him for not being able to dance. And the men just put their palms in their face, laughing as well. Sam was willing to be laughed at in order for Alista to be happy.

Burning elements sought each moment together. The moments adding up. A freedom fighter on a suicide mission. The object of everyone’s laughter. But he could feel it. The moment when all others had stared at him, knowing that Sam would set them free.

The presumption of the same periodic gift that each promise is to embrace the happy moments as well as the hurtful things that could happen to them. It had to keep them going, even when they felt tired. Sam and Alista lay down their own flesh in each other. But when they stopped dancing, she kissed him, and now, abusing guides in the hollow dreams of the shoulders with sideways thoughts that leave them.

They didn’t think too long about it. Those who have known, formed the alliance between their bodies, lost in the highest dream of the soul, their romance. Even though there terror they, they held each other. They went back to their tent, and the armor relinquished itself off their bodies. She was still getting the hang of the armor, and even then, she didn’t mind it. It helped her feel less defenseless.

This was Alista’s first time in the jungle, and she was sweating constantly. They embraced each other. Bound to the flesh as they were, Alista crept up to his ear and whispered the idea of marriage into his ear. He wasn’t shocked as surrounding the gaze of the moon staring back down on their tent, but she didn’t feel right without marriage. They needed a priest that could do that. If they would be stronger, they needed marriage, but she wasn’t pressing it too far. Catholicism had been banned for sixteen years. The imposition of Islam knows how to spread submission and fear, never honesty and courage, which Christianity encouraged.

Sam, who had felt the effects of the brainwashing leave him, and the rare earth minerals soothe the pain of all this, bear the mark of the warrior who has set forth ablaze into a fiery maelstrom. The utterer felt its disease. Those who have reached into the night sky hearth of the spider’s lair desire that one has to reach as they fear those who have understood its promise to America.

Alista keeps her tongue pressured against his tongue, and she feels the way the baby is. She carries life and the seed they fight for the future. It’s the momentary thoughts worsening the anger that the air breathed. They could feel the desperate attempts at the gut, still touching what they had left to feel. The earth minerals made her feel refreshed and her body cool, but it was different for her touching the air with her bare skin open. The spider wolf is the one calling out into the air.

The impractical night of those circling the suspicion of the two warriors. Alista and Sam. They kept each other, with the promise of the sullen through fumigated machines that sent out new toxins.

As there is enough purpose or shame released in the inner earlobe, she bits without mercy. He snaps back at her playfully, and he kisses Alista. He would marry her, but he won’t marry inside the Islamic faith. Alista wouldn’t get married to him that way. It was awful of Islam ruined marriage for those who didn’t embrace the faith. But holding onto their principles, the world had experienced change. He needed a priest in that regard, too. To solidify their marriage.

The heat was blistering, but the way the people laughed and sang, it charged their spirits. The feeling that Sam allowed this; it was new. The feeling of openness, the ability to laugh at people’s criticisms, reminding him of what he was fighting for. All the principles of the founding fathers. The things that Muslims hated. Freedom. Equality, for all. The horrors he was subjected to. He knew that the anger of the American people had been subdued. He didn’t wake for the morning prayer and he cursed the very name of Muhammed.

The speakers were blaring and whatever they thought was all too horrifying. No one was happy as they got to pray on their prayer rugs, and burned them on the fire. The Latin Americans would have wished for Catholicism to save them now, as they fought they would be punished. The way the promised land torn through the gates of heavens, dewy frost licks the land, and without exceptions, as the blood they crave, they hear the sounds of the prayer, their jets alarmed them. But they had instructed the people to stay inside their tents. It’s the massive opportunity of deliverance, but the sounds of impending doom scared some, but not Sam and Alista who heard it all. They slipped out of the tent, through the back, and into the bushes.

2

Trauma Induced Warriors

When both Alista and Sam moved into the bushes, they knew the plan, and they had it all before them. If they were attacked, they would use stealth as much as possible until they were found. The suit would allow them to blend against the trees, and if his men and the others were captured, they would not fight. They would give them enough time to fight from the shadows and use their powers deceptively. But the way they heard the arrival was like hearing pistons move in the sky, and Mech(a) Jihadists feet could be heard like elephants moving through the jungle. They were easily heard within the Ippayan jungle, since they had little to savor with the combat.

They were desert like creatures, and the jungle was a mystery to them. The imperfect system they had was not as upgraded as both Alista and Sam’s suit could be. There footsteps were soft as a praying mantis crossing two leaves. The sounds felt like they were moving against the trees. The improper thoughts best left for when they were spotted.

But they had their guns in one hand, and blades in the other. They spirited through the bushes, as some Mech(a) Jihadists moved toward them. When there suits were studying, they kept looking, analyzing through their HUDS together, and they stayed still. they were better off staying still.

Only Alista moved underneath the heavy grass and grabbed the Mech(a) Jihadist and snapped his neck. The head cleanly broke and the suit fell off his body. They moved the body into the brush and they continued forward. They heard the men talking. Listen, if you find any of the others, don’t kill them. We need them alive for bargaining with the enemy. Why don’t we just kill the enemy? Because we aren’t that bloodthirsty. Says you, Shaheem, but at least I know who my real enemies are.

The group of men moved away. They made a whistling noise, and the man who spoke proudly and viscerally moved forward, slowly, as if he was entranced, but still curious by the sound. When approaching the tall grass, Sam knocked the weapon out of the Mech(a) Jihadist hand, and with his fingers, softly flicked the man’s face, and he fell to the ground. With the upgrades to the suit he was more powerful again, but with limited stamina, so it forced him to decide his moves quickly.

But with the man falling to the ground, they hid him again, and after he fell, they moved onto the huts. The problem is that if they used their weapons, they would tear through the huts. It’s a machination of the source, but when they attacked, their moves felt natural, fluid, like water through the air.

As they split up, they heard the others being brought out. It was Captain Basil and the Astrologer and Anna Lee. Tell us where he is. They said with urgency and impatience. They didn’t answer. For every minute you don’t answer we will kill the townspeople. That would be bad for you. Anna Lee said. Oh, you, the girl commander. Why do you think it would be bad? If you attacked us now, you would be summoned before the Imam, and you might lose your suit forever. Which can be destroyed. You can’t destroy the Golden Robe.

The Mech(a) Jihadist slapped her and laughed. I would probably be given a badge of honor for destroying you traitors. Because the way I see it, you should be worried about your men, not us.

He walked the others off the perimeters, and keep sharp. Alista and Sam heard this, and they knew they had to keep silent. If they attacked out in the open, they would attack in teams, and if they were separated, they would whittle down the men. When Alista ran around the houses, she punched the back of their head and smashed the head into the ground. The body was dragged out of sight, only leaving the brains and the bit of the fractured Golden Robe into bits and pieces of their brain. When Sam attacked, he swept the leg and stabbed with a piece of rock glass, and the short circuited and a small gurgling sound issued from their mouth. The suit had disconnected and they felt it swarming in the flesh.

The outcome of the flesh is the opposite of the Golden Robe’s upgrades. But when they moved, the pistons on their feet were silent, moving as if they were wearing slippers. When the Captain issued forth a command, he wasn’t getting a response. When he stood still he yelled, If you are out there, I will start killing your brethren. You are bound by no other materialization. It’s the sustenance of the waking nightmare. As those who reach out for you, I will cut them down.

When he counted down from 5, they both moved, and the sounds of the cracking twigs were heard. The Mech(a) Jihadist was afraid, and however he felt marooned, the sounds of his death were approaching. But he felt like animals were moving closer, with each step, as all who have feared the presence of Satan, but even now, the moves were silent as he kept studying trying to keep up with the sounds.

But the jungle proved in fumed disarray, and now as they were too blissfully warned, they were about to conquer the flesh as they did, but the horoscopes moved over Sam. It was the born tremors that seek outward with subtle transfusions, seeking within. There glands seeking its purpose subtle warriors center the ground. The movements of leaves.

The twigs that always set off sensors. As he pointed, he kept urging him to come out. He was more than afraid. He hadn’t felt God when he met the enemy. He had not met anyone like this. They moved in whispers and they slipped through the cover of the fatigue, and however they acted, still resolutely fine-tuned, for the beams lessened around the trees. It’s the brimming outsource of the beams moving in unison. The dignity they have born underneath.

It’s the touch bottom stone, but they can feel the spiders. Each time he heard the sounds, it magnified within him. He was afraid and he wanted to leave, but he felt his gold AR-15 shake in his hand, curating blood to keep the Golden Robe together. The soul of the traveler of the wind persisted. But even so, he couldn’t feel the wind. He was numb from the pain and the drugs inside the machine.

When he felt it, it was too close. The slashing of the throat and at his hips caught him off guard, but he fell, limply, as if he had felt it all too well. That was magnificent. He said as the blood left his mouth and the suit dissolved off his body. Alista and Sam shared a smile. They loved the thrill of fighting, even if they fear those who have reached the guided element of the terrible dreams as they felt it bound, forever as they did. To them, nothing was everything, and even so, they admired each other’s strength and quality. The uttered perception of the terrible gestures, and smiled at the disadvantage of the enemy.

The reminders of the souls who had left didn’t bother them, but they didn’t desecrate the bodies. They had no intention of behaving like their enemy.

It was the lion and the sea princess, fighting together. As they sought to fight, they felt within. They are never without the same calculating attitudes. They are bound by the horoscopes of the flesh, fear is the absolute taste of the perceptions never allowed to speak. But to touch each other is the goal of any couple, the cracked heavens combing the surface of the ground with their hands, they are horrors meshed together within the Golden Robe.

As they saw what they could do, they didn’t act as if they were sacred though. They took the suits off and they gave them to Anna. She studied them and gave to Alista, noting that they were given drugs to fuel their hypersensitivity. It’s a powerful drug to add for more than they felt it behaved as they since developed the taste for it, but Alista saw the chemical within the suits. It was cocaine.

They were given drugs in order to heighten the surroundings. Was this an old technique? This was the way of the Assassin’s who startled the leaves. The cocaine in the suits traveled through their system. It added hyper alertness, because the Mech(a) Suits weren’t at the power of the Golden Robe. It took mankind’s damage control into account, but the power they had was weakening the system.  They no longer had water to use and now this illegal substance was flowing through them.

Whether there is enough problems to see it falter through, it’s why Imam Kahn took to using cocaine. The Cartels were in alliance with Imam, as he allowed them to gain further money from the deals with the Cartels. But since this was the opposite of the suits powers, the way the cocaine added some devolved method, producing a glowing presence, but the heightened strength only drained there suits faster.

It had been manufactured to engage in the suits Mech(a) abilities. The Cocaine was adrenaline, and even now, the armies were weakened without the water supply to the suits. But the Cocaine was already corrupt.

The horrors that have existed were often a numerous engagement, furthering what Sam felt was the opposite of a reaction. Had the suits become corrupted once the cocoa powder was exchanged for water? Alista admired that with the cocaine, it allowed further uses. They could see as if they thought they saw the fires of the swollen night further through the Mech(a) suits dreams. But the water and the earth minerals helped in succession, but with his own suit, the Golden Robe, the water was replenished and helped him last longer and avoid having to refill the water and the earth minerals that interacted with the suit couldn’t harm his body.

The power source had changed with the cocaine; they knew that it was often a simpler challenge at the edge of technology, or the way nature materialized again. It’s the matter of testament to Jinni’s power. They knew they were a long way from the way others thought or felt, but the jungle had allowed Sam to think clearly. Even though it was hot and damp, he heard the people rejoicing as the Latinos fed the bodies of the soldiers to the crocodile.

Alista could study the blood samples that were inside the suits and come up with a possible way to counteract it. The cocaine had taken the place for water and even then, they didn’t understand certain earth minerals to create or extrapolate the Mech(a) suits. The suit had reacted to it as the solvent for water and allowing the suit to stay further compressed, actions guided by the suit are bound to their tethered gates, even as they searched for the touch of madness, but the way the cocaine poured into their skin, it caused some overreaction as they felt it create bulletproof capabilities.

It was like adding another thick armor to their skin, and what they felt is the same power they had felt with the water, but added more layers. But they knew it was still a system they had to study to find its main source of how it managed to protect the skin, but it seems heavily ingested the same utterance of the faithful. But they thought they had faith. They were fighting faith against faith, Robe against robe.

As they discussed the powers that it had over the men, the could stay up for hours on end, but when they did attack them, their skin connected with the suit, felt a little harder to break. The broken skin had created an aroma. The movements uttered as the skin interacted with the amino acids doubling. As if they had ingested more than the poison that it becomes attached to the flesh like carpet on floor. It made the skin as tough with the suit, but allowing it to find more entrenched lost the water in their suits, they found it allowed the skin to be thicker, as if it was the way the Mech(a) suits interacted, doubling the paint within.

But they couldn’t fire off their weapons. When they have uttered in the solvent hands of swill promises swirling within the gamey nightmares, biting the skin. Only now, they would have to fear if those who did react well to the chemical in the suit allowed some soldiers to feel impenetrable, and if ingested too much through the skin, it seeped into the Golden Robes. But the Golden Robes could be manipulated easier, but not Sam’s suit. It came as no surprise as he found the machinations that have reached the shadow of mankind.

This new suit had allowed the warriors to break less, and cocaine, as it was ingested in the suit, allowed their locked inferiors to sit further into the heart of their swelling minds. They sat and they let the people regain their trust. Only they knew that if they stayed, more would return. They destroyed the flags with the crescent moon and the star, and they broke the loudspeakers.

3

Hate Rather than Love

The silent matrons who patrol the streets are still observant. When Sam and the rest of the crew moved through the jungles, they could taste the sweat of all nations. They could feel the dirt and the grime underneath their feet. They stopped to rest where they gathered a pig,  and they cut it open. Anna Lee looked away, burying her head into Sam’s thigh, but she peeked out of the corner.

Alista put her hand against her shoulder. I know that we mustn’t question why we eat, but must we see it die in front of us?

Alista walked away and Alista shrugged and put her hand around Sam’s waist. The smell of the forest reminded him of the days when he would hunt, as a boy. He would be sweaty and smell their flesh on the tip of his gun. But other than that, it didn’t bother him. They went to the Astrologer and they asked if he had any more visions.

If I do I will tell you, but all I can see is the movement in between the trees. We are getting closer to finding the rebel priest that these people talk of. Even I ordained it. Sam nodded and passed him water. He took a sip and thanked him. Is the weather bothering you. It’s just like the desert with trees, and my robe let’s my body breathe. But I know that we are on the right course. Although I do feel the presence of a Jinni. Really? Jinni existed not just in the Arab countries. I figure they would only have existed there. We’ll find it. But I am shrouded by fog here. Not just by the weather.

Sam sat down and pulled out the Bible. He had the constitution in his hands as well. Those were the two things he wanted people to know existed. He feared his countrymen would have forgotten these principles? Had they donned the mask of barbarism, Islamic Jihadist terrorism? Would they ever expect the death of millions are contrived out of the blacks hatred for white, and reversed the role of slavery upon white people? Black people were a pawn in the Middle Easterner’s palm. But he didn’t expect every black person to feel this way. But when he sat and considered all the possibilities, he had to take a step at a time.

But he had women and children. Was this his army? He felt Alista, and he smelled her neck. He walked with her to his hut, and he gave her a flower. He picked it for her. The rose changed from red to purple in her hand. She took a breath, and she smiled. Out of habit, or out of love. A gazelle head peered from underneath the tent, and smiled at them, as it ate from the purple rose.

It disappeared, and a tear fell down her face. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, succulent as the flesh of her frostbitten toes, but he sat her down, and he rubbed her feet. In the tent, it felt like they were kings, but they were merely beggars. They could smell the pig, fortunate as they were, and even now, they have reminders of their life, further than the limits of the soul could take. It’s the decision of man as they fear personal weight. Further lost on the whole of mankind, contemplating the lost mechanics of the subtle treatise in the jinni’s fingerprint.

The flesh ate was due to the kindness of the Uruguayan cult as they fear it’s the depth of mankind, the firm decades of limitless boundaries they see as they start to forgive those who have yet to consciously sworn in. Underneath each cautionary vengeance there is enough as they fear those who have yet to see.

When they saw each other, they took a baby wipe and they wiped each other off. Sam Tremo wiped Alista’s crotch and ass for her, and she did the same. He heard the people talking in Spanish. His suit was analyzing it and he could hear their thoughts and pain. The sounds of the bongo began to be heard. They could actually rejoice at a time like this.

Fortunately whisper in the improper belly of the dream impossible, as they learn to abide in the home of the revenant, abide in the depths of the circle. Each time they felt it, they could feel the music travel over them, even as they felt it bound together, formerly divine as they feel the depths of the formerly divine as they felt it swarm over him, even as they felt it lost in the digression of the facts.

They had to calm down. Waiting for the promise of the simple days. He could hear the same bastion of the filth they have born to outright deny each other, separate recycled time within their depths of fortunate pilgrims lingering, as the days of the hunter hold its sword in the air. They hold together, even as they know when all shall pass, they are bound together, fortunate as they are, never underwhelming as they were.

Each problem is the depth of the soul, fortunate when they apparently bound in the ligaments of the succulent feast. They kiss each other as they see the same perception of the time allowed in the natural decay of the flesh. Each property, fortunate in the holistic minds, the bastion seeing through the flesh of the conduits, searching as they felt it deny the problem of the soul, moving against the triumvirate.

They could feel the others lingering as they did, fortunately seeing as they felt, but they could feel the bugs and the smell of the roasted pig. It was a natural sacrifice. They had women and children there. It’s what he felt and they sat and he rubbed her feet. He clipped her toenails for her. It’s the opportunity behind him outright in the same opportunity of the source behind its unlikely valor.

The daily pilgrims colonialists are still holding onto their schisms, forever known as they felt it lost, through the problems of the cables within the Golden Robe, nurturing the same who have whispered through problems they have known to cross over. When they look at each other, divine assault bind the light of the new