Day 29 – Copper
Symbol – Cu
Atomic weight – 63.546
Ionization energy – 7.7264eV
Solution –
Chemist – @Volturi_Lord
Copper
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Code name please….
I leaned towards the cute girl, modulated my voice down a notch and replied her in my tested and trusted bedroom voice:
“Thebluepaet”
She raised an impeccable groomed eyebrow and managed to look unimpressed while still smiling politely.
“Password please….”
“Illuminati..?”
Now both perfectly arched eyebrows were up and a tiny crease was beginning to appear in what I imagine was a botox enhanced forehead.
“Password please” she repeated….
“Oh sorry, illuminati was last month’s…..Ogboni!”
“Yea, the password’s Ogboni!”
The raised eyebrows immediately dropped, creased forehead went back to its obscenely smooth paradigm and the polite smile was back on her face as if copy pasted at the end of a wizard’s wand.
“Welcome to the Invictus corporation TBH, please go straight down the hallway”
Being an immortal god and been around for more than a couple of centuries would do that to a man, I’ve been in slightly different versions of this scenario over the last couple of a hundred years that I was almost on auto pilot. But this place was different. It wasn’t the dark sinister looking cave-like nest of festering evil we always expect from these take-over-the-world types. It was airy and cheery with a slight hint of cinnamon in the air……could they be baking cookies?
After months of undercover work and cunning slithering through the ranks, I was finally invited to the holies of holy, into the organ in the organization. I finally had a chance to know the unusual mind behind this unusual sublime entity called Invictus.
The fact that I was here alone was unfair, and the fact that I had being relegated to hunting minor offenders for frivolous misdemeanors while other gods, white gods in fact were out there doing awesome shii while I was used as a gofer was maddening. Avengers my ass!! If this wasn’t racism then the Nazi’s hadn’t killed 6 million jews……well actually they hadn’t killed six 6 million jews, more in the range of 11 mil. But who could account for humans and their mastery of the art of covering shii up? I just stick to my job and occasionally set some annoying earthlings on fire when I “accidentally” belch fire.
Over the years, I’ve had several code names for my clandestine operations, but just 2 had stuck. The first “the bawdy paet” was in the words of the urban Nigerian youths of today “casted” seeing as I had over centuries sent a lot of demons to Hades domain using that alias. So now I just go by The Blue Paet.
But of course I digress. Today’s mission is supposed to be a simple; get in, get the identity of the Head-nigga-in-charge as he likes to be referred to, get out, email a report to my supervisor, get home to my couch, a chilled can of my favorite brew and ESPN.
ESPN….human’s greatest invention! One couldn’t explain…..
Again I digress, I was now in front of a gold plated elevator and the red tinged motif on it almost had me laughing out loud. Who would have thought this possible? That I Sango, the once feared and revered god of thunder, lightning and all things loud and scary would be reduced to hunting down minor demons with drawings of a “cartooned” god on their elevator door. Who would have thought that I would be shutting down some of the few people who still actually remember that I exist?
Still chuckling I entered the elevator and pushed the single button available to be pushed. Sometimes I wonder if these evil-genius-maniac types took courses on how to be dramatic cause apparently they sha excelled at it.
The elevator opened into a corridor featuring a huge poster;
” 3,155,414,400 Seconds
52,590,240 Minutes
876,504 Hours
36,521 Days
5,218 Weeks
1,200 Months
400 Seasons
100 Years
1 LIFE
We give you as many of this as you want.”
I felt a tug of excitement and forced myself to calm down. Now, This. Was. Very. Interesting.
I think a little education would do a lot of good here. You see, in the 1400th century, Lord Banks and some of his minions had escaped purgatory with approximately 17 liters of primordial ooze, which they had immediately and with high enthusiasm embarked on introducing into the drinking water supply of major cities the world over. Thus the Bubonic plague and the 25 million Europeans black death episode.
History had again repeated itself when the never-captured Lord Banks had again reappeared in the 19th century. This time toting an entire knapsack of meta-physically enhanced cholera pathogen that he was in the process of applying to the Asian and African continents (thankfully sparing) when he had being nabbed, hanged, drawn, quartered and had his remains scattered to the far ends of the world by our predecessors.
So when I stepped into the corridor and closely examined what had drawn my attention, I wasn’t only excited, I could feel a chill run up my spine. The Decal at the left upper corner of the poster was exactly like the one we had studied during one of the many mini-courses they made us take at one time or another. This one had stuck with me for a simple reason. The face on it was ugly as hell and it kinda reminded my of my ex-girlfriend ‘Olokun’. All gnarly and scaly.
It’s been quite a while I felt fear, so when I caught myself hesitating to take the long walk down the corridor to the huge double doors; I was startled and a little bit gratified. Fear was healthy. Fear was the difference between an immortal ‘godling’ and burnt immortal toast. Fear was exciting……. and if the thought has even crossed your mind that a god shouldn’t be scared of anything, then you obviously have no idea how fearsome, awesome and inherently scary the array of entities, beings, demons and incomprehensible things out there are. What was I expecting sef? You know absolutely nothing.
I slowly moved forward, each step filling, mingling and woven with trepidation. If I say I felt like going back I would again come across as a coward, but I’d like to officially inform you that the thought crossed my mind more times than the pointy edge of a pentacle. Call it what you wanna, but Lordy Banks had a reputation of being a Badoo! And when you think about the fact that he was single handedly responsible for the death of over a hundred million mortals, he was rumored to have once torn out the still beating heart of a succubus just to use it as a paperweight. Add to that mix the anger and wrath he’ll be feeling now after spending the last couple of a hundred years in various isolated parts and pieces. I just would love not to be there and definitely not to be the agent assigned to stop him when he decided to hatch out whatever he had in store for you people this new millennium. Where were those white gods when you need them? All full of heroic thoughts, delusions of grandeur and glory and of course…..full of horse shit!
The corridor curved at the end and flared to meet a massive double arched door of smooth fine bronze. No finishing, carving handle or protrusions of any kind. It just cast a dull sheen and stood there preventing unbidden entrance. Silent and forbidden…..You’d need an anti-tank missile to burst through this if those behind had no use for your presence but obviously they wanted mine, because the door slowly slid open on hidden hinges. Without even as much as a muted groan and I took a short step into the unknown. This was it… There was a very high probability that I wasn’t going to step back through those doors. Every good run has to have an end.
The first thing I noticed was the swirling pink mist, followed by the thudding and head convulsing banging techno music. Well this wasn’t what I was expecting. I cautiously pushed forward through the haze towards the source of the Owlcity jam that was on and what sounded like laughter. Visibility was zero and the air smelt like vanilla and lubricated latex……wait, make that vanilla scented Condoms. The entire environment reeked of vanilla flavored condoms. I wonder what the hell Lord banks was cooking up now. I had come with the expectations of maybe sitting in on a meeting, being introduced to him and maybe kotowing to le boss, but now I had being allowed into what seemed like their laboratory and when unknown “lowlifes” were allowed into their laboratory, that went a long way explaining a lot about how confident this group was.
I stepped a little bit forward and discovered what seemed like a short step that lead into a depressed hollow area in that great room. As if prearranged, the mist opened up a bit and I laid my eyes on what I was most scared of. Someone must have snitched and told these fellows my weak spot, my kryptonite.
I could just feel my power draining outta me. An African man wasn’t supposed to witness this, talk more of an African god, the epitome of manliness and strength. I had walked right into the middle of a gay orgy.
END.
DANCING IN THE RAIN 1
DISCLAIMER: NOT HUMAN
Greetings all, this intro really isn’t needed or maybe it is, you decide. I just want to say that we’re starting a poem/prose series here called – ‘DANCING IN THE RAIN’. The posts under this series will be filed under the prose category. All the characters and locations portrayed herein are totally fictional, and if they bear any resemblance with real people places or events, it isn’t or is coincidental, you decide.
Thanks for stopping by really, ENJOY!
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To dance in the rain, the most sacred of arts.
To prove that you can father child and bear fruit.
For how can you breed offspring, if you cannot dance in the rain?
The fire priestess steps out in fashion.
I look upon her with admiration, as she moves in rhythm.
She must dance and sing as is tradition:
“Orisa, we have come,
To lay down our pride, and dance to the tune of our fathers.
Our children lay beneath you, deprived of earthly understanding.
For we are mere sand in the eyes of the great god,
Our wants and needs are subject to you.
I call upon you oh god of my fathers and keeper of my mothers,
Find them worthy I beseech you, worthy of life and of family.
Let the boy become man and the girl woman.”
With frail painted bodies and shaken limbs we the children are to dance under the rain.
With dreams of the future fading fast and hopes in a god we have never seen.
The paint lingers after the dance and all will be well.
The paint washes off; ‘IKU’ becomes fate.
The little scared offspring must prove worthy of life.
Today I become man, for the paint must not wash off.
For if it does, my dreams wash away with it.
It is just past midday now.
We all stare into the sky, ignoring each other, we’re all strangers now.
It’s best not to speak, for spirits are said to roam these parts.
Carrying the sins committed by tongue to Orisa.
She calls my name, my time has come.
“Akingbolahan omo mi kare,
For your time is nigh, the cold wind blows with the spirits of your ancestors.
Dance my little child, for you were born to die.
For how can you live, if you cannot die?”
The rain pours as if angry, yet the whole village lingers.
Little children watch in absolute horror, they know for sure their time will come.
Fathers clutch their fists and mothers whisper silent prayers of hope.
I hear wails of mothers, who have lost daughters,
And see the blank expressions on the faces of the fathers whose sons were deemed unworthy.
I hear the musicians, beating their drums and making rhythm.
It is my turn to prove I am man, my turn to sway to the beat.
I am not scared, oh definitely I am not,
For the fear is me and I am fear.
My will was forged from the fires of the first fire god,
I am the child of the lion, the brave heart that knows no fear and no hesitation.
I will tower above them like the eagle,
I will spread my wings and conquer the skies.
It is said that children found unworthy were fed to the vultures.
Their souls never to know eternal peace, will this be my fate?
Finally I step out in rhythm; my heart beats faster than is permitted.
I am sure even the god of death would fear death if he could die.
I wriggle my waist, the dance starts slowly.
I perform the dance of my family as gracefully as I can
I search the crowd for my old man; our sight cross path and he lets out a smile.
He must be proud; watching as I mirror his movements.
“Akingbolahan oh Akingbolahan,
The iroko tree that has deep roots will stand firm for all eternity.
For a day will come when the son becomes the father of the father.
For generations your roots have lingered among us,
Fables of joy and of sorrow, of love and of hate.
Prove that you are worthy.”
The rain increases in intensity as if angered; I can only hear the sounds of the drums now.
They sound like indiscrete screams.
Just like that the rain calms, and suddenly the indiscrete sounds become horrific screams.
For I look upon myself, the paint is gone and my flesh is bare.
Everybody looks on in awe as my mother collapses where she stands.
DISCLAIMER: NOT HUMAN 