God's Son

I wrote the Bible once. Looked down at that damn book and copied every word I read. I said I wrote the Bible and I mean it. And if you think God wrote the Bible, you wrong. Man wrote it down like that and it never had to be done by God cause a man had some paper and indigo or something and set man to do it.

I'm not the author, nothing. I said for God to Damn something and the teacher she says go on copy that Bible til my finger fall off. Hey, I had a plan and I left school that day and told myself the only way I'm gonna fix what I done is to do what teacher say and copy the whole damn Bible and that'd make no school for me anymore, right? So I did it.

It took me half my life with pasting pages and fixing spelling and getting a dictionary and I found out one thing. A man can write the Bible with his own hands in maybe a half a life if you figure a life at eighty years, and given time for meals and sleep and paying the bills which somehow always got paid, and I ain't so sure it was all on the level but I come out of writing that damn Bible owing nobody nothing except a few thank yous for a glass of water here and there and food and such.

This whole world kept on going while I did my work and I heard of wars and killings and gangs. Some group of kids get drugs and a few guns and a city stands still for a bit, just as I finished. I worked hard to write this Bible the right way on good paper with my best script, and when my hand hurt sometimes I'd just stop and run some cold water over it. Then I'd get going again.

Hell, it was work and I'm a good Christian man, but I made some mistakes and learned writing the Good Word the hard way. Oh, I'll tell you. I learned them names and numbers and the peoples and the songs and the praises and the Prophets and a Temple where Lord lived and died and lived again and then left, saying he coming back someday soon. Sometimes the stories make me so mad at God and He the One created me and I'm so confused as to why He has to hurt us so bad to see if we love Him, but that's a mean old thought you shouldn't think about your Lord.

I wrote down every sin God seen his people do and sometimes I start crying cause I don't know any better way to live than this. I ask Him take away all the sin and I give up all my wants and lets all be friends, but the Bible it keeps saying we're bad and, oh, how we can't see what we do to one another. There's wars and killings and false promises. There's so much hurt in that Book I nearly died of sadness at how hard we all are to ourselves.

But there's this one part I really liked which made the whole damn thing work and it's at the worst part when the poor Son is dying and his mama's watching him and he tells her to look at her new son and this boy he tells him that now he's got a mama because the Son is dying and I stopped writing at that moment.

I think.

Jesus dying, gives his mama a new son and his young friend a new mama.

I tell you, I finished writing that Bible with my own hand but I was sure I understood something that I might have missed if I didn't take my teacher so literal. That Man's last concern was for his mama and his friend, maybe his brother. That's when it got to me that man HAD to be God.

Yeah. I finished writing that Bible by hand, and I ain't seen much of what others got to see while living, but maybe I got something for my trouble that they might have missed.

Interruption

A better version is on the WoW. Wand of Wonder 2.0: Sorry for the Interruption

It's Christopher Morris here with a consumer complaint. I would ask that you post this on your blogs or send via email, even though it is a local issue.First, the good. That's a sentence fragment, but who cares. The Hyundai Motor Company makes an awesome line of cars. They are super reliable, have a great 100,000 mile drivetrain warantee with a great extended warantee to boot for a small sum. They work hard to get the financing at a great rate and easy payments. Their dealers are typical high pressure, negitiate until your teeth hurt salesmen, but come on! That's half the fun. AND their service departments are superior. The fight for warrantee work and give you a loaner car and call every day with updates.Now, the bad news. Rick Torres Empire Hyundai:Company DetailsLocation: Fall River, MAFounders: Richard R. Torres, 41Website: www.empirehyundai.comYear Started: January 2000Initial Investment: $200KTurned a Profit: 2000First Million: 20022002 Sales: $18.4M2006 Sales: $60.7MNumber of Employees:Day 1: 92006: 852007: 111*Awesome company. Great service department, initially. Four years ago, the let go of some of the service managers and installed a few real hard asses. We fought tooth and nail. Then, when we had a drivetrain problem and a ball joint problem, they tried to screw us.Background. My father has worked in the automotive service industry for 30 years, with Goodyear, Getty, Moe's Alignment senter (owner, operator) and for Henney's Towing and repair and Glassman Auto (one of the most respected car dealerships and repair facilities in all of the Bristol Area. I had Glassman do the 60,000 mile madatory replacement of the timing belt, water pump and tensioners. ALL Hyundai Certified parts, with an ASE certified mechanic and a full itemization. Their reputation is known in three states as a quality shop.So, a year later a few problems pop up. We take it to RICK TORRES EMPIRE HYUNDAI. Jeff White, the service manager, is reasonably sure it's all warantee work, but promises to call if there are any problems. Without written consent, he takes the car apart (not even necessary) claims the timing belt is mangled and it's going to cost $450.00, no warantee, to fix.Hold on, I say. You did not authorize this.Well, I've got your car in pieces in my bay right now. It will cost you just as much to put it all back to gether, but feel free to take it somewhere else.Me: when can you have it fixed?One week.Oh? So, how are you going to get it out of the bay?It's going to sit there until you agree to pay or my guy puts it together and we get paid for his time.Me: My father works at Glassman auto. They replace the timing belt, the water pump and the tensioner. So, they screwed up?Yes.Okay, my brother in law works for a dealership and he could shede a little light on this. I want all the parts you take out.I can't give those to you.By law, you have to.No, they have to go to warantee to ensure that we did the right work.The job you said wasn't under warantee, you said.It's half under warantee.I want my my guys to look at the parts before then. They have all the records and they'll see about this.Well, it's going to cost you that much either way.So, you've got me over barrel here. This is like blackmail.I'm just doing my job.Look, I've been around car repair long enough. You're lying.I'm sorry you feel that way.Who can I talk to about this?No one. I'm the manager here.I'll hand it to JEFF WHITE, he never raised his voice and made me sound like a cranky old man.Fearing for my car, I apologized and told him to do the work. I even said my stress level was too high and I should not be taking it out on him and that he was doing his job. Which, I didn't tell him, was swindling people.I did my research and had a few phone calls made to RICK TORRES HYUNDAI.SHOCK! It all magically got covered under warantee. THEN, they'd stolen money from the car. Yes, we'd left it there on purpose. The last straw.Facts.1. NO repair shop can touch your car without a written good faith estimate and cannot proceed beyond that estimate without another written consent.2. The cannot charge you labor for any work they innitiate to investigate a problem.3. No company in their right mind ties up a service bay with a car 'totally taken apart' for nine days. They had to put it back together to get it out of the bay to work on other cars.4. They have no right to lock your car in a gated lock if they have done no repairs, unless they are willing to release it with a signature of receit.I was blackmailed, lied to and meant to feel very stressed out AND had to kiss the ass of a lying worm of a service manager just to save my car.Lastly, they dumped motor oil on parts of the engine to make it smoke and smell to try and get us to come in for a supposed oil leak. Nice try.Customer service cannot get either manager on the phone to resolve this. I want an admission of the lying and blackmail, reprocussions for JEFF WHITE and a watchdog on their ass, like the Mass Better Business Bureau.They pull this crap with old ladies and women and executives with no car knowledge.Advice:Go with your gut. If the price jumps without warning, refuse and ask to take the car immediately with no service charge.Keep spotless records.Always ask for parts that were taken out and double check with another shop if you suspect foul play.SPEAK UP! Squeaky wheel gets the grease. We got our warantee work for $50.00 (on a $600.0 bill).They are NEVER authorized to do work without an itemized estimate signed by you and cannot ecceed it with another signed release.If you get screwed, fight back and threaten bad press. Call the local channels scam busters, the papers and blog and email. Bad press will force their hand.Don't let them badger you. Get your research lined up and call a reputable shop and ask question. It helps to offer the new shop all your following business if they can help.PLEASE post this or link it or whatever you can do.Hyundai is a great company. Their service department is excellent, but many LIKE RICK TORRES EMPIRE HYUNDAI's service department are looking to scam.I invite Rick Torres, his General Manager (not his service manager) to contact me at eliasdolon@charter.net understand, that's not my real name for privacy issues on the net, but I'll feel free to tell you who I am and explain further in a rational way what happened.cc www.empirehyundai.com

The Road to Emmaus: Part VI

"Shhhhhh," Mr. Daniel said. The television gurgled in the background. She saw dirt walls. "You're safe for now."

She didn't believe him. They'd punched her in the head to knock her out. It took six punches from multiple sides to do the trick. She heard a news report about her abduction.

"You see," Mr. Daniel said, "Before you reported the news. Now, you are the news." She screamed into her gag. He slapped her. "You ignorant woman. I'll tell you something newsworthy. Early in history, women were rulers. They were priestesses, governesses, judges. Then, something happened. The men rose up and took the power from the women. Do you know why?"

She squirmed. The foul smell of underground decay flowed in and out of her nostrils. She tasted blood. He put his hand on her head and pushed her cheek into the soil.

"Because," he said, "Women are stupid, evil and filthy. Praise be to God."

***********************************************

Murphy sat in the dark, drinking beer and watching television. He felt a pang of guilt when he wished the whole terror thing would go away so he could watch Grey's Anatomy uninterupted by news flashes. The guilt worsened when he realized his original guilt stemmed from watching Grey's Anatomy.

"I've had enough of this crap," he said. His legs wavered when he stood, so he sat. He shut off the TV. The last image, the one of Mauly Peppers in her bright pink Channel suit with the bright red tagline 'ABDUCTED', made him horny. More guilt, he thought.

The door opened and closed.

"'Bout friggin' time," Murphy said. "You missed another long night of watching the world go to hell." Murphy followed the footsteps down a long corridor to the kitchen. He heard the bottle opener click open a beer. "You're drunk again," Murphy said. He heard a second beer open. He took it when it was offered to him.

"You gonna do anything about all this?" Murphy asked.

"Nope," his roomate said.

"Why not?" Murphy asked.

"I seen worse," his roomate said, "Try 1100 to 1500. Now there's a world crisis for you."

"I asked you a question," Murphy said.

"Murph," he sighed, "If I start running around fixing every little problem the world gets into, no one learns to help themselves."

"They abducted Mauly Peppers," Murphy said, walking away. He stopped at the door.

"I know," Jake said. "That's why I'm drinking."

The Road to Emmaus V

Press Secretary John Valenti addressed the media two days later. He stood behind a podium, and lied his blood out. He told them the President was in a secure location. He told them several cabinet members, including National Security Advisor Sharon Parks, briefed members of the law enforcement and intelligence communities. He asked for American Citizens to report any suspicious activity. He explained that the threat level would remain at Red, until the proper government agencies felt satisfied that the attacks were over.

Secretary Valenti had a crib sheet of answers in front of him. The bolded, red font at the top of the page read, "I don't have any information on that at this time." John knew the job well enough to state that fact in fifteen different ways, each specific to types of out of the blue questions.

"Is the President expected to brief the nation?" a reporter asked.

"At this time, I can't give you a definite answer," John said. "We just don't have enough information."

"What about the idea that these attacks are being coordinated by a well funded, military organization or government? asked another.

"Well, Al Qaeda was a well funded, government back organization," John said, "But with the nature of these attacks, it's hard to envision the type of organization that could be capable of this. We're looking into a few possibilities, but without solid information, it wouldn't be fair to speculate about who did this. We're still looking at the how, so to speak."

"After looking over the intelligence, was their any indication that an attack was imminent?" one asked.

"All I can tell you is that, as far as I am aware, there was no prior knowledge of an attaqck and no real increase in chatter from the groups we continually monitor, but again, it's still to early to rule out anything. Hindsight being much easier than foresight."

"What about the idea that this is a Christian Al Qaeda?" a man asked.

"I'm sorry," John said, "I'm not sure I follow you."

"A radical Christian terrorist group," the man explained. John looked at his sheet of paper.

"I don't have any information on that at this time," he said. One person in the room caught the lie.


***********************************************




"This isn't about your church," Mr. Eli said, his voice altered and fuzzed. Again, Channel 7 had trumped the other news agencies. CNN, Fox News, MSNBC and all the old networks, CBS, Fox, ABC, NBC, plus many of the spiritual cable channels and even ESPN broke in to catch the interview.

"On that we agree," said Reverend Tom Hill. "This isn't about God at all. Your people slaughter in the name of God. No sensible church would support that!"

"Except for the Sand People," Mr. Eli said.

Mauly keyed off her live mic and said, "Joe, we have to cut him off. We're being used."

"String him out," Joe said. "The more we let him talk, the more rope the Feds can hang him with."

"If they catch him," she said.

"You," the Reverend said, "Are hiding your face and voice. You're ashamed of what you preach."

"No," Mr. Eli said, "I'm smart. And my God has given me wisdom beyond what you can understand."

"Gentleman," Mauly said, over the air, "If I may..."

"He's no gentleman," the Reverend said.

"He's right," Mr. Eli responded, "I am no more than an animal. But I am God's animal and I'm true to how he made me. They've killed our innocent Brothers and Sisters. The marry 40 year old men and 12 year old girls. Haven't we outlawed that? It's dispicable. It's not a religion, it's a slavery cult."

"You are killing innocents too," the Reverend said.

"No one on earth is innocent," Mr. Eli said. "Your teachings state that. My goodness, stand up for your people Reverand! You are going to let them die? For what?"

"Gentlemen," Mauly broke in the conversation.

"Careful, Mauly," the producer said. She backed off.

"Jesus Christ died for our sins," the Reverend put on his pulpit voice, "And if the Son of God did not lift a sword to defend himself, but begged his followers to turn away from violence..."

"He's changed his mind since his first trip to earth," Mr. Eli said. "This time he brings fire and the sword. One more thing before I hang up and send more imstructions. Mauly are you there?"

"Yes," she said, "I'm here but I..."

"Shut up and listen," he said. A raw shock of cold ran over her. "Go and interview a girl named Jenna Paulson from the Reverend's old parish in Orange, Connecticut. Ask her why he left them." He hung up.

The Road to Emmaus: Part IV

"Just as surely as if they put a gun to your head," Mr. Isaac said, "They held an entire nation, an entire religion, an entire world hostage." He stared, swiveling his head as he spoke, catching each pair of eyes along the way, pacing. Mr. Isaac, pacing like a rope-chord muscled panther.

"Well," he said, "Suppose one day a group - not some radical group, no no - but some group who would die for the Lord, stood up and said 'Take your heathen, bloodspilling, sand covered religion and go back into hiding, because the Lord isn't going to sit by and watch." Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd, "The Lord is going to send his people into the flames and like gold in a refiner's crucible, they will be cleansed. The Lord sets the table before us in the face of our enemies. The Lord will not forget his one true people."

He paced. People in the front row heard him make a low noise in his throat. "The Nation of Israel, the people of the tribe of Judah, and the followers of the Christ - God be praised - His followers all will unite. They claim to be the Sons of Abraham," he cocked an eye and grimaced, "Decendents of Abraham, yes. Sons and Daighters?"

"Have you ever heard of Ishmael?" Mr. Isaac asked them. People nodded and shouted affirmatives. "Ishmael was born to a servant girl, fathered by Abraham. Ishmael was cast out because he displeased God! Thus are the decendents of Ishmael not true Sons and Daughters of Abraham. Only those decended from Isaac can call themselves Sons and Daughters of God Almighty, and Allah is NOT the name the Father gave us to call him. Ask any Jew. Ask a well read Christian scholar. The name was Y - H - V - H and its pronounced Yadhevah, not Allah, may God strike them dead in their ignorance."

"If we are consecrated in God, by God, and for God, then we can join his Holy Struggle against the serpent sons of Ishmael, the heathen Islamists." He stepped of the stage and walked into the crowd. Like lightning, as quick as he had come, he left.

******************************************


The assasinations started twelve days after the bombings. Every hour another news broadcast interrupted regular programming. Twelve world leaders died, one every hour. Reports landed on secret desks in nonexistent buildings.

Beneath the streets of Baltimore, a small cadre of advisors rehashed Special Agent Dempsey's assesment, ammended to reflect his voicemail message.

"No one," the Guru said. He leaned back, the only one out of the eight assembled there that looked relaxed.

"How the hell does he get briefed, then?" asked the National Security Advisor.

"It gets to him," a young Intelligence Officer said.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's all we can say," said the Guru. "It's for his protection."

"Your job is to protect this country," Langley said, "We'll protect the President."

Every phone in the room rang at once. The Guru felt his heart squeeze to half its size. In the eerie half silence between ringtones, they looked at one another. They heard heavy boots marching down the corridor. Langley answered his phone. General Phillips answered the door.

"We need to move now," General Phillips said.

"Agreed," Langley said as he snapped his phone shut.

They stood and moved for the door. The Guru leaned in close to the NSA. "Stay behind for one second, Sharon," he said. The others left. He pulled a packet from his inside breast pocket and threw it down on the desk. "Go ahead," he said. "Open it. You want answers, there they are."

She felt the needle in her neck. Shock stopped her from responding. She fell and slid off the table.

"Bet they don't teach you that at kickboxing class," he said. She landed face up. She twitched. She tried to talk. Nothing worked. "Maybe we'll take you to see him after all," he said.

The Road to Emmaus: Part III

Special Agent Dempsey locked his office door. He turned on his computer. In one hour, he could type up a summation and present it to JCoS and SIC, but he had fifteen minutes and he was not tapped to present. AD Mosher would brief the Director and the Director would present it in an hour.

He realized a fifteen minute summation needed to cut the fat off and leave only fact and a hard, rational core of theory on why. He knew the facts. All of the attacks had been carried out on soft targets, mostly Muslim owned businesses and religious centers. Some didn't fit, but a pattern formed regardless. The attacks occured in the span of two hours and ended abruptly. He put the detail 'coordinated attacks' under a column of facts.

Given the freedom to preculate, he added a short statement about a single, anti-muslim entity. He held his finger over the backspace button. He moved on, adding that the facts ad stated did not add up to any known radical groups in the United States. He wrote a one sentence final assesment:

"However impossible it may seem, these attacks contain the imprint of a large, well funded military organization."

He felt no need to specify which organizations he had in mind. As with most jobs, the credit for being right would be snatched up by the boss anyways. The blame for being wrong would be his alone. He hit send.

The document printed automatically from his computer, and three other computers in the Washington D.C. area.

He cursed. He realized his blind spot. The document printed. Special Agent Dempsey made very few mistakes. He ommited mention of the blind spot, and used the phone to correct it.



**********************************



"This is a local piece?" he asked.

"Utah," the Producer said, "Salt Lake City. I want to air it as a breaking."

"What is he?" he asked.

"Don't know yet," the Producer said. They watched and listened as the bearded man spoke to the Reporter. "It ran last night. Wally caught it. Haven't heard anything about it except this piece."

"Who's the skirt?" he asked.

"Mauly Peppers," the Producer said. "She knocked one out on a CNN relay from New York. Channel 7."

"She's good," he added.

"Seems likely she is," the Producer said.

"Go ahead," he said. "Run it. Now." He sipped his tea. "Shut this off, put on The Network. And grab me a coffee from the fridge before you go."

"Sure thing," the Producer said.

In five minutes, he watch the uncut interview as it aired. He shuffled through The Network to see who piggy-backed their feed. A smile came and widened.

The Road to Emmaus: Part II

"I'm not understanding what I'm seeing," Mauly Pepper said into her collar mic. The producer cintinued his furious babbling. The monitors showed smoke and fire. Fifteen locations sent live feeds, digital video flowed in with angles and other locations. Mauly sniffed and flipped her hair back. "How long do I have?" she asked.

"Fifteen seconds," her PA said.

"I'm supposed to make sense of this in fifteen seconds?" she asked.

"Just read the prompt, Maul," the producer said. The ground shook.

"What the f-," a camera man said.

"Shut up and do your job," the director said. Footage popped up on monitor twelve. It was an old analogue TV they'd dragged in from a breakroom and wired up to a fixed relay. The feed had switched. Gearge Parks, the senior, had climbed out of bed to run the trucks today. Feed twelve showed a Mosque explode.

"In ten," the director said.

"What just happened?" Mauly asked? "You're dropping me in a pit here. Someone give me a direction for Christ's sake."

"Read the prompt," the director said. "It's another broadcast, Maul. Just another broadcast. In five." The lights came up. Five monitors showed the cut in. Breaking News, it read.

The red light went on.

"Good afternoon, I'm Mauly Pepper and this is a Channel Seven Breaking News Update," she said. Viewers across the Tri-State Area saw her, heard her.

"CNN is picking up the feed, Maul," the producer said, "Go get it." He keyed off his studio mic. "Leave it ti Dick to take a week when this happens. If she f-s this up..."

"Multiple explosions have rocked building in New York, San Francisco, Boston, Chicago, Ann Arbor, Kansas City, Portland Oregon, Portland Maine, Houston, Austin, New Orleans and multiple cities across Europe, Asia and the Middle East, most notably Jeruselem, Mecca, Medina and Beirut."

The switchboard locked up, as did the website. Massive DNS outages shut down the major news sites. Even Wikipedia ground to a halt. Severs and switboards across the world shut down to save the hardware. Satlites and relays switched to emergency government protocols. Phone lines went dead. Satelite phones lost service. Businesses closed. The FAA sent out an 'all down' signal. Jet fighters srcambled across the globe.

"Keep going," the director said.

"While there is no confirmation," Mauly said, "It appears that a well planned, coordinated terrorist attack, a campaign of global destruction, is underway. As information comes in, it is impossible to tell the scope of this worldwide assault on the major cities of the world. We take you live to footage from the scenes of the attacks," she said.

"Who wrote this?" the producer asked.

"Kim," the senior copy said. "Kim Nugyen."

"Get him a f-cking cigar, a pot of coffee and a bottle of whatever," the producer said.

"She," Kim said from her keyboard.

"Yeah," the producer said, "How much rope do you have?"

"About thirty words," Kim answered. "Let her fly solo over the feed for two minutes, I'll get us Murrow."

"Talk to the people, Maul," the director said.

The Road to Emmaus: Part I

She selected a tomato from the top of the bin. The firm state of the thing and its color gave it value. Erin's sauce had a reputation, and choice tomatoes laid the foundation for her modern epicurial bastion. Some, she fancied, even believed it could cure illness. In anticipation of praise, she walked a fine line between demanding perfection from her tomato base and being a totalitarian with genocide on the brain. Some tomatoes deserved a special place, others were pushed aside.

Had she been a complete dictator, she would hurl the vagabond produce from a high cliff into the ocean. This one, she thought while holding another, is not fit to live. Her human weakness made her set it down carefully instead of smashing it there and then, as an example.

She hated to think what would happen if she was thrown out of Hennen's. She saved the tomato selection for last. With fourteen ripe specimens, she hauled the old wobbly cart to checkout. The total looked outrageous if you'd never had the sauce. The left front wheel squeaked as she parked the cart right next to the baggage boy, a dark young fellow, not black but far from fair.

He smiled and she smiled back. The auto ringer heralded another customer. The bag boy waved. She prefered to keep her eyes on the boy. Maybe Middle Eastern, she thought. He had dazzling white teeth, strong black hair and a clean complexion. She wondered his age, and decided on twenty-two for decency's sake. God forbid she think those thoughts about a teenager.

She rolled out, squeaking. She located the 2006 Mazda and popped the back. She packed the ingredients and a wall of air knocked her down. Her skin relayed bad information to her brain. She smelled oven cleaner. Her ears rang. Her eyes watered. She breathed smoke and fumes.

She roled onto her back, seeing the store window broken and spitting flames. I didn't hear a sound, she thought, I didn't hear a sound. She spent the next eternity crying into the concrete.

The Chemist

He believed in the physical, the microscopic. He allowed for theory only in an empirical, mathematical sense. He kept a clean, oderly laboratory. He sterilized his instruments. He wore surgical gloves and goggles and a respirator.

His experiment succeeded to a degree he'd not expected. History provided evidence of possesion of entire villages. Demons turned people into manic savages, committing attrocious acts of depravity. Documented visions of hell conjured gutteral fear upon retelling. The voracity and reputation of the chronicles made him think.

Then, just a few short miles away, an outbreak of just such a hysteria caught his attention. Investigators discovered it was ergot poisoning. Many chemists suspected ergot poisoning as the root of the old tales of villages turning mad overnight. Now, he had a parallel case to study not far from his laboratory.

The sources described the intense distress and disturbing behavior of the town. The doctors tested the bread supply. They found the suspicious mold and it oozed ergot. He aquired a sample. He worked for days and some nights, probing the chemical. He tested and retested, using his clever chemistry to tease out the secrets and found several promising compounds.

Some scientists refused to believe that a simple compound could alter cognition in a radical fashion. He knew otherwise. Any student of Freud knew the power of simple plant chemistry to alter mood and behavior. The effects could be drastic.

One morning, while working in his usual careful way, he isolated one promising ergoline and began the synthesis of a new compound from it. He'd performed this procedure a few times before, but he wished to test it further. He knew the powerful nature of the new chemical. Unsure of the propper dosage, he placed a conservative amount in a pipette and proceded to allow drops to fall into various liquids for a diluted solution.

The morning went queer in less than an hour. The insight hit him. The compound could pass through the surgical gloves, through the pores on the skin and into the blood stream. He slowed his breathing. His heart pounded. He took a piece of white paper and calculated the milligrams per kilogram in his body. Even if he exaggerated the possible amount absorbed, it looked miniscule, immeasurable almost. Such a profound effect from such a small dose seemed idiotic.

Time slowed and his surroundings became menacing. He recognized the symptoms. Ergot poisoning. The hallucinations started. He stopped breathing. He forced a bit of logic through the mental noise. Two things came to him.

He'd isolated and synthesized a non-toxic compound.

The strength of this compound exceeded statistical measure.

As the gap from normalcy widened, he loudly pronounced himself unfit to remain in his laboratory, went out to his bike, and rode the twenty minutes to his home, determined to lie down until it had passed.

That twenty minutes stretched and distorted beyond explanation. Some time later, he would try to document it, he thought as he passed a world of fractal shapes and colors. Even then, he laughed, knowing he would never get the explanation quite right.