Tales of the Extraordinary Page 9
cola!” Ali replied, horrified by such a suggestion. “Cola is reserved for the Holy Ones.”
“The holy ones?”
“Yes, at the centre, where I have been taking my studies, I have learnt that cola, and the bottle in particular, are a part of our Transmigration – we cannot partake of it until we are pure.”
“But everyone drinks cola,” said Gupta, scratching his head, frustrated by the increasingly weird conversation they were having.
“Jean Walters – my Numinous – has explained it to me; she has shown me the way to Alocyrrehcyzzif. She told me to eat protein and follow the true ways of The Cryptic Agenda.”
“It sounds like you have been sucked into a cult.”
“No, no!” Ali insisted, “It’s not a cult – It’s the true path to perfection.”
“Doesn’t every religion say that?” asked the customer to the rear of the shop who had been listening to their conversation with a growing curiosity.
Neither Ali nor Gupta answered, Gupta because he fully believed in his religion, and Ali because he fully believed in the Cryptic Agenda, Transmigration and Alocyrrehcyzzif.
“I will speak with you on the morrow,” said Ali as he opened the shop door, exiting the shop.
“That’s a weird one,” said the man as he approached the counter.
“I beg your pardon,” said Gupta, his mind set on his obviously brainwashed compatriot.
“I said, he’s a strange one, spouting that mumbo-jumbo. I always say you can’t beat the established religions.”
“And which one might you be a part of?”
“Me – none – I’m an atheist,” he proudly professed, “but if I were in one, it would be an established religion, not one of those new-age things – here today and gone tomorrow.”
With that piece of profound thought still ringing in his ears, Gupta handed the man his change and thanked him for his custom.
True to his word, Ali returned to the shop the next evening. While there, he tried so hard to convince Gupta that he and his wife should join the Cryptic Agenda. He went on and on about how happy they would be after they had joined. In the end, Gupta had to ask him to leave, saying he was quite happy with his present religion.
After leaving the shop – without getting any new converts, Ali made his way through the quiet streets to the large, red brick house where he worshipped and studied.
When she opened the door to him, Jean Walters, the assistant Grand Master, was disappointed to see Ali alone.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly, “but I was unable to convince my friends to come…”
“The Grand Master will not be pleased,” Jean replied, bidding him enter. “You know the way through,” she said as she left Ali alone in the hall.
After taking off his shoes, Ali walked quietly into a small, dimly lit room where he spent most of his free time studying the word. Seeing six other people (three of them new) seated upon the floor on their cushions Ali joined them.
After several minutes in quiet contemplation of the Bottle of Transmigration displayed in front of them on the altar (it appeared strikingly similar to a bottle of Cherry Cola), Ali could hear the sound of people talking behind the purple coloured curtain used as a backdrop. Suddenly the curtain opened, allowing Jean and The Grand Master to enter.
“We welcome you all,” said Jean in her usual slippery smooth voice, “despite the fact that one of you has failed in your duty to the Cryptic Agenda.” In the dimly lit room, all eyes rested on Ali. He smiled nervously.
After Jean had finished welcoming the new converts, she brought everyone up to date on the Cryptic Agenda’s recent activities. When she had finished, she introduced the Grand Master, a tall, bearded man called George Ducket. As Jean disappeared behind the thick curtain, the group welcomed the Grand Master with a round of applause.
“Thank you, thank you,” said the Grand Master, inspecting the seven people sitting on their cushions before him. “Thank you so much for coming out on so chilly an evening.”
The Grand Master welcomed the three groups of two, but ignored the lone group of one. He praised the newcomers for having the faith and insight to join them their Cryptic Agenda, which would culminate in the Transmigration of the Soul towards Alocyrrehcyzzif.
Although Ali was totally committed to the cause, he felt increasingly awkward as the Grand Master continued to heap praise on the real followers, ignoring him. After listening for a good fifteen minutes, with seemingly no end in sight of the Grand Master’s praise for the real followers, Ali was unable to take any more. Standing up, shouting at the top of his voice, he said, “I have tried to get two converts – Gupta and Sonita Singe – but I need some more time to convince them to come… I am sorry, I am so sorry that I have let you and the Cryptic Agenda down. If there is any way I can make amends for this terrible thing, Grand Master, please, please tell me!”
As if he had heard nothing at all, the Grand Master stared over Ali’s head to the front of the room. Then the curtain opened again, revealing a sullen faced Jean as she walked slowly, methodically across to the Bottle of Transmigration, before carefully picking it up from the altar.
“Ah, so you have the Bottle of Transmigration,” the Grand Master said cheerfully when Jean stood next to him with it. “That is good, very good…”
Ali was puzzled. Had the Grand Master not heard what he had said? Moreover, if not, why not? He watched the bottle with acute interest.
“Ali,” said the Grand Master, beckoning him to come closer. “Ali, it has been decided to give you the chance of full Transmigration. Perhaps, in Alocyrrehcyzzif, you will find your true place.”
Ali was ecstatic, to think he was being offered Transmigration – and so soon!
“Approach us,” the Grand Master ordered, “approach the bottle of Bottle of Transmigration. Your time is here, it is your time”
Hardly able to believe his luck, especially after failing to get even a single convert, Ali stepped towards the front of the room. The Grand Master beckoned him to stand in front of Jean who was holding the Bottle of Transmigration before him.
“Ali, have you any last words?” he asked.
“Last words?” Ali thought, in shocked surprise, “I don’t like the sound of THAT!”
“Jean, please unscrew the bottle top.”
With increasingly frightened, eyes, Ali watched Jean unscrew the bottle top.
“Do you have anything to say, Ali?”
Ali’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Very well,” said the Grand Master, “remove it.”
With that command, Jean removed the bottle top and pointed the bottle directly at Ali.
No sooner had she done this, a vortex exploding from the bottle, took hold of Ali and began pulling him kicking and screaming back into it. It was over in an instant; Ali was gone. Silence returned to the darkened room.
Screwing the top onto the bottle, Jean carefully returned in to the altar in front of the curtain.
“That, my dear people, is how we Transmigrate,” said the Grand Master as he began to take off his official garments. “The only problem, however, is that in order for it to work properly you must have first died.” He stared into the bottle, watching the contorted face of Ali floating around on the inside, with so many other like-minded souls who had fallen foul of the Cryptic Agenda, failing to find them converts. “As you can see,” the Grand Master explained, “if you enter the Bottle of Transmigration before your physical body has died, you are cursed to remain there for all eternity…”
After the service was over, and everyone had left, the Grand Master, calling Jean to come over to him, said, “What were those names Ali called out before he left us so untimely?”
“Gupta and Sonita Singe.” she told him.
“Do you know where we can find them?”
“I do,” she replied, smiling. “They run a small convenience store, not too far from here.”
“That’s good,” said the Grand Master, also s
miling. “I think we should pay them a visit…”
Gone Fishing – But For What?
Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Luke. He was, like all boys around the age of ten, extremely adventurous. Throughout the entire school year he constantly looked forward to the last day of term, when school broke up and the summer holidays began. He loved the long, warm, deliriously happy days of summer, when he was free from the constraints of school, and the lessons he found so terribly boring. During the languid, sultry days of summer, Luke wandered about endlessly, exploring, seeking adventure in the fascinating countryside where he lived.
Being an only child, Luke was content on his own. He never feared going out alone. He never yearned for the company of others when out exploring. If anything, being an only child helped him to see the wonders surrounding him, the wonders that so many children – and adults – fail to see, due to the distractions created by brothers, sisters and friends who oftentimes see life in a far different perspective than they might.
Luke saw everything; he saw the birds and the butterflies, the moths and the caterpillars, and the clouds high in the sky as they drifted lazily past. He also saw bats; he loved watching and studying these strange creatures, hidden away in dark places, evading the light. He even saw the ants as they marched past him in silence. Red and black, he noticed both kinds, especially so when they were at war, when they oftentimes fought to the bitter death. Sometimes, in an effort to stop them fighting, he took out his magnifying glass, focussing the