I live in one of those artsy little towns. You know the type. There’s always a newcomer setting up shop to take money from the tourists. I ran across a new shop on my evening walk, and couldn’t help but enter. Judging by the name, “Future Artifacts,” I wasn’t sure what to expect. The store’s owner stood about 6’2’’, dark hair, dark skin, not a blemish on him, just solid good looks. He claimed to be a dealer of extraordinary items, each with their own story to tell. I felt his piercing eyes on the back of my neck as I rummaged through his shop.
I stood staring at a trumpet awhile, picking up the knickknacks around it and rearranging, kind of wishing I had something better to do. I really didn’t though. I picked the trumpet up and examined it. I felt like I was holding the power of something greater than this world. I wanted to put it to my mouth, but hesitated.
He approached and in a smooth, deep voice he said, “There is a story with that trumpet?” My eyes met his. “Yeah. What’s the story?” I had been carrying the instrument around for a few minutes, unwilling to put it down. “It’s not for me to tell you, but something you will learn once you play it.” Next thing you know, we got to talking about those people who can foresee the future. He said diviners aren’t all that special and that he’d met more than one in his day. Said he could see me developing the skill myself. All I had to do was tune into the music. The dealer’s good looks paid a compliment to his flattery, but his eyes really got to me. They were black as coal and sent a chill right through me. He spoke of others who purchased his “artifacts” and how they had come into a great knowledge that led them to meet their fate. Talking as if these people meeting their fate was something good. I couldn’t help but want to buy something from him. Almost felt like I was making a deal with the devil.
Not sure what possessed me to buy an instrument I’d never played a day in my life. I bought it though and couldn’t wait to get it home. Not knowing how to play, I put the trumpet to my mouth and blew. I felt like I was in another world surrounded by destruction. The night sky was dark, void of moonlight. The land was scarce of water and vegetation. I saw people being wiped out by the masses from disease and starvation. A strange man roamed the land, deceiving people in attempts to bring them to their final destination.
The first time the future opened up before me, the devastation looked like something from many decades past. I saw a desolate town of buildings, a few intact, others nothing but rubble. Lifeless remains strewn throughout the streets. With little left untouched, explosions were happening all around me, debris flying through the air. Smoke and fire filled the atmosphere. Civilians were in the process of clean-up to avoid the aftermath of the spreading disease from the decaying bodies.
I played on to see how it ended, but only saw what came next. Prisoners of war digging their own graves. A man in tattered clothing stood smiling a final “Fuck you!” before a firing squad filled him full of holes. Suicides of those who couldn’t handle the worsening conditions. Politicians celebrating victories at the expense of their soldier’s lives. Soldiers returning home to learn that they survived the fighting, but their families didn’t survive the war in the homeland. The chaos was never ending.
All this without lessons. The trumpet I held in my hands delivered a terrific sound. It had a dull finish to its appearance. It was a good trumpet with an adjustable third trigger that improved the playing position. I could argue the quality of the trumpet. I paid such a small price for it though that I can’t imagine what he had to gain. It was solid, but needed an assortment of mouthpieces to hit the right notes. As long as I had many mouthpieces on hand, I could play for hours.
I knew seeing glimpses of catastrophic phenomena while I played may be a sign I should give the trumpet a rest, but it kind of gave me something to do. It was an experience in itself, believing I was witnessing a future that would take place decades or centuries from now. Then I saw a glimpse of various world leaders at a G7 summit and recognized nearly all of them. I realized it was the present future and feared I was hallucinating or crazy. It was clear there was bad blood amongst them, looking as if some had switched sides or positions on some agreement. The tension between the leaders was obvious, as they appeared stiff and anxious all at once. It was what I saw next that floored me. I thought Germany was our ally.
We were at war with them. Before the military strikes began, people were living their days just like any other. The attacks caught them off guard. People were shopping, commuting, sightseeing, just going about their day when the earth began exploding around them. Two men were walking along the avenue, absorbed in conversation when the blasts occurred. The heavy debris knocked them dead where they fell, one on top of the other.
My obsession with how it would end was quite strong, so I played on. Helicopters hovered above the destruction, looking for enemies to take out. Warplanes carried out airstrikes amidst rescue efforts in response to a band of rebels invading the land. Fires burned out of control, while overwhelmed rescue workers focused on the fallen that had a chance for survival.
The realization sunk in that the aftermath I saw in my first vision was the residual of our war with Germany. With that I gained an understanding for people who need to have faith in something bigger than themselves, but it was hard to get behind a television evangelist that took money from the masses to purchase his own private jet. He prayed the Lord would bless him with a more adequate transportation, then took up a collection. The congregation of believers opened their wallets, believing it must be God’s will. There was this man though, world renowned as the Healer, even leaders were following him with the belief they could live an eternity under him. Those who thought they would win from works and recruiting found their reward with the Healer. Although their reward only lasted until their first death.
The Healer was another master of deception. He approached a man dying in the street and lifted him so he could stand on his own. All who witnessed this believed they were seeing some miracle. Those he brought back looked as normal as everyone else, except for the darkness in their eyes. They would all serve a purpose.
He gained believers throughout the world. Natural disasters were devastating the earth while he was forming his army. An earthquake that wiped out Tokyo added millions to his Army. The death toll continues to rise on a small American territory that never chose statehood, further deteriorating with each passing day. There is only one Korea because of man-made destruction. Along the Indian Ocean, more than a 100,000 checked out after a tsunami slammed Indonesia. The Healer was gaining millions of followers from these disasters.
The shop may have disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but I still see the shop owner. I always see him when I play. Like all conductors, there’s a vision to accompany the sound. While the events he orchestrated flowed freely before me, I couldn’t help but feel completely at ease. He was a terrific conductor. He would raise his right hand, as to prepare me for an event. He would raise his left hand to bring sharper images. His narrow, coal-black eyes and pursed lips were telling of darkness. He had an intense look to him when he signaled for silence, and with this signal there was always some loss of life. He always exited the stage at this time, but never without taking a bow. He would return to the stage each time I played. I don’t want to be to blame for all the encore performances, but like I said, he was a terrific conductor and I couldn’t help but play for him as he instructed.
When I wasn’t playing, the highlights returned to my thoughts. I remember the smiling man standing before the firing squad. Before the deafening gunfire, the words rang out, “Ready, aim, fire!” He didn’t strike me as scared in the least. He actually appeared to be taunting the men with the rifles. His crime was treason. I recognized him as a favorite entertainment personality from the weekly news show I followed.
Freedom of the Press was a thing of the past. His negative view of the president had an overwhelming influence on public opinion, so much so, that they convicted him of conspiring to overthrow the government. This was a man who encouraged everyone to get out and vote. He was a small man at the height of modesty when it came to claiming credit for the uprising.
I’m not without a conscience. Once I associated the trumpet with the number of lives lost, I quit playing for such long periods of time. I thought I could play in brief intervals with little impact, but that just brought death to those I saw sooner. There was no escaping the inevitable. It was always something I didn’t want to see, but I couldn’t look away from. The feeling was no different in actuality than it was in my vision, only more permanent. If I wasn’t so obsessed with the instrument, I might have stopped playing sooner. I played until I went numb.
Remember the two men I told you about, the ones walking the avenue when the blasts occurred? I passed them on the street recently and was temporarily paralyzed with fear. The clothes they were wearing were the same ones they wore in my vision. I knew at that moment it was the beginning of the end. I tried recalling from my later visions which buildings were still standing in order to take shelter. All the while, I ask myself if it wouldn’t just be better to run into a building I know to fall first; I mean, do I really want to live through this shit.
Once it began, it was as if they were coming from everywhere. Faces of people I didn’t know, but I knew their end, are the ones I see everywhere now. For those I know will die that day, they’re the ones that get to me the most. From the looks on their faces, they have no idea that they’re about to breathe their last breath. I don’t know what becomes after that last familiar face I envisioned without life, unless that’s where mine ends.
At one time, I wanted nothing more than to be musically inclined. Once I was, I wanted nothing more than for people to believe my visions. I wanted something to become of my talent. Then I had the idea to go along with it: I could be a diviner. When I speak of the visions, I’m told it’s nothing more than pseudo memory. You don’t know what it’s like, being completely familiar with everything that’s going to happen and not having the power to stop it. The images have grown as loud as the trumpet. All I long for now is the enviable golden silence. My visions have become a reality and I’m living the nightmare.
The minority who didn’t follow the Healer are on their way to extinction. In concentration camps, they are lined up by the dozen and executed one by one. You are considered lucky if they kill you first, since you can avoid watching the blood spatter of those next to you as they drop lifeless to the ground. The dead are buried in piles and not confined to cemeteries. Even those considered important or influential at one time are discarded like trash if they’re in the minority.
Countries no longer have control of their own financial policies. The political economy is at its most corrupt time. While all nations have their own governments, there is one dominant power. The leaders below him must have a considerable amount of interest in the monetary system in order to have any room to negotiate at the same table with him. He has the final say on whom nations can trade with, and the price, quantity, and frequency of those trade deals. They put him in power to monitor not just the money, but the resources too. He is the ultimate deceiver.
In order to limit the loss of resources, he enforced various methods of population control. He declared the poor, the sick, and the elderly expendables. They’ll be the next in line in the concentration camps. Human rights are a thing of the past. He’s preparing the world for a final battle.
The dealer didn’t just orchestrate the deaths of thousands of people; he brought hell to earth and created an army to protect his interest in it. He was a healer with the ability to bring back those who had passed on. All the lives he took had a purpose further down the road. He was creating an army, not of one nation, but of many nations where he was a great power. Those who became part of his army would fight to keep him in power. All believing there was nothing worse than the first death they had already died, they sacrificed their lives in return for a second chance.
I’m not sure how he is in more than one place at once, but I swear he’s all three. The world’s highest authority expected everyone was just dying to spend some time with him. It was more their fate than their desire that put them there. I think my obsession to see how it ended developed from his mention of how others had met their fate. His intentions were once ambiguous to me, but now I’m sure more lives were taken than there would have been without my jazzy soundtrack.
I guess I didn’t pay such a small price, and he really made a profit off the trumpet. I was bored the day I made my way into his shop. Thought I could find something interesting for the home. Hell, the dealer himself gave me something to talk about for years to come. He saw my skills before he ever even heard me play and was there to help me see it through. It’s as though the devil himself was in the details.
“Future Artifacts” didn’t stay in business for long. To be honest with you, I had never seen it before that day. Oddly enough, not more than a week had passed before I returned, only to find an empty shop with a “For Rent” sign in the window. I didn’t see him lasting long, but I was thinking a month or two, maybe. I hate not being able to return it. I don’t want it, not anymore.
End times lie before me and all I see is darkness. Every time I step outside my house, I encounter people with coal-black eyes. They are not much to talk to, just bodies taking up space. There has been no battle of good and evil. Not yet. I wonder every day if I’m to blame for the apocalypse. I could see everything before it happened and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it. I played on out of ignorance, but never saw the finale. You know as much as I do whether human life will continue to exist after the ultimate battle. If evil wins out, the world ends. If good wins out, those who survive may start again.
As for me, I stopped playing. There is still life in my eyes. If I’m going to join the other lifeless souls in waiting for the end, I would rather not know my fate before it happens. No trying to avoid the inevitable, my Pied Piper days are over. I wonder if someone somewhere has seen my end and if they are just playing along to the music to see it through all the way.
I can hear him now, selling someone something they didn’t know they needed or even wanted. Then flattering them with how he had seen no one with such an unspoken talent, convincing them they must have some special gift such as the sight. Never telling them they would see him every day if they used their talent. Nope. He tells no one the price is life.
I stood staring at a trumpet awhile, picking up the knickknacks around it and rearranging, kind of wishing I had something better to do. I really didn’t though. I picked the trumpet up and examined it. I felt like I was holding the power of something greater than this world. I wanted to put it to my mouth, but hesitated.
He approached and in a smooth, deep voice he said, “There is a story with that trumpet?” My eyes met his. “Yeah. What’s the story?” I had been carrying the instrument around for a few minutes, unwilling to put it down. “It’s not for me to tell you, but something you will learn once you play it.” Next thing you know, we got to talking about those people who can foresee the future. He said diviners aren’t all that special and that he’d met more than one in his day. Said he could see me developing the skill myself. All I had to do was tune into the music. The dealer’s good looks paid a compliment to his flattery, but his eyes really got to me. They were black as coal and sent a chill right through me. He spoke of others who purchased his “artifacts” and how they had come into a great knowledge that led them to meet their fate. Talking as if these people meeting their fate was something good. I couldn’t help but want to buy something from him. Almost felt like I was making a deal with the devil.
Not sure what possessed me to buy an instrument I’d never played a day in my life. I bought it though and couldn’t wait to get it home. Not knowing how to play, I put the trumpet to my mouth and blew. I felt like I was in another world surrounded by destruction. The night sky was dark, void of moonlight. The land was scarce of water and vegetation. I saw people being wiped out by the masses from disease and starvation. A strange man roamed the land, deceiving people in attempts to bring them to their final destination.
The first time the future opened up before me, the devastation looked like something from many decades past. I saw a desolate town of buildings, a few intact, others nothing but rubble. Lifeless remains strewn throughout the streets. With little left untouched, explosions were happening all around me, debris flying through the air. Smoke and fire filled the atmosphere. Civilians were in the process of clean-up to avoid the aftermath of the spreading disease from the decaying bodies.
I played on to see how it ended, but only saw what came next. Prisoners of war digging their own graves. A man in tattered clothing stood smiling a final “Fuck you!” before a firing squad filled him full of holes. Suicides of those who couldn’t handle the worsening conditions. Politicians celebrating victories at the expense of their soldier’s lives. Soldiers returning home to learn that they survived the fighting, but their families didn’t survive the war in the homeland. The chaos was never ending.
All this without lessons. The trumpet I held in my hands delivered a terrific sound. It had a dull finish to its appearance. It was a good trumpet with an adjustable third trigger that improved the playing position. I could argue the quality of the trumpet. I paid such a small price for it though that I can’t imagine what he had to gain. It was solid, but needed an assortment of mouthpieces to hit the right notes. As long as I had many mouthpieces on hand, I could play for hours.
I knew seeing glimpses of catastrophic phenomena while I played may be a sign I should give the trumpet a rest, but it kind of gave me something to do. It was an experience in itself, believing I was witnessing a future that would take place decades or centuries from now. Then I saw a glimpse of various world leaders at a G7 summit and recognized nearly all of them. I realized it was the present future and feared I was hallucinating or crazy. It was clear there was bad blood amongst them, looking as if some had switched sides or positions on some agreement. The tension between the leaders was obvious, as they appeared stiff and anxious all at once. It was what I saw next that floored me. I thought Germany was our ally.
We were at war with them. Before the military strikes began, people were living their days just like any other. The attacks caught them off guard. People were shopping, commuting, sightseeing, just going about their day when the earth began exploding around them. Two men were walking along the avenue, absorbed in conversation when the blasts occurred. The heavy debris knocked them dead where they fell, one on top of the other.
My obsession with how it would end was quite strong, so I played on. Helicopters hovered above the destruction, looking for enemies to take out. Warplanes carried out airstrikes amidst rescue efforts in response to a band of rebels invading the land. Fires burned out of control, while overwhelmed rescue workers focused on the fallen that had a chance for survival.
The realization sunk in that the aftermath I saw in my first vision was the residual of our war with Germany. With that I gained an understanding for people who need to have faith in something bigger than themselves, but it was hard to get behind a television evangelist that took money from the masses to purchase his own private jet. He prayed the Lord would bless him with a more adequate transportation, then took up a collection. The congregation of believers opened their wallets, believing it must be God’s will. There was this man though, world renowned as the Healer, even leaders were following him with the belief they could live an eternity under him. Those who thought they would win from works and recruiting found their reward with the Healer. Although their reward only lasted until their first death.
The Healer was another master of deception. He approached a man dying in the street and lifted him so he could stand on his own. All who witnessed this believed they were seeing some miracle. Those he brought back looked as normal as everyone else, except for the darkness in their eyes. They would all serve a purpose.
He gained believers throughout the world. Natural disasters were devastating the earth while he was forming his army. An earthquake that wiped out Tokyo added millions to his Army. The death toll continues to rise on a small American territory that never chose statehood, further deteriorating with each passing day. There is only one Korea because of man-made destruction. Along the Indian Ocean, more than a 100,000 checked out after a tsunami slammed Indonesia. The Healer was gaining millions of followers from these disasters.
The shop may have disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but I still see the shop owner. I always see him when I play. Like all conductors, there’s a vision to accompany the sound. While the events he orchestrated flowed freely before me, I couldn’t help but feel completely at ease. He was a terrific conductor. He would raise his right hand, as to prepare me for an event. He would raise his left hand to bring sharper images. His narrow, coal-black eyes and pursed lips were telling of darkness. He had an intense look to him when he signaled for silence, and with this signal there was always some loss of life. He always exited the stage at this time, but never without taking a bow. He would return to the stage each time I played. I don’t want to be to blame for all the encore performances, but like I said, he was a terrific conductor and I couldn’t help but play for him as he instructed.
When I wasn’t playing, the highlights returned to my thoughts. I remember the smiling man standing before the firing squad. Before the deafening gunfire, the words rang out, “Ready, aim, fire!” He didn’t strike me as scared in the least. He actually appeared to be taunting the men with the rifles. His crime was treason. I recognized him as a favorite entertainment personality from the weekly news show I followed.
Freedom of the Press was a thing of the past. His negative view of the president had an overwhelming influence on public opinion, so much so, that they convicted him of conspiring to overthrow the government. This was a man who encouraged everyone to get out and vote. He was a small man at the height of modesty when it came to claiming credit for the uprising.
I’m not without a conscience. Once I associated the trumpet with the number of lives lost, I quit playing for such long periods of time. I thought I could play in brief intervals with little impact, but that just brought death to those I saw sooner. There was no escaping the inevitable. It was always something I didn’t want to see, but I couldn’t look away from. The feeling was no different in actuality than it was in my vision, only more permanent. If I wasn’t so obsessed with the instrument, I might have stopped playing sooner. I played until I went numb.
Remember the two men I told you about, the ones walking the avenue when the blasts occurred? I passed them on the street recently and was temporarily paralyzed with fear. The clothes they were wearing were the same ones they wore in my vision. I knew at that moment it was the beginning of the end. I tried recalling from my later visions which buildings were still standing in order to take shelter. All the while, I ask myself if it wouldn’t just be better to run into a building I know to fall first; I mean, do I really want to live through this shit.
Once it began, it was as if they were coming from everywhere. Faces of people I didn’t know, but I knew their end, are the ones I see everywhere now. For those I know will die that day, they’re the ones that get to me the most. From the looks on their faces, they have no idea that they’re about to breathe their last breath. I don’t know what becomes after that last familiar face I envisioned without life, unless that’s where mine ends.
At one time, I wanted nothing more than to be musically inclined. Once I was, I wanted nothing more than for people to believe my visions. I wanted something to become of my talent. Then I had the idea to go along with it: I could be a diviner. When I speak of the visions, I’m told it’s nothing more than pseudo memory. You don’t know what it’s like, being completely familiar with everything that’s going to happen and not having the power to stop it. The images have grown as loud as the trumpet. All I long for now is the enviable golden silence. My visions have become a reality and I’m living the nightmare.
The minority who didn’t follow the Healer are on their way to extinction. In concentration camps, they are lined up by the dozen and executed one by one. You are considered lucky if they kill you first, since you can avoid watching the blood spatter of those next to you as they drop lifeless to the ground. The dead are buried in piles and not confined to cemeteries. Even those considered important or influential at one time are discarded like trash if they’re in the minority.
Countries no longer have control of their own financial policies. The political economy is at its most corrupt time. While all nations have their own governments, there is one dominant power. The leaders below him must have a considerable amount of interest in the monetary system in order to have any room to negotiate at the same table with him. He has the final say on whom nations can trade with, and the price, quantity, and frequency of those trade deals. They put him in power to monitor not just the money, but the resources too. He is the ultimate deceiver.
In order to limit the loss of resources, he enforced various methods of population control. He declared the poor, the sick, and the elderly expendables. They’ll be the next in line in the concentration camps. Human rights are a thing of the past. He’s preparing the world for a final battle.
The dealer didn’t just orchestrate the deaths of thousands of people; he brought hell to earth and created an army to protect his interest in it. He was a healer with the ability to bring back those who had passed on. All the lives he took had a purpose further down the road. He was creating an army, not of one nation, but of many nations where he was a great power. Those who became part of his army would fight to keep him in power. All believing there was nothing worse than the first death they had already died, they sacrificed their lives in return for a second chance.
I’m not sure how he is in more than one place at once, but I swear he’s all three. The world’s highest authority expected everyone was just dying to spend some time with him. It was more their fate than their desire that put them there. I think my obsession to see how it ended developed from his mention of how others had met their fate. His intentions were once ambiguous to me, but now I’m sure more lives were taken than there would have been without my jazzy soundtrack.
I guess I didn’t pay such a small price, and he really made a profit off the trumpet. I was bored the day I made my way into his shop. Thought I could find something interesting for the home. Hell, the dealer himself gave me something to talk about for years to come. He saw my skills before he ever even heard me play and was there to help me see it through. It’s as though the devil himself was in the details.
“Future Artifacts” didn’t stay in business for long. To be honest with you, I had never seen it before that day. Oddly enough, not more than a week had passed before I returned, only to find an empty shop with a “For Rent” sign in the window. I didn’t see him lasting long, but I was thinking a month or two, maybe. I hate not being able to return it. I don’t want it, not anymore.
End times lie before me and all I see is darkness. Every time I step outside my house, I encounter people with coal-black eyes. They are not much to talk to, just bodies taking up space. There has been no battle of good and evil. Not yet. I wonder every day if I’m to blame for the apocalypse. I could see everything before it happened and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it. I played on out of ignorance, but never saw the finale. You know as much as I do whether human life will continue to exist after the ultimate battle. If evil wins out, the world ends. If good wins out, those who survive may start again.
As for me, I stopped playing. There is still life in my eyes. If I’m going to join the other lifeless souls in waiting for the end, I would rather not know my fate before it happens. No trying to avoid the inevitable, my Pied Piper days are over. I wonder if someone somewhere has seen my end and if they are just playing along to the music to see it through all the way.
I can hear him now, selling someone something they didn’t know they needed or even wanted. Then flattering them with how he had seen no one with such an unspoken talent, convincing them they must have some special gift such as the sight. Never telling them they would see him every day if they used their talent. Nope. He tells no one the price is life.