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The Word of Luther-Miss Bloom in Wonderland

Updated on March 17, 2010

A glimpse of our future...a continuing tale


From all outward appearances, Luther was quiet and unassuming. At community meetings he rarely spoke, preferring to sit towards the back, observing. Luther missed nothing. He brought what he learned to anyone he thought might listen. Not many did. Tensions inside the walls were getting tighter by the day and those few who heard would often sneak to the outside to listen, watch and attempt to understand Metro, the rest of the world.

There was much to not understand out there. Crowds of people waited in lines that stretched further than one dared to see. What looked like whole families made their homes in the streets. Above the massive city, in the center of the crowds stood a blinking red display board, “Food station #30 closed till further notice, vouchers for this month available, pay center Mid Town only.” The message played over and over, announcing various locations of services and warnings. Beginning with “Welcome to Metro!” Red letters blinking information for everything and everyone.

Luther was puzzled during his first trips outside. Secretly he would bring back what he’d seen and heard, to his small but growing number of followers.

In time, like in all things there is growth. Rule of Reality #1: A space for getting bigger, taller-mind body, and spirit. Inside Wonderland was no different. Experiencing growing pains, the walls of protection were closing in on some of its inhabitants.

And now begins the unraveling of carefully selected threads. Slowly the unrest and discontent brewing in Metro was seeping beneath the walls of privilege. Time can be unkind. A jealous lover, hell bent on revenge. Rule of Reality #2: nothing and no one can get in its way.

22nd century marching in as ordered, ushering in another round of chaos. Tenants of the Lords of Order came out from behind Wonderlands walls.

“Welcome to Metro!” the red sign blinked in greeting. Prime leaders from the Lords of Order, carefully and cautiously stepped out of the air limo.

“What? No one here to greet us?” Patrick Stein exclaimed. His voice tinged with its usual indignation. Stein, Patrick James, heir to the fallen Stein Pharmaceutical Empire, in another time, he would have made a great playboy. Now he waits with his other heirs without trust funds in this sweltering afternoon.

“I’m sure some one will be here soon enough, PJ.” Answered Jeb Cartwright. Ever the rationalist. Cartwright, Jon Edgar Bryce, heir to the self made billionaire Internet gurus, Edgar and Alyce Bryce-Cartwright. Self appointed spokesman for the Lords of Order, despite his quiet demeanor, paced ever so slightly beneath the blazing sun. Before their wait could be discussed further, a bright blue transport hissed to a stop at the wait station across from the entourage. Resting comfortably in the cool conditioned of the air-limo Luther sat in disgusted silence. Forced to come along as sort of a punishment, he pretended complete disinterest while waiting for the others to get out.

“Afternoon! Welcome to Metro! I’m Jill Dawson, Liaison officer and unofficial tour guide,” The wide eyed dark haired young lady extended her hand towards Patrick Stein, which he took firmly.

“Thank you,” he replied.  “Pretty hot out isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and introduced the rest of his companions: Walsh, Dylan Paul, orphaned son of Joel and Hope Walsh of Walsh Pet Foods. Everett, Mark Stuart, heir to the Everett Confection Conglomerate and bringing up the rear, Cain Luther Reece, reluctant rebel heir of Robert and Joyce Reece-Cain Cain Construction and founders of the Lords of Order.

“Again, Welcome to Metro,” Dawson said after the introductions were completed. “Let’s get started.” Jill Dawson led the group toward the wait station and the hissing transport. ”Don’t worry,” Jill said, noticing the tension on their faces,”it’s safe, mostly.”

The air inside the transport was stiff, like laundry someone had forgotten to thoroughly rinse. Seats looked recently repaired, paint fumes still swirled around them.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Jill instructed.

They eyed the seats suspiciously and sat down.

A sound system crackled on, “Good afternoon visitors, I hope you enjoy your stay in our fair city.” The voice paused, then continued after a few stat icy minutes. “Metro was founded at the end of the last century. Organized to meet the needs of our restless citizens. Joining resources with other faltering communities, Metro offers a variety of services to keep all of Democracy’s children safe and happy.” The voice buzzed off as the transport hissed to a stop in front of an old Victorian styled house. “Headquarters,” the readout board in front flashed.

“First stop,” Dawson announced.

The doors of the aging transport jerked open and the group exited. A creaking walkway stuttered them to the entrance. Massive doors slid open and finally a blast of cooled air greeted them.

“’Bout time,” Walsh mumbled.

“Tell me about it, “ Everett answered. Neither man was interested in this excursion far from the comforts of Wonderland. Yet neither had a choice. When Cartwright spoke all ears had better listen. Walsh and Everett hung back slightly and watched their fearless leader reel in his element.

The five stood in an awkward silence for awhile before Abrahams, Jon Christopher, Manager of Metro, made his appearance.


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