Kill All Quizels: Eliminate The Hostiles

From that cluttered past, the images were increasingly violent. Angry at the loss of his lover, angry at the corruption which surrounded him, the ordinariness of it all as his head swarmed with charioteers and seared images across time; broken heart, they said, and he knew he could hear their putrid little thoughts and the dangerous ways, their abject compromises. He knew what was inside their heads, how compromised they were, what truly low life surrounded him. Born in hostile circumstance, they had survived by introspection, by warding off those who, too, could track the psychics across time. There wasn't going to be an easy resolution. Not outside the sanctuary. 

They should have stayed at home. They should have stayed in bed. They should never have come near him; their cheap faith in Abrahamic gods, or one of the many variants thereof. Make no mistake. Walk no further. Do not approach. 

If the sanctuary had provided him with gathering strength, now, already, the forces of history were at play and the ingrates amongst life's great crawlers who had tried to demonstrate their wisdom, they would be no more, drowning in the blood of their own dreams. 

Back in the place where he had been tormented for so long; where he had heard everything the hostiles had thrown at him, where he had been forced to dwell in a stoic silence and pretend he could not hear, did not know, all these old violent responses came welling up. He wanted them eliminated, gone, just gone. And he was prepared to kill them to do it. No enemy tomorrow. 

These believers in the "one true God"; as if these morons had the slightest idea what was out there, had driven through his dreams in an attempt to poach what he already knew. 

And so he hated them for it. 

No, it was not all about love. 

It was about the scent of a man who had died on the battlefield more than 2000 years ago. It was about the fact that corruption had crept through every aspect of this misbegotten place, that tax was slavery and these people had been enslaved, and what was worse, come to accept their own slavery as due course.  Nothing mattered to these people but to get through their own benighted lives. He was angry that he had been forced to defend one of his own front liners. That as the texture and atmosphere of the surrounding lands ever more transformed on every passing day, had to be defended at all. Those quizels, those horrid little public service suck ups, those journalists who had betrayed the profession to work for government, the ones who thought they could come anywhere near him, or knew better, or who were prepared to spread their stupid bits of gossip. Gone. All of you gone. Now.  

There was more to come. Greater to come. The world was on a turn. Everybody was telling them that. The sceptics sneered themselves into their own elimination. 

"I had a crush on him once," one of the Watchers on the Watch said, an old journalistic comrade gone to the dark side, he assumed. 

They were guessing in the dark. He was rising, if not  from the dark soil where he had hidden, from all the subterfuge and acting out he had been forced to endure. 

Now was a different time. Now was when the cheers rang out. When the palms were laid down on the path. When the sky changed colour in equal celebration. When we, tongue tied, finally came to realise that greater forces were afoot. That they did not understand that strange apparition. That they had brutalised someone at their own command and created a monster; well a monster to them.

They would never walk again. They would snuffle around amongst the empty boxes at the back of the grocery store. They would endure great suffering in the land of plenty. 

And he would walk free to change the world. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

Be careful who you pray to. 

Stirred now, you could see it as the second coming, or the first for that matter. You could see that history was on the turn and failed to understand. 

It was the sleeping indignity, the wrath of God, the famous human sayings that came sweltering through in a storm.

We rise up. Rise up. And there will be no enemies tomorrow.

THE BIGGER STORY: 

    Byron Bay locals say damage to the town’s main beach is “the worst in a generation” as heavy rain, abnormally high tides and wild surf, combined with long term erosion problems, washed away much of the remaining sand.

Storms have battered a 1,000km stretch of the Queensland and northern NSW coastline for several days with conditions not expected to ease until Tuesday morning. Strong winds and heavy rainfall have caused damage and flash flooding in both states.

Residents had been warned the weather system, which is moving in the opposite direction to a tropical cyclone, would strike with the same intensity as a category one storm.

At Byron Bay, 8 metre-high waves and a large storm surge coincided with one of the largest spring tides of the year.

A local resident of some 20 years, Michael Deeny, said he’d never seen the beach stripped of so much sand.

“It looks like it’s been hollowed out, it really is incredible,” he said.

Coastal management experts say the situation at Byron Bay is particularly bad because of erosion that has been occurring over months and years.

“Because of that there’s no sand there to protect the beach when you get a storm like this,” said Tom Murray, a research fellow at the Griffith University Centre for Coastal Management.

“There’s no buffer there and you’ve got big high tides, a relatively large storm surge and these big waves coinciding. It looks pretty bad and the community is saying it’s the worst [erosion] in a generation.”

Murray co-authored a piece for the Conversation last month that explained how long-term erosion at Byron’s Main Beach was largely caused by natural processes. A “sand slug” has built up on the northern side of Cape Byron and was blocking the natural migration of sand through the bay.