Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Aug 28, 2017 18:45:16 GMT -5
Location: St. Peter’s Church, Shipton Bellinger, England
1.37pm – Saturday 26th August 2017
“All things bright and beautiful,”
“All creatures great and small,”
“All things bright and wonderful,”
“The Lord God made them all.”
The congregation come to a synchronised stop. Only the shrill of the church organ’s pipes continue to resonate for an elongated period of time before the hymn finally comes to an end. The parishioners, each stood along rows of pews sharing lyric sheets between them stare happily towards the church’s altar, where an elderly vicar garbed in a shimmering purple and white robe smiles as he cups his hands together.
“Please be seated,” he offers warmly. The sound of a hundred or more shuffling bodies and the slight grating shunts of heavy wood against stone flooring screech through the church. Once the noise has settled the vicar looks towards the family for whom the day is a celebration for. Shawn, dressed smartly in a black suit, polished shoes and slicked back hair. His wife, Amy, is dressed in a navy blue dressed with white frills around the cuffs of the arms and around the neck. She appears to be more reluctant than her spouse, for she does not sport the same proud grin that he does. It may be that she is busy cradling the slumbering infant in her arms.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” she mumbles to herself. The married couple make eye contact for just a moment, only for Amy to break it almost instantly with a blink and reverting her attention back to the baby. Luckily, her partner had not heard her. For a brief second, she peers over her shoulder as if trying to pick out someone from the crowd. Unable to do so, she looks straight back at her daughter. Having been staring at her the whole time, Shawn seems a little taken aback by the distance in her eyes, but is derailed from his train of thought as the reverend begins to speak.
“We are gathered here today in the sight of God to welcome Dawn Sesha Trenton into the arms of the Lord,” he says, trying to speak with a loud enough voice so that he is heard by everybody in attendance in spite of the fact that it puts a horrific strain on his voice. “I would like to thank each and every one of you here for coming today on behalf of Dawn, her mother Amy and her father Shawn. Psalm 127 Verse 3 states ‘Behold. Children are a gift of the Lord...”
The vicar pauses. He thought he had heard a mocking snort from someone in the church. He dismisses this as a result of his failing levels of hearing, instead putting it down to the more likely situation that it was mere a cough or wheeze.
“The fruit of a womb is a reward,” he resumes. “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior. So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is a man whose quiver is full of them; They will not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies at the gate...” It is at this point that the vicar’s initial grievance is fully justified. Another ‘cough’ comes from the crowd, yet this one is stretched out to the point that the guffaws can be intermittently heard.
“What a way with words He has.”
Amy’s neck jerks to the right. Hope suddenly fills her face just as quickly as frustration fills her husband’s. Horacio Mortimer paces between the rows of churchgoers. Each and every single person in attendance glares at him as if he had perhaps committed the greatest sin of all. The only human in the entire chapel not to pay attention to the founder of The Chronological Order is baby Dawn, her blissful slumber is the perfect safeguard from the tension between Shawn and Horacio. Horacio attempts to look deeply into Dawn’s face much like he had done on the day of her birth. And just as it was back then, Shawn does his best to obscure his vision by standing directly in his way.
“I didn’t think you were a religious man,” Shawn scowls, as if to say that the intruder should not be here.
“I find it rather quaint,” Horacio thinks aloud, walking past Shawn and towards the pedestal on which a stone bowl is situated. After looking quickly at his watch, Horacio looks back towards Amy, who is looking over her own shoulder once again. He dips the tips of his fingers into the stony bowl to the appalled silence of the congregation, withdrawing them and allowing small streams to run along his fingers before wiping the excess moisture away with a circular motion of his thumb. “Water, a symbol of purity. Not just any water, but holy water at that.” He peers into the bowl, pushing his glasses back up to rest properly and comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he turns away with disgust after a little more than a second. He glares at the freshly baptized infant. Her mother instinctively huddles her closer into her chest, twisting her body as if trying to hide her from Mortimer. “You know, Mother Nature normally allows water to flow freely. She had given it the power to break boundaries, go beyond obstacles that would normally obstruct it until it is content settling in one location. Who would have ever thought that one of the most necessary ingredients in the recipe of life would simply be a molecular cocktail of hydrogen and oxygen? It is perhaps the most abundant thing in the world. Even we, us, are primarily comprised of water.”
“Then why don’t you go and worship Poseidon,” Shawn grumbles callously to himself, his words not meant to be as audible as they were. The foundations for Shawn’s scorn towards Mortimer were justified, according to him. He was the man who had changed the man that he once called his best friend. Yet, with everything that has been unveiled since, he had trouble distinguishing whether or not he gave a shit. Or whether he should give a shit, for that matter. His stoic expression curdles into that of pure distain as Mortimer approaches him directly.
“Because,” Mortimer smiles, adjusting the shoulder pads of Shawn’s suit-jacket, “do you know what else flows freely, but what can never be fully captured or contained? Something that equally sustains life all by itself?” Shawn swats Mortimer’s hand away as he tries to brush some strands of dead hair and dandruff from the black fibres of his jacket. “Why, the flow of time itself, of course. Not even the vastness of the oceans and the plunder that it contains is as immeasurable as time itself. And besides, such a mythical thing as a deity does not warrant worship, regardless of what they had been thought to create, or what they stand for.”
“The man who thinks Time itself is a god... doesn’t believe in gods?” mock Shawn.
“A deity can only reach such an ethereally celestial status to merit being labelled as a ‘God’ once it has liberated itself from all passions and desires...”
Amy elevates herself to her feet with a start, immediately looking in the direction of the source of the voice. For the first time in the day, she shows symptoms of a smile. Dominic’s deep yet somehow tranquil voice echoes from the entrance into the chapel. Thick stone blocks that look akin to those found at Stonehenge form a pointed arch that leads to a small foyer leading directly into the cavernous hall of the church itself. One of Dominic’s colossal boots is pressed against one of these perfectly grey stones, almost concealing it from view. His back obscures more of the brickwork’s surface area. His head is bowed downwards into his chest, his eyes are closed, his arms are folded. Even as he speaks, he makes no alterations to his posture. “It has no reason to be worshipped or appeased, so everything that you are doing here; everything that you think this little ceremony stands for, it redundant.”
Shawn’s face tells the entire story. It was bad enough that his best friend had not been present for the second wedding ceremony between Shawn and Amy. Yet, in the circumstances, he had been pleased that he had declined this offer. What was more frustrating to Shawn was that he had full knowledge that no invitations had been sent to Dominic’s address for this event...
And especially not to Mortimer’s address, for that matter.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” the vicar says, trying to stay calm yet clearly unnerved. “This is a house of God.”
“Oh, please,” Horacio dismisses immediately. “Religion has been the biggest cause of war since the days of the Crusades. Even in this day and age, there are individuals who have been radicalised by the faith forced upon them who only seek to inflict pain and suffering unto others as a means to appease their own saviour.”
“What’s more, you cannot deny that there is no truth to what we are saying,” Dominic adds, having now pushed himself away from the comfort of the archway and paced along the aisle to reach Mortimer’s side. All the while, Amy’s eyes have remained fixated on Dominic. He does not return her gaze, instead opting to look at his own wristwatch momentarily before fiercely staring at Shawn.
“Is that what you truly believe?” Shawn hisses.
“I believe...” Dominic says softly but firmly in a subtly threatening tone, “that we all need something to believe in. The question you need to ask yourself if would you rather continue to believe in something that instils genuine faith in you with the knowledge that it is a lie, or would you accept the facts that are presented right in front of you and show the willingness to approach a new way of thinking with an open mind?” Shawn has fallen silent. The counterargument eludes him. A proud, almost fatherly smile spreads across Horacio’s face as a result of his protégé’s comprehension of his teachings. “To me, Shawn,” the Zenith continues, “the concept of the flow of time having a greater effect on our lives than the controversial stories of a deity, his son, and his followers... it isn’t just logical, it is chronological, if you will.”
“Precisely,” Mortimer agrees. “That is how the seeds of The Chronological Order have been sown.”
“I will not stand for such blasphemy!” the vicar says, trying to hide his flustered temperament. “If you not prepared to accept the Lord into your hearts, then I must ask you to leave. We are here to gift this child into the arms of the Lord as part of the Christian faith.”
“Does the Bible not say love thy neighbour?” Dominic retorts derogatorily. “I cannot question the lessons that your faith attempts to inform people that they should live their lives honestly and without avarice. But to force these messages down ones throat is no different to a telemarketer calling you about a car accident you’ve never been a part of.”
“Take one Tyrone Smith,” Mortimer grins, a flicker of sadism appears upon his recollection of recent events. “Our methodical approach has lit a fire within him. He is prepared to fight with every fibre of his being in order to topple us.” He hangs his head solemnly, feigningly so. “And yet,” he continues, “even with his newfound energy and determination, we have taken him down at every turn. There is no amount of true grit, blood, sweat or tears that can compete with the sheer dominance of raw power and unmatchable intellect possessed by The Chronological Order.”
“Take your ridiculous cult somewhere else!” Shawn booms, extremely close to the end of his tether. “I will not stand for this! You are ruining Dawn’s special day.”
“First and foremost,” Horacio chuckles, “we are anything but a cult. A cult’s leader normally portrays himself as a messenger of their chosen God, if not the manifestation of said divine entity themselves. The Chronological Order does not believe in such a thing. The effects that the passage of time has on everything in existence, along with anything that ever HAS existed and everything that ever WILL exist... THIS is what The Chronological seeks to explain to the world. Time itself has the same power of any god, infinitely so.”
“And we will strive to help people change their minds of their own accord,” Dominator says deeply, “even if it means shattering their hopes and dreams and make them question everything that they thought they knew about life.”
“Indeed. Change can be a painful process. But it is by maturing and growing as a result of these changes that truly makes you a better person.” Mortimer looks out to the congregation. “What we offer is pure and logical truth. There are no lies in the words we speak. To some extent, that makes The Chronological Order even more legitimate than The Church itself.” Shawn is completely agog by this point, but the full horror of the situation has yet to unfold.
It begins when Amy walks around Shawn. Baby Dawn is still caressed out of harms way against her chest. Her gaze remains at the focal point to which her attention has been directed for the last several minutes. At Dominic himself. She stands directly.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Amy repeats her earlier objections, yet the scope of her statement seems to have expanded beyond the christening itself. She attempts to stop herself from breaking down into tears and instead makes it evident that she wishes to leave. A commotion begins to stir amongst the congregation. As it grows louder, so too does Amy’s emotional distress. Dominator remains as stone faced as the walls that surround them before slowly bobbing his head and pacing slowly out of the church. Amy follows directly behind.
And it isn’t just Amy.
One by one, more and more individuals begin to make their leave, following in Dominic’s footsteps. Their departures do not appear to be in line with the concern for Amy’s welfare, but rather it is a result in the intrigue that The Chronological Order seems to have presented to them. More and more take their leave. Shawn glares venomously towards Horacio, who merely checks his wristwatch one final time.
“You see?” Mortimer grins triumphantly. “Every day, The Chronological Order is expanding. We are getting through to more and more people who want to see change. Forget Brexit. Forget the inevitable impeachment of President Trump. The time for change is truly now upon us. Take note. You’re about to witness history being born.”
1.37pm – Saturday 26th August 2017
“All things bright and beautiful,”
“All creatures great and small,”
“All things bright and wonderful,”
“The Lord God made them all.”
The congregation come to a synchronised stop. Only the shrill of the church organ’s pipes continue to resonate for an elongated period of time before the hymn finally comes to an end. The parishioners, each stood along rows of pews sharing lyric sheets between them stare happily towards the church’s altar, where an elderly vicar garbed in a shimmering purple and white robe smiles as he cups his hands together.
“Please be seated,” he offers warmly. The sound of a hundred or more shuffling bodies and the slight grating shunts of heavy wood against stone flooring screech through the church. Once the noise has settled the vicar looks towards the family for whom the day is a celebration for. Shawn, dressed smartly in a black suit, polished shoes and slicked back hair. His wife, Amy, is dressed in a navy blue dressed with white frills around the cuffs of the arms and around the neck. She appears to be more reluctant than her spouse, for she does not sport the same proud grin that he does. It may be that she is busy cradling the slumbering infant in her arms.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” she mumbles to herself. The married couple make eye contact for just a moment, only for Amy to break it almost instantly with a blink and reverting her attention back to the baby. Luckily, her partner had not heard her. For a brief second, she peers over her shoulder as if trying to pick out someone from the crowd. Unable to do so, she looks straight back at her daughter. Having been staring at her the whole time, Shawn seems a little taken aback by the distance in her eyes, but is derailed from his train of thought as the reverend begins to speak.
“We are gathered here today in the sight of God to welcome Dawn Sesha Trenton into the arms of the Lord,” he says, trying to speak with a loud enough voice so that he is heard by everybody in attendance in spite of the fact that it puts a horrific strain on his voice. “I would like to thank each and every one of you here for coming today on behalf of Dawn, her mother Amy and her father Shawn. Psalm 127 Verse 3 states ‘Behold. Children are a gift of the Lord...”
The vicar pauses. He thought he had heard a mocking snort from someone in the church. He dismisses this as a result of his failing levels of hearing, instead putting it down to the more likely situation that it was mere a cough or wheeze.
“The fruit of a womb is a reward,” he resumes. “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior. So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is a man whose quiver is full of them; They will not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies at the gate...” It is at this point that the vicar’s initial grievance is fully justified. Another ‘cough’ comes from the crowd, yet this one is stretched out to the point that the guffaws can be intermittently heard.
“What a way with words He has.”
Amy’s neck jerks to the right. Hope suddenly fills her face just as quickly as frustration fills her husband’s. Horacio Mortimer paces between the rows of churchgoers. Each and every single person in attendance glares at him as if he had perhaps committed the greatest sin of all. The only human in the entire chapel not to pay attention to the founder of The Chronological Order is baby Dawn, her blissful slumber is the perfect safeguard from the tension between Shawn and Horacio. Horacio attempts to look deeply into Dawn’s face much like he had done on the day of her birth. And just as it was back then, Shawn does his best to obscure his vision by standing directly in his way.
“I didn’t think you were a religious man,” Shawn scowls, as if to say that the intruder should not be here.
“I find it rather quaint,” Horacio thinks aloud, walking past Shawn and towards the pedestal on which a stone bowl is situated. After looking quickly at his watch, Horacio looks back towards Amy, who is looking over her own shoulder once again. He dips the tips of his fingers into the stony bowl to the appalled silence of the congregation, withdrawing them and allowing small streams to run along his fingers before wiping the excess moisture away with a circular motion of his thumb. “Water, a symbol of purity. Not just any water, but holy water at that.” He peers into the bowl, pushing his glasses back up to rest properly and comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he turns away with disgust after a little more than a second. He glares at the freshly baptized infant. Her mother instinctively huddles her closer into her chest, twisting her body as if trying to hide her from Mortimer. “You know, Mother Nature normally allows water to flow freely. She had given it the power to break boundaries, go beyond obstacles that would normally obstruct it until it is content settling in one location. Who would have ever thought that one of the most necessary ingredients in the recipe of life would simply be a molecular cocktail of hydrogen and oxygen? It is perhaps the most abundant thing in the world. Even we, us, are primarily comprised of water.”
“Then why don’t you go and worship Poseidon,” Shawn grumbles callously to himself, his words not meant to be as audible as they were. The foundations for Shawn’s scorn towards Mortimer were justified, according to him. He was the man who had changed the man that he once called his best friend. Yet, with everything that has been unveiled since, he had trouble distinguishing whether or not he gave a shit. Or whether he should give a shit, for that matter. His stoic expression curdles into that of pure distain as Mortimer approaches him directly.
“Because,” Mortimer smiles, adjusting the shoulder pads of Shawn’s suit-jacket, “do you know what else flows freely, but what can never be fully captured or contained? Something that equally sustains life all by itself?” Shawn swats Mortimer’s hand away as he tries to brush some strands of dead hair and dandruff from the black fibres of his jacket. “Why, the flow of time itself, of course. Not even the vastness of the oceans and the plunder that it contains is as immeasurable as time itself. And besides, such a mythical thing as a deity does not warrant worship, regardless of what they had been thought to create, or what they stand for.”
“The man who thinks Time itself is a god... doesn’t believe in gods?” mock Shawn.
“A deity can only reach such an ethereally celestial status to merit being labelled as a ‘God’ once it has liberated itself from all passions and desires...”
Amy elevates herself to her feet with a start, immediately looking in the direction of the source of the voice. For the first time in the day, she shows symptoms of a smile. Dominic’s deep yet somehow tranquil voice echoes from the entrance into the chapel. Thick stone blocks that look akin to those found at Stonehenge form a pointed arch that leads to a small foyer leading directly into the cavernous hall of the church itself. One of Dominic’s colossal boots is pressed against one of these perfectly grey stones, almost concealing it from view. His back obscures more of the brickwork’s surface area. His head is bowed downwards into his chest, his eyes are closed, his arms are folded. Even as he speaks, he makes no alterations to his posture. “It has no reason to be worshipped or appeased, so everything that you are doing here; everything that you think this little ceremony stands for, it redundant.”
Shawn’s face tells the entire story. It was bad enough that his best friend had not been present for the second wedding ceremony between Shawn and Amy. Yet, in the circumstances, he had been pleased that he had declined this offer. What was more frustrating to Shawn was that he had full knowledge that no invitations had been sent to Dominic’s address for this event...
And especially not to Mortimer’s address, for that matter.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” the vicar says, trying to stay calm yet clearly unnerved. “This is a house of God.”
“Oh, please,” Horacio dismisses immediately. “Religion has been the biggest cause of war since the days of the Crusades. Even in this day and age, there are individuals who have been radicalised by the faith forced upon them who only seek to inflict pain and suffering unto others as a means to appease their own saviour.”
“What’s more, you cannot deny that there is no truth to what we are saying,” Dominic adds, having now pushed himself away from the comfort of the archway and paced along the aisle to reach Mortimer’s side. All the while, Amy’s eyes have remained fixated on Dominic. He does not return her gaze, instead opting to look at his own wristwatch momentarily before fiercely staring at Shawn.
“Is that what you truly believe?” Shawn hisses.
“I believe...” Dominic says softly but firmly in a subtly threatening tone, “that we all need something to believe in. The question you need to ask yourself if would you rather continue to believe in something that instils genuine faith in you with the knowledge that it is a lie, or would you accept the facts that are presented right in front of you and show the willingness to approach a new way of thinking with an open mind?” Shawn has fallen silent. The counterargument eludes him. A proud, almost fatherly smile spreads across Horacio’s face as a result of his protégé’s comprehension of his teachings. “To me, Shawn,” the Zenith continues, “the concept of the flow of time having a greater effect on our lives than the controversial stories of a deity, his son, and his followers... it isn’t just logical, it is chronological, if you will.”
“Precisely,” Mortimer agrees. “That is how the seeds of The Chronological Order have been sown.”
“I will not stand for such blasphemy!” the vicar says, trying to hide his flustered temperament. “If you not prepared to accept the Lord into your hearts, then I must ask you to leave. We are here to gift this child into the arms of the Lord as part of the Christian faith.”
“Does the Bible not say love thy neighbour?” Dominic retorts derogatorily. “I cannot question the lessons that your faith attempts to inform people that they should live their lives honestly and without avarice. But to force these messages down ones throat is no different to a telemarketer calling you about a car accident you’ve never been a part of.”
“Take one Tyrone Smith,” Mortimer grins, a flicker of sadism appears upon his recollection of recent events. “Our methodical approach has lit a fire within him. He is prepared to fight with every fibre of his being in order to topple us.” He hangs his head solemnly, feigningly so. “And yet,” he continues, “even with his newfound energy and determination, we have taken him down at every turn. There is no amount of true grit, blood, sweat or tears that can compete with the sheer dominance of raw power and unmatchable intellect possessed by The Chronological Order.”
“Take your ridiculous cult somewhere else!” Shawn booms, extremely close to the end of his tether. “I will not stand for this! You are ruining Dawn’s special day.”
“First and foremost,” Horacio chuckles, “we are anything but a cult. A cult’s leader normally portrays himself as a messenger of their chosen God, if not the manifestation of said divine entity themselves. The Chronological Order does not believe in such a thing. The effects that the passage of time has on everything in existence, along with anything that ever HAS existed and everything that ever WILL exist... THIS is what The Chronological seeks to explain to the world. Time itself has the same power of any god, infinitely so.”
“And we will strive to help people change their minds of their own accord,” Dominator says deeply, “even if it means shattering their hopes and dreams and make them question everything that they thought they knew about life.”
“Indeed. Change can be a painful process. But it is by maturing and growing as a result of these changes that truly makes you a better person.” Mortimer looks out to the congregation. “What we offer is pure and logical truth. There are no lies in the words we speak. To some extent, that makes The Chronological Order even more legitimate than The Church itself.” Shawn is completely agog by this point, but the full horror of the situation has yet to unfold.
It begins when Amy walks around Shawn. Baby Dawn is still caressed out of harms way against her chest. Her gaze remains at the focal point to which her attention has been directed for the last several minutes. At Dominic himself. She stands directly.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Amy repeats her earlier objections, yet the scope of her statement seems to have expanded beyond the christening itself. She attempts to stop herself from breaking down into tears and instead makes it evident that she wishes to leave. A commotion begins to stir amongst the congregation. As it grows louder, so too does Amy’s emotional distress. Dominator remains as stone faced as the walls that surround them before slowly bobbing his head and pacing slowly out of the church. Amy follows directly behind.
And it isn’t just Amy.
One by one, more and more individuals begin to make their leave, following in Dominic’s footsteps. Their departures do not appear to be in line with the concern for Amy’s welfare, but rather it is a result in the intrigue that The Chronological Order seems to have presented to them. More and more take their leave. Shawn glares venomously towards Horacio, who merely checks his wristwatch one final time.
“You see?” Mortimer grins triumphantly. “Every day, The Chronological Order is expanding. We are getting through to more and more people who want to see change. Forget Brexit. Forget the inevitable impeachment of President Trump. The time for change is truly now upon us. Take note. You’re about to witness history being born.”
