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« on: August 24, 2007, 07:32:45 PM » |
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Chapter 1
I sat in class the other day and an unpleasant feeling came upon me. This unwelcome feeling stayed with me for the entire day. It wasn’t until the drive home from school that I could really put my finger upon what was bothering me: this country is running straight down the drain. Now, before I get an angry mob of pro-American, freedom fighters chasing me back to my defiance home, let me explain my thought process. I do not believe that this country is the worst of any place on the globe, nor do I wish that I did not live here. I love where I live, what I am, and what this country allows me to do. With that said, one would be oblivious if they were to think that this country has no problems. To help you understand what I am saying, and what I now understand, I will try to explain the events which shed light upon my thought, and consequently gave me new insight into what our country should be, and how it has strayed from the seeds that our forefather’s planted.
It all starts on a cold, rainy night last October. I sat in my bedroom, counting the number of times our current president has made a fool of himself during his previous term and a half. When an idea came upon me, “this is a perfect night to go strolling through a graveyard.” It just so happens that there is a graveyard within walking distance from my house. I got out my boots, grabbed my coat, pet my dog Max, and closed the laundry room door behind me. I strolled out the garage door, as if guided by some extra planar force, and walked steadily down the street to where my destination rested. When I arrived at the graveyard, I noticed a sign just inside of the entrance gates. “This is a normal graveyard, definitely not consisting of the forefathers of our country.” I thought nothing of this warning, because obviously, I had no worries as to bumping into a dead Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, or anyone else. As I continued to stroll through the dimly lit walkways, and domineering stone catacombs, I once again felt guided by some spectral force. This time, however, it was almost as if it guided me towards a particular grave. When I knelt down and examined the grave with my torch (oh yeah, I found a torch back by the entrance of the graveyard) I saw the engraving on the headstone read, “Here lies Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and…Monroe.” Well, so much for trusting warning signs in a graveyard. At this point, I was a little hesitant upon staying there, but I saw that outside the graveyard, stood Dick Cheney with a 12-gauge in hand, and not a bird in sight. After milliseconds of contemplation, I felt the safest place was where I sat. In an instant, as if some miraculous wonder existed next to me, some grass grew. No seriously, the grave opened up, and a set of stairs appeared. As I walked into uncertainty, I felt the familiar spirit guide me down, and aid in my courage. What I immediately saw upon entering was what looked like a dimly lit room, and three men sitting upon chairs and couches, reading what appeared to be Cosmopolitan, and watching prime time network television. Just as immediately as I had entered the room, I noticed that the three men gathered around were indeed Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and…Monroe. Expecting some profound statement upon greeting them, I was surprised to hear a courteous voice say, rather confusedly,
“So, do I have to let my man have his own space, but still remain close to him emotionally?”
“No, you fool,” responded who I guessed to be John Adams. “You must vote for the best singer in this competition to get a say in things.”
At this point, confusion became a clear understanding: I was utterly bewildered.
What were these legendary leaders doing in a room beneath a grave, and what were they doing discussing trivial bits of information like this when they could be watching the news or reading Time magazine, or for that matter anything but Cosmopolitan…seriously.
“Um, hello,” I mumbled.
Instantly all attention was focused upon me.
“Ah, yes, hello good man. How are you today?”
Now, on any other normal day, I would have answered this question with a combination of B.S. and generic responses. But when a supposedly, long dead, former president ask you how you are doing, there is only one real response:
“Um, ducky, sir. Just ducky.”
Crap. You’d think with eighteen years of experience on the planet, I would have somewhere come across a better phrase than ducky.
“Ducky, eh?” replied TJ. “Well, I have never heard of that phrase before, but I expect it is a more used term in your time, than that which I am familiar with.”
“Well, sort of, it’s actually from the 1950’s.” What the hell was I thinking? I am the first person to talk to Thomas Jefferson since his supposed death some 200 years ago, and I was carrying on a conversation on the origins of the word ducky.
“Um, if you don’t mind me asking sir, what are you all doing here, and if you don’t mind me being blunt, aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Ha, well, yes, all in good time you will have answers. For now, I will acquaint everyone. I am sure you know of me, Thomas Jefferson?”
“Yes,” I weakly responded.
“And, I am also sure you know of my friend John Adams, and our companion Monroe?”
“Yes, I also know you two gentlemen, but doesn’t ‘Monroe’ have a first name?”
“Well, we all assume he does, but the writer of this story is not versed enough in history to recall that piece of information, so we considered it negligible.”
“Of, course, yes Mr. Jefferson.”
“Oh, please, call me TJ. I ask that you be comfortable with addressing me, for I am willing to gamble that you have many questions to ask of me. In turn, I have many things I wish to relate to you. So, please sit, Monroe get up. GET UP! Our guest requires a seat. So, as I was saying, please make yourself comfortable, while I inform you upon the reason as to why we are here, and why you are also here.”
I awaited his response with anticipation…..
-Chapter 2-
“To, begin, I assume it is necessary for you to understand why and how we are here, sitting before you, in this room. In 1776, shortly after signing the declaration of independence, a select few of us gathered for a tertiary continental congress. Unlike the previous gatherings, this one was not concerning the immediate survival of the United States. While we all knew that the immediate survival and independence was crucial, we select few knew that if the immediate future was to be secured, we must have a plan for the long term future.”
As these final words rolled off of Jefferson’s lips, I remembered, vaguely, the lessons of my senior year history class, and an excerpt I read from our textbook: The founding fathers of our country had a greater plan for our nation in store than was seen or allowed to unfold.
As Thomas Jefferson sat before me, he unraveled an elaborate tale about the success of America depending upon future generations cooperating with the goals and aspirations set by the founding fathers. He explained that everything was set down by the writers of the declaration of the independence. Compromises had to be made, but the eventual plan was to create a society where everyone had a say, a part, and a purpose in government.
“You see,” explained Jefferson, “we set a foundation for the future, and it was planned that our decedents would follow that path to harmonious success. Unfortunately, we did not take into account the amount of greed and ambition that resided within our fellow brethren.”
As I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, Jefferson motioned to rise.
“Our story now takes us beyond this room, and into a more…suitable quarter.”
I followed Jefferson’s lead out of the room. As I vacated my chair, Adams motioned for me to come over.
I did what anyone would have done, I followed.
“Alright, we don’t have much time here,” breathed Adams in a low whisper. “What are you going to say when you follow Thomas down that corridor?”
Somewhere in my mind, I searched for a hint as to what this man was talking about.
“I’m sorry sir; I don’t think that I understand.”
“Damnit boy, don’t you see what’s happening here? Nobody knows we exist, this whole situation down here is the only thing keeping this country from tearing itself apart.”
I grasped for a response, “Sir, how could the fate of the entire country rest in the existence of this small room down here?”
“That, my boy, is the key to everything. Just you wait, in the end, it will all make sense. And remember, nothing is truly as it seems….”
“Young man,” roared Jefferson’s voice across the room with a glare almost as commanding. “Are you ready to make your journey?”
“Yes,” I replied with hesitant confidence.
We traveled past the remaining occupants of the room, and John Adams gave me a reassuring wink as I pursued my guide out of the room.
In contrast to the warm, comfortable accommodations that I previously passed through, this new environment was both damp, and enveloped in darkness. I traversed through the pathways, guided only by a small torch held by my guide, whose own stature dwarfed my own.
“These are the original hallways that led underneath the Capitol Building during the formation of this country. Nobody knew about them except for members of the C.A.
My mind raced back and forth, trying to recall any information about this “C.A.” With no success, I queried my guide for an answer.
“Sir, what is the C.A.?”
“By God, have I forgotten to explain about the C.A.?” Jefferson exclaimed.
“The C.A., or Colonial Alliance, was a secret organization that existed, metaphorically, beneath America. Like I said, these very halls served as connections between the four crucial points back in our time. The first was built on the eastern shore, and remained in existence for decades. Two other entrances were built on the outskirts of the two biggest cities of the time, one in Virginia, and the other in South Carolina. The last, the one you seemed to find your way through earlier tonight, is the most recently built of the four. It was sought to be the connection between westward expansion and the dominant east coast. With the passing of time, these tunnels were discovered by refugees, and during the 1800’s, many abolitionist groups used them to transport runaway slaves; thus giving birth to what you know as the ‘underground railroad.’
As he continued to spin tales of intrepid explorers finding their way into these tunnels, I was uneasy at the way he mentioned that intruders that were discovered, were always disposed of.
We continued on our path, dimly lit by the torch, and proceeding through the darkness.
“These tunnels that once were to serve the needs of a most secret society were now a matter of legend and human exploration. The members of the C.A. found it necessary to shut off these paths. Around the year 1860, while the country was futilely at war with itself, the remaining members of the C.A. planned to collapse the entrance and midpoints of all tunnels, except one. This last one tunnel was to serve the remaining members of the C.A. who were left to this earth to see the success of America.
“But how did only a small handful of the C.A. guard and protect this tunnel for so many years?”
“This last tunnel, the one that we walk upon, is the only link between your world, and an ancient one.”
I merely stared at Jefferson in confusion. This explanation seemed less of an answer to my question, and more of an explanation of what was to come. Ahead of us, existed no darkness or mystery, only a solitary door with faded gold writing that read:
Operor non requiro refero per is ianua.
“The answer you seek to your question, along with others, is through this door,” answered Jefferson. And on that note, I hesitantly followed my guide through the door, and into the unknown.
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