She bit him—kindly, though he was sullen and rough. They were in the bushes, and it was dark, and she was horny. He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, pumping until she was breathless. She sighed—his tendency to talk too much proved worthy, as he opened his mouth and scolded, as he caressed her, trying to keep his breath steady.
She smiled and heaved her soul into the sky, his sky, the moonlight calmly guiding her, drinking in her scent with aplomb, and reviving the air with gladness. The breeze blew, and the brush shivered in response, rustling musically throughout the forest.
She loved her husband, and she was beautiful, in heat and gainful, for she released her ecstasy in time and in precision. He eased her mounds of flesh into view and squeezed in discipline, and she gave herself to him in viable heaps for his task and his comfort.
They moaned, their sounds guided by the wind and the waving trees, humbling the breeze as it dragged on from place to place, carrying them with it.
They were nestled in the limbs of a cotton tree, which sparsely secluded their crumpling bodies from the moonlight.
They rocked to the rhythm for hours it seemed, but she was not tired by the grinding that was possessing them.
In fact, she was invigorated and after a short, languid spell, in a nimble grunt, she was down and onto the ground, off and running towards the lush trees and mountaintops of the clearing that had been beckoning to them from the start.
Lyric caught up with her and grabbed her, putting her atop his shoulders like a crown; she leaned over and kissed the top of his head, her shoulder-length strawberry tresses gleaming in the moonlight, highlighting her round face and his crown like a halo.
Hazel smelled of patchouli and sex, and her scent was intoxicating, Lyric acknowledged, swooning from the scent and the weight of her on his broad shoulders.
He paused to savor the moment and he stood like that for several minutes, catching his bearings and listening to the soothing sounds of the ocean that they had just ridden in on.
They had arrived by boat hours ago, at the start of nightfall, and it gave them enough time to languidly survey the land before moving in on their mission. They were at their last task: It was their country and they had finally come to claim it; they sized up its rhythm, counted to ten, and joined in with its vibration with ease.
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They entered the clearing and stood for twenty seconds surveying the route; the sounds of a waiting helicopter guided them closer and closer until they stepped in, silently strapping themselves.
They donned their gear—his, a leather vest stocked with throwing knives, an automatic handgun with a silencer, and an AR rifle—and hers, a bow, and reflexive arrows. The reflexive arrows were deadly; she only used them whenever she sensed mortal danger, therefore, they were her last resort and her deadliest weapon.
She also kept her palm leaf—or palm life as she calls it, nestled onto her left palm, and strapped onto her middle finger; it was encased in a leather satchel, and it was built to resemble a large diamond that shone an effortless, beautiful light that had three phases, or colors.
Each color represented a different dimension that she could access and “blow” from, to secure life, in order to seal away dangers. These lights were strong enough to turn people into dust, the ultimate sacrifice for her kingdom, and whenever it was necessary, it was a soft, solid, cream light that elicited a sense of surrealism for its preys; it left them feeling tired, numb, and lost, and then, their death would be immediate, as they would drop to the ground like ripe mangoes ready for the picking, writhing towards the light, as if to keep it in view.
The other two phases were pink and blue, and they represented health and vitality; these were her aura lights, and they were Hazel’s main tools for scouring the pains she had come to dismantle.
She was skillful, and she was able to pinpoint her light even in large crowds, especially when she was fired up and in the zone, which made her a force to be reckoned with, for she was able to deliver a deadly, piercing blow in such instances.
Hazel was also a shield unto herself; a loner, nothing could come upon her and harm her because her aura lights were sharp, since she did not let people in. She was always able to sense danger and she knew how to maneuver herself psychically. Consequently, she was the most powerful human being on the planet, and she had come in bold fashion to rule Sanaa with her powers.
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Hazel could also shoot needles effortlessly from her right palm, which contained a bionic, reed-like casing, in leather gloves, with red and blue needles that were carefully stoked with whichever medicine she was offering at the time.
She either offered aloes or redberry, which had to coincide with seasonal and climate conditions in the environment, or else there would be dangerous counteractions.
She had developed this medicine from her grandparents’ recipe, a transgenerational secret of transformations through individuality, care, and advancement. In other words, it grew stronger with each generation, which did its task to advance the method. How they did it was a secret.
To look at Hazel, one would see a strong, commanding woman with bright hazel eyes, and she sometimes looked deadly—but she was the key to life—as she had come to save the people in time, though they did not yet fully know or acknowledge her methods.
The growing black cloud that was about them was about to become a heavy, sinking blackness that would sit on the countryside and release oil, hail, gasses, enormous sores, and eventual death without intervention, but Lyric and Hazel were here to release its gas in time with a little maneuvering and saving grace.
Lexington was a scientist and Hazel was his maven, a medical doctor, and a healer of all sorts of ailments, and they had come to the last town on their trail of the healing of the nations—their home. It was a home that was foreign to them, but nonetheless their home, and they were glad to be there.
Their dogs were a beagle, a dachshund, two crazy Chihuahuas, and a Great Dane. She loved pets, and he loved her like crazy, and they were flawless in their senses and functionality as a couple; their operations were always timely, and they were careful and prudish in their decisions.
It was their time to lead the way, as the world was crumbling with disease and famine, and bloodshed was pressing on the creases of humanity, bawling for a savior.
It was Hazel’s first time back, and Lexington’s first visit. They were expats, so to speak, because although Sanaa loved their ideals, it also hated the sacrifice it took to implement them; they were dreamers of oneness and inclusion, and it would be this juxtaposition that they would wrestle with in Sanaa.
Indeed, it was time, as the calls of hate were growing in a land full of dissonance and the need for mercy.
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Their brigade was waiting quietly, with a few restless soldiers settled in lazily, when they approached the camp outside of the city.
The city had been under siege for seven days, and the king and queen, Lyric and Dreaddy, had arrived to settle the score.
The brigades had arrived several days before the shipments of marijuana, cocaine, and hemp, the main products that she had procured to implement her plan; the brigades consisted of six helicopters and a host of vehicles and accoutrements, and they were a wild, animated bunch.
On Tuesday, July 6, 2042, the helicopters landed twenty minutes apart, at different locations of the city in the ensuing siege.
They called themselves the “groundhogs,” and they were a spunky mix of male and female soldiers who had professed their love for Sanaa and to the kingdom that it was going to be.
Each helicopter had twelve men and twelve women that were each led by a captain, Felt for the men, and Rubber for the women.
Felt was a short, stocky woman who packed a punch with her commanding presence, her delivery, and her overall no-holds-barred approach.
Rubber, a lanky fellow with a booming voice, was a former Olympian, and a star marksman, being able to pick a target off perfectly from over two and half miles.
They were the leaders of the six brigades who took instructions from the commander Ribbon and his senior officer, Razie, a kind, almost simpering fellow, who was bossy, lazy, and brash.
When the helicopters landed, the drugs landed with them, and the unsuspecting people dove into the large bounty rapidly. Some took and used, while the greedy fellows hoarded and stashed so that they would be in control of the supply.
Razie was impeccable at his duties—he had started young. He was their protégé and nephew, and he was a connoisseur of men; his social intuition was razor sharp, and he led the ranks with precision and passion. It was he who had stepped out to meet Hazel and Lyric when they had landed with a whoosh from the sky, their giant shadows boasting wellness in the darkness of the night.
He drove them to the heart of the city center, where all of the dirt and the grime lived, powered by the ample supply of poverty that the unhealthy governance had supported.
The looming cloud had the people in wonder, and they were out and about in the street at the wee hours of the morning; they were high on drugs, and they were ready.
She jumped out on foot, her palm life ready, stoking individuals with kindness by the way the light enveloped their bodies, leaving them soft and mushy like jelly. The streets were wet, as it had rained, a telling sign that she was able to control the conditions. She liked when it was wet, because she was able to move faster by way of the air bubbles that she had mastered at her feet to help her float by way of osmosis.
Also, she knew that the rain would keep some people inside, and these were the ones she would use for her experiment, as they were likely the ones who had stashed and stowed for a rainy day.
They looked around for a moment and then they “broke bread,” as they spoke, and got to work in cleaning it up by flooding the city with love and marked the jellied bodies as tanks for when the revival would appear at the later stages of the operation.
They moved with ease, she applying her special salves at various points of the city, with time-release valves and glass covers to set them.
Dreaddy was her call name and Lyric his, and as they watched their team apply the regimen with quickness and precision, she beamed in admiration and expectation.
The talismans were either round or diamond shaped, and no more than twenty inches in diameter, which made them easy to set in record time across the land.
When the talismans “enveloped,” (this usually took ninety minutes), it caused the lower atmosphere of the universe to release its “breath,” causing greater light to penetrate to the depths of the land and causing disease to heal. The universe is made up of layers of air, which can become smogged due to humanity’s ways and from time to time, this smog must be released, or else there is disease.
Rampant misuse of natural resources, crimes against the system and crimes against the poor needed to be curtailed, as their endurance showed themselves in the variety of catastrophic events that had transpired over the last eight to ten months in various places throughout the world.
The increased oxygen from the talismans would spark thunderstorms and flooding, all in an effort to clean out the regime of grime, dirt, and muck.
Hazel enjoyed the grind of purifying a nation, and she thought it extremely important to have her subjects see her be part of the rituals; it gave her a sense of calm and comfort as well, spending time with the people she had professed to care for.
She was committed to teaching them fully the right ways to go about living, as it was an important part of her governing structure to lead by example. Dispersing herself amongst the people was an important way of saying that she cared, and that she was the change that was going to free them and the system.