TRIALS OF JAMES KELLSPELL
VERY SHORT SYNOPSIS:
This is written for a TV Series, meant to last for at least 10 years, at the rate of at least 10 Episodes a month. It is rated PG-13, however, some characters are homosexual (may not be fit for all countries).
Main Premise: It is now common knowledge that this Universe is nothing but a runaway Brain Cell of God, and He needs it back. The Universe, and everyone in it are in a deep sleep, running crazy, suffering without Love, that can only be provided by the One Who Created them.
Those who have suffered enough, and are willing to exchange the meaningless, faceless rat race for a life full of Understanding and Compassion, want to Awaken to the Face of God. They look for someone to help them do that.
A meteorite will hit the Earth within the next 100 years, and the Civilization of Andromeda wants to provide ships to relocate all the willing humans onto a few planets, donated by the wealthy benefactors of the dominant species of Andromeda ("The Grehedis").
In exchange for that, the Andromedans, tired of their own rat race/arms race, and desiring to go Back (Awaken), want this one man, a researcher from Earth, James Kellspell, to give them the Key to the Pearly Gates so that all the willing could Awaken from Pain to Love.
James Kellspell agrees to become the Prophet, and lead the Andromedan war-torn Civilisation back to Peace. The grateful Andromedans provide a very special ship, called Strobulus, to get James Kellspell and his Team - first, to the Pearly Gates, and then, to Andromeda.
Meanwhile on the ship James is putting together his Team, with which he will travel to Andromeda with, after he drops off everyone who wanted to go straight to the Pearly Gates.
However, with his heart full of love and compassion he picks the most miserable, sick members, who are in the most need for Love and Compassion, but not necessarily most fit to perform any duties.
Thusly, hilarity ensues on the backdrop of war on Andromeda and the Earth under fire, suffering from violence, poverty, overpopulation and a threat of a meteorite.
The story is told by Jim's 1st Arkchil Operator, a Jewish man by the name of Samuel of Salem.
RULES FOR CRIT PARTNERSHIP:
Everything is based on mutual respect, and treating each other's heart and soul in the most decent of ways.
What is holy for you will become holy for me.
We understand life gets in the way, so - 2-3 chapters a week.
Segments may be the size of 2500-3000 words, or around that.
"A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or else's what Heaven for?" R. Browning
(meaning: I believe you can achieve the highest of heights and I will help you)
SOME COMMENTS ON WHAT I SEEK IN REVIEWS:
There are two types of reviews:
The grammar review and what I call the “ESSENCE REVIEW”.
Most people somehow believe that “critique” is when you only carp to grammar, and NEVER mention whether you actually liked the chapter, or the characters.
Here is the thing: I can always hire an editor to fix all my spelling\grammar\punctuation mistakes. Talking about that is boring. Leave it to the pros.
What I need to know - did you become EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED while reading, or did you catch yourself being distracted all the time on something else, and then bringing your attention back to the text, and not knowing what was going on in the scene?
If yes to that, it is my fault. THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO KNOW - DID THE CHAPTER CAPTURE YOUR ATTENTION OR NOT.
It is upon the writer to make it so that the reader gets involved and does not sit there, counting crows, picking their butt, looking at the time and wondering why they got involved with this unbearable text.
Any editor can fix my grammar.
NO EDITOR can help me write a good book.
So, here I might need to create some directions to make it easier to write reviews later:
Were you involved while reading?
Did you feel the emotions of the characters?
Did you laugh, did you cry, or were you bored reading?
If yes, at what point?
Which character was the brightest?
Which character was the least noticeable?
What would you have changed in their interaction?
What is your overall MOOD after reading?
Ok, here we go. I guess this covers it all. I will follow the same rules reviewing your work without carping to your grammar\spelling\punctuation in the most annoying way.
THE MOOD IS WHAT IS IMPORTANT. Did the writer create the MOOD? Then I can forgive the worst grammar.
For even with the best of grammar a chapter can be most boring. We’re trying to battle that in particular.
TRIALS OF JAMES KELLSPELL, BOOK 3
The song of this world
will devastate you
one way or the other.
For if it is not sad,
then it ends.
"There is no “death”. It’s Awakening.
There is no sin. It’s ego-disease.
There is no punishment. It’s healing.
There is no “karma”. Karma is but how badly you want to experience pain.
We are not God’s “playthings”.
We are His Beloved Child that fell asleep, and needs to be Awakened to the Truth."
From Jim Kellspell's famous speech "To The Andromedans"
BEAUTIFUL PRISONER
Episode 10
The Test
“Sing, rejoice, little sparrow,
Witness the first spark.
Dawn is sending the arrow
Right in the heart of the dark.”
Misty Shield
“Your” ego is a metal blade that is driven between one finger and the rest of the Hand.”
We were given a quiz on chemistry. There was only one list of questions. There were eight questions on the list. So, Christopher, as our de facto leader and sometimes babysitter, gave each of us two questions to work on.
While the recording of one of Uri Kumlatov’s lectures on ego-programing plays on the background, as most of the time.
As if there is not enough distraction already.
And as if the questions were not insanely complicated. At least for me.
Is this Prince Moretr? He is new here, right, so he decided to give us a quiz on the studied material. Good move.
The problem is that James was the only one who was studying chemistry. We were never seriously considered to be his helpers in this part of the Quest. We would just trot along every time he had a class on fractional motherloving distillation.
“So, where IS Prince Moretr? He told us he was going to be our Alpha. That was a week ago!” I whisper to Christopher, who is using bridgeplate to try and get answers to the questions of the quiz.
However he has hard time reading multicolored clouds he gets in response. The clouds look like festival of colors in India, or a crowd of gypsies as seen from space, but not an interface of any kind.
“Samuel, not now. We are being timed. Could you please try and remember the boiling point of lithium?”
Look at this Hermione! He is really trying to do the quiz!
I would say something smartass, like “in Celsius or Kelvin?”, but I have too much respect for Christopher’s honest desire to do your best even when the conditions are not fair. Prince Moretr is obviously misinformed. James was supposed to be the only one tested!
“Well, can you tap into the friggin’ Black Hexagon Broadcasting or something? They invented spaceships that fly at the speed of light, surely these bitches would know the boiling point of lithium!”
“This IS Black Hexagon of St. Merelion, Samuel! But I feel like a monkey that is trying to learn the human alphabet all by her lonesome self!” Christopher touches both top and bottom colored fields within the bridgeplate, with various screens and cloud-like interfaces appearing over the altar itself.
Apparently he did achieve archival information of a broadcasting station 2,5 mln light years away. They should give us a pass just for that!
My pride for the humankind in the face of Christopher is gone, when a scuffle, and a loud smacking sound take place to my left. Immediately after:
“Oww! Henry!” James breathes deep, holding on to the left side of his face. “What did I do?”
Carlton stares James down with this vindictive narrowed glance.
Did he just hit Jim? I look at Christopher for support and explanation, but he only lifts his brows in a dismissive way and pretends to man the bridgeplate altar as if he did not even see anything.
“Why me, James? There is a sea of other pretty faces, why have you chosen me?”
I don’t know about the boiling point of lithium, but I found the boiling point of Henry Carlton. It is not fixed, however. It starts boiling spontaneously, guided by some clandestine internal mechanics. Put that into your quiz.
“My Lord Carlton, have you written down what I told you about the production of polonium?”
Carlton clears his throat, his Adam’s apple going there and back. He is making every effort to conceal his feelings, but his eyes are already irretrievably red and their expression is critically infuriated.
No, he has not written down anything about polonium. He can put polonium to shame in terms of radioactivity. He can also go thermonuclear at the drop of a hat. Take that, polonium!
“Henry, can we do this later? We only have less than half an hour left, and...” James’s eyes widen with disbelief. “You... You haven’t written down anything I said! We really need to pass this test! Please, write: “Polonium is obtained by neutron irradiation of bismuth.” Jim removes his hand from his face, and he is bleeding out of the left corner of his mouth!
Catty Carlton, what is his problem? In the middle of a test, too! Apparently our passions run as deep as they are close to the surface. Is there a thermodynamics law about this paradox?
“Why, James?” Carlton repeats quietly, while finally writing down what Jim told him.
“You sound like my teacher. That’s the third time you said the same exact thing he said to me two years ago! Were you guys told to learn the same lines, or something?”
“For as long as you use “your” ego as an interpreter of the events for you, the True Will Of God will remain hidden from you. Or, worse yet, twisted!”
I listen to the recording while re-reading my questions. James was so busy with Carlton that he never came to us. This is four questions to answer with less than twenty minutes to go.
“What is the crystal structure of nitrogen?”
“Provide the chemical formula for aqua farts.”
What’s “aqua farts”? Oh, aqua fortis..
You know what? This is bullshit. I’m not answering these!
“You will abandon me. Because when you arrive to The Scene, you will see, how many are there younger, more talented, smarter! Better! James, there are so many threatening to be better than me that I have hard time keeping the crown on my head as it is!”
“The consequences of you letting “your” ego choose your path is eventual loneliness and desolation. For nothing can replace The Original Source. Nothing can be equal to His Love for you.”
Uri’s recorded words barely reach my mind as I glance at my watch, and then back to James & Whatshisface.
“Oh, come on, my Lord!” James kisses Carlton in the back of his head, most of his face is now sunk in the bleached chestnut waves of Carlton’s hair.
I wonder if it smells as good as Hafnian Wolf had described it to Jim.
“You are my flower, I am your bird!
I am your toilet, you are my turd!”
Jim mumbles into Carlton’s hair.
“Oh, get away!” Carlton moves his head from under Jim’s lips.
The Hammersmith aristocrat does come across as moody and selfish.
Which he probably is. But James gets off on that. When Carlton pushes him around. And Carlton does not need to be asked twice. Seems to be working out between them. Will less and less time to get things done!
“Samuel! What are your questions?” With a few precious minutes left to go, Jim finally races to our part of the classroom.
Right about time!
When I said that James was “distracted” by Lord Carlton, I was not clear enough. The more correct definition would be “outrageously inebriated”.
Less than ten minutes left now. I hope Lord Carlton is happy.
Whatever that means to him.
“I’m not going to answer my questions.” I say firmly. “Why were we given those? I never listened at the chemistry class! I was under the impression that I was there for you and not for the chemistry!”
Jim glances at his watch, and gives me an exasperated look.
“I can only handle one drama queen a day...” He shakes his head at me.
Oh yeah? Why does it always have to be Carlton, then?
“No”. I repeat my response, and get a reproachful look from Christopher. “Tell me why?”
“Why” is a spear question, Samuel. It is an ego-programming question. “Why” is the question directed at the heart of loyalty. What good is a soldier if he is not loyal to his oaths?” James says that as he bleeds out of a corner of his mouth because he got slapped by an insecure, brooding drama queen.
The drama queen who could not wait till the end of the test on chemistry to hit the only guy who knows chemistry. Tell HIM about loyalty! And while you are at it, spell out “COMMON SENSE” to him, will you?
“Samuel, we have four minutes left, and I haven’t even gotten to Christopher!”
I slowly shake my head no.
Disbelieving Jim turns to Christopher.
“What was one of your questions? The critical point of lithium? 67 MPa. What was your second question, Christopher?”
Christopher opens his mouth to give James the answer, but then looks at the bridgeplate, and says disappointedly “We are out of time!”
No, that was not the question. The question was “the boiling point of lithium.” We never found that out. However, this chemistry lesson was not entirely wasted, because via trial and error we found out the boiling point of Lord Carlton.
This is what affected the critical point of Samuel of Salem. Relationship chemistry. Also worth studying.
For a moment Jim watches Christopher, who watches his bridgeplate. James is all bright eyed and hopeful for a partial credit. After all he and the Nibs did their part of the quiz.
Christopher’s face gets lit up by a splash of green, then purple.
“We failed.” Christopher comments, and James lowers his head slowly.
“If you only did not make a political stance, Samuel, I could have answered all four of your questions in the remaining six minutes!”
“If only you did not spend thirty four minutes explaining to Lord Carlton as to why you are not planning to screw around on him in London, I could have explained to you my reservations!”
Caught between the Jew and the British Nobility Jim looks like he is about to cry.
Oh, what the heck. It’s over now. I hand James the paper with my questions.
“What is the crystal structure of nitrogen? Hexagonal. ... formula for aqua fortis... HNO 3. There! We could have passed, Samuel!”
“We could’ve passed, Lord Carlton!” I fire right back.
James hugs me from behind, whispering apologies into my salt an pepper hair. My old man hair. And my body is not nearly as appealing as Carlton’s muscular, wiry 6”10 frame! It’s not even fair.
“I do not mean any disrespect, Mr. Kellspell, but the bridgeplate returned my request as “NHO 3.” Christopher makes a step towards us, while pointing out to a nebulous purple cloud above the top angle of the triangular bridgeplate.
Or, he did pull stuff from Black Hexagon of good ol’ doc Merelion, I can’t believe he’s been dead for 300 000 years!
A brief moment of stunned silence and glances towards Jim is broken by Carlton’s hoarse “I told you to study hard!”
WHEN? When is he supposed to study, Lord Carlton?
And HOW is he supposed to study when you suck him dry on every level you can possibly penetrate?! Physically, emotionally, morally!
Poor James, he is under enough pressure. So, he made a mistake. It means that we would have failed anyway, and now I feel a tad less guilty for my publicity stunt. Actually, I never knew I had it in me, until I saw stuff Carlton is allowed to get away with!
“Ahem, gentlemen!” James goes into his beta mode to suppress a riot of omegas. “Captain, I thought we were on the first name basis?”
Christopher nods, but is unrebuffed. Etiquette aside, he needs his answers.
Don’t we all!
“The quiz called for a CHEMICAL FORMULA. Chemical formula of nitric acid, or aqua fortis, is HNO 3.”
Christopher is not convinced. He is looking at the Andromedan device. Those guys can’t be wrong. If only just because poor martyred doc Merelion was an excellent chemist.
“However, it’s MOLECULAR FORMULA is “NHO 3”. This is what the purple field probably says.” James waves towards the bridgeplate. “We just can’t read it yet.”
“Got it.” Christopher nods, now satisfied.
Ok, that was sorted out.
“I want to make fish for dinner.” I whisper to Christopher. Let’s lighten up the situation.
There is a small kitchen between our bedroom and this classroom. A good electric stove, and a fridge. If you leave a list of food, it will be delivered within the next 36 hours. One Andromedan day.
“Lord Carlton is vegan.” Christopher reminds me as he catalogues every colorful cloud we got and compares it against the existing database.
He really wants to learn the interface.
And I really want to learn not to scream every time Carlton’s name is mentioned, because it is a shock to my system. Like an electrical surge!
I wanted fish for dinner, and now I have to deal with the Vegan Megan. It seems like anywhere I turn these days I face Lord Carlton, his ways, his retinue, his routines and habits, and I’m expected to serve, deliver, comply, or just simply get out of the way.
I was planning to get lost in cooking, but now my mind dwells on youknowwho yet again.
Oh, back to the venomous snake of Carlton with an excellent pedigree!