Children of the Program by Brad Cox Read Free Book Online Page B

circular room.  I knew, I'd been there.  On magnificent crystal walls, it showed me a desert landscape. Twelve purple-blue stones surrounded a large white circle.  I was told my time had not come and was tragically sent back.  I believe those rocks represent us!”
                  The revelation gave everyone hope.  There was suddenly a reason to believe they weren't simply ushered to death's oasis and that other travelers, with answers, would be arriving.  Jealousy and suspicion drew a sobering Dez from the rocks.  His instinct to control lacked reach.  He became increasingly embittered by Magnus's ability to communicate and ability to connect.
                  “I don't believe a word of it,” he hurled from the distance.
                  “Wasn't it Mick Jagger who said, 'Lose your dreams and lose your mind...’” mocked Simon.  He knew Dez would catch his snark. "Dreams are chased on faith.  Are you suggesting you do not believe in dreams?” he paused, placing Dez in check.  “Are we to assume you simply had nothing better to do today?” asked Simon, moving him into checkmate.
                  “I guess you could say, our man, Magnus, is back from a suicide?” added Neco.
                  Dez scoffed and returned to the clouds from which he came.  The group disregarded his attitude and began deliberating on the meaning of the stones.  Color and quantity were the Mystery Machine's only clues.   Their road, paved in speculative chatter, remained a welcome distraction from the still of voiding minds.  
                  “Hello, I trust you're all tired, thirsty and confused,” offered a wandering mirage. 
                  The man was dressed in a yellow and blue striped Polo shirt, corduroy slacks and white leather Nike Air golf shoes.  Short dirty blonde hair was tucked beneath a Titleist cap.  He was of average stature and appeal, offsetting the complexities of his city with the simplicity of his ironic posture.  Pulling a yellow No. 2 pencil from behind his relaxing ear cartilage, he began scribbling notes into a spiral notebook.  They were sure he'd soon hurl questions and perform a full audit of sorts.
                  “What's your name?” scoffed Dez, from the distance.
                  “Grayson.  I'm from Brooklyn.  I'd have been here sooner, but my flight was delayed in Texas.”
                  “Thanks for the insight.  You don't look like you're from New York,” prodded Dez.
                  “You don't look like you'd know,” said Simon.
                  “Well, that's 7 stones,” added Neco.
     
    +++
     
                  The group grew exasperated.  Rand sat quietly.  He was synthesizing life's fodder, trying to produce his own tree of knowledge.  If patience was a fleeting virtue and mindless chatter an uneven crutch, he felt an anxious silence might bear him the sought after fruits of wisdom.  Ash had also reached her social limit and took refuge in Neco's welcoming lap.  Following the tempting lead of groupthink, Simon kneaded the sandy ground beneath his dirty paws and curled for a nap.  Dez baked.
                  While the group recharged their taxed senses, Magnus took the initiative to stockpile water from a nearby gas station.  It was there he found Elisa asking for directions. Her abandoned demeanor immediately gave her destination away.
                  “I can give you a ride,” he offered.  He could tell she was suspicious. “The dreams brought you here, right?” he added, with a smile.
                  “Yes!” she said, with a smiling exhale.
                  “Hop on!”
                  Elisa Tate was a shy bookworm of a soul.  She crawled about the center of her awkwardly perfect world, in hopes of never truly being unearthed.  A