It was your everyday, run of the mill job, or so Ken thought. He never fully understood that what he had walked into was a den of Kali worshippers. He went about his work blatantly oblivious to the reality that all those around him were being controlled by the head priest of Kali, Yash. Yash spoke in tongues, ancient to the eardrums of man, in which no discernible meaning could be obtained. In reality he was hypnotising the workers into mindless slaves. They stepped forward in groups, lining up in a row to toil before the madness of Kali the destroyer. Kali, who destroys and renews the flesh with youthful vigour. They had obtained the workers from various locations around the city and fed them on the blood of the Earth to ensure Yash’s hypnotic commands took effect. Ken was oblivious to what was happening around him, each day as he rocked up to work in his ute. Every morning he would come in and nod in respect to the head priest of Kali, smile and acknowledge, “Another day of hard work.”

Yash, in return, would smile in a sinister fashion, “Yes, another day of hard work,” and then whisper under his breath, “for the great Kali.”

The job, in effect, was creating a map of time. Of each age measured and recorded. There in the vaults of Van Dieman’s Land they would be stored in entwining tunnels, hidden beneath the Earth’s surface. Stored for later generations to come across. And what was man, but an evolved creature of the sea that had grown legs and walked upon the Earth’s surface. Kali was the great destroyer and the philosophy of the Kali-Yoga is that when each age comes to an end, it must be destroyed so that it can be recreated anew. For mankind with its direction, as steered by the industrial revolution and the development of technology, was on a collision course with its destiny. What mattered was to keep the machine going, that great and glorious machine that printed out each age. The wheel of time that spun each string of human life into an intricate pattern. The machine of fate and the direction of the ages. The machine must be kept going until each age has passed, at which point the process could start all over again. But before then; death, chaos and destruction would reign as each wave of every successive generation was born. And with each wave, every generation, they would wash upon the shores of life’s great beach, knocking away the castles and structures that had been built to be renewed once more in the coming age. The maps, under Yash’s command, were the only remaining evidence that some form of life had previously existed.

Ken with his sunglasses, smiled brightly as the zombie, mindless, mind-controlled slaves went about their work. Creating giant maps of ages past. Ken, thinking this was an ordinary job, went about his business issuing commands to the mindless slaves. They could not hear him, for they were drunk on the lifeblood of the Earth. That which made the hypnotic commands of the high priest attuned to the senses of the zombies. As each task finished, they would refill on their undying thirst for the lifeblood. They, the mindless beings, thought they were talking to each other. When really they were all mumbling incoherent babble. Too drunk and physically exhausted.

As the giant maps of time were created Ken played an integral part in threading the maps into the spinning of the machine. The giant thread wheel of fate and destiny. As each map was created the mindless beings wore themselves out to physical exhaustion. When all the maps were finished, they were crawling with physical exhaustion. Their bodies a tired wreck. But they would once more be renewed with the blessings of Kali.

At the end of the day, Ken would tell all the mindless beings, “Right, now you can all fark off!” The mindless beings would shuffle away, back to the holes that they had crawled out from under. And Ken would say to the head priest, “Ah, a good day’s work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yash, the head priest, would answer, “Yes, a good day’s work.” And then whispered under his breath, “Kali likes this one.”

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