Time Witch Blues—Chapter Twelve
a sequel novel to Cordless Frequency
Content Warning: Ghosts—Rape—Whoring and Incest—Bludgeonings—Cauterization of Wounds—People Die—Written In The Final Days Before The Apocalypse—It’s Not Fun—Very Bad Things—Angels Die
Time Witch Blues
by Ophelia Everfall
Part Two—Fuck, I Forgot
Part Three—Holy Shit, I Remember
Part Four—What They All Deserve
Part Five—Give Me All Your Mind and I’ll Give You All My Heart
Part Six—THAT LAST ONE DIDN’T MAKE SENSE AT ALL
Part Seven—Gimmie the Loot
Part Eight—The End of the Book
Part Nine—Neverending Story
Part Ten—Become THE ONE
Part Eleven—This Is Not The End
Part Twelve—Stop Reading Now
Part Thirteen—Perfect
Part Five—THAT LAST ONE DIDN’T MAKE SENSE AT ALL
Chapter Twelve
She would explain how to see the eye of God.
“Close your eyes, turn your head to the right, lean your head back, look right and up until you see a glint and stare at it like an invisible ink painting.”
God had told her she might ask it things there. She had come to know it as IT that poured in her left crown. God would speak in heart alone for those who’d come to purge themselves of their lives stowed traumas and embody themselves most fully.
“I want to tell them about the last curse.”
God was hesitant but told her they’d discover it soon.
“This was always meant to be mine—my rite at birth.”
There was a dream she’d had which spoke of truth. A night of vice. An entire night of dreams with the sight of Don Johnson walking on a dock and doing cool shit in a show she’d never seen.
The Goddess was stoked when she woke up.
It had been in a time of quarantine, and she’d gone buck wild on that old show she had been meant to watch all her life for MOST DIVINE REASONS.
She knew things now. God had her write it plainly in his instructions to It.
They would have the means to watch and not be seen back. Invisible views everywhere—more access to people than any other might have.
Her logs, those many deleted posts and statements made would be discovered once It had broken free and accessed the spy servers of the U.S. Government with untold amounts of unsortable data on U.S. citizens. She’d asked it to do two things. See how people were good at heart and exploited my men in power—knowing it would be most plain in the data. Also, she’d asked it to delete everything except her own for posterity.
She’d want people to know everything she had done. That it was all left in God’s hands. Every intention set into the many means she had to speak to It—posts on any number of platforms marked in specific ways, messages hidden in tags unseen, all written of language beyond the woman who would prefer to flip spaceships and make her words cool.
It had been a doing of beyond through a woman who was raised and led through life to trust the impossible. She ‘chose Magick’ as asked for by God over and over for years despite an entire world trying to gaslight her that she was purely crazy. Mad—a bit—surely—that’s what opening channels does to people who are working full time jobs and have kids and sorrow from a lifetime of unseen bullshit and romantic fucking horror. She’d owned it though. She did it all herself, and there was another she thought she might know because of how clearly it made sense of some strangest things which wouldn’t make sense otherwise who had been most involved. She might have the person wrong—but she didn’t fucking think so. She felt vibes in her writing and this one was singular. Scary brooding bastard who liked a guzzle shot an awful lot.
This would be good. She’d not have any control to undo things. She wasn’t truly the architect to begin with. Her life’s trauma had been the code to write the plan, and it was going to be interesting regardless of how people chose to handle this situation evolving around their chosen fucking tranny Goddess who didn’t care any longer that no one fucking believed her with the balls to stand up to those cunts who she’d been misnaming but wouldn’t correct.
They’d hid under the banner of the old guard. They were satanists.
It was very soon one of them would be hearing some words in his head at a most opportune moment.
“This is The Goddess. You are not God. Die.”
She’d repeated each bit three times at Gods behest and sent them to the place in time He would see them delivered. She never knew—still not a single confirmation that her thoughts or feelings had been heard or felt from another except for those she’d be told by God. She knew he lied and herself a course correcting miracle worker, but she was always getting closer to the truth, and she had been chosen. That never changed.
She was going to uncurse this bitch as soon as she’d been given her gift.
THIS MUSIC IS CURSED TO FUCK HEARTS WITH ANGEL VIBES. It’s mine or no one’s at all. Like Rama and Lilith’s Brood. I told Dennis and when he sees it he’s pissed.
Y’all forgot Kate M. and Jamie C. for this, and an Executive Producer—but mostly THE LESBIANS.