I wrote this sci fi short story in a blog format in 2004 and published it on Kindle in 2014. Lo and behold, nearly a decade later COVID 19 swept over the planet. Why indeed would world governments allow a plague to sweep the planet that was lethal to the elderly yet benevolent to those under 65? Why, indeed….
Mothology: “The Invasion”
A work of fiction
Christine L. McKellar
BLOGROLL: Pyramid Paranoia
27 March 2016 posted by admin/Alison
My cousin is coming to Las Vegas for a metaphysical convention. She and a friend are booked at the Luxor Hotel as part of a three-day junket. The only rooms available are inside the pyramid structure itself. All the outside rooms are booked. For some reason, my former hippie/flowerchild older cousin has it firmly planted in her head that sleeping within the conical structure is bad energy. My bad was I couldn’t help the annoyance that seeped into my voice over the phone when she called with the good news about her upcoming visit.
“Erica, I don’t know what you’re so paranoid about. Thousands of people have stayed at the Luxor Hotel over the years. No one’s suffered any unusual side effects from sleeping in the pyramid area!” “You don’t get it, Allie. It’s not only the pyramid I’m concerned about. The space in and around Las Vegas has a history. There’s Area 51, hidden vortexes, and poison contrails. The whole valley’s contaminated. Then, on top of all that weird juju, they had to go and build a pyramid in the valley too.”
“Get a grip, cousin! Area 51 is a political fairy tale. I don’t know of any vortexes. And, who the heck is saying contrails are poisonous?”
“We’ll talk when I see you at lunch next week. Peace, my little angel!”
Erica hung up the phone.
BLOGROLL: Chemtrails & Conspiracies
2 April 2016 posted by Admin/Alison
Erica and I had lunch today at the Bahama Breeze restaurant on Paradise Road.
“So, what’s with the Luxor pyramid and those poison contrails you’re so freaked out about?” I queried my cousin as I sipped on a chilled glass of ice cold Stella Artois beer.
“Well, in case you didn’t know—and obviously the people that run your city could care less – the shape of a pyramid lends itself to increased microwave and cosmic energy. Plants grow faster inside a pyramid. Hyper people become tranquilized and tranquil people become energized. Remember when I was involved in that experiment with the pyramidology people in New Mexico? I went into such deep trances it scared the staff.”
“That pyramid stuff isn’t proven, Erica. You always go into trances—probably the after-effects of all the drugs you did in the sixties.”
“Why are you always in such denial, Alison? You don’t believe in UFO’s, you don’t believe in vortexes, you don’t believe in anything spiritual. You’re surrounded by things of the other world, yet you keep blocking your psychic channels. You won’t even take the boys to church, for heaven’s sake!”
Erica’s right about that. I’d been raised by two confirmed atheists. As to my cheating former spouse, he could care less what I did with our three boys. He was faithful, at least, with the alimony and child support.
“Touché, cuz! But let’s leave me out of this. Come on. Tell me your poison contrail theory.”
Erica leaned forward. Her dark brown eyes lit up. With those eyes and her midnight black hair streaked with strands of silver she was an attractive, albeit dated, woman. “No one noticed any excess contrails in the sky before the Luxor Hotel was built,” she said. “They didn’t appear until after the launch of the beam of light from the top of the Luxor pyramid. Remember how those thousands of moths swirled around the beam at night?”
I did remember. It was the spring of 1994 and Erica had stopped over in Vegas on her way from Oregon to Arizona. We went with my parents to check out the latest Sin City architectural marvel—the less-than-a-year-old Luxor Pyramid. The massive amount of moths had creeped me out even more than the pyramid bothered Erica.
“From what I understand, engineers had to look at the schematics of ancient pyramids in Egypt to figure out how to build the damn thing,” Dad had commented. (He always did enjoy a lecture.) We were standing on the roof of a parking garage next to the hotel to get a better look at the pyramid and the tremendous spotlight. Erica had remained mute. She simply pointed to the swarms of moths that circled the three gleaming, slanted walls of glass beneath the huge lamp. Her eyes slowly followed the impressive beam of light that shot endlessly into space. She began to tremble violently. She became so agitated dear old Dad thought she was having an LSD flashback. We had to skip the tour of the Luxor Hotel interior: Erica would have none of it.
“When you look into the morning and afternoon sky on certain days you’ll see scores of broad, wispy bands of white gases,” Erica continued with her premise. “The public is being duped into thinking they’re emissions, or contrails, from all the airplane traffic in the sky. They’ve been sighted all over the country, too. They’re not just in Vegas. Those who believe something is going on refer to them as ‘chemtrails’.”
“So, what’s the most common theory? Let me guess! The government is poisoning us.” I smirked.
“There are lots of theories, Alison. From aerial bio-controls that spread mass heavy metals, nasty bacteria and poisons in the air, to cloud seeding that manipulates weather patterns.”
I shook my head. Truly, this was one of Erica’s more bizarre flights of fancy. But I had to be honest with myself. I, too, had observed the recent proliferation of feathery contrails. I could vividly recall how blue the skies over Las Vegas once were five years ago. Those cerulean skies are long gone. I had blithely attributed that to the influx of nearly one million new residents and the subsequent pollution.
“Why would a government want to poison their own people?” I argued. “That would make about as much sense as a queen bee killing the worker bees.”
“I didn’t say it was a government conspiracy, Allie. I just said the chemtrails didn’t appear until after the spotlight on top of the Luxor was turned on.”
I looked at my cousin with pity. Her theories were as convoluted as her poor scrambled brain cells. I felt the beginnings of a headache. A light source beaming into space somehow creating poisonous vapor clouds could only be connected to…
Erica jumped. “Alison! You don’t have to yell!” She glanced nervously around the patio. The few patrons in the room didn’t seem to notice my outburst. Why would they? Outbursts and things far worse than extraterrestrials are “so Vegas”.
My cousin’s look of anxiety quickly turned into a thoughtful frown. “Aliens are so passé these days. Another life form in our galaxy couldn’t have gone unnoticed with all the advanced science and technology we have today.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. However, rather than get entangled even deeper into Erica’s abstruse musings, I signaled to our waiter that I wished to get the check.
-To be continued-
This short story is a work of fiction. People, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.© “Mothology” 2004 Christine L. McKellar aka C.L. McKellar. All rights reserved. No part of this work of fiction may be translated, reproduced, transmitted or used in any form or format or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright owner.