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 Act 6 Scene 3: Trying to enter the Light.

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PostSubject: Act 6 Scene 3: Trying to enter the Light.   Tue Aug 28, 2018 2:20 pm

Euston Square, a stone’s throw from Euston station. Steve and John are across the road from Friends House, the London headquarters of the International Society of Friends, more commonly known as the Quakers.

John: The Quakers, they used to be firebrand Christian revolutionaries who refused to fight in wars, back when you didn’t have a choice and you went to prison for it; they also tried to remind people sleepwalking into secular ‘enlightenment’ philosophy about a guy named Jesus who might just be able to save their souls, but not enough people listened, though arguably they did help end the international slave-trade.

Steve: What do they do now?

John: From what I’ve observed they bake cakes and want more refugees. Unfortunately they’ve gone a bit soppy in their old age.

Steve: I heard they had something to do with creating the chocolate industry.

John: Yeah, they created the UK chocolate industry in the hope that men who abused alcohol might switch to chocolate and live happier lives.

Steve: That didn’t work.

John: No, it just made drunk people fatter and introduced record levels of diabetes in the UK population. Sometimes it’s better not even to try I think.

Steve: How do you know about the Quakers?

John: I was one.

Steve: Really? So you’re a Quaker?

John: Well, probably lapsed by now for failure to show my face at the requisite number of peace circles or something. George Fox was a great man and was just what the country needed, a spiritual renaissance and a reminder of the Christian faith the country was supposedly founded on. But then they became feminized, now they’re just another bleeding-heart basket full of complacent wealthy liberals who never really have to live with the social engineering decisions which liberals tend to make. They’re always above it all, pontificating from the clouds in the better London suburbs or the home counties, completely unable to see what’s really happening to social demographics on the ground in a world which doesn’t have the luxury of being near a green-belt and possessing private health-care insurance.

Steve: So what’s all this? Why are they using ciphers to bring people here?

John: Well I’m pretty sure this has got nothing to do with the Quakers themselves, most of their strategic decision have to do with who will buy the biscuits each week, they don’t have much to do with ciphers and a strange elite charity agenda, but they do work for social change. Which these days has becoming hugely weaponized and is actively fomenting the fall of human civilization.

Steve: Yeah, I’m a man and I demand the right to be pregnant and if you disagree with me you’re guilty of hate-speech and could be sent to prison.

John: Just a small example of the calculated ritualized fetishes of the ancient world which have been unleashed on the West in the absence of any idea of objective morality which religion had hitherto provided. Of course, most people still have moral sense without necessarily needing a religion but there is a well organized group of people who are taking advantage of a perceived morality vacuum which exists in society as a construct right now, and they’re the same weird group who used to feed babies to burning Gods and ritually castrate themselves on the steps of the Temple. We’re not there yet, but it seems to me these people are just warming up. We ain’t seen nothing yet. 

They cross Euston Road and walk into Friends House. They walk through the hall and make their way to The Light, the large meeting room of the Quakers, the largest such room in the country.

There is an attendant at the door, Steve and John make their way forward but they are stopped by the kindly smiling face of an old lady.

Elderly attendant: Hello luvies, have you got your letters?

John: Of course. John produces the letter addressed to Steve’s landlord.

Elderly attendant: That’s fine. And then she look at Steve smiling. Do you have your letter?

Steve: My letter?

Elderly attendant: Don’t you have it?

Steve: Er, checking his pockets, On no, I must have left it on the mantelpiece.

Elderly attendant: Becoming suddenly very grave, Oh I’m so sorry but everyone needs their own letter to come in. Their instructions were very precise and no exceptions whatsoever can be allowed, someone said it was to prevent terrorism.

John: Does my friend look like a terrorist?

Elderly attendant: laughing Well, no of course not. That is to say, I don’t know. Nobody knows do they? I’m not saying he’s a terrorist but then again I’m not saying he isn’t.

Steve: Do you think I might be a terrorist?

Elderly attendant: Seems upset I just don’t know. You might be, and that risk means you need a letter in order to come in.

John: But I’m not a terrorist because I have a letter, so if I’m not a terrorist surely I can vouch for him that he isn’t a terrorist either. That makes sense doesn’t it?

Elderly attendant: I don’t know anymore what makes sense these days. That’s why it’s easier for me to just follow my instructions and refuse admission to anyone without a letter.

John looks at Steve.

John: This valiant citizen has this place more securely locked down than the Bank of England. It doesn’t look like you’re getting in.

Steve: Do you think you’ll be ok?

John: I’m sure I will with this stout-hearted patriot to defend me from international terrorism. I’ll meet you at the London Tap across the road, have a cold mead waiting for me, I’ll probably need it.

Elderly attendant: Apologetically I’m sorry, I’m sure your friend isn’t a terrorist but I just can’t let him in without a letter because is he were a terrorist and he explodes and kills everyone, and damages our lovely meeting room, I’d never forgive myself.

Steve: Well I’m sure I wouldn’t want to put you in that position. Hypothetically of course.

Elderly attendant: Of course.

Steve: Catch you later John, your mead will be waiting.

John walks into The Light.

He walks into a room which is almost full and as he enters he spots only a very few empty places. His immediate impression is that the room is full of a certain type of person, or at most a very limited number of types of people. His instinctual feelings were to describe them as charitable busy-bodies. People who enjoyed telling other people what to do, under the sacred guise of charity and good intentions, he remembered something CS Lewis had said about such people and how they were potentially the most dangerous and worst despots one could possibly create. The room was full of smug petty despots who excelled in giving orders, being morally superior and oppressing anyone who held differing opinions to them, but who all the while believed themselves to be the finest, most moral, kindest and most wonderfully empathetic people on Earth, and anyone who disagreed with them was irredeemably evil and needed to be radically reeducated, or at worst, completely disenfranchised from society. These people are always the core of any murderous undertaking throughout history, and it is only history itself which finally reveals the truth, for in the present age, they always believe they are doing the best possible good.

As he makes his way to a vacant flip-down seat he catches small pieces of conversation. It is apparent that everyone in the room is simultaneously yet nonchalantly trying to prove themselves to be the most caring, sensitive and socially active person present. Initially he was confused as to the gender of the participants because most of the men seemed to have long hair while most of the women had short hair.

Man with earrings and a pony tail in a green wooly jumper: He actually used that word in a public place, I couldn’t believe it, well I had to phone the police immediately, and of course, because it was a racist emergency they arrived in less than four minutes.

Overweight woman with short red hair and bright red lipstick: I always give my leftovers to the street foxes and every Friday I leave out an opened bottle of Pinot Grigio for poor old Mateusz who sleeps rough in a copse on the common. It must be harder for him being from Poland. They always seem sadder than our own homeless, but he does make a lot of noise in the street at night sometimes.

Man in a loose linen suit with a pony tail and neck tattoo: Frankly I think they should all be burned down. It’s the most evil thing in the world, and the people who go there, how can you be such a remorseless soulless bigot. Sometimes I think that if one did burn down and it was full of these zombies buying the fruits of the international corporate slave trade it would hardly make me shed a tear and would probably even raise a smile. Shopping in Asda is the same as supporting Hitler.  

John Hampton sits down.

Shortly afterwards the four doors, which were all assiduously protected by three other almost identical grey-haired Cerberus guardians in long floral dresses and flat shoes who enter the room closing their respective doors behind them, as if the door was part of their own clothing which needed to be correctly buttoned and zipped before they were decent. They then sat down neatly and without a studied attempt of total self-effacement as if the need to keep their doors closed against a world they were supposedly trying to welcome was a cognitive block and contradiction they couldn’t quite account for.

A man with a pony tail and tweed jacket stands up and shambles along with all the resolve and if he’s about to go off to the lavatory but instead he walks into the middle of the room and stands, with a non-committal diffident air, at the bank of work tables at the focal point of the room and appears to be about to say something and address the whole room, again with the distracted half interested manner of someone venturing to the toilet.

Diffident man with pony tale: reading from a piece of paper Hello.

There are a few vague mumbles of ‘hello’ in reply.

Diffident man with pony tale: Apologies for the cloak and dagger way in which you received your invitations, the fact that you are here is a testimony to the efficacy of our emergency communications training. Sometimes even charities and social change agencies must adopt extraordinary means to keep their messages solely directed to those intended. We have our secrets, and today we are going to reveal our newest and greatest secret to you loyal and indefatigable agents of social-change. And without any further ado or undue hyperbole here it is.

The lights are dropped and a stream of natural light coming from the square glazed aperture in the roof descends to the floor in a startling and beautiful column of radiance and daylight is reflected sparkling on the stepped sides of an inverted four-sided pyramid leading up to the apex of the roof and the opening. The effect strikes John as truly remarkable.

Diffident man with pony tale:  This room is known colloquially as The Light and perhaps here we can gain something of a true awareness of the nature of light and that perhaps that this familiar acquaintance of our daylight hours is something like an effervescent fluid or infinite fineness and nourishment. Perhaps even a world in itself we enter once this world of shadows has been left behind. However, this is the light of the old world but now, we have discovered a new-light. Prepare yourself to be transformed.

Suddenly an unsuspected pink-stroboscopic light which was situated in an unassuming box on top of the business table is switched on. The natural light is effaced as the highly focused pink laser light from the activated mind-control crystal fills the room like a new an unfamiliar medium, immediately there is a sudden palpable feeling of suppressed mass-panic which fills the room and after a few moments most people are completely entranced, including the diffident man with the pony tail.

John is taken by surprise completely by surprise, not expecting such an advanced and sudden attempt to totally take over his mind from a man in a pony-tail and a room full of charity duffers.

The pink light seems to create an instant relaxation of the amygdala, John could feel his ability to concentrate slipping away and his own sense of focus on the world was receding as if the outside world was a television set and he was being quickly moved to the very back of a very long room until he could scarcely even see the TV set anymore. In a desperate instinctive reaction he took a pen out of his pocket and raising the pen high in the air, brought it down mercilessly and desperately on his own leg. With a stifled cry of pain, the distant TV set which has become the real world suddenly zoomed into focus once again, and with a searing pain in his right leg his leaped to his feet and made a wild surge for door nearest to him. He climbed over rows of inert hypnotized bodies who looked like marionettes waiting for someone or something to take up their strings again. Suddenly he feels someone grab at his leg. He heard voices murmuring throughout the room.

Voices: He must be stopped. Stop him. Stop him. Don’t let him escape.

John turns around and sees that the hand which has grabbed him is the old lady in the floral dress and flat shoes who has recently just locked the door.

John Hampton: He Excuse my impropriety madam, by I really have to be going now. With that he takes his keys and phone out of his pockets and quickly removes his trousers and slips off his shoes leaving him in socks and boxer-shorts. The old lady is left clutching nothing but John Hampton’s cast-off pants.

He leaps towards the door with almost superhuman speed of adrenaline fueled survival instinct he reaches for the knob to unlock the door but again feels the pink light invade him and feel the familiar feeling of being drawn backwards away from the reality of the door before him. Knowing that he doesn’t have time to fumble with the lock he desperately with one last effort coils his front leg and delivers a mighty kick to the door just below the door lock. There is a crack and the impact of the kick breaks the lock from the door. In a second, trouserless and without shoes he is out of the room and running, followed by the hypnotized hoard of charity busy-bodies, behind him.

He busts out of the door of Friend’s House and across the road to Euston station, behind him, follows the hypnotized crowd, despite them being out of shape or just plain old they seem possessed with an unnatural energy and there are spry old ladies and fat women sprinting towards him with shocking speed, he opens the door to Tap House and spots Steve finishing off a pint of beer.

John: The mead will have to wait Steve, we need to get out of here now.

Steve: Looking briefly at his now empty glass Well that’s a stroke of luck.

Steve gets out of the small cramped pub to join Steve outside.

Steve: What happened to your pants? It wasn’t the Trouser Knights again was it?

John: Let’s just get out of here I’ll tell you later. Quick! Into the station.

They run into the station and both climb over the luggage ticket barriers. A couple of station workers take an interest in them particular a man clambering about in his boxer-shorts and are about to give chase when they see that they are being chased by a mob of middle aged and old women and pony-tailed men.

John Hampton: It’s the apocalypse mate, no time for tickets he shouts to them as he runs off. The mob behind also climb over and scale the barriers.

They spot a train which is about to depart and run along the platform. They leap into the train, with the mob chasing them down the platform. With a sigh of relief they hear the sound of the train doors being sealed and the train slowly moves off down the platform.

Steve: Well that was close.

John: Closer than you can imagine, and it cost me my slacks. But now I know what happened to Crew and I think there’s a way to snap him out of it and bring him back.

Steve: But you’re going to need some trousers.

John: Where do I get trousers on a train?  

Steve: I don’t know. Get off at the next stop.

John: What’s the next stop?

Steve: Birmingham.

John: Well I've no love for Birmingham, but at least they'll have trousers.

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Act 6 Scene 3: Trying to enter the Light.
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