This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
A glittering ruby falls on the ground. Six years earlier massive ships bringing all survivors of the devastation—all former nations—sat anchored to the pearl gates of an awakening city.
“Here at our sea-washed, sunrise gates shall stand A mighty city whose flame is imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles—the New Jerusalem. From her beacon hand…”
The Prezident stood poised, in the electronic billboards programmed inside the minds of the people, with his hand outreached—an invitation. The words were spouting out of his mouth and enveloping them. His son stood behind him in such a way that even squinting you could not make out his distinct features. “Look at them! People from every continent streaming forth!” The Prezident watched the ants clamor to their hill, from a darkened window miles above. The finite golden spires exceeded so far beyond Babylon’s unfinished ziggurat as to seem infinite—these ones pierced the sky.
“…Glows world-wide welcome; her shining eyes command the harbors that the twelve gates frame.”
The city was female; her voice sultry sweet in the jewel colors dazzling each individual. Opening her newborn eyes the city began to hum. It was a city of unimaginable wealth. With buildings of pure transparent gold as tall as the sky, and a great wall made of diamonds which spanned 2,400
miles in a perfect square. The streets were of stainless clear glass, which, when looking closely, revealed artwork, hiding the arcane mechanisms which controlled the city—it’s own thalamus; the humming brain. She smiled in every corner, and the people, realizing this, began to smile too.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless tempest-tost to me,”
The ideal wife—literally made of precious stones—servicing everyone so that they were never found wanting in any way. And they were amazed at what their hands had wrought. Time began anew. This was the first day, of the first month, of the first year. And now, right now; on this day those same lidless eyes are now dripping rubies, slowly. Silent screams permeate the air. Screams that will notcannot-be heard. It looks as though the city is crying tears of red jewels, which stream down steadily to become rivers in the streets of crystal glass, hiding the white corpses shooting underneath, down into the brain of the mechanism.