Ruby Allure's Books

Ruby Allure's Books
Ruby Allure's Books

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Money Farm - Opening chapters

The Money Farm





(on behalf of the author.)


When did you buy into buying?

How did debt become a viable option?



Truth: everyone is connected through money.

What would happen if money ceased to exist overnight?

What would you do?

How would you survive?

Three years from now: at one minute past midnight, on the first day of the year, the financial plague would be activated.

The M.O.N.E.Y. farm digitally sneezed and infected all accounts. Since trillions of dollars-worth of financial digital money messages move around the globe in a day, within three years every account on the planet would be infected. That was the plan. It was just a matter of time before the whole world would recognise the viral symptoms and at that point it would be too late.

With one month until financial detonation, the M.O.N.E.Y. farm withdrew its bridges, sailed its financial platforms to a remote area close to Iceland and waited. All manner of simulated chaos had been anticipated. It was just a matter of waiting for the world to be ready to listen to M.O.N.E.Y. and the new Financial World Order. In the meantime, it continued to self-sufficiently do business as usual, knowing that every financial pillar in the world would collapse. At least, that was what it intended.




Three sentences - the catalyst for complete change.

If money was the root of all evil then what did that make those partaking in the system? Were we all unwittingly evil or was the money concept evil? What was the alternative? Where was the choice?

The principal coughed and shattered my churning thoughts. He turned from his archaic filing cabinet, trudged across the brown leathered room and then plonked down on his worn seat. He studied me for a short while and arranged some official looking papers. He carried the aroma of ‘old man’s musty aftershave’ and lemon.

“Gillian I am going say this as best as I can… I’m sorry but the government funding for your lecturing post has dried up. The paper you wrote on Reactance, Resistance, Reflexivity and Reversal in times of financial and social hardship didn’t go down well… at all… with anyone… on the board.” The principal paused, stared at the papers and sucked his lip through his teeth. He sounded like an emptying plughole. “So… we are going to have let you go.” He shuffled paper, re-aligned silver pens, and peered over his black-rimmed spectacles.

The sound of my clawing nails over leather filled the stagnant atmosphere. The heat of the blush accompanied by stunned silence and gritted teeth was enough. What could I say? He had always reminded me of an elephant seal with glasses. I glared at the ceiling spotlights shining on his heart-shaped bald patch. My fists clenched, my stomach folded and I scrutinized the five stunted hairs traversing his scalp combed from left to right. Thirty-two illuminated specks of dandruff sat in the curve of his pinstriped lapel. Twenty-seven hairs poked from the top of his crisp white shirt. There were two shaving accidents on the left side of his face, one half-healed. I distracted myself with patterns when the reality was that the institution had taken for-granted all my years of hard work. The paper was a warning of what was to come. Were they oblivious or were they caught in the mass persuasion mania? Who actually wanted to face they were the product of their conditioning? Who wanted their life value equated to figures in a bank account? That paper was not written for approval from a board of grey people who talked with haughty taught accents! It was inspired by a vision and evidenced by research. Obviously they did not know about the latter because one could never rationalized inspiration or intuition. That was for mad people.

The sound of a diver’s ventilator filled the atmosphere. My deep breaths were punctured by the aroma of dark wood and lacquer. I could hear my heart pounding in my throat yet I couldn’t say a thing.

He stared. Waiting.

Three sentences had ended an era. My silk-lined rut intended to eject me into the unknown during a time of financial unrest. I stood silently to leave. My throat was fully constricted. What was there to say? They would soon find out that intuition combined with true analysis resulted in unpopular findings. Unfortunately no one wanted to hear or acknowledge what was inevitable. The preservative imbued bread and elaborate digital circuses kept the mass hypnotized, fascinated them with subliminal messaging and towing the indebted line. Time was running out.

No comments:

Post a Comment