The Money Farm
by
RUBY ALLURE
Copyright RUBY ALLURE
(on behalf of the author.)
When did you buy into buying?
How did debt become a viable option?
CHAPTER - 0
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.
CHAPTER 1
A BROKEN SYSTEM
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.
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