Fiction

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Blitz.

I saw various scenes play out, centering on a hauntingly familiar man identified as Maxmillian, apparently a world leader of some sort. The question weighing on me was this: “Was he a real man I knew from somewhere or was this just pizza dream Deja-vu?”
In this initial scenario, he was on a Television set addressing the planet. He was olive-skinned with short dark hair, attractive both in form and countenance, he wore an American cut suit of a cotton pink hue.

The color palette of this broadcast had a Spielbergian glow, colors and surroundings projecting a feeling of magical possibility and avant-garde creativity, within the bounds of good taste.
Set decoration had a surreal semblance, chic with a futuristic feel, the impression I got looking at it was this was decor from Earth’s future with nods to 20th-Century furnishing.
In another image futuristic aircraft, serving this man, skimmed just over the surface of some unidentified desert at great speeds. They evoked Cyberpunk, from some dystopic future that is, but in reality these were the tools of a healthy and intrepid culture. They looked like sleek black versions of craft seen in the Star Wars movies, like the Lambda Class T-4 shuttle and Tie fighters for instance.
They could assemble and dissemble in a superfast manner to form new structures like Lego, for both military and commercial purposes. At times they combined into a giant siege artillery piece named Blitzkrieg. This current assignment of these marvels, on which they moved with such mesmeric purpose, was a mystery to me.

In the next one “Max” as his friends called him, was talking to a large audience in an auditorium. The stage had been cleared and he had been asked to give his testimony. In an accent that was Texan in spirit but rather unique and not quite identifiable, he spoke of many projects he was involved in, economic ventures in the Middle East, tithing that was not obligatory but an act of unconditional love, oil refineries he had built, I even saw an image of one, it had a quasi retro look.
This man was a genius in the political, economic, military, spiritual, medical, cultural spheres of life, practically everywhere, providing solutions that baffled the world, solving problems that governments had no answer for, a “Superman” for Jesus, part of a Priestly class exercising political and social control; he was a political leader that was also a “high priest” with special and unique knowledge.



A finally this: He sat on a cream sofa in so tranquil a manner that one could almost mistake his relaxed demeanor for overconfidence. Enclosed in a dreamlike halo, this setting's atmosphere was cryptic enough to again beg that inquiry: "Is he even real or the product of my imagination?"

The exquisitely worked marble of his surroundings bears testimony to the fact this is a castle. You sense he's a man of awe-inspiring success, reminiscent of a conquering Jewish king in the flower of youth.
His rose-colored suit houses an exceptional frame. An exceedingly handsome, clean-shaven face surpasses those of bygone movie stars at the height of their power. Beautifully cut hair adorns him like a diadem.

But his eyes, large and magnetic, are his most striking features. They tell of reservoirs of wisdom within him.

Outside is futuristic, a darkened world where the old rules seem to no longer apply, attesting to this is a crimson instead of a blue sky.

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