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Thomas Nixon · (10-30-2016)

The year is 1945. Across the street from the historic city hall building in Center City Philadelphia stands an architectural masterpiece. Gray stone lines the exterior of the imposing structure, its jutting towers penetrating the dark night sky. With no moon in the sky, the city is enshrouded in blackness.

Inside the Masonic Temple, four ominous cloaked figures stand shoulder to shoulder in a large room. Illuminated by expensive chandeliers, you would only know that the current events were taking place at night by the empty benches on the left and right sides of the elders. The white stone walls juxtapose the ballroom like carpet in such a surprisingly tasteful way that the regular people that inhabit this building must have expensive tastes and the money to back them up.

[Image: eba5c2e63604cefcf4679145deeb6bdb.jpg]

[Image: eba5c2e63604cefcf4679145deeb6bdb.jpg]

The black robes of the dark figures covered their bodies from top to bottom, and the oversized hoods cast a shadow over their faces. Before them was a small family of three. A man, a woman, and an infant. In between the family and the elders stands a small padded table, barely larger than the baby. The child, who couldn’t be more than three days old, was swaddled by the mother in a dark green cloth. An upset expression rests on the mother’s face, as she holds back tears, but the man looks more serious than sad.

The Man: I’m sorry, honey, but you know what we have to do. We planned this years ago. This is what we need!

The woman fails to fight back tears, all while the four elders stand silent and unmoved in front of the couple. The man looks exasperated, but he does not take the initiative to proceed in the ritual. He looks on at his wife.

The Women: I didn’t realize this would we so hard, so difficult. Richard, it can’t be worth it! It can’t be worth our flesh and blood being stripped from us!

She shrieks and cries, but Richard no longer can hold back. In his mind, a glorious future shines through that outweighs his current predicament. He takes the swaddled child from his wife, as she collapses from the emotional burden of losing her first child.

Richard looks at the child’s innocent, confused face before he sets the infant on the small padded table.

Richard: I have held up my end of the bargain. This is my first born child. He is yours.

With a resigned look, Richard Nixon pulled his wife to her feet. She continued to cry, as he walked her through the large doors of the temple. As the doors closed behind them, the four elders surrounded the infant.

Looking down at the child, they slowly pulled their hoods down to reveal shining green scales that cover the head and neck area of all the beings. Their sharp, golden eyes were short but wide; there’s little doubt that their sight can pierce through the darkness. These slender, reptilian fiends began oozing sounds of joy and happiness, as they all placed their webbed hands underneath the infant.

Raising the infant into the air, the lizards seemed to be laughing; their forked tongues and jagged teeth exposed as an inhuman bellow emanated from their mouths. They are in joyful bliss. They have been given the agent to success, now they simply need to harness it.

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