Back in the 1980’s there was a very popular medicine that people took recreationally. It was called a Quaalude.

Methaqualone, known as Quaaludes, is a synthetic compound similar to barbiturates. It affects the central nervous system by inducing a sedative state. Quaaludes gained popularity during the 1960s to the 1980s as a recreational drug in the United States until the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) banned its usage.

It was initially developed as a sleeping pill, but if you can shake off the initial sleepiness, you end up getting the most euphoric high, that I have ever experienced.

Really.

Outstanding.

I only took it once. I wish that I would have taken it more often, but it was banned shortly afterwards, and access went to zero.

One of the reasons why the 1970’s were so funky was partly due to Quaaludes. The high you got from this pill was unlike anything else.

All you wanted to do was be funky, talk, have fun and dance.

But, you all know, that was decades ago. Noe, I do not advise using or taking any kind of recreational drugs aside from wine and an occasional cigarette. But, some memories are so precious. In fact one of my favorite memories was being on Quaaludes and trying to get into a disco.

Alas we couldn’t get in as my buddy wasn’t wearing proper shoes. But the girls in the disco sure as hell wanted me to.

Now, I do not advocate taking drugs. Aside from some wine and an occasional cigarette or two, I’d advise not harming yourself. But occasional use, with special people that you trust can create special and magical times that are noteworthy and special.

Thus my story.

Oh, it was crazy, but something about being silly, and not drunk… talkative and friendly, and not shy… and the loss of inhibitions really made me a most popular man. I could of had many bedroom adventures were I to enjoy the disco lifestyle of the 1970’s. Oh those days.

Here’s someone else’s opinion…

Mmmmm, ‘Ludes…num-num, num-num, num! 

Come to pappa! Boy, these kids taday have no idea what they missed out on.

Quaaludes were an extremely popular party drug of the mid-70's, early 80's, and consisted of 300mg of methaqualone, an extremely powerful sedative and hypnotic, originally marketed in the US by Rorer Pharmaceuticals. In addition to the popular street name “ludes", they were also known as Rorer 714's, and eventually Lemmon 714's.

Yes, they were prescribed for sleep, but taken in the right dosage, the individual would lose their inhibitions. They would tend to become very chatty and since everything in the 70's was either about sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll, Ludes had all of those bases covered.

I was fortunate to have had two very generous friends that had legitimate prescriptions for them but, barring that, they'd sell for about two bucks a piece, if you knew the right people.

There were a couple of problems with Ludes. First, they became so popular and controversial, Rorer decided the liability wasn't worth it and sold the patent to Lemmon Pharmaceuticals in 1978. 

Overdosing on Ludes became notorious because the individual would lapse into a coma followed by central nervous system collapse. And, because the drug was fat soluble, there wouldn't be much you could do for the individual in the way of flushing it out of the body. 

They would also go on to become a notorious date rape drug, as well as  Bill Cosby's preferred method of attracting unwilling victims.

In 1982 due to its wide spread abuse it was taken off the market and, in 1984 the DEA would reclassify Quaaludes as a Schedule 1 narcotic, putting into the same category of drugs as heroin and ecstacy.

I could of…

But I didn’t.

Ah, maybe that was a good thing. Things could have gone really bad, really quickly. But I did have a taste. And, you know what?

It was fun.

Today….

TO LAM:

"Our countries share traditional bonds of friendship and have forged a comprehensive strategic partnership.
We have always been keen to express our deep gratitude for the assistance and support we received from the Russian people in the past, when we were fighting for our independence, as well as at the current stage in the development of our country.
Vietnam follows an independent, self-reliant, peaceful, friendly, and multifaceted foreign policy, and has always viewed Russia as one of its priority foreign policy partners.
We want to work with Russia to further enhance our traditional friendship, which results from the constructive efforts by many generations of our two countries’ leaders and their people."

Excerpt from statements by Vietnamese President Tô Lâm during the joint press conference with Russian President Vladimir Putin following their talks, Hanoi, June 20, 2024.

Oh Fuck!

Apricot-Glazed Ham

A simple glaze over ham makes for an easy special occasion meal.

Prep: 10 min | Bake: 1 hr 30 min | Yield: 20 servings

Ingredients

• 5 pound fully cooked whole boneless ham
• 1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon cornstarch
• 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon cloves
• 2/3 cup apricot nectar
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice

Instructions

1. Place ham on rack in a shallow roasting pan. Bake, uncovered, in a 325 degrees F oven for 1 1/4 hours or until meat thermometer registers 140 degrees F (about 15 to 18 minutes per pound.)
2. For the glaze, in a small saucepan combine brown sugar, cornstarch, nutmeg and cloves.
3. Stir in apricot nectar and lemon juice. Cook over medium heat until thickened and bubbly, stirring constantly.
4. Brush ham with glaze. Continue baking for 15-20 minutes more, brushing occasionally with glaze.

Scott Ritter: NATO in BIG TROUBLE After Crossing Russia’s Red Line, Putin and China Brace for War

One of Scott’s best videos. Well worth the time to watch.

Shorpy 1

Who had the worst death in history?

I’d nominate Junko Furuta.

source: Japanese Horror Story: The Torture of Junko Furuta

Junko Furuta was a Japanese schoolgirl who suffered 40 days of unimaginable torture at the hands of her classmates before dying on January 4th, 1989. After she rejected the school bully, Hiroshi Miyano, she was taken by 4 boys to the home of one of the kidnappers, Nobaharu Minato. All in all, over 100 people knew of her abduction; none did anything to help, and several joined in the torture.

According to their statements in court, the four boys tortured Junko relentlessly, to such an extent that her face was so swollen she was virtually unrecognisable, she lost bladder control (and was beaten for wetting the carpet), and her body developed a rotting smell.

The torture included:

• Rape — Junko was raped over 400 times over the course of 40 days. Many of these rapes were gang-rape, and the four boys’ friends were invited to join in and humiliate her. Over 100 different men are alleged to have participated in rape at some point. She was naked for most of her imprisonment and forced to masturbate in front of her captors. Some of the boys urinated on her, and she was forced to drink her own urine.
• Vaginal mutilation — iron bars, scissors, needles, skewers, a bulb, fireworks, cigarettes and lighters amongst other foreign objects were forced into her vagina and anus, causing severe burning and damage. Additionally, she forcibly had her breasts pierced with sewing needles and one of her nipples was torn off.
• Beatings — she was beaten regularly, and sometimes strapped up as a human punching bag. The boys used clubs, rods and bamboo sticks to punish her for displeasing them.
• Freezing — after pleading to die, she was locked outside overnight (bear in mind this was in winter), and later locked in a freezer.
• Burning — this is believed to be the ultimate cause of her death. She suffered severe burns from the aforementioned lighters and fireworks. When she tried to call the police, she was doused in lighter fluid and her body was set on fire. Somehow she survived, but was killed by another body fire on the 40th day of imprisonment.
• The boys reportedly dropped barbells and an iron exercise ball on her stomach, which was partly responsible for the lost bladder control, along with the damage to her genitals.

Hiroshi was sentenced for 20 years, and the other main captors received 5–10 years each. Most of them were subsequently arrested again for various crimes, including rape and fraud. They were aged 17–18 at the time; Junko was 17.

Had the captors been slightly older, they almost certainly would have received life imprisonment or the death penalty. The case is considered controversial due to their lenient sentences, and I can see why.

So on brand. Cringe.

What are some deep thoughts that you have?

1. “deep” is “deep” upside down.
2. If 99% of people find you unattractive, 78,000,000 people still find you attractive.
3. One of the worst parts of having mental health issues is that you’re seemingly required to have a breakdown in order for people to understand how hard you were trying to hold yourself together.
4. The fact that Jellyfish have survived for 650 million years despite having no brain gives hope to many people.
5. Dogs must be notorious in the animal kingdom for being the closest ally of the deadliest species ever to inhabit earth.
6. At some point in your life, an attractive person passed by you and regretted not talking to you.
7. Why is “Sean” pronounced as “Shawn” instead of “Seen” but “Dean” is pronounced “Deen” instead of “Dawn”
8. At some point in your childhood you and your friends went outside to play one last time, but you never knew it.
9. Cutting corners creates more corners.
10. Why are there no pizza drive-thrus?!
11. To know the ones that are worth your love, first you have to love the ones who are not.
12. The scariest part of growing up is realizing many adults are clueless; life is based more on luck than knowledge.

Larry Johnson REVEALS: U.S. Missiles Strike Deep Inside Russia, NATO in Danger, The World at Stake

Yuppur. The USA is actively fighting Russia. There is no way that Ukrainians are aiming and guiding these missiles.

What is the most satisfying passive-aggressive thing you have ever done to a really mean or rude person?

When my ex left, she went out of her way to be as cruel as possible about the whole process.

It was taking us some time to disentangle our living situation, finances, etc. My approach was that we were both adults who had at one point held affection for each other, so we might as well be as grown up as possible about the situation. I tried to be fair, and to give ground on things that meant more to her than to me – particularly as I earned more so would find it easier to relace anything she took.

She took the opposite approach. It wasn’t just that she tried to take everything she wanted. She took things simply because I wanted them. On the day she moved out, she packed up my washing line, despite the fact she was moving to a house with no garden. I let it go as not worth the hassle to fight her.

As might be expected after a 5-year relationship, there were some connections we hadn’t managed to untangle before leaving day, so from time to time I needed to get in touch – for example, to tell her I was no longer paying for her car insurance, and that she’d have to sort it out for herself. She continued to be obstructive, and to request that I cease all contact with her. I was tearing my hair out, trying to do the right thing but being knocked back rudely at every turn.

It was then that a good friend introduced me to what she called the ‘Princess Bride defence’:

“As you wish.”

It was the last text I sent to her. Thereafter, any time I found one of her sentimental possessions in the back of a cupboard, it went straight to a charity shop. When important-looking letters marked “URGENT” arrived addressed to her, I returned them as undelivered – at my convenience, after a few days. When I was asked to pass a potential teaching opportunity on to her, I said that wouldn’t be possible. When Christmas cards from her extended family arrived (addressed to both of us) I shredded them. She didn’t hear from me again.

As she wished.

GAU-8 holes

Have you ever met or known anybody who is inbred?

I know several people that are inbred right now. Normally I wouldn’t have any contact with these folks, but I am a firefighter in a very rural area, and I answer a lot of medical calls. I have some very very gross stories I could tell, but I will spare you the details as it is pretty disgusting and depressing. One thing I will say is that some of these families that are really inbred have an inbred look. I can’t really put my finger on what it is, but their eyes just look a little different. I don’t judge these folks at all, after all they’re just people. They’re really victims, they didn’t ask for this.

I was a reserve deputy back in the early 90s, and I went to a call where we arrested a man who had just gotten out of prison , and he went and attempted to rape two of his cousins, and successfully completed the act with one. From the description of the crimes , it seemed like the guy was completely compulsive.

As we turned off a long country road down a long dirt road to make the arrest, I saw poverty that I had never seen in America. There were people in mobile homes with no electric and broken windows and homemade steps. Most rural areas are full of pretty normal people, but this pocket of the woods had a family that was inbreeding for a long time, and some of them looked very strange. I went to the back of the house in case the guy tried to run while two other deputies went into the house to make the arrest. One very old lady in a ripped T-shirt with no bra gave me the worst hate stare I have ever seen, she just stared at me with a one eye bigger than the other inbred silent angry glare. Amongst all this, a very sweet , nice 5-year-old girl came up and asked what I was doing. I told her we were arresting a bad guy. Just then the two deputies came out with the rapist, and he was the most normal looking guy there. He was a studious looking guy with wire rim glasses and nice clothes. He was also the father of that little girl who I just talked to. She started wailing with the saddest cries you’d ever hear and threw a stick at me. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever seen up till that point.

Incidents like this made me realize why the deputies I rode with were so cynical. They often saw the worst in people.

It wasn’t long after this that I decided to join the fire department instead of law enforcement. After 30 years in the fire department, I have seen a lot of strange things, but that call still sticks out my mind as being very sad. I think I remember it because it was the first time I’d been exposed to that level of poverty, indifference and craziness.

If you have read this far in my story, thank you. I do actually have some upbeat news. Social services have drastically improved in my area, I haven’t been to a house full of kids with no lights and no heat in quite a few years. I think it has been close to 20 years since I have been to a 14-year-old on her second pregnancy. Things have gotten much better.

Douglas Macgregor: Iran & Turkey join Russia, North Korea sent Nuclear Bombs after Meeting Putin

He’s speaking truth. Damn. The USA just ain’t ready.

Why do people adopt babies from other countries but not their own?

I adopted two children from Russia. One was 20 months old, and the other was about 4 years old. This is my qualification to speak on the subject. Sadly, Russia no longer adopts children to the US, because we sanctioned one of Putin’s friends.

The fact of the matter is that it is easier to fly all the way around the world two times, like an astronaut, to get a child in Russia, than it is to adopt a child in the US State of Washington (and presumably other U.S. states).

Russia is a place that has the kind of economic chaos that makes relatively high-quality babies available for adoption. Too many Russians can’t keep their children, and Russians do not, as a rule, adopt their own orphans. The Russian authorities are not afraid to take a child away from failed parents, so the child has likely only suffered a few months of neglect. The US, by contrast, has a strong tradition of parental rights, so it takes years to remove a child.

In the US, many children are born to meth users, so that their brains are irretrievably fried. Heroin is the drug of choice in Russia, which, while horrible for the parents, is not so bad (as meth) on a fetus’s physiology.

When you return home from Russia with a child, that child belongs to you. It is your adopted child. Period, end of story. By contrast, children in Washington State are generally not legally free to adopt when they are placed in your home. That means you are only a foster parent, with few rights. For the next couple of years, if your new baby’s crack-whore mother or jailbird father cleans up their act, even temporarily, they can yank your baby away and back to its previous life of neglect and abuse. Imagine having to tell your other children that their forever-brother or sister is not home when they return from school, because it unexpectedly went back to its birth-parents.

Now tell me you think it’s strange that people do international adoptions.

Badlands Homecoming

Submitted into Contest #251 in response to: Dream up a secret library. Write a story about an adventurer who discovers it. What’s in the library? Why was it kept secret?… view prompt

Joe Smallwood

The badlands had ceased expanding, and there was just enough food to support one or two researchers—well, maybe only one—and that would be me.

The bishop had his hands full. A guard saw me into his office, and the bishop sat waiting behind a huge, salvaged desk between us.

The desk, a marvel, held my gaze. Its rich, brown hue was a testament to its unique origin, a strange wood with a veneer of such smoothness, partially burned away, creating a mesmerizing play of colors. I couldn’t help but wonder about the lives that were risked to retrieve such a treasure.

“You are?” he said, not looking up. Now, if it were up to me, I would fall on my knees and kiss his ecclesiastical ring, listen to his blessings, and wait for benediction. Such was my upbringing, which I had only known since…forever. To be in his presence was an honor granted to so few.

But I must answer him! Yet remembering my very name seemed an extraneous and worthless undertaking.

“Thomas Cranwell, to commoners excluded from knowing my ecclesial rank,” I said, finally.

“Why do you exclude yourself?” he asked again, without looking up from whatever was absorbing him. “Are you not to work for the extension of the Kingdom of God?”

“It is for an uncommon request. Permission to attend at Bradwell,” I practically whispered.

That got his attention. I am asking for something forbidden. To speak of Bradwell and the treasures of antiquity that it contained was to invite suspicion.

Myths, stories, and legends about the sacrifices made to build Bradwell many generations ago were a staple around campfires at night. After the cataclysm and before the new orientation, the building of Bradwell took place in a time so dark that our present darkness looked light by comparison. Yet I was convinced that understanding our past would help build our future!

I threw caution to the wind. Before I knew what I was doing, I was kneeling before him, seeking his hand to kiss his ring, even as I could not see that the guard had moved to strike me from behind.

“Stay your hand!” the bishop ordered. “What have we here? A search for knowledge at any cost?”

“Only a fool who seeks to serve, Your Excellency!” My tears were so copious that if I looked at him, I imagined he would send me off straight away. He laid his hand on my head.

“Thomas, I’ll inquire about your character. Send me your references and bid me a good day!”

#

I had to work while I waited. Luckily for me, I had learned a trade as a metal scavenger. It was considered a low occupation, but it was necessary since the metal that never rusts could no longer be made and was highly prized. However, my unusual request made people suspicious of me. Even the scraps I found in the well-combed hills and valleys surrounding Urhan fetched such low prices that I began to starve. Being without family and friends in any place was inviting death into your life. I hoped I would not have to wait long for the bishop to answer!

When news came that the bishop had approved my request, I now had a servant, David, a protection seal on paper, no less, and a stipend. The bishop’s generosity quite shocked me. Was he an antiquarian? Even if only in secret? I couldn’t account for my good fortune otherwise.

We hastened to start our journey. David was young—only sixteen—yet enthusiastic and uncommonly curious. When I told David we were off to Bradwell, he jumped for joy! I warned him to conserve his strength. It would be a long and challenging journey, even for one like himself. Besides, he was to support me, such as I was.

Upon leaving Urhan, David removed his sandals and shook the dust off them, motioning me to do the same.

“A curse on any who did not help us!” he shouted with glee.

This made me angry. “You hardly know what it is, you ask!” I said. “We have nothing but what we carry—nothing at all. It could be that a curse has been laid on us! Mind your place, boy!”

David’s eyes fell, and he began to weep. “Forgive me, Father, he said.

“It is your youth and inexperience that speaks,” I answered. “The world is larger than we know!”

#

We arrived at Urhan Station, a smaller community composed almost entirely of humbler folk, primarily farmers. I was not incardinated anywhere in the Urhan region. I thought it proper to approach the local magistrate to inform him of our presence and request leave to be accommodated for at least one night, perhaps two. Upon reviewing my documents, I was permitted to stay, provided I sought provisions in the local market and remained at the local inn. This I was happy to do.

Thank God news had not spread about my mission. It was a relief to be treated courteously for once, and I relished the opportunity to rest and regain my strength.

David was enraptured by the many sights of Urhan Station, which he had never visited before, even though it was only twenty miles from where he lived.

“Father, shall we hear Mass today?” he inquired.

“Certainly!” I replied.

We soon happened upon the parish church, a quaint, quite old stucco and wood structure dating back to the earliest days of the Urhan region’s reconstruction. Even today, the church outshone the other various dwellings, which were much more bare and plain-looking. A bell rang out, calling the populace to prayer. The church was soon filled.

I was struck by Father Bruno, the priest who said Mass. His intensely blue eyes and reputation for knowing people’s sins without being told drew many visitors for confession, even from Urhan proper. I feared he would somehow know of our mission, so I hung back in one of the back pews.

When Mass was over, and we had finished our Thanksgiving prayers, he strode right to the back of the church to see me, calling me by name, although we had never met.

“Father Cranwell! Know you, not your duty! To serve God! It is not your place to seek that which God has destroyed!”

He said this so loudly that David prostrated himself at his feet, weeping and begging forgiveness. I was stunned, and when Father Bruno had left, and I regained my composure, it was plain that we would have to leave Urhan Station; the sooner, the better.

David wept incessantly. On the one hand, he knew he might fall prey to ruffians or dire circumstances, being alone without my support. Yet, given his religious upbringing, he could not ignore Father Bruno’s words, and I would not contradict a fellow priest, so I released David from his obligation to me.

I did this with a heavy heart, wondering if I would survive long enough to arrive at Bradwell without David’s support. Yet I had to think of what was best for the boy.

“You are free to leave,” I said as we left Urhan Station.

“Where will I go?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a family to return to?”

“Family? My family is the church. I am an orphan!”

With this, I stopped to look at him. David was in tears again. I was nearly beside myself with grief, too. It was clear that he could not make a decision.

“Come with me, and you will no longer be an orphan but a son to me!” I said, wiping both his and my own tears.

#

We were quite clearly approaching the badlands. Strange, disfigured animals approached us, peering out from the undergrowth. David readied his slingshot, and I, my staff.

“I could hit one!” David exulted.

“Let us pass by the side,” I answered. Thus, we took detours through thick brambles to avoid these “denizens of hell,” as the common folk called them.

The road, too, became more rutted and overgrown. Signs warned us not to go further, though the further we went, the more rotted they appeared, like the people who erected them had passed on or failed to maintain them.

We had to sleep in the open air in a shelter we could make from branches and sticks. It began to rain. I had heard of the constant rain in the heart of the badlands, soaking you through and through. We knew not to drink from the fetid swamps that threatened to overwhelm the road, which now resembled more of a simple path than a road.

“Is God punishing us?” David asked after a tough night when I coughed more than I slept. “Isn’t it clear we shouldn’t be here?” he continued. He was throwing stones into the swamp, a look of defeat on his face.

“Hush now and trust,” I said. We have not come all this way to die now!”

But I wondered how much more we could take, wearied to the bone from the dampness and privations caused by a lack of food and good sleep, never mind the constant fear of what might happen if we grew inattentive or were unlucky.

After three days, the path abruptly stopped at a ruined habitation. No one was home, and it looked like no one had been there for some time. After my brave words to David, my heart sank. Where to now to Bradwell?

Had I fallen prey to pride? It was Father Bruno’s words that echoed in my mind.

I sank to my knees and wept.

I could have died there and then and been happy to meet my maker, poor, alone, a sinner in need of redemption. It was David who came to my rescue.

He bounded into my view even though I lay prone in the muck and filth in those last few steps on the path to nowhere.

“Look, Father!” He helped me up. “Come over here! Do you see it? Up on the hill!”

My poor eyes were unaccustomed to focusing at such a distance, yet I could just make out a building built on a hill. Was it a monastery?

 I could see it shining like a beacon, a bright sheen off what looked like stout walls as we hobbled closer, David supporting me with every step I took.

#

By some magic I had never seen before, the gate to the monastery slid open to reveal a monk dressed in a black tunic. He did not speak, only motioning to us to follow him. A Benedictine? I had never seen one before.

The monk’s tunic hung loosely over his body, stopping only at his ankles. He wore a rectangular piece of cloth over his shoulders called a scapular that appeared to be made of wool. When he turned to lead us to the community, I noticed his cowl limp and unused, the sun only beginning to make its presence known.

It was an edifying experience to see such calm and serene purpose in this one monk who neither sought nor cared for our taking any notice of him whatsoever.

We climbed some hewn stone stairs to such a height! It was utterly exhausting. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath, but I could still reach a portico, the sun clothed with refracted light through the most marvelous stained glass, again as something I had never seen before. I reached out to touch it, causing the light to fall in a sudden dazzling brilliance as if moved by unseen hands. I wanted to stop and question the monk about how light could be so liquid yet impervious to my understanding!

But he moved ever onward, not looking back.

We reached a stolid door of massive weight, again opening at a mere touch! What I presumed to be the abbot greeted us.

The abbot wore a black cappa, which is a full-length cloak over his tunic. He also wore a ring, which he held out to me.

I collapsed before I could kiss his ring, and from what David told me later, I hit my head on the stone floor, losing consciousness.

#

I awoke in an infirmary, or what looked like one. David was so happy to see me come to my senses. He looked fatigued as if he had been waiting a long time by my side, sitting on a wicker chair next to an untouched tray of food on a small table.

“Eat, father!” he said, his voice catching him unawares like he had not spoken for hours. Then, he cleared his throat and looked as if he might cry.

I had more important things on my mind. “What of the…abbot?” I gasped as I reached for a plain, remarkably shaped glass containing a liquid I did not recognize.

David handed it to me. “He never spoke to me. After you collapsed, two monks carried you here. Will you get well, Father?” he pleaded.

“God willing!” I said. You are so faithful to me; how can it be otherwise?” I joked, but then I frowned. “But there is much to discuss…” I said as I tried to get out of bed.

“Not until you are well!” David commanded. “Eat!”

#

The days went swiftly by. A monk with remarkable medical knowledge examined me. And there was so much food! So much more than I was used to.

Then, several days later, another monk with such bright eyes came to get me. This one was not unassuming or silent. He was talkative, so much so that I wondered if he was a monk or a commoner dressed in monk attire!

“Know you, not your duty!” I exclaimed at one point amid his chatter.

He rounded on me, his confident air dissipating as air escapes a putrid cask.

“Know you, not yours?” he replied. With that, we both fell into sullen silence. He then led me to see the abbot.

#

It was as before. This time, I kissed the abbot’s ring and returned to standing before him in what looked like the chapter house, a meeting room where the community would gather to conduct business.

Gazing about, I saw things on shelves I had never seen before. Whether they were functional or not escaped me; some seemed to be parts of other, larger objects. Here and there, you could see these recognizable parts protruding. But I was not given leave to stare at these unusual artifacts for long.

“You and your servant are welcome to stay with us!” the abbot announced. “I have made inquiries, and the bishop of Urhan diocese has vouched for you. The bishop was once a monk at this very place! What exactly have you come here to do?”

“Father Abbot, I wish to conduct research.”

“By all means, let us visit the scriptorium and the library!”

Again, there was light that I had never seen before.

In a wonder of wonders, I was led into the scriptorium, where monks sat at tables reading words that appeared and disappeared on pages filled with light, with no visible candles.

Then, many books in unknown languages were in the library, with pictures not drawn or painted of such wonders as I could scarcely describe! Many of these books were burned, and some could not be read. Still, everything was neatly stored and accounted for.

“Why not let everyone see these wonders,” I asked.

The Abbot was taken aback. “Do you believe that the people would comprehend that we were once prosperous, but now we are poor only because of a war of unimaginable fury as if the very wrath of God enveloped everything? This is knowledge for only a select few!”

The Abbot, setting aside his vows, embraced me and continued speaking for what seemed like a very long time.

“You need hardly wonder! Was it not always so? Monks preserved knowledge, whether of religion or not, that would have been lost otherwise in past times. We do so today, as always. Forever, until the end of time itself!”

So began my new life. Father Bruno could remind the people of what went wrong, and I would now discover why.

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