Chapter 0 - Riding in despair

Riding his bike at least twice a week wasn’t just a hobby—it was something much more. At times it was a time for discovering the outside world. With new times came new plains, new rolling hills, and with his greatest of challenges stretching out across an horizon, the mountains would fill his heart in an adrenalized challenging joy. He had rode dividing roads through endless fields of sunflowers to discover by bike the cyclical life on the banks of great rivers. In stark contrast it had also provided an escape from the world into a ritual of sacrificial pain but the payoff was always worth it. Always to be found was something that all should have, a place of solitude and peace. This over the years had risen to a necessity for his existence.

A life crazed by the cruelness of the world, lost by the past and bamboozled by the present good and bad experiences, was always somehow brought back to a balance on two wheels. To think of nothing but the tarmac passing underneath the steadied rhythm of spinning pedals had provided a meditation he always returned to as his refuge. Sometimes it was the flow with the passing wind, working together to release clouded memories and making way for clearer thought. Other times the bike had become the simplest remedy for tragedies in life. A return to oneself that never let him down when searching for his next move on and allowing his mind to wander with the slow releasing all powerful endorphins easing any physical or mental pain.

No matter the memory, deepness and despair found at the base of the valleys, standing somewhere on the horizon was another great mountain to climb. No matter how dark the past or present, there had always been something positive to hold onto. But in today's world all of that has changed. Today he rode for something beyond enjoyment, and the most concerning was what should have plagued his mind, that this ride could so easily be his last. The pretend gods had betrayed him leaving only a knowing of hopelessness, and only ensured on each ride he would challenge the gods to end this madness. The power of a skynets matrix enforced severe head and heart pains and riding had now become a standing ground, a thing they could not take from him, a place of defiance and resistance to its pain.

"My refusal to bend the knee or play the game is supposed to give me your brain tumors, hurry up and bring it on". While the heart gulped and ached he would sometimes shout to the gods, "go on just do it." To push through the head pain almost every time at twice a week took more than he had. And afterwards, the price was for the migraines becoming more severe and always exhausting him to the point of sleep. On today's rides he was further searching the past for something to answer the simple why.

Why was he alive, why had an evil power - manipulative and deceiving had so much control over his paths. Hoping to only reach the outer universes creators and to impossibly bypass the evil's ears he asked questions through a compromised type of chatter. "Yes, at first it was fantastical but now I know it is so impossibly unfair, undeservedly crushing in physical pain. Why had the creator allowed man the power to create such oppressive cruelty and what does this mean for other targeted individuals and so many children of the future", he would ask over and over. "Answer me now", he would yell.

Spiritualities had released all their secrets, he now saw them as the perfect place to hide, like the punchline in any good joke. Religions, meanwhile, never offered any real answers. They came loaded instead with the obvious weight of control and oppression.

Faith hung on the cross, waiting centuries for a messiah who never showed. Meanwhile, torture, stealing, oppression, rape, and contradiction marches on. To him, putting hope in that kind of faith offered nothing and appeared best serving only those who did evil's dirty work, or those who looked away.

The obedient are chosen to start again, exempt from responsibility until their version of God returns. They will not speak out or even question the rewriting of the past. In these weirdest of times the convenience of old stories and text, found under rocks or down a burial cave will arouse no suspicion that religion and spirituality go hand in hand with occult leading.

“For there to be an us, there has to be a them,” he shook his head. Not out of confusion — but because the logic was too clear.