Buddha 917
25/11/09
This Story, Buddha 917, Is of Free Copyright
Chapter 1 Part 0
25/11/09
Reincarnation by direct transposition
Above Cambodian land, and the city, lie big clouds, some grey, and some whiter and puffy. Within the clouds, ranges startling lightningfire, creating scenes of unparalleled beauty! A bolt leaps and strikes across heaven, between immense and lordly cloud masses to illumine upon their own huge and austere complexity, roulles of curved and opaque vapour, disguised by the fluid behaviour of cloud, to appear as surfaces in the sky. On the ground below, was once a large ruined street, and many pieces of houses covered the pavement; but underneath, lay a deep and very darkened secret.
Knowledgeable of many things, monks at a nearby monastery, chant aloud during the storm, making some ancient and a few long forgotten utterances. The monks, dressed in their orange or burgundy hued robes sit before statues of Buddha, as a dim light fed from a storage battery burns, casting shadow that seems to reflect upon the spectacle and awe of the storm above. They chant carefully to enunciate in time with eachother, and on their faces lie serious countenances of religious fervour and endeavour.
Below the ruins years ago, a monk, shaven, dressed in a long black robe, stood before a large object within a cavity in the ground. Directly above, a few soldiers wearing black trousers, vests and the traditional Khmer scarves called gromeh, squatted on the ground, in the style of Khmer people, their arms over their knees, legs bent fully as they sat on their heels, but feet and toes flat to the ground. Some sat on the scattered clumps of bricks, others stood. One squatting, was looking to the side a little, while a few soldiers were watching with them, across the street of rubble.
As lightning flies among the clouds, and the monks chant in holy focus of mind, a dense metal body still beneath the earth, reveals itself only before a monk dressed in black, the object displaying boldly its form, that of the powerful military weapon, a Mark Six Chieftain Tank! For many years the tank remained undisturbed, invisible, and spared the burdens of active existence. The Chieftain's long straight barrel had directed silent, cold and unmoving fire behind the tank, its low, wide turret waited above tracked shoulders.
Chanting at the nearby monastery calls ascending and sacred charm, as the lightning flashes send flickers of light through small holes in a ceiling above the black robed monk, while he regards the weapon with calm, its armour covered in green and black camouflaged paintwork. The monk guards a sobre aspect, as austere as the clouds at war above.
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Last Update: 23/12/09