The Book of Josiah - Chapter 23a

The Five of Cups reversed, gold on black.
    He is in a car with her, and they are driving down the road. The top is down, the wind is in her hair - God, she looks beautiful today, eyes like black on gold. And they are laughing so hard, though he can’t say why. They laugh and laugh, as though this could never end. And then he looks at his hand, and sees a trickle of blood - why does it not hurt? He stops laughing, and so does she. They stare at the trickle of blood, confused, as it traces a red path down his arm. And then the car is out of control, and they go off the bridge. For a moment they are suspended in empty space but then they fall. And somewhere distant, a girl is crying.
    The Six of Wands reversed, silver on black.
    On an ocean, rocking back and forth with the gentle waves. It is night, and the moon is full, silver on black. It is so peaceful here, with the gentle rocking of the sea. But the sky grows darker, and one of the crew is not who he seems, he is an outsider, a traitor, but which one? Perhaps they should draw lots. But the lots are not fair and he draws the short straw - no! I am not the traitor! - but no one will listen to his cries, and they prepare to throw him from the boat before all is lost. “Pray to your God,” they say, “perhaps he will hear and save your life”. But he does not believe in God and so all hope is lost. For a moment he is suspended in empty space but then he falls forever.
    The Fool.
    How should this dream go? I shall toss a coin to decide, I cannot control a dream. Heads, we shall all go home and live beautiful lives, and the dream shall end happily ever after. Tails, we shall never go home, and the dream shall end in fear and pain. He tosses the coin, watches it spin, round and round. For a moment, it hangs there, forever revolving, but then it falls. He reaches out a bloodstained hand and catches it. Tails. Best of three, he thinks, and tosses the coin again and again - and every time it comes up tails.

    The World reversed. Failure.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 17

    Darkness dissolved into light.
    From nothingness all he could see was fire, fire burning hot and bright. And yet he was cold. And could not move.
    The light was fleeting, the warmth fading - the darkness more than real.
    Steel chains bound his arms and legs, rusted links wore at his wrists and ankles. The constant sound of dripping water played out a never-ending riff. Water swirled and danced around the stone cobbles and pooled around his feet, covered with the filth of eternity. And yet his mouth was dry beyond enduring. And the water was out of reach.
    If he felt anything, it was abject terror.
    He knew he was alone despite the darkness. No, it wasn’t dark. Fire burned in braziers, fixed at equal intervals along the wall, flickering like ghosts, more dead than alive. And the walls stretched beyond the end of the world, beyond the brink of forever.
    And then he was in the jungle, running, running. The unbearable green burnt his eyes, the cascading water plunged his hair to rivers, the undergrowth tore at his tattered clothes. But he was running, and nothing else mattered.
    He was a jaguar, fleet of foot, king of the jungle, deadly hunter. His claws were like steel vices, his teeth like industrial diamonds. And his prey was close. The infuriating stench of its sweat filled his mind with visions of death and blood, of red and green.
    The water did not matter, the thickness of the air he fought was irrelevant - the only thing in the world was his prey. He had to run.
    And then he was the prey and was still running, running, fighting the pain of a broken arm - he knew that a piece of metal was stuck in his flesh. Cold sweat mingled with the gushing water but there was no oblivion.
    His antlers caught a branch and he was slowed for an instant - the pause was deadly - the hunter was upon him.
    This is a dream, he thought, and smiled to himself. There is no pain and no water. With a leap he sailed high into the air and left the hunter far behind. This is a dream, and here I can fly.
    But he could not fly, and so he fell down with the rain, faster than teardrops, plummeting to the green earth and the dark ribbon of silver. The ribbon rushed to meet him, its waters closed over his head.
    This is a dream, he thought, and I can swim. And so he did. But he saw that fish too can swim, and they gathered around him, sunlight flashed off bared fangs. Then all around him, the water turned from green to red.
    He was the hunter, laughing at his folly.
    He was the hunted, crying into blood.
    He was the fish, extracting his pound of flesh.
    He is you, and you are me, and I am everyone.
    “You are not My people. And you are not forgiven.”

*  *  *

    “Well Mr Smith, this is a pleasant surprise.”