Stars. There were more stars than I had ever seen in my lifetime. They were thousands of tiny pinholes in the great tapestry that was the night sky. They sparkled, oblivious to the storm that was about to obscure their view of the Atlantic. Around us, great walls of angry water crashed on to the prow of our vessel. The stench of seaweed and surf attacked my nostrils. The nausea slipped into my throat and threatened to explode in front of me. I was never one for the sea.

The lost city of Atlantis laid in our wake.  We  were  speeding  away  as quickly  as  the  ancient  Atlantean  vessel  we  were  using  could  take  us.  I glanced back at the shimmering city; the iridescent glow of the structures lit the night sky like a beacon from a large lighthouse. The city seemed to lunge out from the sea. Lightning  zigzagged  in  bright  flashes  of  sky  above  us  and  the  wind whipped up around us – causing large  waves to crash up against the ship’s hull. It responded with violent gyrations up and down, left and right, all the while losing its battle with the unforgiving aquatic. This was not going to be an easy get-away.

The  ship  that  allowed  our  escape  emitted  the  same  strange  iridescence that came from the lost city. A white glow on the deck, the sails, the steering mechanism - everything. In many ways, the ship resembled an old Spanish Galleon  –  but  it  pre-dated  Spanish  construction  by  one  hundred  centuries. Yet the vessel appeared as if it had just been finished. There were no signs of decay.  If  you  rubbed  your  hand  against  any  part  of  the  ship,  it  would  feel similar to the smooth surface of fiberglass – but this was no fiberglass vessel. The  intensity  of  the  waves  crashing  into  the  framework  would  snap  a fiberglass ship in half.

The waves were getting massive and more frightening, crashing over the bow and drenching us. One after another, they came – each taller and more ominous than the last.  They began to appear like dark blue mountains toppling toward us at breakneck speed, their white-foamed tops a rabid dog chasing its victim. The ship lurched violently causing me to lose balance. I fell and slid along the deck until my feet slammed against the deck rail on the opposite side of where I had been standing. The sea soaked my clothing. My skin turned ice cold. My companions grabbed whatever they could to avoid being twisted into the fuming washing machine that was Atlantis’ namesake. I couldn’t help but wonder where we would go from here. With the  raising  of  Atlantis  –  the  human  race  was  no  longer  the  dominant species  on  the  Earth.  We were servants of the Gods once again.  The realization  of  how  we  reached  this  point  troubled  my  mind.  We had searched so long for the lost origin of our civilization – only to find that with its discovery came dire consequences.  And  there  we  were  –  being tossed  around,  not  knowing  whether  or  not  we  would  live  to  see  the aftermath of what we had unleashed upon the world.

Forgive  my  manners, I  haven’t  even  introduced  myself. My name is Dan Ryan.  Perhaps  you  know   me  as  the  best  selling  author  of  the acclaimed He Returns apocalyptic series of books. Not to exude arrogance – but if you haven’t heard of me, you should have. No evangelistic series has  ever  sold  as  many  books  or  made  as  much  money  as  my  anthology. Don’t mistake my bravado. I don’t presume to include myself among the class of the greats like Asimov, Bradbury, or Stephen King. I’m no Anne Rice or JK Rowling. I know my place and it’s purely apocalyptic fiction. I made my fortune with tales of my hero, Gabriel Randolph, witnessing the rise of the Anti-Christ and the return of Jesus.

I have different motives for this story.  In  fact,  this  will  be  a  vastly different  experience  for  me.  My previous books were about fictional characters.  Fictional places.  Fictional events.  This is the first time I am writing about my own experiences. People I know. Major events in my life. Indeed – events that would affect the history of the world. What set me off on this adventure? Tragedy. Death. A loss of purpose. I  couldn’t  help  but  look  in  the  mirror  and  feel  as  if  I  wasn’t  what  was staring back. I was much more than just dark spiky hair, bushy eyebrows, and a three-day old beard. I was more then my thin frame, my dark eyes, my small but bulbous nose, and my pale skin.

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