Doomed

^{DECEMBER 21, 11:59 A.M. PST} The Abomination Arrives

Writing in the third century, the Neoplatonist Zoticus predicted that one day a single mighty nation would rule all others. This nation will occupy an island in the center of a great ocean. It will rapidly collect all the wealth of the whole world, and all the kings of the world shall come to reside here. Writing in the fifth century, the Neoplatonist Proclus described this future nation as a beautiful mirage. According to the Egyptian hieroglyphs, it will float on the horizon.

And here will the thing-child wash ashore. It will stride the cloud-colored beaches with no more awareness of its nudity than had the original humans.

There all plastic comes to a final rest. There the center holds, becalmed, in that Sargasso of plastics. The North Pacific Gyre, as that graveyard is known.

And arriving on this scene will stroll a human mother, wandering along that same beach, deep in her own grief. And the woman is essentially alone, accompanied by only one stylist, a publicist, four armed bodyguards, a yoga instructor, two lifestyle gurus, and a dietitian. This woman glimpses the thing-child: a slender sylphlike figure with skin as perfect as only plastic can be perfect. A face as smooth as only a photograph can be smooth. Its hair, a great bale of floss combed to rich fullness by infinite ocean waves. And from all outward appearances is the thing-child a she-child.

And the she-child is of impossible beauty.

And from a distance, upon first catching sight of the she-child, Plato claims that the lonely woman will call out. Stopped, paralyzed by the sight, she’ll gasp. The woman shall stumble forward a few steps, her arms raised involuntarily to embrace this vision, and she’ll cry out, “Madison?”

For here, to the eyes of a bereft mother, this gift from the sea appears to be a resurrection. And this woman strolling along the beach will be the nominal queen of this wealthy kingdom.

And here is a long-lost child seemingly reunited with its mourning parent. A miracle witnessed by all the attendant entourage.

Tears leap to the woman’s eyes. For this stranger, who stands nude on that gleaming beach… this stranger is slender and enigmatically calm—not pudgy and grouchy, not willful and sullen—but, still, the resemblance is otherwise perfect. This is the murdered child, glorified. Before she might call out a second time, Plato writes that the woman is choked with emotion.

And thus will evil plant his she-child in the nest of an unknowing bird.

Thus will goodness be cuckolded, according to the papyri of Sais. And evil seeks to fit goodness with a pair of horns.

For this otherworldly beauty, this she-child begotten of plastic and fostered by the sea, it opens its winsome arms to the human woman. With its sweet voice it says, “Mother.” The she-child advances to embrace the woman, and it says, “Camille Spencer, I am returned to you.” Embracing the bereaved woman, it says, “I return to you as proof of life everlasting. I bring you tidings of paradise.”