The station Cathedral
stood on a vast slab of slight, grey stone,
floating through empty, dawning space.
A Babylonian construction of bewildering proportions
far from being completed. As was apparent by the complex scaffolding supporting it in many places.
Light strained and glimmered
through an intricate lacework of gaps in the walls.
In the main reception hall heaving, gray masses of people
moved two and fro. Screaming and shoving past each other in rivers,
lugging baggage, shouting, gesticulating and entangling themselves in each other.
All of them were dressed in filthy rags.
Rabble, riff raff, beggars with deeply sunken eyes covered in scabs, degenerate and depraved.
That the baskets, suitcases and bags that they carried
were overflowing with loose bank notes and stacked bundles of money.
At the furthest edge of one of the platforms stood a fireman,
watching the scene with a perplexed expression.
12,903, droned the loud speaker in the main hall.
12,902
12,901
The station hall was enormous.
Its' ceiling lost in darkness somewhere overhead.
In every possible niched and crack
flickering candles clung.
Everywhere running, dripping wax cascades like icicles congealed beards of wax.
The altar was shaped into an almighty vault with five huge dials on the door.
From time to time, the vault was opened
and another avalanche of bundled bank notes poured forth.
The bundles were distributed amongst the miserable characters
in the front rows and the vault doors sealed closed once more.
The ritual then immediately began anew.
Henchmen, on long ladders
clambered with inexhaustible agility to and fro
depositing fresh stacks of money somewhere high above in the walls.
The fireman, belatedly realized that every wall ,
every pillow, was formed of towering piles of money.
The entire cathedral was made of compact bricks of paper bank notes.
And infinitely higher it continued to be built.
As every new opening of the vault spewed
new masses of money into the space.
Thousands upon thousands of candle flames
burned and danced and the candle wax ran and dripped.
"Good lord," he murmured.
"This violates every conceivable safety regulation."
"This will end in disaster."
A weaselly looking fellow approached the fireman.
"Do you want shares?"
"Get them while you can, these are the last of the shares in the cathedral."
"They're all free."
"No, thank you," answered the fireman
and waved him away.
"This is all going to come to a terrible end."
"Ehh you are mistaken,"
came the reply.
"So many respectable people couldn't possibly be wrong."
"This miraculous currency propagation will go on forever."
"It will never end, as long as we all continue to believe."
"3,314,"
intoned the loud speaker.
"3,313"
"3,312"
And softly,
but unmistakably,
a ticking could be heard beneath the disembodied voice calling the numbers.
It became louder and more threatening.
While on the other side of the altar,
the miraculous multiplication of money went on unimpaired.
Nobody in the wretched crowd seemed to pay any attention to the ticking.
Ensconced in the pulpit,
to the left of the altar,
an emaciated old man began to preach with broadly encompassing gestures.
"Mystery of all mysteries and blessed be he who takes part."
"Money is truth and the only truth thou shalt all believe in its power."
"Thine faith, shall be unbreakable and blind."
"For it is this faith which makes it what it is."
"Since truth is also a commodity which obeys the law of supply and demand."
"For our God, is a jealous God and tolerates no other false Gods and yet,"
"he gave himself unto us and turned himself into a commodity in our hands."
"So that we might own him forever more and receive his holy blessing."
"268," echoed the loud speaker.
"267"
"266"
The fireman fought his way forwards through the rabble.
Everywhere where he found burning candles within his reach, he extinguished them.
Astonished, distressed and furious stares followed him.
He ignored them.
He continued in his mission, although he knew it was futile,
since no sooner had he moved, on than the flames were rekindled behind him.
A dull rage gradually began to take hold of him.
"Stop it," he cried.
And climbed the stairs to the pulpit.
"Cease! Stop this right now!"
"You are hereby informed that these activities are strictly prohibited."
A deadly silence fell instantly over the great hall.
"An unbeliever," shouted one of the scoundrels near the altar.
"How did an unbeliever get in here?"
A monstrous tumult broke loose.
Crazed, limping beggars stormed the pulpit.
Hands grabbing at the fireman, choked him, beat him, threw him
over the banister of the raised pulpit.
He fell with a "thud" to the floor below.
Sticks and crutches rained down upon him, as feet trampled his broken body.
The loud speaker voice had begun to count without interruption.
The ticking hammered.
"Money, masters everything," called the preacher from on high.
"It binds us to one another, through the sacred rituals of give and take."
"It has the power to transform."
"It transforms spirits into metal and matter into faith."
"Where are all enrich each other, there will be riches for all."
"And where all become rich at the cost of others, there will be no one left to pay the price."
"Miracle of all miracles, and should you ask my dear believers,"
"where does all this wealth comes from?"
"I will tell you."
"It comes from its own very own future profit."
"For we are all believers. Our own creditors and debtors unto eternity."
"And we forgive ourselves our debts!"
"Amen."