The building was tall and squared at all angles and corners. Its smooth stone exterior was painted in a metallic black color that shifted in the light. A white tile roof hosted no steeple or cross or religious symbol of any sort. The only exterior feature was a weather vane in the front garden.
A narrow path of seven-inch-thick aluminum slabs jutted out from the front of the building, as if floating. There were ten of these. They served as a stairway leading to a naturally raw plastic door. A keypad granted access upon entering the code: HUMAN. The door slid upward into a seamless frame. Entering meant giving up everything. Inside, god was nothing.
Tall, pillared shelves rose up to a distant ceiling. These housed contraptions, inventions, and books of human knowledge. There was a sewing machine, a glass case that displayed arrowheads and spear tips; under a light, the microscope. A Jackson Pollack work could be seen on the ground level, a Rembrandt as well. The walls were stuffed nearly to overcapacity. Stairs wrapped around the walls, ascending upward until they could no longer be seen. Directly across from the entry, an elevator beckoned.
Archived items of varying kinds were all accounted for and could be accessed. Seventeen underground levels were stocked and expansion was never ending. The librarians kept things organized. All who came were students; none were spiritualists, monks, witches or priests. Bibles of any sort were forbidden within these perfectly engineered walls.
In a corner room, three floors below ground level, a young boy met a strange creature that nobody else could see. Over time they became friends. They played games together when other people weren’t around. Dice, hopscotch, and marbles were fun. Its name was Baphomet, and it came from the earth.
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