---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
RESURRECTED GOD
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
�I�m hoping to be accepted to either Harvard or Yale,� the boy said.
�Yes,� Raj answered. He said it mechanically. He was hoping to be
accepted to Oak College. Not exactly the �top tier�. Except, actually, he
wasn�t hoping to be accepted to Oak College, or any other college, for that
matter. Not anymore.
As he walked down the hall to his next class he saw her. Blonde,
perfect, with long hair that seemed to shimmer, as if she were enveloped
in a halo. He saw who she was standing beside, too. Jim Sandford. �Jim
Sandford of Stanford� they called him now. Football scholarship. What
would he do with that Ninth Grade angel standing beside him when he went
to Stanford?
Raj passed them without looking. The perfect couple. He was dying
to look at her but he didn�t. He already knew she didn�t like him. He�d
tried asking her out but she�d said �no�; coldly, icily. Now she was
standing with her head, her beautiful blonde head, nestled against Jim�s
chest. Jim had his football jersey on. She was stroking the number: 13.
Raj knew if he glanced at her there would be trouble. Jim had
already told him that if he caught Raj looking at his girl, he�d �beat the
shit out of your Indian ass.� Then Jim had added, rubbing it in, �Lookism
is a form of sexual harassment, you know.�
Raj wondered what Jim thought of statutory rape. Jim had just
turned 18, but the angel stroking his chest was still 14.
�What a joke,� Raj thought to himself. He moved to get out of the
way of one of Jim�s football buddies, who was walking quickly down the
hall.
�Out of the way, Indian ass,� the boy said, and tried to push Raj, but
Raj was too quick, and managed to avoid him.
�All of my life,� Raj thought to himself. He walked on, down the
hall. �All of my life I�ve been teased because I supposedly came from
India.�
He turned and walked into the classroom. Mr. Trumpet was standing
at the blackboard. He was portly and bald, and gave a new meaning to the
word �short�, but he had a voice like a baritone. He arched one eyebrow as
he saw Raj walk in. With a flourish, Mr. Trumpet lifted his short, fat arm
and looked at his wristwatch. Mr. Trumpet liked everyone to be in their
seat and �ready to go,� as he put it, when the hallway bell rang, ending the
break.
Raj heard the bell go off outside the classroom door. He moved
between the rows of desks to get to his seat. Mr. Trumpet cleared his
throat.
Sitting down at his desk, Raj heard Mr. Trumpet begin talking. The
lecture was beginning, but Raj still had to get his things out. Quickly Raj
opened his bookbag and yanked out his notebook so he could begin taking
notes. Today Mr. Trumpet was giving a semester review. It was not
uncommon for the semester review to be on the final, according to the
school grapevine. �Just study that semester review he gives, and you�ll
cruise,� someone had told Raj at lunch.
Digging in his bookbag, Raj was still trying to find a pen when Mr.
Trumpet began reeling off the various points of the previous semester
that he considered to be �Of paramount importance�. Raj found a pencil.
He gasped with relief and threw open his notebook. He pressed his pencil
to the paper to write. Then he realized the pencil had no lead. It had
broken off, jostling around in his book bag.
�Damn!� Raj muttered to himself. Normally he had several pens that
he used to write, but last night he�d cleaned out his bookbag and forgotten
to put the pens back in. Now he was stuck with some old pencil that had
somehow been left in the bag, its lead broken off, probably a relic from
his days in junior high. Raj looked at the pencil sharpener, by the door to
the classroom. No way was he going to raise his hand and ask to go use
the pencil sharpener. He could just see himself standing there, grinding
away on the sharpener, while everyone stared at him, looking at his curly
black hair and his brown Indian skin. And his zits.
Pretending to write with the pencil, but actually unable to write
anything at all, Raj half-listened to Mr. Trumpet�s lecture. He let his mind
drift. �Indian,� Raj thought to himself. �All my life I�ve thought I was an
orphan adopted from India. Hell, I�ve been teased about it practically
every day! But I�m not from India.�
Did he hate his parents? He wasn�t sure. They were nice enough, but
they�d lied to him. Raj had found the paperwork last night, in his dad�s
small lab in the garage.
�I�m from Egypt,� Raj said to himself. �Egypt.�
During lunch Raj sat down next to a boy with glasses. �Smedley,�
they called him. A kid from England who carried a pint of liquor in his
back pocket and was prouder of that than the grades he got.
�I�m from Egypt,� Raj said to Smedley. The boy was attempting to
cut a soggy pile of pre-formed turkey slices on his cafeteria food tray.
The turkey was coated with artificial beef gravy. Smedley�s plastic knife
and fork weren�t doing a very good job of cutting the turkey.
�Damn!� Smedley swore. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled
out a pocket knife. He glanced around, to check that the cafeteria monitor
didn�t see that he�d brought a knife to school. Then he applied his pocket
knife to the turkey.
�Huh?� Smedley asked, as he sliced into his turkey.
�I�m from Egypt,� Raj said.
�Oh,� Smedley said.
�I found my birth paperwork last night. I�m not from India, after all.
I�m from Egypt.�
�One colonial possession is as good as another,� Smedley replied. He
wiped his pocket knife off on his napkin and slipped it back into his
pocket.
�Yeah,� Raj said. He didn�t bother to tell him the rest. He looked at
his turkey. He picked up his plastic knife and fork and tried cutting it.
Shoe leather would have cut easier.
�Mind if I borrow your knife?� Raj asked Smedley.
�Someone might see,� Smedley answered, and kept his knife in his
pocket.
�Oh. Yeah,� Raj said. He felt a sudden rage. He managed to keep it
under control, but it coursed through him, leaving him throbbing. �You
raped my land!� he thought to himself. �Whoa,� a less emotional voice
cautioned. �Don�t get off on this shit.�
Raj was walking by the Teacher�s Lounge when he heard a T.V. He
turned. He wasn�t allowed to go into the lounge but he stood at the door,
looking in at the T.V.
�Meanwhile, in other news, authorities in Egypt have cracked down
on dissidents claiming to--� the announcer was saying, when a teacher
reached over and abruptly changed the channel.
�Having healthy babies is our topic today,� a pleasant female voice
intoned. Immediately Raj�s mind remembered the blonde, Jim�s girlfriend.
It was rumored that Jim had gotten her pregnant, though it didn�t show on
her yet.
In disgust, Raj turned away from the door to the Teacher�s Lounge.
He walked down the hall. �I am...� Raj said. But he couldn�t finish the
sentence, even though he was speaking it only in his mind.
Then he tried again: �I am King Tut,� he said, and immediately he
thought the name sounded a bit ridiculous. Hadn�t Steve Martin made a
song out of King Tut�s name?
Yet that was his name! It was who he was! The paperwork in his
�father�s� lab proved it. His parents had tried to give him a normal life,
and they�d succeeded. His life was normal. Too normal. He was a loser
with no girlfriend hoping to improve his grades so he could be accepted to
Oak College.
But he was something more. He knew that now. He was a clone. He
had been cloned from King Tut. Raj wondered if the blonde would like him
if she knew he was, quite literally, the son of a king.
As he sat in his next class, Raj let his mind brood. The subject was
one that he needed to pull up his grade in if he expected to get into
college: physics. Raj had never been very good at at science.
�What I really need,� Raj thought to himself, not listening to the
teacher at all, �is a course in property law.� Hadn�t he owned Egypt? His
father, King Tut, had owned Egypt. �Am I the son of King Tut, or am I King
Tut himself?� Raj thought.
Later, in history class, Raj was again pretending to write with his
broken pencil. He thought back to Smedley in the cafeteria and wished
he�d asked the boy to borrow a pen. The teacher was giving a history
semester review and Raj perked up when the subject of Egypt was covered:
�The pharaohs tried to cheat death,� the teacher told the class. �It
didn�t work, of course. A few half-rotted corpses are all that remain,
today. During their lifetimes, however, each pharaoh was worshipped as
the living embodiment of God. So they had a good life, even if they didn�t
manage to beat death.�
Mild laughter rippled through the class. Someone raised their hand.
�Teacher, isn�t there something like that today? I read about it in
the paper. Cryogenics, I think its called.�
�Freezing,� the teacher answered. �Yes, a few wealthy, misguided
souls do freeze themselves when they die, in our society. I can�t imagine
how they would wind up in Heaven, in that condition, all frozen like an ice
cube. And of course, if they go to Hell...�
The teacher didn�t finish her sentence. She didn�t have to. There
was more laughter.
�But it worked!� Raj felt himself yelling, inside his head. He wanted
to jump up and shout to the class. �It worked and I�m here and I AM King
Tut, by God!�
�Well, we tried to keep it from you,� Raj�s father told him that
night. Raj looked at him. His �father� was shorter than Raj, and he was
sitting crouched in his chair in the garage, as if trying to avoid having to
divulge a dirty secret. He was white, with English and Catholic Irish blood
in his veins. Raj looked at his father�s arms and then at his own. His were
brown, like the dirt King Tut had been dug out of.
�Honey, it wasn�t exactly legal,� Raj�s �mother� interjected. She
was a small woman with glasses.
�I can�t believe it,� was all Raj could bring himself to say, when his
�parents� stopped talking and the silence became unbearable.
�It was... an experiment,� Raj�s �father� said.
�It worked,� Raj answered.
�Yes,� Raj�s father replied. �We didn�t expect it to, and we planned
to destroy the embryo.�
�My God,� Raj said. He thought of the blonde at his school, made
pregnant by Jim, who was rumored to be planning an abortion.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser�s �Location� window. Press your �return� key.
Click on �Power Search� in the middle of the screen.
Find the box labelled �Main Archive�.
Change �Main Archive� to �Complete Archive�.
Next, do you see a blank box labelled �Search for:� ?
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the blank box on the screen
that has �Search for� written above it.
Click on �find� (the button to the right of the box).
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges� Radiant
Identities and David Hamilton�s The Age of Innocence. Support art!
-Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years
of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
- NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over
a decade, it�s Alessandra�s Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY
10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
- JOIN the world�s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102.
Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF story EMISSION