The Sentinel: The Prequel

Prequel story, to the 1977 Michael Winner movie

 

 

The Sentinel

The Prequel

 

 

By Thomas Heath

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The building; it’s not as new, as one would imagine.

 

 

The building, of aforementioned; despite its “not as newness” (take that for what you will), it exists still outside the cultures.

The cultures, ergo, the train set.

 

 

 

 

 

For upon thousands and upon thousands of years, the routine has yet to manifest. Alas, why thousands, and thousands of years, and not millions of years?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Reason:

 

 

 

The society paradigm. Buildings. Work. Pacts. The paradigm of buildings, the paradigm of work, and the paradigm of pacts. Prior, to the thousands of years timeline, of course, the conditions of aforementioned weren’t around. No buildings. No work. No pacts. The users weren’t around.

   At least �" they weren’t around on the right side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woman, is leaned back against the table. She is leaned back against it, sexually.

    Her body, covered with a tight flower dress, is structured sexually.

 

 

 

 

 

The woman’s cigar, is freshly lit. As she leans, leans and leans against the conference table, she has the cigar.

 

 

The woman: when she f***s, f***s and f***s, against the table, she wants to keep hold of the cigar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For upon thousands, and upon thousands of years, the mind’s greatest minefuck has yet to manifest; on the chair.

 

The mind’s greatest mindfuck:

 

The public vs the devils.

 

 

 

 

The devils, versus the greatest owners: the public.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s not an action hero, but, he’s not a wimp either. That’s his entrance; that’s the man’s entrance, to the woman, who wants to keep onto her cigar while she f***s, f***s and f***s the man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They f**k.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For thousands, and for thousands of years, the public has been around. For those thousands, of years, they had built society, and work and pacts.

 

One function, one thing, however, hadn’t been done, by the public: the building, hadn’t been used.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the United States, there is a building.

In the conference room, there is the man (a white man) and there is the Randy Crawford woman (a black woman), f*****g;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Randy Crawford-look-a-like woman, who is part of the mysterious conference room, keeping onto her cigar as she f***s, is black.

  By being black, as opposed to white, there is a change. The politics, of the change, is the sexual understanding capacity belonging not to the woman who is black, but, to the man who is f*****g her, who is white.

 

 

 

 

He, the man doing the f*****g, is the first.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the United States, there is a building. Its “not as newness”, is because the building is and was made to be used by the owners (the public).

 

 

 

Against the sea, is where the building lives. The exterior, of the building, features greenery, with a small garden-type of front, headed by a gate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the United States, there is a building. It is for the white male, doing the f*****g: because he is the first.

 

 

 

 

 

The meaning, of the building, is the place where the public fend off the devils.

    The priesthood, and the clergy are the ones who control the public, of the public’s mission to sit down, on the same chair �" to fend off the devils.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the chair

To the chair

In the chair

 

 

 

 

 

The man, is in the chair �" finally.

  He is in the highest room, of the building, the one by the sea, sat.

 

 

 

He is The Sentinel �" precursor, to Alison Parker

 

 

 

 

The Sentinel

The Prequel