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Who is Methuselah Jackson?

Never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word – Methuselah Jackson, Chief Curator of the Merlin Society has begun a series of videos, in his attempt to record the wisdom of the ages, for prosperity and the elucidation of the modern youth – for the youth must know these things…good ol’ Methuselah…

“The tv screen pings on.  First it raises from black, to static grey, and finally a picture blurs into life.  A few more seconds of adjusting and the picture becomes clear – it is a man, sitting on a couch, with a small wooden table on his left.  A glass of water and a spread pile of books completely cover the tabletop.

The man’s suit is textured, green and brown tweed, and his grey beard falls majestically onto the chest of his waist coat.

He adjusts his seat, self-consciously, runs a hand across a balding grey head, and he looks at the camera.

“Testing, testing…” he says in a voice of raspy timber.

“Damn it Dad, you know this thing works!  We’ve already tested it. Just start your lines and I’ll edit later.”

He nods, “Sure son, sure thing.”

Then, the old man looks up at the screen, powerful in his gaze, steady in his breathing.  As he looks up, his chest is broader, than what it first may have seemed.  This is a physically powerful man.

“Greetings viewers.  Auspicious tidings to all who may be watching this – my name is Methuzelah Jackson, and I am the Chief Curator and High Mage of the Merlin society.”

“Really Dad?  You have to remind them you’re the High Mage of the society? You get such a kick out of that – like you’re the next Merlin.  Really”

Methuzelah sighed,

“Jasper, you will be editing this right?”

A bobble of movement behind the camera.

“Good.  Make sure you edit out that last outburst. Understood?”

“But…”

“Understood!”  He raised his voice, and his bushy eyebrows narrowed like the clash of two thunderclouds.

A petulant sigh. “Ok.”

“So, we go on. Today is part 1 in a series where we look at the genuine history of the world, as far as we know it.  It may not be the ultimate in terms of being total truth – but I assure you that it is as true as we know things to be – at this present space and time.

As I said, I am Methuselah Jackson, and I will be your guide through,” pause for effect, “the real, History of the world!”

***

Methuselah Jackson walks through the local zoo, alongside the chimpanzee enclosure.  He pauses, and glances casually at the Chimpanzees at play.  He points a hand at them and turns to look at the camera.

“So we have known, as humans, that we have a common ancestor with the ape, and a great example of that, is the Chimpanzee that we see before us – over 98% of our DNA is identical, and the similarities would be difficult for even the most ardent denier to dismiss.

But what if I told you,” He points a thick finger at the camera, “that you have a genetic ancestor – in fact, a number of genetic ancestors – who are far closer to you in genetic heritage than the ape or chimpanzee, and you have most likely already have met them… and did not even know it!

That’s right.  Contrary to what they teach in the halls of the learned, the books of the ancients teach us that three hundred thousand years ago, Homo Sapiens developed, and walked their way out into Mankind’s first civilizations. These are our most direct ancestors, and they lived alongside Homo Neanderthal, Homo Habilis, the Denisovans, Homo Erectus, Momo Floresiensis, to name a few. By about fifty thousand years ago, conventional wisdom tells us that there was only one group that remained Homo Sapiens – modern humans as we know them ‘Wise man’ as it translates from the Greek. Through war, inter-breeding, social organization and environmental calamity, we ended up being the only ones left… or were we?

It turns out, that we are not alone.  We never have been.  Alongside Homo Sapiens, when they emerged those hundreds of thousands of years ago, there was also, the Homo Adeptus, and their close relations, the Homo Fey.

Now why have I never heard of these in the history books, you might ask yourself.  The answer is simple – because the history books don’t know.  At least, yours don’t.”

The screen cuts in a poor edit, and flicks over to a pile of ancient books in a room that is poorly lit.  The covers are brown and musty, the desktop is lined in purple velvet, and there is barely enough space on the desktop for dust to fall, without landing on a tome.  Methuselah walks on screen and lovingly places his hand on the giant tome at the front of the table.  His thick fingers caress the three-foot tall, two foot wide, and almost 8 inches thick, brown and deep red book as though it held great meaning for him.

With some reverence, he continued… “We seek to know, and know we shall…Behold, the Great tome of Akhti Shakthuri”

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