The Foundation
The philanthropic organization known as The Meridian Foundation was renowned for its Legacy Program. They sought out individuals from humble backgrounds who showed extraordinary but untapped potential like artists, scientists, writers. They offered a full-ride scholarship, a generous stipend, and mentorship from the best in their field. The catch was a single, strange clause: upon acceptance of the grant, the recipient had to sign a voluminous legal document and submit a vial of blood for a genetic aptitude screening.
The recipients flourished. Their talent, once raw, was polished to a dazzling brilliance. A painter named Elena, plucked from a dead-end job, produced masterpieces that seemed to capture the human soul. A physicist, Ben, made breakthroughs that should have taken a lifetime.
They never questioned the occasional strange side effects. The vivid, shared dreams of a beautiful, sun-drenched garden. The feeling of being watched by a benevolent presence. The deep, unwavering loyalty they felt to their anonymous benefactors at the Foundation.
The truth was in the paperwork they never properly read, written in arcane legal and Latin terms. They hadn't signed a scholarship form; they had signed a metaphysical lease agreement. The blood sample wasn't for genetic screening; it was a sympathetic link, a focus for a ancient ritual.
The Foundation's board members were not philanthropists. They were ancient, wealthy souls who had long ago exhausted their own creativity and vitality. The Legacy Program was a farm. The "mentorship" was a process of subtly shaping the recipient's talent, pruning it to the board's specific tastes. The "stipend" was a nutrient feed. And the recipients were the soil.
The board members would gather in a sealed chamber beneath the Foundation's headquarters. They would use the blood, the signed contract (a modern-day Faustian bargain), and complex rites to syphon the very essence of the recipient's talent and life force. They didn't steal ideas; they stole the capacity for genius. Elena's stunning creativity flowed into the board's chairman, an old man who now painted with the vigor of a young master. Ben's analytical brilliance fortified the mind of a former industrialist, allowing him to solve complex problems with ease.
The recipients were left physically and spiritually depleted. They believed the burnout, the sudden inability to create, was the price of their earlier success. They lived out their lives as quiet, hollowed-out shells, forever grateful for the one brilliant moment the Foundation had "given" them, never knowing it was the Foundation that had taken everything else. The cycle continued, generation after generation, the world marveling at the sudden, bright flames of genius, never seeing the ancient, parasitic hands that fed on them.
Post a Comment