Richard Fortune spent his early years with his Aunt in Macon, Georgia. It was a typical hard core racist town, in a ghetto filled with the descendants of slaves, who were shut out of the mainstream of America. Otis Redding and Little Richard lived a few blocks north of Richard Fortune, and he met Little Richard in front of his house one day as he was walking home on Grants Chapel Alley, a dirty clay road that passed his home behind the fire department.
Richard Fortune also had certain medical problems which allowed him to receive dreams, the kind that would grab you and shake you to your soul. But after the messages were delivered there were no more dreams of the end of days.
“I began having dreams around 6 years of age, strange dreams that affected only me, night after night. I dreaded going to sleep because it was real and frightening. The first time I found myself in downtown Macon, an old town in the heart of Georgia. There was no joy in the town. I could feel the hatred in the air. With the air came the smells of grease and food that consisted of fat with a little meat. Added to that was the dust from the brickyard and the powerful smokestacks from the paper mill.
In this first trip into my dream, I found myself in an alley of Macon with no jacket but the clouds were thick and I was cold as the snow flurries were blown about. I leaned up against the old bricks, some dating back to the Civil War. I was looking for a way out. I walked around the town and saw no one. I continued up the hills where people lived but all the lights were out. I wandered around. I had a feeling of dread. I was alone.
Then I awoke. I pondered awhile. Hoping that was the end of it. I never talked with my Aunt because she was also superstitious and would have her friends over to have seances, talking to Jesus to save someone that needed saving.
The dreams continued but the next series found me on Second Street walking toward downtown at the bottom of a hill. I made a turn right on Poplar Street to a dead end, then a left toward the train station next to the tracks. The station was an immense structure of concrete and glass, like a mausoleum. (COLORED WAITING ROOM.)
There was a series of large doors to the entrance. No one was around and I didn’t open them. I saw another door next to the others. The sign above it read COLORED WAITING ROOM. I went in and looked around. All the ticket windows were shut and there was no sound. I clapped my hands and could hear the echo throughout the empty building. I walked down the steps below and there were no trains, including the NANCY HANKS, which carried people to Atlanta, but the passengers were nowhere to be seen. I walked north along the tracks, pass the loading docks, then across the tracks to the Fair grounds where the circus was in town. I could see the ferris wheel and other rides. There was a booth selling cotton candy but no one was there to make any. The barns where the livestock would be for judging was there but the animals were all gone. (Click on image.)
I left the circus grounds and turned toward the Ocmulgee River, a mass of dirty water where the fish where mutants, huge and covered with cancerous sores. If you ate them or any fish in any tributary of the river, they tasted of kerosene since Warner Robins Air Force Base, south of Macon, most likely sometimes let fuel seep into the creeks and swampland nearby. As I approached the bridge , I woke up.
These trips into my nightmares left me with the understanding that no one, nothing, no animals, no living creature was left but me on the earth. Is that all, I wondered. I found out that soon more dreams would be visiting me. And they did.
I dreamed that I was in a field and it was dark but some faint light was illuminating objects around me. It was black, but I could see some faint light above in the heavens around me but no source was available. I could see no life, no trees, no flowers, no houses or buildings of any kind.
I looked around and saw a man standing there. He was wearing a long coat and a fedora on his head. I asked him his name. Silence. I asked him again and then he raised a sword and ran toward me. I began to run as fast as I could with no destination. He seemed to be closing in but I ran even faster. I looked back and his coat fell open.
There was no clothing on him. He was nothing more than a skeleton. But he was gaining on me. I saw mounds of dirt on a bare ground field as far as I could see. I had no destination, just to get away. He continued to close on me.
As I looked back, it would swing his sword ever closer. Then it stopped. I awoke, puzzled. Was that the end? I soon found out that it wasn’t. It persisted, night after night, the exact same dream. I didn’t count how long the nightmares lasted but they had to be for months. I was deeply depressed. Why is this happening to me? When will it end?
This all began in 1951 but finally, I had found a way out. At least I would give it a try and think about what I could do to stop this. I decided to begin the chase again, once I fell asleep. But this time I would stop the chase. A show down would be the correct term. I would confront God and beg him to stop the killer.
I didn’t know if it would work but I went to sleep, thinking about my mission. It was in my thoughts the whole day. When I fell asleep that night, the dream appeared again, but I had nothing on my mind but my goal for victory—or death.
And once again, the chase was on, over what I thought were graves. The skeleton was in pursuit, swinging its sword. But as we ran through the fields of death, I stopped suddenly. I looked up at the Heavens and shouted, “God. Help me, please!”
I looked around and Death had disappeared for me, for now anyway. And from that day on, the nightmares ended. But the message was clear for me. The complete end of life on earth. The end of days. All the signs were there.
NOTE. This message is from Richard only and no one else.
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