The Book of Madness: Issue (666)

The Book of Madness: Issue (666) - Printable Version

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The Book of Madness: Issue (666) - Unknown Soldier - 04-20-2016

--- 3 --- Murder With ME! --- 3 ---

I can feel the blood beginning to boil starting in the tips of my fingers and shooting itself through my veins and throughout my entire body. I've suddenly become more focused and invigorated in my entire life. It oddly reminded me of the time I took my first hit. Finally, the stream of hate flows into my heart and encompasses it with immense rage. Burning a scar deep inside my soul as hot as the coals burning at the center of a fire. My eyes proceed to twitch and my knees begin to shake; however, with this immense convergence of conscious thought now overtaking my vision I am easily able to shake off the last remaining remnants of dizziness I was having. Courtesy of that fat tub of lard who threw his fat fucking paw at me. Speaking of the devil, I can feel the same presence loitering around the aura of my near vicinity that I felt earlier while kneeling before the statue.

It now speaks and commands me, to which I reciprocate by leaping like an acrobatic cat towards the lamp stand between the two bed frames in my hotel room. Underneath the shining blade sits not only a bible, but the key to my hotel room, which of course reads 666. I walked into some kind of trance that took me back and forth from here which ironically was just walking down the same path same path times two times two. Was I perhaps tripping out, hypnotized, or my most inclined to now feel and fear. Possessed? I wield the blade in my right hand, whilst fidgeting from either the drug withdrawal or angered fueled adrenaline rush, or perhaps a mixture of the two. The horrific reflection of my deranged face trembles staring back at me coldly with the darkest of black shadows in my eyes. My target sees no threat as his back is turned while he hovers his head down into his chest perhaps using his cell phone. A thought runs through my head that he is perhaps counting money.

This of course brings my anger into a peak climax and then encourages me to enact the request of the spirits procuring me by goring that blubbering blob with the tip of my blade into his backside. Swiftly it cuts as its sharpness is significant. I lean on the back end of the knife sliding it's smooth surface through two sides of lard and wedging itself behind a thick clunking entanglement of bone that I can only assume to be his ribs. A desperate sigh escapes his body as the collapsing lungs fight for their last breath of air. I neither notice nor feel the blood seeping itself around my fingertips. I instead would rather concentrate my energy by channeling my indefinite rage into a tornado of stabbing attacks, spewing blood everywhere including an eruption of it directly at my face. At the very tips of the nerve endings off the edge of my lips I can taste its dry and chalky sensation which I for some reason savor very much at the moment.

I can only imagine this delightful little splash on the edge of my sensationalism is a product of my new found inner demons of my own insanity. I can affirm that my mind is lost as I feel my victim go completely limp and fall to one knee at first. Then completely giving way and collapsing on the floor. I proceed to mount him and continue thrusting my blade inside him the same way he thrust himself inside me just minutes earlier. My body does eventually give in to stamina which causes me to flop over backwards on the floor so that I am now facing the ceiling with my no longer breathing, but still bleeding dead victim right next to me. A small chuckle turns in to an all out rip roaring laughter carrying out my lungs and through my mouth. Sending more air out of them with the increased volume and intensity of laughter to the point where it begins to hurt.

My eyes turn to face and look into his as both are heads turn to look at one another in a very coincidental sort of fashion. I close my eyes and lock lips with him once again, tasting the dark wetness of his saliva mixed heavily with his own blood. When I open them again, I am once again affirmed that I am construed in my own world of Madness as I see myself kneeling before the statue of the holy mother, back inside the church once again. I feel a smile come across my face and a joy in the sickness in my sanity become one with me and accept it. I look down at my hands to see them still covered in blood and I think to myself. Where can I score my next hit?

The new scene comes into focus as we see Unknown Soldier peeling a banana once again in some dark alley way. He tosses the banana over his shoulder and proceeds to eat the skin while delivering yet another SATAN! sermon.

Unknown Soldier: "I used to think that John Black just spoke nonsense or an even more

version of ebonics. That was until the other night when I watched Shade come out here and cut a promo. That was when I realized that the two might actually be speaking in the same language. Mushmouth. You see, I'm not even going to begin deciphering that giant turd of a promo that Shade came out here and laid in front of the whole XWF audience. In comparison to turd and your promos, you just laid a Barney Green sized stool. You want to know why I have little to nothing to say to this inferior creature? Because I don't speak mushmouth, so I don't think he'd even understand me. I'm thinking the only thing this masked crusading little maggot is going to understand is when I put my fist up his ass and through his mouth. Making this punk my personal puppet! Is Shade really just John Black under that mask? Is he from some kind of computer program from the future? Is he a fucking alien? Who the fuck knows with whatever language he's speaking. For SATAN! sake, Peter Gilmour is giving this guy speech impediment lessons and everyone knows full and well about plenty of his little blunders. Dong worship? Anyone?"

Unknown Soldier: "Blah blah blah. That's all this little corn hole could hear me say, so he says from what I at least tried to comprehend. Well, even if that were true it would still make more sense then anything he had to say. In fact, I probably could come out here and cut complete gibberish for the entire length of a Makaveli promo and just throw in a few Hail SATAN! here and there and my promos would still get more people comprehending them then his. It's not even sad or pathetic anymore, it's down right despicable! You should be ashamed of yourself Shade and you should get your act together. Because if your wrestling ability resembles anything close to your ability to form a coherent sentence, then your in for a hell of a lot of trouble tomorrow night. That's what happens when you little tadpoles come and try to swim with the great white shark. You get swallowed up whole like the lesser little pieces of scraps that you are. This foot clan looking fuck bag married some girl named Hope. Well if that isn't the absolute most perfect definition of irony I've ever seen then I don't know what else is!"

Soldier throws the last few bites of banana peel in front of him. Three steps later he steps on this same exact peel and takes a heavy tumble on the ground. Scene fades out to an awkwardly long cut of Soldier laying in the middle of the alley unconscious.