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Unknown Soldier · (10-26-2016)

Curiosity is an embedded frequency of mental correlations buried deep within the recesses of the mind, and is used as a sentiment of yearning to spark interest in the search for knowledge and the thirst for an understanding of our existence that we've grown to love, for as long as the realm of everlasting existence and superficial being allowed anyone to exist [inside] of it. While passion can be a driving dynamism in bringing curious facts about the reality of what the things we smell, the things we see, and the things we hear to the forefront of colloquy and the infatuation discussed in the aforementioned sentiment.

For it is but fear, in fact, that is a far most masterfully superior incentive; or so it would compare to the simply lackluster looming feelings of simple lust. For only it can bring transient thoughts before us, and make even the most inquisitive one's inquire about their current customs, and even some of those few to think deeply and aspire about their own creation in and of themselves. It is to this very thought that brings me to this very day. It is [inside] the search for the formulation of my own fears where I lost my own mind. Where in it is deeply tucked back in the corners of the void darkness that I can only assume to be a maze of infinity built by the manufacturing of my own Madness.

I now know how the combination of the two polar opposite feelings can subsequently play out intermingling inside the sanity of my own thoughts [inside] my head, dancing together and pulling my emotional state in two directions completely contradictory the other.

Lust -- Carnal desires to fulfill ones fantasies and most sought after dreams.

Fear -- It is only for that for which is left Unknown for us to fear. For if we know for it to exist, then our mind can escape it's wonderment of unfathomable horrifying possibilities.

The counterbalance of the two is a constant struggle to cope, because of the curious nature they both bring to my life and my utmost fascination with fear that projects itself outwardly from my own imagination. Being a former man as a member of the white cloth, I can concede that my visions of grandeur were kept private, but in return, that may have made them all the more curious and destructive. It drives me completely insane, yet, at the same time keeps me collectively keen and sharp about my wits. My own intelligence has lead me to compile a hypothesis as to why I have come to present myself before you in the fashion of mental strain that I am in today.

As a former priest, I was of course attracted to the Unknown and everything I could possibly learn about it. I spent my entire life seeking out the answers to the Unknown, and to which it's conception may have been prescribed vigintillions of years ago, unbeknownst to even the wisest of religious and scientific scholars. The meaning of life was a constant question to us clergymen, especially in times of confession. In fact, it is within the confessions of one particular man on one particular day in one particular booth that brought me to the heinous conclusions that I prescribed just earlier.

There was nothing too abnormal of this man; albeit, as one can most assuredly assume given the circumstances, that I wasn't able to get a very distinguishable look at him behind the thick black mahogany wall. Separating the two of us and leaving a barrier of minute secrecy. I say minute, because the obvious depiction of ones particular voice as it travels past our vocal chords is perfect evidence of their known identity. By this method, I was usually able to depict the identification of the person from the voice emancipating from the opposite side. Still within him lay a product of mystery as the bawling of his speech left me both petrified and mystified reciprocally. I had never heard him or anything like this voice in my past, and assumed the exact same scenario prevailed for him as well about mine self.

Of his age, stature, and attire I have no description, or even a means of how to comprehend how the man portrayed or carried himself. He very well could have not even been of this world, as he made no sound upon entering the booth opposite mine for confession. Alarming me quite abruptly at first, as I was bestowed upon for many hours prior in complete silence. I would have not known of his prescience at all, if it were not but for the low bellowing words that escaped his lips whilst he spoke and raised my head from it's bible, to which, I had my most immediate attention buried deep [inside] at that very moment.

Peering between the holes that allowed for a whispering conversation between the two booths, I attempted to gain even the slightest glare of the man protruding the braying sounds that captured my ears. It may have been just for a shadow, but out of the corner of mines eye I could have sworn I caught the glimpse of a pair of hooves protruding from the bottom of his feet, for which whose shins connected to what appeared to be human flesh. As quick as the vision flashed before my eyes it disappeared twice as fast, the disturbing images of the Unknown although curiously attract one in, they can disproportionately grotesque and displease one to dismiss them twice as fast. I may have closed my eyes in this instant of terror, although most likely my lone burning candle in my own booth had extinguished upon it's own means.

A chilling draft that suddenly overcame the entirety of the [inside] of my body, was expounded upon and made more unpleasant by the increase in temperature that seemed to occupy the immediate air surrounding me. Staring back between the holes once again, I attempt to call out to this man inspiring him to give a response, so as I can begin the ritual of absolving him of his sins. A moment in time passes for what seems like hours in blank darkness and silence, before my attention is yet again alerted by my candle sparking back up it's flame out of it's own accord.

Light has returned, but a message has been sent as over the holes between the only connection in the two booths was placed a piece of paper. I was quite certain that the man holding this paper against the holes was doing it purposely, to avoid myself making any sort of eye contact with his true and natural being. Most likely as a causal reaction to my initial curiosity peering [inside] his half of the booth. It was not of his will to keep his identity hidden that aroused my suspicions of him, for many before in time of confession have held up barriers to keep from mine eyes glaring upon the faces of those standing opposite me. It was but for the inscription of a sign stenciled on the side of the paper that insisted my attention. He pressed it up fiercely to the holes most likely intent upon myself making notice of it.

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I now leaned in peering closely at the symbol and listening to his howling diction as he pronounced words and phrases in a cackling overture of humming and hissing. He spoke of a coming of the dark lord, and that soon his master would speak out to the world and put to shame those who trespass against him. It is within these first few moments that I knew an agent of the most evil adversary had stumbled at the very foot of my door step. Seeking to threaten and dispel my prayers against him in my many, many years operating [inside] this plain of existence.

But I do not fret while standing before the imminent fear that is the ultimate shadow of death. I am but rather, driven by most curious of nature of the Unknown and intrigued by his words as he spoke to me more vividly with each passing syllable. Whether that be his intended intention as my attention grew more upon the passing of each and every word he spoke, or if it were a mesmerizing trick he may have been playing on me, it had none the less worked.

He spoke that his master would appear and speak before the world, taking the form of the most wretched form of filth seen upon the eyes of any and all of mankind. The stars and the moon had aligned perfectly, and the many rituals in the cults and demonic underbellies of the [inside] world had sacrificed everything at the sake of his forthcoming. The time of his appearance had been a vestige and unequivocal anomaly, since it is only by the decision of his master that he take mercy upon the souls of the unworthy, appearing to everyone out of his own free will. This is for why his message to me was not for but a warning, rather it was for a chance to meet my curiosity face to face. To meet the Unknown fears of my past, present, and future. To see the coming of his master, otherwise known as the shadows of my most deepest and darkest nightmares.

He then took his leave, and it was in the most swift and fascinating way as un-humanly possible. It was as if a giant mass of darkness, darker than the black of night, slithered it's way out of the booth and slowly drained it's way up and out of the cracks between the door way. Back out of sight, sound, and mind forever. I dare not make exit of the booth and chase after this demonic prescience, for I have now come to realize that it is not his existence that longer baffles me as I toss and turn trying to drift off to sleep at nights. But rather, it is his words that he spoke and the message he delivered, that continue to tear my soul to pieces and drive my mind further into Manufacturing the Madness that drives me to speak to you. Whether my words can be heard while spoken through the calm darkness of the void that I now speak or not. I can at least give a testimonial to my trials and tribulations, in order to help get the timeless ticking of my sanity past the point of it's final tock.

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