I breathe heavily into my coat hoping to warm my face as the flaps fold upward forming a shield around my head. The white flaps of my collar of my shirt that is tucked underneath my coat, stick out giving any obvious inquisition of my faith the obvious answer. The cold evening weather bites at the tips of my skin and stings as I attempt to shiver my way deeper inside my enormous puffy winter coat. Nesting my body up against its center in an attempt to bring my temperature up to a bearable position so that I can work up the strength to walk across the street. I always hated the cold, but in some odd and familiar way welcomed it as I knew that somewhere within that cold shiver a tingle of pleasure tickles my spine and soul.

Looking off into the distance I see a river, reflecting the light ever so slightly off the deep crescent of the moon in the midnight sky. A giant smile on the reflection gleaming its glow off the river and into my face, suddenly turns upside down to reveal a frown. A sudden gush of wind from the south picks up in both the chill and intensity from which it blows. The moon, a saddening sight with its lips now drooping and melting off into the distance until finally, it disappears completely.

I reach into my chest where my necklace, fashioned by the cross from which I bear, is the only sense of warmth that I now feel and can touch to bring the temperature back on my body. As if it were some kind of hand warmers, the wooden cross that is connected to my neck vibrates and emits energy so invigorating that it regains my confidence simply by the touch of my hand and the closing of my eyes.

Imagining and praying to my savior deep under my breath as the cross lets me know he stands next to me. Holding me. Comforting me. Protecting me. The sense of fear that once penetrated my thoughts now drifts off into the midnight river, chasing the moon back over the horizon to the only brightness that once shown in the obscurity. My name is Mark Christian and my life is a constant battle between good and evil. I realize the irony in the name as its almost as if I were meant to be a priest and practising my faith to the fullest. But, it is no longer the predisposition that I prescribe any longer.

I have written to the father of my chapel, or as he is known the professor of the Christian college and has decided to pull my studies as I feel the sudden questioning of my faith is a certain sign of the weakness in my heart. It's a decision that has eaten at the core of my soul for many days now as I try to fathom how and why to even live the rest of my life. Suicide seems so simple and soothing that I can welcome it almost indefinitely into the interior of my ideas and inhibitions.

I've imagined it over and over and the numerous scenarios that could bring me to that ultimate ending of death and despair, but I have fought that urge by the pulsating energy of my cross. One simple little cross. One simple little trinket that's kept me breathing and regurgitating my narrative back to you. Now, Father O'Malley wants me to return it, as a final sign and symbol of my surrender to my savior's servitude. It's but a simple wooden cross he keeps saying to me.

But I know better. I know of its inner magic and intense interminglings with the sanctity of my soul and how it has turned me into a zombie for this religion. How it has possessed my mind into believing that imaginary creatures protect and inhabit the nature and natural free will of the reality of the world around me. Although I have treasured it for the entirety of my life I have dreamed of the day that I would be rid of it for good. That is why I could never quite steal it nor return it as my mixed feelings continued to haunt and hover over my conscious menacingly

Salivating in my seditions at the chance to relinquish it back to its creator and spit on the side of its perfect wooden planks. Disgracing it in front of him to show my disdain for his faith and what it has done to me. Professor O'Malley constantly asked on almost a daily basis if the necklace still bore its resting around my neck and was annoyingly persistent about it being in the direct vicinity of my body. Father O'Malley also rather insisted upon I return it upon delivering it to me in the first place as if he somehow prophesied that this day would inevitably come.

Was I simply a student who seemed incapable of keeping track of an inanimate object? I never saw or knew him to be deliberately persistent about questioning the other students about the nature of their wooden cross necklaces. What I did know about him was that he kept a deliberate eye closely fastened to the constant movement and nature of the quality of my life. Where I was going. What I was feeling. How was my faith? It's as if he himself had begun staring directly through my thoughts and my soul and he could see the second-guessing I was developing in my days kept studying at the Christian academy.

I give one long and lonely stare back at the darkness that stands behind me, with shadows of impending weight on my shoulders pressing me on further and further in my escapade of escaping my sanity. I hear nothing but silence and see no movement at all whatsoever, but for the streaming water slightly passing on subliminally and making it's slow crawl to its downhill emptying point far off in the horizon.

My hands tremble just as the same as the cross now vibrating around the edges of my neck as I reach up to the door handle and pull on it quite slowly, hoping and praying that it might be locked and that my journey would end here. The door is unlocked and upon this immediate realization my heart drops down deep into the bottom of my stomach as the inescapable moment I had always known and cringed waited just a few moments away.


Arriving inside, I gander around and focus myself trying to gather my demur as I reach my arm out into the darkness of the non-lit room stretching my sense of touch and my inner feelings around to feel for any signs of life or possible path that would be best to begin taking as I take my first step into in past the doorway. The smell is raucous and similar to that of an old tomb that had been abandoned for years and reeks of musty and old books mixed with the overwhelming stench of dried leather.

I'm not sure if by some curious twitch I felt the urge to double-check my necklace to make sure it was still made of leather that wrapped around the wooden cross. It had rested across my neck for nearly three years and of course, I knew deep within the recesses of my mind that it was, of course, the same sleek and slender black leather that it had always been. Some overwhelming urge to reassure me of this very notion was coursing through my veins and with an almost non-thought committed knee jerk reaction my mind had forced itself to react upon it.

I lept forward, splurging my body and mind through the doorway and entering into whatever fate and fortitude that I may encounter. The door slowly closes and locks behind me as its weight comes pulling the hinges with its massive metal locks surrounding the heavy wooden door. The fact that it closed so quickly was not of disturbing nature, but rather the fact that if I could hear it locking on its own accord was what really stimied my senses.

A cold chill, swallowing my surroundings inside a room in which I can see no light. No objects or walls to touch or help guide my way as I move onward one foot slowly stepping in front of the other. Lightly tapping the ground before each step and testing the lengths of my boundaries wandering aimlessly in the pitch dark. My heart, tearing itself through my chest and pounding more and more vigorously with each passing moment. My legs, shaking and quivering like a crack fiend going through withdrawal. My mind, racing and reminding itself of all the memories I had once had growing up. Childhood was my only form of solace, and I wish now that I could go back to that time when ignorance was bliss.

When my life could be full of free thoughts and interactions could be interbred into my overwhelming curiosity as love and life could be found in the simplest of things and the easiest of ways. Happiness was a thing you could keep in your pockets and pull out and play with it whenever you so desired. Whereas today, I seek jubilation in a single piece of wood that hangs harmoniously around my neck. I can no longer resist as the smell of leather grows more and fainter, and the distinguished smell of rotting meat now suffices within its place. Pestering my nasal cavities and sickening my stomach. I must flee this evil place and I must do it quickly. The church insists on capturing my soul and tormenting me into a life of solitude in its service!

I will not be a slave to faith! I will not give my gracious to god! I shall overcome the power and escape this encrypted tomb of the total twilight zone experience. I turn around, tracing my footsteps backward one foot in front of the other. Cautious as before, and as I am always known to have been in the existence of my life! I count my steps as a horrific conclusion now comes to my realization. The door should be here? I have taken twice as many steps back towards the door from which I came. I smell the pungent order of rotting meat growing and now burns the hair on my nostrils with its sticky and wet texture so throbbing itself deep into my sense of smell that my sense of touch can almost feel it too. Where was the smell of leather? More importantly, where is that fucking door from which I came!

I reach out and begin flailing my arms outward into the darkness. Swinging and swaying them back and forth as if trying to put on a tight sweater, punching the air like some kind of prizefighter, but to no avail is any object or end! My feet have deceived me and by a form of jealousy as my mind feels as if it's playing tricks on me. I remove my coat and toss it off somewhere in the distance as the heat now swells and penetrates my pores causing me to sweat in massive amounts of uncontrollable pools gathering inside the cracks of my skin.

The progress of my pace now increases as I begin to quicken my steps and become desperate for answers as to my surroundings and how they could have become so warped. I now break off into a full-blown sprint, launching my feet now one foot in front of the other with little care or caution what may end up in front of them. I was now so scared and bewildered by the magnificent magic that had been played on my mind and had caused me to question the very existence of my life as thoughts of death and the afterlife is the only answers my brain can seem to wrap around all this.

My priest collar rubbing and digging into the sides of my neck, slapping me and leaving thick welts on both my right and left side as my racing pace has somehow turned them practically into wings that refuse to work and help fly me the hell out of here! My dress shoes are next to go, as I pause momentarily to stop and remove them in as quick of a manner as I can. Huffing, puffing, and wheezing, but yet still anxious to take them off and curiously go off exploring exponentially back into the darkness.

As I take off running once again, it is within only a few steps that my black dress socks can not helplessly remove themselves from my feet. I remove my pants followed with my underwear shortly thereafter, as the restriction of my dress slacks has caused concern with my ability to run at a full-blown scurry. I'm brought back up to speed at my fast-paced trot once again as my undershirt is the next of my clothing yet to go. Pulling and yanking at every button as beads of sweat pour down my face and chest and go flying off my body into all different directions in the darkness. Finally, I give up on the buttons and just tear the shirt off my body as if I were about to engage in the bounds of endless love with a woman about to begin an erotic skirmish with.

The final piece of clothing is the priest collar that I was given by Father O'Malley on orientation day along with my wooden necklace. It is the symbol of my faith and the fervor of my life for the past three years. It was my everything and now I was tossing it off from around my neck like a child tossing a candy wrapper out into the wind after unwrapping it. I am no longer scared. I am no longer a slave. I am free! I continue running at an incredible clip, I toss back my hair as it goes thrashing and whipping behind me as if I were riding on a motorcycle without a helmet.

I reach for the wooden necklace, if any there were a time I would finally have build up the courage to finally rid myself of it, that would certainly be now! I feel for it from around my neck and after a few frantic grabs of not finding it, my hand eventually retrieves it from around the back of my neck. The speed at which I have now reached running forward aimlessly into the dark is of unspeakable and unimaginable uncertainty. At any moment I could run into a wall and shatter both the tips of my toes and the front end of my skull.

I have already arrived at the conclusion of that possibility as being unlikely, as I have given into the madness of the entire situation. I have now given over to the reality that I have completely lost my sanity and that I was never going to ever get it back. As I initially attempt to unravel the necklace from around my neck am I abruptly interrupted by some commotion far off in the distance behind me.

A startling scream of immense fright and intensity comes emancipating from far behind me, causing an earthquake inside my eardrums. Frozen with fear as the erroneous noise was certainly unsuspected, I had summoned to the sinister fate that I was forever and always going to be alone and would see or hear nothing forevermore. I had prescribed to the notion that I would be running forever in purgatory in the pitch-black nothingness. None the less, with this noise now an apparent absolution of my reality, I can do nothing but focus my mind on discovering what it may be and whether or not I should fear it.

My immediate thought is that it is something that I should avoid, as its cries of complete terror make it most certainly something that is undesirable to be sought out. It had chosen the perfect timing to interrupt my forward progress, as I was just about to discard the poisoning piece of wood that was welding itself and burying its outline into the center of my chest for three years now. As if it were some distant master making its final call to claim its prize for its own once again.

Thinking that to myself, I can remember a time when Father O'Malley a few years ago when I first arrived at the Christian academy, had been spending time with one of his nuns in the privacy of his office. I heard a scream of similar proportions and sound made, and as I quickly made haste to discover the commotion I was greeted to a scene of sudden fright. The nun had sacrificed herself and given herself to her maker through suicide as a blade sliced her neck in half and bled her dark red plasma all over the floor.

I watched as Father O'Malley blessed her upon the immediate falling to her knees. Initially, he did not see me and then rushed to push me away when he had discovered this dark little secret. 'Hell is a horrible place' he said staring deeply into my eyes and caressing me across my face while pulling me off into another room. I still can remember the smell and intensity of his breath as it lured grievously over my shoulder. Incredibly rancid and hoarse as his voice whispered lightly into my left ear.

Father O'Malley -- "Give yourself to god my good boy, and he will walk with you for all eternity."

I turn around to find my former mentor and father figures face, hovering intensely before my very eyes and speaking to me in the same cold and calculating manner as he always had.


Unknown Soldier stands in the center of a stage with nothing but one black stool sitting directly behind him. On top of this stool is a tall black top hat and nothing more. He picks up the hat and brings it up to his face and then sticking his hand inside reaching around to find something. Sticking his hands down the hat and reaching into a black hole that appears to engulf more of his arm that seems physically possible as the length of the hat in size can certainly not contain the length of his arm that has been inserted inside the hat.

Unknown Soldier: "I've decided that I'm going to play spin the tail on the donkey with my speech subjects for the daily recap for all my SATAN! loving sadomasochists this evening! It can't be any more different and random then the thoughts that just come flailing out the mouth of my jack ass opponent."

He pulls a card out of the hat and brings it to his face.

Unknown Soldier: : "MATCH STIPULATIONS! You know what, no! I've heard him ramble on for so much now about match stipulations that I can hardly stand it. The proof is in the pudding and he can try and tell us all how much he's trolled me by not seeing it the first time, but his actions speak differently. He's an idiot with excuses, everyone knows and can see that as it's been his schtick for years. The only way he could actually troll us all is by admitting that he's purposely making people look superior to him on purpose so that he can troll them.

Missed match stipulations. Getting his opponent's name wrong? T-shirts with Peter Gilmour sayings on them that make no relevant sense? I think most everyone who is anyone can realize how fucking stupid that sounds! You trolled us all by actually proving you're dumber than you actually lead everyone on to believe. Congratulations! That's the same type of trolling Scatbear does when he's browsing for ladies on EHarmony.com. You think he's trying to get a reaction out of people by making a complete ass out of himself by wearing a shit-filled condom dress and asking girls and boys if he looks good in it!"

He reaches in once again and pulls out another card out of the magical top hat of endless depths and holding an endless supply of these cards.

Unknown Soldier: "REPETITION! The more you keep rambling on about your enlarged ego reminds me of a lot of Barney Greens enlarged prostate. It just keeps going on and on and on and on forever. You can't really convince yourself that everything that keeps coming out of your mouth is something creative and unique when your busy re-hashing and recycling the same rhetoric we've heard from day one up until now.

If you keep barking at me about this and saying that everyone else has been saying the same things about you, then don't you think it's time you put the pieces of the puzzle together and realize that maybe it's time to admit that it's not just an underestimation? When a pack of witnesses is staring at a lineup of criminals and every single one of them is pointing at the same one, don't you think it's obvious who is the culprit?"

He tosses the hat in the corner of the room and then this time reaches up to his ass and pulls out another card.

Unknown Soldier: "YOUR NAME! Chris Page! There you go I said it! I was trolling you the entire time! HaHa! Do you see the irony in all of that, Chronic? I trolled you good you fucker!? Just go ask Richard Main!"

He shoves the card back up his ass and lets out a little yelp before the scene cuts to black.