The Obedience of a Cult Foundation

Horror, in some fashion, has been a concerning appetite for national disaster awaiting the final hour to conflict with our minds.

Dearest understood traveler, whose aim torments the tortured, and brings peace onto the dead viewed in darkness of blackest intentions. There are some out there, those who condemn the world; awhile others maintain it, and ask that pretense and factor be annihilated onto God---therefore I ask that there be little understanding as I view this darkness, all within the realm of our fiction!

The autumn summer residue started to become irrelevant in the fortune of our character, based in natural elements---a surrounded village pertaining to exist for natures calling, disaster, destruction, and the birth of a proper flame to annihilate the fortress be-known to him since his childhood had but started with a chill tear, or two tears for that matter.

“Whose aim decides the fortune I have made?"

The compromise to exist onto humanities calling, asking, in pretense: ‘Who am I to question the darkness within the human heart, for-width fasted and dead onto leafs tremor-ed into the ending of Summers heat?” I strutted about the ditch, the garbage collection was fantastical to me, even as a child I pronounced these items with greater esteem, and a certain boast of reason did invite certain gleaming understanding.

"Within the walls are concerned little children, all belonging to me for reasons unknown to even me, destined to bring them up from the grave, and invite them into the world for a proper chance at life."

"Some of the villagers wouldn’t understand the basic conception of life, but I do---indeed, I find resurrection a possible occurrence, should the brain revolt, and shock the elements deepened in the shadow of our fourth cornered heart."

"Should the fourth hemisphere of the heart become deliberate, and attracted to the shock system, I shall become known as the brilliance of village abounded entrances founded for opportunity."

“These humans wouldn’t understand the basic principle of human resurrection, wouldn’t their hearts become like that of matter, that which is without shape? Is it cohesive, available, and condescending onto natural abilities granted to me?” I drink-ed, sat down on the cobble stone demanded of me, for the work of tomorrow would become an adventure worth the wait.

“Whose aim indeed, does beset me into a former generation?” I drank from the wine bottle, the red substance surfaced the brain, caused an intellectual hiccup to make certain calls unworthy. I drank once more, the bottle’s base upwards faced towards the heavens, where I shall once more roam onto human intercession and believable contractions.

“Indeed,” I said onto God, with mild testament fornicated into the brain. “I shall know the difference between life and death. I have seen the devil, and have been manipulated from his claws, out-stretched in terrible sounds, visioned with hatred. And to see the cross, the vessel of God onto it, nailed there without content. Sure, I tell oneself, ‘I can make believable advice within the reaches of scientific discovery; still, I do wonder what possibly could escape from such deliberate acts of hectic destruction.”

I lowered my head, thinking deeply, almost as if I were conducting another terrible sound. The sound. Indeed, what an amazement to know this sound. Like the ice of the clouds birthing cold, chilled embrace onto human shoulders, sweat postured on the backside, and chilled ice comparable to the sweat, caused with an effect available to send shivers down one’s spinal column.

“But never the brain stem,” I said. I drank the final remains. “I need to uncover the virtue of love, the kindness of man’s deliberate heart. I shall leave this location, and settle outwards from the deformations and destruction, killing, disturbed humans who denied God, and shall offer them a chance at rehabilitation onto the mental compass I have provided onto them."

"But---,” I hummed a familiar tune from the late sixties which invited morose conduct. I ended the tune with a whistle, blown out of the proportions conducted of the similar embrace of modern mediocrity. “Shouldn’t have ever tuned in on that one!” I mentioned in desire.

I walked downwards the hill. Noticed that several of the men awaiting command were bent in obedience with interests at our next movement onto the world. “Come,” I said, hands stretched towards them in desire for their masculine abilities to adapt, and converse with the women needed to confine and abuse, until their hearts destined love onto a bed, collapsed, and desirable with intentions not known to most humans. “Inwards, brothers and sisters."

"I shall take float onto the clouds, and shall overtake the world without much needed advice to command the lutenists, and commanders shall bestow blessing’s onto the void, and I shall renew that unknown stratification once held in content and, even sometimes, the embodiment of contempt. Now, come ether, and let us take heed of our Messiah onto the world, onto the heavens, and inwards onto the hearts of mankind.”

The men in rebellion stationed their knees further into the deepened burrows of the green hulled grasses, structured in beautiful functions of serene scenes. “Come, fellow brothers. We shall make wedding with the church, and bring back that which was long dead. Our creator, our mentor, the deceiving king. Death shall await further instructions.”

Onto instance, the rain that I had mentioned in the hearts of these men earlier, started to visit us. The hills waves lengthened on structured land, and the wind hobbled in torrents towards our location with demanding enterprise.

“Come, let us find enjoyment before our feast is done.”

At the end of this sentence, I heard the noise of gunfire, the striking of lightning pestered our beauty; fastened, I had known I had become like that of the dead, and had entered onto that void, noticed with pleasant peace, within the deepest structures of the deep.

I am now, in all honest opinion, a dead man.

Convulsed Life.