Chapter Twenty Six: Denial, Denial, Denial

It was his first time to feel this kind of urge, a thirst for blood, and a motivation to kill. He wasn't aware of these emotions before, and now it seems to haunt him like never in the past, persecuting him for his long-held philosophical tradition that accompanies his precious talent as a very capable Illustrator.

Of course, he is resisting this murderous urge, which is very similar to the tumultuous torment of being addicted to an illicit substance.

He said no to it several times, but it is not planning in backing down any time soon. It was as if the urge is alive, lurking inside of him, consuming him, manipulatimg his senses, worshipping his flesh by giving it an outstanding pleasure, i.e., an indescribable lust for blood, and giving him the false sense of enormous power.

All of these things occur to him in different sensations that glorify his flesh in a manner that is too enjoyable, which then makes it an extremely addicting experience. As his body shifts when he was invoking his Illustrator skills, he felt as if his mind is being controlled by something else. Undeniably, pleasure dictates the rhythm of his strength.

But the more he was trying to escape from the claws of this lusting command to kill, and produce the painful result of death, the more he was being led to appeal that he was a victim of the circumstances of the past; he was also effectively coached to believe that those lies about the fairness of the world is a syndicated attempt to oppress the liberation of the human flesh from established authority that limits the very foundation of the soul.

There was an instinct being implanted in his mind at those episodic instances where the soul requires total freedom from the slavery brought forth by the ultimate consequence of numerous historical wrongs.

It was this invisible thing occupying his intellect that is urging him to take action and open up the possibilities of putting the machinations of death towards the rightful liberation ftom the incarceration instigated by illegitimate forms of tyrannical authority.

Death is a necessary tool, and it is indispensible.

So, what is the truth, exactly?

The truth is nothing but an ill-fated concept designed to deceive the world into willful obedience. It was all about the denial of wealth and the value chain accruing mostly to labor, a terrible scam that was the painful result of an ignorant, and authoritative, submission to the will of the ruling class.

He was being led on straight to it; slowly, but methodically.

A perfected value, not cheap wages, it must be.

However, he was still denying the necessity of death no matter what, and he cannot make himself any more denials. Whatever it is that is occupying him, the denial he desperately compels himself to believe is only making matters so much worse for his inner peace.

For in the long run, something's gotta give. A breaking point shall emerge, the final straw that broke the camel's back, and then it will be freed from all responsibilities.

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