Veritas, p.1

  Veritas, p.1


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  Jack Plues


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  This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, characters, and places are products of the author's imagination, and are used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Her children cried when she shoved them through the door and left them snivelling. I watched from the square in front of their school eating a Hippy Hot Dog smothered in Voodoo sauce that lit my mind and watered my calculating eyes. I was there to deal with Deborah, she was one of them.

  She strode confidently by on spiked high heels through the morning traffic of lesser sheep, wearing elegant skin on a perfect bone structure that supported an expensive outfit tailored to advertise success and the affluence of money and power. Respectful men toyed with dirty thoughts as she passed their craving and sly leers, leaving them to bathe in a lingering scent of mystical pheromones that occasionally titillated their libidos throughout the dreariness of their working day.

  The mingling of arrogance, oblivious cockiness and a brazen dash of invincibility proved the cocktail that led her to fall into my violent clutch, rendering her self-importance invalid as she fell, spitting hatred wrapped in unladylike profanity that ricocheted off my armor of righteous jurisdiction.

  When I had completed the gruesome, yet necessary task, her splendor and allure lay deformed and dead, brutalized and tossed into a fluorescent dumpster behind a bakery shop, just another tart amongst the other ruined pastries.

  She deserved not an ounce of pity, nor mercy, although she begged for both as the realization of execution was upon her.

  This woman of evil wore the reward of beauty and riches supplied through a damning deal with my dastardly father enabling her to lure those who craved likewise profit to flock to her tantalizing hem for the chance to acquire such hollow pleasures. The potency of such allure contaminates the susceptible mind with longing of others’ lifestyle, insuring our fall from grace and securing our place in the showroom of damnation named Hell.

  These are words that may be harsh to your ears, but I believe a necessary revelation to incense your decency. I stand lawfully sanctioned by the highest court and innocent if your opinion is already warped against me. My work is paramount and exceeds any boundaries you will hopefully, never have to experience, but please, allow me to introduce myself, I am known in this period as Eduardo Gissente, immortal monster and extinguisher of life, betrayer of love and clarity to the existence of Heaven and Hell.

  When you become aware of my journey through history until present day you will most surely deny me as an apocryphal creature, merely an invention of an author’s imagination whose heartbeat thundered from the first written conception. You may think what you will, for I am too old and proud to vie for your petty acceptance, but before you cast judgment upon me it might be prudent to soak in a person’s perfume before you form a bias opinion and condemn me because of my perceived haughtiness. Even though I verbally strut, dictating aloof from a superior mantle, I am wholly receptive to genuine warmth and kindness that I believe to be inherent in the majority of humanity.

  Be sure that those of weaker natures I have befriended or protected speak of me with tender words that roll freely from their tongues which cause the damp twinkle of tender reminiscence to rise in their eye. I am not devoid of compassion but discontentedly continue to trade in the selfishness and betrayal moored within the hearts of the foulest of either sex that awakens the beast of evil residing within my genes, thus engaging me to respond in overt similarity.

  The sadness I continue to endure engulfs and devours rare jewels of joy and happiness that have been meagerly strewn throughout my worn journey to promote distain from my assessment of trust.

  If one day our paths should ever cross, your senses may bristle in recognition of my presence but my defense will stand as firm as a monumental structure cemented with earned cynicism until you prove the fabric of your character.

  It is my solemn wish to allow you access to the mechanics of my mind through the written word so scribed by my good friend Jack, thus offering chance for the laymen to grasp the validity of my reality and know without a shadow cast upon doubt that I am and I continue to be. I have issued him the right to reach out and educate the world of matters and topics that will undoubtedly be scorned and rebuffed by the rest of the pack as tomfoolery, but enhanced intellect will pick the bones of offered facts and camouflaged nuggets to consequently seek my guarded whereabouts to plead audience and access to my knowledge whilst more demure minds will remain in the dull safety of their cave ridiculing those that are inquisitive and valiant of nature. The only entry one could find to such ignorant craniums is assuredly with the sharp splice of a butcher’s cleaver... I digress! The darkness calls to me at the most inappropriate times.

  It is true I have wavered the right to censorship, merely to expand Jack’s boundaries and enable him to enhance incredulous tales with relevant plots and fiction that may hopefully breach doors of closed minds belonging to those individuals who stupidly disbelieve in the subsistence of creatures that possess the ability to breath the stale dread of old fear back into the moldy, defunct chambers of the imagination.

  Inherited alarms that once peeled warning cease to chime in the psyche of modern parents and their carefree children as the attention of the human race is engulfed by their incessant acquisition of technical amusement, tragically ignoring the cautionary stories of folklore, myth and revered Holy Scripture.

  It would be prudent to soil both knees and pray you never succumb to the temptation of supernatural ambush, or become fodder to creatures that roam both night and day reaping the blind inept or proud disbelievers that have spread across this rotating marble like a plague of disregard.

  These warnings I offer you most freely and you must believe they are not fanciful rants of an unfettered mind but hopeful assistance to attach heed to your future actions and ensure the liberty of your eternal soul. With Jack’s assistance and my tenacious will, the goal to have infiltrated your sub conscious has already begun and will only spawn results when the breath has left your body and you stand alone to be judged. If you are blessed and embraced in the beauty and all-consuming love of the light, my words will have taken cause and effect from their initial sowing as disturbing seeds to have spread like a progressive vine amongst your thought and flowered as therapy to lead you home.

  Of course there will always be those who do not wish deliverance, however tempting. The world is full of rebels who purposely deny themselves peace in either realm, dead or alive. Turmoil and self-inflicted pain is their porridge and broth, addicted to perpetual negativity that also feeds enormous legions of the same cast that spirit hunters and amateur sleuths battle with so alarmingly for our entertainment whilst we gorge on processed confectionary refined to hurt slyly as you fester unhealthily on couches and stare into thin, flat screens, mesmerized in your own complacency.

  Science will provide most assuredly an acceptable explanation of any hereafter event to cheapen proven claims of another side. This clarification of death after death by esteemed masters of doubt should at all cost be ignored lest you assume you do not have cause
to fret and waddle towards damnation after being fooled to step upon the tantalizing dazzle of the wrong path.

  My brush, I fear, is dipped in the heavy tone of truth and although you may consider the portrait I paint of the darkest hue I implore you to evaluate this priceless statement laid before you.

  My father, the darkest and most malicious of all spirit will survey this work with his usual distain and contempt he reserves for his first born failure, probably unleashing his anger and rage upon the nearest to hand. His revenge for my betrayal remains incomplete and I live under a costly label of earthly and supernatural outlaw decreed by governments across the world and the most royal in the hierarchy of evil.

  My giant physique stagnates in the cloying protection of trusted friends who risk everything to harbor the key to Heaven or Hell, feeding as best they can my appetite for numerous urges to keep me sheltered, safe and warm. For now, I content myself to intermittently coerce with my personal scribe and step forth from the shadows of pages to spew the reincarnation of stories that will surely test the constraints of belief.

  It is a strange thing to watch
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