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Cult Fiction

Cult Fiction

Charles Manson. Jim Jones. Marshall Applewhite. L. Ron Hubbard. Want to know what they all have in common?

They all lead cults. Die-hard worshippers who would do anything for the cause, for their dear leaders. So full of charisma and answers to humanities problems. They bring in the gullible, the weak-willed, those seeking answers and provide them the comfort they need. They give them a place to call home, a place to rest their heads where the world has reason.

I’ve seen several come and go. They all have the same traits. To make their leaders more powerful. Whether it’s starting an apocalyptic race war so that his society can lead the lesser people to the light in the new world, or creating a utopian society of work or that they’ll catch a ride on the back of a comet and travel the stars in new astral forms.

The only ones who seem to benefit are the leaders. Notoriety, fame, their names scarred on the world. We all remember them. We all remember what they did.

The leader’s names are remembered. Revered by some who are gravitated to them or reviled by those who see them for the monsters they truly are.

But each one has always made a mistake that cost them everything. From evidence left behind, to witnesses, to bodies. Their cults have failed to ever reach the utopia that has been promised.

Some have managed to break away, revealing the horrible abuses they suffered at the hands of the leaders, revealing to the world the mask they all hid behind. Showed their true faces.

Some have managed to escape the consequences of their actions, some have paid, some sought death to avoid punishment. But each time the leader showed just how cowardly they are when the pressure is on.

These men aren’t gods, their barely even men. But the power they managed to wield has been astonishing to witness as an outsider. I’ve watched many such fanatics come and go, but rarely do I see one as despicable as you, snake.

You’ve made you way into the hearts and minds of several wayward souls. Coiled. like the snake you named yourself after, around these people and squeezed them. Whether it was planting a bomb for a politician, or setting up other tragedies. You’ve led many to their deaths at the mere word. All the while, you avoid ever getting your hands truly dirty.

I see behind your mask, I see you for the weak frail man you are underneath it all because I’ve seen it all before.

I’ve seen how feeble these cult leaders were in their most private moments. When they thought the night would protect them, they relaxed their veils.

I’ll rip your mask off, Viper. I’ll show the world that you are no different from any of the others.

I’ll show the world that when it’s all said and done,

You might be the head snake, leading the body.

But I’ll be the boot that puts the snake down once and for all.