The Unknown: A Taste of the Dead

By Castello Gilbert

The unknown is about a boy that witness death, at an early age. He finds himself in a coma; while in his coma, he remembers the episodes of death not only in his life but his wife. While he makes his way through life he realizes a vaccine for those who were dead coming back alive. It’s a three dimensional story. When reading the unknown you’re going to get bits and pieces of ideas that amount to someone having to adapt to the vaccine given; it was blood. In the story the main character I play the role of thalamus he’s the one in the coma, the story begins with him witnessing death, the story lines happen with these characters playing the roles of the angel of death Savanna Samantha Tony Gabriel and Daniela; these were people that were living at one time that have now passed, but still allowing the conscious mind to play out its life, and the thoughts of friends with the main character remembering I realize my life and how it was being aimed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664144835

Castello Gilbert

Castello Gilbert I guys thanks for allowing me to share some of the adventures of the mind. It brings me great pleasure to tell some of the rhetoric nonfiction to fiction events taken place, with stories like. The wait or Dying to live; they were all just the beginning Mercury kind of put the icing on the cake. In this one particular book The Unknown I went by the name Thalamus; the name thalamus deals with a certain part of the brains that allows the conscious mind to be visual. I found great pleasure being an author; with each accomplishment I strive to do better capturing the essence of storytelling. By doing so, the use of figures of speech and a compositional writing gave me the opportunity to explore my mind. It would one day allow you to discover the person we hold so dearly, by demonstrate the uncertainties in the things we feel. My experiences were based off of a certain criteria, in each troubled relationship notated as a fable being conducted, as self awareness notated by being able to talk, for each portraits of my life. It was as if the adjustment was being tied to an umbilical cord, each love that did not seem to be enough. My books were mostly clothes that kept me up, giving you its documentation of my soul, like a triangle being a noble prize base off of the truth not being characterized; like a model off of his or her stature I decide to write. Compared to anyone else that decide they wanted some type of steps to follow I categorize by putting myself in this novel. In this book (the unknown) it became more of vision than a story being told; not just about me, but the life I chose to live. To see it as someone that did not know their own expectation to have or to set forth to hear the truth, it would have only allowed me to manage the things I wanted to do. I guess it was my most precious thoughts holding my heart dear to you; with that. It left the unknown as something heavily waited on. It made me look in at my life as being someone, or somewhat of working art. I was being looked at as the momentum and how driven I was, to accomplish a story, leaving each one of my book I decide just to give you a brief introduction on the things it took. It became more of a pessimistic idea. So many expectations of love, and death in the things you do I guess it was something I wanted you to choose. In this one particular book; in all I had to let someone in on all of my mysteries, the haunted feeling of sleeping all alone and hearing the conscious think on its own. It wasn’t something for me to fight; a feeling living on the inside not knowing your own mind; one day I said, you’re going to discover the truth in the things they use to get inside of you, fighting the divine portraying the ideas of who we are as humankind. I left the unknown to be defined; by your own thoughts and mines. Welcome to the unknown the mind of no one but someone I brought home.

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Copyright © 2020 by Castello Gilbert.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/19/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

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Contents

About the Author

Introduction

Novel

Being Bitten

Acknowledgment

Index

About the Author

Castello Gilbert I guys thanks for allowing me to share some of the adventures of the mind. It brings me great pleasure to tell some of the rhetoric nonfiction to fiction events taken place, with stories like. The wait or Dying to live; they were all just the beginning Mercury kind of put the icing on the cake. In this one particular book The Unknown I went by the name Thalamus; the name thalamus deals with a certain part of the brains that allows the conscious mind to be visual. I found great pleasure being an author; with each accomplishment I strive to do better capturing the essence of storytelling. By doing so, the use of figures of speech and a compositional writing gave me the opportunity to explore my mind. It would one day allow you to discover the person we hold so dearly, by demonstrate the uncertainties in the things we feel. My experiences were based off of a certain criteria, in each troubled relationship notated as a fable being conducted, as self awareness notated by being able to talk, for each portraits of my life. It was as if the adjustment was being tied to an umbilical cord, each love that did not seem to be enough. My books were mostly clothes that kept me up, giving you its documentation of my soul, like a triangle being a noble prize base off of the truth not being characterized; like a model off of his or her stature I decide to write. Compared to anyone else that decide they wanted some type of steps to follow I categorize by putting myself in this novel. In this book (the unknown) it became more of vision than a story being told; not just about me, but the life I chose to live. To see it as someone that did not know their own expectation to have or to set forth to hear the truth, it would have only allowed me to manage the things I wanted to do. I guess it was my most precious thoughts holding my heart dear to you; with that. It left the unknown as something heavily waited on. It made me look in at my life as being someone, or somewhat of working art. I was being looked at as the momentum and how driven I was, to accomplish a story, leaving each one of my book I decide just to give you a brief introduction on the things it took. It became more of a pessimistic idea. So many expectations of love, and death in the things you do I guess it was something I wanted you to choose. In this one particular book; in all I had to let someone in on all of my mysteries, the haunted feeling of sleeping all alone and hearing the conscious think on its own. It wasn’t something for me to fight; a feeling living on the inside not knowing your own mind; one day I said, you’re going to discover the truth in the things they use to get inside of you, fighting the divine portraying the ideas of who we are as humankind. I left the unknown to be defined; by your own thoughts and mines.

Welcome to the unknown the mind of no one but someone I brought home

Introduction

The unknown is about a boy that witness death, at an early age. He finds himself in a coma; while in his coma, he remembers the episodes of death not only in his life but his wife. While he makes his way through life he realizes a vaccine for those who were dead coming back alive. It’s a three dimensional story. When reading the unknown you’re going to get bits and pieces of ideas that amount to someone having to adapt to the vaccine given; it was blood. In the story the main character I play the role of thalamus he’s the one in the coma, the story begins with him witnessing death, the story lines happen with these characters playing the roles of the angel of death Savanna Samantha Tony Gabriel and Daniela; these were people that were living at one time that have now passed, but still allowing the conscious mind to play out its life, and the thoughts of friends with the main character remembering I realize my life and how it was being aimed.

The unknown; you know when writing the unknown, there were a lot of story lines being exposed, leaving me to wander off on my own. Mainly it was a fictionalize life being exposed to discover who I am as a soul. My dictatorships of names were becoming relevant to those who I had now lost through the years gone. It was a connection that left me to discover who I am on my own. It was the kind rescue call discovering who we are without a phone; or someone close. I was portraying the idea of horror, in a different kind of way, in the things that might happen tomorrow. I guess it was the things I wanted to say. It was allowing each one of my thoughts keeping a memory alive, every second both individual would have I would come back to a life once lived. When the imagination can lead you astray you will realize the people and how they behaved (the unknown) to be in a vulnerable state of mind, without the control of funds or a place to hide, a place to call home leading the outcome of a drifter or a scavenger to be the diseases we hate the most. Upon this journey it’s to be the mentality of the people without family; at the same time, to see death is provoked awakened by those who call this place their home, giving a intruder the time of death, a hospital room a boarded house to be the loose around someone’s neck, to find what are we willing to do if we have nothing left. Many nights I found myself in a hotel room it was becoming to be hobby, for each step. Upon my arrival I was greeted by those who call this type of individual a tourist; in an unfamiliar place, dead or alive surviving in each instinct was the main plot of reaching my storyline. Out of each feeling I was remind myself of the people that are grieving I had no money but a book. It was as if the unknown was left to be with someone else that’s deceiving, some kind of guidance I needed. It’s not murder, but how long can a man stay locked up for each breath taken left, this is my thesis; kill yourself, and there you’ll find how I was being treated.

What I realize about his incision, he puts us in the most unusual circumstance a decision to choose whether to hold you tight or let go of those lonely nights, coming close. Blood is right there, but it’s up to you to ask, jump, kill yourself or believe this is the End.

Novel

The item: A serum and a syringe with the only antidote hidden I didn’t know if I was alive or just reliving everything that had happened to me, when I was younger; a chicken pox and a flue I thought it was that, that got me here. Well the only thing I knew is I was stuck to a bed, and then to hear them ask; is he dead. It’s been a decade now, and the mystery still plays; they are still justifying the cause of me being the air, the sky darkened. The message is the life we so dearly hold onto, could be the medicine greatly needed. The heart monitor reads flat line, sending everyone in the room on a panic, a pandemic happenss; servant the serpent hears me, the one we so hold dearly. One of the doctors would say; keep pumping his heart, maybe I can get this to start; finally I could talk. My hands extended itself I could feel a tight grip holding on I didn’t know what was to come of me but as you could see I was not alone; death. It all happens as if it was yesterday, a police dresses as a martyr but the only one getting shot is a widow holding his daughter, as the plot thickens. I was shocked about the news I remained hidden; but after he, himself, witness his cries, an archangel felled from the skies. Death was holding an account of each intruder that left me to see the demise of him painting the sky a mirror image of him.

Dad; if you can hear these are humans with the portraits of life being sent, while my brains continued to be scanned. The vision of a wife was very frivolous, as someone to hold accountable I would no more about my life with you being the air. These were all the things they call upon to be the sacrifice a ritual to be seen through the night; and being the cause of so many being deists. Many that heard the Commotion outdoors, say it sounded like a bullet exploding when they approach to see who it was that death chose; and the reason why the sky darkened I don’t know if I can survive; but we are in a battle, a relationship destroyed and a idea for life was being implemented as a number, and demonize by a color; i’m not from this earth I realize that now. As time progresses I needed to restore myself. They have shown themselves to be weak, by using a woman as a wildebeest. In the middle of a sacrifice; it happened in the evening and still I moved as if I was sleeping. It was so many leaving the earth after that death sparked a fight. The outbreak happened for that same reason a bullet went on heard through the night; no one knew why it happened but I knew that was the reason why you sent these demons to earth. Either way, my adaptation wasn’t the same within the human I choose to be with I was the vessel holding onto so many lesson, because of that same reason they spy I have been getting beat up but I can handle it; there is not any that know of my existence. Right now, my right side of my face as been shattered because of their persistence; but I can be restored. In this world I realize death is the split decision, of life and death, the things you are so willing to bet, a dopamine wipes the brain from insanity from anything of a thrill, looks, love; even the plague called down upon our sins.

My exception of being human; well i’m being smuggled through a little pocket of a corridor that still allow me to see the world I seen that same bullet race through the sky at the speed of light I thought of you many nights. There I found safety by holding you dare to my heart; but to my knowledge there is machine after our wives. I’m blending in as much as possible; anyhow. That same bullet; it then led me to believe I needed every bit of blood just to succeed, and the ones that saw themselves as diseases. A bullet leaves to have them forbidden to do the things they wanted to achieve; there was so many letting go. I was holding an account of each intruder with the menacing feeling of a shooter to be, warned by the abuse left. But the thought of not being loved was hanging down from their own creation; it said, this is love that felt the loose of a bullet coming through I was being cheated out of something, and they knew I asked who are they giving a reason to cry, battered by its scares I was hurt many nights I thought to myself who am I to judge if this is the mistake that made me jump; that exact moment I existed. It not only started a plague but shattered the skies; it was the cause of so many being dead, death; death was happening everywhere, in a thought a memory and in my heart. I asked; who are they that left, and felt so free, i’m only a kid after my heart that made you believe, a dove that’s been placed. My neck was tied to her shoulder and my hands were tied to her waist; i’m blind I say. It was the intimacy being shoved into the air, making this such a deadly place; wings haven’t even expanded yet to see my murderer being planted to its roots. It was those dark and dreary moments demonstrating them as the ones who would never make it without family.

I then realize, a sacrifice of vanity for the one that saw an eagle coming as family I became a descendent of good and evil death was the only affiliation of his people.

The cries of an osprey was being heard in the heavens, no more was I being admired but discarded by all its peasants (a soft whisper) get up, thalamus. My mother and father were right beside; i was no more than a little boy holding onto my life, I cried so many nights. For that same reason my story began, when I realize it was me laid out on the floor, and the little girl was a girl I adore.

To my knowledge their race wasn’t established; who I was and who they were, when a knock became unanswered, blood being split. I wasn’t of earth when I made him the eye and darkened the sky; by the air I was stuck with nothing left to do I heard so many cries of the people broken by a loose; free. Considering you as being dead dried-up through and finished; what do you do, they would ask. Is it death that made you lay still and witness its threats of seeing him pass I was witnessing someone else life, a beautiful dance being illustrated a molecule being investigated by Christ; then I ask what are we and who are you.

I went back to the beginning; i picked out a coffin before death really had a place to be, a forgotten memory in space I was inspired to hold on, to remember my race and then to see; what is my race when the only judgment is a person appetite being played. It separated the indecency behavior to call upon a savior. I still remember that day not knowing but I was being ridicule by all those that showed its ability that felled from the sky.

It was my wife I was remembering; it was a strong connection an attraction away from a machine being heaven, doors being slam shut, fuck you for all the things it was telling me to do, and trust. A shot fired; someone was inspired, the sky darkened. To believe in creation as an invisible light that shines bright upon the scene, to be in control of so many of us that died. That same development attached itself to my life; maybe I had a connection with a ghost. Polaris a Greek God had felled upon my soul. He was the God of intimacy, he was the creation of the Net, in my mind I had died for everything he believed in; vengeance, justice had a face.

It was the evening of mid June, a pillar of smoke hovered around the moon, with a blood red look; a pastor would have spoke of his resurrection. It had me believing that one of us would die; or wouldn’t have come out of it alive. Every bit of it was a taste of death being sent from the sky. It was poisoning the air, and no one really seemed to mind. It was as if the trashcan was empty and the world became friendly, using the ‘’f’’ word, to call this being family, this to be the family considerably being the earth. Maybe I was the desiccation for the person I was fighting plotting my demises why I’m writing, whether to be yours or that grave his mines. It was a new outlook on poverty and redemption on royalty free to be with anyone you want to be with but light had a way of showing you its face, against time I was never raised this way but over the time my family became made. We were being turned, and that was the cause; the first drop of blood darkened my heart. The clouds were as dark as ever with a grayish matter I seen it as a threat a desire on creation being sent as death. Its threat on life was drifting through the years gone, but still to this day it was coming into the evening as a surprise to others that didn’t know of its demise. A drifter and an over seer on site where I reside stood in the midst of it every night, not realizing the air that he breathes was the disease being spread through the breeze; some of us would wear scarves, trying our best to stay hidden from its scares, and bruises. The next day, a cloud with the same grayish matter arrived in the mist, the denseness of it seems to have something in it that exists, within all of the things I might find; to my concern it hovered with a lightning strike and hale with a cloud, coming from the heavens I cough; it strike. With it being so close I could hardly breathe throughout my nose, but it was the wrath of God turning so many into disease, a commandment broken. Death had away of showing you who it wanted to be. One of my friends would be chosen; some would say. It was as if his death was manmade, it left a stench coming from the air; well, the day the light ended and the smog lifted, he spoke and a new day began, with that same cloud, drifting from town to town, sickening the planet and every man that breathe its air. When it got dark, the creatures of the night bear the markings of men being a sacrificial meal; it made them hunt with a haunting sensation giving them everything that they would need. Every night, everyone who had not seen the light, was being struck by its sense, it was coming from the smell. It drove some of us crazy, giving us every bit of its scent just to have our air as dense as it was in the beginning’ something was broken I was growing tired witnessing those who were hit killed by their desire to feed. I would say to myself; let it be a slaughter to those who saw themselves as the drifters of disease, heads tumbling and a message frozen in time, man and beast, devouring those who they saw fit to feast, to kill (that’s what it did). It made them devour those who were left out in the open, like a micro bacteria hidden in the flesh to know of death I thought of myself the day it left. When my body hit the floor it was to be eaten by those who stood at my door. I thought I wouldn’t have awakened to see who it was that was being driven to be taken out of their sleep; right there a conversion happened, it was bringing me back to when my fall happened. Whatever life it was that left made me see my transition between, death. It made me remember some of us might not make it to see tomorrow, and then to find those who had a strong will was a sacrifice for those that love life; within all that was happening. It made me hold on longer to grow a little stronger. Each steps taken was being guided by light magnify the day and glorify my night, for his vengeance