I find myself in a land far from that of my birth, a place fraught with memories of a cycle of development and failure, yet at the same time majestically blooming with untapped beauty. A mixture of fear and excitement flows through me as my feet recounted the steps once walked by the now seemingly insignificant Charles Marlow. However I know his story and I follow his footprints just as he himself recounted the steps of another. The path laid before me is one that is no stranger to foolhardy men such as myself traversing its perpetual wooden cage, it being no more than a natural trap set by mother nature herself through some sort of ironic retribution for travelers who would scour her land for wealth and riches. Finding nothing but a thirst for her aqua pura and a hunger for her bounty, and she would silently laugh. However, the path behind me is a lonely one, I came here in a crowded boat but no other soul walks the path I do. I came here for answers, to the questions that remained unanswered for 18 years. Not one man dare questioned the death of that great man, not one searched for the remains. It would be funny if were not so sad.
Although I wear no more than a shirt and a pair of casual slacks, the heat is unrelenting and had I not come here for a reason, my thoughts would be that of satisfaction and ease as I ride the first boat back to the city of empty suits and decoratively woven lies. Though I'm sure the natives will have their fill with my discarded jacket and cap. As a go deeper into the bowels of the forest, the sound of chatter and metal against stone becomes ever fainter and replaced by mother natures own tune. The sound of birds chirping in the distance, the rustling of bushes and the beasts that inhabit the lofty trees howl as if to warn me of the dangers that lie within the deep recesses of the Congo. However my travels to find a machine to tame it had proven fruitful, I eventually came to an abandoned steamboat, under normal circumstances I wouldn't bother to search for such a thing, I would have just paid the salesman his money or even joined the company and obtained one free of charge, but these are not normal circumstances and I require this one in particular. By now it was a shell of its former self and had seen better days, though it seems this wasn't its first break down. The engine was beginning to rust heavily due to age and poor upkeep, not surprising after all these years. I took out my tools from my satchel and began to work on this relic.
As I worked, my mind began to wander to things long passed, the events that this mysterious place had witnessed, seeing both the good and the bad of mankind. Though my mind cannot stray away from the thought of what truly brought me here, I'll never forget the stories, old murmurs of a long forgotten adventurer telling a young soul about the dark days of his youth, days filled with danger and corruption of man. I must say, at the time I was compelled, he spoke with such eloquence and enlightenment, though he implored that he was no greater than any other man that sailed a steamboat. However on one particular day, not far from the present he told me the supposed truth of the man I looked up to all my life. I admired Kurtz more than anyone, as a child I followed the example he set. I learned to play the cello, painted works of art and tried my best to expand my view on the world, allowed my soul to be nurtured by what the world has to offer, but when the words were spoken, I could not believe it. I refused to believe it, he was my idol, the light in the darkness. Yet to be told that the darkness had taken him....blasphemy. As those thoughts passed through my mind, I eventually heard the energetic, though albeit strained stammer of the engine and my journey continued. The steamboat took me deeper into the Congo river I saw a sight that shattered my world. A long row of sticks drove into the earth, with decaying skulls resting at the top. Was this validation of the man’s claims? I couldn't believe it. However I could not deny what my eyes showed me. I thought to myself “Could a man such as Kurtz truly be corrupted by such a place? Surely an ordinary man, but Kurtz....he was no ordinary man. I have followed in his footsteps and thus I shall retrace his steps. Onward into darkness”.
This jungle had taken that which had left behind the flesh and blood that composed my being. Now I fear that my fate shall be no different. The horror, the horror.