Post by MasterEvil on Jan 29, 2012 18:48:06 GMT
Scene One: I Shall Survive And I Shall Conquer
Time: 3:16 PM 20th Friday January 2012
TBS: Chaos lives in everything…even saints.
I spoke out these words as the video camera, that I “borrowed” from the WEW production truck, began recording me. At the end of the month I’ll be competing in a “Survive & Conquer” match…never before have I heard of one, let alone competed in this kind of match. But maybe faring well in this type of mayhem could finally pull myself out of the darkness and into the sight of those who would class me has a somebody. Yet back to the word “mayhem,” why did I use such a word to describe such a match?
The answer is simple…up to eighty-six people, including me, can be in that sixteen foot by sixteen foot ring at the same time. But then again the “Survive & Conquer” match deserves such anarchy, considering that the winner not only will their representing federation will have the rights to brag about being the best federation around until the very next “Survive & Conquer” event…but the winning wrestler shall obtain a trophy to prove that they are indeed the best wrestler of twenty-twelve, the half a million dollar reward doesn’t hurt so bad as well.
Yet why should I care about the money? I had everything I ever wanted in life and stupidly threw it all away. Why should I care about making World Elite Wrestling look good? No one there even wants me to represent them, to a point where they book me as a “welcome to the place” jobber to any rookie that walks through the front door. Why should I care about some stupid trophy? It’ll just show me that I am just a shadow of who I once was in a few years time. To be admired by many? Why would anyone admire me, I’m an abomination that even death found unworthy.
So why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up? To out perform every other WEW member that signs up? To prove to my trainer, Christopher Middley, that he didn’t waste his money on my bail? To show Darinah and Hanus that they both made a mistake in dropping the ball on me? To show the same duo what both their past and upcoming pay per view have missed? To finally shine in front of the millions around the globe? To eliminate all forms of self-doubt that floods, infest and eats away at my mind? To become the greatest wrestler throughout the entire twenty-twelve, the so called year when the world ends? To prove to the naysayers that I am worth a second chance? To save myself from eternal self-damnation?
I wish I know the answer…but I don’t, so for now I’ll make this first promo. The location was by some park with a lot of little children playing with swings, slides, seesaws and roundabouts while their parent are either assisting them or watching them. Even though the camera is solely watching me, I am almost vacantly staring out into the park, from the other side of this three foot metallic fence. What caught the focus of my gaze? A young brunette girl playing on the roundabout with some platinum blonde prat. I simply choose to ignore this prat. The brunette has ever so sweet crystal blue eyes, just like her mother, the young girl’s name…her real name…is Sabrina Agbonlahor, why do I know this? Because she is my three year old daughter, the very daughter that was “legally” stolen from me three years ago. And I use the term “legally” very loosely…but has I glare over towards her I think I now realise the answer to my question. “Why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up?”
It was all because of her. My motivation to continue living through the past three years of emotional hell…was just to be with her, even if it is for the very last time. Perhaps I can use the money to obtain myself a lawyer, an impartial judge and “legally” take my little girl back. But first I need to win “Survive & Conquer,” if a such great opportunity to finally reunite with my birth child ever came, it is this match…all I need to do is to defeat fourteen women and seventy-three men. Screw bragging rights and the honour of World Elite Wrestling, having Sabrina in my arms is worth permanently crippling myself for. Will I have sorrow? Will I have regret? Will I feel sorry for anyone in this match? No I won’t, this is possibly my only chance to be called “daddy” again and there is no way I’m letting any of my feelings stop me.
TBS: Happiness, sadness…fulfillment, frustration…joy, depression…love, hate. Emotions that your hearts could feel, how much the hearts could save and damage you lot…a small weak object carrying so much. Acknowledge that I said “yours” instead of “our,” why did I do that? Because I am nothing like those eighty-five at “Survive & Conquer,” those eighty-five somebodies. They have the same amount of lungs as I do, same amount of eyes, same amount of nipples and a brain like me…so why am I different from the rest? Because they all have something that was torn out of me three years ago, a common weakness among them if you will…a heart. The easily breakable heart. The ever so vulnerable heart. The uncontrollable heart. The self-doubtful heart. Each heart controls ones emotions and, to a point, ones subconscious. It is that subconscious that injects paranoia through the hormones into every inch of ones body. It is then that the paranoia clutches the brain and sucks the concentration out of mind and body, leaving that one in a state of unreliability…
My English accent was thick and rich in every word I have spoken. Interestingly is seem to have chosen to speak about the difference between me and them. A faint chuckle escaped my lips after saying what I’ve said so far. My eyes never once glanced away from the park as I spoke, specifically from my beautiful Sabrina.
TBS: It is this state of unreliability that makes you weak and vulnerable to anyone, everyone and no one. I lack a heart, I feel no paranoia same as I don’t feel any emotions, I can remember how they. Chaos lives in everything, even saints, and it is this chaos that I feel so well. It is with this everlasting chaos that gives me the ability to do what no man, woman or child would do…sane or not. Be it by beating eighty-five others, or just one, I shall Survive and I shall Conquer over them all. I am the Broken Saint…break me! I don’t care.
Once these words were spoken I finally looked over towards the camera lens. But the sight of my face only lasted five seconds to when I pressed the stop button. Once it stopped recording I switched it off, I was about to put it away but then a young woman caught my attention has she began to approach me. Fortunately this girl is an old friend of mine called Rebecca Smith, maybe I’ll have a friendly chat with her about her time back at TWE before going back to one of the homes Lya kindly gave to a nobody like me.
Scene Two: I Will Survive
Time: 11:21 PM 22nd Sunday January 2012
“What could I ever do without you…”
Holy shit!!! Waah!!! Ow…damn…that is the last time I’ll ever sit on top of a vending machine. But why would anyone care? With eight or so days to go I sit here, alone, backstage during WEW’s Winter Warzone. Everyone had people to talk to…Twin K had the “wannabe saint” Jetstream, Jessie Goldberg had her Latin girl scout club and SM Raye had Lya Batiste-Jax. Yet I had no one…no one to laugh with, no one to talk to, no one to hang out with and no one to prevent me from sitting on top of the vending machine in the first place. I know that people knew I was up here since, before I originally nodded off, I saw the likes of Vantage and Jaxson Baxter walking past; none of them cared to even say hello…why do they hate me? Why do they dislike me? Is it because I am socially awkward? Is it because management doesn’t want to do anything with me? Is it because I am the fourth or so person to be romantically linked with Lya?
I wish I knew…just like I wish I know the reason why I got ignored in two consecutive pay per views and shun by those in charge. But what really baffles me at the moment was those words that woke me up, if I stated that this was the first time it happened then I would be a liar. Every time I tried to sleep that voice, those words, always wakes me up…but why am I haunted by these words? Is it because I felt love again? Is it because I’m going to take my little girl back? I wish I know but I don't...well, seeing that I'm awake and got nobody to hang around with, I guess its best to do what I seem to know best...shooting a promo. My last promo was a little, erm, quiet to say the least. So I pulled out the “missing” WEW camera from beside the vending machine and carried it all the way into my disastrously messy locker room before placing it on the bench. Afterwards I switched it on and pressed the record button. Once I did that I moved over to my closed locker room door and leaned my back against. Now my promo begins.
TBS: Terry Brunk, Lawrence Shreve, Michael Foley, Charles Milles Manson...what do we all have in common? We're all deemed freaks, all deemed insane, all deemed chaotic. But maybe it is just that we're carefree, rational...misunderstood. But before I continue, I must ask, what is normal? Nothing, that is what "normal" is. "Normal" is a matter of opinion...a matter of opinion that spreads self-doubt across the mind of those who succumb to opinions made not by others, but themselves...just like the eighty-five others I need to overcome to take my first step on my path of self-redemption.
I never moved away from the door as I gave each words air to be heard with. I probably have the least chance to win this match out of everyone from WEW since no one has heard of me. And while they all been exposed on national television, I've been rotting away on the pre-show called “Burnout.” I'm soon going to be forgetting what it feels like to actually wrestle a match that means anything…then again I have never appeared in a single pay per view yet. Yet I shouldn’t let myself immerse too deeply into thought, after all, I am shooting a promo.
TBS: Either you be a hero or some brawler with a Cockney accent, you are all hateful. You indulge with the tragedy of others because you lot hate yourselves more then you could ever hate something else. Why should I care though, the light died and my own hatred save me from everything. Yes, I no longer feel these emotions that you all can feel but without feelings…there is no reconsiderations or self-doubtful thoughts. I survive through my own hell so I can survive past the test of eighty-five others. Can those eighty-five survive each other, that is a great question…only one person in this match has won before…a “Level One.” I know nothing about him, except the fact he won this event three years ago, and he knows nothing about me. But I have something to ask One…was the world of wrestling that disastrous in terms of quality?
I admit that question isn’t a wise one if I aimed to gain any friends that have wrestled during that year but, then again, I’m not going out there to make friends or even find a new place to work…I’m out there to kill, obliterate and, if needed, maim for what I want the most…to hold my child’s hand, even if it is for the last time. This will be my pay per view debut but with painful memories of my daughter being taken away there is no way this minor hose will extinguish my burning fire. Any doubts I had seven days ago has completely morphed into the gasoline that spurs my thirst for forgiveness onwards and onwards and onwards.
TBS: Do I know anything about the eighty-five others, especially the fourteen fellow WEW representatives? No, I don’t know anything about any of them, not their wrestling style nor they favourite hobby. But I do don’t need to know anyone to beat anyone…am I a wildcard, because of how mysterious I am? No, if anything, I’m an underdog. I’ve only wrestled like five matches, never booked to appear at pay per view events and demoted to pre-show entertainer…all in just two months. Do I care? No I don’t, I can beat anyone that steps foot into the ring…no matter how stronger, faster, smarter, bigger, smaller or damn well more talented than I am. I don’t give a fuck because, like it or not, I am the percent of the germ that never leaves. I am the fog that no light can break through. I am the zero that can never be divided or multiplied. I am the angel that fell and lost his wings…The Broken Saint. You can hate me, cheer for me or fucking forget me but for while I roam across the world of wrestling…you’ll never ignore me and when I’m done you all have a reason to remember me.
“Remember me.” A weird line to end my set of words with, I admit…but if I don’t do anything to be remembered for, then why am I here? Why am I in a company that underrates me for anybody that previously worked in an organisation that wanted to cripple them? Why am I bothering to speak out my thoughts and words? Why am I bothering to even become a wrestler? Enough of these question, I’ll console them to myself later, for now though, I’ll finish this.
TBS: What could that reason be? I don’t care. Nobody in the world can survive my tragedy, nobody in this world can conquer my hatred. No hero in this world can save themselves from my fury, no brawler can out punch a thing that’s unable to feel mercy. No money can pay for help off something broken, no woman can distract something that has no heart. I am a nobody and I will survive the carnage put in front of me. I will survive this war inside me…and I will survive through these eighty-five other, thus winning the right to be the best there is today.
While saying my words I slowly stepped away from the door and towards the camera. My eyes kept complete focus on the camera lens, never moving and never blinking. My sound of my steps were both light and slow paced. I would not rush this at all. I tone began to become darker and darker with each word I spoke, my wandering pace remained non-budging . The expression on my face remained blank and lost, yet slightly maddened. It was when I finished my last line was went I arrived at the camera and picked it up, giving the lens an eye-to-eye level with my face. It was only two moments later that I finished my words.
TBS: I am The Broken Saint…BREAK ME! I don’t care.
I admit that I did shout at the camera, perhaps I was frustrated at my own loneliness. I don’t fully know but after I said my last words I stopped the recording and switched off the camera. Now should I do? I’m not booked t appear at all in this pay per view, I got no one to talk to and I can’t nod off because of those haunting words. I guess there is nothing else to do but switch on my own television monitor and watch the second pay per view to ignore me in the same amount of months.
Scene Three: The Indestructible Broken Saint!
Time: 8:51 PM 24th Tuesday January 2012
Here I sit with my back leaning against the front of my house in Los Angeles, all alone. My homes need personalising so I’ve tried painting and might, one day, get myself a dog to help my home feel more like a “home.” But for now I am just sitting about, bored to hell and back, with my a guitar to my left. What? I’m bored and needed to do something with what remains of my life, so what’s wrong with trying to be a musician? I badly need something to do though, I’ve painted a couple of times and even randomly wandered the city a few times…I need something to do…that camera is resting on the floor pointing directly towards me, I guess there is nothing wrong with making another promo for an event that comes in six days.
So I stood myself up and approached the camera and simply switched it on before pushing the record button. My next motions were simple get back to the chair and sat down on it before holding the guitar in my hands…I guess there is nothing wrong with trying to make a musical promo, right? So now I strummed my instrument and began to sing…hopefully my voice ain’t too bad.
TBS: Here is my warning to the eighty-five…
Okay, that start might not be very good but whatever…it might be fun to sing myself a tune. My voice was deep when I spoke out my starting verse, rhythm seething in my mouth.
TBS: Another mission the powers have called me away. Another time to bear my own colours again. My motivation, an oath I’ve sworn to defend…to win the honour of being a dad again. No explanation will matter after we begin this encounter of surviving and conquering. My true self will show and then, my unfortunate foes, you all will find a war you’re all unable to win…
Will I sang my words and strummed my guitar, I noticed that some people have stopped and began to watch my performance…why? Don’t any of them have anything better to do then glare at what I am doing? Not the end of the world, I guess, I’ll just continue my music.
TBS: On that one night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable, from all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…master of war!
Maybe having a drummer could of made my chorus sound better but, then again, I never said anything about being epic. So maybe my voice sucks at singing or I maybe can’t write a song to save my life, I don’t care…I’m enjoying myself and so does the people watching, it seems, their number doubling during my chorus. But there is no way these people are going to distract me from my music and my promo.
TBS: Another reason, another cause for me to fight within the battle of honour, dignity and pride. Is my promise to all of those I sworn to protect, so I carry out my carnage without regret. The declaration embedded deep inside my skin is a simple reminder of how it begun. There is no hesitation when I am called to strike, so you all should know that you’re in for the fight of all your lives…
Why won’t anyone go away? I am just singing, its not like this city lacks wannabe rock stars. Maybe they all have nothing better to do with life, whatever, if they want to watch then let them…I’m possibly getting more attention from playing my guitar then I ever had when I wrestled for my home company, otherwise known has World Elite Wrestling. Will faring well in this match finally give me answers that I seek? Maybe, but I’m not sure.
TBS: Then on that night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…MASTER OF WAR!
Yes, I incorporated the screamo genre into the last three words of my chorus, while my starting lines for delivered more sharply than before, yet one thing that caught my attention the most…was that the younger members of the crowd joined in screaming “master of war.” Hopefully they don’t expect me to become a part time singer after this…but anyway, this was when I began my, what people call, guitar solo. Considering that this isn’t one of those electric guitars that bands like Korn and Iron Maiden use, I was kind of pleased and shocked at the same time when the crowd started to applaud in a rhythm that seem to be building up to something. What the hell, give them a little more, they chose to watch so it would be wrong to turn any of them down.
TBS: I’m indestructible! My determination is inextinguishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are inexorable. All of your broken bodies will show, that this opponent is just so invincible. Take your last look around while you all can live because I am indestructible…indestructible…
I took this moment to point out to the crowd, seeing if I am really entertaining them or just the point of their interest. Surprisingly, instead of a cheer or silence, they chanted out “indestructible.” Those this main I have accidentally increased the amount of fans I have? I’m not against having fans I’m just surprised at this since the last time I’ve wrestled a televised match is almost two months ago. Maybe it is safe to put an ending to my own now…last thing I want to do is to gather police attention, since I think they’re against free musical performances.
TBS: My determination is the end of you all! At the other side of ring you all tremble, because your annihilation shall be delivered by me! All of your broken dreams will prove, that I am your invincible opponent. So take a look around while you’re alive…because I am The Indestructible Broken Saint! Beak me! I do not care.
It was with those words that my song ended and, rather surprisingly, the people applauded my song and some teenage members offered out a pen and something to write on. Before I did anything else, however, I put the guitar down and approached the camera before switching it off. Once that was done I began to greet these newly found “fans” and signed anything for the ones that offered me pens. It is quite weird, that I hardly get on television at all lately…yet I’ve gathered a decently sized fan base for someone who never wrestled a televised match in over a month. Well, after today, I’ll make my way to APW’s “Survive & Conquer.” Will I survive? Will I conquer? I don’t know, but I’m not going down without one hell of an extreme fight.
Wordcount - Without Count and codes: 3939
Time: 3:16 PM 20th Friday January 2012
TBS: Chaos lives in everything…even saints.
I spoke out these words as the video camera, that I “borrowed” from the WEW production truck, began recording me. At the end of the month I’ll be competing in a “Survive & Conquer” match…never before have I heard of one, let alone competed in this kind of match. But maybe faring well in this type of mayhem could finally pull myself out of the darkness and into the sight of those who would class me has a somebody. Yet back to the word “mayhem,” why did I use such a word to describe such a match?
The answer is simple…up to eighty-six people, including me, can be in that sixteen foot by sixteen foot ring at the same time. But then again the “Survive & Conquer” match deserves such anarchy, considering that the winner not only will their representing federation will have the rights to brag about being the best federation around until the very next “Survive & Conquer” event…but the winning wrestler shall obtain a trophy to prove that they are indeed the best wrestler of twenty-twelve, the half a million dollar reward doesn’t hurt so bad as well.
Yet why should I care about the money? I had everything I ever wanted in life and stupidly threw it all away. Why should I care about making World Elite Wrestling look good? No one there even wants me to represent them, to a point where they book me as a “welcome to the place” jobber to any rookie that walks through the front door. Why should I care about some stupid trophy? It’ll just show me that I am just a shadow of who I once was in a few years time. To be admired by many? Why would anyone admire me, I’m an abomination that even death found unworthy.
So why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up? To out perform every other WEW member that signs up? To prove to my trainer, Christopher Middley, that he didn’t waste his money on my bail? To show Darinah and Hanus that they both made a mistake in dropping the ball on me? To show the same duo what both their past and upcoming pay per view have missed? To finally shine in front of the millions around the globe? To eliminate all forms of self-doubt that floods, infest and eats away at my mind? To become the greatest wrestler throughout the entire twenty-twelve, the so called year when the world ends? To prove to the naysayers that I am worth a second chance? To save myself from eternal self-damnation?
I wish I know the answer…but I don’t, so for now I’ll make this first promo. The location was by some park with a lot of little children playing with swings, slides, seesaws and roundabouts while their parent are either assisting them or watching them. Even though the camera is solely watching me, I am almost vacantly staring out into the park, from the other side of this three foot metallic fence. What caught the focus of my gaze? A young brunette girl playing on the roundabout with some platinum blonde prat. I simply choose to ignore this prat. The brunette has ever so sweet crystal blue eyes, just like her mother, the young girl’s name…her real name…is Sabrina Agbonlahor, why do I know this? Because she is my three year old daughter, the very daughter that was “legally” stolen from me three years ago. And I use the term “legally” very loosely…but has I glare over towards her I think I now realise the answer to my question. “Why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up?”
It was all because of her. My motivation to continue living through the past three years of emotional hell…was just to be with her, even if it is for the very last time. Perhaps I can use the money to obtain myself a lawyer, an impartial judge and “legally” take my little girl back. But first I need to win “Survive & Conquer,” if a such great opportunity to finally reunite with my birth child ever came, it is this match…all I need to do is to defeat fourteen women and seventy-three men. Screw bragging rights and the honour of World Elite Wrestling, having Sabrina in my arms is worth permanently crippling myself for. Will I have sorrow? Will I have regret? Will I feel sorry for anyone in this match? No I won’t, this is possibly my only chance to be called “daddy” again and there is no way I’m letting any of my feelings stop me.
TBS: Happiness, sadness…fulfillment, frustration…joy, depression…love, hate. Emotions that your hearts could feel, how much the hearts could save and damage you lot…a small weak object carrying so much. Acknowledge that I said “yours” instead of “our,” why did I do that? Because I am nothing like those eighty-five at “Survive & Conquer,” those eighty-five somebodies. They have the same amount of lungs as I do, same amount of eyes, same amount of nipples and a brain like me…so why am I different from the rest? Because they all have something that was torn out of me three years ago, a common weakness among them if you will…a heart. The easily breakable heart. The ever so vulnerable heart. The uncontrollable heart. The self-doubtful heart. Each heart controls ones emotions and, to a point, ones subconscious. It is that subconscious that injects paranoia through the hormones into every inch of ones body. It is then that the paranoia clutches the brain and sucks the concentration out of mind and body, leaving that one in a state of unreliability…
My English accent was thick and rich in every word I have spoken. Interestingly is seem to have chosen to speak about the difference between me and them. A faint chuckle escaped my lips after saying what I’ve said so far. My eyes never once glanced away from the park as I spoke, specifically from my beautiful Sabrina.
TBS: It is this state of unreliability that makes you weak and vulnerable to anyone, everyone and no one. I lack a heart, I feel no paranoia same as I don’t feel any emotions, I can remember how they. Chaos lives in everything, even saints, and it is this chaos that I feel so well. It is with this everlasting chaos that gives me the ability to do what no man, woman or child would do…sane or not. Be it by beating eighty-five others, or just one, I shall Survive and I shall Conquer over them all. I am the Broken Saint…break me! I don’t care.
Once these words were spoken I finally looked over towards the camera lens. But the sight of my face only lasted five seconds to when I pressed the stop button. Once it stopped recording I switched it off, I was about to put it away but then a young woman caught my attention has she began to approach me. Fortunately this girl is an old friend of mine called Rebecca Smith, maybe I’ll have a friendly chat with her about her time back at TWE before going back to one of the homes Lya kindly gave to a nobody like me.
Scene Two: I Will Survive
Time: 11:21 PM 22nd Sunday January 2012
“What could I ever do without you…”
Holy shit!!! Waah!!! Ow…damn…that is the last time I’ll ever sit on top of a vending machine. But why would anyone care? With eight or so days to go I sit here, alone, backstage during WEW’s Winter Warzone. Everyone had people to talk to…Twin K had the “wannabe saint” Jetstream, Jessie Goldberg had her Latin girl scout club and SM Raye had Lya Batiste-Jax. Yet I had no one…no one to laugh with, no one to talk to, no one to hang out with and no one to prevent me from sitting on top of the vending machine in the first place. I know that people knew I was up here since, before I originally nodded off, I saw the likes of Vantage and Jaxson Baxter walking past; none of them cared to even say hello…why do they hate me? Why do they dislike me? Is it because I am socially awkward? Is it because management doesn’t want to do anything with me? Is it because I am the fourth or so person to be romantically linked with Lya?
I wish I knew…just like I wish I know the reason why I got ignored in two consecutive pay per views and shun by those in charge. But what really baffles me at the moment was those words that woke me up, if I stated that this was the first time it happened then I would be a liar. Every time I tried to sleep that voice, those words, always wakes me up…but why am I haunted by these words? Is it because I felt love again? Is it because I’m going to take my little girl back? I wish I know but I don't...well, seeing that I'm awake and got nobody to hang around with, I guess its best to do what I seem to know best...shooting a promo. My last promo was a little, erm, quiet to say the least. So I pulled out the “missing” WEW camera from beside the vending machine and carried it all the way into my disastrously messy locker room before placing it on the bench. Afterwards I switched it on and pressed the record button. Once I did that I moved over to my closed locker room door and leaned my back against. Now my promo begins.
TBS: Terry Brunk, Lawrence Shreve, Michael Foley, Charles Milles Manson...what do we all have in common? We're all deemed freaks, all deemed insane, all deemed chaotic. But maybe it is just that we're carefree, rational...misunderstood. But before I continue, I must ask, what is normal? Nothing, that is what "normal" is. "Normal" is a matter of opinion...a matter of opinion that spreads self-doubt across the mind of those who succumb to opinions made not by others, but themselves...just like the eighty-five others I need to overcome to take my first step on my path of self-redemption.
I never moved away from the door as I gave each words air to be heard with. I probably have the least chance to win this match out of everyone from WEW since no one has heard of me. And while they all been exposed on national television, I've been rotting away on the pre-show called “Burnout.” I'm soon going to be forgetting what it feels like to actually wrestle a match that means anything…then again I have never appeared in a single pay per view yet. Yet I shouldn’t let myself immerse too deeply into thought, after all, I am shooting a promo.
TBS: Either you be a hero or some brawler with a Cockney accent, you are all hateful. You indulge with the tragedy of others because you lot hate yourselves more then you could ever hate something else. Why should I care though, the light died and my own hatred save me from everything. Yes, I no longer feel these emotions that you all can feel but without feelings…there is no reconsiderations or self-doubtful thoughts. I survive through my own hell so I can survive past the test of eighty-five others. Can those eighty-five survive each other, that is a great question…only one person in this match has won before…a “Level One.” I know nothing about him, except the fact he won this event three years ago, and he knows nothing about me. But I have something to ask One…was the world of wrestling that disastrous in terms of quality?
I admit that question isn’t a wise one if I aimed to gain any friends that have wrestled during that year but, then again, I’m not going out there to make friends or even find a new place to work…I’m out there to kill, obliterate and, if needed, maim for what I want the most…to hold my child’s hand, even if it is for the last time. This will be my pay per view debut but with painful memories of my daughter being taken away there is no way this minor hose will extinguish my burning fire. Any doubts I had seven days ago has completely morphed into the gasoline that spurs my thirst for forgiveness onwards and onwards and onwards.
TBS: Do I know anything about the eighty-five others, especially the fourteen fellow WEW representatives? No, I don’t know anything about any of them, not their wrestling style nor they favourite hobby. But I do don’t need to know anyone to beat anyone…am I a wildcard, because of how mysterious I am? No, if anything, I’m an underdog. I’ve only wrestled like five matches, never booked to appear at pay per view events and demoted to pre-show entertainer…all in just two months. Do I care? No I don’t, I can beat anyone that steps foot into the ring…no matter how stronger, faster, smarter, bigger, smaller or damn well more talented than I am. I don’t give a fuck because, like it or not, I am the percent of the germ that never leaves. I am the fog that no light can break through. I am the zero that can never be divided or multiplied. I am the angel that fell and lost his wings…The Broken Saint. You can hate me, cheer for me or fucking forget me but for while I roam across the world of wrestling…you’ll never ignore me and when I’m done you all have a reason to remember me.
“Remember me.” A weird line to end my set of words with, I admit…but if I don’t do anything to be remembered for, then why am I here? Why am I in a company that underrates me for anybody that previously worked in an organisation that wanted to cripple them? Why am I bothering to speak out my thoughts and words? Why am I bothering to even become a wrestler? Enough of these question, I’ll console them to myself later, for now though, I’ll finish this.
TBS: What could that reason be? I don’t care. Nobody in the world can survive my tragedy, nobody in this world can conquer my hatred. No hero in this world can save themselves from my fury, no brawler can out punch a thing that’s unable to feel mercy. No money can pay for help off something broken, no woman can distract something that has no heart. I am a nobody and I will survive the carnage put in front of me. I will survive this war inside me…and I will survive through these eighty-five other, thus winning the right to be the best there is today.
While saying my words I slowly stepped away from the door and towards the camera. My eyes kept complete focus on the camera lens, never moving and never blinking. My sound of my steps were both light and slow paced. I would not rush this at all. I tone began to become darker and darker with each word I spoke, my wandering pace remained non-budging . The expression on my face remained blank and lost, yet slightly maddened. It was when I finished my last line was went I arrived at the camera and picked it up, giving the lens an eye-to-eye level with my face. It was only two moments later that I finished my words.
TBS: I am The Broken Saint…BREAK ME! I don’t care.
I admit that I did shout at the camera, perhaps I was frustrated at my own loneliness. I don’t fully know but after I said my last words I stopped the recording and switched off the camera. Now should I do? I’m not booked t appear at all in this pay per view, I got no one to talk to and I can’t nod off because of those haunting words. I guess there is nothing else to do but switch on my own television monitor and watch the second pay per view to ignore me in the same amount of months.
Scene Three: The Indestructible Broken Saint!
Time: 8:51 PM 24th Tuesday January 2012
Here I sit with my back leaning against the front of my house in Los Angeles, all alone. My homes need personalising so I’ve tried painting and might, one day, get myself a dog to help my home feel more like a “home.” But for now I am just sitting about, bored to hell and back, with my a guitar to my left. What? I’m bored and needed to do something with what remains of my life, so what’s wrong with trying to be a musician? I badly need something to do though, I’ve painted a couple of times and even randomly wandered the city a few times…I need something to do…that camera is resting on the floor pointing directly towards me, I guess there is nothing wrong with making another promo for an event that comes in six days.
So I stood myself up and approached the camera and simply switched it on before pushing the record button. My next motions were simple get back to the chair and sat down on it before holding the guitar in my hands…I guess there is nothing wrong with trying to make a musical promo, right? So now I strummed my instrument and began to sing…hopefully my voice ain’t too bad.
TBS: Here is my warning to the eighty-five…
Okay, that start might not be very good but whatever…it might be fun to sing myself a tune. My voice was deep when I spoke out my starting verse, rhythm seething in my mouth.
TBS: Another mission the powers have called me away. Another time to bear my own colours again. My motivation, an oath I’ve sworn to defend…to win the honour of being a dad again. No explanation will matter after we begin this encounter of surviving and conquering. My true self will show and then, my unfortunate foes, you all will find a war you’re all unable to win…
Will I sang my words and strummed my guitar, I noticed that some people have stopped and began to watch my performance…why? Don’t any of them have anything better to do then glare at what I am doing? Not the end of the world, I guess, I’ll just continue my music.
TBS: On that one night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable, from all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…master of war!
Maybe having a drummer could of made my chorus sound better but, then again, I never said anything about being epic. So maybe my voice sucks at singing or I maybe can’t write a song to save my life, I don’t care…I’m enjoying myself and so does the people watching, it seems, their number doubling during my chorus. But there is no way these people are going to distract me from my music and my promo.
TBS: Another reason, another cause for me to fight within the battle of honour, dignity and pride. Is my promise to all of those I sworn to protect, so I carry out my carnage without regret. The declaration embedded deep inside my skin is a simple reminder of how it begun. There is no hesitation when I am called to strike, so you all should know that you’re in for the fight of all your lives…
Why won’t anyone go away? I am just singing, its not like this city lacks wannabe rock stars. Maybe they all have nothing better to do with life, whatever, if they want to watch then let them…I’m possibly getting more attention from playing my guitar then I ever had when I wrestled for my home company, otherwise known has World Elite Wrestling. Will faring well in this match finally give me answers that I seek? Maybe, but I’m not sure.
TBS: Then on that night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…MASTER OF WAR!
Yes, I incorporated the screamo genre into the last three words of my chorus, while my starting lines for delivered more sharply than before, yet one thing that caught my attention the most…was that the younger members of the crowd joined in screaming “master of war.” Hopefully they don’t expect me to become a part time singer after this…but anyway, this was when I began my, what people call, guitar solo. Considering that this isn’t one of those electric guitars that bands like Korn and Iron Maiden use, I was kind of pleased and shocked at the same time when the crowd started to applaud in a rhythm that seem to be building up to something. What the hell, give them a little more, they chose to watch so it would be wrong to turn any of them down.
TBS: I’m indestructible! My determination is inextinguishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are inexorable. All of your broken bodies will show, that this opponent is just so invincible. Take your last look around while you all can live because I am indestructible…indestructible…
I took this moment to point out to the crowd, seeing if I am really entertaining them or just the point of their interest. Surprisingly, instead of a cheer or silence, they chanted out “indestructible.” Those this main I have accidentally increased the amount of fans I have? I’m not against having fans I’m just surprised at this since the last time I’ve wrestled a televised match is almost two months ago. Maybe it is safe to put an ending to my own now…last thing I want to do is to gather police attention, since I think they’re against free musical performances.
TBS: My determination is the end of you all! At the other side of ring you all tremble, because your annihilation shall be delivered by me! All of your broken dreams will prove, that I am your invincible opponent. So take a look around while you’re alive…because I am The Indestructible Broken Saint! Beak me! I do not care.
It was with those words that my song ended and, rather surprisingly, the people applauded my song and some teenage members offered out a pen and something to write on. Before I did anything else, however, I put the guitar down and approached the camera before switching it off. Once that was done I began to greet these newly found “fans” and signed anything for the ones that offered me pens. It is quite weird, that I hardly get on television at all lately…yet I’ve gathered a decently sized fan base for someone who never wrestled a televised match in over a month. Well, after today, I’ll make my way to APW’s “Survive & Conquer.” Will I survive? Will I conquer? I don’t know, but I’m not going down without one hell of an extreme fight.
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