Post by DAN on Dec 13, 2006 13:06:49 GMT -5
The continuous sound of a gentle ticking clock echoes throughout this seemingly empty room. Every second the noise is heard, signifying another moment in time has passed, ultimately becoming nothing more than forgotten history. Within seconds, the present becomes past and the future becomes present as the sound the clock produces is the only noise coming from this dark and empty room. The clock stands in the corner of the room, tall and proud as it exterior presence appears battered and bruised. No longer does its glossy coat twinkle in the light, no longer do the clock hands show the colours they were originally painted, nor does the hourly chime of bells ring out when the time reaches top of the hour. The lower regions of the furniture are covered in thick, grey cobwebs which seem to sway back and forth from a slight draft that has managed to creep through tiny gaps in the floorboards. The torso of the clock fashions dozens upon dozens of chips and fractures in the woodwork, some bigger than others, some longer than others as a huge gash cuts its way down the spine of the clock showing signs of poor care and attention for this piece of old furniture. Gone are the thoughts of becoming an antique as this clock is no longer up to the standards of a second hand collectable. The clock face is no longer shining the way it once did as grey patches block out parts of the clock itself along with numerous tiny chips, each with their own story of how they got there. The numbers remain, each one golden plated showing this clock still resembles the great antique it aspired to be however. The second hand continues to tick, as a firm breeze blows through the floorboards once more.
Within this room there is no light, except for a small crack in the corner of the room that allows a small amount of light, produced from the moon into the room which bounces off a wooden table situated against the wall of the room. Apart from the clock, constantly ticking there is no other sound detected within the area. All is dead as the silence is defining. The constant ticking is enough to send anyone out of their heads as second after second the tick is always present. Suddenly, a black shadow appears to run past the clock, which is reflected in the glass of the clock face. A scuffling sound is produced on the floorboards followed by a drawn out creeking noise. All returns to normal when out of the darkness comes a voice.
”What is it we are waiting for? What is it we are heading for? What awaits us when the ticking stops and there is no more? So many questions but how much time is there for us to answer them? Each second is so significant in its own right that without it, so much wouldn’t happen. Should one second fail to produce that ‘tick’ the entire landscape of what awaits us could be drastically changed. Within the blink of an eye the present becomes the past and the long awaited future is now here. Each second should be valued, cherished and used to its full potential because who knows when the next one will come?”
The room returns to its original state as once again the sound of ticking takes centre stage. Despite its beaten exterior, the clock still manages to make its presence known throughout as it will go on and on until it can no longer go on anymore. The moonlight that creeps through the crack in the top corner of the room beams a small ray onto a wooden table. The wooden table, darker in colour to the clock as dozens of grooves dented into it with unique markings and different words scrawled into it. A transparent glass vase holds a red rose that droops to the right of the vase as a pocket-sized knife is stabbed into the table. Below the weapon are numerous engravings and designs. The light manages to shine on top of one of the engravings which reads “14/12/2006” with two crosses scrawled into the wood, either side of the date. Out of nowhere a huge hand comes into light and grabs a hold of a box of matches which sits half opened on the desk. One or two matches are already out of the box as the hand simply flicks them off the desk and brushes a pile of wood shavings onto the floor with the back of his hand. The thick skinned hand removes the matches out of light and grabs a hold of the knife. Applying a little force, the hand grabs the knife and removes it from the wood. The knife is slowly spun round, as both sides are eventually seen.
“So much potential in such a small object. In the hands of some it can become their best friend, in the hands of others it can become someone’s worst nightmare. From its razor sharp edge to it’s glistening sliver coating, this tool posses so much potential that when used to it’s fullest it can become a deadly weapon. Overtime it must be groomed, constantly sharpened and must be able to be used correctly but once mastered this can become a feared tool.”
The hand that initially grabbed the knife flips it in the air as it spins in a 360 degree motion and as it comes down it slices the back of the already scarred hand before forcefully landing into the wood once more. A few seconds pass as the gash on the back of the hand begins to pour with blood. Another hand appears as a piece of paper is placed in the centre of the table. Placing one finger out below the hand, the blood is caught and applied to the paper as if an artist was about to create a masterpiece. After a short while the blood refrains from gushing out of the gash as the hand holds the paper up which reads “Reverend Shadow”. The letters begin to drip as the sound of movement and scuffling is heard as a figure makes its way passed the moonlight and over to the wall. The figure reaches for a hammer which lies on the window ledge, surrounded by a trio of nails. The figure hammers the paper to the wall as the blood continues to drip, and onto the wall. Clouds overhead part as the moon becomes clearer, allowing for more rays to be beamed down into the room, ultimately allowing for more to be seen. This figure can now be seen wandering around the room as it makes its way back to the table where it grabs the knife and begins scrawling something into the wood. The sound of carving is heard above the clock as grunting from the human is heard. Eventually, the figure takes a stand back and looks down at his engraving which reads “Wayne McGurk”. The figure tilts its head as its hand resumes bleeding a little more as suddenly the knife if flung at the wall at an incredible speed as it pierces right in the piece of paper which has now stopped dripping.
The creepy sound of laughter fills the room as the figure exits the door, leaving the room back to its original state. The door is slammed shut and tiny pieces of concrete fall from the roof and rattle on the floorboards, some fall right through the gaps as the door slam echoes throughout. Now this figure has left the room, it makes its way down a corridor. There are a few light bulbs hanging from the huge, rusty pipes above. Along these pipes run rats, as their movement along the copper structures are heard along with the sound of dripping water which lands on the concrete ground as a small puddle gathers next to the walls. With the aid of the light bulbs, which produce a slight buzzing sound, this figure is now able to be identified as a huge, 6fter with long, brown hair and a masked face. The figure has huge, muscular arms and wears an open, sleeveless shirt. His name is Macabre. Macabre makes his way down the corridor at relatively quick pace as his huge boots and silver chains that hang from his jeans produce an intimidating sound. As he walks, he extends his arms either side of him and appears to scratch the walls as he walks, ripping his nails to pieces. Macabre throws his hair over his head as he continues walking until he approaches two wooden doors. He extends his arm to open them as a huge gust of wind blows through the corridor. Macabre is unaffected as he exits the corridor and through the doors where he finds himself in an open patch of wasteland.
Macabre looks up into the night’s sky as the moon shines down on him and the surrounding area as he walks on to the wasteland. His huge boots seem to sink a little as the come into contact with the thick, brown mud. Macabre kneels down onto one knee and extends his two fingers and scoops up a piece of the mud. He wipes it onto his shirt before continuing to walk through the wasteland. The temperature is considerably colder out here than in the room; however the Macabre Monster shows no sign of coldness as his skin remains unaffected. After a short while Macabre comes to a huge pile of wood, branches and different materials that are stacked up in the middle of nowhere like a bonfire. Macabre smiles and looks down below his feet where he sees a few scraps of wood. He throws them onto the pile and takes a seat on a nearby plastic chair.
Macabre: Last week it began. Morgan Warner felt the full force of what I am and of what I have become. He stepped into the ring with me with hopes, dreams and aspirations of a victory. He believed he could be the one to topple the Macabre One and kill off any thoughts of me becoming the most dominant wrestler in the WFWF. I shattered those dreams. Warner stepped into the ring and as soon as his eyes met mine his blood went cold, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his knees went weak. Thoughts raced through his mind, over and over as to what he has gotten himself into. He soon began to wonder why he has chosen this as his career and why the hell he is here. Before he realised the answers he was slapped around the neck and my huge, scarred hands had him locked in. Vanished were all thoughts as to why he was here as his mind went blank, all senses were cut off and the roar of the crowd weren’t heard. Suddenly, he was raised 8ft in the air with him dangling from my hands and before he had time to breath his anatomy was shattered as I sent him crashing into the canvas, knocking the wind out of him, leaving him motionless in the ring. Morgan Warner has now left the WFWF and the wrestling world forever because of the treatment I dealt out last week. Warner has come to realise what a threat I pose to him, the WFWF and the rest of the world as now, Macabre has returned.
Macabre now stands up and takes a hold of the chair he was once seated on. He throws it on top of the pile as it rolls down the pile before getting stuck between two pieces of wood. Macabre now inserts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a box of matches. Before he lights one he pulls out two single matches and throws the rest on the fire. He keeps the two single matches and holds them in his hand. He holds them up to the sky and gazes at them before bringing them back to his chest.
Macabre: For years I was held back in life. I was never recognized and was never appreciated. I was never shown respect and at times, was never treated the way a human being was supposed to be. Day in, day out, week in, week out, month in, month out the blood poured, the bruises blackened and the heartache continued as with each passing moment, rage and anger slowly built up inside of me. Little did those who beat me down day after day know the amount of anger brewing inside of me and little did they realise that one day, this small, unrecognized child that never fought back would grow into such a feared monster. As the years passed, the beatings got harder, the bruises got bigger and the heartache began to set in, I was on the edge until Satan came to my aid. God was nowhere to be found as I found solidarity in the one they call the devil. He guided me through the rest of my life and gave me the strength to conquer my demons and slowly, over time I was transformed into what I am today and no-one can stop me. Just like the matches, my potential was gained as, within one strike of these sticks can set an entire forest ablaze. One strike can destroy acres of land, kill hundreds of plants and wipe out hundreds more animals as the potential of these matches are unlimited.
Macabre separates the two matches so that either one is held in different hands. The 6ft 4, 320lbs Macabre Monster holds the matches above his head and stares at both.
Macabre: Wayne McGurk. Reverend Shadow. Just like these two matches, you were nothing to begin with/. You had your asses kicked all over the WFWF and week after week you were subjected to another beat down, while I was dominating the National Title division and slowly becoming the unstoppable force in the whole of the federation. You two were nowhere to be seen as I reigned supreme. However, just like these matches you posses ultimate potential and now, it appears you two have been set alight and are on course for a devastating blaze throughout the WFWF. You’ve both risen from nothing and now, you two are on fire!
Macabre sarcastically laughs as his evil humour soon turns to violent aggression as he fiercely snaps the two matches in half and begins to stamp hard on them.
Macabre: You may be on fire but I’m the resister that will put an end to your roll. You will soon realise why I am the Macabre Monster because, as we head into the WFWF Title tournament, I am on a mission to destroy all that lies in my way and you two are direct obstacles that need putting out. It may take one second to be set a light but it takes half the time to blow you out as I plan on putting an end to any hopes, aspirations or dreams i]you might have in becoming the WFWF Champion.
Macabre pulls out a third match from his pocket and scratches it against his rough, scared back hand as the match sets alight. The monster gazes into the flame as all that is behind it seems to appear blurry in the light heat. The flame also sways to the left as a slight breeze picks up.
Macabre: Here, is the symbolic representation of the potential between the combined duo of Macabre and Satan. Watch and learn. Watch and learn.
Macabre throws the match onto the pile of material and within minutes the entire pile is set alight as a huge fire now burns in the middle of the wasteland. As the flames get bigger and brighter, Macabre is harder to spot as eventually he is no longer visible. The smoke rises into the night’s sky as the sound of morbid laughter is heard coming from all around as a red rose burns within the fire.
Within this room there is no light, except for a small crack in the corner of the room that allows a small amount of light, produced from the moon into the room which bounces off a wooden table situated against the wall of the room. Apart from the clock, constantly ticking there is no other sound detected within the area. All is dead as the silence is defining. The constant ticking is enough to send anyone out of their heads as second after second the tick is always present. Suddenly, a black shadow appears to run past the clock, which is reflected in the glass of the clock face. A scuffling sound is produced on the floorboards followed by a drawn out creeking noise. All returns to normal when out of the darkness comes a voice.
”What is it we are waiting for? What is it we are heading for? What awaits us when the ticking stops and there is no more? So many questions but how much time is there for us to answer them? Each second is so significant in its own right that without it, so much wouldn’t happen. Should one second fail to produce that ‘tick’ the entire landscape of what awaits us could be drastically changed. Within the blink of an eye the present becomes the past and the long awaited future is now here. Each second should be valued, cherished and used to its full potential because who knows when the next one will come?”
The room returns to its original state as once again the sound of ticking takes centre stage. Despite its beaten exterior, the clock still manages to make its presence known throughout as it will go on and on until it can no longer go on anymore. The moonlight that creeps through the crack in the top corner of the room beams a small ray onto a wooden table. The wooden table, darker in colour to the clock as dozens of grooves dented into it with unique markings and different words scrawled into it. A transparent glass vase holds a red rose that droops to the right of the vase as a pocket-sized knife is stabbed into the table. Below the weapon are numerous engravings and designs. The light manages to shine on top of one of the engravings which reads “14/12/2006” with two crosses scrawled into the wood, either side of the date. Out of nowhere a huge hand comes into light and grabs a hold of a box of matches which sits half opened on the desk. One or two matches are already out of the box as the hand simply flicks them off the desk and brushes a pile of wood shavings onto the floor with the back of his hand. The thick skinned hand removes the matches out of light and grabs a hold of the knife. Applying a little force, the hand grabs the knife and removes it from the wood. The knife is slowly spun round, as both sides are eventually seen.
“So much potential in such a small object. In the hands of some it can become their best friend, in the hands of others it can become someone’s worst nightmare. From its razor sharp edge to it’s glistening sliver coating, this tool posses so much potential that when used to it’s fullest it can become a deadly weapon. Overtime it must be groomed, constantly sharpened and must be able to be used correctly but once mastered this can become a feared tool.”
The hand that initially grabbed the knife flips it in the air as it spins in a 360 degree motion and as it comes down it slices the back of the already scarred hand before forcefully landing into the wood once more. A few seconds pass as the gash on the back of the hand begins to pour with blood. Another hand appears as a piece of paper is placed in the centre of the table. Placing one finger out below the hand, the blood is caught and applied to the paper as if an artist was about to create a masterpiece. After a short while the blood refrains from gushing out of the gash as the hand holds the paper up which reads “Reverend Shadow”. The letters begin to drip as the sound of movement and scuffling is heard as a figure makes its way passed the moonlight and over to the wall. The figure reaches for a hammer which lies on the window ledge, surrounded by a trio of nails. The figure hammers the paper to the wall as the blood continues to drip, and onto the wall. Clouds overhead part as the moon becomes clearer, allowing for more rays to be beamed down into the room, ultimately allowing for more to be seen. This figure can now be seen wandering around the room as it makes its way back to the table where it grabs the knife and begins scrawling something into the wood. The sound of carving is heard above the clock as grunting from the human is heard. Eventually, the figure takes a stand back and looks down at his engraving which reads “Wayne McGurk”. The figure tilts its head as its hand resumes bleeding a little more as suddenly the knife if flung at the wall at an incredible speed as it pierces right in the piece of paper which has now stopped dripping.
The creepy sound of laughter fills the room as the figure exits the door, leaving the room back to its original state. The door is slammed shut and tiny pieces of concrete fall from the roof and rattle on the floorboards, some fall right through the gaps as the door slam echoes throughout. Now this figure has left the room, it makes its way down a corridor. There are a few light bulbs hanging from the huge, rusty pipes above. Along these pipes run rats, as their movement along the copper structures are heard along with the sound of dripping water which lands on the concrete ground as a small puddle gathers next to the walls. With the aid of the light bulbs, which produce a slight buzzing sound, this figure is now able to be identified as a huge, 6fter with long, brown hair and a masked face. The figure has huge, muscular arms and wears an open, sleeveless shirt. His name is Macabre. Macabre makes his way down the corridor at relatively quick pace as his huge boots and silver chains that hang from his jeans produce an intimidating sound. As he walks, he extends his arms either side of him and appears to scratch the walls as he walks, ripping his nails to pieces. Macabre throws his hair over his head as he continues walking until he approaches two wooden doors. He extends his arm to open them as a huge gust of wind blows through the corridor. Macabre is unaffected as he exits the corridor and through the doors where he finds himself in an open patch of wasteland.
Macabre looks up into the night’s sky as the moon shines down on him and the surrounding area as he walks on to the wasteland. His huge boots seem to sink a little as the come into contact with the thick, brown mud. Macabre kneels down onto one knee and extends his two fingers and scoops up a piece of the mud. He wipes it onto his shirt before continuing to walk through the wasteland. The temperature is considerably colder out here than in the room; however the Macabre Monster shows no sign of coldness as his skin remains unaffected. After a short while Macabre comes to a huge pile of wood, branches and different materials that are stacked up in the middle of nowhere like a bonfire. Macabre smiles and looks down below his feet where he sees a few scraps of wood. He throws them onto the pile and takes a seat on a nearby plastic chair.
Macabre: Last week it began. Morgan Warner felt the full force of what I am and of what I have become. He stepped into the ring with me with hopes, dreams and aspirations of a victory. He believed he could be the one to topple the Macabre One and kill off any thoughts of me becoming the most dominant wrestler in the WFWF. I shattered those dreams. Warner stepped into the ring and as soon as his eyes met mine his blood went cold, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his knees went weak. Thoughts raced through his mind, over and over as to what he has gotten himself into. He soon began to wonder why he has chosen this as his career and why the hell he is here. Before he realised the answers he was slapped around the neck and my huge, scarred hands had him locked in. Vanished were all thoughts as to why he was here as his mind went blank, all senses were cut off and the roar of the crowd weren’t heard. Suddenly, he was raised 8ft in the air with him dangling from my hands and before he had time to breath his anatomy was shattered as I sent him crashing into the canvas, knocking the wind out of him, leaving him motionless in the ring. Morgan Warner has now left the WFWF and the wrestling world forever because of the treatment I dealt out last week. Warner has come to realise what a threat I pose to him, the WFWF and the rest of the world as now, Macabre has returned.
Macabre now stands up and takes a hold of the chair he was once seated on. He throws it on top of the pile as it rolls down the pile before getting stuck between two pieces of wood. Macabre now inserts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a box of matches. Before he lights one he pulls out two single matches and throws the rest on the fire. He keeps the two single matches and holds them in his hand. He holds them up to the sky and gazes at them before bringing them back to his chest.
Macabre: For years I was held back in life. I was never recognized and was never appreciated. I was never shown respect and at times, was never treated the way a human being was supposed to be. Day in, day out, week in, week out, month in, month out the blood poured, the bruises blackened and the heartache continued as with each passing moment, rage and anger slowly built up inside of me. Little did those who beat me down day after day know the amount of anger brewing inside of me and little did they realise that one day, this small, unrecognized child that never fought back would grow into such a feared monster. As the years passed, the beatings got harder, the bruises got bigger and the heartache began to set in, I was on the edge until Satan came to my aid. God was nowhere to be found as I found solidarity in the one they call the devil. He guided me through the rest of my life and gave me the strength to conquer my demons and slowly, over time I was transformed into what I am today and no-one can stop me. Just like the matches, my potential was gained as, within one strike of these sticks can set an entire forest ablaze. One strike can destroy acres of land, kill hundreds of plants and wipe out hundreds more animals as the potential of these matches are unlimited.
Macabre separates the two matches so that either one is held in different hands. The 6ft 4, 320lbs Macabre Monster holds the matches above his head and stares at both.
Macabre: Wayne McGurk. Reverend Shadow. Just like these two matches, you were nothing to begin with/. You had your asses kicked all over the WFWF and week after week you were subjected to another beat down, while I was dominating the National Title division and slowly becoming the unstoppable force in the whole of the federation. You two were nowhere to be seen as I reigned supreme. However, just like these matches you posses ultimate potential and now, it appears you two have been set alight and are on course for a devastating blaze throughout the WFWF. You’ve both risen from nothing and now, you two are on fire!
Macabre sarcastically laughs as his evil humour soon turns to violent aggression as he fiercely snaps the two matches in half and begins to stamp hard on them.
Macabre: You may be on fire but I’m the resister that will put an end to your roll. You will soon realise why I am the Macabre Monster because, as we head into the WFWF Title tournament, I am on a mission to destroy all that lies in my way and you two are direct obstacles that need putting out. It may take one second to be set a light but it takes half the time to blow you out as I plan on putting an end to any hopes, aspirations or dreams i]you might have in becoming the WFWF Champion.
Macabre pulls out a third match from his pocket and scratches it against his rough, scared back hand as the match sets alight. The monster gazes into the flame as all that is behind it seems to appear blurry in the light heat. The flame also sways to the left as a slight breeze picks up.
Macabre: Here, is the symbolic representation of the potential between the combined duo of Macabre and Satan. Watch and learn. Watch and learn.
Macabre throws the match onto the pile of material and within minutes the entire pile is set alight as a huge fire now burns in the middle of the wasteland. As the flames get bigger and brighter, Macabre is harder to spot as eventually he is no longer visible. The smoke rises into the night’s sky as the sound of morbid laughter is heard coming from all around as a red rose burns within the fire.
but thats neither here nor there.
