Post by Yukio Blaze on Mar 22, 2007 11:10:38 GMT -5
“Many people genuinely do not want to be saints, and it is probable that some who achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt much temptation to be human beings” - George Orwell
[/i]Its a pretty lousy day. Grey clouds are blocking out the sunshine and the sky, and not to mention is raining like the dickens. Port ships are having a hard time docking with the harsh combination of rain and high humidity causing dense fog. Dock workers are locking goods onto trucks, such as fish, meats, and plain brown boxes with god knows what in them. The men look tired, locking and unloading is all they do every single day, but thats what their good at doing. Above one of the meat packing buildings is a very small room, almost like a hut. The roof is that of tin, so when the rain hits it, it sounds like a bb gun ricochet. The outside of the building looks old, paint chipping and just all around not livable, but inside this place is a whole another story. The showers are in the same room as the living room, and a cot is sat up by the only door in this place. A small television is sitting on a milk crate and the news is playing. Sitting at what appears to be the kitchen table is Yukio Blaze, but he doesnt look to good. He is wearing a wife beater with a few specks of blood on it and two black stains. On the table is a bottle of Wild Irish Rose, a pack of cigarettes, a glass, a lighter and what appears to be a handgun. Yukio puts a cigarette up to his mouth, but keeps it in there without lighting it.
Conscience
Should I or shouldnt I. I havent had one of these up to my lips in a few years. I said I wanted to quit and I did, but the temptation is to great this time. I see the liquor sitting there to and thats as tempting as a hot piece of ass, but I gotta fight the urge somehow. I must......
This place is like hell. There is nothing good about it and I have no clue why my cousin would want to stay here, but when I think about it, its fine for him because he works down there on the docks. He makes good money and everything, but this place must suit him and please him. I know I couldnt stay here all the time because this place gets to you in someway. I dont know, but it seems to work with ones mind. Thats why I cant wait to leave. I flew up here and stayed with him for a couple of nights because I have a show to do and I didnt want to pay for a motel room. Yeah, I'm a cheap ass.
Conscience
Yeah, I'm a cheap ass alright. I thought it would be a good time for us to share good memories growing up, but instead either I'm going crazy here or some mythical power is making me stronger. Yeah, like I believe in a mythical force, but I have to ask myself something very odd, why in the hell is there a pack of smokes, a bottle of whiskey, and a gun lying on this table. My cousin doesnt own a gun, or smoke, or drink. That I cant understand.
Yukio's hand starts to shake when he goes to reach for the whiskey bottle. Its almost like he has Parkinson's, very odd. The gun is pointing towards the only window in this place and the window is the only nice thing in the joint. No cracks, nor does it look dirty which is another odd element. Now the last eerie coincidence is that the brand of cigarettes are All Saints brand. Yukio takes a look at this and his one good eye makes a weird tell. Almost out of this world.
Conscience
What the hell is going on, I'm starting to get a freaked out kind of feel, but its almost like a euphoria of goodness, which is strange. Maybe this is a sign that my new found sainthood isnt a fluke. Its almost like Jessie and Jolie are making this happen. My two angels are trying to tell me to go for it, when I was doubting the whole thing. I guess Sanchez created the idea, but a higher force wants to guide me in the direction of good to fight off the evil, possibly the evil that is The Revolution ?
Yukio spits out the cigarette and swipes the whiskey bottle onto the floor, busting making glass fly everywhere and causing a all around mess. Yukio gets up and walks over to the window, while walking over to it, three different sounds of thunder were cracking, but were pausing. Almost like a morse code of thunder. Yukio looks out the window and sees that it isnt raining or thundering on this side, but the sun is coming down like a beam of hope.
This is a sign, a good sign at that telling me that its right at what I will do in the upcoming months, days, weeks, and maybe years. This so called sainthood can be tricky, but I think I can do it in the right way and it started last week and its no stopping now. Thunder and the rest of The Revolution started their guide way to hell when they won the Tag Teams titles. They tarnished what could have been good and pure, but I will be one half of the reason why you Thunder will have your downfall. I made you tap out last week and humiliated you like no one has, not to mention, you cant even trust your tag team partner to get your back because his lady is more important than you or those championships that you have. I know this, you know this, and everyone else knows this. I've had downfall after downfall from people, places, and things but you Thunder, wont be another hurdle. I've gotten the job done before and this time is no different. You literally have no help, I have help from a higher cause. Now which one of us is more important on this place called Earth. Think about it.
Yukio walks back over to the table and grabs the handgun, and then walks back over looking out the window.
Conscience
I dont need this, I dont need something that is evil and is full of hatred. All I need is my fist, my sainthood, and the higher power to guide me along. Even if I have to do the bad things once in a while...
Yukio throws down the gun, and the gun smashes upon impact revealing that it was just a toy gun. The rain that has fallen all day, tinging off the tin roof, has finally stopped. The clouds have lifted all around the city and a nice blue sky has finally come out. No more fog, no more hatred, no more evilness in this area. Just the miraculous feel of sainthood is left hanging in the air.
“There are few things more disturbing than to find, in somebody we detest, a moral quality which seems to us demonstrably superior to anything we ourselves possess. It augurs not merely an unfairness on the part of creation, but a lack of artistic judgment. Sainthood is acceptable only in saints.” - Pamela Hansford Johnson[/center][/i]
