Post by DAN on Nov 23, 2006 12:31:58 GMT -5
A flickering streetlight flashes on and off along a wide, empty road. Unlike the other streetlights on the street, this light is unable to keep up with others as its bulb begins to lose power. After a valiant attempt to stay alight, the bulb loses all power and slowly dims out until there is no more light. Amongst the other streetlights along this long, winding road, this streetlight hasn’t made a difference as without it the street is still lit up and the road is still safe to drive or walk down at night. A huge, black shadow is seen underneath a neighbouring streetlight for a split second before it quickly disappears. A few seconds pass and the shadow reappears underneath the next streetlight and then again under the next. This shadow moves fast as if it is in a hurry to get somewhere along this isolated road. Along this road, there is complete silence. No cars, no humans, nothing is in sight the entire street is dead with movement. The street is so quiet that the above bulbs can be heard using up their energy as a soft, buzzing noise is produced. Above the streetlights are thousands of tiny stars dotted across the pitch black sky. Everywhere, stars are visible as they burn brightly millions of miles away. Out of no where appears a red and green light, flashing in the sky at different times. One second the green light flashes, the next the red one as an aeroplane flies overhead. The roar of this huge flying machine cannot be heard and the speed of which it is flying can not be admired as it seems to slowly, creep overhead without being noticed. The soft, serene silence is abruptly broken as the sound of a distressed cat echoes throughout the road as a crying, screech is heard. Followed by this is the sound of glass bottles smashing on the pavement as two milk bottles roll onto the road, followed by a jet black cat that flees the scene with its tail up high. The shadow that was seen a few moments ago reappears once more as it turns off the road and disappears around the corner.
Around the corner, the street is similar to the one before. Dozens of streetlights illuminating the road as a car is seen driving down the road with its bright headlights on, lighting up the tarmac infront of it. The sound of the engine gets closer and closer as the car approaches the end of the road. Suddenly, the eerie black shadow reappears for another time infront of the bright headlights in the centre of the road. The car slams its brakes as the sound of screeching is heard coming from the vehicle as rubber burns on the tarmac. The shadow disappears again as rustling is seen coming from a row of hedges on the opposite side of the road, disturbing the peace. After a short while, the car revs back up and slowly drives off around the bend.
Many of the stars above that were once easily visible in the sky have now disappeared as huge, thick clouds gather above eclipsing the tiny stars. The air changes considerably in temperature as a gush of coldness is felt around, accompanied with a gentle breeze that makes the bushes and trees in its path sway from left to right. A ‘snap’ sound is heard coming from the bushes as if twigs or branches had just been broken in two as the rustling of leaves can be heard. Behind the bushes and trees is a small, narrow path made up of a vast array of different size stones and gravel. There is no light along this path, making it hard for anyone to see where they are going or what may be ahead of them. Out of the darkness, a burning flame appears as it seems to be floating in mid-air. The flame blows left to right as it races forward at a quick pace. Along with the flame, what seems to be breath, similar to cigarette smoke can be seen appearing in the air and quickly disappearing before emerging again, only to disappear in the air. This continues. The movement of the flame comes to a halt as it stops in mid-air for a few seconds. Slowly, the flame is lowered to the ground and a thick, brown log can be seen from the light that the flame produces. The flame comes into contact with the log and burns brightly. The log lights up and in theory, acts as a torch. Now the flame is bigger, more area can be seen. A thick, scarred hand can be seen holding the log along with long, brown hair moving forward and back. The scarred hand has several cuts and blisters on, along with a tight, white bandage wrapped around it.
The wind picks up in speed as the flame begins to blow more rapidly. An owl is heard hooting nearby; however, it cannot be seen. Despite the fact it cannot be seen, it is definitely there. This noise echoes throughout this narrow path that seems to be coming to an end. The burning log stops still in its journey. It is slowly lifted into the air as the light produced shows a metal sign screwed onto an iron gate. The sign reads, “King George’s Playground”. The log retreats from the sign as a hand is seen grabbing a hold of one of the iron bars on the gate as it slowly opens, producing a high pitched screeching sound. The gate swings open as the burning log enters the playground. The iron gate slams shut.
A cylinder-shaped, metal barrel is seen standing in the centre of the playground as the burning log is dropped into it, evidentially setting the entire barrel alight producing a warm heat source. The burning flames light up the playground as there are dozens of swings, differently coloured markings on the ground, round-abouts, slides and everything a small child could imagine in a playground. Behind the flames stands a figure. This figure stands 6ft 4’ in height as long hair blow across his face, which is seen to be covered with a leather-type mask. The flames seem to part for a few seconds as Macabre stands behind the burning barrel with his hands placed near the fire as he warms himself up.
Staring into the flames, the 320lbs giants eyes glow up with bright colours and burning rays as he bends down and throws five or six other wooden logs into the fire. The flames rise as he makes his way over to the swings which are already swinging a little from the gusty winds. Macabre examines the graffiti and markings that cover the poles as he tilts his head to the side before taking a seat. He begins to move back and forward just a little.
“I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged here and will never belong here. Ten years ago I wasn’t welcome here and ten years on, I’m not welcome here. No body wants me here. I have no place here. Never have done. Never will. This place, this place is for children to have fun, make friends and enjoy theirselves. This place is a place to play games and re-enact child fantasies. This place isn’t for me. This place is a place in which children long to come, a place in which they love spending their time and a place where they never want to leave. They love this place. I have no place here.”
Macabre stands up from the swing and glance over his shoulder as he stares at the swing, rocking back and forth. He reads the writing that is scrawled over the seat. “J&R - Jessica and Rachael – Best Friend Forever”. Macabre turns his head away and looks over to the round-about that is moving in the wind, producing a screeching noise as it spins. As he makes his way over to the round-about, his huge boots and many chains that dangle from his pockets can be heard rattling as the nearby owl hoots once more. Macabre places his hand on the metal handle on the round-about and moves it left and right as he reads the graffiti once more. “James, Rocky and Adam were here”. Macabre clutches tighter to the rail as his hand begins to shake. Violently, his movement seems to show emotion until he pushes the round-about as hard as he can as it spins several dozen times around. Macabre turns his back on the round-about.
“I had nothing in common with these people. Jessica, James, Adam. These people were born into a loving family, a family which cared for each other and respect one another. These children didn’t have a care in the world, maybe whether their mothers would let them stay out for that extra 10 minutes that would feel like a lifetime, they had friends left, right and centre and would enjoy hours upon hours spending time with the ones they admire. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, each one of these holidays would be spent with loved ones, celebrating life and joys it brings with it. They were the lucky ones.”
“I don’t belong with these people. I have nothing in common with these people. I wasn’t born into a loving family that cared, respect or valued my existence. I was born into a life of bloodshed, violence and beat downs. Day after day, the blood would flow, the bruises would grow and the tears would fall. No-one cared. No-one at all.”
“Every Sunday, Rachael and Rocky would go to Church and pray to God, thanking him for the life he has given them and asking for the forgivness of their sins. Each Sunday, these people would sit down to a specially prepared meal, surrounded by a loving family, eating luxurious foods and deserts. To me, Sunday was just another day. I was fall asleep on the rock hard floor of my room on a Saturday night, after a beating from my father after he has returned home and would wake up the following morning where I would beat myself up over the fact I have woken up. To me, everytime day I woke was another day of pain, torment and abuse. Yeah, I prayed. For years I prayed to God, asking for his help. ‘Kill me, kill me now’ I’d say. ‘I don’t want to live no more, I can’t take it’ I’d yell. He never answered my call. Everytime I woke was evidence he wanted me to suffer as he allowed me to live another day of hell.
Macabre extends his arms, wide infront of him as he examines them. Dozens of scars cover his skin and flesh, some long and deeper than others, all reminding him of his past.
“These scars remain. They are evidence of my past and what I had to live through. These people recall the times their teeth fell out and the tooth fairy came; I remembered my beatings and the gifts they left me, these huge scars.”
Macabre relaxes his arms as his throws his hair over his shoulders and looks towards the burning barrel that burns brightly in the centre of the playground.
“But then, one day, something happened. I woke and felt no reason to beat myself up. I felt no urge to self harm and pick up that razor that lay next to me. I had no feeling inside of me to reach for the rope that hanged from the ceilings. It all changed. For the first time in my life, I felt I had someone, someone who was listening to me, standing by me and protecting me. I continued praying, but not to the one these people call God. I had Satan. Now, a decade has passed and I find myself returning to the WFWF, a place which allowed me to release years of anger, frustration and contained violence on my opponents. With Satan alongside me, we were an unstoppable team. The list of those who fell before me was endless. “Man of the Hour” Josh, Drakz, “LXP” Aaron Champion, Obo, Saku…the list is endless.”
Macabre walks away from the round-about as it begins to come to end of its spinning journey as it slowly haults. Macabre makes his way over the burning barrel once more as he puts his hands to the warmth.
“I say I have nothing in common with these people. I say there is no one similar to myself. I still believe that. Morgan Warner. An outcast had no friends, found life hard and never had that one person they could ever depend on. These people may say we’re similar. We’re nothing alike. While you we’re dealing with lonliness, I used to have to put up with beatdown, after beatdown alone. As you worried over the fact you had no prom date, I was afraid to make eye contact with anyone and everyone incase they took it the wrong way and thought they’d take anger out on me. You claim you’ve experienced losses and failures in life. Warner, you’ve experience nothing at all. Until you experience deep red blood gushing from your own mouth at the hands of your father, until you experience the effects of being made to feel like a gym punch bag and until you experience how it feels to be treated no better than a pile dog crap then you’ve experienced nothing at all.”
“While you were putting on your prom suit and standing alone next to the punch attempting to make eye contact with any girl who walked by, I had my back to the wall with two solid fists coming toward to me face. I had a razor sharp knife gash my arm that dripped blood, staining the floor and marking my body. The proof is here.”
Macabre looks at his right arm as a fifteen centimetre scar stretched the length of his arm. Macabre sadistically smiles.
“You think you’ve had it bad? Warner. Get ready for the beating of your life as I execute a decades worth of anger, rage and violence out on your anatomy. Before you know it, you’ll be hung 8ft in the air, gasping for precious air before being slammed into the canvas as I leave you lying in the centre of the ring, wishing you’d have found some little whore at that prom of yours and started a family, living in a house a million miles from here.”
Macabre reaches down below him and picks up a few more planks of wood and throws them into the burning barrel. The fire increases as the smell of burning wood can be smelt all around. Macabre’s leathered face can vaguely be seen behind the golden flames as the flames increase in size until he is no longer visible. The burning barrel continues burning as a rose is seen in the centre, burning brightly signalling Macabre has left the playground.
Around the corner, the street is similar to the one before. Dozens of streetlights illuminating the road as a car is seen driving down the road with its bright headlights on, lighting up the tarmac infront of it. The sound of the engine gets closer and closer as the car approaches the end of the road. Suddenly, the eerie black shadow reappears for another time infront of the bright headlights in the centre of the road. The car slams its brakes as the sound of screeching is heard coming from the vehicle as rubber burns on the tarmac. The shadow disappears again as rustling is seen coming from a row of hedges on the opposite side of the road, disturbing the peace. After a short while, the car revs back up and slowly drives off around the bend.
Many of the stars above that were once easily visible in the sky have now disappeared as huge, thick clouds gather above eclipsing the tiny stars. The air changes considerably in temperature as a gush of coldness is felt around, accompanied with a gentle breeze that makes the bushes and trees in its path sway from left to right. A ‘snap’ sound is heard coming from the bushes as if twigs or branches had just been broken in two as the rustling of leaves can be heard. Behind the bushes and trees is a small, narrow path made up of a vast array of different size stones and gravel. There is no light along this path, making it hard for anyone to see where they are going or what may be ahead of them. Out of the darkness, a burning flame appears as it seems to be floating in mid-air. The flame blows left to right as it races forward at a quick pace. Along with the flame, what seems to be breath, similar to cigarette smoke can be seen appearing in the air and quickly disappearing before emerging again, only to disappear in the air. This continues. The movement of the flame comes to a halt as it stops in mid-air for a few seconds. Slowly, the flame is lowered to the ground and a thick, brown log can be seen from the light that the flame produces. The flame comes into contact with the log and burns brightly. The log lights up and in theory, acts as a torch. Now the flame is bigger, more area can be seen. A thick, scarred hand can be seen holding the log along with long, brown hair moving forward and back. The scarred hand has several cuts and blisters on, along with a tight, white bandage wrapped around it.
The wind picks up in speed as the flame begins to blow more rapidly. An owl is heard hooting nearby; however, it cannot be seen. Despite the fact it cannot be seen, it is definitely there. This noise echoes throughout this narrow path that seems to be coming to an end. The burning log stops still in its journey. It is slowly lifted into the air as the light produced shows a metal sign screwed onto an iron gate. The sign reads, “King George’s Playground”. The log retreats from the sign as a hand is seen grabbing a hold of one of the iron bars on the gate as it slowly opens, producing a high pitched screeching sound. The gate swings open as the burning log enters the playground. The iron gate slams shut.
A cylinder-shaped, metal barrel is seen standing in the centre of the playground as the burning log is dropped into it, evidentially setting the entire barrel alight producing a warm heat source. The burning flames light up the playground as there are dozens of swings, differently coloured markings on the ground, round-abouts, slides and everything a small child could imagine in a playground. Behind the flames stands a figure. This figure stands 6ft 4’ in height as long hair blow across his face, which is seen to be covered with a leather-type mask. The flames seem to part for a few seconds as Macabre stands behind the burning barrel with his hands placed near the fire as he warms himself up.
Staring into the flames, the 320lbs giants eyes glow up with bright colours and burning rays as he bends down and throws five or six other wooden logs into the fire. The flames rise as he makes his way over to the swings which are already swinging a little from the gusty winds. Macabre examines the graffiti and markings that cover the poles as he tilts his head to the side before taking a seat. He begins to move back and forward just a little.
“I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged here and will never belong here. Ten years ago I wasn’t welcome here and ten years on, I’m not welcome here. No body wants me here. I have no place here. Never have done. Never will. This place, this place is for children to have fun, make friends and enjoy theirselves. This place is a place to play games and re-enact child fantasies. This place isn’t for me. This place is a place in which children long to come, a place in which they love spending their time and a place where they never want to leave. They love this place. I have no place here.”
Macabre stands up from the swing and glance over his shoulder as he stares at the swing, rocking back and forth. He reads the writing that is scrawled over the seat. “J&R - Jessica and Rachael – Best Friend Forever”. Macabre turns his head away and looks over to the round-about that is moving in the wind, producing a screeching noise as it spins. As he makes his way over to the round-about, his huge boots and many chains that dangle from his pockets can be heard rattling as the nearby owl hoots once more. Macabre places his hand on the metal handle on the round-about and moves it left and right as he reads the graffiti once more. “James, Rocky and Adam were here”. Macabre clutches tighter to the rail as his hand begins to shake. Violently, his movement seems to show emotion until he pushes the round-about as hard as he can as it spins several dozen times around. Macabre turns his back on the round-about.
“I had nothing in common with these people. Jessica, James, Adam. These people were born into a loving family, a family which cared for each other and respect one another. These children didn’t have a care in the world, maybe whether their mothers would let them stay out for that extra 10 minutes that would feel like a lifetime, they had friends left, right and centre and would enjoy hours upon hours spending time with the ones they admire. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, each one of these holidays would be spent with loved ones, celebrating life and joys it brings with it. They were the lucky ones.”
“I don’t belong with these people. I have nothing in common with these people. I wasn’t born into a loving family that cared, respect or valued my existence. I was born into a life of bloodshed, violence and beat downs. Day after day, the blood would flow, the bruises would grow and the tears would fall. No-one cared. No-one at all.”
“Every Sunday, Rachael and Rocky would go to Church and pray to God, thanking him for the life he has given them and asking for the forgivness of their sins. Each Sunday, these people would sit down to a specially prepared meal, surrounded by a loving family, eating luxurious foods and deserts. To me, Sunday was just another day. I was fall asleep on the rock hard floor of my room on a Saturday night, after a beating from my father after he has returned home and would wake up the following morning where I would beat myself up over the fact I have woken up. To me, everytime day I woke was another day of pain, torment and abuse. Yeah, I prayed. For years I prayed to God, asking for his help. ‘Kill me, kill me now’ I’d say. ‘I don’t want to live no more, I can’t take it’ I’d yell. He never answered my call. Everytime I woke was evidence he wanted me to suffer as he allowed me to live another day of hell.
Macabre extends his arms, wide infront of him as he examines them. Dozens of scars cover his skin and flesh, some long and deeper than others, all reminding him of his past.
“These scars remain. They are evidence of my past and what I had to live through. These people recall the times their teeth fell out and the tooth fairy came; I remembered my beatings and the gifts they left me, these huge scars.”
Macabre relaxes his arms as his throws his hair over his shoulders and looks towards the burning barrel that burns brightly in the centre of the playground.
“But then, one day, something happened. I woke and felt no reason to beat myself up. I felt no urge to self harm and pick up that razor that lay next to me. I had no feeling inside of me to reach for the rope that hanged from the ceilings. It all changed. For the first time in my life, I felt I had someone, someone who was listening to me, standing by me and protecting me. I continued praying, but not to the one these people call God. I had Satan. Now, a decade has passed and I find myself returning to the WFWF, a place which allowed me to release years of anger, frustration and contained violence on my opponents. With Satan alongside me, we were an unstoppable team. The list of those who fell before me was endless. “Man of the Hour” Josh, Drakz, “LXP” Aaron Champion, Obo, Saku…the list is endless.”
Macabre walks away from the round-about as it begins to come to end of its spinning journey as it slowly haults. Macabre makes his way over the burning barrel once more as he puts his hands to the warmth.
“I say I have nothing in common with these people. I say there is no one similar to myself. I still believe that. Morgan Warner. An outcast had no friends, found life hard and never had that one person they could ever depend on. These people may say we’re similar. We’re nothing alike. While you we’re dealing with lonliness, I used to have to put up with beatdown, after beatdown alone. As you worried over the fact you had no prom date, I was afraid to make eye contact with anyone and everyone incase they took it the wrong way and thought they’d take anger out on me. You claim you’ve experienced losses and failures in life. Warner, you’ve experience nothing at all. Until you experience deep red blood gushing from your own mouth at the hands of your father, until you experience the effects of being made to feel like a gym punch bag and until you experience how it feels to be treated no better than a pile dog crap then you’ve experienced nothing at all.”
“While you were putting on your prom suit and standing alone next to the punch attempting to make eye contact with any girl who walked by, I had my back to the wall with two solid fists coming toward to me face. I had a razor sharp knife gash my arm that dripped blood, staining the floor and marking my body. The proof is here.”
Macabre looks at his right arm as a fifteen centimetre scar stretched the length of his arm. Macabre sadistically smiles.
“You think you’ve had it bad? Warner. Get ready for the beating of your life as I execute a decades worth of anger, rage and violence out on your anatomy. Before you know it, you’ll be hung 8ft in the air, gasping for precious air before being slammed into the canvas as I leave you lying in the centre of the ring, wishing you’d have found some little whore at that prom of yours and started a family, living in a house a million miles from here.”
Macabre reaches down below him and picks up a few more planks of wood and throws them into the burning barrel. The fire increases as the smell of burning wood can be smelt all around. Macabre’s leathered face can vaguely be seen behind the golden flames as the flames increase in size until he is no longer visible. The burning barrel continues burning as a rose is seen in the centre, burning brightly signalling Macabre has left the playground.
