Post by Murdoc on Aug 27, 2005 18:23:08 GMT -5
Marcus.....oh MARCUS.
Or should I call you Prophet now?
My how the years have flown, Marcus. You probably don't even remember me, do you?
It doesn't make any difference. I'm here now. And that's all you need to know.
{A slightly wide-eyed Prophet looks around him cautiously. Who dared to call him by his true name? Who DARED?? But....upon further inspection, looking about him...he remembers where he's at. And because of this, he knows that there's no one around. Simply he...and himself.}
What do you want of me? I have no need of your profaned presence.
{A light chuckle rings out, cutting through the soft afternoon air like razor-sharp ginsu blades. Continuing to stare around him, seeing nothing but nature. Beautiful, giant pine trees with lush green grass all about. The fresh smell of the crisp outdoors air flowing from the river just a few yards away. Complete isolation, out in the middle of nowhere, MILES away from the PCW....from Angelica Night...from everything. Just he...and himself.}
Well, haven't WE gotten impatient?
NO MORE RIDDLES! TELL ME OR BEGONE!
{Silence for a few moments. Nothing but the light, airy chirping of birds flapping their wings against the azure sky above. Looking down at himself, his body setting rather comfortably on a mat of pine needles and soft leaves, legs crossed indian-style as his hands are clasped together in his lap, index fingers touching at the tip. His ears perking to listen for any sound whatsoever, none is noticed as his eyes flutter closed again, his mind relaxed into almost nothingness, quieting everything within him so as to relax.}
Maaaaaaarcus. Come on...don't ignore me Marcus. You know what I want. I want what YOU want. I want the WORLD. I want fear, I want HATRED. You've done half of that....everyone hates you. The people loathe you, would love to see the intestines ripped from your stomach and wrapped around your neck in a noose!
But they don't fear you, Marcus. They think you're a joke. And you ARE a joke! Look at you...you're nothing more than a pseudo-religious quack. How can you EVER expect anyone to take you seriously?
I am what I say I am. Nothing more, nothing less.
Oh but you ARE. You are FAR less. And in a short period of time, you're going to BURN, Marcus. That's right. You don't have what it takes to defeat this woman. Granted, she's nothing to fear herself...but she's more dangerous than YOU. You and your pathetic diatribes. You sound ridiculous on camera, you know that?
I am not fighting Angelica for the people.
Who are you fighting her for then? Yourself? Are you threatened by her?
She attacks those that have come to understand what I've preached of since I made myself known.
You don't even know what you're talking about half the time! You spout some semi-mystical mumbo-jumbo that sounds impressive but has no meaning. Sure, it may have meaning to someone else...but what meaning do ANY of the things you've said have to YOU? Tell me that.
I...I....
That's right. Nothing. You can't. You've lost your soul, Marcus. You've lost your heart. What are you going to do after this match is done with Marcus? Say perhaps you DO win. In some remote chance that you do, what lies ahead for you? Will the big...bad...evil Prophet have something left to do? If you win...what more have you to prove? You've climbed the ladder. Titles mean nothing compared to a righteous victory, which you will have if you beat Angelica Night. But....
...Say you lose. It can happen. It's possible. What do you do then? Do you slink off into a dark corner and try and reinvent your crusade? Your Holy Quest? Ugh...I can't believe I just said that. The words are vile, Marcus. Like foul poison. You've corrupted yourself. You've tainted yourself with the flaws that you so vehemently preach against! How dare you --
HOW DARE YOU! INVADING MY THOUGHTS AND ATTEMPTING TO FILL ME WITH DOUBT! Is it so wrong to have to say the words ' I don't know '?! Is there something inherently wrong with those words? I am only human! Every man is filled with doubt, with question! It is the purpose that we strive to find! We wade through the black sea of humanity to find our destinies, our purposes. The meaning of life...is to find your meaning in life. I live one day at a time. My purpose...is to make Angelica Night pay for what she has done. It's time for her to see the pain she's caused those she's left behind, those still here that must sit idly by and watch her prance around, spitting in their very faces! I HAVE A PURPOSE! Righteous vengeance and furious anger. With the voices of a thousand, thousand crying souls...with the heartbeats of millions, I shall show Angelica Night the TRUE meaning to the word RETRIBUTION!
Where are you now? Where are your witty repartees now?!
{Silence again. A longer, more prolonged silence than before. The Prophet's eyes wide open now, he looks about him, realizing quite suddenly that he's standing up, his body trembling with anger. Looking down to his hands, clenched into tight fists, the knuckles growing white with the pressure being exerted.}
Marcus...there was no need for that. Such a temper tantrum. You really AREN'T ready for this match, are you? I was just joking at first. Now I see that I was right. Of course....you know that I'm right, don't you little man? Yessss....you know I'm right. And you know...Angelica Night is right. You're afraid. You're a cowering, simpering fool with nothing to offer ANYONE. You're not fireproof, Marcus. You may try and convince yourself that you are, but you're not. You can't hope to beat her.
Do you hear me, Prophet?!
YOU CAN'T BEAT HER! How dare you even try to delude yourself? The inane delusions that religion and self-gratification can bring...you win a few contests and you think you're ready for the main event! You've done nothing to set yourself apart from the rest of the people! You simply put on a decent show. Not good, not even mediocre...DECENT. You're a monkey. You're clown shoes, Prophet. You make people LAUGH. NO ONE'S AFRAID OF YOU! You rehash old clichè intimidation tactics, and you expect people to fear you! YOU'RE NOTHING! NOTHING PROPHET!
ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! LISTEN TO ME!
HEAR ME, PROPHET!
{No more words are exchanged as Prophet's eyes turn skyward, staring at the small plane buzzing overhead. Leaving a trail of smoke behind the tail end, letters coming to fruition. Few moments pass as the screaming continues, his mind absolutely numbed at the volume of the sound. His own inner demons deciding it was time to torture him for being imprisoned for so long, it was time to bubble to the surface and cause great pain and suffering. The fluffy clouds now floating in mid-air as the plane breaks off from the writing.}
SAM LANDRY 4 PREZ.
{Thinking this quite odd, the Prophet sighs and shakes his head as the buzzing of the small plane slowly disappears, fading into the background. He knew there was no way around this. He MUST endure this pain, this literall piece of Hell that is relegated to his own mind, chained to his very soul. Returning to his seat of lush pine needles, he doesn't even notice the phone in his bag ringing, sounding out the 1812 Overture, a light-hearted little ringtone. Whoever it was would have to wait. Right now, The Prophet was journeying into Hell and back.}
{Closing his eyes once again, he lets his mind pinpoint on the voice again as he lets the voice taunt him, cruelly tease at him as he sits there, content to survive this assault until Deception. Deception would come...and he would be ready. Mentally prepared, physically strengthened...Angelica would have no prayers that could stem his assault. And with him making his own personal journey into the realm of Gehenna....he saw it fit that HE be the one to be Angelica's personal tour guide.}
{You know what they say. LOCATION....LOCATION...LOCATION.}
Or should I call you Prophet now?
My how the years have flown, Marcus. You probably don't even remember me, do you?
It doesn't make any difference. I'm here now. And that's all you need to know.
{A slightly wide-eyed Prophet looks around him cautiously. Who dared to call him by his true name? Who DARED?? But....upon further inspection, looking about him...he remembers where he's at. And because of this, he knows that there's no one around. Simply he...and himself.}
What do you want of me? I have no need of your profaned presence.
{A light chuckle rings out, cutting through the soft afternoon air like razor-sharp ginsu blades. Continuing to stare around him, seeing nothing but nature. Beautiful, giant pine trees with lush green grass all about. The fresh smell of the crisp outdoors air flowing from the river just a few yards away. Complete isolation, out in the middle of nowhere, MILES away from the PCW....from Angelica Night...from everything. Just he...and himself.}
Well, haven't WE gotten impatient?
NO MORE RIDDLES! TELL ME OR BEGONE!
{Silence for a few moments. Nothing but the light, airy chirping of birds flapping their wings against the azure sky above. Looking down at himself, his body setting rather comfortably on a mat of pine needles and soft leaves, legs crossed indian-style as his hands are clasped together in his lap, index fingers touching at the tip. His ears perking to listen for any sound whatsoever, none is noticed as his eyes flutter closed again, his mind relaxed into almost nothingness, quieting everything within him so as to relax.}
Maaaaaaarcus. Come on...don't ignore me Marcus. You know what I want. I want what YOU want. I want the WORLD. I want fear, I want HATRED. You've done half of that....everyone hates you. The people loathe you, would love to see the intestines ripped from your stomach and wrapped around your neck in a noose!
But they don't fear you, Marcus. They think you're a joke. And you ARE a joke! Look at you...you're nothing more than a pseudo-religious quack. How can you EVER expect anyone to take you seriously?
I am what I say I am. Nothing more, nothing less.
Oh but you ARE. You are FAR less. And in a short period of time, you're going to BURN, Marcus. That's right. You don't have what it takes to defeat this woman. Granted, she's nothing to fear herself...but she's more dangerous than YOU. You and your pathetic diatribes. You sound ridiculous on camera, you know that?
I am not fighting Angelica for the people.
Who are you fighting her for then? Yourself? Are you threatened by her?
She attacks those that have come to understand what I've preached of since I made myself known.
You don't even know what you're talking about half the time! You spout some semi-mystical mumbo-jumbo that sounds impressive but has no meaning. Sure, it may have meaning to someone else...but what meaning do ANY of the things you've said have to YOU? Tell me that.
I...I....
That's right. Nothing. You can't. You've lost your soul, Marcus. You've lost your heart. What are you going to do after this match is done with Marcus? Say perhaps you DO win. In some remote chance that you do, what lies ahead for you? Will the big...bad...evil Prophet have something left to do? If you win...what more have you to prove? You've climbed the ladder. Titles mean nothing compared to a righteous victory, which you will have if you beat Angelica Night. But....
...Say you lose. It can happen. It's possible. What do you do then? Do you slink off into a dark corner and try and reinvent your crusade? Your Holy Quest? Ugh...I can't believe I just said that. The words are vile, Marcus. Like foul poison. You've corrupted yourself. You've tainted yourself with the flaws that you so vehemently preach against! How dare you --
HOW DARE YOU! INVADING MY THOUGHTS AND ATTEMPTING TO FILL ME WITH DOUBT! Is it so wrong to have to say the words ' I don't know '?! Is there something inherently wrong with those words? I am only human! Every man is filled with doubt, with question! It is the purpose that we strive to find! We wade through the black sea of humanity to find our destinies, our purposes. The meaning of life...is to find your meaning in life. I live one day at a time. My purpose...is to make Angelica Night pay for what she has done. It's time for her to see the pain she's caused those she's left behind, those still here that must sit idly by and watch her prance around, spitting in their very faces! I HAVE A PURPOSE! Righteous vengeance and furious anger. With the voices of a thousand, thousand crying souls...with the heartbeats of millions, I shall show Angelica Night the TRUE meaning to the word RETRIBUTION!
Where are you now? Where are your witty repartees now?!
{Silence again. A longer, more prolonged silence than before. The Prophet's eyes wide open now, he looks about him, realizing quite suddenly that he's standing up, his body trembling with anger. Looking down to his hands, clenched into tight fists, the knuckles growing white with the pressure being exerted.}
Marcus...there was no need for that. Such a temper tantrum. You really AREN'T ready for this match, are you? I was just joking at first. Now I see that I was right. Of course....you know that I'm right, don't you little man? Yessss....you know I'm right. And you know...Angelica Night is right. You're afraid. You're a cowering, simpering fool with nothing to offer ANYONE. You're not fireproof, Marcus. You may try and convince yourself that you are, but you're not. You can't hope to beat her.
Do you hear me, Prophet?!
YOU CAN'T BEAT HER! How dare you even try to delude yourself? The inane delusions that religion and self-gratification can bring...you win a few contests and you think you're ready for the main event! You've done nothing to set yourself apart from the rest of the people! You simply put on a decent show. Not good, not even mediocre...DECENT. You're a monkey. You're clown shoes, Prophet. You make people LAUGH. NO ONE'S AFRAID OF YOU! You rehash old clichè intimidation tactics, and you expect people to fear you! YOU'RE NOTHING! NOTHING PROPHET!
ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! LISTEN TO ME!
HEAR ME, PROPHET!
{No more words are exchanged as Prophet's eyes turn skyward, staring at the small plane buzzing overhead. Leaving a trail of smoke behind the tail end, letters coming to fruition. Few moments pass as the screaming continues, his mind absolutely numbed at the volume of the sound. His own inner demons deciding it was time to torture him for being imprisoned for so long, it was time to bubble to the surface and cause great pain and suffering. The fluffy clouds now floating in mid-air as the plane breaks off from the writing.}
SAM LANDRY 4 PREZ.
{Thinking this quite odd, the Prophet sighs and shakes his head as the buzzing of the small plane slowly disappears, fading into the background. He knew there was no way around this. He MUST endure this pain, this literall piece of Hell that is relegated to his own mind, chained to his very soul. Returning to his seat of lush pine needles, he doesn't even notice the phone in his bag ringing, sounding out the 1812 Overture, a light-hearted little ringtone. Whoever it was would have to wait. Right now, The Prophet was journeying into Hell and back.}
{Closing his eyes once again, he lets his mind pinpoint on the voice again as he lets the voice taunt him, cruelly tease at him as he sits there, content to survive this assault until Deception. Deception would come...and he would be ready. Mentally prepared, physically strengthened...Angelica would have no prayers that could stem his assault. And with him making his own personal journey into the realm of Gehenna....he saw it fit that HE be the one to be Angelica's personal tour guide.}
{You know what they say. LOCATION....LOCATION...LOCATION.}
