Post by gravedigger on Oct 20, 2006 13:54:42 GMT -5
The dense fog filled the air as the morning came ever so gracefully. There were no birds chirping nor animals running amuck, and nor did any liveliness fill the air, instead, it was nothing but a sad sense of somberness, a memorial of things of the past. Flags in the neighborhood were half mast, and no children were out to play. Three teenage boys had been killed, brutally so. The class of '95 knew loss. They knew the pain of three golden arms being ruthlessly killed - buried alive. Their blame rested on one man, one kid, one teenager that was abnormal, that was taller then any other living high school kid. They blamed Jason Striker, the kid everyone called a Freak. They saw no evil in their own kids, the ones slaughtered. They blamed Jason for their deaths, and they blamed him for his girlfriend's death.
"I say he sits in the electric chair!" One angry father proclaimed.
"He should hang like in the western days!" A pissed off mother yelled.
"He should be shot infront of a firing squad!" One of the three jocks' little brother shouted in anger.
"HE SHOULD DIE!" came the unified response as the crowed of protester marched their way to court.
Indeed, this was judgement day. Striker would be judged and tried. He would be sent to Death Row if a unanimous guilty was voted, and he would spend life if found guilty. And if innocent... there was no doubt the truth in the fact that the mothers and fathers would all take justice into their own hands. There was no doubt that Striker would be slain. There wasn't any doubt about any of it. Striker would die, and the parents of three dead teenagers would see to it, and they would make sure all his family members were black listed.
And so they marched and they marched and they reached the courthouse. And they waited and they waited for hours on end, when the doors opened, the press left first, and Striker stepped out... a free man.
Scene - A dark and dreary graveyard, with dim lighting and almost no sense of life. A surreal environment in which no life existed. No life, no people no animals, no nothing. Just the headstones resting over the graves of the lifeless, of the dead. Only one figure stood, and he stood like a statue, unmoving. Dressed in a black trench coat, and wearing a half skull mask on his face, the being is only known as the dark, the creepy, the freakish... Gravedigger.
"There was a time in ages past where one would forget about what had happened, and only worried of the present and what was to come. But now.. it is the past that shapes us... makes us... breaks us. It is the dismal days of rain and sleet in which determines just how often we smile, frown, cry, or get mad. It is the days of the winter storms in which determines if we get depressed or go into a manic overdrive, or if we have a mix of both."
The figure moves slightly, other then his mouth moving from his words spoken. He edges closer, though not so close as to see his entire form in the light.
"It is in these times that determine how we face adversity, and how we face defeat. In these times, it determines what motivate us and what captivate us. Silence has set me on a setback, and yet there is nothing I cannot and will not recover from. Silence my message to you is rather simple. Do not wound what you cannot kill."
He edges even closer....
"My opponent though if not a man named Silence, but two men... Jackle and Menace are their names. Known collectively as the Two Guys... am I not mistaken? They are obstacles in a long and dark tunnel and road, they are two men who have no idea what they have gotten themselves into. My labelled 'partner' may be one Sean Hunter, but I refuse to let him have glory that he doesn't earn himself. He shall not be the one to watch out for come Trauma. The two men known as Two Guys shall reap the consequences of going two on one. It may be two on two, but I am not going to the ring to be someone's partner. I am going to the ring with one goal."
His face gets lighter, his hardened eyes showing.
"To Bury Two Guys Alive."
Scene End.
The parents, oh the parents tried, but four people saved Striker's life. The first, a beautiful blond haired teenager rose up and hugged her man, hugged Striker. The parents, angry, sad, disappointed, and vengeful tried to move, and an older man in his twenties rose up, a man who joined the independent wrestling circuit known as the Enforcer. He had just arrived from overseas, for he had been discharged honorably from the Marines. He stared them all down angrily, his disciplined gaze halting them for awhile. And yet they still pressed on.
And another stepped forward, a man darker in skin, a friend of the one nicknamed the Enforcer. Clearly part Samoan and rather odd in his choice of wearing a necklace of smalls kulls, he stepped forward and yelled at the parents for being disgraceful. And they paused... even longer now. He would be known as Skulldigger, the Voodoo Prince of several independent federations. Yet even these three "interlopers" that protected Striker could not stop the parents from trying to mug and mob the innocent.
And one other stepped onto the scene. A man larger then large, 4 inches taller then even Striker himself pushed people away. Known as Nemesis in various promotions, this hulking giant stood behind the others, and all of them pressed glares the way of the angry and misunderstanding parents. Soon the police came, and the mob left, never to see the four men and one woman who would in several independent wrestling federations eventually be known only as the Freaks of Nature again.
That was the true day that Jason Striker realized that underneath, what he had done had been a gift.
It was that memory of making friends in the most unconvential of ways that eventually gave birth to Striker's alternate ego, the creature of the night that did not just defeat his opponents... but buried them.
Those were the seeds.
In 1995, the seeds of a Freak of Nature were planted.
Gravedigger was truly born.
"I say he sits in the electric chair!" One angry father proclaimed.
"He should hang like in the western days!" A pissed off mother yelled.
"He should be shot infront of a firing squad!" One of the three jocks' little brother shouted in anger.
"HE SHOULD DIE!" came the unified response as the crowed of protester marched their way to court.
Indeed, this was judgement day. Striker would be judged and tried. He would be sent to Death Row if a unanimous guilty was voted, and he would spend life if found guilty. And if innocent... there was no doubt the truth in the fact that the mothers and fathers would all take justice into their own hands. There was no doubt that Striker would be slain. There wasn't any doubt about any of it. Striker would die, and the parents of three dead teenagers would see to it, and they would make sure all his family members were black listed.
And so they marched and they marched and they reached the courthouse. And they waited and they waited for hours on end, when the doors opened, the press left first, and Striker stepped out... a free man.
Scene - A dark and dreary graveyard, with dim lighting and almost no sense of life. A surreal environment in which no life existed. No life, no people no animals, no nothing. Just the headstones resting over the graves of the lifeless, of the dead. Only one figure stood, and he stood like a statue, unmoving. Dressed in a black trench coat, and wearing a half skull mask on his face, the being is only known as the dark, the creepy, the freakish... Gravedigger.
"There was a time in ages past where one would forget about what had happened, and only worried of the present and what was to come. But now.. it is the past that shapes us... makes us... breaks us. It is the dismal days of rain and sleet in which determines just how often we smile, frown, cry, or get mad. It is the days of the winter storms in which determines if we get depressed or go into a manic overdrive, or if we have a mix of both."
The figure moves slightly, other then his mouth moving from his words spoken. He edges closer, though not so close as to see his entire form in the light.
"It is in these times that determine how we face adversity, and how we face defeat. In these times, it determines what motivate us and what captivate us. Silence has set me on a setback, and yet there is nothing I cannot and will not recover from. Silence my message to you is rather simple. Do not wound what you cannot kill."
He edges even closer....
"My opponent though if not a man named Silence, but two men... Jackle and Menace are their names. Known collectively as the Two Guys... am I not mistaken? They are obstacles in a long and dark tunnel and road, they are two men who have no idea what they have gotten themselves into. My labelled 'partner' may be one Sean Hunter, but I refuse to let him have glory that he doesn't earn himself. He shall not be the one to watch out for come Trauma. The two men known as Two Guys shall reap the consequences of going two on one. It may be two on two, but I am not going to the ring to be someone's partner. I am going to the ring with one goal."
His face gets lighter, his hardened eyes showing.
"To Bury Two Guys Alive."
Scene End.
The parents, oh the parents tried, but four people saved Striker's life. The first, a beautiful blond haired teenager rose up and hugged her man, hugged Striker. The parents, angry, sad, disappointed, and vengeful tried to move, and an older man in his twenties rose up, a man who joined the independent wrestling circuit known as the Enforcer. He had just arrived from overseas, for he had been discharged honorably from the Marines. He stared them all down angrily, his disciplined gaze halting them for awhile. And yet they still pressed on.
And another stepped forward, a man darker in skin, a friend of the one nicknamed the Enforcer. Clearly part Samoan and rather odd in his choice of wearing a necklace of smalls kulls, he stepped forward and yelled at the parents for being disgraceful. And they paused... even longer now. He would be known as Skulldigger, the Voodoo Prince of several independent federations. Yet even these three "interlopers" that protected Striker could not stop the parents from trying to mug and mob the innocent.
And one other stepped onto the scene. A man larger then large, 4 inches taller then even Striker himself pushed people away. Known as Nemesis in various promotions, this hulking giant stood behind the others, and all of them pressed glares the way of the angry and misunderstanding parents. Soon the police came, and the mob left, never to see the four men and one woman who would in several independent wrestling federations eventually be known only as the Freaks of Nature again.
That was the true day that Jason Striker realized that underneath, what he had done had been a gift.
It was that memory of making friends in the most unconvential of ways that eventually gave birth to Striker's alternate ego, the creature of the night that did not just defeat his opponents... but buried them.
Those were the seeds.
In 1995, the seeds of a Freak of Nature were planted.
Gravedigger was truly born.