Post by daconformistkiller on Jan 4, 2007 18:35:24 GMT -5
My character is named Bob Diehard he was in the fed before his old gimmick was a badass guy named the Hell's Angel Now hes a Hippie type guy. General Thunder aka The General is his mentor. He's in a romote area in the Birksheres in Western Massachusetts. If you guys can, feedback would be great. I don't mind constructive criticism.
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Prologue
The dream came to him again just as it came before but this time a little different then the last, this time more than the last. The cage sits before the man making him look like a peanut in comparison. The two titles sit before him. On top of the swinging table is the freestyle but it is in a dull light. Yet the gold still shines but like the sun comes yonder glowing bright. The man shades his eyes and sees no sun he sees the FCW World Heavyweight title. The words engraved under the Golden Earth Beckon him. The nameplate calls him; he can see the name on it. The light outline of Bob Diehard but he cannot be sure. The titles seem to rip themselves out of the chains and float down to him. The FCW title and Freestyle title both have his name on it. He grabs them and Closes his eyes. He tries to pull them towards him but the belts do not move as if the chains are wrapped around them again. Opening his eyes now, he sees that he is on the top scaffold. His hands are wrapped around the FCW title but something is wrong there is a burning of flesh. This is the only reoccurring part of the dream. Diehard wraps his arms around to the other side of the title and pulls backward. He Stomps his feet against the cage and pulls with all his might. The title will not budge. He is tired with one last yank he flies off the title he rolls backwards as he tries to regain his balance. What happens now haunts him every night and if he is right will haunt him every night until New Beginnings. Diehard falls from the scaffold, half way through the fall like every night he wakes up sweating his ass off. This night is no different. I, the narrator, am the only one who knows what is about to transpire and fully understands the symbolism of the dream. It is not enough to say that Diehard troubled by the dreams he is actually scared white.
End Prologue
The scene opens to Diehard’s living tent. The scene is dark but just light enough to see the outlines of the humans in the room. He shares quarters with The General, whose whafro casts a black shadow on the wall. The silence is eerie in the sense that you can hear the people breathing around you. You can hear the wolves howl and the buck’s scraping their antlers against the tree they picked. A gasp can be heard for miles. The sweating Diehard jumps up in his bed. He feels his back to see if there is any pain while he looks around franticly. “Not again,” Diehard says in a timid voice. He looks distressed by the dream. As he looks at his arms, he swears that he sees scrapes but they quickly disappear. The torment of this dream has gone on every night for the past week. At first, the dream was a mere nightmare to him but now it has grown into an omen, an omen telling him not to enter the Chamber of Horrors. Could this really be an omen from God or a message from the devil? Could it be a subliminal message to stop him from entering? He tries to tell himself that it is just a nightmare. But is it? The shadow of doubt seemed to be walking the line between coincidence and fate. However, Diehard catches something different! A whole part of the dream where he had over looked all the other times, as he falls just before he wakes he sees a peculiar object standing at the top of the scaffold. It is a man he can recognize very easily. It is a man he knows very well. He wears the Defunct XWE title around his waist, the man is himself! Yet he is different! It is not the “Conformist Killer” Bob Diehard no on the contrary it is none other that “THE HELL’S ANGEL”! Something clicks in his mind. He realizes how much he has changed in the past year. Can it be, he thinks, that he is living in his own shadow! While he was the “Hell’s Angel” he was over the top, no beast to big, no challenge to strong! The Rumble in a Cage was no problem, Buried Alive none either, and tons upon tons of cage matches. He walked away almost every time with the title, and when he lost it he fell hard. Yet as of right now, he is still the underling to his former self.
He slides his legs over the side of the bed and lays them on the ground. One million things are going through his head and one million more to come. “Am I as has been?” Diehard asks himself, “I’m 20 years old; I broke into the business early and peaked right away!” Is it really Diehard or did the competition rise? He only thinks that he never trained enough and drank when he was champion, he never really tried, although it seems as if when he started to give two shits about it he started to lose. As his cocky went away so did his fire. If an opponent of Diehard were here he would look you in the eye and say even if Diehard didn’t train enough and never watched tapes or researched his opponent, his fire made up for it tenfold. Diehard likes to believe that the woman was his downfall. A little tick in the back of his mind tells him that it was not. If Diehard were as smart as me then he would realize that it was not the woman that took away his fire. What took away Diehard’s fire was the sense of self-pity, Diehard had said, “I have to prove myself!”, and started pushing too hard. If he were as smart as I am, he would know that you never prove yourself. However, he never understood that. Diehard was never the brightest of the bunch, he knew nothing about public opinion. As Allen Iverson said, “For every Hundred that love you there are one thousand that hate you,” Diehard had never heard this. It is not so much that never tried. He understood he only had to prove himself to two people: him and his opponent. It was not about gaining respect from the fans. It was about himself. When the cheers started for Reaper and the boos for him everything changed. For a short while, he fought it off but like an itch, it nagged him. Nagged him to the point where he had to prove himself to others, prove that he was the best, and prove that he could be the good guy.
Diehard thinks of waking The General but a song comes to him. The song is long forgotten the lyrics come to him “ Busta free enemies they give me reason to be the last muthafucka breathen”. The lyrics of Tupac come to him. A smirk comes to his face but he shoves it back down. Suddenly a trigger is hit in his mind. Death Row! Diehard did not remember what hit the trigger because he had stopped listening to rap. He disowned it but the connection is simple Death Row was the name of Tupac’s label. Nevertheless, as the trigger is hit Diehard thinks should he call him. What would Death Row think of him now? They used to be best friends since childhood, but Diehard had not pushed him to be resigned when FCW was re-born. Diehard picks up his cell phone that lies beside his bed and dials the number he presses Send but the signal is lost. God takes care of you in this way funny sometimes. If Diehard had called and asked for Row, he would not have liked what he heard. Row well he is incarcerated something to with selling drugs after he hit rock bottom. Yet this brief foray down memory lane does not last very long.
Everything “The Conformist Killer” sees seems to remind him of the dream, of the omen, of his destiny. Diehard does not understand the symbolism of the dream. He like the rest of the world only looks skin deep. He only sees what is before him not what is out there. What he does not understand is that this is not an omen. It is a warning, but it is mostly inferred. The two Diehards, the past and the present, are there for a reason. It is not necessarily that he will take a large bump in the Cage chances are he and every one else will. It is the fact that he is weaker now than he was before. The old Diehard lived up to his last name. There is only one way Diehard will walk out of the cage with a strap, but that way might not allow him to walk out. Diehard needs to want it the most. He needs to put his body on the line. His life force must be drained, but his morale must be through the roof. Yet He does not know that. He does not know the Diehard and self-destruction must come in a package. Yet, there is a feeling in the back of Diehard’s brain that he will do something amazing, and he will prove himself to himself and everyone else. What will he do? I still do not know, but my time runs thin and I must leave you. I expect great things at Cage of Horrors.
____________________________________________________
Prologue
The dream came to him again just as it came before but this time a little different then the last, this time more than the last. The cage sits before the man making him look like a peanut in comparison. The two titles sit before him. On top of the swinging table is the freestyle but it is in a dull light. Yet the gold still shines but like the sun comes yonder glowing bright. The man shades his eyes and sees no sun he sees the FCW World Heavyweight title. The words engraved under the Golden Earth Beckon him. The nameplate calls him; he can see the name on it. The light outline of Bob Diehard but he cannot be sure. The titles seem to rip themselves out of the chains and float down to him. The FCW title and Freestyle title both have his name on it. He grabs them and Closes his eyes. He tries to pull them towards him but the belts do not move as if the chains are wrapped around them again. Opening his eyes now, he sees that he is on the top scaffold. His hands are wrapped around the FCW title but something is wrong there is a burning of flesh. This is the only reoccurring part of the dream. Diehard wraps his arms around to the other side of the title and pulls backward. He Stomps his feet against the cage and pulls with all his might. The title will not budge. He is tired with one last yank he flies off the title he rolls backwards as he tries to regain his balance. What happens now haunts him every night and if he is right will haunt him every night until New Beginnings. Diehard falls from the scaffold, half way through the fall like every night he wakes up sweating his ass off. This night is no different. I, the narrator, am the only one who knows what is about to transpire and fully understands the symbolism of the dream. It is not enough to say that Diehard troubled by the dreams he is actually scared white.
End Prologue
The scene opens to Diehard’s living tent. The scene is dark but just light enough to see the outlines of the humans in the room. He shares quarters with The General, whose whafro casts a black shadow on the wall. The silence is eerie in the sense that you can hear the people breathing around you. You can hear the wolves howl and the buck’s scraping their antlers against the tree they picked. A gasp can be heard for miles. The sweating Diehard jumps up in his bed. He feels his back to see if there is any pain while he looks around franticly. “Not again,” Diehard says in a timid voice. He looks distressed by the dream. As he looks at his arms, he swears that he sees scrapes but they quickly disappear. The torment of this dream has gone on every night for the past week. At first, the dream was a mere nightmare to him but now it has grown into an omen, an omen telling him not to enter the Chamber of Horrors. Could this really be an omen from God or a message from the devil? Could it be a subliminal message to stop him from entering? He tries to tell himself that it is just a nightmare. But is it? The shadow of doubt seemed to be walking the line between coincidence and fate. However, Diehard catches something different! A whole part of the dream where he had over looked all the other times, as he falls just before he wakes he sees a peculiar object standing at the top of the scaffold. It is a man he can recognize very easily. It is a man he knows very well. He wears the Defunct XWE title around his waist, the man is himself! Yet he is different! It is not the “Conformist Killer” Bob Diehard no on the contrary it is none other that “THE HELL’S ANGEL”! Something clicks in his mind. He realizes how much he has changed in the past year. Can it be, he thinks, that he is living in his own shadow! While he was the “Hell’s Angel” he was over the top, no beast to big, no challenge to strong! The Rumble in a Cage was no problem, Buried Alive none either, and tons upon tons of cage matches. He walked away almost every time with the title, and when he lost it he fell hard. Yet as of right now, he is still the underling to his former self.
He slides his legs over the side of the bed and lays them on the ground. One million things are going through his head and one million more to come. “Am I as has been?” Diehard asks himself, “I’m 20 years old; I broke into the business early and peaked right away!” Is it really Diehard or did the competition rise? He only thinks that he never trained enough and drank when he was champion, he never really tried, although it seems as if when he started to give two shits about it he started to lose. As his cocky went away so did his fire. If an opponent of Diehard were here he would look you in the eye and say even if Diehard didn’t train enough and never watched tapes or researched his opponent, his fire made up for it tenfold. Diehard likes to believe that the woman was his downfall. A little tick in the back of his mind tells him that it was not. If Diehard were as smart as me then he would realize that it was not the woman that took away his fire. What took away Diehard’s fire was the sense of self-pity, Diehard had said, “I have to prove myself!”, and started pushing too hard. If he were as smart as I am, he would know that you never prove yourself. However, he never understood that. Diehard was never the brightest of the bunch, he knew nothing about public opinion. As Allen Iverson said, “For every Hundred that love you there are one thousand that hate you,” Diehard had never heard this. It is not so much that never tried. He understood he only had to prove himself to two people: him and his opponent. It was not about gaining respect from the fans. It was about himself. When the cheers started for Reaper and the boos for him everything changed. For a short while, he fought it off but like an itch, it nagged him. Nagged him to the point where he had to prove himself to others, prove that he was the best, and prove that he could be the good guy.
Diehard thinks of waking The General but a song comes to him. The song is long forgotten the lyrics come to him “ Busta free enemies they give me reason to be the last muthafucka breathen”. The lyrics of Tupac come to him. A smirk comes to his face but he shoves it back down. Suddenly a trigger is hit in his mind. Death Row! Diehard did not remember what hit the trigger because he had stopped listening to rap. He disowned it but the connection is simple Death Row was the name of Tupac’s label. Nevertheless, as the trigger is hit Diehard thinks should he call him. What would Death Row think of him now? They used to be best friends since childhood, but Diehard had not pushed him to be resigned when FCW was re-born. Diehard picks up his cell phone that lies beside his bed and dials the number he presses Send but the signal is lost. God takes care of you in this way funny sometimes. If Diehard had called and asked for Row, he would not have liked what he heard. Row well he is incarcerated something to with selling drugs after he hit rock bottom. Yet this brief foray down memory lane does not last very long.
Everything “The Conformist Killer” sees seems to remind him of the dream, of the omen, of his destiny. Diehard does not understand the symbolism of the dream. He like the rest of the world only looks skin deep. He only sees what is before him not what is out there. What he does not understand is that this is not an omen. It is a warning, but it is mostly inferred. The two Diehards, the past and the present, are there for a reason. It is not necessarily that he will take a large bump in the Cage chances are he and every one else will. It is the fact that he is weaker now than he was before. The old Diehard lived up to his last name. There is only one way Diehard will walk out of the cage with a strap, but that way might not allow him to walk out. Diehard needs to want it the most. He needs to put his body on the line. His life force must be drained, but his morale must be through the roof. Yet He does not know that. He does not know the Diehard and self-destruction must come in a package. Yet, there is a feeling in the back of Diehard’s brain that he will do something amazing, and he will prove himself to himself and everyone else. What will he do? I still do not know, but my time runs thin and I must leave you. I expect great things at Cage of Horrors.
