Post by graves on Jul 20, 2007 17:58:06 GMT -6
The scene fades in on a familiar looking lightbulb. It sways a bit as a breeze brushes past it. A creak emits from the chain it hangs by, the first sound we hear. The camera pans down a bit, showing POW's resident psychopath sitting on his small bed, a pair of headphones around his head. His head is slowly nodding with the music, which we can barely hear. As he looks up, his neck cracks, the sound reverberating throughout the small room. He slips off his headphones, allowing us to hear the song he was listening to. He sings along to it almost silently.
Graves: "I'm right behind you, here I come,
Let me remind you, you're on the run,
My name is death...
come taste my peppermint laced breath..."
He shuts off his MP3 player, and laughs a bit as he lights a cigarette. He's obviously in a good mood for some reason, it may be because he gets to do bodily harm on someone in the near future. He blows out a breath of smoke, and begins to speak. It seems though the camera's there, he's really just talking to himself.
Graves: "What a glorious day it shall be. The Road To Ocean City Slam, and I have my first match. Against some guy named King Cobra. I looked up some information on my opponent, and it seems he was in a coma. I don't know why his ass was laid out in a bed for a few months, nor why he pulled through. I don't even know why he went into that tag match last week against Mikey Badass, Dante Bishop, Daye and Night, with a f**king ZOMBIE as his tag partner, but he did. Then, I think he got put back into his coma. He'd have to be to face me. But, then again, he hasn't spoken since he was put into this match. I think he might be scared. I think he might have a reason to be. Suicidal, Homicidal, Megalomaniacal. All sorts of things these people seem to label me. I don't mind self-harm, I don't mind being harmed by others. I talk big about myself because I have reason to do so. I can dismember anyone who thinks they have the balls to step in and try to do the same to me. I will wallow through the river of blood you shed to get to your worthless corpse and make sure you're dead."
Graves laughs, and sits up proper on his bed. He takes another deep drag from his cigarette, and blows the smoke out of his nose, giving him a quick rush of nicotine.
Graves: "I walk through the valley of the shadow of death to get towhat I want. Right now, all I want is some bloodshed. A little muscular dystrophy. A couple of broken bones. A concussion or two. I don't ask much, I just want to permanently end the pathetic reign of King Cobra."
He takes the last drag from his cigarette, and throws it out his window. He looks straight at the camera, no longer talking strictly to himself.
Graves: "Cobra, do you know what you've been put into? You've been stuck in a career ending match with a person who knows how to end them. Your legs won't work correctly afterwards, and neither will your mind. You'll be paralyzed from the neck down, with a dent the size of Cleveland in your f**king forehead, whether it be a pipe, a chair, or my foot that does it. Every moment you get a clear thought while you're in your wheelchair, being pushed by some male nurse who does unthinkable things to you in your sleep, you'll be cringing with fear, wondering when I'm going to finish the job I started. When I'm going to bash the rest of your head in. When I'm going to kill you. When I'm going to f**king BURY YOU!"
Graves grabs ahold of his MP3 player, and with great aim, throws it and smashes the lightbulb, which shatters brilliantly. As it fades out, so do we, with Graves bright white face fading last of all.
Graves: "I'm right behind you, here I come,
Let me remind you, you're on the run,
My name is death...
come taste my peppermint laced breath..."
He shuts off his MP3 player, and laughs a bit as he lights a cigarette. He's obviously in a good mood for some reason, it may be because he gets to do bodily harm on someone in the near future. He blows out a breath of smoke, and begins to speak. It seems though the camera's there, he's really just talking to himself.
Graves: "What a glorious day it shall be. The Road To Ocean City Slam, and I have my first match. Against some guy named King Cobra. I looked up some information on my opponent, and it seems he was in a coma. I don't know why his ass was laid out in a bed for a few months, nor why he pulled through. I don't even know why he went into that tag match last week against Mikey Badass, Dante Bishop, Daye and Night, with a f**king ZOMBIE as his tag partner, but he did. Then, I think he got put back into his coma. He'd have to be to face me. But, then again, he hasn't spoken since he was put into this match. I think he might be scared. I think he might have a reason to be. Suicidal, Homicidal, Megalomaniacal. All sorts of things these people seem to label me. I don't mind self-harm, I don't mind being harmed by others. I talk big about myself because I have reason to do so. I can dismember anyone who thinks they have the balls to step in and try to do the same to me. I will wallow through the river of blood you shed to get to your worthless corpse and make sure you're dead."
Graves laughs, and sits up proper on his bed. He takes another deep drag from his cigarette, and blows the smoke out of his nose, giving him a quick rush of nicotine.
Graves: "I walk through the valley of the shadow of death to get towhat I want. Right now, all I want is some bloodshed. A little muscular dystrophy. A couple of broken bones. A concussion or two. I don't ask much, I just want to permanently end the pathetic reign of King Cobra."
He takes the last drag from his cigarette, and throws it out his window. He looks straight at the camera, no longer talking strictly to himself.
Graves: "Cobra, do you know what you've been put into? You've been stuck in a career ending match with a person who knows how to end them. Your legs won't work correctly afterwards, and neither will your mind. You'll be paralyzed from the neck down, with a dent the size of Cleveland in your f**king forehead, whether it be a pipe, a chair, or my foot that does it. Every moment you get a clear thought while you're in your wheelchair, being pushed by some male nurse who does unthinkable things to you in your sleep, you'll be cringing with fear, wondering when I'm going to finish the job I started. When I'm going to bash the rest of your head in. When I'm going to kill you. When I'm going to f**king BURY YOU!"
Graves grabs ahold of his MP3 player, and with great aim, throws it and smashes the lightbulb, which shatters brilliantly. As it fades out, so do we, with Graves bright white face fading last of all.