Post by Levi Rhoades on Apr 7, 2009 14:34:09 GMT -5
//.hell.begins.to.rise.
Entry: 0001.
the first impression.
The only savage you can expect to find in this world, is the one you see staring back at you every fucking time you look in the mirror. Now you look deep into yourself, into your soul, and tell me I'm not doing the right thing by ending the lives of these mongrols. You can't expect me to get bit, and not bite back. It's my fucking job to even the score. You can be damn well be assured, I will get even. I won't eat, I won't sleep, I won't stop. If you want any peace in this God forsaken world, you better prepare for war. Can you not see what kind of shit's going on in the world today? Open your goddamn eyes. Murder, drugs, rape, robbery. You bet you fucking ass I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to say this once, and only once.
I'm here to fucking fight. None of you motherfucker's will touch me.
Piss off,
Levi Rhoades.
Scene 1: A Familiar Smell ...
The putrid disgusting smell. The same smell I had smelled when my father had murdered my mother. The smell of death, it was absolutely apparent somebody had died here. All I could see was my mother's face. All I could see, was her face as she took her last breathe's .. her final moments on this Earth. Had they been so grand, that she had lived to at least ninety, and grown old with the man she loved so dearly. No, she ended up on the wrong side of a barrell of a .357 magnum pistol, from some asshole I was ashamed to call 'dad' ..
I ran into the bathroom of my apartment, and vomited violently into the toilet. In my boxer's and a beater tank top, I had sprung from my stained, naked matress on the floor. 'fuck ...' I thought to myself. I had forgotten my situation. No running water, no electricity, just a shithole apartment in the slums of Chicago. One broken window barely covered by an old garbage bag and white blinds yellowed with time. I stared numbly into the toilet bowl, or rather staring through it. I couldn't see anything clearly, everything was a blur. My mind blank. I fell to the dirty floor unconcious.
It wasn't even seconds later that I had blacked out, but it felt like hours to me; I looked around for a moment, and realised I was curled into the fetal position in front of my toilet, which wreaked of stomach acid, and water. Could it have been the smell of which I had dreamed? Or was it that I hadn't eaten in three straight days. I felt weak and cold, longing for someone to hold onto me. To give me assurance that everything was going to be alright, I knew that day would never come. I stared into the mirror, with a hollow shell of a man staring back at me. I became enraged, in an outburst I lept to my feet and drove my fist into the one way glass. The mirror had shattered, with small pieces lodged into my knuckles. I felt no pain, only the warm sensation of blood running down my fingertips. It's not over.
My emotions swirled through my brain, I could feel the waves, the blood pumping, pulsating into my temples. I was angry, then depressed, enraged, then trapped. Nothing of any good could come to mind, no memories I could cling to for a few moment's of happiness. I itched for a fight. I wanted to feel the whiplash off of my hands as my hands banged against the thick skulls of any poor soul unlucky enough to get in my way. I felt the urge to kill inside my body once again.. I though it was over, apparently it had just begun. Nothing made sense, nothing felt right, nobody should feel this way. One hostile ball of animosity, strung from a chain, ready to swing into the condemned building of the recently departed. I began once again to drift in and out of conciousness once again, and I fell to my knee's.
At this point I knew that there would be hell to pay, just as soon as my contract went through with King's Wrestling. I knew that I would get my hands on somebody, whether it be David Nightmare, or Klayton McIntyre. Whether it be Mason himself, or any other son of a bitch to invade the sanctuary of my world. Anyone who had the nerve to breathe my air. It was just a matter of fucking time. And when I get my hands on any one of them. I'm going to fucking love it.
... Every ... single ... second ...
To be at peace, I must murder.
To restore order I must torture.
Impossible to survive. I won't allow it.
END.
Entry: 0001.
the first impression.
The only savage you can expect to find in this world, is the one you see staring back at you every fucking time you look in the mirror. Now you look deep into yourself, into your soul, and tell me I'm not doing the right thing by ending the lives of these mongrols. You can't expect me to get bit, and not bite back. It's my fucking job to even the score. You can be damn well be assured, I will get even. I won't eat, I won't sleep, I won't stop. If you want any peace in this God forsaken world, you better prepare for war. Can you not see what kind of shit's going on in the world today? Open your goddamn eyes. Murder, drugs, rape, robbery. You bet you fucking ass I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to say this once, and only once.
I'm here to fucking fight. None of you motherfucker's will touch me.
Piss off,
Levi Rhoades.
Scene 1: A Familiar Smell ...
The putrid disgusting smell. The same smell I had smelled when my father had murdered my mother. The smell of death, it was absolutely apparent somebody had died here. All I could see was my mother's face. All I could see, was her face as she took her last breathe's .. her final moments on this Earth. Had they been so grand, that she had lived to at least ninety, and grown old with the man she loved so dearly. No, she ended up on the wrong side of a barrell of a .357 magnum pistol, from some asshole I was ashamed to call 'dad' ..
I ran into the bathroom of my apartment, and vomited violently into the toilet. In my boxer's and a beater tank top, I had sprung from my stained, naked matress on the floor. 'fuck ...' I thought to myself. I had forgotten my situation. No running water, no electricity, just a shithole apartment in the slums of Chicago. One broken window barely covered by an old garbage bag and white blinds yellowed with time. I stared numbly into the toilet bowl, or rather staring through it. I couldn't see anything clearly, everything was a blur. My mind blank. I fell to the dirty floor unconcious.
It wasn't even seconds later that I had blacked out, but it felt like hours to me; I looked around for a moment, and realised I was curled into the fetal position in front of my toilet, which wreaked of stomach acid, and water. Could it have been the smell of which I had dreamed? Or was it that I hadn't eaten in three straight days. I felt weak and cold, longing for someone to hold onto me. To give me assurance that everything was going to be alright, I knew that day would never come. I stared into the mirror, with a hollow shell of a man staring back at me. I became enraged, in an outburst I lept to my feet and drove my fist into the one way glass. The mirror had shattered, with small pieces lodged into my knuckles. I felt no pain, only the warm sensation of blood running down my fingertips. It's not over.
My emotions swirled through my brain, I could feel the waves, the blood pumping, pulsating into my temples. I was angry, then depressed, enraged, then trapped. Nothing of any good could come to mind, no memories I could cling to for a few moment's of happiness. I itched for a fight. I wanted to feel the whiplash off of my hands as my hands banged against the thick skulls of any poor soul unlucky enough to get in my way. I felt the urge to kill inside my body once again.. I though it was over, apparently it had just begun. Nothing made sense, nothing felt right, nobody should feel this way. One hostile ball of animosity, strung from a chain, ready to swing into the condemned building of the recently departed. I began once again to drift in and out of conciousness once again, and I fell to my knee's.
At this point I knew that there would be hell to pay, just as soon as my contract went through with King's Wrestling. I knew that I would get my hands on somebody, whether it be David Nightmare, or Klayton McIntyre. Whether it be Mason himself, or any other son of a bitch to invade the sanctuary of my world. Anyone who had the nerve to breathe my air. It was just a matter of fucking time. And when I get my hands on any one of them. I'm going to fucking love it.
... Every ... single ... second ...
To be at peace, I must murder.
To restore order I must torture.
Impossible to survive. I won't allow it.
END.