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My Church.; Healing, Part 1.
Topic Started: Feb 1 2005, 04:05 PM (52 Views)
A_d
Unregistered

The shot fades in, revealing a tall building, red brick in structure. The cameraman takes a pace forward, and his footstep can be heard all the way, spiralling up the spine of what seems to be a church. The cameraman looks slightly left and right, garnering a view of the run down building, no-one’s been praying in here for awhile, it seems. Wooden planks and old rust covered scaffold poles lie dormant, unused in what seems like years. The cameraman takes special care walking in between objects, careful not to get his ankle caught and take loads of time off sick at the expense of Madison Lee. Actually….


The intrepid cameraman takes a few more steps, walking down what used to be the aisle, many wooden stalls down each side of him. He passes them by, until he reaches the front of the church, where so many happy memories remain. The light from an old stained glass window, over his shoulder’s comes into view, as he shifts around to the right, and Silent Rage, sitting on a set of small steps, appears in front of all. He looks straight at the camera, curiously. He wears a familiar black hooded top, worn up, front pocket ripped slightly on the right hand side, his left. His head is bowed slightly, but he knows the cameraman is present. He looks up again, and shifts his weight, placing his right foot on one step lower than his left.


Rage: This is my church, for what it’s worth. Brad has his, why can’t I have mine? Speaking of which, Brad may well have taken over my crown, so….I suppose he deserves a place of worship, somewhere people can aspire to be like him, to live like him, to fight as he….did.

Rage breaks vocal stride, switching stance ever so slightly, switching topics, which is a lot more obvious to the viewer.

Rage: Sunday night, back to Philly, an old favourite spot of mine. Thing is, a place like Philly really encapsulates your love for this sport, your DRIVE to succeed. It’s like your meaning in life when you’re out there, to perform for those people, screaming their hearts out. It’s also their meaning in life, to cheer for you, to scream until they can scream no more. People used to cue around the block for autographs, and if you’ve ever been in Philly at half one in the morning, you’ll know it’s fuckin cold. They closed the building off, heartless bastards, we stood outside for hours at a time. Rage doesn’t smile, you’d expect him to, happy memories and all.

Rage: Thing is though, those building stewards didn’t give a fuck about us, we were just wrestlers, and fans. They were there to do their job, earn as much money as possible, and fuck off home to their loved ones. They might’ve had the right idea, who knows………..long pause, in case you didn’t realise.……I don’t know if they were right or not. I’ve not yet found out.

Rage cups his chin in his hand, and scratches his stubble, quite long now, as a matter of fact; almost a full beard, but that’s enough about facial hair. Rage looks up into the roof of the church, and focuses back on the camera.

Rage: Brad believes in himself, and so he should do. He wouldn’t have got anywhere had he not believed he had what it takes to make it. Some people need to recognise that, and maybe take a look at themselves. They could learn a lot from Brad. Anyway, I’m deviating from my point. Bradley Johnson believes in himself, he believes in his beliefs, and he believes he should be in a different match, come this Sunday. Rage shrugs. Maybe he should, that’s Madison’s decision, not mine, but Brad has the power to influence her decision, by executing his beliefs, and his skills in HIS ring. He believes SO strongly, that he owns that ring, that he will walk out of there Sunday night, the victor.

Rage shuffles slightly, switching his legs a little, but stares intently at the camera.

Rage: Those Philly fans were the making of me, Silent Rage, and they were the breaking of me, Adam Newcope. They made my life…….Rage leans forward slightly, and growls at the camera.….they broke MY life. He leans back, but his fierce eyes pierce the camera lens.

Rage: I loved every minute of being in those infamous buildings, those school halls, those ballrooms, those bingo halls. But when I left them, what did I have to show for all my hard work? All the bumps, all the blade jobs? What did I have? What did I have when I left the Tokyo Dome, victorious against a man I never thought I would ever get the privilege of defeating? What did I have when I left The Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, one night in the Autumn of 2004?

Pause…

Rage: I had a title belt that meant nothing to me, I had broken bones, and blood covering me from head to toe. What the fuck is that? What the fuck was I? WHAT THE FUCK AM I? What the fuck am I going to leave Philly with this Sunday? Another title belt worth nothing? More broken bones, more blood stained tights?

Rage is physically upset at his thought’s, his queries, and almost sobs as he turns away from the camera for a second. He turns back…and pauses…

Rage: Bradley……God. That ring is your church. Those trainee’s are your fickle followers. They are your believers. You’re “droogs”. You need them to exist. Not mine, not me, Bradley…..God. That Crown is my church, that ring is where I WILL heel my hurt. But not this Sunday……this Sunday, you will all feel my hurt. And then……I will become your God, once and for all. Your God, Swytch……Brighty……Bradley…………………………Jim.

Rage stands slowly, and turns away from the camera. We fade.
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