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| Dead or Alive? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 8 2005, 05:55 PM (46 Views) | |
| Samoan | Apr 8 2005, 05:55 PM Post #1 |
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[align=center]...drip...drip...drip...[/align] [align=center]...drip...drip...drip...[/align] [align=center]...drip...drip...drip...[/align] As the drip continues to stimulate our auditory senses, the screen melts away into the dark, warm room. Unusually bright is the room, the dark corners that used to conceal the sin of the room are now adequately lit. Hunched over the metallic sink so often used to wash his "filthy hands" is Swytch. Slowly and cautiously the camera closes in on him, soon picking up his short, ragged breaths. Swytch: This is my life. It's not what it was before. Reaching over, Swytch flips up the handle forcing a torrent of water to rush from the faucet. In seconds, the steam begins to rise off the quickly heating water. He cups his hands beneath the hot stream. Soon his hands fill and begin to run over, but Swytch brings the water to his face and splashes it on. He rubs his hands roughly over his features then pulls them away. Swytch: All the mistakes. They finally start to go away. And now that we're here? We're still so far away. He cups his hands again under the water and lets them fill to the brim. Swytch brings his hands to his face and splashes the water against his skin again. With a shaky hand, he reaches over and turns the water off. Swytch pulls a white wash cloth from the neck of the faucet. He spreads it open with both hands then pats it against his face. Swytch: But now I feel like I can face the day. I can forgive. Forgive those who have wronged me. Forgiveness...Madison, Maclay, Kennedy, Viiiiinj. I'm not ashamed to be the person I am today. He tosses the towel to the side of the large metal sink. The cloth opens and the camera zooms in showing smeared patches of red and black paint in the texture of the towel. Swytch: Too long now have I wallowed in the hatred for so many. Blaming others for the mistakes of one man. Bringing pain and torment to those not deserving it. Too long now... His words linger in the air, dangling desperately from the tip of his tongue until they drift off with his exhaled breath. Swytch: All my anger, all my hate, it all belongs to one man. One man is responsible for my creation and my self destruction. Resurrected is he, from the bowels of a distant memory he returns and again I can feel his influence. His presence trying to sway me this way and that. Slamming his hands down on the edge of the sink, Swytch grips it tightly turning his knuckles white as the blood escapes that part of his body. The air is filled with the excruciating sound of his teeth grinding and gritting. His lips part and a breath hisses from his lungs just before he growls. Swytch: No... more... You are dead to me. Your teachings, your guidance, your wisdom, all a forgotten memory. Forgotten like you. Tier...is...dead. Scott Draven...is...dead. What stands there now is no more than an apparition. A ghost. Easing his grip on the sink, Swytch's hands slip off the edge and fall limply at his sides. He rolls the hunch out of his back and stands upright. Swytch: You said you weren't afraid of me, Brighty. Congratulations on finding your courage. Unfortunately for you the man you weren't afraid of is dead. Just like Tier, he is nothing more than a forgotten memory. Anarchy in the UK marks the beginning. The beginning of a revolution. His hand runs over his head and through his hair pulling the tie out and letting his knotted locks fall loosely around his head. Swytch begins to turn around but stops before showing his face. His eyes wander over toward the towel that's dotted with his face paint. Swytch: My revolution. The evolution of the beast, Brighty. I've played by the rules and continued to prove that I am the ultimate weapon, an unstoppable predator. Yet those who are ready to fall at my hands break the rules that are used to keep me bound and they go unpunished. It's time to change the game. His boot scrapes along the floor as he finishes the turn. With his head hanging down it's hard to see his face through his knotted black hair. Even with his features hidded, Swytch's unmistakeable red eyes peer through his tangled hair. The visible parts of his face show the streaking red and black paint as it runs down his cheeks and drips off the tip of his chin. Swytch: Tell me Brighty. Are you ugly, a liar like me, a user, a lost soul. That broken title, it's no cure, a sickness so pure, are you like? Still craving what we've only had the smallest taste of. The Dual Crown, Brighty. Isn't that all that matters? Both of us have been denied. Only one of us is going to make it back and it won't be the one tied down by that mock title. Swytch walks forward stopping in a place conveniently void of any light. He flips his hair out of his face but his portrait still remains a mystery in the darkness. Swytch: Are you like me, Brighty? We are dead, we are alone. We're far from sober. We are fake, we are afraid. And you know it's far from over. It won't end here, Brighty. It will never end until we reach the top. Leaning forward, the light cascades over Swytch's mouth and chin. The corner of his lips curl upward as he parts his lips. Swytch: I'll be there waiting for you, Brighty. When you're ready to, come out and play. With a growing grin, Swytch's lips begin to twitch as his laughter jumps from his mouth. He leans back concealing himself in the only remaining dark nook of the room as we fade. |
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7:05 PM Jul 11
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7:05 PM Jul 11