Post by convict on Mar 14, 2007 23:49:46 GMT -5
{OOC: Seems some wanted some insight into my mentality and history...hope this feeds your hunger}
The moonlight shines down upon the rooftop. Its nightly glow casts shadows not of this world. Perched upon the edge of the rooftop crouched is “the Beast” Convict. His face canted downwards, a cigarette hangs from his lips.
Convict: Everywhere I go…people always want to know one fuckin thing. What’s my story…where do I come from…why do I portray such a grim sadistic evil son of a bitch on T.V.?
Convict slowly looks up.
Convict: So you fuckers want answers? You want a glimpse into my mind? You wanna know what makes me tick? Fine…
Convict looks up at the moon as if thinking to another time…a gentler time.
Convict: I was a kid once…I remember it like it was yesterday…I came home from school, walked about three blocks home. I stopped outside the front yard of my home…the one that mom and dad provided for me. I slowly walked to the front door, inserted my key and realized the door was unlocked. I heard sounds from my parents bedroom…I paid no heed to it. I went into the kitchen. Opened the drawer that your moms and dads tell you not to open…you know the one, the one with the knives inside.
Convict looks straight ahead his ice blue eyes pierce the darkness, as the moons light castes evil shadows upon his face.
Convict: I took out the sharpest biggest knife I could find. I held it up to look at it. That’s when mom made her presence known…she barked at me demanding to know what it was I was doing…I turned slowly around. She then asked an odd question…she asked me if I had known what happened to Mrs. Jacobs cats. I asked her which one…she replied all of them.
Convict grins at the darkness.
Convict: I knew what happened to them…my mom knew I knew…hell she and dad probably found them in the garage…all 25 of those fuckin god damn flea bags…hanging from little nooses, dripping blood from there skinned carcasses onto the concrete of the garage floor. Mom lost it…started yelling at me demanding to know what was wrong with me. I tried to comfort her…but then thought what she would look like…if the life was gone from her eyes…I slashed her throat. She fell to the floor. I felt happiness for the first fuckin time in my life…a weight was lifted off of my chest.
Convict takes a drag from his cigarette, and lets they grayish smoke float from his nostrils into the night air.
Convict: Dad was passed out in the bed…I placed the knife near his hand…along with a few bottles of my good pal Jack Daniels. I then went into the kitchen and released the gas line from the stove…I went into my dads bedroom, grabbed one of his cigarettes, lit one up for myself…and one in the ash tray lit. I walked out the front door and closed it behind me…I went out to the front yard and waited…I got bored of waiting and took a walk…when I came home…the house was burnt down…the fire department and police were looking for me…and checking out what happened. I ended up going to a home…life was interesting…I mean hell my dad killed my mom, then blew himself up…no one fucked with me in the homes…no one dared…they knew the truth…and I scared them…even the grownups.
Convict slowly stands up.
Convict: I was forced to see a psychologist…wanted to know all about my problems…told him I didn’t have any…shortly after that I was sent to Juvie…Grand theft….That’s where I met Ringo…we all know about Ringo…about my best friend…and how I tossed his ass off a roof.
Convict looks over the edge of the roof.
Convict: See kids…I don’t play a fuckin bad guy…I am the fuckin bad guy…To most of those wrestlers in the back…this is there way of life…they have there gimmicks…me…what you see, is what you fuckin get….At 18 years of age I was sentenced to San Quinton…the big house…one of the most notorious prisons in the state. The baddest of the bad in the state of California…and I thrived. Like a cancer…I grew…I controlled…but most of all…I was respected. I walked threw the yards…and people stepped out of my fuckin way…grown men…refused to look me in the eyes. After awhile I was put in “special treatment” wasn’t allowed interaction with other inmates…they were scared…scared I would kill more inside.
Convict looks back to the roof.
Convict: I don’t make excuses for myself…I know exactly what I am…I’m a fuckin predator…I stalk my prey…I wear the down…Ask Johnny boy…I know I’m getting under his skin…like an itch that just cant be scratched…its who I fuckin am…its what I do…But Johnny boy has potential…I know what he is…he isn’t this character he portrays on T.V. for you idiots…no…Johnny boy is like me…he enjoys the mental aspect of causing pain…me I enjoy the physical…I don’t enjoy the kill…I enjoy the steps leading up to it…
Convict takes the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it.
Convict: A doctor diagnosed me…said I had a chemical urge to kill…he was right…then I showed him…still hooked up to some machine monitoring my heartbeat…I took his shiny fuckin pen and rammed it in his fuckin eye….the machine never peaked above 85…my heartbeat never rose like when most people kill…guess that says I’m some sort of stone cold killer…me just tells me I am fuckin good at what I do…
Convict turns upon the ledge to face the side, and looks at the busy street below.
Convict: I got connections…done some work for the boys…if you know what I mean…they pay well for it…but truth of the matter is…I’d do it for free. But that’s enough about me…that should tide you fucks over for awhile…and hopefully you’re done asking the bullshit questions…done wondering…or maybe…maybe you think I’m lying…maybe you’re gonna look into what I told you…good luck if you do…it’s a dangerous path to go down.
Convict jumps from the roof, as the camera moves to the side, and scans over he is no where to be seen.
Convict: Everywhere I go…people always want to know one fuckin thing. What’s my story…where do I come from…why do I portray such a grim sadistic evil son of a bitch on T.V.?
Convict slowly looks up.
Convict: So you fuckers want answers? You want a glimpse into my mind? You wanna know what makes me tick? Fine…
Convict looks up at the moon as if thinking to another time…a gentler time.
Convict: I was a kid once…I remember it like it was yesterday…I came home from school, walked about three blocks home. I stopped outside the front yard of my home…the one that mom and dad provided for me. I slowly walked to the front door, inserted my key and realized the door was unlocked. I heard sounds from my parents bedroom…I paid no heed to it. I went into the kitchen. Opened the drawer that your moms and dads tell you not to open…you know the one, the one with the knives inside.
Convict looks straight ahead his ice blue eyes pierce the darkness, as the moons light castes evil shadows upon his face.
Convict: I took out the sharpest biggest knife I could find. I held it up to look at it. That’s when mom made her presence known…she barked at me demanding to know what it was I was doing…I turned slowly around. She then asked an odd question…she asked me if I had known what happened to Mrs. Jacobs cats. I asked her which one…she replied all of them.
Convict grins at the darkness.
Convict: I knew what happened to them…my mom knew I knew…hell she and dad probably found them in the garage…all 25 of those fuckin god damn flea bags…hanging from little nooses, dripping blood from there skinned carcasses onto the concrete of the garage floor. Mom lost it…started yelling at me demanding to know what was wrong with me. I tried to comfort her…but then thought what she would look like…if the life was gone from her eyes…I slashed her throat. She fell to the floor. I felt happiness for the first fuckin time in my life…a weight was lifted off of my chest.
Convict takes a drag from his cigarette, and lets they grayish smoke float from his nostrils into the night air.
Convict: Dad was passed out in the bed…I placed the knife near his hand…along with a few bottles of my good pal Jack Daniels. I then went into the kitchen and released the gas line from the stove…I went into my dads bedroom, grabbed one of his cigarettes, lit one up for myself…and one in the ash tray lit. I walked out the front door and closed it behind me…I went out to the front yard and waited…I got bored of waiting and took a walk…when I came home…the house was burnt down…the fire department and police were looking for me…and checking out what happened. I ended up going to a home…life was interesting…I mean hell my dad killed my mom, then blew himself up…no one fucked with me in the homes…no one dared…they knew the truth…and I scared them…even the grownups.
Convict slowly stands up.
Convict: I was forced to see a psychologist…wanted to know all about my problems…told him I didn’t have any…shortly after that I was sent to Juvie…Grand theft….That’s where I met Ringo…we all know about Ringo…about my best friend…and how I tossed his ass off a roof.
Convict looks over the edge of the roof.
Convict: See kids…I don’t play a fuckin bad guy…I am the fuckin bad guy…To most of those wrestlers in the back…this is there way of life…they have there gimmicks…me…what you see, is what you fuckin get….At 18 years of age I was sentenced to San Quinton…the big house…one of the most notorious prisons in the state. The baddest of the bad in the state of California…and I thrived. Like a cancer…I grew…I controlled…but most of all…I was respected. I walked threw the yards…and people stepped out of my fuckin way…grown men…refused to look me in the eyes. After awhile I was put in “special treatment” wasn’t allowed interaction with other inmates…they were scared…scared I would kill more inside.
Convict looks back to the roof.
Convict: I don’t make excuses for myself…I know exactly what I am…I’m a fuckin predator…I stalk my prey…I wear the down…Ask Johnny boy…I know I’m getting under his skin…like an itch that just cant be scratched…its who I fuckin am…its what I do…But Johnny boy has potential…I know what he is…he isn’t this character he portrays on T.V. for you idiots…no…Johnny boy is like me…he enjoys the mental aspect of causing pain…me I enjoy the physical…I don’t enjoy the kill…I enjoy the steps leading up to it…
Convict takes the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it.
Convict: A doctor diagnosed me…said I had a chemical urge to kill…he was right…then I showed him…still hooked up to some machine monitoring my heartbeat…I took his shiny fuckin pen and rammed it in his fuckin eye….the machine never peaked above 85…my heartbeat never rose like when most people kill…guess that says I’m some sort of stone cold killer…me just tells me I am fuckin good at what I do…
Convict turns upon the ledge to face the side, and looks at the busy street below.
Convict: I got connections…done some work for the boys…if you know what I mean…they pay well for it…but truth of the matter is…I’d do it for free. But that’s enough about me…that should tide you fucks over for awhile…and hopefully you’re done asking the bullshit questions…done wondering…or maybe…maybe you think I’m lying…maybe you’re gonna look into what I told you…good luck if you do…it’s a dangerous path to go down.
Convict jumps from the roof, as the camera moves to the side, and scans over he is no where to be seen.