Post by convict on Jan 29, 2007 12:49:16 GMT -5
The Convict sits upon a leather chair inside his locker room, his black combat boots propped upon a coffee table, and his black leather overcoat tossed over a bench near a locker that remains open. His usual bottle of Jack Daniels no where to be seen. Convict’s ice blue eyes staring at the wall in front of him unblinking. A T.V. in the corner of the room playing nothing but static. The Beast slowly reaches into the side pocket of his black cargo pants and pulls out a prescription bottle of medication, with a simple twist of this thumb the cap comes off. The bottle is slowly put to his lips and he takes a few of the pills into his mouth. A soft crunching noise is all that can be heard inside the locker room. One of the pills is spit out upon the cold tiled floor, it bounces around and then skids to a stop near a trash can.
Convict’s mind
It’s always the fuckin same. Prison life is just like wrestling, they move us and put us in rooms, and they hope we don’t lash out on someone passing by. Then they send someone along who tells us it is time to do this or do that. And they expect it of us. They expect us to do as were told, obey the rules. That’s their mistake when dealing with me. Rules…nothing more then simple guidelines we are supposed to blatantly follow so our lives appear to have meaning.
Convict leans forward, his black combat boots hitting the tile floor with a thud, he places one of his massive hands upon the pack of camel non filtered cigarettes and pulls one out slowly, he places one end between his lips and uses his Zippo lighter to spark a flame. He inhales deeply, as he slowly lets the black smoke escape from his nostrils.
Convict’s mind
Wrestling is nothing more then being a contracted killer…some higher up gives you a name, you spend countless hours preparing for all contingencies. The only difference being really I can’t just walk out to a ring, pull my trustee .45 and give the fucker standing there what he really wants…a way out from his miserable existence. No I have to go out there, and use strength and my mind. Anticipate his moves, react to his assaults, put him threw enough hell that he wants to stop, wants to give up.
The Convict lifts his hand to his mouth and pulls the cigarette from it. He exhales the grey smoke from between his lips. His eyes still focused upon the wall.
Convict’s mind
Damien Gein…the American psycho…he’ll be easy to predict, psycho’s always are, they do whatever they think they need to do…my time in lockups have given me more then enough time to learn how there minds work. There only a simple step above a fish inside the walls of the justice system. Like a fish they’ll be out to prove themselves. That’s there mistake, they need the reassurance from people to make themselves feel important. Unfortunately they always cross someone who is waiting for them…and this time like in the yard, like always He will have no where to run to, no where to hide, but unlike prison. Damien has no prison guards to stop the attack…and a simple man in a black and white shirt cant hope to truly stop the onslaught I have in store for you Mr. Gein. If I need to rip apart the cage and turn a simple three inch piece of metal into a deadly weapon and shove it into your throat I will. Your blood will be upon my hands Damien Gein. I will twist your neck, and pull the head from upon your shoulders, and then when the last drop of blood has fallen from your head, I will drink from out of your skull. Because that is what she wants from me. She wants the carnage, the destruction…she called upon the Beast, set me free to unleash havoc. And with your destruction Damien, she’ll give me what I want…what I need. I have tasted the poison from inside her Damien…I enjoy it. It didn’t kill me like it did so many countless others before me…it made me stronger, it made me hunger.
Convict pulls the Cigarette from his lips and drops it to the floor, he slowly rises from the chair, and walks to the bar. He pulls a bottle of Jack from upon it and puts the bottle to his lips. Convict takes a deep drink from it, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Convict clenches his hand into a fist and looks down upon it.
Convict
You will give me what I want Billy…when I am covered in Damien’s blood, dripping from my body, I will come to collect my payment…and you will give it to me…
Convict walks over to the locker and pulls a chain from out of it. He lets it unravel, and it makes a noise as it hits the tiled floor. A sick evil grin comes across his face as he focuses upon it.
Convict
You may be the boss Billy…but that’s your mistake…because I have the power.
Convict grabs his black leather overcoat and slides it on. He pulls an asp from the locker, and hides it into the overcoat. He then pulls a taser and places it into his right front jacket pocket. His eyes then dart to the clock mounted above the doorway.
Convict
Times almost up Damien…in a sense you’re the lucky one…because what I do to you will be considered mercy.
Convict’s mind
It’s always the fuckin same. Prison life is just like wrestling, they move us and put us in rooms, and they hope we don’t lash out on someone passing by. Then they send someone along who tells us it is time to do this or do that. And they expect it of us. They expect us to do as were told, obey the rules. That’s their mistake when dealing with me. Rules…nothing more then simple guidelines we are supposed to blatantly follow so our lives appear to have meaning.
Convict leans forward, his black combat boots hitting the tile floor with a thud, he places one of his massive hands upon the pack of camel non filtered cigarettes and pulls one out slowly, he places one end between his lips and uses his Zippo lighter to spark a flame. He inhales deeply, as he slowly lets the black smoke escape from his nostrils.
Convict’s mind
Wrestling is nothing more then being a contracted killer…some higher up gives you a name, you spend countless hours preparing for all contingencies. The only difference being really I can’t just walk out to a ring, pull my trustee .45 and give the fucker standing there what he really wants…a way out from his miserable existence. No I have to go out there, and use strength and my mind. Anticipate his moves, react to his assaults, put him threw enough hell that he wants to stop, wants to give up.
The Convict lifts his hand to his mouth and pulls the cigarette from it. He exhales the grey smoke from between his lips. His eyes still focused upon the wall.
Convict’s mind
Damien Gein…the American psycho…he’ll be easy to predict, psycho’s always are, they do whatever they think they need to do…my time in lockups have given me more then enough time to learn how there minds work. There only a simple step above a fish inside the walls of the justice system. Like a fish they’ll be out to prove themselves. That’s there mistake, they need the reassurance from people to make themselves feel important. Unfortunately they always cross someone who is waiting for them…and this time like in the yard, like always He will have no where to run to, no where to hide, but unlike prison. Damien has no prison guards to stop the attack…and a simple man in a black and white shirt cant hope to truly stop the onslaught I have in store for you Mr. Gein. If I need to rip apart the cage and turn a simple three inch piece of metal into a deadly weapon and shove it into your throat I will. Your blood will be upon my hands Damien Gein. I will twist your neck, and pull the head from upon your shoulders, and then when the last drop of blood has fallen from your head, I will drink from out of your skull. Because that is what she wants from me. She wants the carnage, the destruction…she called upon the Beast, set me free to unleash havoc. And with your destruction Damien, she’ll give me what I want…what I need. I have tasted the poison from inside her Damien…I enjoy it. It didn’t kill me like it did so many countless others before me…it made me stronger, it made me hunger.
Convict pulls the Cigarette from his lips and drops it to the floor, he slowly rises from the chair, and walks to the bar. He pulls a bottle of Jack from upon it and puts the bottle to his lips. Convict takes a deep drink from it, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Convict clenches his hand into a fist and looks down upon it.
Convict
You will give me what I want Billy…when I am covered in Damien’s blood, dripping from my body, I will come to collect my payment…and you will give it to me…
Convict walks over to the locker and pulls a chain from out of it. He lets it unravel, and it makes a noise as it hits the tiled floor. A sick evil grin comes across his face as he focuses upon it.
Convict
You may be the boss Billy…but that’s your mistake…because I have the power.
Convict grabs his black leather overcoat and slides it on. He pulls an asp from the locker, and hides it into the overcoat. He then pulls a taser and places it into his right front jacket pocket. His eyes then dart to the clock mounted above the doorway.
Convict
Times almost up Damien…in a sense you’re the lucky one…because what I do to you will be considered mercy.