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Pit & Pendulum
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Topic Started: Jun 25 2017, 02:20 PM (73 Views)
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KingsMan
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Jun 25 2017, 02:20 PM
Post #1
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Amateur
- Posts:
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- October 11, 2016
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A scene opens up on a dimly light and crystal shambled together church. As the camera pans through, barely lite white linen hooded figure can be seen sitting in the pews, heads down so that not a single feature can be seen past their hoods. Coming to the front,a single figure, clad in red & black is looking up. As the frame centers up we can see it is Kevin Modrad. He is holding a small version book. He is slowly thumbing through it pages, seemingly lost in thought. Yet as it often is, things are not what they seem. You know this may surprise some people but when I am not busy and get a little time to myself, I have always cherish a little bit of light reading. One of my favorite authors has always been Edgar Allen Poe. And yes. I can hear the scoffs and guffaws. Moody dark hooded man that likes reading Poe, what a surprise. Haha; everyone of you are quite witty and sharp. Nevertheless I do enjoy his works. Standing from his spot, Mordrad walks forward towards a dilapidated but still functional pulpit. Placing his book down, he continues to address the camera. Have you read much of Poe, Owen? I hav you have not. Seem more like something your brother would do. To me you seem like more of novelized version of a movie kind of. Regardless Poe is a beautiful writer. He speaks so elegantly about the human condition. About our flaws and weakness. Our fears and timidity in the face of nothingness. Things that most people never even dare to ponder on. Poe looks at them all and never back down. He stares in death’s eyes and never blinks. Not many men can say the same. Flipping the book opens, Mordrad thumbs a bit and stops. Yma, mae mob annuwiol o arteithwyr, anniwall, bwydo eu frenzies hir-barhaol ar gyfer gwaed gwirion. Nawr bod y fatherland yn ddiogel, nawr bod yr ogof o lofruddiaeth wedi cael ei dinistrio, yn y man lle unwaith roedd marwolaeth budr, bywyd ac iechyd yn agored i bawb. For those of you do not speak my tongue that was the opening stanza to what I believe to be Poe’s magnum opus, “The Pit & The Pendulum”; the story of man trapped and made to suffer during the Spanish Inquisition. It is a tale about injustice and punishment, a road map into the maddening depth of the human mind and soul. In a man is imprisoned and left to fester in his own mind; surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence. It is a fitting metaphor for things to come Drive, if I may say so. Closing the book, Mordrad looks out into the crowd. Not a single figure is moving. Each sits in eerie stillness, satures of albaostor and linen caught in inky blackness and squalor around them. At Summerfest, you seek to strip me of my title. You seek to gain a measure of revenge for the slights I have levied against you and your family. You want to humlikate me and humble me. I find that amusing and not for the reason one might expect. In all that puffing out of your chest, those moments of determination and preparation you are assuredly doing at this very moment; in all that, have you given yourself a chance to think about what happens when you lose? Not if you lose, but when. Because lose is what you shall do. The links of the steel and bars of metal that we are destined to reside in are not meant to keep you safe from the outside. They are meant to keep you on the inside. I intend to flay you open and festooned the canvas with you blood and guts Owen. But that is not all. Walking around the pulpit, Kevin slowly walks amongst the now obviously inanimate figures surrounding him in the pews. No your fate is much worse then me simply break you and bleeding you dry. You have seen forward to that. When I beat you, you be gone from the PRW; cast out and set adrift in the outside world. Can you handle that though? You will be alone and forgotten, the foolish jester of the Drive family that just proved yet again that he is all flash and no fire. You will be left alone, trapped in the inky blackness of your mind. That is a dangerous place to be Drive. It is lonely place. Yout breath will be drawn in shallow spurts and those imagined walls, the barriers you will desperately try to put up the stem the tide of the truth; they are going to start to buckle and cave in. You will be crushed by that truth. Mordrad stops in the center of the isle and stands there, dower looking figure on either side of him, their stony eyes turned towards the floor. That truth Owen? That inescapable truth? It quite simple: you never were and never will be anything more than a second note to a very sour and sad song. A ballad of failure and pain. The epic poem of the brothers Drive, the painted fool and platinum blowhard. You know that truth and that the moment you going to fall far and longer in the true pits of despair and sorrow, pits deeper and more horrid than you could ever imagine. That truth will cut you in two, bisecting you like a heavy executioner's blade. And that will be left of you after that moment? All that will be left of you after I brutalized and beat you at Summerfest? Mordrad spins on his heels, crashing his fist through the statutes closest to him; shattering them from the shoulders, their down turned head exploding in wisp of plaster and stone. Dust and ashes boy, Dust and ashes. Mordrad walks out through the back, slamming the door as walks out, setting off a chain reaction that sees the pillars inside tumble and fall, bring the roof down on top of it all. In the rumble a single statue remains: a gauted and beard one reminiscent of Owen Drive.

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HARKERN TO MY RECKONING!
Former: 1 x Internet Champion, Current: Undisputed Champion
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