Post by Zombie Jesus on Aug 28, 2009 17:35:05 GMT -5
Our scene opens to one of darkness, not that of a room void of light or cast into shadows, but the cold wet devouring absence of color a wall of nothingness that bleeds black all around, cutting off any sort of view beyond the distance of one’s own nose. Roots creep along the bottom of the abyss twisting in and out, turning over one another like hundreds of serpents wrapped tightly around themselves in an endless altar to the elder voodoo god Dumballah, made of living wood. Something beneath the roots stirs, and the water turns clouds of silt from the depths below. A vast array of tiny bubbles fight their way up to the top as the cold dark water turns, swirling about. As cracks of light seep through the black towards the surface, they seem to fight for existence against the never-ending depth of bleakness. A long black silhouette slips though the water with a silent and eerily gentle ease, splitting it and casting out what little light makes it through the surface. The light seems to give the alligator a near halo-like glow illuminating around his shape from underneath as he swims past, leaving ripples in his wake.
The serene silence of this haven is suddenly bashed into a violent brawl of noise as the water begins to churn and fight, clashing back and forth in a battle with itself. A massive shadow is cast by something cutting through the water with great speed and agility, cutting around turns and gliding along the surface. The water churns madly as the sounds of engines rip through the once peaceful scene violently, like a chainsaw shredding everything around it. An airboat skims across the brackish water, making its way through the bayou and causing water to spray about in a mist as the waves crash against the trees. It leaves a massive wake in its recent pathway as it pushes along the top of the water, motored by a huge fan seated atop it.
The black water begins to settle down once more, calming from its interruption. Broken lily pads float along the small rippled waves, making their way in either direction of the small clear channel. A large bird with brilliant colored feathers stretches its elongated neck out as it flies above the tree lines, its reflection cast by the surface of the dark water. A slight breeze suddenly crawls through the trees all around, the loud obnoxious roar of the airboats engine faded into the far distance. This place void of demanding sunlight, this place void of the electric hell of glitz and glamour would depress some or cast a suicidal spell of boredom over most others. But to those raised here and birthed to the environments like its self, spread sporadically over the world… this is home, this is a haven from the choking grip of civilization and the mindless zombies that inhabit it.
The scene changes a bit as we find ourselves still in the swamps but elsewhere. The moss hanging from the trees moves gently in the caress of a midday’s slight breeze. The trees, most of them with roots that stretch both above and below the water, lodge into the earth below. A boat, the same airboat from before, sits atop the surface of the water, rocking against the remnants of what looks like a dock. It’s steel metal hull is wet and covered in spots of brown and red tinted rust, mixed with loose debris, some swamp weeds, and a bit of green pond scum and algae collected as it soared through the bayous. The boat rubs against the time-worn post, carving notches in it as it shaves layers from its dry sun baked husk. The platform the boat is tied to is a throwback to a time long ago from its looks and its surroundings. A few larger standing poles protrude from the depth of the still darkened water and sit high towering over the dock its self and near as large as the trees themselves; possibly once holding up a house one of what could have been many in the early era the people who called these marshlands home. Their homes built high above the water levels that threatened their lives during storms, and floods brought on by the changes of the tides and the hurricanes that could pass through these areas. From above the sun beat down in this opening of the tree’s forming a small cove. A small ripple in the water is heard as the camera turns off the side of the dock and to see a large alligator snapping turtle’s spiked shell cutting gently through the water as it begins to draw back it’s head and descends back into the murky depth vanishing only a few feet down.
Something else seems to be slipping through the water, the ripples flowing behind giving it away. From the size of the ripples, it is large, and then we see it ascend from the watery void. A shadowy figure bathed in black from the shade of the over hanging cypress branches makes his way slowly through the tree line, knee deep at some parts of the water. As he reaches the warm bright glow of the sun we see the figure approaching, the sun glistening off water logged flesh over a shirtless massive frame. His blue jeans are soaked up to his waist as he steps down into a bit deeper water up to his belt. His hair hangs down, loose and soaked with water as it falls in strands curling at the ends hanging over his shoulders and face. Thrown over his shoulder and grasped with a large hand is a thick brown sack. As he approaches closer the man identified by his build, hair and mostly his tattoos on his arms is that of the residential southern culture on the skids living “Salem”. He makes his way through the water wading along as he nears the dock. The water churns around him rippling in the wake of his movements bouncing sun light across the water along with his own distorted reflection. Sans his trademark mask Salem’s face not one bleached white and pale, but not as tanned as the rest of his body; evidence of the times he wears the mask that hugs to the flesh of his face. His beard is cut into the mutton chop’s; the center, though shaved out on his chin, still carries stubble, as does the rest of his face. He doesn’t appear to have shaved in a week. Not exactly the state one would expect to find a man who’s entire world has been turned upside down in the past two weeks, but we all deal with out own stress in our own ways cultured to our own worlds and ways of existence.
He nears the sun bleached wood of the dock and he throws the brown woven sack onto the landing. Salem places his hands onto the wood surface of the landing and pulls himself up, the sun beginning to fade into the distance but a good few hours before eve hits. Beads of water drip from the contours of his body; his chest heaving as he breaths and he looks around him.
“Mickey…”
He pauses for a moment.
“Do you see this? All around you here right now… this is who I am. This is what I am. It’s not perfect well maybe not to you anyhow… but it’s real. It’s as real as I am, it’s as real as the blood coursing through my veins.”
Salem continues looking around the sun beating down on his face as he turns toward its glare.
“You’re in over your head Mickey, way the fuck in over your head. And there’s no place for you to crawl out of this mess that you’ve made for yourself and your friends.
Salem steps onto the boat floating along side the dock and reaches into a box beside the chair, then shuffles around fingering through a shirt draped over the back of the chair searching for something.
“I bet last week you thought long and hard about your stipulation that I couldn’t get my hands on you till this comes to an end. I don’t really care for that to be honest with you, and if it was anyone but Jezebel I would have already broken your neck just to watch you twitch because of nothing more then that you may have momentarily inconvenienced me. But you still want to make this personal ”
Salem finds what he’s looking for and pauses for a moment before raising back up and placing something in his mouth. A close up reveals Salem with a cigar in his mouth and clipping the tip of it off with a cigar cutter, the tip dropping off and falling into the water with a “plop”. He places the cigar cutter into his pocket, and then fishes around for something else, revealing a silver flip style Zippo lighter. He strikes the lighter and brings it toward his face, the tip of the cigar growing into a full blown bright red cherry and dancing in his eyes as he closes the lighter up and places it too into his pocket. A thick exhale of smoke rolls out from the corner of his mouth as Salem steps back out onto the landing.
“See you can sit there and pretend to be on top of things, that you have all the aces in your hand. But you couldn’t be more wrong Mickey. Because now I‘m left with a shit load of untapped unadulterated pure aggression and no one to focus it on. Because Mickey here thought of everything. ”
A cloud of smoke covers his face for a moment as he exhales and the thick cloud of gray escapes the corner of his lip. A smug looking smirk on his face as he nods and shrugs his shoulders.
“Well I’m glad you did, but that leaves one problem a smoke loop hole if you would. There was no stipulation in the contracts no word from backstage saying that I couldn’t get my hands on your friends and loved ones. Nothing to protect them from your problems.“
Salem moves around a bit, he brings his fingers toward his lips and pinching the middle of the cigar, letting his fingers wrap around it and holding it tight between his fingers. He exhales once more and lets it all drift out; then looking to his cigar smirks and lets all his emotion drift away.
“I promised you last week I would destroy Chassie Fear. And I made good on that promise. I demolished White Trash Barbie in front of you, left her in a pile, gurgling something that sounded like your name or help, it’s so hard to tell when your in that much pain. But what‘s harder is I can’t get past the thought what’s on Chassie’s mind? I mean right now… what is she thinking when she looks back and knows everything… every part of that was because of you. I mean you have to ask yourself how far will this team really go to help me? How long will they take this kind of abuse over something I did?”
Salem brings the long brown hand rolled cigar back up to his face but turns it slightly and runs it just a bit under his nose, letting the sweet, mellow aroma of the cigar waft toward his nostrils. A look of satisfaction plays across his lips to which he places the cigar once more. The tip of it burns brightly again.
Salem inhales the deep thick cloud of smoke and holds it for a moments time. Then from the corner of his mouth exhales and the thick gray cloud seeps from the opening in his mouth like a fog setting in across a bay in wee hours of the morning as daylight dwindles and night fights for supremacy.
“And yes I said they… what you didn’t honestly think this would end with just Chassie did you Mickey? On no no no… this is way past that point.
Salem slightly kicks the brown burlap sack that he was seen carrying across the watery threshold earlier. The bag moves against his foot as it taps something solid and moves in return at first back then about before stopping and coming to a halt. The camera looks up to see Salem smile a bit watching the sack.
“See all of this around you? Take it in Mickey this is serenity… something you won’t know the meaning of any time soon. You want to come into this acting bat shit insane and pretend to be something your not that’s up to you but I suggest that you leave the mental
bullshit to those who know what it is their dealing with and leave your mental hocus pocus at home before I show you what it’s like when you stop arguing with you own inner demons and start agreeing. You want to play doctor? Fine I’ll play coroner and finish dissecting what’ll be left of your beloved Covenant when I’m done. You don’t have the faintest clue of what being evil is all about do you?"
Salem places his hands on the small of his back; the cigar still held his mouth firmly between his lips; his teeth biting part of it in the back as he forces a half smile to course his jaw line. Stretching his wrenches backwards and pops his back looking around again.
“Not very wise boy… not very wise at all. But hell I’ll play your game for now. As far as Jet, and Nate go, it’s something I’ll have to deal with on a later date I’m sure, but no one is going to stand in the way of me getting my hands on you. Not even Jez’s flesh and blood or Kvk’s side kick are going to get between me and you.”
Salem uses his boot placing it against the burlap sack before scooting it off of the dock and onto the deck of the boat tied onto one of the pillars. The water bounces off the side of the boat and causes the rope binding it to the dock to tighten and then slacken over and over again. The wood creaks at the sudden “thump” of the bag’s contents hitting the deck. Salem again scuffs a bit laughing.
“This week I have to take on Jet and Nathan under your conditions, but the winner gets you at the PPV under their own stipulations?”
Salem undoes the rope before grasping it and winding it back up, his look contemplative and almost mocking as he tosses it onto the airboat. Salem steps off the dock and once on the deck of the boat uses his boot to push off and away from the wooden structure, taking a moment to secure the burlap sack and its content into a side compartment before looking back at the dock.
“See you at the show Mickey, see you at the show. Oh… And I’ll have a little something for you when I get there. “
Salem steps up and seats himself on the captains chair at the center of the boat. The engine begins to whirl about loudly. And a puff of cigar rolls out again the cloud quickly pulled back over his face as it dissipates toward the whirling fan blades. Salem yells loudly so as to be heard over the motor.
“No need to thank me Mickey I just know you’ll love it.”
The scene fades slowly as the fan boat makes its way from the cove and back slowly through the black water logged bayous.
The serene silence of this haven is suddenly bashed into a violent brawl of noise as the water begins to churn and fight, clashing back and forth in a battle with itself. A massive shadow is cast by something cutting through the water with great speed and agility, cutting around turns and gliding along the surface. The water churns madly as the sounds of engines rip through the once peaceful scene violently, like a chainsaw shredding everything around it. An airboat skims across the brackish water, making its way through the bayou and causing water to spray about in a mist as the waves crash against the trees. It leaves a massive wake in its recent pathway as it pushes along the top of the water, motored by a huge fan seated atop it.
The black water begins to settle down once more, calming from its interruption. Broken lily pads float along the small rippled waves, making their way in either direction of the small clear channel. A large bird with brilliant colored feathers stretches its elongated neck out as it flies above the tree lines, its reflection cast by the surface of the dark water. A slight breeze suddenly crawls through the trees all around, the loud obnoxious roar of the airboats engine faded into the far distance. This place void of demanding sunlight, this place void of the electric hell of glitz and glamour would depress some or cast a suicidal spell of boredom over most others. But to those raised here and birthed to the environments like its self, spread sporadically over the world… this is home, this is a haven from the choking grip of civilization and the mindless zombies that inhabit it.
The scene changes a bit as we find ourselves still in the swamps but elsewhere. The moss hanging from the trees moves gently in the caress of a midday’s slight breeze. The trees, most of them with roots that stretch both above and below the water, lodge into the earth below. A boat, the same airboat from before, sits atop the surface of the water, rocking against the remnants of what looks like a dock. It’s steel metal hull is wet and covered in spots of brown and red tinted rust, mixed with loose debris, some swamp weeds, and a bit of green pond scum and algae collected as it soared through the bayous. The boat rubs against the time-worn post, carving notches in it as it shaves layers from its dry sun baked husk. The platform the boat is tied to is a throwback to a time long ago from its looks and its surroundings. A few larger standing poles protrude from the depth of the still darkened water and sit high towering over the dock its self and near as large as the trees themselves; possibly once holding up a house one of what could have been many in the early era the people who called these marshlands home. Their homes built high above the water levels that threatened their lives during storms, and floods brought on by the changes of the tides and the hurricanes that could pass through these areas. From above the sun beat down in this opening of the tree’s forming a small cove. A small ripple in the water is heard as the camera turns off the side of the dock and to see a large alligator snapping turtle’s spiked shell cutting gently through the water as it begins to draw back it’s head and descends back into the murky depth vanishing only a few feet down.
Something else seems to be slipping through the water, the ripples flowing behind giving it away. From the size of the ripples, it is large, and then we see it ascend from the watery void. A shadowy figure bathed in black from the shade of the over hanging cypress branches makes his way slowly through the tree line, knee deep at some parts of the water. As he reaches the warm bright glow of the sun we see the figure approaching, the sun glistening off water logged flesh over a shirtless massive frame. His blue jeans are soaked up to his waist as he steps down into a bit deeper water up to his belt. His hair hangs down, loose and soaked with water as it falls in strands curling at the ends hanging over his shoulders and face. Thrown over his shoulder and grasped with a large hand is a thick brown sack. As he approaches closer the man identified by his build, hair and mostly his tattoos on his arms is that of the residential southern culture on the skids living “Salem”. He makes his way through the water wading along as he nears the dock. The water churns around him rippling in the wake of his movements bouncing sun light across the water along with his own distorted reflection. Sans his trademark mask Salem’s face not one bleached white and pale, but not as tanned as the rest of his body; evidence of the times he wears the mask that hugs to the flesh of his face. His beard is cut into the mutton chop’s; the center, though shaved out on his chin, still carries stubble, as does the rest of his face. He doesn’t appear to have shaved in a week. Not exactly the state one would expect to find a man who’s entire world has been turned upside down in the past two weeks, but we all deal with out own stress in our own ways cultured to our own worlds and ways of existence.
He nears the sun bleached wood of the dock and he throws the brown woven sack onto the landing. Salem places his hands onto the wood surface of the landing and pulls himself up, the sun beginning to fade into the distance but a good few hours before eve hits. Beads of water drip from the contours of his body; his chest heaving as he breaths and he looks around him.
“Mickey…”
He pauses for a moment.
“Do you see this? All around you here right now… this is who I am. This is what I am. It’s not perfect well maybe not to you anyhow… but it’s real. It’s as real as I am, it’s as real as the blood coursing through my veins.”
Salem continues looking around the sun beating down on his face as he turns toward its glare.
“You’re in over your head Mickey, way the fuck in over your head. And there’s no place for you to crawl out of this mess that you’ve made for yourself and your friends.
Salem steps onto the boat floating along side the dock and reaches into a box beside the chair, then shuffles around fingering through a shirt draped over the back of the chair searching for something.
“I bet last week you thought long and hard about your stipulation that I couldn’t get my hands on you till this comes to an end. I don’t really care for that to be honest with you, and if it was anyone but Jezebel I would have already broken your neck just to watch you twitch because of nothing more then that you may have momentarily inconvenienced me. But you still want to make this personal ”
Salem finds what he’s looking for and pauses for a moment before raising back up and placing something in his mouth. A close up reveals Salem with a cigar in his mouth and clipping the tip of it off with a cigar cutter, the tip dropping off and falling into the water with a “plop”. He places the cigar cutter into his pocket, and then fishes around for something else, revealing a silver flip style Zippo lighter. He strikes the lighter and brings it toward his face, the tip of the cigar growing into a full blown bright red cherry and dancing in his eyes as he closes the lighter up and places it too into his pocket. A thick exhale of smoke rolls out from the corner of his mouth as Salem steps back out onto the landing.
“See you can sit there and pretend to be on top of things, that you have all the aces in your hand. But you couldn’t be more wrong Mickey. Because now I‘m left with a shit load of untapped unadulterated pure aggression and no one to focus it on. Because Mickey here thought of everything. ”
A cloud of smoke covers his face for a moment as he exhales and the thick cloud of gray escapes the corner of his lip. A smug looking smirk on his face as he nods and shrugs his shoulders.
“Well I’m glad you did, but that leaves one problem a smoke loop hole if you would. There was no stipulation in the contracts no word from backstage saying that I couldn’t get my hands on your friends and loved ones. Nothing to protect them from your problems.“
Salem moves around a bit, he brings his fingers toward his lips and pinching the middle of the cigar, letting his fingers wrap around it and holding it tight between his fingers. He exhales once more and lets it all drift out; then looking to his cigar smirks and lets all his emotion drift away.
“I promised you last week I would destroy Chassie Fear. And I made good on that promise. I demolished White Trash Barbie in front of you, left her in a pile, gurgling something that sounded like your name or help, it’s so hard to tell when your in that much pain. But what‘s harder is I can’t get past the thought what’s on Chassie’s mind? I mean right now… what is she thinking when she looks back and knows everything… every part of that was because of you. I mean you have to ask yourself how far will this team really go to help me? How long will they take this kind of abuse over something I did?”
Salem brings the long brown hand rolled cigar back up to his face but turns it slightly and runs it just a bit under his nose, letting the sweet, mellow aroma of the cigar waft toward his nostrils. A look of satisfaction plays across his lips to which he places the cigar once more. The tip of it burns brightly again.
Salem inhales the deep thick cloud of smoke and holds it for a moments time. Then from the corner of his mouth exhales and the thick gray cloud seeps from the opening in his mouth like a fog setting in across a bay in wee hours of the morning as daylight dwindles and night fights for supremacy.
“And yes I said they… what you didn’t honestly think this would end with just Chassie did you Mickey? On no no no… this is way past that point.
Salem slightly kicks the brown burlap sack that he was seen carrying across the watery threshold earlier. The bag moves against his foot as it taps something solid and moves in return at first back then about before stopping and coming to a halt. The camera looks up to see Salem smile a bit watching the sack.
“See all of this around you? Take it in Mickey this is serenity… something you won’t know the meaning of any time soon. You want to come into this acting bat shit insane and pretend to be something your not that’s up to you but I suggest that you leave the mental
bullshit to those who know what it is their dealing with and leave your mental hocus pocus at home before I show you what it’s like when you stop arguing with you own inner demons and start agreeing. You want to play doctor? Fine I’ll play coroner and finish dissecting what’ll be left of your beloved Covenant when I’m done. You don’t have the faintest clue of what being evil is all about do you?"
Salem places his hands on the small of his back; the cigar still held his mouth firmly between his lips; his teeth biting part of it in the back as he forces a half smile to course his jaw line. Stretching his wrenches backwards and pops his back looking around again.
“Not very wise boy… not very wise at all. But hell I’ll play your game for now. As far as Jet, and Nate go, it’s something I’ll have to deal with on a later date I’m sure, but no one is going to stand in the way of me getting my hands on you. Not even Jez’s flesh and blood or Kvk’s side kick are going to get between me and you.”
Salem uses his boot placing it against the burlap sack before scooting it off of the dock and onto the deck of the boat tied onto one of the pillars. The water bounces off the side of the boat and causes the rope binding it to the dock to tighten and then slacken over and over again. The wood creaks at the sudden “thump” of the bag’s contents hitting the deck. Salem again scuffs a bit laughing.
“This week I have to take on Jet and Nathan under your conditions, but the winner gets you at the PPV under their own stipulations?”
Salem undoes the rope before grasping it and winding it back up, his look contemplative and almost mocking as he tosses it onto the airboat. Salem steps off the dock and once on the deck of the boat uses his boot to push off and away from the wooden structure, taking a moment to secure the burlap sack and its content into a side compartment before looking back at the dock.
“See you at the show Mickey, see you at the show. Oh… And I’ll have a little something for you when I get there. “
Salem steps up and seats himself on the captains chair at the center of the boat. The engine begins to whirl about loudly. And a puff of cigar rolls out again the cloud quickly pulled back over his face as it dissipates toward the whirling fan blades. Salem yells loudly so as to be heard over the motor.
“No need to thank me Mickey I just know you’ll love it.”
The scene fades slowly as the fan boat makes its way from the cove and back slowly through the black water logged bayous.