Post by Jay SyN on Aug 9, 2006 20:50:00 GMT -5
Illumination makes itself well known in its most concentrated form, a flash of lighting that arcs down from the skies about and scares the darkness away, if just for a moment. Light dances on shoes, black, soaked with rain but so well worn that it’s probably the nicest thing they’ve been doused in for weeks. Pants, long, also black, a leather material that’s so old it might as well have remained on the dead animal it was taken from. A t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, that’s also- wouldn’t you know it- black as the night itself, save for a very disturbing little color pattern that has been splashed all over it, in no particular arrangement. Soaked with rain, the lightning shows the blood up as almost brown, even though further information would reveal that it was far too fresh to have dried that way. Finally its lit up the head, but not the face, concealed as it is between a faded white mask, with systematic holes punched into its plastic surface. The type of mask that can be found on your everyday hockey goalie who didn’t want a stray puck putting out his eye or knocking loose one of the few teeth that he still had less
The type of mask that can be found on your typical horror movie villain, wielding a machete and slaughtering over sexed teenagers while they continually and inexplicably expose themselves to danger while away at summer camp
Jay SyN: Sometimes in life, the solution is worse than the problem. Cauterizing a wound will stop infection, but sometimes the pain of burning living flesh away as you sit there and watch is worse than an amputation ever could be. Castration would stop a rapist forever, but at the same time it would officially make mental torture a smirking, all-fuck access pass part of our judicial system. The amount of people killed by terrorism every year is less than the amount killed by bees, but more than half of the people of my homeland are willing to give up civil liberties and personal freedom just at a chance to avoid such killings.
The only one who knows who The Red Devil is talking to is LJ Andrews himself, if there’s anything left of him. There is no camera in the area, even if Jay SyN wanted this televised no camera crew in their right mind would brave the elements just to get a rooftop shot with a maniac spewing a directionless verbal rant in every direction.
Jay SyN: And then there’s me. Bryan Blade, your inner question is pretty simple- what’s the worst that Jay SyN can be? What’s the meanest, darkest, sickest corner inside of that son of a bitch? Where does the light never, ever reach... what spot still teems with maggots when the rest is busy wrapping the love of its live in its arms and holding it close?
Some comments need no action narrative to go along with them, they speak for themselves .
Jay SyN: Guess what, you insignificant little fuck. I'm the answer.
Bingo.
Jay SyN: I didn’t give you what you wanted. And now that I’m standing here, thinking these thoughts, wearing this sickening fucking mask, and this makes me mad, little man. This makes me very.... very mad.
Probably not a good thing.
Jay SyN: LJ Andrews made me mad. He no longer is with us. Last you saw him, I powerbombed his ass straight into a coffin and nailed it shut at Trial By Fire. Well, at Lockdown, I have one more Jacknife left over from Sunday night. And it looks like you get to enjoy it. But until then, I’m going to fill you with fear. Not panic, not irritation, not even worry- but a sickening, cold stomached dread. So watch close, little Blade. Watch close the rage you see in my eyes. Watch me walk down to the ring… And remember one very important, very specific thing...
The Red Devil snarls, and the teeth that show glitter like stars
Jay SyN: You asked for it
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