Post by somethingwicked on May 29, 2020 7:38:31 GMT -5
“The thing about the past, is that sometimes it doesn’t come back to haunt you. Sometimes, it comes back to finish you.”
We come in on a view of an intense party. Women in short dresses, Men in tight shirts all moving spasmodically to the “beat” of the “music” being ”played” by the “DJ”. As we move forward we see that we are following a very large wrapped gift through this crowd. Silver ribbons over a black box, reflecting the multiple colored lights as they are pulse and strobe. The he’s, she’s and they/thems all move out of the way of the gift as it passes both bars, through the dance floor, up the exposed staircase and into the private entrance of the upper bar area. The delivery mans hand knocks on a plain black door and waits. As it opens we see a smaller party occurring with as many familiar faces as unfamiliar. Seated behind a large redwood desk is Xavier Wolf. His wife and Right hand Le’andra Fury-Wolf seared on the desk in front of him. Johnny “LA” Stylez to his left. Johnny sees the delivery first and alerts the rest, as the delivery man places the box in front of him, and turns away.
Xavier clears the room with a wave of his hand, and Nez and Spitz, his sponsor/assistant and his sponsee/cronie usher everyone else out and close the door behind them. The five of them look at the box and begin to spectate. Someone says the word “bomb” and the others all shrug the idea away, but still very well aware that it could be just that.
Xavier pulls the ribbon and flips open the box. Inside are two items. A concrete slab with the letter X carved Into it, most likely when the concrete was still wet, and a single black leather glove. The left hand one.
“What’s this?” Says a voice, which Xavier can’t pinpoint who it belongs to.
“A message.” Says Xavier, who hunkers down into his seat, and begins to mentally prepare for what’s to come.
The scene shatters as a hammer crashes downward onto a concrete slab, which is now all we see. Panning up we see that the hammer is being held by Vincent Wolf. Shirtless and sweaty, he circles a section of the ground, and begins to smack at it with the hammer again and again, easing the piece in the middle toward freedom with each subsequent hit.
“This concrete slab is all that’s left of the building where my tale began. A 13 floor apartment building that I was obsessed with as a child, and as a man, sought to reside in. The only apartment that they had, that I could afford, was a one room and toilet number that belonged to the handyman who used to work there, prior to an independent company taking over the building. For years the older residents would knock on my door looking for help. And I’d do it. Because when someone asks for help, and you can give it, you do. None of this matters to you. The point I’m trying to make is that I picked up this building, and I moved it. It was a daunting process, I don’t mind saying. But like most things, you take it one piece at a time. Brick by Brick. Item by item. Sir, You are not the first brick in the project I’ve been undertaking. You’re just the next one.”
“You’re not going to be my nemesis, nor my enemy. We will not bond. We will simply meet each other as we have been assigned to do, and the outcome will be the last moment we share until we are forced together again. It is not because I don’t respect you. It’s because you don’t matter. Not to me nor my mission here. Should I lose to you, it will be the height of your fucking career. A moment for you to look back on forever. For me, It’ll be another day. One I won’t recall long enough to resent. It is not because you aren’t talented. It’s because you’re not them.”
“Them, who have split my family. Them, who have made it their business to be in my business. Them, who have started a war I will see finished. Them, who shall not be nameless, but shall be buried in unmarked and unmourned graves. Theoretically speaking.”
“We all want to be our weekly opponents worst nightmare. We tell ourselves that the other person is cowering at the very idea of us. Because we have to, Because we need to. Because we know no other way. But I do. This whole thing, it’s got a certain appeal to me. But obtaining accolades are not one of them, nor are increasing the list of those I’ve beaten. There is a list, friend, and I have to tell you, I can’t recall a single one of them. I’ve already forgotten you.”
“My mission is all I care about. My goal is all I can see. I have what you would refer to as tunnel vision. And you are quite a ways beyond that tunnel. You are a misstep, when all I care about is the next step. The next step in a journey that ends with me seeing a few familiar faces, and breaking a few familiar bones.”
The hammer comes down on the concrete once more, and suddenly, a large piece is free. Vincent lifts it, and smiles. He places it into a box, and returns to the hole in the concrete. In the ground, beneath where the slab once sat, is a medium sized metal box. He tucks it under his arm, drops the hammer, and smiles.
Back in the office area, obviously a few days after the events we’d just seen, Xavier closes the box, and pulls an envelope out of his pocket.
“Got what we need for the desert.” he says with a smile.
“Well fucking done my man. Fucking A for Abouttogetfuckedup!”
“Should be a good time.” Le’andra says, smiling at her husband.
“Very.” X responds, kissing her hand.
We fade into the shot of a long stretch of desert. The ground cracked and dry. The sun rising in the distance, and a man in sight, sitting on his legs, with his hands out before him, gripping the dirt with white knuckled strength. Rising to his feet, he turns in a motivated walk, and enters a very large tent just a few feet away. Inside, Le’andra stands, drinking a bottle of water, and looking at Johnny, who is passed out on a cot, covered in sweat.
“He have a good night?” Xavier asks, nodding toward Johnny.
“An interesting one, I’d bet.” She takes a drink of water, and hands him the bottle. “How was yours?”
“Very enlightening.” Xavier says, pulling his cellphone out of the saddlebag on the head of his cot. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Le’ asks, a glare and gleam in her eyes.
“To raise the dead.” Xavier says, motivated and serious, which is obviously contagious, as Le’ loses every bit of playfulness. Xavier leaves the tent, and the sun shines inward, blinding us. As the tent flap closes, the light vanishes, and we return to the darkness from which we came.
We come in on a view of an intense party. Women in short dresses, Men in tight shirts all moving spasmodically to the “beat” of the “music” being ”played” by the “DJ”. As we move forward we see that we are following a very large wrapped gift through this crowd. Silver ribbons over a black box, reflecting the multiple colored lights as they are pulse and strobe. The he’s, she’s and they/thems all move out of the way of the gift as it passes both bars, through the dance floor, up the exposed staircase and into the private entrance of the upper bar area. The delivery mans hand knocks on a plain black door and waits. As it opens we see a smaller party occurring with as many familiar faces as unfamiliar. Seated behind a large redwood desk is Xavier Wolf. His wife and Right hand Le’andra Fury-Wolf seared on the desk in front of him. Johnny “LA” Stylez to his left. Johnny sees the delivery first and alerts the rest, as the delivery man places the box in front of him, and turns away.
Xavier clears the room with a wave of his hand, and Nez and Spitz, his sponsor/assistant and his sponsee/cronie usher everyone else out and close the door behind them. The five of them look at the box and begin to spectate. Someone says the word “bomb” and the others all shrug the idea away, but still very well aware that it could be just that.
Xavier pulls the ribbon and flips open the box. Inside are two items. A concrete slab with the letter X carved Into it, most likely when the concrete was still wet, and a single black leather glove. The left hand one.
“What’s this?” Says a voice, which Xavier can’t pinpoint who it belongs to.
“A message.” Says Xavier, who hunkers down into his seat, and begins to mentally prepare for what’s to come.
The scene shatters as a hammer crashes downward onto a concrete slab, which is now all we see. Panning up we see that the hammer is being held by Vincent Wolf. Shirtless and sweaty, he circles a section of the ground, and begins to smack at it with the hammer again and again, easing the piece in the middle toward freedom with each subsequent hit.
“This concrete slab is all that’s left of the building where my tale began. A 13 floor apartment building that I was obsessed with as a child, and as a man, sought to reside in. The only apartment that they had, that I could afford, was a one room and toilet number that belonged to the handyman who used to work there, prior to an independent company taking over the building. For years the older residents would knock on my door looking for help. And I’d do it. Because when someone asks for help, and you can give it, you do. None of this matters to you. The point I’m trying to make is that I picked up this building, and I moved it. It was a daunting process, I don’t mind saying. But like most things, you take it one piece at a time. Brick by Brick. Item by item. Sir, You are not the first brick in the project I’ve been undertaking. You’re just the next one.”
“You’re not going to be my nemesis, nor my enemy. We will not bond. We will simply meet each other as we have been assigned to do, and the outcome will be the last moment we share until we are forced together again. It is not because I don’t respect you. It’s because you don’t matter. Not to me nor my mission here. Should I lose to you, it will be the height of your fucking career. A moment for you to look back on forever. For me, It’ll be another day. One I won’t recall long enough to resent. It is not because you aren’t talented. It’s because you’re not them.”
“Them, who have split my family. Them, who have made it their business to be in my business. Them, who have started a war I will see finished. Them, who shall not be nameless, but shall be buried in unmarked and unmourned graves. Theoretically speaking.”
“We all want to be our weekly opponents worst nightmare. We tell ourselves that the other person is cowering at the very idea of us. Because we have to, Because we need to. Because we know no other way. But I do. This whole thing, it’s got a certain appeal to me. But obtaining accolades are not one of them, nor are increasing the list of those I’ve beaten. There is a list, friend, and I have to tell you, I can’t recall a single one of them. I’ve already forgotten you.”
“My mission is all I care about. My goal is all I can see. I have what you would refer to as tunnel vision. And you are quite a ways beyond that tunnel. You are a misstep, when all I care about is the next step. The next step in a journey that ends with me seeing a few familiar faces, and breaking a few familiar bones.”
The hammer comes down on the concrete once more, and suddenly, a large piece is free. Vincent lifts it, and smiles. He places it into a box, and returns to the hole in the concrete. In the ground, beneath where the slab once sat, is a medium sized metal box. He tucks it under his arm, drops the hammer, and smiles.
Back in the office area, obviously a few days after the events we’d just seen, Xavier closes the box, and pulls an envelope out of his pocket.
“Got what we need for the desert.” he says with a smile.
“Well fucking done my man. Fucking A for Abouttogetfuckedup!”
“Should be a good time.” Le’andra says, smiling at her husband.
“Very.” X responds, kissing her hand.
We fade into the shot of a long stretch of desert. The ground cracked and dry. The sun rising in the distance, and a man in sight, sitting on his legs, with his hands out before him, gripping the dirt with white knuckled strength. Rising to his feet, he turns in a motivated walk, and enters a very large tent just a few feet away. Inside, Le’andra stands, drinking a bottle of water, and looking at Johnny, who is passed out on a cot, covered in sweat.
“He have a good night?” Xavier asks, nodding toward Johnny.
“An interesting one, I’d bet.” She takes a drink of water, and hands him the bottle. “How was yours?”
“Very enlightening.” Xavier says, pulling his cellphone out of the saddlebag on the head of his cot. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Le’ asks, a glare and gleam in her eyes.
“To raise the dead.” Xavier says, motivated and serious, which is obviously contagious, as Le’ loses every bit of playfulness. Xavier leaves the tent, and the sun shines inward, blinding us. As the tent flap closes, the light vanishes, and we return to the darkness from which we came.