Post by adm on May 9, 2008 16:42:39 GMT -6
“Nothing seems to kill me no matter how hard I try. Nothing is closing my eyes. Nothing can beat me down for your pain or delight. And nothing seems to break me. No matter how hard I fall nothing can break me at all. Not one for giving up though not invincible I know.”
Almost like a narrative of Prophet’s life at this very moment, the lyrics to “Blow up the Outside World” by Soundgarden echo through the darkness. Slowly we fade in as we walk behind Fate in the halls of this hospital’s Psychiatric unit. It doesn’t look as typical as you’d expect. People are chatting watching the news in an activity room, and nobody here looks stereotypically insane. Most people look like an average person, here for one reason or another. As we follow Fate, we hear his conversation with the nurse he walks next to.
“Mr. Fate, he’s been not responding well to the treatment we’ve been administering. We are going to try something a bit more straightforward and give him a combination of sedatives and antipsychotics.”
“That will work?”
“We hope it will. Right now there’s been absolutely no change since he got here. He’s been muttering and mumbling this and that for every hour he’s been awake.”
“Well, when do you think you can let him out to interact with the other patients here? He probably needs to get out of there sometime. Exercise, you know.”
“I think he gets enough exercise, Mr. Fate. He is always slamming himself against he walls and floor. It’s as if he’s trying to wrestle himself through the straight jacket. I really hope you know what you are doing limiting his stay to Sunday.”
“I know, but he has obligations, contracts, and fans. As odd as that sounds, yes he does have people who are paying good money to see him. Sane or insane, they want to see him decimate something. And JackHammer just happens to be that something.”
“Poor son of a bitch.” Her voice is very cold as she speaks those words. She points to a small square window on a strong steel door at the end of the hall. “He’s in there.”
“Alright, I’ll try and talk to him.”
“Good luck…you’ll need it.” She walks away, leaving Fate to walk up to the sealed door.
We follow Fate’s eyes as he looks inside, staring upon Prophet who is in the corner, staring at the ceiling muttering to himself while rocking back and forth. His words are incoherent and mostly just gibberish.
“What have I done to you, Prophet?” Fate whispers to himself.
We watch as Prophet continues to be unresponsive. He just sits there, staring into the ceiling muttering incoherently. He is safe from himself here. He is unable to do any real damage to his body when he slams himself into the walls. There isn’t anything to hurt him here, as opposed to the hotel. There, he could kill himself without anyone being able to respond quickly enough.
“There’s not really a whole lot we can do until Reborn, can we?” Fate asks the nurse. She shakes her head as he looks into the room. He wonders where Prophet’s head is right now, if he’s even in his own body at all.
Prophet sits there, staring into blank space. But he’s not in the room in his head. In his head, in his hallucinations and nightmares, he is back in Dwayberry. He is back where he killed his wife in their joint nightmare. He’s back in that abandoned apartment complex. But for now, he’s just there, sitting, unable to affect anything around him. He can’t move and he can hardly speak. But there is something about his muttered words. Something that when you can understand what words are leaving his lips, that makes you wonder whether or not he likes it better where he is.
“Deep in the night sky he shines down upon me. He gives me the lies that I believe. The walls melt my eyes as I burn within this room. The walls they melt like my brain within this tomb. Fire burns cold as the light it darkens every corner. Digging up the body buried by the coroner. There’s nothing left to see or hear. Nothing left for me to fear. Here in this padded Hell. With the fear in which I dwell. Sparkle, sparkle star shining bright. Sparkle, sparkle and make me a knight. Sometimes I wish I could fight. Sometimes I wish I could take flight. Fly birdie over the rainbow under the bridge. Fly birdie over the river and through the woods. Grandma’s house is burning in the rain-soaked plain. Grandma’s house is filled with pain. Please, give me my medicine ma’am. Give me the medicine so I can. So I can…so I can…soda can.”
Fate watches as Prophet rocks back and forth, muttering words that make no real sense. “I don’t know what you mean, Prophet. I don’t know what you are saying, but the words make no sense. Maybe, just maybe; things will be better when they find the prescription right for you.”
Suddenly, Prophet stands up and charges the door. He breaks it from its hinges, and begins to thrash around the hall. He bites Fate’s jugular, and tears away flesh as he breaks free from his straight jacket. He tears down the hall, and moves into the community room. Inside, instead of people who look different, is a bunch of JackHammers. He, with his hands freed from his straight jacket, looks around and sees only the one he’s facing at Reborn. Men, women, children…all are JackHammer. Even the Fate that he killed is Hammer. Everyone is Jackhammer, and Prophet grabs a chair. But the chair suddenly turns into his favorite weapon. The chair becomes a steel chair wrapped in barbed wire. Prophet smiles, realizing he’s in a hallucination. But he knows he can prepare for Reborn this way. He can get practice killing one Hammer after another. He knows he’s sedated, still in his padded room not making sense, but he wants this. This is his dream, being able to attack and kill many more JackHammers than there are in the world. He smashes one small child Hammer’s skull with the chair, caving it in and causing blood to fly everywhere. Prophet’s mad hallucination, a dream come true for him, is only telling part of how much he wants to decimate and decapitate.
“So many Hammers. So many many Hammers. I are kid in mortuary. Kill, Kill, Kill!” Prophet’s voice is higher pitched than normal, and full of twisted malice. “Kill Hammer!”
Prophet charges a female nurse JackHammer, and takes her head clean off with the chair. He turns to another kid JackHammer and gives it a vicious DDT into the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire. Prophet’s hallucination, his waking dream of murdering a million and one JackHammers, continues on. He dives over one of the nurses’ desks and begins mauling female Hammer after female Hammer. He doesn’t care if it’s a dream, fiction his mind created in the padded room. He only cares that he is attacking Hammer. He’s taking out JackHammer after jackhammer. Some with tits, some with limps, some with saggy butts, some with frowns, some with smiles…all JackHammers are being decimated by Prophet in this hallucination. He’s taking joy in destroying them. He’s taking the same joy he will take at Reborn.
“Kill Hammer! KILL HAMMER!” Prophet continues to scream as he makes his way to the door. He obliterates two doctors and a security Hammer before he opens the door leading to the outside. Instead of going to another level filled with JackHammers, Prophet is back in his padded room. He drools and smiles at Fate through the small square window in the door.
“What the **** is he thinking?” Fate asks himself. He knows, however, that Prophet’s insanity has finally taken over. He knows Prophet can’t be reached, not now at least. He has to wait for the doctors to give him medication. He has to wait…until he is cleared to compete at Reborn.
Prophet stares into open space, smiling and drooling. He’s content to be insane. Content to be in his own little world, killing JackHammer over and over again. He’s content to know that he has until Sunday before he gets out. He is content to know, whatever the doctors do, he’s still going to go from the room to the ring. He knows, in his sick and twisted mind, that at Reborn he will do his best to kill the REAL JackHammer. He doesn’t need anything more than the thoughts in his head to prepare. He doesn’t need to go to bars and attack random people…no, he can take out the “real thing” over and over.
“I can’t help him,” Fate begins to speak as he turns away from Prophet’s padded cell. “I can’t do anything. All I can do is wait and hope they can medicate him enough to let him loose. All I can do is hope that Prophet can conquer this and become stronger.”
Fate walks with the nurse, passing all the people Prophet is pretending to kill as a slew of JackHammers in his head. He doesn’t know what Prophet is going to need to get better, but he knows only that he needs to get better. The nurse escorts him out of the hospital, and we fade to black.
Almost like a narrative of Prophet’s life at this very moment, the lyrics to “Blow up the Outside World” by Soundgarden echo through the darkness. Slowly we fade in as we walk behind Fate in the halls of this hospital’s Psychiatric unit. It doesn’t look as typical as you’d expect. People are chatting watching the news in an activity room, and nobody here looks stereotypically insane. Most people look like an average person, here for one reason or another. As we follow Fate, we hear his conversation with the nurse he walks next to.
“Mr. Fate, he’s been not responding well to the treatment we’ve been administering. We are going to try something a bit more straightforward and give him a combination of sedatives and antipsychotics.”
“That will work?”
“We hope it will. Right now there’s been absolutely no change since he got here. He’s been muttering and mumbling this and that for every hour he’s been awake.”
“Well, when do you think you can let him out to interact with the other patients here? He probably needs to get out of there sometime. Exercise, you know.”
“I think he gets enough exercise, Mr. Fate. He is always slamming himself against he walls and floor. It’s as if he’s trying to wrestle himself through the straight jacket. I really hope you know what you are doing limiting his stay to Sunday.”
“I know, but he has obligations, contracts, and fans. As odd as that sounds, yes he does have people who are paying good money to see him. Sane or insane, they want to see him decimate something. And JackHammer just happens to be that something.”
“Poor son of a bitch.” Her voice is very cold as she speaks those words. She points to a small square window on a strong steel door at the end of the hall. “He’s in there.”
“Alright, I’ll try and talk to him.”
“Good luck…you’ll need it.” She walks away, leaving Fate to walk up to the sealed door.
We follow Fate’s eyes as he looks inside, staring upon Prophet who is in the corner, staring at the ceiling muttering to himself while rocking back and forth. His words are incoherent and mostly just gibberish.
“What have I done to you, Prophet?” Fate whispers to himself.
We watch as Prophet continues to be unresponsive. He just sits there, staring into the ceiling muttering incoherently. He is safe from himself here. He is unable to do any real damage to his body when he slams himself into the walls. There isn’t anything to hurt him here, as opposed to the hotel. There, he could kill himself without anyone being able to respond quickly enough.
“There’s not really a whole lot we can do until Reborn, can we?” Fate asks the nurse. She shakes her head as he looks into the room. He wonders where Prophet’s head is right now, if he’s even in his own body at all.
Prophet sits there, staring into blank space. But he’s not in the room in his head. In his head, in his hallucinations and nightmares, he is back in Dwayberry. He is back where he killed his wife in their joint nightmare. He’s back in that abandoned apartment complex. But for now, he’s just there, sitting, unable to affect anything around him. He can’t move and he can hardly speak. But there is something about his muttered words. Something that when you can understand what words are leaving his lips, that makes you wonder whether or not he likes it better where he is.
“Deep in the night sky he shines down upon me. He gives me the lies that I believe. The walls melt my eyes as I burn within this room. The walls they melt like my brain within this tomb. Fire burns cold as the light it darkens every corner. Digging up the body buried by the coroner. There’s nothing left to see or hear. Nothing left for me to fear. Here in this padded Hell. With the fear in which I dwell. Sparkle, sparkle star shining bright. Sparkle, sparkle and make me a knight. Sometimes I wish I could fight. Sometimes I wish I could take flight. Fly birdie over the rainbow under the bridge. Fly birdie over the river and through the woods. Grandma’s house is burning in the rain-soaked plain. Grandma’s house is filled with pain. Please, give me my medicine ma’am. Give me the medicine so I can. So I can…so I can…soda can.”
Fate watches as Prophet rocks back and forth, muttering words that make no real sense. “I don’t know what you mean, Prophet. I don’t know what you are saying, but the words make no sense. Maybe, just maybe; things will be better when they find the prescription right for you.”
Suddenly, Prophet stands up and charges the door. He breaks it from its hinges, and begins to thrash around the hall. He bites Fate’s jugular, and tears away flesh as he breaks free from his straight jacket. He tears down the hall, and moves into the community room. Inside, instead of people who look different, is a bunch of JackHammers. He, with his hands freed from his straight jacket, looks around and sees only the one he’s facing at Reborn. Men, women, children…all are JackHammer. Even the Fate that he killed is Hammer. Everyone is Jackhammer, and Prophet grabs a chair. But the chair suddenly turns into his favorite weapon. The chair becomes a steel chair wrapped in barbed wire. Prophet smiles, realizing he’s in a hallucination. But he knows he can prepare for Reborn this way. He can get practice killing one Hammer after another. He knows he’s sedated, still in his padded room not making sense, but he wants this. This is his dream, being able to attack and kill many more JackHammers than there are in the world. He smashes one small child Hammer’s skull with the chair, caving it in and causing blood to fly everywhere. Prophet’s mad hallucination, a dream come true for him, is only telling part of how much he wants to decimate and decapitate.
“So many Hammers. So many many Hammers. I are kid in mortuary. Kill, Kill, Kill!” Prophet’s voice is higher pitched than normal, and full of twisted malice. “Kill Hammer!”
Prophet charges a female nurse JackHammer, and takes her head clean off with the chair. He turns to another kid JackHammer and gives it a vicious DDT into the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire. Prophet’s hallucination, his waking dream of murdering a million and one JackHammers, continues on. He dives over one of the nurses’ desks and begins mauling female Hammer after female Hammer. He doesn’t care if it’s a dream, fiction his mind created in the padded room. He only cares that he is attacking Hammer. He’s taking out JackHammer after jackhammer. Some with tits, some with limps, some with saggy butts, some with frowns, some with smiles…all JackHammers are being decimated by Prophet in this hallucination. He’s taking joy in destroying them. He’s taking the same joy he will take at Reborn.
“Kill Hammer! KILL HAMMER!” Prophet continues to scream as he makes his way to the door. He obliterates two doctors and a security Hammer before he opens the door leading to the outside. Instead of going to another level filled with JackHammers, Prophet is back in his padded room. He drools and smiles at Fate through the small square window in the door.
“What the **** is he thinking?” Fate asks himself. He knows, however, that Prophet’s insanity has finally taken over. He knows Prophet can’t be reached, not now at least. He has to wait for the doctors to give him medication. He has to wait…until he is cleared to compete at Reborn.
Prophet stares into open space, smiling and drooling. He’s content to be insane. Content to be in his own little world, killing JackHammer over and over again. He’s content to know that he has until Sunday before he gets out. He is content to know, whatever the doctors do, he’s still going to go from the room to the ring. He knows, in his sick and twisted mind, that at Reborn he will do his best to kill the REAL JackHammer. He doesn’t need anything more than the thoughts in his head to prepare. He doesn’t need to go to bars and attack random people…no, he can take out the “real thing” over and over.
“I can’t help him,” Fate begins to speak as he turns away from Prophet’s padded cell. “I can’t do anything. All I can do is wait and hope they can medicate him enough to let him loose. All I can do is hope that Prophet can conquer this and become stronger.”
Fate walks with the nurse, passing all the people Prophet is pretending to kill as a slew of JackHammers in his head. He doesn’t know what Prophet is going to need to get better, but he knows only that he needs to get better. The nurse escorts him out of the hospital, and we fade to black.