Post by Will Washington on Sept 9, 2009 16:53:27 GMT -6
In complete and utter darkness, Will Washington’s voice is heard…..
“What you fail to understand is that I have killed.”
The scene begins on an extreme close up of Will Washington’s face. He stares into the camera with his unmistakable intensity. The camera slowly pans out and we get a clearer picture of the room. Will Washington is in what appears to be an empty firehouse. Will is wearing a custom tailored black Armani suit, with a silver dress shirt with the top three buttons left unbuttoned. He is surrounded by the uniforms worn by the local Manhattan firemen.
“Actually. let’s back up. I want to talk about something else before I get in to what I’m going to do to you Glen Nodoveit. I want to talk about a subject that comes up often in the promos of other wrestlers here in New Championship Wrestling. I want to talk to you about heroism. You’d be hard pressed to go one week without hearing some idiot spouting off about how he is or isn’t a hero. It’s the most redundant thing in the world, but it actually poses a good question: What makes someone a hero?”
Will begins to slowly walk around the outer edge of the room, where the gear of the firemen are located. As he passes by, he touches each coat and glances at the nametag on the wall next to it.
“Hero…. Are you a hero because you go out and perform a wrestling match one night a week, in front of fans? You may be a hero to some in the crowd, or the masses watching at home, but what difference are you making? Whose life get’s changed or bettered when you go out there and hit a DDT? The only person who benefits from you being a wrestler…. Is you. You’re all heroes in your own mind. You can try to play it off and say ‘I’m not a hero’ but deep down inside, you know you feel like you’re doing something, and you feel like you’re a hero. Who do you think your children’s heroes should be? The cop out on the beat protecting them from danger, or the father who is never at home for them? The man who gets called to save you when you have an intruder, or the man who never calls because he is off making you a half brother with a woman he doesn’t know? Kids, if you want a hero, look no further.”
Will stands perfectly still as the camera zones back in, but Will shakes his head.
“I’m not talking about myself. The only heroes around here are the men and women of the New York City Fire Department. Let me take you back a few years. It’s two thousand and one, and the date is the eleventh of September. Due to the United States of America’s constant meddling in the affairs of other countries, the World Trade Center was attacked by suicidal terrorists.”
Will smirks.
“Funny isn’t it? The nation of fear mongers, with a government the spews hatred and terrorist-like statements got bombed by terrorists. I don’t condone their actions, but the irony is pretty hysterical.”
He takes his hands and rubs his face before returning them to his side.
“In the aftermath of these attacks, there were men and women who risked their lives to extinguish the fires, and sort through the rubble of the preceding unfortunate events. These people were firefighters. They make little to no money, but they still stuck out their necks to clear the carnage caused by these so-called terrorists. We lost a lot of good, innocent people that day, people who died heroes. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Al-Qaeda lost some of their best men too. Isn’t that the ultimate irony though? In our eyes, the firemen died heroes, and in some others’ eyes, the terrorists were heroes. The firefighters died protecting many lives, but maybe the terrorists were doing the same exact thing. It was a preemptive strike, but who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t fired the first shot?”
Will walks outside the firehouse and looks at an American flag.
“There is only one definition of a hero, but there are many ways to become one. Whether you believe it’s through saving lives, or taking lives. Some may say I’m a hero, others might not. I don’t see myself as a hero, and neither do the Iraqi people. A lot of Americans might say I’m a hero for fighting in the war. I can kill Iraqi people and be called a hero by you, and Al Qaeda can kill American people and be called heroes by their people. It’s all how you look at it.”
After this statement, Will turns looks off into the distance and sees a homeless man. He walks over and looks at the man, before dropping a twenty dollar bill in his can. He walks by as the man can be heard saying “God bless you sir.” Will continues walking down the street as the cameraman walks backwards in front of him. He passes numerous apartment buildings and offices. Will stops suddenly in front of a rundown, unmarked building. He begins to speak again.
“Glen Nodoveit, who are you? I heard your promo Glen. I appreciate it that you tailored your message to be that of war just for me. However, allow me to correct you on something. You’re not going to be walking into a war Glen Nodoveit, you’re heading straight for an fire, an inferno even. You see, in a war, there is a semblance of order. Men in formations doing tasks directed to them by a superior. In your upcoming battle, there will be no order, just chaos. Once you step into the ring with me, you need to understand that nothing will ever be the same as it was beforehand. Glen Nodoveit will be no more, and Will Washington will be a completely different person. I will not have mercy on you, and I’m going to look you in the eye while I single handedly annihilate everything you are, and everything you could be. I regret that I can only hurt you so much. Eventually, I’ll have to stop beating you long enough to either pin you, or make you submit. I regret that this is not a war, because if this was war, I would just kill you and get it over with.”
Will stops talking and looks down and thinks for a moment. He looks back up and continues.
“You know what Glen, we all die sometimes. You say that after our match I will not die a hero. That’s a welcome thought to me. I know I’m not a hero. The United States decided for me a long time ago that I’m not a hero. Death is a welcome thought to me. No longer will I lie awake at night, having horrible nightmares of the hundreds of lives I have taken. No longer will I wake up in the morning and curse the fact that I get to live another *** damn day, but so many innocents do not get that chance because of me. My hands will be permanently stained by their blood. Quite frankly, adding some of your plasma to my disgusting collection wouldn’t be bad at all. Their blood is pure Glen, I doubt your’s is. You talk of the fights that you‘ve had, and the battles you‘ve waged. Quite frankly it insults not only me, but the armed forces that fight every single day. No wrestling match I have with you could ever be compared to the viciousness that I‘ve encountered, and bestowed upon others, hundreds and hundreds of times. I am not a wrestler Glen. I am a warrior, a battler, and a murderer. I‘ve shed blood, but I‘ve never shed tears. However I‘m not at all against making your body into my own personal juice box. I will split your skull at the drop of a hat. I will make you bleed from any orifice I deem plausible.”
He raises his hands up to within camera view and looks at them. They have visible scarring and various markings. He studies them over, and then speaks once again.
“Maybe this will be the wash that my hands desperately need. This could be the cleansing that I’ve yearned for. I can now replace the thoughts of women and children lying dead, with the image of you lying facedown in a pool of the very thing that is keeping you alive. Your lifeless body, barely conscious, gasping for air, begging for the sweet embrace of some sort of feeling. The only thing you will feel is a cold, draining feeling in your body, and your eyes glazing over. Then when you’re carried to the back, you can ask what happened. You can ask if the fans cheered you. In reality, the question you should ask yourself is why I let you live…. If I let you live. ”
At this point, Will turns and opens the door to the aforementioned unmarked building. Inside is the uneasy feel of darkness. From the distant at which the cameraman stands, you can’t make out anything inside of the building. Will turns back to the camera for one final thought.
“You want to be a hero Glen? If so, you have to ask yourself if you’re willing to die, because I’ll be more than happy to kill you.”
Will walks into the building and shuts the door. We end with a shot of the outside of a building towering above the rest of the encompassing New York skyline.
“What you fail to understand is that I have killed.”
The scene begins on an extreme close up of Will Washington’s face. He stares into the camera with his unmistakable intensity. The camera slowly pans out and we get a clearer picture of the room. Will Washington is in what appears to be an empty firehouse. Will is wearing a custom tailored black Armani suit, with a silver dress shirt with the top three buttons left unbuttoned. He is surrounded by the uniforms worn by the local Manhattan firemen.
“Actually. let’s back up. I want to talk about something else before I get in to what I’m going to do to you Glen Nodoveit. I want to talk about a subject that comes up often in the promos of other wrestlers here in New Championship Wrestling. I want to talk to you about heroism. You’d be hard pressed to go one week without hearing some idiot spouting off about how he is or isn’t a hero. It’s the most redundant thing in the world, but it actually poses a good question: What makes someone a hero?”
Will begins to slowly walk around the outer edge of the room, where the gear of the firemen are located. As he passes by, he touches each coat and glances at the nametag on the wall next to it.
“Hero…. Are you a hero because you go out and perform a wrestling match one night a week, in front of fans? You may be a hero to some in the crowd, or the masses watching at home, but what difference are you making? Whose life get’s changed or bettered when you go out there and hit a DDT? The only person who benefits from you being a wrestler…. Is you. You’re all heroes in your own mind. You can try to play it off and say ‘I’m not a hero’ but deep down inside, you know you feel like you’re doing something, and you feel like you’re a hero. Who do you think your children’s heroes should be? The cop out on the beat protecting them from danger, or the father who is never at home for them? The man who gets called to save you when you have an intruder, or the man who never calls because he is off making you a half brother with a woman he doesn’t know? Kids, if you want a hero, look no further.”
Will stands perfectly still as the camera zones back in, but Will shakes his head.
“I’m not talking about myself. The only heroes around here are the men and women of the New York City Fire Department. Let me take you back a few years. It’s two thousand and one, and the date is the eleventh of September. Due to the United States of America’s constant meddling in the affairs of other countries, the World Trade Center was attacked by suicidal terrorists.”
Will smirks.
“Funny isn’t it? The nation of fear mongers, with a government the spews hatred and terrorist-like statements got bombed by terrorists. I don’t condone their actions, but the irony is pretty hysterical.”
He takes his hands and rubs his face before returning them to his side.
“In the aftermath of these attacks, there were men and women who risked their lives to extinguish the fires, and sort through the rubble of the preceding unfortunate events. These people were firefighters. They make little to no money, but they still stuck out their necks to clear the carnage caused by these so-called terrorists. We lost a lot of good, innocent people that day, people who died heroes. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Al-Qaeda lost some of their best men too. Isn’t that the ultimate irony though? In our eyes, the firemen died heroes, and in some others’ eyes, the terrorists were heroes. The firefighters died protecting many lives, but maybe the terrorists were doing the same exact thing. It was a preemptive strike, but who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t fired the first shot?”
Will walks outside the firehouse and looks at an American flag.
“There is only one definition of a hero, but there are many ways to become one. Whether you believe it’s through saving lives, or taking lives. Some may say I’m a hero, others might not. I don’t see myself as a hero, and neither do the Iraqi people. A lot of Americans might say I’m a hero for fighting in the war. I can kill Iraqi people and be called a hero by you, and Al Qaeda can kill American people and be called heroes by their people. It’s all how you look at it.”
After this statement, Will turns looks off into the distance and sees a homeless man. He walks over and looks at the man, before dropping a twenty dollar bill in his can. He walks by as the man can be heard saying “God bless you sir.” Will continues walking down the street as the cameraman walks backwards in front of him. He passes numerous apartment buildings and offices. Will stops suddenly in front of a rundown, unmarked building. He begins to speak again.
“Glen Nodoveit, who are you? I heard your promo Glen. I appreciate it that you tailored your message to be that of war just for me. However, allow me to correct you on something. You’re not going to be walking into a war Glen Nodoveit, you’re heading straight for an fire, an inferno even. You see, in a war, there is a semblance of order. Men in formations doing tasks directed to them by a superior. In your upcoming battle, there will be no order, just chaos. Once you step into the ring with me, you need to understand that nothing will ever be the same as it was beforehand. Glen Nodoveit will be no more, and Will Washington will be a completely different person. I will not have mercy on you, and I’m going to look you in the eye while I single handedly annihilate everything you are, and everything you could be. I regret that I can only hurt you so much. Eventually, I’ll have to stop beating you long enough to either pin you, or make you submit. I regret that this is not a war, because if this was war, I would just kill you and get it over with.”
Will stops talking and looks down and thinks for a moment. He looks back up and continues.
“You know what Glen, we all die sometimes. You say that after our match I will not die a hero. That’s a welcome thought to me. I know I’m not a hero. The United States decided for me a long time ago that I’m not a hero. Death is a welcome thought to me. No longer will I lie awake at night, having horrible nightmares of the hundreds of lives I have taken. No longer will I wake up in the morning and curse the fact that I get to live another *** damn day, but so many innocents do not get that chance because of me. My hands will be permanently stained by their blood. Quite frankly, adding some of your plasma to my disgusting collection wouldn’t be bad at all. Their blood is pure Glen, I doubt your’s is. You talk of the fights that you‘ve had, and the battles you‘ve waged. Quite frankly it insults not only me, but the armed forces that fight every single day. No wrestling match I have with you could ever be compared to the viciousness that I‘ve encountered, and bestowed upon others, hundreds and hundreds of times. I am not a wrestler Glen. I am a warrior, a battler, and a murderer. I‘ve shed blood, but I‘ve never shed tears. However I‘m not at all against making your body into my own personal juice box. I will split your skull at the drop of a hat. I will make you bleed from any orifice I deem plausible.”
He raises his hands up to within camera view and looks at them. They have visible scarring and various markings. He studies them over, and then speaks once again.
“Maybe this will be the wash that my hands desperately need. This could be the cleansing that I’ve yearned for. I can now replace the thoughts of women and children lying dead, with the image of you lying facedown in a pool of the very thing that is keeping you alive. Your lifeless body, barely conscious, gasping for air, begging for the sweet embrace of some sort of feeling. The only thing you will feel is a cold, draining feeling in your body, and your eyes glazing over. Then when you’re carried to the back, you can ask what happened. You can ask if the fans cheered you. In reality, the question you should ask yourself is why I let you live…. If I let you live. ”
At this point, Will turns and opens the door to the aforementioned unmarked building. Inside is the uneasy feel of darkness. From the distant at which the cameraman stands, you can’t make out anything inside of the building. Will turns back to the camera for one final thought.
“You want to be a hero Glen? If so, you have to ask yourself if you’re willing to die, because I’ll be more than happy to kill you.”
Will walks into the building and shuts the door. We end with a shot of the outside of a building towering above the rest of the encompassing New York skyline.