Post by The Morning Star on Jun 21, 2015 17:52:43 GMT -6
“It's like some kind of metaphor about life.”
The words seemed to come before any kind of video even activated. A few seconds later the video did activate showing hallways that may, or may not, depending on a person's perceptiveness, be familiar. The hallways were wide, well wide enough to fit multiple people or equipment being moved. Painted white, like all the others the world over and opened into dozens of doors as the hallway moved on.
There didn't seem to be a Camera man, but then again, that also seemed to be par for the course in this new place and new life. No one seemed to ever have a camera man, and yet the world knew intimate details about their lives.
Strange.
The scene however was being shown. A hand held camera perhaps? As if to answer this question the video turned in a full circle to show the upper body of Michael Rivers. His hair was down now. Below his shoulders and multi colored with streaks of blood red, black, platinum and blue. His lip was pierced with a small circle ring and a eyebrow stud pierced his left brow.
He seemed to be wearing a suit, but it was hard to tell because only the upper part of his upper body could be seen. The blood red tie was very clearly shown and what appeared to be the lapel of a black suit.
“All of this.”
He continued and shifted the camera back around to show the deserted hallway and his hand was shown extending out in a wide arc to his surroundings.
“It's like some kind of metaphor for life. See....it's hard to believe less then a week ago this entire place was teaming with life. Hundreds of people, working in dozens of different fields, with thousands of separate little pieces of motivation filled this place less then a hundred and forty hours ago....and yet now its a desolate wasteland.
Nothing remains here now. All that is left to show the wondrous things that happened here Monday...are the scraps. The cast offs.....”
The camera in his hand shifted down to show a full garbage can and black painted fingernails came into frame as he reached into the garbage and pulled out a U.W.A. Program, discarded after the show was over.
“...The filth. The refuse left by the unwashed teeming masses.”
The program fell from limp fingers and back into the trash once again as he straightened up.
“...As I said. Some kind of metaphor for life. Things are precise to us, as long as they are useful. As long as.....something can be gained.”
Once again he began to walk an turned the camera around to face him again. His face was emotionless. Impassive on a complete level.
“You all have had the pleasure of listening to me. Of getting to know how I feel about....some of you. Some are wastes of space....others are wastes of potential. Others however have intrigued me. Now....if you will offer me the time, over the next few months I will tell you all one final story.”
Michael continued to walk through the hallways. When he reached one of the corners and turned the hallway he walked into seemed to have been decorated with pictures. The first was a pair of children. He was nine and she was six. Both with beautiful brown hair and smiles that showed they didn't have a care in the world.
“There are a couple of you who will realize you know this story. That.....you know me and didn't put the connection together....and realize you should be afraid. Afraid of that....small child.”
Michael pointed to the boy in the picture then.
“Michael Jackson Rivers and his sisters Samantha Grace. They were in separable. They played together. They shared the same room. Two halves of the same soul. Raised by a pair of wonderful parents. Pastors!”
The camera then turned to the mocking face of the present Michael who grinned that malicious way of his. Cold and yet....inviting.
“....Do I need to tell you where this is leading. It's almost a cliche in the world we live in now. Now one lives a normal life. And he....is no different. Someone crept into the room one night and took her. Left him sleeping in his bed. He often wondered why. Why did this stranger leave him? Was he somehow unworthy.....”
Michael then lifted a hand and tapped the lens with a single finger with a grin.
“Survivors remorse. Ah....it's a truly melancholy prospect. Alas that was his life. He rebelled against those good parents, who had become colder and more overprotective after Samantha disappeared. And then.....he met....”
The camera swings back around to show the next picture on the wall. The girl was perhaps nineteen in the photograph. She had long black hair and a complexion so white it was like staring at a life size doll. She had full lips. You could almost call them pouty and the deepest green eyes. He didn't reach out for the posture but his tone changed. Softened and yet....took on a edge.
“Her. She was sixteen the day they met. She had escaped from her home, and yes I mean escaped. You see, the poor girl had been kept prisoner by her parents. Kept from a young age to serve only one purpose. As he found out the night they met.
The simple act of offering this cold woman/child a jacket made her offer herself to young Michael. Now, as a sixteen year old himself, he found the strength inside he didn't even know he possessed and turned her down.
So they talked. Or he talked. Words didn't come easy for her. She had never had socialization. She seemed surprised that he didn't want her body but didn't let it bother her. She just enjoyed the company. Then as daylight crept over the horizon she fled home. Terrified her father and uncle would find her gone.”
The next picture in the series shows the same girl, but now she's battered. A bloody lip and bruises on her cheeks. She was sitting in a kitchen staring down at her hands.
“He followed of course and what he found disgusted and disturbed him. This beautiful young woman lived in filth in the basement. The window to the basement was bared and the only piece of furniture was a mattress.
There was no way into the building....and I will not tell what that poor boy was forced to watch. Needless to say, it was as horrible and traumatic for him as it was for her......”
Something crept into his voice now. Even now, years later with everything that had passed. All she had done, this memory still infuriated him. And it showed in his tone.
“And then....like nothing had happened they she was alone. They left the house and he knew, even in his traumatized mind, he knew. If he didn't act now, he wouldn't get another chance. He entered the house and crept down to the basement.
She protested. If they returned and she was gone, they would be very angry but he got through to her and together they fled. To his home. To his parents who he thought would be understanding. They were people of god....they wouldn't turn her away. They knew what it was like to loose a daughter....”
Michael let out a cruel little laugh and swatted at the pictures scattering them to the floor and finally continued to walk, his shoes crushing the memories and her beneath. It would seem that was where the story ended, as when he turned the next corner there were no more pictures. Simply a door leading to the outside of the arena.
When he reached the door he turned the camera around until it showed his face once more. This time it was different. There was no calm in his features now. Emotions so complex they couldn't be properly expressed swam in his eyes and in the ever changing ticks that twitched at the corners of his lips.
“Do you remember now now? Did hearing the start of this story kick start something in your mind? You.....those who were there. You know why I am the way I am. You watched it. You watched them. You watched him. You watched her. The constant betrayals. The endless mental assaults.
How long did you think it would be before it unlocked something inside me? Something that for years my parents tried to keep hidden? How long? Weeks? Months? Years? Well, it matters not. All that matters is that I know who I am now. I know what they had hidden away from me. I am him. I am he. I am the reincarnation of sin. I am the rebirth of the serpent.”
As if a blanket came over him he seemed to calm and took a deep breath. The background around his head began to move and it was clear he was walking again, but this time he kept the camera pointed at himself.
“You have it all wrong Amy. I do not think I am evil. I merely embrace what you people have created. It is your mythology, not mine. You think I am evil. You think I am darkness, when in reality I am freedom. I am true freedom. I loved to deeply. I loved to wholly. I couldn't take my eyes off true perfection to look at the puny things that had been created beneath it and for that I was cast out of paradise and branded the devil.
I was thrown aside. Like common garbage because I looked at it and saw perfection. How...HOW, could I look at anything else with the same reverence? Do you think that is fair? Do you think I was treated justly?”
Michael took a deep breath, as if to steady himself and then continued.
“I call myself evil incarnate....because that is how you people view me. It's how your little book made you view me. As I said. I am not evil. I am freedom. The freedom to do what you wish, when you wish. Why shouldn't you? Why should someone else decided what is and what isn't proper behavior? Who you can or cannot lay with? What foods you can and cannot eat?
Why? Even a father can be wrong. Can parents not be neglectful? Did my story not begin to show you that even parents can have fault? Why is this father universally right? Why? Who made this rule? Who decided one day that they know better then you? Are you not created in his image? Then....are you not worthy of creating your own destiny.
It is for words like these I am called evil. It is for words like this, that I am called the devil. Does no one tell of how beautiful I was? The most beautiful. The most loved. Why do all of these things suddenly not matter....just because in their eyes, I am no longer worthy?
They turned their backs on me, so I did the same. The being of divine beauty and such purity decided that I was better in the gutter, so that is where I leave it. In the gutter beside me. It's easy to call someone else dirty....to call someone else trash when you haven't looked down at your own hands isn't it?”
Michael smiled then into the camera as the sound of a car door opening was heard and he seemed to slid into the seat.
“What I did to Silver Baron....was not evil. Its about sending a message. It's about making sure that people understand a new way of thinking is coming. People like you Amy, speak of the Children and this evil force....but I do not see them that way. They released Aerynn to the person she truly was inside.
They opened Ashley's eyes to how GOOD she truly is. Why should she play second fiddle to her sister? Why?
They opened the eyes of both Bethany and Broderick. Now they are together. Enjoying the tenderness of one anothers flesh. They are together, sweating, grinding and screaming because of the Children and what they did.
How can you call them evil when all of this good has come from them? Then again.....perhaps I should feel pity for you.....being brainwashed and truly believing that goodness is doing good things, regardless of the outcome truly is what is taught in that book.
When the truth is that true goodness is about the events that come from the act. Like the little girl who is shot....and they find a tumor. She survives today.....because they found the cancer because she was shot. The man who shot her....was her guardian angel.”
Michael let out a whistle and a security guard paroling the area offers a nods and walks over. Once there Michael lifts a hand for a moment to the camera then turns to look at the guard.
“You work for the arena?”
“....Yes.”
“Is anyone from the U.W.A. Event still here?”
“...I believe their VP is here handling paperwork.”
“Good.....”
Michael then looks back at the camera and smiles.
“There is a new world coming. A world of wonder and purity. I shall create it in my own image. Silver Baron is merely the canvass....but I need ink. That's where you come in Amy. I need your blood. You cannot write my bible but on human skin.....written in human blood. As it always was.”
Well now the security guard looked....downright uncomfortable. Was this dude talking about writing in blood on human skin? How was that NOT creepy. But Michael didn't seem to notice. He just kept on.
“I NEED you Amy....but understand it's not personal. It's just about who I am. I am Lucifer reborn. I am Lucifer reincarnated. Thank you Amy....for offering yourself for the greater good.”
Michael handed the still running camera out the window to the security guard who took it like it was plague infested.
“Give that to Samuel. Tell him it's from Michael Rivers.”
“.....Um....Okay.”
Michael put the already started car in gear and pulled away leaving a small piece of paper to float down to the ground. The security guard bent down and picked it up. It was a beautiful of a beautiful Gothic girl with black hair and make up.
“Hmm. She's gorgeous.”
The security guard flipped the picture over and on the back it read
“Thank you for always being there.
Dahlia.”
“Huh.”
The security guard then walked inside to give the tape to Samuel as he had been asked.
The words seemed to come before any kind of video even activated. A few seconds later the video did activate showing hallways that may, or may not, depending on a person's perceptiveness, be familiar. The hallways were wide, well wide enough to fit multiple people or equipment being moved. Painted white, like all the others the world over and opened into dozens of doors as the hallway moved on.
There didn't seem to be a Camera man, but then again, that also seemed to be par for the course in this new place and new life. No one seemed to ever have a camera man, and yet the world knew intimate details about their lives.
Strange.
The scene however was being shown. A hand held camera perhaps? As if to answer this question the video turned in a full circle to show the upper body of Michael Rivers. His hair was down now. Below his shoulders and multi colored with streaks of blood red, black, platinum and blue. His lip was pierced with a small circle ring and a eyebrow stud pierced his left brow.
He seemed to be wearing a suit, but it was hard to tell because only the upper part of his upper body could be seen. The blood red tie was very clearly shown and what appeared to be the lapel of a black suit.
“All of this.”
He continued and shifted the camera back around to show the deserted hallway and his hand was shown extending out in a wide arc to his surroundings.
“It's like some kind of metaphor for life. See....it's hard to believe less then a week ago this entire place was teaming with life. Hundreds of people, working in dozens of different fields, with thousands of separate little pieces of motivation filled this place less then a hundred and forty hours ago....and yet now its a desolate wasteland.
Nothing remains here now. All that is left to show the wondrous things that happened here Monday...are the scraps. The cast offs.....”
The camera in his hand shifted down to show a full garbage can and black painted fingernails came into frame as he reached into the garbage and pulled out a U.W.A. Program, discarded after the show was over.
“...The filth. The refuse left by the unwashed teeming masses.”
The program fell from limp fingers and back into the trash once again as he straightened up.
“...As I said. Some kind of metaphor for life. Things are precise to us, as long as they are useful. As long as.....something can be gained.”
Once again he began to walk an turned the camera around to face him again. His face was emotionless. Impassive on a complete level.
“You all have had the pleasure of listening to me. Of getting to know how I feel about....some of you. Some are wastes of space....others are wastes of potential. Others however have intrigued me. Now....if you will offer me the time, over the next few months I will tell you all one final story.”
Michael continued to walk through the hallways. When he reached one of the corners and turned the hallway he walked into seemed to have been decorated with pictures. The first was a pair of children. He was nine and she was six. Both with beautiful brown hair and smiles that showed they didn't have a care in the world.
“There are a couple of you who will realize you know this story. That.....you know me and didn't put the connection together....and realize you should be afraid. Afraid of that....small child.”
Michael pointed to the boy in the picture then.
“Michael Jackson Rivers and his sisters Samantha Grace. They were in separable. They played together. They shared the same room. Two halves of the same soul. Raised by a pair of wonderful parents. Pastors!”
The camera then turned to the mocking face of the present Michael who grinned that malicious way of his. Cold and yet....inviting.
“....Do I need to tell you where this is leading. It's almost a cliche in the world we live in now. Now one lives a normal life. And he....is no different. Someone crept into the room one night and took her. Left him sleeping in his bed. He often wondered why. Why did this stranger leave him? Was he somehow unworthy.....”
Michael then lifted a hand and tapped the lens with a single finger with a grin.
“Survivors remorse. Ah....it's a truly melancholy prospect. Alas that was his life. He rebelled against those good parents, who had become colder and more overprotective after Samantha disappeared. And then.....he met....”
The camera swings back around to show the next picture on the wall. The girl was perhaps nineteen in the photograph. She had long black hair and a complexion so white it was like staring at a life size doll. She had full lips. You could almost call them pouty and the deepest green eyes. He didn't reach out for the posture but his tone changed. Softened and yet....took on a edge.
“Her. She was sixteen the day they met. She had escaped from her home, and yes I mean escaped. You see, the poor girl had been kept prisoner by her parents. Kept from a young age to serve only one purpose. As he found out the night they met.
The simple act of offering this cold woman/child a jacket made her offer herself to young Michael. Now, as a sixteen year old himself, he found the strength inside he didn't even know he possessed and turned her down.
So they talked. Or he talked. Words didn't come easy for her. She had never had socialization. She seemed surprised that he didn't want her body but didn't let it bother her. She just enjoyed the company. Then as daylight crept over the horizon she fled home. Terrified her father and uncle would find her gone.”
The next picture in the series shows the same girl, but now she's battered. A bloody lip and bruises on her cheeks. She was sitting in a kitchen staring down at her hands.
“He followed of course and what he found disgusted and disturbed him. This beautiful young woman lived in filth in the basement. The window to the basement was bared and the only piece of furniture was a mattress.
There was no way into the building....and I will not tell what that poor boy was forced to watch. Needless to say, it was as horrible and traumatic for him as it was for her......”
Something crept into his voice now. Even now, years later with everything that had passed. All she had done, this memory still infuriated him. And it showed in his tone.
“And then....like nothing had happened they she was alone. They left the house and he knew, even in his traumatized mind, he knew. If he didn't act now, he wouldn't get another chance. He entered the house and crept down to the basement.
She protested. If they returned and she was gone, they would be very angry but he got through to her and together they fled. To his home. To his parents who he thought would be understanding. They were people of god....they wouldn't turn her away. They knew what it was like to loose a daughter....”
Michael let out a cruel little laugh and swatted at the pictures scattering them to the floor and finally continued to walk, his shoes crushing the memories and her beneath. It would seem that was where the story ended, as when he turned the next corner there were no more pictures. Simply a door leading to the outside of the arena.
When he reached the door he turned the camera around until it showed his face once more. This time it was different. There was no calm in his features now. Emotions so complex they couldn't be properly expressed swam in his eyes and in the ever changing ticks that twitched at the corners of his lips.
“Do you remember now now? Did hearing the start of this story kick start something in your mind? You.....those who were there. You know why I am the way I am. You watched it. You watched them. You watched him. You watched her. The constant betrayals. The endless mental assaults.
How long did you think it would be before it unlocked something inside me? Something that for years my parents tried to keep hidden? How long? Weeks? Months? Years? Well, it matters not. All that matters is that I know who I am now. I know what they had hidden away from me. I am him. I am he. I am the reincarnation of sin. I am the rebirth of the serpent.”
As if a blanket came over him he seemed to calm and took a deep breath. The background around his head began to move and it was clear he was walking again, but this time he kept the camera pointed at himself.
“You have it all wrong Amy. I do not think I am evil. I merely embrace what you people have created. It is your mythology, not mine. You think I am evil. You think I am darkness, when in reality I am freedom. I am true freedom. I loved to deeply. I loved to wholly. I couldn't take my eyes off true perfection to look at the puny things that had been created beneath it and for that I was cast out of paradise and branded the devil.
I was thrown aside. Like common garbage because I looked at it and saw perfection. How...HOW, could I look at anything else with the same reverence? Do you think that is fair? Do you think I was treated justly?”
Michael took a deep breath, as if to steady himself and then continued.
“I call myself evil incarnate....because that is how you people view me. It's how your little book made you view me. As I said. I am not evil. I am freedom. The freedom to do what you wish, when you wish. Why shouldn't you? Why should someone else decided what is and what isn't proper behavior? Who you can or cannot lay with? What foods you can and cannot eat?
Why? Even a father can be wrong. Can parents not be neglectful? Did my story not begin to show you that even parents can have fault? Why is this father universally right? Why? Who made this rule? Who decided one day that they know better then you? Are you not created in his image? Then....are you not worthy of creating your own destiny.
It is for words like these I am called evil. It is for words like this, that I am called the devil. Does no one tell of how beautiful I was? The most beautiful. The most loved. Why do all of these things suddenly not matter....just because in their eyes, I am no longer worthy?
They turned their backs on me, so I did the same. The being of divine beauty and such purity decided that I was better in the gutter, so that is where I leave it. In the gutter beside me. It's easy to call someone else dirty....to call someone else trash when you haven't looked down at your own hands isn't it?”
Michael smiled then into the camera as the sound of a car door opening was heard and he seemed to slid into the seat.
“What I did to Silver Baron....was not evil. Its about sending a message. It's about making sure that people understand a new way of thinking is coming. People like you Amy, speak of the Children and this evil force....but I do not see them that way. They released Aerynn to the person she truly was inside.
They opened Ashley's eyes to how GOOD she truly is. Why should she play second fiddle to her sister? Why?
They opened the eyes of both Bethany and Broderick. Now they are together. Enjoying the tenderness of one anothers flesh. They are together, sweating, grinding and screaming because of the Children and what they did.
How can you call them evil when all of this good has come from them? Then again.....perhaps I should feel pity for you.....being brainwashed and truly believing that goodness is doing good things, regardless of the outcome truly is what is taught in that book.
When the truth is that true goodness is about the events that come from the act. Like the little girl who is shot....and they find a tumor. She survives today.....because they found the cancer because she was shot. The man who shot her....was her guardian angel.”
Michael let out a whistle and a security guard paroling the area offers a nods and walks over. Once there Michael lifts a hand for a moment to the camera then turns to look at the guard.
“You work for the arena?”
“....Yes.”
“Is anyone from the U.W.A. Event still here?”
“...I believe their VP is here handling paperwork.”
“Good.....”
Michael then looks back at the camera and smiles.
“There is a new world coming. A world of wonder and purity. I shall create it in my own image. Silver Baron is merely the canvass....but I need ink. That's where you come in Amy. I need your blood. You cannot write my bible but on human skin.....written in human blood. As it always was.”
Well now the security guard looked....downright uncomfortable. Was this dude talking about writing in blood on human skin? How was that NOT creepy. But Michael didn't seem to notice. He just kept on.
“I NEED you Amy....but understand it's not personal. It's just about who I am. I am Lucifer reborn. I am Lucifer reincarnated. Thank you Amy....for offering yourself for the greater good.”
Michael handed the still running camera out the window to the security guard who took it like it was plague infested.
“Give that to Samuel. Tell him it's from Michael Rivers.”
“.....Um....Okay.”
Michael put the already started car in gear and pulled away leaving a small piece of paper to float down to the ground. The security guard bent down and picked it up. It was a beautiful of a beautiful Gothic girl with black hair and make up.
“Hmm. She's gorgeous.”
The security guard flipped the picture over and on the back it read
“Thank you for always being there.
Dahlia.”
“Huh.”
The security guard then walked inside to give the tape to Samuel as he had been asked.
