NOVELLA -- The Final Chapter

"God can‘t save the queen this time...."



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|+-===>S.C.E.N.E_O.N.E<===-+|”“Wherefores Of Mea Culpa.
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● Date: Friday, November 2009.
● Location: Backstage CGS: Exile Arena.
● Time: 7:54 PM




.::Seemingly alike divinity within contiguous and adjacent miasma vapour clouds that shroud all in an obscured and bleak darkness, a forthcoming light that brings a joyous claming effect over one disintegrates in an eruption like manner, as the sightless vision that was once the predominant force has since subsided, and magnificent imagery compulsorily divulges from the now formerly chasm tainted harlequin that was the screens dusky blackness. As a pure vision finds its way to distinguish the relevant, the abruptly fading silhouette of Deathlocke is shown, as full colour burst unto sight. His feet pandering amongst the concrete hallways of the CGS arena, in a clacking like manner, his face reads of a grimace tale, best left untold. Dressed within a modus method of fashion, he wears a black suit jacket with a red tie, whilst his pants are that of black coloured dress pants, all being topped off with dress shoes, though a joke of “bottom off“ would perhaps be better suiting at said particular interval, due to the placement of shoes. Deathlocke had only just arrived within the CGS arena complex, as the door which he had just mere moments ago was shutting behind the direction in which his still breathing corpse marched onwards too.::.

**[ Off to shoot a promo I thought within the confines of my mind. Because of my boycott on these pro-wrestling blogs amongst wrestlers, thanks to the estranged and abrupt increase in their unwanted conjuration, I was forced to return to my early methods of insinuating my message. In this case, classic shoot promos, or at least things to that extent, where what I needed to return to. Having sold my camera a while ago, finding no relevance in owning it, I found myself forced to return to the basics of doing on set promos. The problem with such was back at A Night To Remember, quite a distressing situation unfolded. I found myself unable to work within the irrational, to say the least, boundaries that were needed. For the time being, I had no choice however. ]**

»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“….Gah! What the hell?”


.::A vibration was precipitously occurring, met quickly by means of a “buzzing” like sound pattern. Blatantly caught off guard, Deathlocke’s body had frozen for a short interval of time, as his blue sea crescent eyes had vigorously scanned the area within sight and vision before he quickly came to the logical presumption that it was his own mobile cellular device that rested in the confines of his dark dress pants receptacle compartment. Exasperating a miniscule amount of air from his lungs, as to insinuate his claming like states reintroduction recommence, Deathlocke’s right arm descends into his pocket, returning with a retrieved cellular device with shock in a manner that showcased minimal movement. Tightly clutching unto the back half of said device, he flicks his wrist in a hasty manner as the crowning summit of the device, in which his hands had not latched onto overturned its slick structure.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“…..”

Hey Kyle, its Steve….
Look man, I’m not to sure what was up with you last week, I mean
maybe it was something I did, I dunno, but you were anything but in an
upbeat mood, that much was quite obvious, to say the least.
Anyway, I’m kind of worried about you man, it seems almost like
you are taking my break up with… well, you know who, harder then I am…
Which is truly quite messed. lol
Regardless, I am going to be at the CGS arena latter, so you should come on down
we need to discuss some things and get the bottom, the root, the origin (yadda yadda yadda)
of all of this shiz. So yeah, I am going to be there in like…. Ten minutes, give or take
See you there? Txt back.
- Steve Ashton.

.::Deathlockes eyes hastily scanned amongst the black text which enveloped his screen. As he continued onward with his reading, his eyes seemingly grew to a pale grey like state. His displeasure with what he had received was but obvious at this point. He swallowed hard, his mouth as dry as a sandstorm battling with the burning raze of the Sun whilst within a desert wasteland. His mouth did not open, rather, his apex summit of teeth bit downwards as his lower nethermost queue of teeth emulated such, but in an upward direction, clenching unto his top lip.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“…. Fuck.”

**[ What was I to do? I was already within the arenas complex, and had already called Mr. Jimmy DeMarco and informed him that I would be needing a small abundant of people within the camera crew department so that I could shoot a promo. Leaving wasn’t an option, but the last thing I wanted to do at that time was face Steve. Though I should feel no sorrow, no regret, no anger, and nothing of a negative emotion towards him for that matter, I did. My hopeless greed carried me for the longest of times, and thus, it had begun to embody me. Shameful, I know such to be true, but I was in no control at this time, and besides, that same greed is what had gotten me where I stood today. Both in a negative perspective, and in a positive spectrum. ]**

.::Seemingly pondering upon if he should “text back” as Steve (Storme) Ashton had requested, Deathlocke promptly drew to a conclusion as his hands robust and stalwartly clamed the device shut. For a short lived moment he stood still, gazing off into nothingness as his complex mind ran ramped with quires of sorts. Almost as if snapping out of his stupor like state, Deathlocke vigorously shakes his head in a physical manner. Exhaling to a slight extent, he began to saunter onwards, continuing down the corridor in which he currently stood.


Muttering and murmuring something beneath his breathe, in a condescending tone far to low for any being of the human race to retrieve and hear, Deathlocke walked. He quickly met the ending of said corridor, and placing his right hand upon the twisting wall bend directly beside him, his flesh receiving a slight tingle like sensation from the rough and cold bitter stone that was used to layer the wall, Deathlocke halted. Simply put, a momentary lapse of sorts. Remaining motionless for a matter of mere miniscule moments, his face read of struggle, as if he was trying to hear something. If the fallowing was one‘s presumption, then it would be correct and very accurate to basal reality. Down the bend, a slight and vague, yet still audible, chatter like tone was listenable. ::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“What the… Someone best not be using MY camera crew. I swear to the love of Science, Horus, Osiris, Seth, Helios… Whoever! Gah!”

**[ I could hear voices within the arena. Such wouldn’t be but a mere nuisance on any other occasion, but from what I could distinguish from the vague chatter, it was a wrestler, and they were executing a promo, a promo with my camera crew! I simply could not stand for such to occur, and I refused to except such, an end to it, such was my incentive at said moment. I had almost, if not fully, forgotten of Steve`s currently happening plans. Far to clouded with a ``stressining`` cluster of black clouds in my mind. ]**

.::Deathlocke began to pace forward now, his feet vigorously pandering amongst the floor. His facial expression read that of blatant anger. He had only made a mere presumption as to what the context the voice was speaking within was, yet he came off as all knowing of the answer in some sense. Deathlocke still walked, but with an abundant of far grander haste in his steps. As Deathlocke, with an assignment at hand, marched forwards, the volume for which the unknown voices spoke within exceeded substantially.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Here we are then…”


.::Murmered Kyle in a dwindling quality of tone. His voice stretched to an almost patronized level of dimensions. The travels, so to speak, that he had embarked on had lead him to a door. The door itself was of a glimmering silver harlequin, a shine effervescent upon its brilliantly conjured physical body aspect. Kyle merely looked upon it with an utter disgust written all across his face..::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“DeMarco can buy this, but he can’t afford to put us in a real hotel? Pathetic. I kind of understand why Derek Levy used to make fun of him by dressing someone up as him and attacking that person… *sigh*”


.::Deathlocke abruptly fell to a silence, as he moderately positioned his ear upon said door, as to acquire and secure a better grasp on the sound enveloping the other side of the door. Speaking was the predominant clatter like commotion that was heard. Deathlocke knew all to well that a wrestler within the CGS was using “his” camera crew, for behind the doors was their location, or what was predestined to be their chosen location. Standing backwards from the position in which he stood, Kyle straightened out his body in its entirety, standing up strait rather then leaning beside the door. Sending his cold gaze of disgusted distaste towards the cold floor below, he shook his cranium from left to right, as to insinuate his emotions for the situation at hand. From the rash emotional state he had sustained within an abrupt time, one could only ponder if Deathlocke himself was bi-polar. Titling his head upward, his eyes staring upon the door for a quick moment, his hand quickly arose, and gripped upon the door knob, rotating it, opening the door.


As the door swung open in an altering mannerism, the beings within all seemingly froze. Abruptly all the speaking being done had ceased to be existent, as all turned their heads to the figure in the door way. Deathlocke peered in, fully knowledgeable of the overused force in which he proceeded to open the door with. He gently walked into the room, being sure to remain in silence, as if not to disturb the promo in which was being recorded at said time. As Deathlocke scanned the room from within, he took notice to one man in particular. This man had a newly garnered championship title belt strapped upon his shoulder. The man himself was of older age then Kyle, by at lest two to three years, yet Deathlocke still saw him as a younger competitor, this primarily due to the fact that the man had only just joined the promotion a week ago, and prior to such, was seemingly a nobody by all means. The man stared towards Deathlocke, first in shock of the sudden, and unexpected entering Kyle made, but now a bit more confident, his face telling the story in its entirety. ::.


:: [ Kevin Dahlia ] ::
“Hey, what the hell do you think your doing man, were trying to film a promo here for the upcoming Fusion event.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Wh-what am I doing? I think the better question to be asked is, what the fuck are you doing”


:: [ Kevin Dahlia ] ::
“Umm.. I just told you what I was doing.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Ugh, that wasn’t the sense I was attempting to speak from.”


:: [ Kevin Dahlia ] ::
“O-kay?….”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Now you listen to me, this is MY camera crew, I am the reason they are here. They are here so I can film my promo for Fusion, for my main event match, not so some new kid who thinks he his “hot stuff” as it were, because he won the lowest ranked title in a match with a guy I have beaten twice in a row. Do you truly think anyone out there cares to hear what you have to say? You have done nothing as far as I am concerned. Now get the fuck out of this room.”


:: [ Kevin Dahlia ] ::
“Wow, a bit hostile, aren’t we?”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Please, don’t test my patience. Not today at least…”


.::The two men, Deathlocke and Dahlia’s eyes encounter one another as they lock in a penetrating stare down of sorts. Dahlia himself seems a bit more timid in some sense, what with being the newest addition of the roster, yet he gallantly glares onward at the more “seasoned” CGS wrestler Deathlocke. Kyle’s face twist into a grimace of sorts. After a few instances of taciturnity occur Dahlia’s expression starts to fade in a subtle manner.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“……”


:: [ Kevin Dahlia ] ::
“ *sigh*. Alright, you win. I have to get a promo up, I can’t deal with this right now.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Great.”


.::A smug expression of egotistical driven self indulgence overcomes Deathlockes facial features, becoming the prevalent occurrence of his faces countenance. Extending his left arm outward to the side, as to imply the departure of Dahlia in a more sophisticated manner, Deathlocke steps to the side. Dahlia himself isn’t so much as infuriated, simply not caring to become relevant in Deathlocke’s stress spiel as of right now. Jarring his head in a slight and subtle manner, Dahlia grabs a bag on the floor, a presumption of such being his own, and he saunters out. Deathlocke apathetically waves to his exodus of the room. Turning back towards the camera crew, his expression turns unto a conflicting opposition, though he came into the room with bitterness lingering within his aura, he had turned quite cocky and smug, but as he turned back, he was once more in the state of an unpleasant acrimony, cynicism.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“So then, does anyone want to try and tell me what the fuck that was all about? Anyone at all? If I am correct, it’s “I” who is supposed to be using you lackeys, NOT Dahlia.”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“Do you honestly think anyone is really scared of you Kyle?”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Excuse me? That’s Mr.Deathlocke to you insectful vermin.”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“No… No its not, its just Kyle, because you aren’t Jimmy DeMarco, you don’t chose who we work with, and we don’t work for you. And like I was saying, why do you perceive everyone as fearful of you? For god-sakes, I’m bigger then you, you “insect”, your only like what, five foot seven, maybe eight, and I‘m like six foot three. You are simply a small child who has an ego far to out of control.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Oh we are not going through these shenanigans again. Now you listen…”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“No! Why don’t you listen for once Kyle!”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“…..”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“We will work for you, but you are anything but in charge here.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Ha! Do you honestly expect…”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“That or we will just leave. Have fun trying to shoot a promo without a camera crew, let alone without a camera kid. Now then, are we to an understanding yet?”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“…..”


.::Deathlocke looked upward towards the camera crew worker in which he so vividly traded verbal blows with. Deathlocke knew he was within the confines of a stump of some kind. He knew that surrendering this oral battle of verbal assault was the most logical pronouncement at said interval, yet he couldn’t do so. His own principals, and deformed personality would never allow such, even if it was the most common judgement baring conclusion. Aside from his own intellectuality, in which hadn’t bared its head in an un subtle way for quite some time now, an eerie silence overcame the room, enveloping the entire area. Deathlocke narrowed his blue sea eyes and nibbled upon his bottom lip in an abrupt momentary lapse. The camera crew worker raised an eyebrow in a cockily positioned mannerism, and a sly smile slit upon his lips. Taking in a cumbrance of air, inhaling through his nostrils, he slowly and seemingly silently exhaled the air in a slow motion.::.


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“So then Kyle…”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Get the fuck out of my building you hideous excuses for human life forms…”


<.Camera Crew Worker.>
“ *heh* Fine then. Come on boys, we don’t have any work for today it would seem.”


.::A grimace comes across the face of Deathlocke in a brawny method. His eyes smoulder unto a dull and pale gray like harlequin. The main crew worker in which Deathlocke spoke with had a cockily constructed smile on his face as he folded his tripod and carried his camera as he and the other camera workers departed the area, alike Dahlia had before. Exhaling yet another sigh, Deathlocke plummeted downwards towards a seat as he sat upon it. Over fuming with stress as of now, his left leg shaking in a vigorous motion as it always does when he gets in a feud of some sort. ::.

**[ I couldn’t forfeit this. It wasn’t so much a battle of basal logicality as much as it was a battle of basic principals. My basic principal structure at that. I wouldn’t allow myself to lose this contest, even if it cost me my only camera face time. This was just simply me. Regardless that I pride myself on intellectuality, I can be quite thick headed sometimes. Some call it being childish, but I call it fulfilling my standards of principality. Perhaps this was due to the effect of my “Storme” problematic. ]**

-[Steve.Storme]-
“Well then, this is quite a picture, isn’t it?”


.::At this point in time Deathlocke had his head planted within his palms, fingers running throughout his hair, kneeling over whilst still seated within the seat. At hearing the voice of whom he knew was Storme, his eyes spread wide. Within all the hustle and bustle of the camera crew situation he found that he had forgotten of Steve’s text message to meet him in the building. Slowly allowing his head to ascend, he rotated his head to gaze towards Storme, who had a weak smile placed upon his face.::.


[right]**[ How could I not have had ANY recollections of the text message Steve sent to me, a meagre… Ten minutes ago? It was indeed baffling. My emotions and personal well being was being sent unto a hectic spiral of sorts. I was bitter. No doubt. I was spiteful, but of course. This negativity was driving me to far however, and even if I took notice, which I had yet to do, there wasn’t an abundance I could do. I was simply jealous of Steve, regardless of my wishes. The complex truly came into play here because Steve was my only true friend. I had turned my backs on all the other that had presented themselves to me. For so long I had been envious of Steve. He is the World Heavyweight Champion, he was a hall of famer here in CGS, he was the Bloodshed Cup winner, he beat Kyle Fuckin‘ Evers. Whilst I myself remained on the diminutive level of Tag Team champion. A position I co held with Steve! This was hideously disgusting on all fronts. ]**


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“What do you mean?”


.::The reply in which Deahlocke gave to Stormes, more or less, rhetorical question, which was more of an observation, was apathetic, at best. He was trying to hide his displeasure with Storme, though he was failing at concealing such. It was almost as if he had hoped to deplete the knowledge of his “miniscule” verbal acting with Steve the week prior to such. Steve’s weakened smile decayed into a fragile, yet force holding look of lethargy. Kyle took know notice to his concern however, for it was he who was the root of such distress, though Storme knew not of such, and that was blatant, but then again, why should he have known? It was not as if he had done anything negative, if at all, to cause such. Regardless of the fact that Stormes statement was not meant as I question, he replied to the question brought forth by Deathlocke on his own observations.::.


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Well, just look at you. You have become some broken down, bitter, spiteful-esque guy. Kyle, is everything all right?”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Please just… Just don’t Steve.”


-[Steve.Storme]-
“No! Kyle, something is wrong, that much is quite obvious, you show it all to well. I am your best friend, why wont you tell you troubles? Do you think I will think less of you? That I will ridicule you? You know I would never do such things. I want to help you Kyle!”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“….. You want to help me? You really, truly do want to help me Steve? Honestly?”


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Man, of course I do.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Alright, then I will tell you what to do that will help me.”


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Anything.”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“ *ahem* …. Fuck off.”


.::And with that being said Deathlocke abruptly arose from that which he sat, and walked onward in the direction in which Steve stood. Hastily passing Steve in the door arch he sends a hard shoulder block to Storme, bumping him back a few feet. He, being Kyle, sends a cold gaze beneath the shrouds of obscurity that some presume to be an aurora as he walks past Storme, heading onwards to the doorway, as he had no relevant reason to be within the arena then. Steve rotated his body to view Kyle, as he watched him pace down the hallway corridor for a few moments before shouting towards him.::.


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Kyle! … Augh. Don’t forget that we have another tag team match this Saturday against the Full Metal Battalion again. *sigh* “


.::In spite of attempts to inform or grab the attention of Deathlocke, Kyle had ignored it all. Reaching the doors Kyle thrust them open and alike Dahlia and the camera crew before him, he departed from the arena, leaving Steve alone in the arena’s empty depths, reaming within the door arch down the corridor.::.


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Why must I always have to try and remind him of our matches?….”


.::Dashing towards the door, and abrupt haste within his step, Storme glides atop the crest of the hard surfaced floor. In an instantaneous manner, he burst through the doors Deathlocke had moments ago ran through. As he makes it to the outside world, he see’s Kyle climbing into the confines of his car.::.


-[Steve.Storme]-
“Kyle! What the fuck are you doing man?”


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Leaving….Simple as that.”


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|+-===>S.C.E.N.E_T.W.O<===-+|"Self Portrait Of Insects… || Ch I."
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● Date: Thursday, August 2007.
● Time: Varies.


Outlandish was the taciturnity that had encased the infinitesimal chambers, dampened by a sorrowful disgrace of sightless impetuousness in nomenclature defined colours. An obscure shade of blackened harlequins vividly cascaded into a miniscule corner of the room. Condescending tones arose and resounded in a exquisite mannerism, ostensibly ascending from the chasm like eclipse which stalked the entirety of the minute accommodations. As the perplexing, enigmatic susurration arose in depth of resonance and reverberation, cognizance had become pertinent. Recumbent, deliberately deprived of gesticulation of any structure or manner, yielding inhalation with distinguished inadequacy, a scarcity of atmosphere was exasperated, endeavouring to conceal all acquaintances of their knowing. With eyes contracting in a narrowly slit countenance, consequently discernibility became of a applicable circumstance. Movement was all but partaking within said specific interval of instances.


Depicting the meticulousness of the unspecified being was implausible within this contemporary occasion. Comprehensively shrouded in a bewildered and yet still appalling veil of condensation like substances, the gorgeous croon’s that persistently arose gradually altered. Dreadful shrieks substituted for them, now echoing of an inhuman lust for epidermis and additional components of the humanly body. Arising in copious amounts of sound patterns, the shrieks reached unto deafening consecration. A mist like constituent abruptly enveloped the diminutive room in its entirety. The shrieks adjacent, contiguous by all embankments at said point. The estranged manner in which his heart had begun to pulsate proliferated drastically, emulating the temperament of the Tell Tale Heart. An amalgam hybrid of the traumatic shrieks and the acute-penetrating heart beat, induced by means of anxiety and apprehension, transpired. A great burden of weight mesmerized. The breathing process became congested, flesh sweltering and beginning to boil, the chest which the heart lay beneath begun to tare itself from its ventricles. Death was now eminent and prayed for on all fronts…


Abrupt and subtle as it was, a calming effect invigorated his body. A concord perhaps. His organ of perceptiveness patterned a weight of substantial heaviness of some structure. Allowing his nostrils to inflame with a gust of oncoming atmospherically conjured air, he gradually revitalized his eyelids, garnering sight in this peculiar state of hysteria. Gazing unto the ambiguous vicinity contiguous of him, the palliative reconciliation which had brought copious amounts of peace unto him exasperated. Uncorrupted trepidation filled his still breathing corpse. The sight of a demonic being which withheld the utmost of incomprehensibly hideous and appalling features, overflowed his cadaver. His jaw dropped as to imply squawks of apprehension, yet nothing was forfeited. This divine creature of uncharacteristic configuration ascended onwards in the path of him. Perpendicular trepidation hurriedly clambered upon his countenance, his pupils abruptly diminishing to a miniscule dimension. Bitter perspiration torrentially materialized beneath his anaemic flesh which was now desquamate, thus barring a burning sensation as nerves became exposed. Overwhelmed by a fanatically tremendous terror in copious amounts, he remained frozen. His mind feverishly bellowing to lope whilst his callous frame beckoned to collapse.


Swelteringly permeable perspiration toppled downwards on his wintry epithelium. A comprehensive shortfall of oxygen. As he himself arose in an abrupt manner, his hands emulated such, as they hastily extinguished all the residue within his eyes. Flesh trembling, copious amounts of vociferous pants slither from his mouth into the vast absence. His eyes unsteady, hurriedly jarring about; pupils diminished to a miniscule article. One arm patterned the other as they enclosed securely around his midsection; his unmitigated cadaver within a state of tremor. Leaning upon the ridge of the bed, his feet securely planted atop the wooden storey.


His regard’s bitter fixation rested upon the firm floor beneath him. He respired in a sotto voce corresponding procedure; the exhalation screaming of a petrified puncture. Precariousness overwhelmed his vacillating breath pattern. Whilst his secretion baring fingers trembled aloft on the crest of his apprehensively timorous contour lineament-membrane, an obstruction of his exquisitely magnificent subterranean oceanic blue eyes went into a fluid motion; steadfastly clutched as if attempting to deteriorate the peculiar events that partook within his minds complex. Fingers presently within the dubiousness depths of his acrimoniously tumultuous tresses mane locks, they curled, seizing bounteous aggregates of it, heaving it rearward in a wrench like structure.


Straining his cadaver to the ampleness of its limitations, he vigorously deliberated, endeavouring upon a seemingly unconquerable task. Cognitive visualization ostensibly beckoned as implausibility for the unambiguous concept which he supplicated to define and divulge unto. Unembellished pellucid reminiscence was but an isolated detachment of optimism. Rather, an austere sightlessness of clouded apprehension was the predominant recollection of the hideous proceedings that had partaken within his perversely misshapen cognizance during the duration of his unconscious slumbering.


The closure to his tediously substantial burdensome eyes consumed in a germinal like mannerism. Melancholy liquidation of sorrowful disconsolate weltered up within the precincts of his ever so sensitively delicate gaze. His interior sentiment ached of a bitterly discredited perfidy, and his peripheral veneer mien echoed alike pyrrhic verse being interpreted blustery via a philosophically cerebral anthropological being within a confided accommodation that of which withheld only the royalties of intellectual depth; all within precipitously mirrored mimicry, an exact doppelganger of emulation, austerely lurking in a concealed manner, unobserved. The most crimson of flushed rubicund transpired; materialized in formations as though conjured by the gifted hands of a brilliant architect of heavenly stature, built on crest of celestial prominence.


Rotating his cranium in a deliberately laborious predicament, the entirety of his countenance visage was enclosed, shielded by means of his peculiarly tainted epithelium palms. Leisurely gyrating from horizontal parallels, his facial aspects began to superficially percolate through the transparency of epidermis pulpiness. With a repugnantly calculated gaze, he adverts his monstrosity of a scrutinizing regard from that of the exterior beneath unto that of a vaguely indistinct concentrated abundance of particles, aligned to conjure the formation of an object, that of which is obscured by the appallingly horrendous blackened shadows of harlequins.


Perchance in a ineffectual manner, he partakes in a tedious reduction of the measured dimensions from his exhalation patterns. What was heretofore the predominant vociferously strident presently presented itself within the mannerisms of discreetly halcyon tones in depth of volume. An abundant of diminutive intervals continued to commence onwards, promenading without sentiment. After miniscule instances persist , he is able to gainer an adequate sufficiency, regardless of its sightlessness. Withholding auras of atmosphere within his respiratory organ in vertebrates, he inaugurates in arising from the adjacent lateral of the berth in which he had been sedentary beforehand, though his movements occur in protracted leisure gesticulations. Sauntering into the depths of the blackened scrutinizing obscurity, he unhurriedly promenaded in a calculated and petrified structure. Every meagre and diminutive step conjured unbridled a comparatively corpulent essence of consistently erecting trepidation.


Within a conventionally broad-spectrum, the empathizing sensation of distressing apprehension was one of extraordinary abnormalities with voluminous aggregates. Exotic even. Nevertheless, basking within the midst of this peculiar sentiment was but a distant Maya of sorts; whilst a compunction of remorse may latter surface from such, while presently partaking in this particular sentiment, wallowing is disregarded by all means. If one was to gainer a recollection of he foremost capability then an ameliorate comprehension for such would become unveiled.


With each and every dismayed daunting pace measured, a perplexingly petrifying judder is admitted by means of the creaky wooden surface below his sweat barring feet. At initializing this uncanny noise, which presently resonated within the taunting bleakness that surrounded him, reminiscence of the horrendously dreadful vomit-inducing squawks from the distressing dream that had occurred, infatuated his minds complex. At such he blundered, stumbling to an all-inclusive sojourn. The quotient proportion in which his temperaments pulsation befell seemingly quantified upon inquiry of such. Trembling breaths lapsed one another as he began to leisurely regain his composure.


Once more commencing in a saunter to the presently obscured object, he appends a lavishly profuse aggregate of hasty promptness to his otherwise slothful amble. Gaiting headlong amongst the clattering ligneous underneath his hastily hateful step, clamour again concedes, overindulging the otherwise taciturnly soundless atmosphere around him. An abrupt thud presents itself, as in an instantaneous occurrence he finds himself at sheer immobility. The cause of such is originated from a corpulent structure, that of which he had promenaded into. Such was a glorious indication of having reached the destination that had been set out for.


Abruptly arising his hands, he conducts them upon the crest of the object that, upon meeting his own epithelium, presumptuously becomes that of a dresser of sorts. Inherently unpredictable, emulating a state of sheer anarchic magnitudes, his hands hectically transpose atop the presumed-to-be dresser. Copious amounts of possessive belongings are heard tumbling downwards in the clamorous racket that had been conjured by a prestidigitator of sorts. Upon clasping unto a miniscule box of rectangular formation, the vociferous commotion resonates. With the slightest rotation of the wrist, a red array of cascading harlequins erupts, momentarily blinding his vision. As sight swiftly returns to his arsenal, he deciphers the formatted text within the red array, which reads as 4:27 PM. Performing exhalation, he intelligently uses the now noted to be digital clock as an insubstantial buoyant.


Upon partaking in such he stumbles unto the primary object in which he had yearned for in the origin of his travel. Hastily grasping the object of his eyes desire, he retracts his arm, a diminutive object that of which is projecting a glistening gleam from the cascaded crimson array of the clock. Gaiting in a devastated mannerism, he promenades towards the bed. Upon reaching said destination he plummets downwards, the back of his own still breathing corpse firmly resting upon the lateral frame of the bed. Unhurriedly allowing his presently jarring-about hands to arise he gazes into the confines of the obscured object within his grasp. Precipitously, an alarming alphanumeric reverberation presents itself into the uncommunicative muteness. Once more, almost instantaneously, a reverberation of a calculation almost precise as the predecessor occurs. Again, again, again and again this sound presents itself, penetrating the obscurity. A ringing like noise is within the contextual location of the object, and discourteously afterwards, a warily fatigued declaration admitted itself, resonated within a gentle overtone. As such contemporaneously converts to relevant, he himself trudges onwards in an action that emulated such an occurrence.


“I’m truly sorry for this, especially at this hour, but its Kyle, and… Well, I need to talk to you latter today at some time. Its urgent by all means.“


“Mr.Crownings, you may at this time chose the option of a 5 minute deliberation, otherwise the floor is presently yours.“


The verbally articulated words echoed throughout the confines of the corpulently proportioned accommodating chamber, that of which ostensibly declared itself as something of a complexly sophisticated classification; resonating within a considerably significant taciturnity. The architect of said tidings was that of a substantially copious man in terms of dimensions whom was of the African American descent. The anthropoids voice barred quantities of masculinity whilst superficially carried a resonance of brilliant depth. Seated he was, within an exquisitely influential chair. The abundant of diminutive hominoid organisms within said chambers all had their respectively corresponding gazes set upon the anthropological being whom had verbalized. He facial countenance mien orated as that of a solemnly resolute grimace, and such faultlessly illustrated all else within the chambers. Needless to say, he gleamed of a judges reflection in possessing manners.


“I’ll be taking the floor your honour.“


The reticence contravention statement arises from a vociferous verbalization which divulges from a being whom at present resides behind a table, seated next to a man whom withholds a face which reads as utter dismay. A minor sweltering of sweat accumulated upon his forehead. Conversely, the man whom articulated the rebuttal glimmered of sheer bliss to any circumstantial activities unalike the man whom he was seated aside. Rather, his face echoed of prideful arrogance with the slightest of gratification. Whilst both men appeared to be adjacent too one another, they withheld the class of formality within their specific choice of fashion at the specific interval at hand. Both men wore suits, subsiding the basally blatant variance within money value.
`

“If you please mister Crownings, the jury and court room shall here your rebuttal?“ uttered the anthropological being whom had previously addressed Mr.Crownings, the being whom was merely presumed to be that of a judge of some calling, due to his exhilarating stature.


A sly mien overthrows the facial guise of the being whom is simply noted to be Mr.Crownings at the times present. His eyes gleamed of a prevailing responsiveness of sorts, glistering alike a descending star, sorrowfully the predominant harlequin with a blackened night-sky-fall. This man whom stood in a virtuously magnanimous manner was regarded as Dustin Crownings, for such was his appellation since birth. Dustin, he himself being of a diminutive age compared to other partakers within his profession, was a twenty four year old lawyer.


His innermost withheld a delicate abundance of anxiousness, but he repudiated the concept of allowing such to become illustrated upon his outer exterior. Rather he preferred to wear that of a façade of sorts, just as he was doing at contemporaneous intervals of dimensions. As Dustin arose from his seat, he adverted his gazes direction to that of his client at present. Sweltering within his clients eyes were copious amounts of petrified apprehensions.


“Don’t worry. I know what I am doing, I promise you we aren’t going to lose this. Alright?“


The depth of tone in which Dustin verbalized was almost that of condescending, but rather, it withheld a calming effect of sorts. Once the words had been spoken the client in which Crownings was at present representing within a state of law, executed a relived styled exhalation in an attempt to try and retrieve a peaceful serenity of sorts. A pathetic smile forcibly slithers unto his clients lips, such was blatant, as a grimace was the basal predominant aspect of his face.


Descending one arm, Dustin uses it to vainly increase the comfort in which his client is currently. Though said tactic only commences for short intervals of volume and depth as Dustin himself promenaded forewords, the sly grin in which he wore simply grew larger. Standing within the center of the main floor, Dustin places both his arms behind his back whilst he awaits for more forthcoming confrontation; all of which is preformed in a manner typically regarded classy.


“Àlright then Mister Crowningtons, you may now commence with your argument at said time now…“


A condescending simper lingers onto the face Dustin. As the judge himself had begun to articulate words, he rotated to gainer sight, now, he turned back, facing the mass of anthropoids within the chambers at present. For the slightest of intervals, an obscured silence is predominant. Dustin hands folded upon one another as fingers interlocked. His regard met with that of the floor beneath him as his client stared on in a petrified contemplation. Within an abrupt instance however, Dustin’s cranium recuperates, gliding aloft from said surface beneath, the disdainfully patronizing beam smeared amongst his lips still. Any doubt that seemed to have collaborated diminished to a miniscule ash within that very instance.


“Ladies and gentlemen of the courtroom, today I find myself standing before you with a horrendously heinous charge placed on my client. These allegations, which may I just say are preposterous by all accounts, bare no fabrication of truth within them, whatsoever! But, then again this is a murder trial and lets face it… Somebody needs to pay right? So what if its an innocent man whom did nothing by no means whatsoever, as long as WE can tuck ourselves in at night feeling as though we have made the world a safer place, disregarding veracity for self selected fiction that is.“


Dustin had begun to commence within a pacing like structure, as was typical for his courtroom mannerisms. His hands still folded atop one another, intertwining fingers to comfortably clasp them together. His depth of tone, whilst ever so condescending still withheld a vibrant array of charisma to its intent as such seemed to firmly grasp unto the jury in questions attention in a lively manner.


“As I stand before you all today I feel ever so distraught over the one thing which we know to be factuality in this case thus far. That poor, innocent little girl did not, by any means deserve that horrific unfolding that happened to her. The sickest of hideous. I wont go into any of the gruesome details of her cadavers physical state, but any sick being could make presumptions as to its physical being. Regardless of such, my client here, mister Anthony Ricardo is being unlawfully accused of executing these dastardly things, disregarding the fact that his alibi is not only truthful, but accountable by means of six separate people! I comprehend the fact that such is perplexing, don’t worry, I do. Not only that but if Mr.Ricardo here was the one whom committed this heinous act, well… He was good at it, no doubt….“


“You sick fucking bastard! You sick fucking bastard!“


Abruptly a newer verbalization resonates from a being whom presently is standing amongst the sea of beings whom act as spectators to the events partaking in at current intervals. Dustin, as well as many other of the law officials inadvertently rotate in a hurried manner to face the new arrival of tones. The tear-wallowing screech arose from the lungs of a women, her yes welted up with sorrowful liquidation of sheer dismay to the most brilliant of magnitudes. Her face emulated the burning red crimson within the suns cascading array, though her contorted facial grimaces did not mirror the beauty by any means.


“Mrs.Wellington, if you could please remain seated and silent so that we….“


“Oh go to hell! This sick fucking bastard is talking about how that twisted sicko who killed my daughter did a good job! I swear to the lord!“


“Mr.Crownings, she is slightly accurate on the matter; what relevance does this withhold to your defence may I just ask?“


“Well you see…“


Just as Dustin begins to meet the judges somewhat patronizing question at hand with what could only be presumed as an answer, he meets the unfortunate realization that such shall not yet commence as the women, whom has at this particular time been noted as Misses Wellington, the mother of the murder victim, once more forces her sentiments into the verbalization.


“I`ll tell you what significance it has! NONE! This sick and twisted motherfucker is just trying to patronize the name of my dead little baby girl! What the hell is wrong with you? What!“


“*sigh* Bailiff, would you kindly remove Mrs.Wellington from my courtroom? If not I fret that this wont ever meet an end.“


“You can all just go to hell!“


“Your honour, wait!“


“Yes Mr.Crownings?“


“If I may, I would like to, momentarily call Mrs.Wellington to the stand. Regrettably, I know, I need her.“




“So then… What else happened?“


The depth in tone in which the resonating question was verbalized with indicated feminine traits to the soft overtone. Unalike many questions being asked merely for the unneeded sake of asking, not truthfully wishing to here an answer of any sort, the ecstatic nature behind the tone of question stated otherwise. A forceful hint of sentiment was to be found barring within as much as well.


“Umm…Kyle? Hello?”


“Wha-oh, sorry Abigail, what?”


“I said, so then what else happened? Hmm?”


The feminine anthropoid whom is noted by regard of Abigail once more partakes in verbalizing the question at hand. Her intent this time is far great in terms of persistent depth. The yearning for an answer to he question withholding brilliant importance was relevant for Abigail. She intently gazed on towards Kyle, withholding a small rounded cup within her palms grasp. The cup was full of a liquid substance that emulated that of tea.


“Well…”


Began Kyle as he conjured a rebuttal based upon the petrifying events that he had unwillingly partaken in the previous hours, within the crack of dawn, a divine state of time itself. As he continued his own eyes took regard to Abigail’s eyes, that of which gleamed from a reflection by means of her cup. The cascading sun above them allowed copious amounts of harlequins to brim down, and such conjured a reflective state of being with the crest of the liquid within the cup, and due to the trajectory of Abigail herself, her divinely exquisite blue eyes glistened within a reflective state as Kyle took ample notice to such. Portrait perfect to say the least.


“Umm, Kyle?”


“Ugh.. I’m sorry Abigail its just, hard to contemplate the imagery. It was so vastly discreet, subtle, obscured, hideous… All at the same time. In some sense, something of magnificent beauty but… I can’t be knowing of that.”


“Well whatever it was, it seemed to terrify you to copious amounts, didn’t it?”


“Indeed…”


Kyle’s voice had begun to trail off as his own cup of liquid filled fluids arose, and emitted itself to that of his mouth. It was but the slightest hints of bitter as Kyle slightly cringed at the sensation of taste being emitted by the tea. As Abigail sipped upon hers, she gave a gentle laugh at his delicate of facial aspects.


“Kyle, you have to take tiny sips, its not your everyday tea…”


Almost sauntering Abigail’s statement into an oblivious state, Kyle had, in a subtle mannerism, interjected himself. As he verbalized, placing the cup back to its original placement. His face slowly began to recover from the effects of the bitter liquidation in which he had consumed by copious masses with a single drink.


“Yeah, I noticed, gah… *ahem* Anyway…”

||TObecontinued||

___________________________________________________________________________
|+-===>S.C.E.N.E_T.H.R.E.E<===-+|"Informal Gluttony."
_____________________________________________________________________________


.::In a pale darkened gray oppression brought on by means of the colours dominance, a small star stuttered light begins to conjure itself. Slowly but still surely, that miniscule light begins to increase in size in a drastically abrupt manner. In a matter of mere milliseconds, the entirety of the screen is enveloped by the bursting bright harlequin as the darkness that had before presumed a sovereign was nothing more then an astringed thought of the past, lost within the confines of one’s minds subconscious. Imagery beings to develop, as things start as a blurred version of what is real. As clarity becomes of vision, the area in which is seen seems to be a cheap-esque hotel room. Dampened in a dark resounding overtone, the room looks of a bitterness. Suddenly a light, or something of the sort, is turned on, or such is an obvious assumption to be made. An obscured figures image is seen in the background. Soon the figure becomes far clearer as a man is within perfect view. This man is but of course one self proclaimed “Technical Messiah” in Kyle Deathlocke. His hair was ruffled, so to speak, and his clothes did not reflect what he typically would be seen wearing. A suit, suit pants and dress shoes, that was typical Deathlocke exquisiteness in the sense of beauty, and, perhaps vanity. Rather, he currently wore black shorts and a T-shirt a few sizes too big which bared the logo of artistically bewildering and technically profound metal band The Human Abstract, a band named after the famous and splendid poem by William Blake which latter turned unto the name of his primary submission hold. He came off as tired, or so his face would speak of.::.


»»||[Kyle.Deathlocke]||««
“Salutations are inferior anthropological beings. ‘tis I, the great shepherd, the wicked of ends, the Mea Culpa within the dwindling epithelium. It hath been an abundant of intervals since my glorious nature hath last lingered. Almost, if not, a months time. And within this extensive period of nothing short of a void, many events have taken place. We saw the one week rise, then fall of Kevin Dahlia. Seth Omega continues on his path of being unable to obtain a victory. And Storme and Evers have held onto the main event spotlight.


Over my departure not much of at all anything has changed, and to such I look upon you all with sheer disappointment. As it would seem my devastating influentially was overshadowed by nothingness. It becomes predominant in knowing that intellectuality is all but celebrated here within CGS. That’s not to proclaim that people alike Storme and Evers don’t withhold logic, its that the predominant percentage of you invertebracy are simply irrational morons. And that… Well that kiddies, is why I am making the Storme vs Evers III pay per view event my LAST…


Let me rephrase, merely because an abundant of you children shall easily confuse the intent of which I verbalize. I shant be leaving pro wrestling, oh no no no no no, I am far to brilliant at it. Rather, I am leaving this underfunded shit hole. Yes kids, tonight is the very LAST night you shall ever lay witness to me within a CGS arena. If you wish to continue to gaze upon my spectacular presence, then you should gainer copious amounts of logicality and find your way to Pro Wrestling NOVELLA, a newer endeavour in which I shall be partaking within.


Within my final hours of CGS however I shall be taking a stand of thy own. For I am set to do battle with a man I hath defeated not one, not twice, but three times now… No not Seth Omega, rather Leon Caprice.


What a Piteous gala this shall be, yes I know. The glorious thing that drives from this boring nonsensical contest of the past is what the outcome shall withhold for the victor, myself. For the winner shall receive the currently vacant CGS Pure Championship.. A title which, lets be honest, I full embrace with thy own style. Sure I use an abundant of Lucha and Hard Style, but within this current day and age, such is simply to be expected to be used in Pure wrestling.


CapNrice however, I shant ever know how he made it into this contest and his style emulates a drunken Batista meets mr.spot monkey himself, Jeff Hardy. Horrid with no true wrestling value. Its pathetic. Not to mention, the fact that he is even within this contest is nonsensical in itself. I mean, its like I verbalized previously… I have overcome him 3 times.


Regardless, I am leaving you all with that insignificant in size message. For, in all blatant honesty, I am gone and I give no fucks as to how you idiots perceive me. For those logical members I shall see you within DXX and Pro Wrestling NOVELLA. CGS, rest in peace.


.:;With such being emitted from the graceful lips of Deathlocke in a sotto voce like mannerism, he gives slight and subtle wink whilst arising his right arm and flashing an abrupt finger extensions peace sign, the signature “pose”, if you will, of one Kyle Deathlocke, the palm facing in the direction of himself. Such a “Pose” commonly instigated by wrestlers alike Steve Corino and Nigel McGuiness. With such, his other arm arises with a brilliant haste and turns off the camera. The harlequins vividly cascade into a blackened obscurity as the scene fades out to black.::.

___________________________________________________________________________
|+-===>S.C.E.N.E_F.O.U.R<===-+|"What A Plague You Are || Ch I"
_____________________________________________________________________________


● Date: Sunday, December 13h 2009.
● Location: Park [Windsor, Ontario, Canada]
● Time: 4:18 PM.




Wallowing are the winds, as they topple one another alike the waves of a dastardly sea, in the most imperceptibly gusting form as conceivable. Amongst the grassy ground, gleaming of a once joyous green, but slowly fading in the array of colour, are a small abundance of leaves, which the wind voluptuously makes promenade, in an unset rhythm. The sun rest within the skies corner, as mid-day has just recently approached this particular area of the universe’ only current life barring biosphere. Though the sun does vigorously shine down, the bursting sunlight it produces stands as no match to the ever chilling cold bite of the wind, which has crawled into the worlds mind as the forthcoming winter season draws nearer and nearer with every inching moment of time. As the wind passes by and through the branches of once beautiful summer tree’s, now turned late autumn leaved trees, it echoes of a whistling effect, which travels across to all whom are nearby. The day within itself is one of quite, peace and calm. A man walking his dog, topples by, walking on the pavement, as he walks around a splendour stone fountain, that of which spurts water from its top, resembling a weaker impression of a waterfall in itself. In a slight distance away from this fountain, some children can be seen and heard playing, whilst to a separate direction of equal distance of the fountain, a man sitting upon a bench, simply reading the local newspaper. This, the center of a town or cities park. The clacking of what is presumed to be shoes on pavement becomes a bit clearer, as a man dressed within black dress pants, a black dress suit, dress shoes and a red tie (to finish the ensemble of clothing off). This man being one whom ventures via the name of Kyle Deathlocke. His mind astray from any traveling any relevant paths of thought, Kyle merely walks in an oblivious state, simply soaking up the magnificent atmosphere around him. Nearby, the weekly chiming of a church bell occurs, as it cuts through the sound patterns within the air, in an ever more arrogant tone, shattering all sound standing before it. Anyone whom would be new to hearing such a noise, would perhaps find themselves startled, yet the local residents find themselves completely secure, and somehow drown it into the background, as if it is not even occurring. Kyle finds himself unable to do so, as he tilts his head in an upright direction, turning to the face this bashful sounding of religious empowerment, a slight taste of salty detesting in his mouth.


Always having detested to such a thing as religion, Kyle can’t help but become enraged to a miniscule amount at least by the masses whom stand strong in its blinding clutch. With these emotions now infatuating Kyle’s minds complex, he is once more oblivious to surroundings of all sorts. Now titling his head back to its normal position, away from said church bell, Kyle finds himself colliding with another being. A slight searing of pain overtakes Kyle’s body, as he ambles backwards, but catches his balance, before toppling over. As it would seem, the case is identical for the being whom he walked into. This being is a woman, whom appears around the age of extremely early twenties, as Kyle himself is. Her face looks puzzled as she quickly scans Kyle himself.“Oh, uhh…”, but before the girl herself is able to speak a word passed such, Kyle interjects himself. Being brash and arrogant as he is, as well as a celebrity, to a small abundance of the sense, thanks to his career, he feels that he has already diagnosed the situation on his own.


“Look, I am quite busy as of this very moment, so no autographs, kay’?” The girls face, that of which was already as puzzled as the key to all knowing and knowledge, falls to a state of even grander confusion. A slight moment of occurred-esque-ness passes by with the wind. Suddenly, the female being decides to retaliate his reply of egotisms, in which she couldn’t comprehend why. Kyle himself receives a slight chill upon his spine, somehow indicating a mistake may have been made on his part, which was something he himself was anything but used to.


“Um, I’m sorry, truly I am, but it seems to me that your egotism might be a bit out of whack because it seems to be blinding you in an abundant amount.”


“Heh, uh, excuse me?”


“What? You randomly, for know known reason walk directly into me, then boost your ego by claiming that I am wanting of an autograph of some sort, for God knows what kind of reasoning. Sorry but, I don’t even know of who you are.”. This female herself, seems to be in anything aside from the mood to deal with egotism that is unjustified (alike many a person are). The wind blows her hair, as it wisp it to the left, and then weakly to the right, before subsiding. Deathlocke himself is left almost dumbfounded by this, as he hadn’t yet truly met someone whom had such control over a situation, more so then not, with him.


Pondering upon if he should just merely bite his tongue and move along, the females eyebrow is raised in a precarious manner. Though such a thing may seem like a minimal thing, Deathlocke himself couldn’t stand for such for it was a blatant and oh-so simple look of superiority. Though he himself was a bit heated within the head at said moment, he was able to somehow maintain and restrain his true emotions, to instead cloak them with a façade of his choosing, a technique he had worked hard to develop over the years as to allow him to assume absolute within any contention of squabbling. Kyle be damned if he allowed another being walk over him so very easily, an unknown foreigner at that. For a quick moment in time, he physically bit upon the bottom of his lip, before boasting back at the female new comer.


”The fact that you obnoxiously barged directly into me, does imply that you want something of the sort, but are far to afraid to merely ask me. And please, don‘t play it so illogically miss.”


”Excuse me?”


”Still you protest any knowing of me? Acting stupid wont give you any help in this scenario. We both know, that I know, that you know whom I am for….”


”My name’s Vela.” proclaims the (no longer) unknown girl whom had earlier collided with Kyle. Her trepidation inducing tone of voice, backed with a resilient dominance, alike Genghis Khans over his armies to which would conquer, had changed in an instant. Interrupting Kyle in sentence mid point, her gleaming glare turned unto a beautiful gaze. Her body itself had seemingly become far more relaxed as well. Things/traits alike these had caught Kyle off guard and thrown him into a pit of unknowing dismay, temporarily. In an occurred motion, Kyle narrowed his eyes, and slightly backed his head.


”Oh… Kay? That’s good to know.” replied Kyle after a few moments of a strange feeling coming forth in the air. Vela merely sighs as she looks to the ground in a disgust-esque manner, momentarily.


”No see, this would be the time in which you bring forth your own name, replicating my actions moments before when I did so, not to hard to comprehend, right?”


Vela herself seemed to have taken on a completely new persona, a confusing demeanour to read, and Kyle couldn’t quite figure out the cause of such. He pondered on the possibility that when bumping into her before, he may have brought forth an anger of sorts that had instigated within her emotions, but now that her head was clear of the bastardized clouds of unknowing spiteful negative human emotion, she was showing her true colours. Such seemed to be the most logic barring assumption and yet, something seemed upright about it all. Kyle himself couldn’t quite place his finger upon it, as he came to realization that he had in fact been asked a question, and not answering was merely diminishing his vanity aspect of intellectuality. Almost simultaneous with his answering of the question, the wind made its presence known once more, refusing to be pushed into the background, as it blew his black barret away from his head, landing on the ground, a few feet beside Vela. Quickly bending down to pick up his barret, his blonde hair briskly blew within the thin airs, as Vela watched, then bending down, almost if not faster, and retrieving the barret before Kyle could do so. Both Kyle and Vela re-orchestrate their standing positioning in a subtle manner, as Vela holds the barret out for Kyle.


”The wind seemed to want it; here’s your barret Kyle”. Vela held the barret out for Kyle to take, as he lets a slight smile overcome his face, just upon the corner, as he takes his barret back, not even taking notice to the fact that Vela had just spoken of his name, in which he had not informed her as of yet.


”Uhh, thanks I suppose. Names Kyle.” he replies with, for her generosity in retrieving his hat, though his voice carried a strenuous bit of clouded concern. He extended his hand, offering it as a form of introductions or something of the sort. Something was eccentric and peculiar. Kyle’s earlier perception of Vela had been one of stupidity, and lack of logic, but at said point in time, such was proven to not be the case. Rather than except Kyle’s hand in a friendly handshake, Vela reaches her hand unto her coat pocket. As her hand remerges, she is clasping a red inked pen. Vela moves said pen in the directional area of Kyle’s hand, grasping the rest with her free hand, twisting it, in a normal way to be twisted, so to have the palm facing directly up. Vela had to begun to scribble something upon his palm with the pen. Once she was done, Kyle took his hand, and twisted it towards his face, as to read out what twas written in place of the handshake. There in red ink read out a phone number, signed via “Vela Wilhelm”, whom Kyle would make the ever so obvious assumption as to be the Vela he had just met. His hand shielded (or in this case blocked off) the primary of viewing around him. As he lowered his palm and looked back up to Vela, she had vanished within the mid-day breeze, that was still gusting by. A bit taken off by such, Kyle twist his body as he volatility searched for where she had vanished to, but alas, it was of no use, Vela was gone within the blink of an eye. The heart within Kyle’s chest had begun a vamped beating rate and rhythm, as he was a bit disturbed by the actions that had just moments ago taken place.


Kyle looked once more unto his palm, and decided that such was better kept within his cell phone even if he planned not to call Vela, he, for whatever reason, felt as if her number was needed to be kept. As his hand lunged towards his pocket to retrieve his phone, he noticed that it was not there. ”Huh? M-My phone, where…” exclaimed Kyle, as he immediately made the overly abrupt presumption that Vela must have thieved such, he must have been mugged in an oh so subtle manner. This thought was quickly diminished however, as he soon recalled leaving it upon his homes kitchen counter. A slight thought of relief overcame Kyle as he turned back to the direction had been originally journeying, and walked.


As Kyle commenced in doing so, his mind began to wander off, his mental well being emulating his physical actions. Who was this woman? Why did she bequeath her phone number? Whereabouts did she vanish to in such an enigmatic manner? And perhaps the most reoccurring and predominant question which promenaded within the confines of Kyle’s head, why was her presence still lingering in his thought patterns? It was a most peculiar feeling that enveloped Kyle, especially for one whom was so very cold and calculated. Given some of the untold events which both tactlessly and regrettably resonated within Kyle’s past, still residual in his head alike a stain glass portrait, glimmering within the burning glare of the unrelenting sun light on a gorgeous summer evening; Kyle was a shunning and cold being. The very thought of those past events forced Kyle to cringe to a slight extent, whilst he continued to saunter onwards towards his home. As unfortunate as it was for Kyle, these recollections were all but to redundant as they remained within his minds complex, resilient as could be. They seemed to forever resonate in the midst of decayed thoughts and memories. Of course, psychology was an option, or at least at one point in time, but Kyle had previously endeavoured into said prospect, only to gather rationality and sanity threatening realization, thought to be a forever misplaced contemplation of decomposed putridity.


Kyle exhaled, respiring in a heavy tone as he did so. The winds were exasperating today, thought Kyle as his eyes narrowed to, ironically enough, increase his overall perception of sight and vision. Leaves blew, much less voluptuous then before, now in an infuriating manner. But still Kyle was only to be found half conscious of the on goings surrounding him at present. His other half, perhaps slightly more predominant, was rather astray within his profoundly subterranean contemplations of vast depth. As such was occurring, Kyle found that he had arrived at his destination rather abruptly. As his eyes scrutinized his home living structure, he began to gradually rupture back into the authenticity of realism. The veracity was far greater, though the vivid nature of it all was lacklustre when in appraisal to the unbound imaginative Byzantine of the cognizance. Such was, in some uncanny sense, a fragment of discontent, but the effect of that very peculiar emotion evaporated in a rather brusque and hasty method. Kyle shook his head, as to, in some sense, deplete the irrational thoughts of such which promenaded within his mind.


He made a brilliant haste as he sauntered towards his front door to retrieve his cell phone which he had left at home. Once upon the top of his porch steps, his hand gripped onto the bitterly taciturn door knob and forcibly rotated it. The door now withheld the ability to be opened, and Kyle gave a slight nudge to the door, allowing it to swing open. Though he did not move once he pushed the door. An unsettling feeling overcame Kyle, eerie. The older wooden door slowly swayed open, emitting a horrid shriek which seemed to emulate the exasperated shrieks of thousands upon thousands of the damned, pleading for their lives before being massacred. This made Kyle cringe to a slight amount. His heart began to upsurge, intensifying in terms of beat patterns. Even slight portions of sweat swelled up upon the tip of his forehead, leisurely rolling down to the edge of his brow. His eyes gazed with a magnificent ferocity, as he attempted to scan the house’s contents from the outside looking in. To no avail was this though, as his house was blackened and dim, not a light shone. Kyle swallowed, his throat as dry as a desert in the midst of a invigorating sandstorm.


”Come now, you are being completely fucking ridiculous! There is nothing resonating within YOUR home Kyle. Hell, you were just here about fifteen minutes ago, give or take. You turned off the lights because you are smart with your money. The door squeaks in such a eerie manner because its an old door, primarily constructed from wood, and wood over time would conjure such peculiar noises when attached to the other components of the door.“


Kyle muttered this thought aloud. It was an age old trick which copious amounts of people partook in, in attempt to comfort themselves in situations where they found themselves in grave fear of some sort. This being speaking their thoughts aloud, though most don’t attempt it, some do try and rationalize the entire situation at hand as well, this being a tactic implode by Kyle. His right arm arose, and washed the miniscule sweat away from his face as he inhaled an abundant of air. As he did so, he began to saunter onwards, into the confines of his own home. To his surprise, his feet felt as though they weighed a gross amount. His entire body had become stiff. Nonetheless, he made his way into the building.


As Kyle made his way into his home, he flung his left arm backwards, as it gripped onto the door knob. Clutching it firmly, he lightly pulled on it, shutting the door behind him. He swallowed once more, still hard and dry, as his typically blue eyes tried to soak in the mass appeal of darkness. His entire body tensioned as he walked. After a few succeeded steps, Kyle’s foot touched the floor, and a horrendously influential shriek became present. Kyle’s heart ceased to pump, but such was only momentarily, as it drastically increased its pumping pattern. The eyes of Kyle were wide shut, clenching as firmly as plausible. After a profound silence resonated, Kyle began to slowly open his eyes once more. He had stepped on a lose floor board. After coming to said realization, his body began to unwind and relax slightly as a massive gust of breath was produced.


”Really Kyle? Really!… *sigh* Alright, just calm the fuck down. Jus-Just think if there were others here, would you truly want them to see you like this? Ugh… I’m the epitome of doleful wretchedness.


Proclaimed Kyle aloud, infuriated at his own pathetic nature. Peculiar trepidation had overcome him in an unfathomable structure. Kyle swayed his head, allowing some of the stiffened joints to crack, and ultimately relax once more. Kyle strode into his kitchen, flipping the lights on as he did so. Corpus quantities of dazzling lights, which seemed to carry great comfort, eroded through the bleak darkness. A miniscule smile crawled onto the lips of Kyle. His entire demeanour was changed, almost alike Vela’s had beforehand, fear no longer withheld ascendancy. With the lights brimming down, a bright cascade of sight become prominent. The white tiled floor was no longer a bitter despair for his feet to slink across. The kitchen table which stood resolutely to a side no longer posed as a devious entity, waiting to instigate harmful impairment by any means. And the clock, elegantly hung in a gracefully manner, no longer seemed to count each passing second in time to his own personal damnation. The petrifying “beautiful west” was once more the safeguard that is typically was, and here, Kyle now felt welcome. Still he needed to locate his phone, which had been the entire reason for returning. He allowed for his eyes to freely gaze amongst the room in its entirety, searching for where he placed his cellular phone last. Within the corner of his eyes regard, he situated the device. He rotated his body clockwise to face the direction of where it lay. There, atop the end of his kitchen counter was his cell phone, perched precariously, innocent as could be.


Kyle leisurely sauntered towards the counter, so to retrieve his phone. As he approached, the slightest feeling of (sheer) stupidity crawled up his back. Everything that had occurred thus far had somehow came to close in a manner that brought on the appearance of idiocy for Kyle. The incident with this “Vela” girl, his cell phone, and then perhaps the worst of it all, the brilliant fear that had overthrown him when he went to enter his own home. For Kyle this feeling was an unusual one as he had always been predominant in the area of intellectuality, or so he liked to believe. It was apart of his entire psychological concept in which telling yourself you are the sovereign truly does create this sphere in which you become of what your self-forged thought patterns claim. Thus far, it had worked, as proven by means of Kyle’s wrestling track record.


The right hand of Deathlocke reached out, open palmed, as he clutched onto his cell phone. A slick black harlequin with a shining glimmering of light promenading off of it, signifying how new it was, or at least how well Kyle took care of it. Alike the door knob, it was of a bitterly cold feel to his soft and warm flesh. This caused the hairs upon his arm to stand erect, though such was only momentarily.


As Kyle went to conduct the cell phone into the confines of his pockets, his left eye obtained regard to a red smear upon his hands palm. As he released the pressure within his hand, thus causing the small device which he had been holding to plummet to the nethermost of his pocket, he rescinded his hand, rotating so that his palm faced upwards.


”No…” Kyle exclaimed in a scandalized mannerism, susurration overbearing his tone. His eyes drew to a corpulent breadth whilst his black pupils diminished to a miniscule amount. His free arm arose, the fingers spilt from one another as they ran through the fields of Kyle’s black hair.


”This can’t be happening! You have to be fucking kidding me…” . His eyes seemed to tremble as they incongruously beheld a crimson harlequin in the form of liquidation, blotched atop the epithelium of his excaudate-perspiration barring palm. His fist was clenched shut, conjuring the formation of a fist. From the ends, the red liquid seeped through, already stained upon the flesh of Kyle. He securely drew back his breath, and very fastidiously liberated his fist.


“Ugghhh!”


The clamour admitted by Kyle, indicating copious quantities of discontent, resonated within the silence, that of which had become predominant by means of the commotion. After a short interval of time had lapsed, the irregular silence that had been lingering eroded into nonentity. With an intent look, Kyle dismally regarded the smear upon his palm, for there was the aftermath of what once was Vela’s telephone number, the only form on contact that Kyle had received from her. Now? Now the number was all but readable.


Kyle grimaced at this. Though at first thought, he was overly reluctant to call her, something had seemed to develop upon his subconscious mind, for now he felt a slight torn and a tad bit exasperated. Though he couldn’t be sure if such was merely a release for the constantly building anger conjured via the on goings he had occurred today. Regardless, he was exasperated at this all.


||TObecontinued||