Written:
The camera turns on, and a room lit by the dim flickering of a nearly spent candle reveals the kneeling figure of Dirge. He is facing what looks like a confessional. Something mumbled from the other side sounds like “about 4 million Hail Marys”. Dirge walks over to the front pew of what looks like a chapel and signals the camera man over. He pulls out a wrestling mag with a picture of Scott Royal on the cover with the heading “Royal Pain or next king of the Ring?!?”. Dirge places it on a stony outcropping and lights a candle next to it. Looking right at the picture, he speaks…
You want to win, to battle as a gladiator and bleed and rise above me.
(matter of fact voice) That won't work. That's not how it works.
To beat me you have to want to destroy yourself. Because the way you
are now, its not enough. You have to want more than yourself. And you
have to start from scratch. You can't want to win against me, you can't
want to get a lucky break while I'm catching my breath, because that
doesn't happen. You're not fighting me. You’re fighting your own broken will.
I heard what you said, every word.
You're rattled, shaken, you lost to someone you thought was a
joke. Well here's the punchline. I crack wise and talk sass precisely
for that reason. But now its more serious isn't it? The second time
around you're not coming into this full of yourself, expecting the guy
who smiles like a snake and laughs like a demon on crack to just roll
over for you. You're finally realizing what the humor is for. But is
it to late to use that?
Do you think the serpent laughed when Eve took the fig and gave it to
Adam? Of course. And he's laughing still. And now you've tasted it.
You were supremely confident before me. But how do you feel now? A
little vulnerable, a little naked, afraid of your new mortality? You've
eaten of knowledge, you've learned that things aren't what they seem.
But what do you do? (Dirge looks around wide eyed) How do you gain
what was lost, how do you reincorporate your shattered faith in yourself?
(His smile starts small and then creeps across his face)
We all know the answer. The only way back to grace is for someone to
pay for it. And the price is the same in any story, fable, myth, or
experience. (The camera zooms in on his mouth, and his glittering,
perfect teeth, hungry as always)
Blood.
It's always blood. And I'll make you pay. For your own good, I'll make
you pay. The question is, how soon will you get your grace back? During
our match, next match, later?
(his eyes narrow and focus on a point behind the camera)
Will this be the Passion, or will this be the Flood?
(he stretches his arms out and tilts his head to the side, looking up
slightly.)
The candle flickers brightly once, and then goes out.
END TRANSMISSION
View Dirge's Biography