| SAMPLE: In The Dark; London: In the Beginning | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 29 2012, 05:36 PM (167 Views) | |
| Thelonious London | Sep 29 2012, 05:36 PM Post #1 |
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The Home of Thelonious London. New Orleans, Louisiana 5/14/12 There is a sound. A faint sound, as faint as it can be, but a sound nonetheless. It lingers, dancing off in the distance, leading us forward, forward, forward into the house. Leading us in the direction we are meant to go. We follow this sound, a creaking, squeaky thing that grows louder as we pass the wooden threshold and travel in it's corridor. We keep following, going deeper into the home until finally we round a corner and find him, and the source of the noise. He sits in a rocking chair, and old wooden type, oak...hand carved. The room dimly lit, a candle flickering beside him, one that casts his shadow again the wall behind him. We barely have enough time to step into the room before he begins. My name is Thelonious London, and I when was a young boy, no older than the house my mother and father raised me in, I, like most kids still in the throws of their childhood, had an intimate, debilitating fear of the dark. Not just any dark mind you. No...no I mean the dark. The kid that only comes in the dead of night. The kind that’s blacker and stretches longer than the black you see when you close your eyes. The kind that envelops all sound until there’s nothing left for your ears to grab 'hold of except the their own incessant ringing. The sound of nothing, incarnate. “Mom! Momma!” I would scream, no sense of calm or reason about me. And sure enough my mother would come to my call, my hero, my protector. And with her she would bring light, so much light that it would hurt my eyes and blind me from all the bad things in the world. So bright it would wash over me, wrapping me in a rocking embrace until I fell back asleep, the sound of her voice singing the ways angles are supposed to sing...with love...with...sincerity. His chair still rocking, London looks off to the side, clearing his voice. What comes next is unexpected. A warm rumble of baritone. The sound of his chair squeaking keeping time. His voice just barely above a whisper now. I low quiver even... “IIIIIII have never loved someone the way I loooooove you IIIIII have never seen a smile like yooooours And if you grow up to be king, or clown, or paaaauuuuper IIIIIII will say you are my faaaaaavorite one in town...” Still rocking, his voice ebbs and flows before echoing out into nothing, dissipating into the air as he begins to speak again... And then, the next night would come, bringing with it a new darkness, a new fear, somehow darker than the night before it. Again, it would snatch 'hold of me, my eye's on the edge of slumber, the sand mans cruelest joke. And again, I would yell for her, my angel, to come and rescue me from the throws of darkness. And again, she would come, and with her the light would come, and with the light that voice that would drive out the ringing... With a pause, his rocking still steady, his voice once again fills with warmth as he begins his mothers song again. This time a bit louder, a bit stronger... “IIIIIII have never held a hand so soft and saaaaacreed When I hear you laugh I knooow heaven's key Aaaand when I grooooow to be a poppy in the graaaaaveyaaaard IIIIIII will send you all my loooove upon the breeeeeeze...” This pause here is longer, more longing filled, as if the memories flood him to the hilt and threaten to spill out. Collecting himself a bit, he continues... My father would never come into the dark to save me, a fact I never understood fully until I got older. A fact that never really concerned me as a boy. I needed him for a lot of things, to put over a roof over my head, to raise me into a man, to punish and care for me, but I didn't need him for this. I had my mother. I had an angel. I had a protector that was heaven sent, someone who could cast light at will and ease the worst of my worries Someone who could soothe my all my ails with a hug and kiss on my forehead. Someone who could rock me to sleep whilst singing... “aaaand iiiiif the breeze won't bloooooow your waaaaaaay, IIIIIII will be the suun Aaaaand iiiiif the sun wooon't shiine yooour waaaay, IIIIIII will beeeee the rain he lets the tail bit trail off, hushing himself, closing his eyes, lost neck up in his reminiscing. The boom of his voice echoing throughout the house. And if the raaain wooooon't waaaaaaaaash awaaaaaaay aaaaaaaall your aches and paaains IIIIIII will find sooome ooooootheeeeer waaaay to tell yoooouuu yoou're okay... yooouuuu're okay yoooouuu're okay yooouuuu're okay yoooooooouuuuuu're... With his eye's still closed, London brings his hands together in a clap and continues. Falling out of his song and into speaking normally again ...okay. Your...okay. And then, on a night that seemed darker than any I can readily remember, I awoke in the middle of the night, like I had so many times prior, and called for her, my angel, ready for her light to envelope me. Waiting for her arms to scoop me up and rock my back to dormancy. But my angel didn't come that night. His eyes still closed, London brings his rocking to a slow stop... I screamed louder, I yelled harder, I bellowed until my lungs hurt and tears scorched down my face. But still, she didn't come. I was alone. Alone in the most evilest of places, surrounded by a darkness the pierced my being, that taunted me unmercifully. All I could do at first was crawl into a ball and wait. I could only hope that she'd come for me. And then, in a fit of desperation and despair, my throat hoarse and my lungs tired. I decided that she wasn't coming..that my angel had abandoned me. That the darkness had won... Unclasping his hands, London sinks lower into the rocking chair. The sound of nothing beginning to ring in his ears... It's in those moments that you find out what you're mad of. It doesn’t matter if you five or fifty, the way you react when all seems lost is one of the most important things in the world. Too often when we are placed in situations that aren't to our liking, that is difficult, that isn't tailored to suit or sensibilities, we run. We run, not realizing that the greatest triumphs in life come when we stand our ground, when we take those ill-fitting situations and adapt to them...conquer them. Finally, London opens his eyes to the world once more before taking them skyward to the ceiling... I can't tell you when it clicked, I can't tell you what drove me to swing my legs over and hope down from my bed. I can't tell you how many slow, pensive steps it took, or when fear gave way to determination...to anger...but I can tell you that when I flipped the switch on my wall and made my own light for the first time in my life, seeing that the thing I had been so afraid of was nothing...that it held nothing...I felt so much power. I felt so much...relief. The morning after I walk down into my kitchen, my mother just finishing up preparing breakfast, my father sitting at the table, reading Sunday comics. I had half a mind to tell both of them off. I don't know what I would've said to them at that age, standing in my batman pajamas, but I felt the need to say something. I was just about ready when my mother, smiling a smile that only she could, her voice just as angelic as it had been all those times before, nodded and said... "You're okay." Finally, his eyes drop, accompanied by a smile of sorts... I tell you this, because for far too long FTW has been shaken by the threat of darkness. For far too long FTW has waited for someone, or someones, to save it from the black. For far too long, FTW has wanted and angel to come down and sing her a song, to wrap her up in her arms rock away all the evils that plague her so she can drift back into her slumber. For far to long Eden Black has promised to bring a reign of darkness to this place, to bring down all around her, to envelope us in a black darker than the legacy of her last name and some, a silly few, would say she's succeed. Some would say that FTW is as dark a place that it can ever be. Some would say Eden black is the monster she says she is...but I know better. I know better, because I see what Eden Black really is. I see the duality in her. I see the frailty in her. I see it, and if you need proof look no further than her recent actions. They speak more ill of her than I ever could... This is a woman who has hurt so many. Tarnished the pride and legacy of the title she holds by carving her name into it. This is a woman who brags about killing "gods" and "hero's", who hit Dan Hayter with a car, who stabbed Brandon Banks through the hand with a spike, and who, in general, lives to make life as hellish as possible for everyone...and yet, when placed in a situation that wasn't to her liking, that was difficult, that wasn't tailored to suit her sensibilities, when her brother smartened up and left for a life that Eden couldn't ruin, she ran. She ran into the arms of...Miss Mina. Miss Mina, someone who stood...or at least used to stand... for everything she wasn't. Someone whose sole duty was to spread happiness and fun times to all. Someone whose "bestie" has clashed with her family so many times It's gotten boring....I guess loyalty is a luxury when all you care about is taking adventures...and winning titles. With a chuckle, London takes to rocking back and forth once more. She has fooled you all. She, less than Mina, but still, all the same. She has managed to pull off the greatest of magic tricks. She has made you believe that the devil exists, and that it's face is her own. She has cultivated this "darkness" out of thin air, out of fallacies, and been allowed to thrive there. She has told you your heroes are dead, that Gods can bleed, and that darkness is infinite but... ...I want you to know that you're okay. I want you to know that there is no darkness, at least not the one she promises. I want you to know that all you have to do is create your own light, if you want too. I want you to know that real monsters you should be afraid of are not hiding in the dark, promising to do you harm. The real monsters, the one's you should worry about, are standing before you now, clutching the Tag Team Championships. I want you to understand that if you really think you need to be saved, you can only save yourself. His rocking steady, just as before, London takes the point to give his eyes directly. His gaze unwavering... And personally? I want you, Eden, to know that I mean not to be a savior. You've painted so many with that brush before, so I feel it only right to stop you if you're so inclined to try again. I am no hero, I'm certainly no god. I am just a man. I'm just a man capable of doing horrible things and being more than able to live with those horrible things. I'm just a man who is prepared to do horrible things to you if need be to reach the respect I deserve. Whether that means hurting you some, or even dampening the ever-so-vibrant colors of Miss Mina to get my way, I don't care. I'll do both with a smile if I have to. Nick and myself know that respect is not given, but earned, and we intend to earn your respect in the most brutal of ways. We intend to take everything from you and watch as you squirm, struggling to stop us. You are ill equipped to handle us. The "Pink and Black Compact" will be left purple and blue, your ego's only one of the parts of you that will be bruised. And when I am done, when I and Nick are done, I'm sure Miss Mina will be there to comfort you. I'm sure she'll be there to wrap you up in her arms. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to be your angel, your protector, and rock you back into comfort. I'm sure she'll be there to tell you you're okay.... Still rocking, the sqeaking growing louder, London again starts to sing... yooouuuu're okay ...the confidence in his voice growing, no fear to be found... yoooouuu're okay ...his rocking slowing to a stop, his voice growing to a boom... yooouuuu're okay ...the warmth in his voice there, the sound of sincerity. The sound of doubt undoubtedly absent... yoooooooouuuuuu're... ...still rocking, London falls silent once more, bringing his hands up to his mouth, a chuckle escaping his lips as his rocking chair fills the air with its squeak, which mixes with the echo already there as he takes to humming the rest of his mothers song aloud, his eyes closed, a look of calm...of ease on his face. The candle still burning... fade |
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10:49 AM Jul 11