{Seven suits. Seven individual minds. Seven different opinions. But for now these executives for Supreme are calm. And for once not at each other’s throats. They merely discuss business tonight.}
“But what about last month’s Pay Per View buy rates?”
“Very decent actually. Supreme is doing well, and making us a lot of money gentlemen.”
“Well if that’s all, meeting adou---“
{A young intern runs into the room, tie flapping. He holds in his hand an audio cassette tape.}
”Hey, you guys should take a listen to this.”
{The intern places the tape in a nearby stereo on the wall. The executives look confused as the tape begins}
“It gets cold in Kinsale. Even in the heat of the summer. Sometimes it seems like the seasons change only from fall to winter and back again. The leaves and grass only seem to grow, just so they might die. So Cold. Always cold. But not always the temperature, no. Oh, if it was only the weather that was cold. Instead of that feeling. That feeling that scratches at the pit of your stomach. It’s that feeling that you will never escape it no matter how hard you try. No matter how far you run. It's the thick grey fog that forms below the sky, preventing sunlight from penetrating into this abysmal hole I call home. It's in the voices of the people; droll, slow, cracking. It infests itself deep into the roots of everything it surrounds. The trees, the dead grass, everything its proximity encompasses. I know this, for I have lived here all my natural life. And I'm afraid that it too has left me cold. I feel no remorse for what I do. No sympathy for those I do it too. I fear not only that I am cold, but that the feeling has also left me quite mad. I've never done anything that I was convicted as a criminal for, but I assure to whoever hears this plea, that my hands are not clean. I have done....things. Ungodly acts. And although my mind has levied itself of remorse, I sometimes feel as if I should not walk the same streets of the sane.
Inside of each of us, there is a pit. A dark, dank festering fissure that swells. And in the normal mind, a sane man can control how far that wound opens. We all are insane down deep. Most of us can control exactly how mad we become, but sometimes there are people like myself. Sometimes there are people that just can’t help it. People who lose control and detonate like a ticking time bomb. There are those among us, who can silence the little pestering voice in our heads. The voice that tells us to kill, and maim and hurt. And luckily the major majority is able to do so. But sometimes in those same people like me, the voices get too loud. They begin to scream inside our brains, begging us to do their bidding. And those people, eventually, whether they want to or not, give in. And when our resistance wanes, they world must be ready for the unthinkable to happen. As I speak to you good citizens tonight, the voices grow deeper and louder inside the base of my skull and I fear that soon I will not be able to suppress them.
For a person like me, there is little hope. The best I can anticipate is that someday, I’ll do something so foul, that I’m locked away forever. But until that day, I must make my stand to fit in with the populace.
…louder they grow…the shrieking banshee cries will not subside….
Maybe in another life, I could have been someone. Maybe I could have been the hero that children admire. Perhaps I could have been the man that the women would have lusted after. And possibly, just maybe I could have been the man that my peers respected. But instead my miserable life has been plagued with misfortune after misfortune.
In my town, I’m aware of a few things. First of all, everyone in this wretched township looks down upon me. They scowl when I walk by. The children claim my stone house on the outskirts of the city is a haunted site where damned ghosts wish to prey upon them. No one here believes that I can accomplish anything in this life. And for the longest while, I believed them. I truly believed that I was destined to die alone in squalor. But now I see what I was meant to do with my curse.
I am totally and utterly insane. We can admit that. The doctors do not even have a scientific name for our condition.
….DAMN IT ALL TO HELL……the voices……they won’t leave me alone….
*clears throat*
There is only one way that I can make myself into something. There is only one way that I can fit into this society. If God has forsaken me as the fanatical beast that I am, then in front of the almighty himself, I’ll make this wicked enchantment benefit me.
When these voices become too loud, my hold on what’s right and wrong falters. I become a raving, mad lunatic. Modern science might call it chemical imbalances, but everyone around here calls it ‘The Hex.’ Whatever moniker you wish to place on it is fine, but as for me, I call it fuel. When it happens, ever ghastly incident that I have encountered, surfaces and boils. And that bakes my blood to dangerous degrees. And when we become a full fledged mad hatter of sorts, no man, woman, or god help, even child is safe. And after much consideration, there’s only one option that we have…
Supreme Wrestling. I have dreamed about mountains of gold; about the young red haired milk maid that captured my heart sometime ago; I have dreamed of fitting in. But no one dream is as sweet as knowing that I have found a place where I can unleash this raging monster inside me, let alone get paid for it.
I’m not here to become the hero I once desired to be. I didn’t even come to win all those coveted titles. We’re only here for one reason, and that is to silence these voices. So until next time Supreme, this is Silas Sage saying good night. And Sweet Dreams…..”
{The suits look baffled but intrigued. One of the suits stands and speaks sternly at the intern:}
“Get me this Silas Sage on the phone….”
The voices.....