Post by Logan on Jun 3, 2009 22:05:13 GMT -5
Fortune
[/center]Fortune. Fortune. Why and who? Fortune. Fortune. You'll hear the truth. Fortune. Fortune. Wait and see. Fortune. Fortune. You'd never believe...
Ms. Gumbo: You have four children, correct, Ms. Smith?
Ms. Smith: Yes, I do. Dake, Logan, Ryan, and...
Ms. Gumbo: And..?
Ms. Smith: Reaper.
Ms. Gumbo: The youngest?
Ms. Smith: Yes.
Ms. Gumbo: Deceased?
Ms. Smith: ...Yes.
Ms. Gumbo: Don't you a worry, Ms. Smith, he's with us spiritually.
Ms. Smith: They killed him.
Ms. Gumbo: Your children?
Ms. Smith: They're evil..
Ms. Gumbo: Ms. Smith?
Ms. Smith: Satan's birth children.
Catherine Smith. Raped at age seventeen, impregnated by Chuck Lapton, a serial win'ist. The name of her kids father will forever haunt her, forever driving her to the point of absolute madness. Before giving up all hope, before slamming the barks on a car of kids destined to take a ride in the swamp, before coming to a fortune teller for answers, her life was simple. Catherine Smith. The average teen. One with inspiring hopes and dreams to some day take a shot on an acting career. Her charisma and ambition were unmatched by school peers, well ahead of her years, ready to dive into the big ocean of life. A perfect smile always on her face. Americas true girl. The sweet apples and fruits of life went rotten from rough penetrating interference of..
Chuck Lapton. On the edge to commit suicide, not because he hated life, he had too much of it. It was his own self loathing of conquering all and believing himself to be ahead of everyone else that drove his conscious to picture leaping off of bridges and tearing flesh with sharp razors. Chuck Lapton. A man who wanted to die not for the benefit of others, not for the benefit of himself, just to do it.. just to be the one who did, and he would, he would succeed, he would win. A goal of suicide however isn't always at the top of the list, Chuck had other endeavors to for full, and raping a perfect stranger came before suicide. After the brutal incident between Ms. Smith and Chuck Lapton, Chuck went on to accomplish his true goal, Catherine was left with no justice for the man who spawn her evil litter had won. Chuck Lapton. The one and only.
He wasn't entirely forgotten, four children left behind in his terrifying memory. Dake, Logan, Ryan, and Tank. His seed. His DNA. His blood.
Dake. The oldest by one minute, and oh.. was that really shown. At an early age he spent his childhood exploring the realms of flexibility, he realized his legs were much of a weapon as an M16 machine gun. His shin developed an hardness to it from constant tree kicking, a more softer practice could've been used, such as a sand bag dummy, but Dake refused. For him, life had to be hard or it wasn't worth living. Real shades of his father when it came to achieving a goal, unfortunately, that motivation would be lost down the road, but, growing up it was strong and furious. The solid wood of trees becoming too 'pussy' for his legs drove his practice to more brutal measures, Catherine Smith, his own mother. Every morning after waking for breakfast, Dake would pummel his mother in the kitchen with furious kicks, a routine that came ritually, a routine that he dubbed.. 'The Bitch Kick'.
Logan. The next potato to be thrown out of the oven, the first one of the litter to speak, which, came during a session of breast feeding when he mistaken his mothers milk producer for a 'boudle'. Just as his father, he wanted to be ahead of everyone, he had to be the first one to leap over a dangerous hole, the first one to eat, the first one to use the shower, for in his own right, he was number one. It's better off he never knew his father, their identical life motivations would butt heads.
Ryan. His first toy in life differed from the pack, he became fluent in cell phone texting before learning how to actually speak. Cartoons were discussed with ages of his type who were thrown into their generation of 'texting', 'pwning', a society born to hate another person without actually meeting them in person. When it came to chores he'd hermit in his room, hide under the blankets and claim an heated debate he'd tune into via cell phone was far too important for a fresh breath outside. Ryan. The fastest thumbs in all of America.
Tank. The last spawn of Chuck Lapton, the one who found his mothers womb more comforting than the others. Unlike his brothers who didn't hit puberty till around the normal age of twelve, he had forearms and shoulders during diaper rash days. The only one of the bunch who was sexually attracted during breast feeding. Often, he'd take after his brothers abusive mother treating ways, Dake, and lift her over his head. His real idol came from his favorite cartoon, the Flintstones, 'BAM BAM' and himself shared a similar ability in strength. It wasn't till he really met the one who'd draw his life into it's destined direction, Corey. They met at a very young age, hit it off real well, exchanging metal CD's and such during weekends or after school hours. His friend, Corey, suggested that he amplify his strength even more, and that's when his friend, Corey, introduced Tank to steroids.
Ms. Gumbo: Sons of Satan?
Ms. Smith: The devil who raped me--
Ms. Gumbo: I see! Only to please his ego.
Ms. Smith: He's dead now. And I'm afraid his children will grow into the man he once was.
Ms. Gumbo: Don't worry. Your child's father will not influence him.
Ms. Smith: Him? Which one?
Ms. Gumbo: The one who'll be noticed among them, the one who'll see the light--
Catherine Smith needed time to take it in, the fortune teller uncovered the truth. The pieces of the puzzle connected. At the time of her sons death, Tank, the one who never mattered in the eyes of his siblings, the son who was believed to be murdered by the litter of Chuck Lapton. However, despite evidence pointing to a steroid overdose, Ms. Smith always firmly believed all of her sons had a hand in the last day of Tanks life, to her knowledge that is. One of her sons among the three that supposedly was last seen with Tank wasn't actually last seen with Tank, her memory recoiled back like a snake when she remembered that specific son skipping out on during the midst of that tragic day at the park. That specific son whom was the first to speak among them, that specific son who turned his head during the 'Bitch Kick' routine, that specific son that wouldn't continue the terror his father had, that specific son.. made her smile.
Ms. Gumbo: ---the one who'll rise against, the one who'll burn the wool off the sheepish eyes, your son, Logan.
Liberty
Liberty! Liberty! Your effort almost counts. Liberty! Liberty! It'll be robbed. Liberty! Liberty! Should be amongst us. Liberty! Liberty! It's worth the fight. Liberty! Liberty!
Journal Entry 6/03/2009
"Every nation, residence, rat hole, all share something in common, the community of these places could easily just all hang their heads and give up to the one standing on their frontier waving the flag that represents them. One place, among many, has done this. The Wrestling Championship Federation is one of them. Just like any other place one will hold the key, the advantage over all, he will be the dictator, a powerful presence, politically, the one everyone will hopeless fall upon and follow. They're not going to realize what/how/why it happened, they'll just know, that this carnation, the one they spend their time in, is politically worked. It didn't happen over night, a number of things brought it on up to the point to now instead of people speaking their minds about something that's misplaced, they just turn heads. A realm that's become hypnotized, naturally. Not on purpose. It's just happened. This isn't the place I grew up in, it's what it's become, but not what grew up in. If I, or anyone for that matter has an ounce of love for this place then you'll know what has to be done. They'll know.. eventually. I owe this to myself. I must liberate WCF."