Post by deangelo on Mar 7, 2009 18:09:52 GMT -5
Dec 26 2008, 09:47 PM
"Backstage sources tell us that GWC superstar, DeAngelo Williams, received terrible news of a death in the family. Willy Williams, De's son, was found dead near a local pond. This explains the lack of focus in his work ethic, and the quietness of his promo abilities. Williams made a phone call this morning, asking for his release.
It seems retirement is a possibility, but not yet a certainty."
Feb 26 2009, 1:08 PM
"Former GWC wrester, DeAngelo Williams, has gone missing. Upon escaping the Rehabilitation Institute of St. Louis, no doctor, family member, or friend has made any contact with him. This is certainly a dangerous situation, as Mr. Williams was showing major depression symptoms before his leave.
We will keep you updated."
Feb 27 2009, 2:15 AM
"DeAngelo Williams has been found unconscious in an alleyway, and is now rumored to be in critical condition at St. John's Mercy Medical Center. We reached officer John O'Dell for more information. "It was a sickening sight to see. Deep gashes were spread across his flesh, in all areas. There is also large knot on his forehead. When he was first found, he was presumed dead."
This is a sad sight indeed. The once energetic DeAngelo Williams has fallen upon hard times, and doesn't appear to be on stable conditions."
'Wh.... Why am I here?'
The town hospital is soon aflutter. Nurses and doctors, dashing and yelling, all in united cause.
'Mr. Williams! Mr. Williams!!'
The damaged man almost falls through the sliding doors barely regaining his balance in time to stop himself from crashing face first onto the concrete. A staggered step takes him to a railing to hold his weight as a nurse finds his side.
'You cannot leave here tonight, no, not tonight. Your injuries are far too bad. Who will care for you on the cold streets?'
Forcing his eyes to focus, Mr. Williams stares into space, surely not helping his case.
'I'll be fine... I am fine.'
All he proves is that words can betray truth.
'I can not let you leave.'
Williams raises up a hand to push her away, only to find that it holds a pen. Perplexed, he looks at it. He quickly finds that it stores a memory.
'No, but... but you must. I signed the papers. I can walk.'
'Barely.'
Shrugging, he drops the little bit of freedom encased in blue plastic.
The nurse backs away and Williams stumbles down the stairs, the railing propping up his pride. His body screams to be clutched, held, to try and absorb the pain, but he refuses to cater. His skull and neck throb, as streaks of blood appear in the white gauze that wraps around his lower back. Still, he ignores it. With every step he takes, he rectifies his limp. By the hospital entrance, he manages to appear sturdy. From the doorway, the nurse shoots him a smile. She appreciates a good show.
Soon, Williams rounds a corner. Safe from view, he almost collapses. Palm against brick, his body pleads to feel the cold concrete. He refuses to fall. Even if he wants to, he will have trouble finding the ground; his senses being blinded by the ocean his mind swims in. He coughs and blood paints the sidewalk.
Perhaps on instinct, he reaches into a pocket and draws a pack of cigarettes. Placing one in his mouth, he hopes that this burn would cancel out the inferno raging throughout his insides. Lighting it up and breathing in, his idealism is shattered. More blood appears along with the expected coughing fit, marring his lips and his black shirt. Tossing the smoke to the side, he pushes himself down the street, willing his body to lie and whisper 'All is well'.
Continuing onward, realization sets in as the pain becomes near unbearable. He has managed to get away from the people, yet at what cost? His facade will not last all night. The burn is returning, cracking apart his little lies of stupid self-preservation. The bandaging around his neck is soaking through; the crimson almost blending in perfectly with the pitch of his collar.
Ducking down an alleyway, Williams slides out his phone and dials a number out of habit.
His voice quickly appears.
'De! What the fuck is happening to you?!'
'I don't have to explain myself to you Zak...'
'Hey, I'm your pal. I'm just looking out for your safety. You can talk to me man. You know that.'
'Look, I didn't call to chit chat. You still got Corey Black's number?'
'.....Well, yeah, but I don-'
'Tell him I'll be there.'
Click.
Dial tone.
Fade.
"Backstage sources tell us that GWC superstar, DeAngelo Williams, received terrible news of a death in the family. Willy Williams, De's son, was found dead near a local pond. This explains the lack of focus in his work ethic, and the quietness of his promo abilities. Williams made a phone call this morning, asking for his release.
It seems retirement is a possibility, but not yet a certainty."
Feb 26 2009, 1:08 PM
"Former GWC wrester, DeAngelo Williams, has gone missing. Upon escaping the Rehabilitation Institute of St. Louis, no doctor, family member, or friend has made any contact with him. This is certainly a dangerous situation, as Mr. Williams was showing major depression symptoms before his leave.
We will keep you updated."
Feb 27 2009, 2:15 AM
"DeAngelo Williams has been found unconscious in an alleyway, and is now rumored to be in critical condition at St. John's Mercy Medical Center. We reached officer John O'Dell for more information. "It was a sickening sight to see. Deep gashes were spread across his flesh, in all areas. There is also large knot on his forehead. When he was first found, he was presumed dead."
This is a sad sight indeed. The once energetic DeAngelo Williams has fallen upon hard times, and doesn't appear to be on stable conditions."
'Wh.... Why am I here?'
The town hospital is soon aflutter. Nurses and doctors, dashing and yelling, all in united cause.
'Mr. Williams! Mr. Williams!!'
The damaged man almost falls through the sliding doors barely regaining his balance in time to stop himself from crashing face first onto the concrete. A staggered step takes him to a railing to hold his weight as a nurse finds his side.
'You cannot leave here tonight, no, not tonight. Your injuries are far too bad. Who will care for you on the cold streets?'
Forcing his eyes to focus, Mr. Williams stares into space, surely not helping his case.
'I'll be fine... I am fine.'
All he proves is that words can betray truth.
'I can not let you leave.'
Williams raises up a hand to push her away, only to find that it holds a pen. Perplexed, he looks at it. He quickly finds that it stores a memory.
'No, but... but you must. I signed the papers. I can walk.'
'Barely.'
Shrugging, he drops the little bit of freedom encased in blue plastic.
The nurse backs away and Williams stumbles down the stairs, the railing propping up his pride. His body screams to be clutched, held, to try and absorb the pain, but he refuses to cater. His skull and neck throb, as streaks of blood appear in the white gauze that wraps around his lower back. Still, he ignores it. With every step he takes, he rectifies his limp. By the hospital entrance, he manages to appear sturdy. From the doorway, the nurse shoots him a smile. She appreciates a good show.
Soon, Williams rounds a corner. Safe from view, he almost collapses. Palm against brick, his body pleads to feel the cold concrete. He refuses to fall. Even if he wants to, he will have trouble finding the ground; his senses being blinded by the ocean his mind swims in. He coughs and blood paints the sidewalk.
Perhaps on instinct, he reaches into a pocket and draws a pack of cigarettes. Placing one in his mouth, he hopes that this burn would cancel out the inferno raging throughout his insides. Lighting it up and breathing in, his idealism is shattered. More blood appears along with the expected coughing fit, marring his lips and his black shirt. Tossing the smoke to the side, he pushes himself down the street, willing his body to lie and whisper 'All is well'.
Continuing onward, realization sets in as the pain becomes near unbearable. He has managed to get away from the people, yet at what cost? His facade will not last all night. The burn is returning, cracking apart his little lies of stupid self-preservation. The bandaging around his neck is soaking through; the crimson almost blending in perfectly with the pitch of his collar.
Ducking down an alleyway, Williams slides out his phone and dials a number out of habit.
His voice quickly appears.
'De! What the fuck is happening to you?!'
'I don't have to explain myself to you Zak...'
'Hey, I'm your pal. I'm just looking out for your safety. You can talk to me man. You know that.'
'Look, I didn't call to chit chat. You still got Corey Black's number?'
'.....Well, yeah, but I don-'
'Tell him I'll be there.'
Click.
Dial tone.
Fade.
