Post by Crow McMorris on May 10, 2019 22:46:40 GMT -5
The scene opens outside the WCF offices, a modest glass and steel structure situated beneath a cloudy Pennsylvanian night sky. Even during May this place feels cold and eerie as a plume of thick nicotine air is exhaled from a smoker’s mouth, the cloud casting a grey haze over an edifice of crumbling concrete brutalism that’s framed in the background. A moment later a voice, thick and raspy but laced with a measure of steely determination, speaks as the camera pulls back to finally reveal...
Crow
Let me give you all a piece of advice about death...
It’s been awhile but his laconic tones remain as resolute as ever as the camera pulls back to fully reveal the undead pariah. The first UCI world champion is dressed in a leather biker jacket, faded denim jeans and a Mogwai, “Drunk and Crazy” tee shirt as his six foot six frame leans lazily against a set of corroding metal railings, a rusting barricade that staggers around the perimeter of the federation’s isolated parking lot. Mac takes his time, finishes off his cigarette before stamping it out beneath his old faded cowboy boots.
Crow
...don’t fear it.
Crow reaches inside his jacket pocket and produces a metal zippo lighter, he flicks it on, his eyes focus on the fire as it dances before him, flames streaking left then right like a pendulum.
Crow
Embrace it. Learn from it. Because no matter the flame. No matter how bright the fire burns or for how long it will always be snuffed out. WCF has reached its terminus. The flame is about to die. Bonnie Blue, Kevin Bishop and I will celebrate its life the only way we know how. By burning bright ourselves in it’s honour so that when the dark finally arrives...
Click! The silver case is shut suddenly with a flick of the wrist.
Crow
It will be a peace that’s well earned. Sleep tight. Until the next time.
THE END.
Crow
Let me give you all a piece of advice about death...
It’s been awhile but his laconic tones remain as resolute as ever as the camera pulls back to fully reveal the undead pariah. The first UCI world champion is dressed in a leather biker jacket, faded denim jeans and a Mogwai, “Drunk and Crazy” tee shirt as his six foot six frame leans lazily against a set of corroding metal railings, a rusting barricade that staggers around the perimeter of the federation’s isolated parking lot. Mac takes his time, finishes off his cigarette before stamping it out beneath his old faded cowboy boots.
Crow
...don’t fear it.
Crow reaches inside his jacket pocket and produces a metal zippo lighter, he flicks it on, his eyes focus on the fire as it dances before him, flames streaking left then right like a pendulum.
Crow
Embrace it. Learn from it. Because no matter the flame. No matter how bright the fire burns or for how long it will always be snuffed out. WCF has reached its terminus. The flame is about to die. Bonnie Blue, Kevin Bishop and I will celebrate its life the only way we know how. By burning bright ourselves in it’s honour so that when the dark finally arrives...
Click! The silver case is shut suddenly with a flick of the wrist.
Crow
It will be a peace that’s well earned. Sleep tight. Until the next time.
THE END.
