Post by wblstudios on Apr 11, 2006 16:21:03 GMT -5
They say freak
When you're singled out
The red
It filters through
---
What a difference a month makes. From a broken down girl with a shot at hope to... nobody's really sure these days. Not even Ellis. Sometimes all it takes is one person... but for Ellis, it was two.
Fade in on what has to be Ellis' hotel room... beds unmade, television overturned, curtains torn down, a scene almost like a rock star's last gasp before leaving for another town. But apparently, Ellis was here to stay.
The bedside lights flicker, the only light illuminating any of the scene, and go off. After a couple of seconds, the lights are forced back on, and in the place of a beautiful silent nothing, a small, frail figure is seen facing away, kneeling down and facing the window staring out over Philadelphia, the city where the WCF based it's operations... kneeling, coughing, with one hand placed upon the glass... a hand that slowly slid down, not with the sound of flesh sliding against glass, but the sickening wet sound of blood smearing, leaving a trail that slowly slid downwards as the smearing hand came free, and the figure looked at it, stared at... admired it?
It wasn't until now that Ellis, the scarred, beaten, battered child of blood and hatred, even acknowledged the camera. She stood, calmly, but the second she tried to turn, she hunched over, breathing heavily, a thick cruel rasp that sent her slumping forward... never quite falling over, but seemingly dangerously close, almost like the zombie she claimed to be. That slumped, shambling figure of a 19 year old girl getting closer, and closer, scars more visible and defined, skin seeming paler, cold grey eyes still hidden by her hair, most of her face obscured. But the expression on her face is still clear...
Ellis: Before anything else, I want to get some personal business out of the way. Josephine, I don't appreciate what you said about me in the women's locker room. You should have listened to your little friend and left me alone. I didn't have anything against you. Now... well, keep your friends close, sweet Josephine. Very close.
Ellis: Now... on to this week's playdate. Ace, I'll tell you right now. I don't see you as a threat. You keep spouting out that stupid catchphrase, you keep hanging around with Jack, and I'll just be sitting in the darkness... like always... waiting...
Ellis: JJ Biggs... all I can say about you is that it'd probably be best if you didn't even show up this week. Because you did help me get my first ever Pay-Per-View win, I'm giving you an out on this one. Biggs... I don't play well with others.
The harsh, rapsy cough that seems to follow whatever this girl has become punctuates the evening as her bloody palm reaches offscreen, reaching for something as her gaze never leaves it's point, her free hand brushing away those strands of hair revealing a dead, tombstone-gray gaze.
Ellis: Jack... I swear, if I knew human contact was going to be so complicated, I'd have stayed at home, in the shadows of New Jersey. There's no question about this hate I feel towards you. The constant teasing, the jokes, all at my expense... taking away what was supposed to be one of my big nights, and Jack, I don't get big important nights too often. I led a team of assholes to victory over what people tell me, was one of the most dominant forces this company had ever seen. And nobody cares! Except you, Jack...
Ellis: This hatred I feel towards you... it's kind of tempered... because you, unwittingly... or maybe not... have helped me unleash what I've been trying to block out for years. Nobody has ever showed such an interest in me. So last week... I gave you that little present. I hope you enjoyed it Jack...
Her bloody palm emerges again, holding a small boxcutter and lifting it to her forehead, the point finding the mark it'd found so many times before... a small trickle coming down the bridge of her nose, riding cresting across her lips, and trickling a few drops down to an outstretched finger.
Ellis: ... because there's more where that came from.
The bloody finger reaches up and smears the field of vision, a streak of blood obscuring Ellis' slashed face as the lights flicker again, suddenly cutting out...
---
Seeing red again,
Seeing red again,
Seeing red again,
Seeing red....
~Ellis
---
Lyrics to "The Red" courtesy of Chevelle.
When you're singled out
The red
It filters through
---
What a difference a month makes. From a broken down girl with a shot at hope to... nobody's really sure these days. Not even Ellis. Sometimes all it takes is one person... but for Ellis, it was two.
Fade in on what has to be Ellis' hotel room... beds unmade, television overturned, curtains torn down, a scene almost like a rock star's last gasp before leaving for another town. But apparently, Ellis was here to stay.
The bedside lights flicker, the only light illuminating any of the scene, and go off. After a couple of seconds, the lights are forced back on, and in the place of a beautiful silent nothing, a small, frail figure is seen facing away, kneeling down and facing the window staring out over Philadelphia, the city where the WCF based it's operations... kneeling, coughing, with one hand placed upon the glass... a hand that slowly slid down, not with the sound of flesh sliding against glass, but the sickening wet sound of blood smearing, leaving a trail that slowly slid downwards as the smearing hand came free, and the figure looked at it, stared at... admired it?
It wasn't until now that Ellis, the scarred, beaten, battered child of blood and hatred, even acknowledged the camera. She stood, calmly, but the second she tried to turn, she hunched over, breathing heavily, a thick cruel rasp that sent her slumping forward... never quite falling over, but seemingly dangerously close, almost like the zombie she claimed to be. That slumped, shambling figure of a 19 year old girl getting closer, and closer, scars more visible and defined, skin seeming paler, cold grey eyes still hidden by her hair, most of her face obscured. But the expression on her face is still clear...
Ellis: Before anything else, I want to get some personal business out of the way. Josephine, I don't appreciate what you said about me in the women's locker room. You should have listened to your little friend and left me alone. I didn't have anything against you. Now... well, keep your friends close, sweet Josephine. Very close.
Ellis: Now... on to this week's playdate. Ace, I'll tell you right now. I don't see you as a threat. You keep spouting out that stupid catchphrase, you keep hanging around with Jack, and I'll just be sitting in the darkness... like always... waiting...
Ellis: JJ Biggs... all I can say about you is that it'd probably be best if you didn't even show up this week. Because you did help me get my first ever Pay-Per-View win, I'm giving you an out on this one. Biggs... I don't play well with others.
The harsh, rapsy cough that seems to follow whatever this girl has become punctuates the evening as her bloody palm reaches offscreen, reaching for something as her gaze never leaves it's point, her free hand brushing away those strands of hair revealing a dead, tombstone-gray gaze.
Ellis: Jack... I swear, if I knew human contact was going to be so complicated, I'd have stayed at home, in the shadows of New Jersey. There's no question about this hate I feel towards you. The constant teasing, the jokes, all at my expense... taking away what was supposed to be one of my big nights, and Jack, I don't get big important nights too often. I led a team of assholes to victory over what people tell me, was one of the most dominant forces this company had ever seen. And nobody cares! Except you, Jack...
Ellis: This hatred I feel towards you... it's kind of tempered... because you, unwittingly... or maybe not... have helped me unleash what I've been trying to block out for years. Nobody has ever showed such an interest in me. So last week... I gave you that little present. I hope you enjoyed it Jack...
Her bloody palm emerges again, holding a small boxcutter and lifting it to her forehead, the point finding the mark it'd found so many times before... a small trickle coming down the bridge of her nose, riding cresting across her lips, and trickling a few drops down to an outstretched finger.
Ellis: ... because there's more where that came from.
The bloody finger reaches up and smears the field of vision, a streak of blood obscuring Ellis' slashed face as the lights flicker again, suddenly cutting out...
---
Seeing red again,
Seeing red again,
Seeing red again,
Seeing red....
~Ellis
---
Lyrics to "The Red" courtesy of Chevelle.
