Post by Torture on Aug 22, 2006 3:56:52 GMT -5
- He closes the door behind. We pan around the area. We see a huge window facing the street. A fireplace filled up with a huge stack of newspaper. One couch with no pillows, and a LAz33 Boy rocking chair with ripped up arms, and the handle broken off. Torture looks around the place. He takes it all in.
- No one really knows this, but Torture used to grow up here. You've never seen the house, because Torture left before he was a wrestler. He left more than ten years ago. When he was eleven years old. He left his home at such a young age because... well... wait..
- Torture takes the deepest breath he had in, and let's it all out. He walks by the couch and grazes it with his left hand. He turns and looks into the kitchen. A oven-top Stove sits a foot from the wall as if it was moved. The cupboard doors are open above it, and the kitchen sink is filled to the brim with dishes. The refigerator door is open, but nothing is in it. It's not even plugged it. Whoever was living here last, didn't even use it. Hmm. A kitchen table with three chairs around it still stands though. Perfect as ever.
Torture: So many memories.
- Torture leaves the kitchen and walks around the corner into the hallway. He opens the door, and his face turns to a face we've never seen before. His eyes light up. His body starts to shake. His fingers trembling, and losing feeling. His legs start to feel like a huge pot of boiling Top Ramen Noodles. The World Title that has been on his shoulder the entire time, slips off his shoulder to his forearm, and to the ground. Nothing seems to phase him right now.
- Now about the story earlier. I was telling you that Torture left his house at such a young age because he felt his house was falling apart, not just the house, but the home inside it. His Mother died in 1995 with some personal problems in her brain. See, she was addicted to horrible things that made her feel better, when all they did was crumble her on the inside. His Father? Tortures Dad was the highest, above all, human being in The One and Only's life. He was praised, no matter what he would do or talk about. He taught Torture Sports, Entertainment, Movies. Sex and Life. Everything a Father should teach, Tortures Dad did. However, in early 1996 his Dad was laid-off from his 100,000 a year job at Office-Tek with the over powering labor unions, and the Dot Com craze. He never recovered and picked up a habit that comes in a square looking bottle. Torture left mid 1996 when he turned eleven years old. Knowing his Father wasn't going to get better, Torture knew he didn't want his image of his Father to change. Torture was tracked down by a lawyer in August of that same year. Torture was in Irwindale, California that day when he heard, via phone, his dad was already buried in the Modesto Graveyard next to his Mother. From that day forward, Torture put his parents behind him. He visited once in late 2000, but since then, he's been in and out of Modesto, mostly for quick bites, or passing through. So now that you know the story, it's only fitting to tell you, this is the first time Tortures' seen his house since June of 1996.
- He looks around the room, as the camera pans around as well. Torture walks over to a shelf on one side of the wall. He notices and touches a few items as he speaks. His fingers wipe away the dust..
Torture: My Little League Baseball trophy. As I was hitting homeruns, I wasn't even thinking about beating Epic, or Vidneo. Oh! My plaque for Youth Basketball. When I was presented with this, I wasn't even dreaming of ever beating PC Cradle, Gonz0, Dark blasphemy or Death.
- Torture walks to another wall. He notices the old Boombox set. He presses the tape deck. It opens slowly, and inside lies a tape. He pulls it out. "Force That Binds" is read. Torture smiles and leaves the tape on the dresser. Torture opens up the top drawer and pulls out a few boxer shorts. Small boxer shorts. He, again, smiles to himself.
- The One and Only looks at the other wall. Up against it? A small bed. The blanket covers it and one single pillow at the head of it. The bed is made, and it's in the same condition from when Torture left it the day he left. Torture slowly sits down on the bed, remembering everything about his bedroom. He takes a deep breath in. He slowly lets it out, going through every single flashback, and memory inside his head. Torture lays back on his bead, looking towards the ceiling.
Torture: I remember laying here looking up day dreaming about what my life would be like. Never did I ever dream about beating the likes of X-Rated, Fugitive, Outcast and Hellz Angel. Never did I think I would beat Mike Maida, or become the longest reigning Hardcore Champion. The same belt that was around my waist when I was putting wrestlers, you had trouble with for the World Title, on the shelf. Your the first this and that, and yes I know you've won a War Match. But see, I was laying here thinking about all the money I could make when I was a child, just wanting to get up out this place. Now, I'm laying here, and all I could think about was a bunch of unmeaningful matches you took place in. Talk about Cyrus the Virus, and Rick Mad? I pinned their backs to the mats before too. See Logan? I've done just as much as you have. You talk a lot Logan. You say you're not just another victim like the rest, that you are infact, my hardest test. However, you fail to see one thing, Logan. I'm not like the others. I'm not anyone you've ever defeated. I'm Torture, and i'm the real number two wrestler in the world. And laying here right now, I still can't even day dream about being the Number One wrestler, let alone being the Wrestling Championship Federation Heavyweight Champion.
- Torture sits up slowly, he grabs the Title belt that is laying on the floor. He puts it back on his shoulder. Torture stands up off of his bed and notices a pair of shoes on the floor near the bedroom closet. He picks them up. He deeply stares at them. He walks out of the bedroom, and back through the living room. He opens the front door. He takes one last look at the living room full of dust, and memories. He slowly closes the door. He takes his hand off the doorknob and puts it up against the door. He slides his hand off. He turns around to see Steve still standing on the sidewalk. He walks over to him.
Steve: The shoes sir?
Torture: Yeah.. I found them in my Bedroom.
Steve: Find anything worth keeping, other than the shoes, sir?
Torture: Yup... Soul. Found... my soul.
- Steve opens the back door to the Limo. Torture looks back one last time and steps inside. He sits down, as the door is shut. Steve walks to the front of the limo and gets in. He makes a u-turn and is heading back towards the freeway.
Steve: One phone call, from Helen.
Torture: Helen? Who?
Steve: The Real Estate Agent from L.A.
Torture: Oh yes. We're going back there anyway. We'll call her later tonight, or tomorrow morning.
Steve: Copy that.
- The limo hits the on ramp to the freeway, heading back to Los Angeles. Torture stares at this one pair of shoes. Just keeps staring. His eyes don't even blink. The scene slowly fades out
- No one really knows this, but Torture used to grow up here. You've never seen the house, because Torture left before he was a wrestler. He left more than ten years ago. When he was eleven years old. He left his home at such a young age because... well... wait..
- Torture takes the deepest breath he had in, and let's it all out. He walks by the couch and grazes it with his left hand. He turns and looks into the kitchen. A oven-top Stove sits a foot from the wall as if it was moved. The cupboard doors are open above it, and the kitchen sink is filled to the brim with dishes. The refigerator door is open, but nothing is in it. It's not even plugged it. Whoever was living here last, didn't even use it. Hmm. A kitchen table with three chairs around it still stands though. Perfect as ever.
Torture: So many memories.
- Torture leaves the kitchen and walks around the corner into the hallway. He opens the door, and his face turns to a face we've never seen before. His eyes light up. His body starts to shake. His fingers trembling, and losing feeling. His legs start to feel like a huge pot of boiling Top Ramen Noodles. The World Title that has been on his shoulder the entire time, slips off his shoulder to his forearm, and to the ground. Nothing seems to phase him right now.
- Now about the story earlier. I was telling you that Torture left his house at such a young age because he felt his house was falling apart, not just the house, but the home inside it. His Mother died in 1995 with some personal problems in her brain. See, she was addicted to horrible things that made her feel better, when all they did was crumble her on the inside. His Father? Tortures Dad was the highest, above all, human being in The One and Only's life. He was praised, no matter what he would do or talk about. He taught Torture Sports, Entertainment, Movies. Sex and Life. Everything a Father should teach, Tortures Dad did. However, in early 1996 his Dad was laid-off from his 100,000 a year job at Office-Tek with the over powering labor unions, and the Dot Com craze. He never recovered and picked up a habit that comes in a square looking bottle. Torture left mid 1996 when he turned eleven years old. Knowing his Father wasn't going to get better, Torture knew he didn't want his image of his Father to change. Torture was tracked down by a lawyer in August of that same year. Torture was in Irwindale, California that day when he heard, via phone, his dad was already buried in the Modesto Graveyard next to his Mother. From that day forward, Torture put his parents behind him. He visited once in late 2000, but since then, he's been in and out of Modesto, mostly for quick bites, or passing through. So now that you know the story, it's only fitting to tell you, this is the first time Tortures' seen his house since June of 1996.
- He looks around the room, as the camera pans around as well. Torture walks over to a shelf on one side of the wall. He notices and touches a few items as he speaks. His fingers wipe away the dust..
Torture: My Little League Baseball trophy. As I was hitting homeruns, I wasn't even thinking about beating Epic, or Vidneo. Oh! My plaque for Youth Basketball. When I was presented with this, I wasn't even dreaming of ever beating PC Cradle, Gonz0, Dark blasphemy or Death.
- Torture walks to another wall. He notices the old Boombox set. He presses the tape deck. It opens slowly, and inside lies a tape. He pulls it out. "Force That Binds" is read. Torture smiles and leaves the tape on the dresser. Torture opens up the top drawer and pulls out a few boxer shorts. Small boxer shorts. He, again, smiles to himself.
- The One and Only looks at the other wall. Up against it? A small bed. The blanket covers it and one single pillow at the head of it. The bed is made, and it's in the same condition from when Torture left it the day he left. Torture slowly sits down on the bed, remembering everything about his bedroom. He takes a deep breath in. He slowly lets it out, going through every single flashback, and memory inside his head. Torture lays back on his bead, looking towards the ceiling.
Torture: I remember laying here looking up day dreaming about what my life would be like. Never did I ever dream about beating the likes of X-Rated, Fugitive, Outcast and Hellz Angel. Never did I think I would beat Mike Maida, or become the longest reigning Hardcore Champion. The same belt that was around my waist when I was putting wrestlers, you had trouble with for the World Title, on the shelf. Your the first this and that, and yes I know you've won a War Match. But see, I was laying here thinking about all the money I could make when I was a child, just wanting to get up out this place. Now, I'm laying here, and all I could think about was a bunch of unmeaningful matches you took place in. Talk about Cyrus the Virus, and Rick Mad? I pinned their backs to the mats before too. See Logan? I've done just as much as you have. You talk a lot Logan. You say you're not just another victim like the rest, that you are infact, my hardest test. However, you fail to see one thing, Logan. I'm not like the others. I'm not anyone you've ever defeated. I'm Torture, and i'm the real number two wrestler in the world. And laying here right now, I still can't even day dream about being the Number One wrestler, let alone being the Wrestling Championship Federation Heavyweight Champion.
- Torture sits up slowly, he grabs the Title belt that is laying on the floor. He puts it back on his shoulder. Torture stands up off of his bed and notices a pair of shoes on the floor near the bedroom closet. He picks them up. He deeply stares at them. He walks out of the bedroom, and back through the living room. He opens the front door. He takes one last look at the living room full of dust, and memories. He slowly closes the door. He takes his hand off the doorknob and puts it up against the door. He slides his hand off. He turns around to see Steve still standing on the sidewalk. He walks over to him.
Steve: The shoes sir?
Torture: Yeah.. I found them in my Bedroom.
Steve: Find anything worth keeping, other than the shoes, sir?
Torture: Yup... Soul. Found... my soul.
- Steve opens the back door to the Limo. Torture looks back one last time and steps inside. He sits down, as the door is shut. Steve walks to the front of the limo and gets in. He makes a u-turn and is heading back towards the freeway.
Steve: One phone call, from Helen.
Torture: Helen? Who?
Steve: The Real Estate Agent from L.A.
Torture: Oh yes. We're going back there anyway. We'll call her later tonight, or tomorrow morning.
Steve: Copy that.
- The limo hits the on ramp to the freeway, heading back to Los Angeles. Torture stares at this one pair of shoes. Just keeps staring. His eyes don't even blink. The scene slowly fades out
