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**12-29-2016, 12:56 AM**

Scorn | ThE WiTcH DoCtOr
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Distraught desperate hotheads pretend,
They are brave warriors that fend,
For the glory left to claim within,
Relinquishing futures to feel whole again.

Yet the maniacal bloodthirsty men,
Stuck in blistering of severe pathogens,
Settle their ruinous acute outrage when,
Patterns repeat vehement ungovernable trends.

Joshua sold off everything to go far,
For victory in spite of winning marred,
Beating a berserk named Kid Kool,
Is hysterically impetuous but the DoCtOr will do.

Prelude |

Listen, there it is! Bountiful shames to assist your desperate need to live. Be clear, be just, as the willows bend from the weight of every losing gust. The "Kool" breeze blows through mountain tops, and valleys; echos against high peaks, then moans in low cavern depths of feet. It kisses the wind and trees, a brisk venture through the forest, beyond the leaves. Yet, there is one place the breeze can never reach. So dark that it wouldn't know in which direction to breathe. It could be a hut in the middle of that forest. Or at the doorstep of something more than a man that refuses its gentle breath. Maybe the breeze gets scared... when it runs a little too close to death.

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Scene |

Tall grass tumbles to its side from the force of the wind. Crows caw and fly off with a twinge, trying to find a new place to sit and scavenge. In the field, a brown hay filled scarecrow sits on its crucifix. Jerked by the weather but tethered by rope for eternal torment. The rope isn't as strong as it once was. Storms, crows, and furry creatures have gnawed it to mere stringy more than tough. The scarecrow's eyes, beady and lifeless, see a gust pull and tug one final time. Snap. Freely floating in the stream of violence. Pinned to the side of a red barn, then torn into pieces and flung into where ever. From a farmhouse rooftop in the distance, Bear Braddock stands with binoculars, watching the scarecrow get dissolved.

The "Kool" breeze was never the fun majestic wash to a happily ever after. Because mother nature doesn't blow like an animated tale from Disney. Real wind is fierce, unapologetic, and doesn't forget your name. It howls it in the night, whispers it during the day, and every so often, when things are unstable and lightening strikes... it moans your name in the face of destruction. The elements... they speak to all that you are... can you hear it? Don't worry. I can. I'll deliver its message at Savage.

The face of Braddock comes into view, much more deformed than ever before. A breathing apparatus accompanies his tied together smile. He looks back out through the binoculars at the remains of the scarecrow left in a pile.

Possessing Joshua, and his eventual escape has taken its toll. Once fierce and strong... now I must rely on my senses as matches unfold. It may seem insignificant to a mindless chum such as you, Kool. But, don't take for granted the ability you face or break the golden rule. You may underestimate the way and means... but just like Joshua, my fury will be fast and clean. Every waking moment while I am closer to rot, I will use all I have left to tie your arguments in knots. Careless whispers may be spiteful and rash, but Savage will show that my body can still move quick enough to leave a gash. Your face will be cut open, and your body will reel, as ThE DoCtOr makes each cut with precision to your heels. While you party and never seem to learn, WiTcH times to celebrate, and when to burn. Tidy like the scarecrow, I will leave you a blown mess, as is the spell of voodoo I possess.

The camera angle flows down Braddock's arm and into the sky as if being commanded. Just as the wind picks up again and blows the remains away. His voice stays predominant over the hay and grass sifting off into the distant field.

I have lived past the point when many ordinary men perish. I have seen great walls built, and devastation throughout every New Orleans parrish. When I think back to all the moments witnessed with these eyes, the ones I cherish most come within the screams of those who I caused to demise. Some far better, and many far less... than Kid Kool's ratchet attempts, but valid, no less. How do you defeat a man who wears defeat as a collar... you start by ripping out his heart, and finish by taking his followers. So a pledge, from me to you, one that will establish defeat in who you are, and remove it too. I am the plague, that infects the XWF hopefuls, and just like those before you, I will snatch your words with every mouthful.

Clouds grow darker in the area left thereafter. Braddock disappears with a stern stare and heavy laughter. He winks before being gone in the eye of a storm. Having giving his pledge in solidarity, as the rain comes in to swarm.

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Conclusion |

Final words give presence,
To the right to defeat Kid's essence,
It may be silly but unrivaled,
In the hallow WiTcH revival.

Regurgitating the same feats his foe can't handle,
Recoiled in more than Kool can make a scandal,
Severence in spirit for what Saturday brings,
Common yet vast in losing his everything.

Pathetic in harsh reality of never was,
Scooped up playfully from a predator up above,
One blow will take him where he has never been,
Not to lose, but to realize, his hopelessness is within.

Fade |

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