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+---- Thread: A Sermon or a Shoot? (/showthread.php?tid=7461)
A Sermon or a Shoot? - Scott Charlotte - 10-13-2013
The camera fades into a barren room with stone walls. The walls are cracked and full of webs. The Wraith walks on screen with his hands behind his back. He is wearing a full grey suit with a black tie and brown shoes. His brown burlap mask covers his face and his yellow eyes pierce through the camera. Evil intention is on the mind of the recently absent God. He clears his throat.
Wraith: Ladies and Gentlemen, I have come before you tonight to make an important announcement. I'm sure most of you have wondered where your God has been these past couple of months. Has he been seeking a chance at a championship belt he believes he rightly deserves? Has he been plotting against the former Satellite to show him what a true Supernova is like? Or has he been contemplating his own insanity?
The Wraith then begins to untie the rope that holds his mask tightly around his neck. (Yes the crazy bastard held his mask together with a noose) He places his fingers underneath the mask.
Wraith: It's time to cut the bullshit.
He pulls the mask off to reveal......HE'S SCOTT CHARLOTTE!!! OH MY GOD!!! WHO KNEW??? Oh....that's right...everyone. He puts his two fingers in his eyes and takes out his colored contacts revealing his bright hazel eyes. He shakes his head as if waking from a bad dream. He stares at his former life in his hands and speaks with much sincerity.
Scott: I've lived my life underneath a mask. Pretending that I was something I am not. Some sort of immortal, a rebel, an addict and a rock star. The chain that is Scott Charlotte. It's something I cannot do anymore.
He clinches the mask tightly in his right hand. Regret filling his soul. He reaches into his left pocket.
Scott: So, why not just end it all. Why not try and be a normal guy who just wants to be a successful wrestler in the XWF? This place is full of gimmicks that define the wrestler instead of the skill defining the wrestler. Everything is so damn skewed that I just couldn't do it anymore. I just couldn't be what
and the other uppers wanted me to be. They want this place to be a sideshow with the occasional wrestling. For once in my life I stood up for myself and said how I felt. You know what they did? They laughed in my fucking face. They drank their expensive liquor, smoked their Cuban cigars and ate caviar out of the Gilmour's ass. Money is what makes the wrestling world go round and those who want to go by the primary directive of being a wrestler get shafted to the bottom. Pushed into gimmicks they have no place being involved with. He pulls out a Zippo lighter from his pocket and lights it. Scott places it underneath the mask.
Scott: So this is for all the guys in the back who have had enough of
, Madison and the rest of the bankers down at wall street. This is for the little guy who hopes to be the top guy one day. This is for the people who tried to be different and failed. This...is for me. He sets the mask on fire. It begins to blaze in his hand brightly. Scott glares at it and then decides to throw it down on the pavement. He stares directly into the camera with eyes full of fire, full of hatred and full of a fuck off attitude.
Scott: You got something to say to me, maybe some sort of retort of wit, then may I direct you to San Diego, California. See you.
He walks off screen as the camera zooms in on the burning mask and the last remnants of the former Wraith.