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**10-28-2016, 09:04 PM**

'WiTcH DoCtOr' BEAR BRADDOCK | 'Feed'

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(play as you read)

The old bell tower rocks,
Familiar intervals, a tolling clock,
To and from the time is now,
Just before the sun goes down.

The crackle is swift,
A tone so very rich,
Like good lost in an instant,
A second to coherently drift.

Kicking and screaming,
Don't wanna go,
Not ready to stop hearing,
Don't wanna see all those,

People who hear and cower,
With little faith in old bell towers,
They leave no dreams empowered,
In the face of ambition every hour.

Hallow silouettes of what was,
A mirror image you used to love,
Moments the clock interwines,
Confusion good or bad, you decide.

Right or wrong, zenith reached,
Assumptions everlasting,
Rising and swaying with each,
A bell can be so unforgiving,
It knows failure, has much to tell,
Loud yet silently speaking as well.

As if emptiness peaks its soul,
A bell requires a two way road,
When it strikes, the iron tick-tocks,
Falling back to an empty spot.
Irony reaches an exact quantity,
The number the same in every quality.

Dark and dingy, like Hemingway,
Internally where it rests or stays,
The dusty rings still vibrate,
Even when winds pick up their pace.

Twisting softly with crooked knocks,
All the narrow precise shots,
A present regifted, don't lose control,
Until Warfare when it takes their toll.

Prelude ||

Chalky dust flies into the air, caused by an out of control fist full of rage. In a small office in what looks like a college. A bald shirtless man nearly striking who appears to be a girlfriend or aquaintence of similar fashion. She begins to cry, sliding down the wall into a sit. He rests his head against the board, and looks down at her, fist still clinched on the wall.

I don't know how to be a good man anymore. I used to work, pay my bills on time, go to family dinners and smile... joke with everyone. Then... I guess things changed. Anger used to be the furthest thing from my psyche, and now it is all I feel. Like a savage who lusts for blood and conflict. It was never like this... until it was. When did this happen to me? Who have I become... how do I stop it? I have to do it. I have to...

He shakes and weeps, chaulk flies out from his faint breath hitting the writing. The shot widens with the girl looking dejected... onto the wall with tears streaming down her cheeks. The board runs across most of the room, and written in white says "We will suffer" written hundreds of times. His other hand drops the chaulk which hits the floor breaking into two pieces.

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Scene | Flashback ||

Opening to a scene in what appears to be a college lecture hall late at night. The same bald man sits where a Professor would but relaxed backward on an armless chair; wearing a nice shirt and tie, a suit jacket; students scattered around him write notes and ask questions about his subject... philosophy. After several back and forth's he gets up, a few of the students clear out, one familiar looking one approaches the desk. Another girl stays in her seat smiling at the professor.

Hey, Professor, this test is really important, you wouldn't believe what I have been through to get this far... one more exam, one more hurdle and I am there. I need an A.

Well as you know, Mr.Braddock I, unlike many others here grade on a small curve, so if you study up, it is possible to get an A, but I have only seen it happen a few times. Usually from cheaters. But that is not to say an intelligent young man like yourself does not have what it takes. The grading scale is really more of an attempt to help those in the C and D range get a little more help.

Bear becomes aggitated as if he is not being taken seriously enough by the Professor. The girl gets out of her chair and walks slowly toward them, watching the conversation unfold.

I have to get an A or I do not get into the program I need to for Instinctual Studies. They only accept a handful each semester, and they have over 500 applicants. I will be one of the handful with an A. It is a 250 question exam, if I get one wrong I would be knocked to an A-, two wrong a B+ on your grading scale. I can do extra credit, whatever is needed, but even system error or a dull pencil can accidentally cause two misses.

Bear, I am sure whatever you do you will be fine, not everything in life always works out in your favor. My advice, take the good with the bad. Don't push where you cannot win... and shaving might do you a service as well. A head in a book is only a good thing to an extent... like you said, errors exist. Live a little too, bud.

Braddock clinches hit teeth seething on the inside, but breaks eye contact and walks away. The girl left inches closer, her face now clearly matching the emotional one from earlier, and all too familiar at that. She clinches the Professor's hand.

Holly, don't pretend to have a question. You're going to get us both in a lot of trouble if you keep doing this.

He closes his lecture binder and tucks it in his bag, he walks out and down a few long hallways before reaching an office on the right. A brown mohogany desk and black sofa make up the furniture in the small room with a rolling portable television stand for classroom usage in the corner. He opens a small closet and puts his bag inside, pulling out a long coat to wear over his black suit jacket, and getting ready to head home for the night. The door creeks open, he turns around initially shielded by the closet door.

Hello? Anyone there? May I help you?

The door slams as he realizes someone was behind it when he asked. He gazes up; Holly has made herself very comfortable on the leather sofa and removed items of clothing down to some black lace. His jaw drops as her endless attraction and wanting eyes refuse to take no for an answer. She gets up clearly with intention and corners him against the chalk board in his office that takes up most of the wall. Taking his hand with hers as first he resists, then eventually is guided between her chest and down into her conveniently already bottomless lingerie.

Holly, I'm married... I am a Professor, I can't just... GOD... how are you that wet already...

He embraces her passionately as she unbuckles his belt, the shot widens to the familiar angle of the board in the background, this time the writing reads "Be who you always wanted to be".

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Conclusion ||

After finishing what they started the girl gets up naked and dances around the room still glistening in sweat. The man lays motionless on the sofa with his pants to his ankles and no shirt; hands shamefully on his forehead rubbing his temples. Her delightful mood breaks his tension. A knock at the door. Then a note slides under. Second guessing then pulling up his pants he motions silently to her to hide in the closet. She does as clothing still lay scattered through the room. He picks up the note, then cracks the door just enough to peek out. No one. He looks again both ways. Nothing. Shutting and locking it... then heading for the letter opener on his desk: she slips back out and begins getting dressed just in case. He opens it, sliding out a small handwritten note and a dvd. 'PLAY'...

What is this?

The Professor pulls over the portable stand with the television on top and puts in the DVD. Static at first, then the video shows a desk like the ones in his lecture hall seen before. A note slides into view reading 'A... Please'. Static follows again, he turns backward and looks at the girl. She shrugs it off then places her hand over her mouth, as her eyes widen at the screen behind him. A lousy video feed but clear enough lens reveals the girl on top of the Professor from the corner of the room. She is pumping and grinding him relentlessly, but no sound can be heard. The Professor's jaw drops, he pulls over his desk chair to the perceived angle of the camera, gets up onto it and pops up a vent that leads to a wide industrial air conditioning shaft. He finds the small camera just between two of the grates in the vent. Attached another small note. 'I said Please.'

This motherfucker!

Spiraling into a blind rage, the girl tries to touch him and calm him down, he starts screaming at her that the entire situation is her fault.

You just could not take no for an answer! You had to keep prying and trying to get me in a vulnerable position, ARE YOU IN ON THIS, ARE YOU!?

He wipes the board clean and begins to write the new message... over and over as a madness consumes him... then pins her against the board as the scene reverts to the original prelude leaving off from here without audio, the Witch Doctor's heavy voice becomes all to listen to.

A lesson in humility and greed, a Professor who thought he was above normal means. To be sly and cruel is never enough. Choosing lust of the moment over all you've learned to love. What I need may be simple but hard to grant, the answer may be no now but soon like the Professor you come to reccant. Like him and Holly, who looks a little like Miss Percy... mhmm... we we all have a part to play... Warfare is another opportunity to ask and receive. This time my request is even easier to comprehend, it involves three opponents who will enter my pen. All I ask is that you leave those who care, at home watching football, or cartoons, or maybe, send them to a fair. Because the trauma I will inflict on Graves will be just that; the violent way I impale Thorne with a pointed elbow attack; the warm nostalgia I bring back too real, when Nostalgia, himself, is piledriven until he cannot feel. A restless darkness beats inside of me, to end all of your plans, with a spike and hunger to feed.

The scene reaches the point of the flashback and goes black. Arriving at a demented somberly lit face turning toward the camera.

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Fade ||

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