Valentine Aftermath (...#2 for Insurrection...) -- GWA Insurrection Role-play board

[\|...Open the curtains, the shows begun...|/}

XX.

Once, creation told us to not to do stupid things in our lifetimes and once I did, right now I walk down the path of the booklet to the Art of Self Destruction. For once I was something who stood tall and pitied every other useless wrestler who had dreams yet couldn't realize them. Now I see them differently, and I see myself differently. When the light falls onto the earth, do you think anyone cares? For right now, does it look as the skies change from daylight to night every single moment of every place we continue plowing through. Disappointment between the lines of the speaker and none of us can understand it. Once it was thought of myself to be different from everyone else when they are feeling the same. No, for now originality has gone out of the window and is being taken from it's theorem and cut out into little pieces for everyone to share. Answers to questions to which many cannot understand nor even try and find answers towards. Within war, their is nothing but genocide and false beliefs. Never will anything become original, pure, virgin, for everything that everyone speaks of has been spoken which from their lips but only by different tongue. Within everyone there is their subservient piece who fetch for leaders and hold on to their simple claims and hope to not go to their jobs the next day, the next sunlight moon of the dark crescent. Bonds between men will be broken, so are spirits and their abundance for reliability on whom they turn their partners into the sacrifice and they become the Judas in which thy stab the brother in the back, for greater glory. Ranma Saotome has done such a thing to so many people, from the ever precious Lana, to the Midnight Syndicate. They have been the knife from which blood convey upon. It is here that Ranma Saotome goes towards the malice through the looking glass, trapping his fist with the weapon of choice. It is nothing that I loathe the man, it is nothing for which he might recall upon the deaths of deities and broken members. Knowledge from which it is only tapped through an omnipresent curse upon his soul. The nails of loss fall upon Ranma's soul not many a time, but now shall it fall upon his body? Or mine?

Wish that everything were different and that there was once a dimension based upon the theories of Jules Verne and that the world, wasn't such a pity it is not.Could it be that the savage, painted natives I had seen on shore had so perfected the art of navigation that they were masters of such advanced building and rigging as this craft proclaimed? It seemed impossible! And as I looked I saw another of the same type swing into view and follow its sister through the narrow strait out into the ocean. Nor were these all. One after another, following closely upon one another's heels, came fifty of the trim, graceful vessels. They were cutting in between Hooja's fleet and our little dugout, When they came a bit closer my eyes fairly popped from my head at what I saw, for in the eye of the leading felucca stood a man with a sea-glass leveled upon us. Who could they be? Was there a civilization within Pellucidar of such wondrous advancement as this? Were there far-distant lands of which none of my people had ever heard, where a race had so greatly outstripped all other races of this inner world? Nothing but a pure man whose wife were apart of his life as it were it mine. The Odyssey of everything as the silence of the trash talk, we've known this game before although neither have met inside of the ring. But on Saturday night Odyssey, it isn't about the things that lead men to greater destinies and now my friend, shall it be a difference we both take this road down lanes of uncharted waters.

Wednesday night, Ranma Saotome...Saturday night, Odyssey. The time quickens from today until those dates, once everything becomes complete in the circle, then everything will be right in the world. Maybe...

{\|...Silence for the fallen...|/}

XXI.

The ticking of clocks as time winds down from daylight to moonlight saunter. Everything counted downward into the differences that every single moment of light and dark brought us. Detailed in different subjects shall this be told, from the alpha of what a man must accomplish in order to make his exodus out of this world meaningful and worthy of a docile fantasy.There are not many people -- and as it is desirable that a story-teller and a story-reader should establish a mutual understanding as soon as possible, beg it to be noticed that I confine this observation neither to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions of people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already growing down again -- there are not, I say, many people who would care to sleep in a church. I don't mean at sermon-time in warm weather (when the thing has actually been done, once or twice), but in the night, and alone. A great multitude of persons will be violently astonished, I know, by this position, in the broad bold Day. But it applies to Night. It must be argued by night. And I will undertake to maintain it successfully on any gusty winter's night appointed for the purpose, with any one opponent chosen from the rest, who will meet me singly in an old church-yard, before an old church-door; and will previously empower me to lock him in, if needful to his satisfaction, until morning.

We begin...

I have been planning and replanning, writing and rewriting, this next portion of my book for many days. I perceive I must leave it raw edged and ill joined. I have leart something of the impossibility of History. For all I have had to tell is the story of one man's convictions and aims and how they reacted upon his life; and I find it too subtle and involved and intricate for the doing. I find it taxes all my powers to convey even the main forms and forces in that development. It is like looking through moving media of changing hue and variable refraction at something vitally unstable. Broad theories and generalizations are mingled with personal influences, with prevalent prejudices; and not only colored but altered by phases of hopefulness and moods of depression. The web is made up of the most diverse elements, beyond treatment multitudinous. . . . For a week or so I desisted altogether, and walked over the mountains and returned to sit through the warm soft mornings among the shaded rocks above this little perched-up house of ours, discussing my difficulties with Isabel and I think on the whole complicating them further in the effort to simplify them to manageable and stateable elements.

Let me, nevertheless, attempt a rough preliminary analysis of this confused process. A main strand is quite easily traceable. This main strand is the story of my obvious life, my life as it must have looked to most of my acquaintances. It presents you with a young couple, bright, hopeful, and energetic, starting out under the auspices to make a career. You figure us well dressed and active, running about in motor-cars, visiting in great people's houses, dining amidst brilliant companies, going to the theater, meeting in the lobby. The woman, Margaret wore hundreds of beautiful dresses. We must have had an air of succeeding meritoriously during that time.

"Once ago, I was a man of normal delicacy."

The victories over Bedlam with a Broken Dreams DDT for the pinfall for the first time inside of the GWA ring, then add that up to the victories over Lou Wang and Thurston Marshall III to pick up the number one contenders slot for the Falconer title which was reverted to a shot at the Maximus title. Fuck Charlie Dream. Hell, he'll never experience the monstrosity known as corporate screw jobs and people trying to fuck you over at every single stance of a foot. It's only for people who gain status to this claim, Odyssey had it when he had his lackluster Gladiator title reign, Ranma had it with his FWF World title reign and control of television rights. I have it within titles losses and trying to become a champion losses. See the picture?

"Wonders about when the past actually cared for the present - never and that's why we live for only present moments. This is why, we cannot travel backwards."

Shaking his head within their future reminesce inside of the sport, Drake could only stay inside of the bleak existence that is known as black. His eyes are open to that of still photographs. Ranma going through malice through the looking glass, Odyssey going through complete hell emotionally and physically. It was our medicine for their problems, no matter whether or not they were known or not. It was not his problem if they had not seen them upon their cross hairs, leaving the gun on safety not pulling the trigger and ending him for doing so they've proved how much guts they have. If they wanted to end him, they would have, instead of him falling on his face to make an ass out of himself. Drew, it's the truth, closet freaks speak about whatever they like and now you wish everything could have been..different.

"Need I remind the people of what I am? Who I am? They've seen what I've done, and now they get to feel what I speak and not the words of love spread upon the grounds of emotion."

Once upon the time, there was a man, whom of the tongue of the past made everyone change their minds about him. He played the different cards of stabbing and made them change their minds from what they originally had of a mind set on him, to something completely different. They could not contend with him because they could not understand what was he saying. For their intelligence came on limited ears and he ran through them, attaining his spot upon the plateau known as the golden spire and he reigned from the heavens with a pull on everyone's mind no matter how different he was. That came until..a will of passion swept him off of the throne by his brother, a friend, the Angel of Dark. He fell, and on came a brother in the waiting wings, who now art in heaven watching over thou sinned brother as Abel to Cain.

It was a ramification drawn from inspiration. Long time lust drawn upon forth their lips on the day of Valentine and once again, they expressed their love for one another. Drew knew what he was getting himself in towards, yet he held back once more. Something he had done against numerous opponents. Ashram Kenjin, Crisis, just to name a few.Drew had a shot at fame, total and intolerable fame, but he gave that up and rather stay inside the walls of mediocrity. For the sake of his lover...

"Ready for the pain, I am...sacrificing for the generation to come I am not for that generation has not done something to strike something into my soul..."

As it falls from everything I once knew, it's called brain cell loss and right now we all felt it whether we knew it or not. You see, Drew is more focused upon keeping Azul happy. Ranma is focused upon myself, playing the game that we play with the glass tapped to our hands and treat ourselves as gladiators. If only the ego would allow this...