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Date Posted: 11:28:49 12/15/01 Sat
Author: Drake Maxwell
Subject: Purpose- Roleplay #2 for Insurrection

…But these words…

(…The montage starts up, a glimmering picture of Drake holding up a picture of his mother, his father and himself when he was 5 and the couple were happy, and not fighting. Inscribed in the picture along the border is the words, “Family Cannot Separate”…)

…They can't replace…

(…Fade into a picture of Drake at age seven, the marks of previous beatings shown deliberately so he could look like a poor child, in reality he was…)

…The life you...

(…Mother- Murdered by Father …)

...the life you waste...

(…Father- Suicide…)

…How could you paint this picture…

(…Drake wrestling his first match, result a disqualification that led to more victories along the way…)

…With life as bad as it should seem…

(…Drake inside of a mental institution bouncing along the walls, his hair dirty, his mind ravaged, but still knows what is going on…)

…That there were no more options for you…

(…X on Mother’s face, X on Dad’s face, the picture now only holds one person- Drake Maxwell…)

…I can't explain how I feel…

(…Standing over the broken body of another victim, the heat from the audience voice showering him. This was his way of showing what he actually felt all of those years of torment and hurt…)

…I've been there many times before…

(…Blood dripping down from Drake’s forehead, mouth and nose, the common symptoms of a warrior…)

…I've tasted the cold steel of my life crashing down before me…

(…Drake in pain, screaming for help to arrive, no one comes…)

…But these words…

(…Drake sitting in a chair, his head found beneath his legs sobbing, yet the firey eyes still arisen from the ashes of his pain…)

…They can't replace…

(…X for deceased mother…)

…The life you...

(…X for deceased father…)

...the life you waste…

(…X on deceased son…)



-=-…Ok, we have gotten the introductions out of the way, the living substances of wanting to know what and or who a person is, ignorance of the truth, how bloody perpendicular the thoughts of the walking are not the same. Place in something you do not know and voila, you have something called facts not being looked upon as truth, you find them false. What is this not reaching your minds well enough for a complete thought, well that is what brought you here is it not…-=-

-=-…Trying to define something as close to bedlam is more a provocative thought than even waxing your ears. One narration at a time, one more narration belittling the competition, you can quote me for it. Every moment, you have to listen to the same people moan about their problems, what can they do in life to even have worth. The same shameless words escaping their mouths, engulfing the mindless with trivial, nonchalant, and even subliminal messages. Inside this realm, it is the only way to gain acceptance, somewhere to find a niche, for Bedlam, a niche is hard to come by, stepping away from the ego driven stereotypes. Not to mention a meaningless 5-8 record, try to reclaim glory that was never there Bedlam, and you find yourself starring down the opulent mirror of facts and non facts. There is a purpose to every living thing, your purpose? To create a name for yourself stating that you started the Fallen Angel’s rise…-=-

-=-…Defining a purpose could be simple, yet very obsolete in its path, you wake towards the light and sleep inside of the darkness. You speak the same montage over and over again just to make it known to everyone in the entire world, that you are not a pauper in this game of who can top who? Breathing in the waste of society, living within it, this is your purpose; to do things set forth by your mind, Bedlam. What has your purpose been, a pauper to the system. A pauper is a phony, a fake if you did not know that already. Trying to feed mouths, trying to let the people know you. They don’t know what myself and The Fallen Angel know, they cannot see past the weight and height of a giant, that inside is a man still wanting to know what to do within his life. Wednesday night Bedlam, you will know what to do with your life; you will know what to perceive as fate or a conjunction of reality and pure assumption. You are a breathing, living, lie…-=-

-=-…As the narration fades off into the distance, you are found inside of a bed as Drake Maxwell sat up in a cold sweat, the long night before presumably handed him a harried fate as he went out expediting along the Detroit skylines and going to the opera Hamlet. The night’s rendition always was common for him as he usually did this on a Sunday night. Although his mind is a lithe bit worst for the wear, he still finds comfort lying inside that box with the blue covers and the silk pillow. He stood up and gazed upon another Detroit night with hunger upon his eyes. For you see, Drake is not one of the people you find awake in the daytime, rather he is a night person showing that the sun has its time and he has his. Drake tends to bask into the Detroit night, loving the every meaning of darkness. Its voiding black shape and the fear it brings. He then walks way from the glass paned window and heads towards his medicinal cabinet. The white painted cabinet has a white handle and is not filled with many things. A bottle of toothpaste, his toothbrush and the regular bottle of mouthwash; he went to the doctor a few days ago complaining of migraine headaches, the same type of injury that forced many wrestlers into seizures. The difference in all of this is that Bedlam- Drake’s next opponent for that matter is 7 feet 3 inches tall and well over 500+ pounds equipping his already large frame; Drake Maxwell is a minor Crusierweight standing at 6 feet 2 inches and 190 pounds. Yet where the size differs, their motives and actions are quite exact towards perfection depending on each man’s size. Drake received a bottle of Advil aspirin. And was told the directions of it, take two a day and only two a day. Drake sensing that he had to follow the doctor’s orders popped open the child proof safety cap and took two pills into his mouth. Drake then took a nearby glass of water and gulped it down making the pills flow down his esophagus easier…-=-

-=-…It was December 15, 2001 day 349 of the two thousandth and first year AD. Maxwell had been in the confines of the Gladiator Wrestling Association for about a week or so and was gaining some quality status. He found himself inside his debut match, against Bedlam He stood infront of the mirror a man with rings around his eyes from his deprivation of sleep. Calmly he closed the cabinet and went towards the den of his lair. Looking upon his plain white refrigerator he saw the bills he had to pay. Those were the only decoration on this refrigerator as he sought simplicity rather than extravagance. He opens the refrigerator door and look and beholds nothing. Drake sighs and looks at the dinning room table and sees stacks of Chinese food boxes, Pizza Hut boxes, and McDonald’s bags. Apparently, he’d never gone shopping and instead got takeout from every style of food and close to ordering from 1/3 of the eating establishments in the Shopping district in downtown Detroit….-=-

Drake: “Good grief, have I been this negligent towards myself by ordering fast food from everywhere? Shopping would do me some good, but maybe in the morning.”

-=-…All he can hear rather than the constant buzz from the lights above him are the sounds and pictures from Detroit’s already exuberating nightlife. The sounds of bottles breaking and random scuffles constant reminders of what Detroit’s city government has done trying to better the community. Although he would voice his opinion, the city government is corrupt and he is powerless to stop them. A knocking from his chamber door is heard and Drake quickly pays attention towards it. He walks over and looks at the peephole to see who it is. The man standing out there has a greasy baldhead and looks to be kinda chubby. Wearing a white T-shirt covered in stains and marking which did not even fit over his stomach and blue shorts barely covering anything over his legs and crotch. Drake unlocked the door and opened to welcome in the man…-=-

Phil: “You know what Maxwell, you about two payments late for this beauty of an apartment. Either pay up on the 15th or you can kiss this baby goodbye!”

Drake: “Whoa, I already paid you Tuesday making up both of those bogus payments you’re talking about.”

Phil: “It doesn’t say that in my book, because I have Drake Maxwell last payment November 26th in my books and those are the most accurate thing I have in my entire book keeping collection.”

Drake: “Look, the last time you updated those books were on the 26th. Since then you’ve done nothing but party, get wasted and have atleast 30 woman slap you in your face. Now atleast add the freaking payment from December 2nd and then this matter would be settled.”

Phil: “Whatever, all I know is that you and me are going to look through my books and see just when you paid.”

Drake: “Why the hell must we look over in that little book of yours? What is the point in that? I’ll tell you that there is not one single point that you can point out to me and make it the true, because I know the truth and should you not believe me, I will make you understand the truth.”

Phil: “Are you threatening me? Was that which you just happen to say a threat? I find pity in that weak challenge lay down by you. I am Phil Gruffin owner of the Lancaster Apartments. You do not own me, I own me. So if you do not make the requested payments on this place, then YOU’RE EVICTED!”

Drake: “Wow Phil, that really brought a tear to my eyes, not! You see Phil unlike you I am not in vain and I am not spending my time taking people’s money and patience over payments that they made and did not make. Phil, I do not live in a grease filled apartment with roaches and rats scurrying away so that they couldn’t be seen by human eyes on the 5th floor. I don’t wear the same shirt and pant combination that I have had for going on 3 months now. I am not a bald headed lazy bastard who tries to act tough, but he know deep down inside that he is bleeding yellow instead of red. I am not Phil Gruffin, the lazy person trying to be something that he is not. I am not Phil Gruffin the guy who hasn’t seen his unit in 4 months. I am not Phil Gruffin the guy who rather would eat 6 bags of Potato Chips than get a real job and lose weight. Do you know who I am Phil?”

Phil: “A guy who is minutes away from getting his legs broke?”

Drake: “No, Phil I am Drake Eric Maxwell the guy who lives in the penthouse suite on the 20th floor. The man who made your idle payments and wants you to get the hell out of his apartment.”

Phil: “Maxwell, you ever hear the expression of that your mouth gets you into a lot of trouble?”

Drake: “Yeah, but my mouth isn’t in trouble, yours is.”

-=-…Gruffin begins to laugh at that response and backs out of the room. Drake mumbles towards himself and slams the door as soon as Phil’s body could not be seen in front of the camera. Drake sighs to himself and moves over towards the phone. He picks up the receiver and begins to dial ten digits. A loud buzzing sound emits from the phone. Drake waits for a few seconds waiting for the receiver on the other line. The buzzing continued as Drake barely held the phone by his right ear. He gives up and softly places the phone receiver back on the hook. He then runs his fingers along his hair and constantly rubbing his face…-=-

Drake: “How unhealthy thyself hath become by the fathoms of self responsibility. The things going on around here are becoming quite unwelcome by you, the people who think that I am the prophet who is falling on deaf ears. No more of this…”

-=-…Drake then moves away from his sitting position and then moves his way to his black leather sofa. He then leans forward and picks up the television remote. He presses the red power button and the television instantly clicks on. The channel starts reflecting the day’s events. This channel NBC depicts the ongoing struggle on the war or terrorism and the United States attack on Afghanistan. Drake quickly switches the channel towards GWA television, which was rigged by Johnny Storm – half owner of GWA. A replay of the past Wednesday’s Insurrection plays and a preview for next week airs. The matches load up and are showing in the first bracket, Drake Maxwell vs. Bedlam. Drake then smiles confidently and once again comes towards the phone. Then without warning, the phone rings without warning. Drake then picks the phone up wanting to know who just called him…-=-

Woman: “Are you watching this on your television screen?”

Drake: “Oracle?”

Oracle: “What, who did you think it was, The Phantom of the Opera?”

Drake: “No not really, it’s just that you usually don’t call me. I thought you would be hanging out with your boyfriend and also getting ready for the victory.”

Oracle: “Well, it seems like my plan is breaking and not holding steadfast as I once said, you and Bedlam face off in the first match of the night. Maybe a Johnny Storm conspiracy plotted against us?”

Drake: “No, as far as Storm is concerned he is prepping to rule the place with a iron fist. So many new things are circling around me its confusing where I lie.”

Oracle: “Well for one you’ve to think about Bedlam.”

Drake: “The hell?”

Oracle: “You heard right my friend.”

Drake: “Perversions of pain rips the tissue away, I feel the weight burning and to decay. Light shines over dark and we shall fall apart. Feeling oppression take us to breaking the depths of the heart.”

Oracle: “What does that mean?”

Drake: “It’s a poetic piece I made, the time of dogs with three heads, barking the words of the undead. You see it’s an untold masterpiece, waiting for its wings to be spread and is sound heard and making he human earring audible. Questioning this thought for halls of fame has their greats their losers and their in-betweens. Thinking on this it brings the pain to say that I vain and distinctly will take joy in making Bedlam another one of those lost souls personified into a follower of the Angel.”

Oracle: “As your question perceives me, I must take out new penmanship and trek out to find my path.”

Drake: “Good luck.”

-=-…With a single click, Oracle leaps off of the phone and thus ending the conversation. Drake then places on some fresh new clothes and steps out of the door. The sound of the other tenants inside their apartments, is becoming one of the most resounding sources inside the Detroit inner city. Drake who has grown up around this most of his life finds it as daily warnings of where what he isn’t and where he happens to come from also signaling why he does the things that he does. A homeless man standing at the corner of the nearest stairwell holds himself up along the banister of the staircase. Drake takes the man by the arm and places him over his shoulder. He takes the man into the main office and lays him on the sofa. The man thanks Drake as Drake lends him a $20 bill. Drake the walks outside of the apartment complex and walks down the street to the Metropolitan Opera House. The building still performs with low attendance but still people like Drake go…-=-

-=-…Going past the shoddy ticket booth, which was filled with drug paraphernalia, bullet holes and drug pushers near it, Drake walks into the main stadium. Only a few people are there not even filling the estimated 3,000 people that can fit into the stadium. Drake walks past the velvet rope and into the stadium to find a rendition of Hamlet going on. Drake quietly makes his way to one of the more, less conspicuous seats and seats in the second to last row. Sitting next to him was a man about his stature and wore dark black rimmed sunglasses, not revealing his piercing green eyes. The man, who has shrouded himself in a dark black jacket and pants, looks down at the actors below and smiles signaling that this is a good showing. Drake turns to him and sees him face to face. The man barely gives Drake the thought of presenting himself. His ego would blush if he did this. That feat only belonged to aristocrats who had the wealth, style and power to do such a thing…-=-

Drake: “The takeover of the land is not withstanding anymore, you will not find me bowed down at your feet kissing your hand and need, all I need is a single breath. Life’s worries don’t come to me with its burden’s, I come to life’s worries with my own burdens.”

Romulus: “I’m surprised that you weren’t working this play yourself. You seem talented enough to carry out the thought, but can you succeed at it is the real question Drake. Whether it is facing Bedlam or GWA as a whole, the question will embark you upon a glorious movement. Up or down shall it be?”

Drake: “Romulus, although you haven’t been near me since you and Oracle met, you still happen to be my spiritual advisor. Hath forth on a journey, the expedition of making a name for myself. Is it all the people want? The bloodshed upon the canvas and the winner to be whom they look upon as the victor of the scars around them, they choose as much as the Roman public chooses while battle was held in the Roman Coliseum. I have to face a man who without question is misguided well enough to know the brink of sanity and to jump over that very edge. Bedlam got himself into this, thus breaking Arcana into seems of a lackluster horse and carriage. Archbishop, the thing for which title falls upon me as the ascended being dwelling upon this Earth, Many like Bedlam, claim to be what they want to be; I know them as the fakes and hypocrites of this world. Silence befits the common that does not have the sharpest tongue. It’s a blind reason that people would not take Bedlam as one of their own, he escaped military base, rather finding freedom in not killing others for his country. A person of that thinking nature would probably survive 3 to 5 months on these killing yards at home. Bedlam will be defeated, it is only a matter of time and hope to decided upon.”

Romulus: “Overconfident says I, you seem to be Hamlet yourself in all of this and while the opera is going on, as the woman sings the script and expresses her pain by her voice, you seem atleast ready to face Bedlam and defeat him. Ending what he is already worth to you.”

Drake: “He was worth a penny to me and my path and vice versa when you ask him the same question. The thought of the matter is that which side of the arrow will he lead to? The hypocritical or the righteous, which one would he seek guided counsel towards? Whatever he chooses, it will not change the path that he is to succumb to.”

Romulus: “You wonder why I taught you all there was to know, I’ve shown you the real world. You look back upon it now and say puff as if it were a storm could rising over you and you stopped it with a single movement of the tongue. Hath my teachings dwelled sense and sensibility into your head?”

Drake: “As Caesar to his advisors, I advise that yes I have taken what you have taught me, and analyzed ever bit of information I am ever going to need from you. Romulus, I may need more of your teachings and more shall I ever need.”

Romulus: “More teachings? Perhaps I need to teach you the book of the Shadows. It will not be one of those easy tasks as some people on this planet refer to some of their problems. You know, Hamlet always quelled for more from his teachers, but never got more taught towards his already growing knowledge. So he set out on his own and studied the world around him and became a master teacher all on his own well being.”

Drake: “Surely, the statements you speak of now could be truth, nor it cannot be false for nothing about Hamlet could be more false. Malice of the soul drove him to insanity and still he was considered a genius for still being one of the insane persons standing in front of you. He did what he had to do and Shakespeare played him out wealthy. Double-space the point of Stanley Kubrick, whose dreams for pure perfection in his artwork of style and film did not garner him too many Oscar awards. Infact he only received one ever and that was for visual effects in 2001: A Space Odyssey. An odyssey in itself now is the ego of the human mind. It gains bigger and bigger for every moment that you are awake and every moment you sleep. Everything you hear, it hears and turns what you actually hear in what you want to hear. Inconstant reminders of how well you look and feel about certain things it might as well be communism in our very own nervous system. An ego on the other hand makes the emotions grow better and understand the feelings of those around them.”

-=-…Drake tried to add more onto his statements, but could not as he felt it was time to part away from the opera and head back to his chamber. Facing eviction, he knew two things would have to prosper out of the two things he was involved in. He knew he had to make significant strides in order to make it far in the GWA, but where to begin was to question. A harmonic sound enters the setting as Drake turns his attention back towards the stage. Hamlet lay in bed motionless; the King banished him from the castle after finding out what he had done to his friend. Hamlet had his servants dispose of the body and Hamlet knew he had to face King, for he knew King would want to know what happened to his son. Drake knew the story too well; he once played Hamlet in high school. Pictures of him portraying another one of William Shakespeare’s masterpiece flashback in his skull as pictures of what the past was to him. Drake also knew that he had to leave shortly because dawn was quickly approaching. He got out of his seat, said his good-byes to Romulus and departed out of the theater. Waiting for him was the sheer quietness of Detroit's inner city. Cars did not go past, people slept, and not one yelled or made a reference to the police or drug dealers. Drake calmly walked back to his apartment, took off the clothes and headed back to bed at somewhat around 5:30 A.M…-=-

-=-…Drake Maxwell had a lot to do this next week rather it be inside the squared circle or in his personal life. GWA could not have come at a better time for Drake. Facing down the long barreled chamber of eviction, he took the chance to enter into the tournament. This was to be an experience that made him bigger or downed his flight to a lower level that what it already was. The questions kept coming towards him like a jagged knife pressing its dagger into his body, making the red blood caressed and intertwines with his skin. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. Victory also loomed over the horizon, something he liked tasting. Reminders of past glory engulf him and give him a new outlook on where to go here and there. In his mind he paced around searching for the answer searching for clues into what he really is…-=-

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