EP. 002 - A Crow Left of the Murder
Apr 19, 2016 19:26:34 GMT -5
Post by Lou on Apr 19, 2016 19:26:34 GMT -5
The shop door flies open and three men, black bandanas stretched across their faces and hate in their eyes, enter the market. Young Miles’ eyes go wide as their guns raise up in his direction, but before he can utter even a word, he’s shoved to the floor.
As his hands clap against the tile, multiple shots fire off. He screams, but his cries are drowned out by the unforgettable sound of gunfire. His father, the storekeeper on this fateful summer afternoon, crashes against the wall behind him. The young boy tries not to look but can’t resist. There he sees his father, littered with bullet wounds and bleeding profusely. Their eyes meet.
Miles jumps up from his slumber in a cold sweat. He breathes heavily, scanning the room through the darkness looking for some semblance of proof he’s back in the present. He sighs, dropping his head in his hands and crying uncontrollably.
****
“We warned you.”
Our scene fades in on the dynamic manager-wrestler duo of Malcolm Pope and LDFC newcomer Miles Bishop. They stand in a dimly lit gym somewhere in Winston-Salem, one flickering lightbulb keeping them from complete darkness. The confident Bishop stands with an arrogant smirk on his face as a sweat-soaked towel is draped over his shoulders and drenching his heather blue t-shirt. Pope, meanwhile, looks like business class, decked out in a suit doing his best Don King, sans the ridiculous hairstyle of course.
“My brothers and sisters, if you didn’t get it before I hope you understand now. You are in the company of a GOD. A man far superior to yourselves in every way. Just look at this specimen that stands behind me. The perfect combination of athleticism, intelligence, work ethic and handsome good looks. He is a woman’s dream and a man’s greatest nightmare. His debut...that debut two weeks ago inside the Benton Convention Center was a thing of beauty. We could not have drawn up a better debut than the dominant victory he tallied against Levi Daniels. And now, we have the fortune of replicating it once again in a match that ensures the doom of one Chase Dupree.”
A bone-chilling grin stretches across Pope’s face as he rubs his hands together in anticipation. We can’t see his eyes beyond the dark-tinted sunglasses, but you can tell just the thought of Bishop decimating another opponent brings him great joy.
“Chase Dupree, the beloved boyfriend, never-will-be nitwit of new FGA Mid-Atlantic Legacy Champion Annie Zellor. He has all the good looks of a boy band popstar but none of the talent. I suppose you could say Mr. Dupree is far more Kevin Federline than Justin Timberlake to Ms. Zellor’s Britney, because let’s be honest, the guy doesn’t really have much going for himself except the company he happens to keep.”
Bishop lets out a slight chuckle as his promoter takes a moment to pause.
“He’s considered a major underdog, and with good reason. At just 5-foot-8 and 162 pounds, he’s substantially outsized. If you’ve ever listen to him speak, you know he’s substantially outwitted too. The education down there in the Bayou ain’t exactly up to par.
But the mentally handicapped dwarf has heart, and we all know how vital heart can be in this sport. All his inferiorities, all his maladies, can be easily compensated for with heart incomparable to those accompanying him inside that ring. And that’s why my brother Miles has but one choice tonight: break Mr. Dupree in shambles and rip his heart straight from his throat!
Mr. Dupree, you are merely a speck on this Earth in the presence of a God. A man in the wrong place at the wrong time with not a prayer of survival. How does it feel, Mr. Dupree? How does it feel to know that your career and your life rest in the hands of “The Embodiment of Perfection” himself?. A brilliant masterpiece sculpted by Zeus, Miles Bishop WILL crush you. He WILL embarrass you, dismantle you and leave you for dead. That’s not a prediction. That’s not wishful thinking. That’s a PROMISE!”
Pope has fire in his eyes as he peers out over his sunglasses and into the camera with a devilishly grin.
“My condolences in advance, Ms. Zellor. I know you love this ignoramus, but he has no business in a ring inhibited by my brother Miles. His misfortune shall be Mr. Bishop’s glory. We’ll cover the costs of the funeral. It’s only right.”
An evil laugh emits from the lips of Malcolm Pope and echoes off the cold concrete walls that enclose the Winston-Salem gym. Miles Bishop’s eyes remain focused on the camera, his expression is unchanging save for a sly grin starting to crack from the left side of his face.
Fade to black.
WORD COUNT: 800
As his hands clap against the tile, multiple shots fire off. He screams, but his cries are drowned out by the unforgettable sound of gunfire. His father, the storekeeper on this fateful summer afternoon, crashes against the wall behind him. The young boy tries not to look but can’t resist. There he sees his father, littered with bullet wounds and bleeding profusely. Their eyes meet.
Miles jumps up from his slumber in a cold sweat. He breathes heavily, scanning the room through the darkness looking for some semblance of proof he’s back in the present. He sighs, dropping his head in his hands and crying uncontrollably.
****
“We warned you.”
Our scene fades in on the dynamic manager-wrestler duo of Malcolm Pope and LDFC newcomer Miles Bishop. They stand in a dimly lit gym somewhere in Winston-Salem, one flickering lightbulb keeping them from complete darkness. The confident Bishop stands with an arrogant smirk on his face as a sweat-soaked towel is draped over his shoulders and drenching his heather blue t-shirt. Pope, meanwhile, looks like business class, decked out in a suit doing his best Don King, sans the ridiculous hairstyle of course.
“My brothers and sisters, if you didn’t get it before I hope you understand now. You are in the company of a GOD. A man far superior to yourselves in every way. Just look at this specimen that stands behind me. The perfect combination of athleticism, intelligence, work ethic and handsome good looks. He is a woman’s dream and a man’s greatest nightmare. His debut...that debut two weeks ago inside the Benton Convention Center was a thing of beauty. We could not have drawn up a better debut than the dominant victory he tallied against Levi Daniels. And now, we have the fortune of replicating it once again in a match that ensures the doom of one Chase Dupree.”
A bone-chilling grin stretches across Pope’s face as he rubs his hands together in anticipation. We can’t see his eyes beyond the dark-tinted sunglasses, but you can tell just the thought of Bishop decimating another opponent brings him great joy.
“Chase Dupree, the beloved boyfriend, never-will-be nitwit of new FGA Mid-Atlantic Legacy Champion Annie Zellor. He has all the good looks of a boy band popstar but none of the talent. I suppose you could say Mr. Dupree is far more Kevin Federline than Justin Timberlake to Ms. Zellor’s Britney, because let’s be honest, the guy doesn’t really have much going for himself except the company he happens to keep.”
Bishop lets out a slight chuckle as his promoter takes a moment to pause.
“He’s considered a major underdog, and with good reason. At just 5-foot-8 and 162 pounds, he’s substantially outsized. If you’ve ever listen to him speak, you know he’s substantially outwitted too. The education down there in the Bayou ain’t exactly up to par.
But the mentally handicapped dwarf has heart, and we all know how vital heart can be in this sport. All his inferiorities, all his maladies, can be easily compensated for with heart incomparable to those accompanying him inside that ring. And that’s why my brother Miles has but one choice tonight: break Mr. Dupree in shambles and rip his heart straight from his throat!
Mr. Dupree, you are merely a speck on this Earth in the presence of a God. A man in the wrong place at the wrong time with not a prayer of survival. How does it feel, Mr. Dupree? How does it feel to know that your career and your life rest in the hands of “The Embodiment of Perfection” himself?. A brilliant masterpiece sculpted by Zeus, Miles Bishop WILL crush you. He WILL embarrass you, dismantle you and leave you for dead. That’s not a prediction. That’s not wishful thinking. That’s a PROMISE!”
Pope has fire in his eyes as he peers out over his sunglasses and into the camera with a devilishly grin.
“My condolences in advance, Ms. Zellor. I know you love this ignoramus, but he has no business in a ring inhibited by my brother Miles. His misfortune shall be Mr. Bishop’s glory. We’ll cover the costs of the funeral. It’s only right.”
An evil laugh emits from the lips of Malcolm Pope and echoes off the cold concrete walls that enclose the Winston-Salem gym. Miles Bishop’s eyes remain focused on the camera, his expression is unchanging save for a sly grin starting to crack from the left side of his face.
Fade to black.
WORD COUNT: 800