Post by єℓιηα ѕтαя∂υѕт on Feb 21, 2018 23:38:13 GMT -5
The curtains come up to reveal a detailed portrait of Alexander Devin. The brush strokes are meticulous and only after a double-take is it apparent that it isn’t actually a picture portrait. The light hint of scratching can be heard right before whispers. Soon, those whispers grow larger and after an abrupt halt, Elina Cartel’s voice can be heard.
“Alexander Devin speaks from a place of great power. At times he’s sitting in a chair ‘on high’ and at times he speaks from the darkness. In each and every case, Alexander puts himself into the position of power when it comes to these promotional videos, because in reality, he finds himself vulnerable and lost.”
The scratches become louder and louder.
“At Skyfire, he called of his opponents as rats and claimed he would ‘right the world’ by giving the ‘fans’ a better ‘purpose’.”
The paint begins to flake off of the canvas.
“Yet in the same breath, he speaks as if he does not need his opponents, or the people around him, which we will assume are his ‘fans’. He declares independence when in actuality, he’s absolutely dependent on those who listen and revere him. After all, what would a prophet be without listeners?”
Soon the canvas fabric behind Alexander’s mouth begins to tear as tiny claws pierce through it.
“No, Alexander Devin does not truly exist with such bravado. He exists for those around him. He is dependent on them. Much like the rats he speaks of. What would the rat do without the scraps discarded by humanity, right? I speak here, as if I were Alexander. Truth be told, a rat is much more intelligent than Alexander affords them credit. Say, if Alexander were trapped aboard a sinking ship, treading water as he slowly becomes trapped in his cabin--helpless and near to death--the rats would have already escaped. Perhaps, if only Alexander took the time to really think about the words which pour from his mouth like so many strands of spittle, he would wake up.”
Finally the mouth is clawed away enough to allow for a rat to push its head through the now gaping mouth hole. Soon another follows as a dozen rats or more, pour through the mouth.
“Let us speak directly, shall we?”
As the rats scurry away, the rest of the painting is torn in half as Elina Cartel steps through it. She stands with her shoulders wide and cocks her head back and to the left as her eyes glow.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it Alexander? You portray this sheppard who will brave the valley of darkness to protect the lives of all those who cannot protect themselves, yet your arrogance betrays your own mantra. No. You are not the sheppard, nor valley of darkness; you are the sheep. You are the scared. You are the one looking to be protected. Why? Because you don’t really know who you are, do you?”
The scene changes abruptly and Elina is still talking, but now she’s crouched and she’s painting away on a large canvas beneath her. What she’s painting is hidden by her torso, but her strokes are deliberate and almost violent.
“Like many who have come before you and the many which will follow, you play the grim monster who blows out the sole light to create darkness, but it’s within a controlled environment. Yes, your promotional videos are but an easy platform for you to spew forth your rhetoric, but in reality, when pulled from this environment, you’re scared. You are a danger to yourself, simply because you cannot really tow the line you claim is within your grasp.”
She throws a brush away and grabs another brush--a smaller brush, for more detail.
“When the rotting hull of your mantra of being the prophet runs aground, you look for other material to steal, don’t you? You look for anything to further your agenda. Yes, yours is an ordinary and artificial agenda, isn’t it? As soon as you run out of things to say, you turn to pop culture for your next cue. I sincerely hope you’re self-aware enough to recognize this.”
The camera arches back as she rises to her knees to crack her back, before going to work.
“Your mistake was deciding to choose ‘Fight Club’ as your next step in Skyfire. You decided to incorporate the words of Tyler Durden into your superficial and underwhelming ‘bag of tricks’. It just so happens, I’m a fan. I’m more than happy to break the first two rules of Fight Club.”
The camera pans around to show Elina’s face. She only glances at the camera for a moment before she lights a cigarette. She clutches the butt of the cigarette with her teeth as she closes one eye to concentrate on her painting.
“Alexander, a question: Did you ask Chuck for permission to steal his lines or did you simply take them for yourself? Does it make you feel cool? Does it make you feel dangerous? Are you that lone child in the back of the line who yearns for something to set him apart from everyone else? Do you need something to believe in? Or, perhaps, you just need an imaginary friend? You see, the narrator of the novel Fight Club needed a way to act out. Is that you, Alexander? Are you actually a pent up middle aged man doomed to fit into society, who needs an outlet? Do you need a new name, identity, and motivation to have your own little catharsis? Perhaps this “Prophet” we see is your Tyler Durden?”
Paint splashes back against her cheeks as she paints vigorously. Like Jackson Pollock possessed, she whips the paintbrush towards the canvas.
“The answer is: No. You are not the Narrator nor are you Tyler Durden. You aren’t organized enough to put together Project Mayhem and you have certainly broken the first two rules of Fight Club, haven’t you?”
She admires her work for a moment and lets out a cackle. She butts out the cigarette into the wet paint and lights another. The camera shifts around to show the side of her face, still avoiding showing what she’s painting.
“Furthermore, you’ve likely only watched the movie and never stopped to read the novel. No. You probably are unaware that the Narrator met Tyler on a nude beach where Tyler was using his erection as a sundial. It was delightfully homo-erotic, but you missed out on that due to the fact that you were much too busy with greasy fingers filling your fat belly with cheetos and not caring how much of the cheeto dust ended up in your beard while you watched the movie for the so-many-dozenth time you viewed the film.”
Violent strokes and long draws on the cigarette are a blur. Her cheeks are lit up in orange as the cherry glows.
“Everything you represented in Skyfire and will likely attempt to represent within this Battleground is a sham. You say you don’t need trophies, glory, or fame and yet what is this business? Isn’t professional wrestling all about trophies, glory, and fame? You carry yourself as if you’re the anti-wrestler, yet, you still expect the same as the rest of us, don’t you? You want to see your fans in the crowd wearing a t-shirt bearing your face. You want to see ticket sales rise because of your presence. You ultimately want the biggest prize of them all, the golden championship you feign disinterest in. Go ahead and say it”
She shows her fang like teeth as she puts the finishing touches on the painting and leans up resting her ass on her heels as she looks straight into the camera, which followed her up.
“Admit it. You’re just like the rest of us. You want the world to know your name. You don’t want to teach anyone anything. You certainly don’t want to learn from your previous mistakes. You simply expect to waltz into Union Battleground and ‘prove’ yourself.”
She inhales,
“This need to ‘prove’ yourself in and of itself, proves that you are completely fabricated. If an infinitesimal amount of the things you claim about yourself were true, you’d have absolutely nothing to prove.”
She exhales.
“And when they asked me why I did this? I want you to tell them…”
Elina stands up and turns around and begins to walk away. The camera pans around to show that she has painted a picture of Alexander Devin, much like the last, only this one shows him beaten to a pulp and spitting up his teeth.
“Tell them it was because I wanted to destroy something beautiful.”
There’s a moment where the film seems to skip, you can see the perforations on the film stock and for a moment there’s an erect cock, right before the scene cuts to black.
