The Horror's of a Unknown Enitity

Subject: The Horror's of a Unknown Enitity Mon Jun 20, 2011 5:16 pm

+ It is a dark night. A cold night. The wind whistles as it passes through the Sky Scrapers and the High Rises of a busy City, bringing with it the smell of dampness, a for sure sign that a storm isn't too far away. The streets are packed with people, busy with the flurry of different activities, going about their day to day lives. The distant sound of thunder lightly rattles the windows of nearby buildings. The camera looks up, into the dark gray cloudy sky as another roar of thunder is heard. Small, soft raindrops begin to fall. The camera follows two raindrops in their descent, and just before the raindrops crash into the cement, the camera stops on a man, his back to the camera, his hands in the pockets of his Sweater, hood pulled over his head. The Hooded Man walks through the streets, passing person after person, an individual amongst many. Most, ignore the light rain and just go about their business.+

"I have learned two things as of late... Evil is not absolute.. And good is much rather the occasion than the condition. There are people out there, whom, it is necessary to detest without compromise... Enemies of the human race. People without a heart, without kindness, without a conscience. We live in a world of transgressions and selfishness."

+The camera switches from following the Hooded Man through the streets of a bustling city to the close-up of two hands, covered in blood. Heavy Panting can be heard as the Camera examines the hands. The blood is fresh, building up in the spaces between the fingers. The Camera looks up from the bloody hands, showing that the bloody hands are surrounded by an inferno of flame, the heavy panting, still, can be heard.+

"When the blameless and the righteous die, the very Gods of Vengeance Cry."

+ The Camera cuts from the engulfing flames to a wounded man laying in bed. Head, completely wrapped in bandages, with a little bit of blood seeping through on the forehead. The wounded man lays motionless as a beam of Moonlight falls onto him from an above the bed window. Candles are lit off to one side of the bed, making the light dance with the shadows. After a couple seconds, the Camera begins to spin 360 degrees around the wounded man as he begins to violently toss and turn, from left to right, moaning and groaning as he does so. As the Wounded Man tosses about with even more intensity, the floor of the room he is in, gives way, falling into a pit of fire, with the bed, falling, shortly there after. Th Camera stops spinning as the Wounded Man levitates in mid-air, feet falling downward, causing the man to be completely vertical with his arms extended to both sides. Flames begin to consume the wounded man, starting with his feet first, then, moving upwards. Loud, horrific screams are heard coming from the wounded man as the Camera, quickly, zooms up on the only part of the Wounded Man's Face that you are able to see. A completely terrified Hazel Eye.+

"Easy, My Son... Easy."

+ A Catholic Priest runs in, placing his hand on the Wounded Man's forearm, in an attempt to give him some comfort. Just letting the Wounded Man know that he isn't alone, if not anything else. The horrific screams coming from the Wounded Man, slowly, begin to die down as the Priest mumbles an almost completely silent prayer. The Wounded Man sobs, from the pain and from not knowing what the *bleep* is going on. Looking through his right eye, the only eye that is not covered by the bandages, the Wounded Man pleads to the Priest.+

"Father!.. What happened?!... What happened, Father?!... TELL ME!"

+ Several Nuns run in, carrying a pale of water, new bandages. One of the Nuns, without saying a word, forcefully, pours an unknown liquid into the Wounded Man's mouth. The Wounded Man nearly chokes, but, is able to swallow most of the liquid with a little bit spilling out of the corners of his mouth.+

"Now, is the time to rest, My Son... Answers will come later."

"FATHER! PLEASE!... What happened?"

+ The Wounded Man calls out to the Priest as The Priest begins to walk out of the room, leaving the man in the care of the Nuns. The Priest makes it to the entrance of the room as the Wounded Man, again, pleads to the Priest, but, in a more calm fashion and winching in pain as the Nuns work on removing some of the bandages from his mid-section.+

"Father.. Please."

+ The Priest stops, placing his hand on the open door and lowers his head, debating on what he should say to the Wounded Man. The Priest turns, facing the Wounded Man. As The Priest responds, he closes the door to the room.+

"You have a second chance at life, My Son. That's all that matters, now."

"W-w-wait! FATHER!... FAAAATHHEER!"

+ The door to the room closes as the Wounded Man continues to scream as the Nuns continue to give him aide and attend to his wounds. After several seconds, the Wounded Man's exposed eye begins to get "heavy," before, finally, the Wounded Man flops back, onto his pillow. The Nuns continue to work on him as the scene snaps from the Wounded Man being treated by the Nuns to back, in the bustling City, where, the Hooded Man from earlier has stopped, admiring the beauty of several lightning bolts flashing across the sky. The sky opens up and a heavy rain fall comes crashing down, on top of the City. The once bustling city streets, with a matter of seconds, clear of all previous activity as the man, wearing the sweater, just continues to stand, watching the lightning streak across the sky, getting soaked., keeping his back to the Camera.+

"It turns out... I have been forgotten... No longer does the world speak of me. I no longer have a name I could give you that would make any sense. Alive and gone, just as quick as the lightning flashes... My name... Is... "Vengeance," for, that is the only thing that bares any resemblance to what I have become. That is the only thing I am to a World that shouldn't of forgotten so easily... Soon... "

+ The Hooded Man takes his attention from off of the stormy sky, still, keeping his back to the camera and continues on his path, but, this time, down a completely empty street as he is completely soaked from the downpour of the rain.+

"...Soon they will remember."

+The scene fades black.+

Dong!... Dong!... Dong!*

+ The Wounded Man wakes up, still, completely bandaged, from head to toe, slowly, he looks around the room as the Church Bells continue to ring out. The white plaster walls, old with age, are cracked and show the early signs of peeling. The Wounded Man tries to sit up, but, due to his condition, is unable to, instead, an expression of pain shoots across his face, for the effort. From his current position, the Wounded Man can just catch a glimpse of the dark night, outside, from the window above the bed, though, his view is limited. Still, groggy from whatever the hell it was that Nun forced him to drink earlier that evening, the Wounded Man had no choice but to enjoy the small buzz he had from the medicine and to stare out the window, watching cloud after cloud float by. After what seemed like forever, the sound of the old, wooden door, guarding the entrance to the room, is heard opening. The Wounded Man makes an attempt to turn his head, but, the pain is just too great. Tears build up and escape from the corner of the only eye we are able to see, thanks to the bandages that are wrapped around his head.+

"Wh-who's there?!"

+ The Wounded Man chokes on his words, due to his mouth being so dry from, either, the medicine he was forced to drink or from not having anything to drink in quite some time. The Wounded Man does his best to moisten his lips by licking them, listening for a response from the person, who, just entered the room. No response is giving.+

"ANSWER ME!... God, Damn it!... Just... Answer me..."

+ The Wounded Man's voice started out strong, but, ended weak, fighting back the tears that started building, again, in his eye. The Wounded Man feels a plastic straw touch his lips as the Priest, from earlier, leans over him.+

"Drink this... And Calm down, some..."

+ The Wounded Man, relieved, closes his eye, the coming together of his eye lids make a single tear run from the corner of his eye to the white, fuzzy cotton that make up the bandage, that wrap around his head. The Wounded Man opens his eye and begins drinking from the straw. The water was extremely refreshing. Gulping as much down as possible, the Wounded Man gasps as he feels the water go down the "wrong pipe." The Priest pulls the glass of water away from the Wounded Man.+

"You know... You really shouldn't talk like that."

+ The Wounded Man flinches with a random, shooting pain, up his right side. Within seconds, the pain subsides and the Wounded Man looks at The Priest.+

"Like what, Father?"

"Taking the Lord's name in vein... You shouldn't speak in such tones."

+ The Priest adjusts the small pillow under the Wounded Man's head, as he does so, the Wounded Man responds.+

"I apologize, Father... But... To be honest.. I am really not a religious man."

"You don't have to be a religious man to respect the beliefs of others, My Son."

+ With the Wounded Man's good eye, you can tell that he takes a second to ponder what the Priest just said. After taking a moment of reflection, the Wounded Man looks back to the Priest. Through the pain of talking, the Wounded Man asks the same question he did earlier.+

"What happened to me?"

"How much of it do you remember?"

+ The Wounded Man says nothing for several seconds, trying to think back to a memory, any memory. He recalls nothing.+

"Well... Nothing, Father."

+ The Priest, caught off guard by the Wounded Man not having any recollections, what-so-ever, reaches for the glass of water that he placed on an old, rickety nightstand, next to the Wounded Man's bed.+

"You don't remember any of it? The Fire? Nothing?"

"I don't remember a thing, Father."

+ The Priest guides the straw to the Wounded Man's mouth, once again, as the Wounded Man begins to drink, slowly, this time. After quenching his thirst, the Wounded Man removes his lips from the straw. Pain radiates throughout his entire body, in waves, constantly and repeatedly, crashing into every single muscle. The Wounded Man cringes from the sheer pain, grabbing and clinching at the Priest's wrist. Over the next minute, the pain subsides and the Wounded Man returns to a normal state. The Priest, taking pity on the young man, shakes his head and pats the Wounded Man just above the wrist, on the forearm.+

"Easy, My Son... Easy... For now, rest and relax... We will search for the answers when you are strong enough to.. Until then... Rest."

+ The Camera zooms out as The Priest gets up and looks down at the man. Fading from the image of The Priest overlooking the Wounded Man, to the Hooded Man, walking the City Streets. The Rain is coming down in constant sheets, making it difficult to see anything more than several feet a head. The wind screams, battering the rain against the Hooded Man, who, is sitting in a small Bus Stop, giving him very little shelter from the oncoming storm as he shivers from the cold. All you can see is the hood, pulled over his head, blocking the Man's face from being visible to the Camera..+

"So.. It went on like that.. Day after day, week after week. The first couple of days were touch and go but The Priest would come to me, as would the Nuns, giving me food, water, taking care of me, nurturing me back to health. Night after night, The Priest and I would partake in conversation over a Chess Board, or, a cup of coffee, him not having a clue who I was and me, with absolutely no recollection, at all, of who I am or where I come from... But... He kept me company.. We discussed politics, Human Rights... Religion. This went on for about a month, which, was about the same time that I was able to start moving around a little more freely... Not held up by my injuries as much as I was when the Priest first took me in... And then it happened... Once again, I found myself alone in this world... And I saw the monster that I became."

"What have I become"

+The scene fades black.+

The late afternoon sun is well on it's way descending below the horizon. Bright oranges and deep purples fill the sky, making it look as if God was a painter, the World, his canvas. The Wounded Man, still, completely covered with bandages, not daring to take them off, yet, for his wounds have not completely healed, folds and puts away some clothes that the Priest has since giving him. He slides the plain looking Dresser Drawer closed on a plain looking Dresser and looks out the only window in the entire room, admiring the oranges and purples streaked across the sky. The silence of a beautiful morning is interrupted by the sound of couple gun shots being fired in a nearby room. +

*Bang! Bat!...Bang! Bat!*

"AHHHH!... Just take it!... AHHHH!"

"Shut up, you stupid, Bitch!"

"AHHHH!"

"I said shut up!"

*Bang! Bat!... Bang! Bat!*

+ A couple more gun shots ring out as the Wounded Man listens from his bedroom. Hearing the last few gun shots, the Wounded Man charges into the other room. The Priest, who, has been taking care of him, a long with a Nun, lay in puddles of blood. Blood streaks from The Priest's and from the Nun's face, both, receiving "Double Taps" to the face, execution style. Two men, both, wearing black Ski Masks, ripping open the Bank Deposit Bag, that the Priest would of been holding, since, today was Sunday and that Deposit Bag would of been holding the Congregation's Offerings. Without making a sound, the Wounded Man charges the two thugs. Coming to the first thug, which, tries to raise his Pistol, but, the Wounded Man is upon him too quickly, ramming his fist, repeatedly, into the thug's face. Catching the thug off guard, the thug goes down after only a couple of shots. The second thug, raises his Pistol, pointing it directly into the chest of the Wounded Man. Undeterred, the Wounded Man presses onward, taking step after step, towards the thug pointing the Fire Arm at him.+

"You would sell your Soul for a couple hundred dollars?!"

+ The Thug hesitates, pretty much pissing himself, as the Wounded Man keeps stepping towards him as he continues to back step, away from the Wounded Man.+

"You would give up the Good in this World for such a little price?!"

+ The second Thug does not pull the trigger, but, continues to back away, in complete fear. In a flash, the First Thug is back on his feet and has attacked the Wounded Man from behind. The First Thug tries to put a strangle hold onto the Wounded Man but the Wounded Man ducks and slips out of it, knocking his bandages off, displaying hard, crispy, charcoal skin, barely recognizable as a human face. The left eye, completely melted shut, unable to be opened, even if willed to. The lips, zig-zag underneath what we can assume to be a nose, which, really, is nothing more then two, some what circular, holes, on the very front of the face. If one tried to describe to what best the face resembled, it would have to be that of when a candle melts and layer over layer of wax builds up, that's the case here, but, instead of it being wax, it's flesh. The First Thug, catching a glimpse at the hideous figure standing in front of him, charging him, freezes, the look of complete terror on his face. The severely burned man grabs the First Thug, putting his thumbs into the Thug's eye sockets and pressing them in.+

"How does it feel to know that you are going to be looking into the face of God?!"

+ The Wounded Man pushes his thumbs into the eye sockets of the First Thug so hard that the First Thug's eyes popped under the pressure, causing the Wounded Man's thumbs to go as far in as to hit brain. The severely Burned Man turns around, looking at the Second Thug, frozen stiff, as the First Thug, slumps to the floor, dead. The charred face, trickles with blood from the assault on the First Thug, as the Wounded Man has a crazed look in his eye. The two do not make a move. The Wounded Man, looking into the very Soul of the Second Thug and the Second Thug, scared stiff at the horrific creature, panting, covered in blood, staring back at him. Without thinking, the Second Thug drops his Side Arm and takes off, running in between the wooden pughes, heading for the exit.+

"Where you going?!"

+ The Wounded Man, thinking quick, picks up a Crucifix, near the Altar and grabs it by the "long side" of the Crucifix.+

" Huh?! Where you going?!"

+ With amazing force, the Wounded Man hurls the Crucifix, end over end, towards the attempting to escape Thug. The top portion of the Crucifix lodges itself in the back of the escaping Thug's skull. The Thug flops to the floor, landing with a small bounce, from the momentum of him running and lays between the open doors of the Church. The Wounded Man takes a second to look about the carnage, before, kneeling at the side of The Priest. The Priest is cold dead, but, the Wounded Man embraces him as if he is alive, arms wrapped in a hug with constant, sobbing tears falling from the only "working" eye. As the Wounded Man mourns over the loss of the only "Good" that he knows, or, at least, remembers, he catches a glimpse of himself, in the pure Silver facing of the Altar, in which, moments earlier, he picked the Crucifix up from. A panic groan is heard coming from the Wounded Man as he puts the dead Priest back down on the ground and crawls, on all fours, to get a closer look at his reflection in the Pure Silver Facing of the Altar. As he does so, he sees the "Ground Beef" that, now, makes up his face. The Wounded Man lets out a loud cry, horrified at his very own sight, as he begins punching the Pure Silver Facing of the Altar, leaving dents and streaks of blood from the wounds on his hands reopening, in and on the Silver. The Wounded Man, eventually, stops throwing punches at his reflection, but, continues to sob, wildly and uncontrollably

"When the blameless and the righteous die, the very Gods of Vengeance Cry." ... " What do they have to say about those who are still alive and are not fortunate enough to die?"

+ The wind screams, battering the rain against the Hooded Man, who, is sitting in a small Bus Stop, giving him very little shelter from the oncoming storm as he shivers from the cold. All you can see is the hood pulled over his head, blocking the Man's face from being visible to the Camera... It is apparent, even through the shivering, that the Hooded Man takes a deep inhale. As he exhales, he looks directly into the Camera, by raising his head. Once again, the man's face is bandaged back up, hiding the charred remains of what, once, was a human face. The Bandages are soaked with a mixture of blood and water, causing a majority of the bandage to bleed a dull, dark red.+

"What do you say to those who know not where they are going, or, where they come from?"

+ The Wounded Man stands up, tucking his hands deeper into his sweater pockets after readjusting the bandages wrapped around his head, making sure that his face was and is, still, completely covered. Still looking directly into the camera with his one good eye, the Wounded Man lowers his head, maybe in shame, maybe to block his face from the whipping rain... Maybe, it was so he didn't have to be reminded that beauty still existed in the World.+

"What would you do if you, suddenly, became a Freak of Nature?... I'll tell you what I would do.. I'd find.. And kill the Mother *bleep*er that made me this way."

+ The Camera zooms out, encapsulating the entire City as if from outer space.+

"But... Where to start?"

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