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 ||Clap|| ||Clap|| ||Clap|| ||Clap|| ||Clap|| ||The repetitive sound of clapping is heard as the scene fades in to a hospital room. As the low beeps from several pieces of equipment can be heard, the camera focuses in on Weezle. Weezle is lying on a hospital bed, cheap blankets covering him from the waist down. He sits propped up against some pillows, allowing you to see his thin, backwards hospital-gown, the air-tube running from his nose, and some wires that run to his chest by way of the openings in his gown.|| ||Finally, Weezle stops clapping, and starts to talk with a slightly slurred voice.|| Hello all. ||The camera zooms in, focusing in on Weezle's face.|| Well, I shouldn't say 'all'... as I'm really only going to talk about Diamond Dream. Mr. Dream. Take a good look at what you see before you. Take a nice, deep, long, look. ||Weezle pauses, allowing you to stare at the scars and lines of stitches that criss-cross his face.|| You did this Mr. Dream. You did. You see this scars? You see these stitches? These are the after-effects of our match at Last Man Standing. Most of what you see was inflicted from that Deadly Dream on the top of the cage. You remember that... Don't you? Remember? You smashed my face against the bar. Then I fell... FELL... from the top of the cage... THROUGH a table. Mr. Dream... Allow me to ask you something. Have you ever felt your face... break? Have you ever felt your head... start to come apart? Have you ever felt the bones that make up your skull turn into a PASTE?!? I ask you this because after Last Man Standing... I HAVE!! When you delivered the Deadly Dream onto the bar of the cage, you damn-near caved my head in. You knocked out my front teeth. You ripped up my skin. You broke my nose. You shattered my orbital bone. You fractured my cheekbones. You dislocated my jaw. Thank God that when I hit the table I was knocked unconscious, or I just might have been stupid enough to try to climb back up to meet you. ||Weezle pauses to swallow, an effort that looks quite laboured.|| Now Mr. Dream, you did more than just cut me up a bit. Let's look at what happened. After I was rushed to the hospital, and then rushed into the O.R., the had to insert metal plates and pins to put my face back together. I WAS HUMPTY FREAKIN' DUMPTY!!! They had to reconstruct parts of my head. RECONSTRUCT!! I was a human jigsaw puzzle! So, Mr. Dream, for the last few days I have been waiting. Waiting for several things. One thing I had to wait for was the drugs to wear off. You see, because of the excrutiating pain, I was constantly under sedation. This helped my body focus on healing, and kept me from doing something stupid that would only set me back. I also had to wait to get the mobility in my jaw back so I could talk. Another reason for the sedation. So, for this past week, I have been lying here... Thinking. Thinking about... just how stupid you are. This is the WORST thing you could have done!! Think about it!! If you had broken my leg, I would be in a gym somewhere, rehabbing. If you had broken my arm, I would be using freeweights, rehabbing. Instead, you broke my face. Which means I have been lying here, waiting, thinking, DREAMING, of how I am going to make it up to. You see, it's just not fair that I should have all the fun. No no no. YOU should share. Mother always told me to share. ||Weezle pauses to swallow and take a deep breath.|| But, alas, it will not happen immediately. The doctor's won't let me compete until my bones start to set. Which means that for the next little bit, I'm out of action. But don't worry. That doesn't stop me from showing up at Breakdown. You can guarantee that someway, somehow, I will be there. And you can guarantee that until I come back to the ring, I will be thinking of you. And not in a cute, Hugh Grant movie way. No, I'll be thinking of you in a position similar to mine. Being confined to a hospital bed, tubes running out your nose, wires and nodes attached to your body, being fed through a tube in your arm. THAT is what I want you to feel. I want you to feel the sensation of a needle constantly under your skin, and everytime you go to scratch it, it only gets worse... and worse... And WORSE... until you just want to rip it out. Mr. Dream, that is I want to do to you. I think it is only fair for you to have fair warning. Granted, if I was in your boots at the top of the cage, I would have done the exact same thing. But... well... I wasn't. Instead, I sit here, amongst the drip-drip of the IV bag and the beep-beep of the heart monitor. And everytime I think of you, I get this weird sensation. A feeling. It's a little hard to describe.... but I'll do my best. You know how when you drink or eat something sweet? Like, say, a glass of lemonade or a donut? And afterwards you get this weird... glucose-rich glob of sugary spittle stuck in the back of your throat, that no matter how hard you try, you JUST can't swallow? Well, THAT is how I feel everytime I think of you. You just... irk me in every way possible. So sleep tight, Mr. Dream. Enjoy it while you can. ||End|| |
