<Center>"I think the greatest illusion we have is that denial protects us. It's actually the biggest distortion and lie. In fact, staying asleep is what's killing us."
-Eve Ensler-
*The camera falls on the interior of a dark dim room lit by a singular light source. A single bulb which sets in the very center of a dingy room. At least the floor is dingy, grimy, the kind of floor one sees in abandoned places where men no longer walk for fear that the memories of the past linger still. The walls of the room hidden so perfectly by the darkness as if the shadows themselves stood at the edge of light afraid to step inside. In the center of this odd scene sits an old burlap bag sitting quietly beside a n empty worn wooden chair. The scene looks undisturbed and forgotten the dust heavy on all around save for the sack which lies stained with dirty dingy spots and handprints of a rusty color. Suddenly the stillness is broken. Not by movement but by a voice which resonates in the room like the booming of the voice of Metatron himself.*
Seph: Denial is a terrible thing. It's more than mere rudeness or vanity. No, denial is a lie. It's a lie one tells himself. Worse still it's a lie one believes.
*Seph steps slowly forward his cane and boots clicking resoundingly in the quiet stillness. His face is serious stern but ever filled with a sort of aristocratic air which is carried by those of such breeding and opulence. He looks to the camera slowly as he steps from the darkness like a nightmare made flesh. His eyes peeking through the curtain of hair in his face.*
Seph: I myself told such a lie the other week and for it I paid a terrible price. I underestimated someone, someone that I long to meet again. But make no mistake children I was not defeated that night. No, you see I yet stand here amongst you. I yet exist. I yet draw breath. I remain despite desires of men and in that failure they will find that I am not defeated... only delayed.
*Seph turns his head but a moment. The naked lightbulb sits above him ever so slightly like a halo. He glances up at it. As the camera pans upward. His eyes locked on it as if gazing into the heaves before the camera lens slowly rises before a steel mesh of iron as he drops his head back away from it. The angle odd and deliberate showing the glistening light on his hair before cutting back to him his head down as he paces a slight step.*
Seph: But that was two weeks ago and wishing for the past to be different is as fruitless an endeavor as man can do. So let us not dwell upon unpleasantness, children. Oh no. Let us focus on the future. A bright shining future that lay before us. For this week we face not the current champion but a former champion. James Huntington-Hawkes the third in a long line of proud industrious men. Clawing and climbing your way to the top echelons of society and indeed of this business. A man I respect for his ambitions. But like many great men before you; you lack vision beyond your own selfish wants and desires. in a way I consider you the very perfect representation of the human species.
*He chuckles a bit as the camera filters to a sideways close up of him licking his elongated canine teeth. they gleam and shine in the light which illuminates only him as the camera goes back to it's original gaze locked on a face heavily shadowed by lack of light through the platinum drapery which hangs from his scalp.*
Seph: You see people see what they wish to see. They choose to believe some things they are told and deny somethings which are in front of them. You close your minds to the possibility that there are things upon this earth and beyond this earth which not only exist but have existed among you. Your ancestors used their instincts to sense when danger was near. They trusted these instincts to keep them alive long enough to pass those traits on to their offspring. But as we move into a new world constantly evolving we find that our spacial awareness, our fear developing instincts are becoming less and less used. Much like the cow or the noble horse you just trust what you are given. It is the cow's bargain safety in exchange for service to another. In your case the shadowy faceless hand of your betters.
*He raises a hand as he smiles curling his long slender fingers into a motion of one as if calling for attention or telling a child to wait a singular moment.*
Seph: Now this is where it gets tricky, boys and girls. So let's all pay attention now.
*He says with a wicked grin before dropping his hand and tilting his head in false whimsy.*
Seph: Now, who do you think those betters really are? Think of every time you went into the woods as a child. There was no end to the danger. Rock slides, falling limbs, poison plant life, dangerous wildlife, lightning, viruses, all the little dangers that one comes in contact with in the slightest way. Oh you maybe a seasoned woodsmen or a trained survivalist but most would not recognize the simple dangers until they were befallen by it. So it is with my kind. Imagine it, the perfect predation. To live among the herd of cattle. See them bustling before you. So busy in their own little lives. Their noses buried in books and tablets. Talking on phones and texting so much that they are oblivious to true danger. And so you fool yourselves into not seeing. You pretend that the worlds dangers don't exist. As if they are fables in a tale. Even though we live among you. Even though we walk right beside you. Even now you deny the danger you're in, Mr. Huntington-Hawkes. Even now you sit in your own world trying to tell yourself it's just a man in a suit. This is my design. The perfect camouflage.
*He smiles rolling his head against the warmth of the bulb slowly turning it in a circle. The slow sizzle of the bulb running around and around before he drops his head teasingly with a low chuckle. His eyes fixated on the camera as it admires the gleefulness of his smile.*
Seph: What more successful predator could exist that walks among his prey as one of it's own? Who though different appears as no more a man as you? Do you feel those eyes on you, James? Those eyes like fingers running slowly up and down your body? That's us. For you can deny that a bear charging down on you doesn't exist all you want. That doesn't make it a reality. And let's just say that I was somehow delusional. that somehow I wasn't what I claim to be. What is the alternative? That I am dangerous? That I am unstable? That I am (for all intents and purposes) mad? If I am what I claim to be then you face a horror more dreadful then any you've known before. If not I am a psychopath that feels no more about you as he does ripping off a butterfly's wing.
*Seph steps back never looking away once from the camera casually grabbing the chair from it's resting place beside the large sack. He flips the chair about and sits reverse style leaning down in a rather provocative and seductive way. His eyes one of empty hollowness as he seems to watch through the lens of the camera staring at him, not at the audience or even at the cameraman but almost as if staring dead into James Huntington-Hawkes soul.*
Seph: See I don't care if you call yourself J2H or James or some other ridiculous byproduct of your inbreeding aristocracy. You see this new attitude is just what it seems to be just a ploy to seem more important than you are. it's true what the bard wrote " A rose by any other name would smell as sweet". In your case a wretch by any other name is still a wretch. Your the same over inflated spoiled child you always were and deep down that timid scared little boy is still there. Still crying for mommy and daddy to come to his room and check under the bed for the monsters. Only you don't need to look under the bed or in the closet for the monsters, James...
*He reaches up pushing the lightbulb with a single finger hard into a spin. The bulb twirls free spinning in an arch all around and as it does the inky black shadows give way to the light revealing thousands of messages, cries for help. Fingernail gouges in the walls, counting lines scratched deep into stone. Graffiti made in a rust colored tone reminiscent of dried blood cry help to the viewer in one horrific free form lightshow as Seph just sits smiling as the light begins to stop it's terrible dance.*
Seph: ... we are all around you. So bring up every pop culture references you can. Ridicule me. Discredit me. Because the facts don't lie. Whether i am or am not I am real. I am flesh. I exist. You can deny the spirit but you cannot deny the man. For I am the fallen one...
*He lifts his head to the sky taking in a deep intoxicating breath.*
Seph: The Chosen One. The on...
*He stops as the burlap bag suddenly begins to move the muffled cries inside sounding so human as it blindly spills and writhes and turns casting his attention away but for a moment. He grabs his cane up and smacks the bag once or twice with the head of his cane. His face locked into a dark blank annoyed gaze devoid of anything. Empty doll-like eyes. Like a sharks eyes. before turning back to the camera with a low chuckle moving his fingers through his long flowing hair.*
Seph: The only one, Sephiroth du Lac.
*The bag lets out a soft weeping. Low moans escaping as he stands grabbing the burlap with one hand and dragging it back kicking and writhing into the dark shadows as the scene fades to black.*
