Post by Ca$h on May 6, 2007 17:07:12 GMT -5
The scene fades in from black, but not with the typical straight fade. This time, the mirage effect of a hot day obscures the view, and as the picture comes into focus, we see the skyline of Seattle, Washington twenty years ago, complete with Space Needle. A quick fade brings us to a small public school in a Seattle suburb, where seven year old Casey Casper is in a bad situation.
"Hey Casper, say hi to your butler for me!" The punch lands hard, from the fist of a third grader. Casey drops to the floor like a sack of bricks, and now the circle of bullies start kicking at the first grader. He curls up into a ball, and protects himself as best he can, until a teacher breaks up the beatdown.
Another fade, and a bloody Casey sits in the nurse's office, the teacher that saved him in a chair to his right.
"Listen, Casey, you have to learn how to defend yourself. I'm not telling you to get a gun and shoot the kids, but at least let me teach you a few moves. I run a beginner's judo class at the Y every Saturday. Stop by tomorrow morning, and I'll give you a quick lesson, ok?"
A grateful smile crosses the young boy's lips, and a single tear courses through the dried blood and dirt on his face.
Back to the playground, this time two years later. A crowd of children circle around Casey again, but this time they're watching in awe as he viciously dispatches three sixth grade boys in short order. The fourth comes at him with a small pocket knife, no doubt stolen from his father's tacklebox. Casey sidesteps the awkward stabbing motion, and brings a single fist down on the wrist of the older boy, a reverberating crunch making the spectators wince. Two young girls run for a teacher, and the former knife-wielder drops to the ground, clutching his broken wrist. Casey looks around at the would-be attackers, and a cold stare has taken over his once-youthful eyes. The crowd parts, and he walks toward the school building, emotionless.
Fade again to a teenage boy sitting alone in his home, telephone sitting in his lap. Tears are once again streaming down his face, but no other signs of emotion can be seen. A voice is still audible from the handset of the phone, and it continues to speak as the scene changes again. "Casey? Are you there? Casey? We're going to need you to come down to the morgue to identify..."
A funeral. Twin caskets at the front of a catholic church, lids closed. Small placards in front of the pair read "John Casper" and "Sarah Casper", respectively. A priest stands between the caskets, eulogizing the loved and lost.
"I remember marrying these two just five years ago. They were the most loving couple I'd ever seen. I watched them raise their son, Casey, with that same love. Now, due to the carelessness of just one man, who decided to drive home from a New Year's Eve party, I am tasked with burying these two great people."
Casey sits in the front row, emotionless once again. The cold stare has returned.
Fade to a high school wrestling meet. Casey has bulked up, wrestling in the 215 pound division as a junior. He is dominating his opponent, but the other young man, outweighing Casey by a mere five pounds, quickly turns the tables, cradling Casey and putting him dangerously close to being pinned. Thinking quickly, with blatent disregard for the rules, Casey pulls an elbow in, then jams it into the crotch of his opponent. The referee is oblivious, and Casey easily takes advantage, rolling up for a pinfall and the win. He stands over his fallen adversary, looking down with the same cold stare that has become standard in his life. The referee raises his hand in victory, and he remains emotionless once again.
The mirage-like shimmer leaves the scene with the last fade, and once again we see Casey, now known as Ca$h, sitting on a wooden bench in a locker room. He has changed into his ring gear, wrapped his wrists with white tape, and written on them "JC" and "SC". He looks up from his apparent interest in the floor, eyes reddened and glistening once again. The cold blue stare, however, is nowhere to be seen. In its place are the innocent eyes of a young boy, destined to a life of pain and suffering. These eyes are those of a man remembering his past, and living the emotion that he denied himself for too long.
He wipes away the tears, rises to his feet, and slowly places a single palm over the lens.
Fade to black.[/b]
"Hey Casper, say hi to your butler for me!" The punch lands hard, from the fist of a third grader. Casey drops to the floor like a sack of bricks, and now the circle of bullies start kicking at the first grader. He curls up into a ball, and protects himself as best he can, until a teacher breaks up the beatdown.
Another fade, and a bloody Casey sits in the nurse's office, the teacher that saved him in a chair to his right.
"Listen, Casey, you have to learn how to defend yourself. I'm not telling you to get a gun and shoot the kids, but at least let me teach you a few moves. I run a beginner's judo class at the Y every Saturday. Stop by tomorrow morning, and I'll give you a quick lesson, ok?"
A grateful smile crosses the young boy's lips, and a single tear courses through the dried blood and dirt on his face.
Back to the playground, this time two years later. A crowd of children circle around Casey again, but this time they're watching in awe as he viciously dispatches three sixth grade boys in short order. The fourth comes at him with a small pocket knife, no doubt stolen from his father's tacklebox. Casey sidesteps the awkward stabbing motion, and brings a single fist down on the wrist of the older boy, a reverberating crunch making the spectators wince. Two young girls run for a teacher, and the former knife-wielder drops to the ground, clutching his broken wrist. Casey looks around at the would-be attackers, and a cold stare has taken over his once-youthful eyes. The crowd parts, and he walks toward the school building, emotionless.
Fade again to a teenage boy sitting alone in his home, telephone sitting in his lap. Tears are once again streaming down his face, but no other signs of emotion can be seen. A voice is still audible from the handset of the phone, and it continues to speak as the scene changes again. "Casey? Are you there? Casey? We're going to need you to come down to the morgue to identify..."
A funeral. Twin caskets at the front of a catholic church, lids closed. Small placards in front of the pair read "John Casper" and "Sarah Casper", respectively. A priest stands between the caskets, eulogizing the loved and lost.
"I remember marrying these two just five years ago. They were the most loving couple I'd ever seen. I watched them raise their son, Casey, with that same love. Now, due to the carelessness of just one man, who decided to drive home from a New Year's Eve party, I am tasked with burying these two great people."
Casey sits in the front row, emotionless once again. The cold stare has returned.
Fade to a high school wrestling meet. Casey has bulked up, wrestling in the 215 pound division as a junior. He is dominating his opponent, but the other young man, outweighing Casey by a mere five pounds, quickly turns the tables, cradling Casey and putting him dangerously close to being pinned. Thinking quickly, with blatent disregard for the rules, Casey pulls an elbow in, then jams it into the crotch of his opponent. The referee is oblivious, and Casey easily takes advantage, rolling up for a pinfall and the win. He stands over his fallen adversary, looking down with the same cold stare that has become standard in his life. The referee raises his hand in victory, and he remains emotionless once again.
The mirage-like shimmer leaves the scene with the last fade, and once again we see Casey, now known as Ca$h, sitting on a wooden bench in a locker room. He has changed into his ring gear, wrapped his wrists with white tape, and written on them "JC" and "SC". He looks up from his apparent interest in the floor, eyes reddened and glistening once again. The cold blue stare, however, is nowhere to be seen. In its place are the innocent eyes of a young boy, destined to a life of pain and suffering. These eyes are those of a man remembering his past, and living the emotion that he denied himself for too long.
He wipes away the tears, rises to his feet, and slowly places a single palm over the lens.
Fade to black.[/b]
