Beginnings

[Raven]

Blackness.

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A quick scrape and the room erupts into light for a fleeting moment, diminishing quickly to a small flame as if subdued by the darkness. It tentatively reveals fingers holding a match, hands cradled by old maroon stained bandaging. Its glow slowly descends, tracing the outline of a seated figure - holding steady just long enough to light a candle between black boots. It gives birth to a man sat motionless in a plain white room, elbows resting on black kneepads, his face obscured by a tangle of black and crimson hair. EBWF’s red lettering standing as the only colours on an otherwise plain black t-shirt, partially covered by his dark leather jacket.

“They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. But, subconsciously we conclude that nothing of anyone is original – that we’re all just the combined effort of everyone we’ve ever known. Yet we strive for individuality, falling inevitably at the same obstacles as our predecessors. Carrying the same burdens and discontentment, obtained from separate instances of identical displacement.”

The figure shifts slightly, momentarily uncomfortable.

“I say this after making your acquaintance and being assaulted by you last week, Mr Corbin. I was caught unaware and you capitalised, seized the momentum and proceeded to annihilate an already broken man. Did it feel good?”

The figure sits up, lifting his right hand and running his hair back. Raven stares at the camera, his face adorned with black lines running south from his eyes. A dark unshaved shadow hangs around his jawline as testament to his current mind-set.

“As our comparison is drawn – the mirror positioned, inducing a counterpart. We stand, unflinching and unapologetic. Each ascending to fulfil our destiny, each intertwined in the same web of gold. I see myself in you. I see the same struggle wavering behind your eyes. We’ve faced the same daemons, but somehow rather than defeat them, we’ve just assimilated them. They manifest as signs of depression and anger, counteracting them we self-medicate by whatever means necessary. And after a few overzealous treatments we find ourselves in a place so abrasive there appears to be no resurgence.”

Raven stands. His hands gesturing outwards as he half shrugs. A black and red checked shirt hangs tied round his waist, his cut-off jeans teasing the tops of his black kneepads. Still dimly lit by the solitary candle, his eyes fixated on the camera.

“I speak from recent experience. A short time ago I found myself in a place so dark it made Arkham look like the Betty ford clinic. To those of you expecting more from my return I apologise. I offer no excuses, but present my preceding months as an explanation.”

Ravens looks to the floor as his body slumps defeated, his hands producing a bottle of pills from his pocket and shakes them. Taking a moment he composes himself, throws the pills away and reverts to his earlier stare, pointing at the camera.

“So Baron, I’m not going to waste my time berating you. You deserve more respect than that, but please don’t mistake it for weakness.“

He looks skyward, his arms outstretched at his sides.

“As the year of the Raven begins”

Tilting his head forward he meets the cameras gaze.

“I can only imagine our paths will cross again, and circumstances as well as the outcome will be different. Till then be mindful of who, or what’s around you – as a bird in the hand is worth two voyeurs in the bush. I’d hate for you to get caught up in a nest of trouble without welcome.”

Raven gestures around the room, and quickly his face alters to a grimace as he points to himself and becomes irate.

“As I stand here now in the middle of a KOTR tournament I ask you, what about the King of Hardcore - WHAT ABOUT ME?! WHAT ABOUT RAVEN?”

“And Ambrose, I can only assume you’ve found yourself in similar situations to me. Unfortunately in contrast, I’ve been able to escape with little to no effect on my ability to articulate. Consider yourself much like this candle”

Raven turns to face where he was once sat, slowly and solemnly he begins to walk in that direction.

“Its purpose already served, its light to burn brightly, Quote the Raven…”

Squatting he licks his fingers, and doubts the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

“Nevermore…”

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