HOUSE OF THE HOLY
A camera pans down to a bright green field. Goldenrod, thistle and carrot flowers weave through tall grass on the strength of a warm summer breeze. Sitting alone in the center of the field is an old church, looking worse for wear due to the effects of time and neglect. The once white paint has chipped and peeled away to reveal rotting clapboards. Shingles have shaken loose and hang precariously from the eaves, leaving the roof dotted with small holes. Years ago, enterprising or bored teenagers climbed up there and snapped the cross at the top, making it look like a lowercase t, easier to do when there’s no steeple, but still quite a feat. Despite its state of disrepair, the church still stands.
Two old oak doors stand open, but not necessarily inviting. A broad shouldered man stands just inside. He is wearing a black frock and black wide-brimmed hat, his head is bowed solemnly and his hands are clasped together, as if in prayer. There is nothing but ruin ahead of him now, a vibrant congregation from a forgotten time and town are gone. Pews are tipped over, pushed around and have obscenities carved into them. Moldy bible pages are strewn around the room, long ripped from their holy bindings.
MAN: It has been so long since His love and light were stripped away from this place. It has been so long since His voice has been heard and His will has been carried out within these walls.
Stepping fully inside the church, he shakes his head in disbelief. Sparrows flit through the half-light and out broken stained glass windows. One of these broken pieces still contains the head of Mother Mary, eyes slightly closed, a slight smile on her face.
MAN: Once upon a time, I was known as the Fallen Angel. I was a man who had become bereft of faith, had lost all hope. There was nothing for me until one day I had reached the bottom, but I saw a glint light at the end of a long tunnel. It was His light. I found His gospel, the Good Word and in His name I was saved. I could no longer be called the Fallen Angel, but the Angel Among us. Among you.
The look on his face is one of remembrance, but is gone in a flash.
MAN: but I haven’t been among you, them, or anyone for the longest time. I have, however, been watching. PRIME Wrestling, I have been watching you and your unholy band of wrestlers. Men and women who have strayed, OH, how they have strayed from His light and are unworthy of His love.
He smiles again as he approaches the church’s altar. He stands at what’s left of a rotting lectern, looking out over his imaginary congregation.
MAN: PRIME Wrestling is filled with sheep who have strayed too far from His flock. The wolves are at your backs, and you have very little recourse for what is about to happen next. As His shepherd, I can protect you from the wolves. I can give you shelter from the storm.
He throws his arms out into a crucifix position, his voice booming through the decaying church.
MAN: I welcome you to the House of the Holy
He grins and tips his hat forward, the camera fading to the ringside area for our next match.