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The Back Seat
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Topic Started: Nov 2 2012, 09:55 PM (143 Views)
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The Beast
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Nov 2 2012, 09:55 PM
Post #1
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- Posts:
- 972
- Group:
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- #356
- Joined:
- March 6, 2012
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The Back Seat
Drew walked the streets of the night alone. A free man, yeah, but a man bonded with confliction, nonetheless.
He'd glance at his tall, straight reflection in the shop window's he'd pass by. In them, he'd see the man he'd always been. The loser. The failure. The man that'd gotten away, but the man that'd gotten away with nothing but two empty pockets and the faith of a stranger.
It wasn't enough.
And as he began to think that it was NEVER ENOUGH, his teeth gritted together out of anger. The lie had deceived those that'd tried to lock him down. But if he'd gotten caught again, he wouldn't be so lucky, he guaranteed himself.
But the sight was so attractive. So lonely. A young woman, ten years younger than himself, walking these lonely dark streets alone.
She'd have money. She'd have jewelry. She'd have what he needed before he could return home. And the only thing that stood in his way of making them his own was the ideal of that god damn cage and those words that over-sized beast of a man said to him.
"And Lord of the Lights be with you." he'd said, and it rang in Drew's head like the booming shot of a gun.
But Jesus Christ, he couldn't see him, for these streets were so dark, that he could hardly see the hands in front of his face. Clearly Beast had been wrong. Clearly there was nobody there to guide him down any righteous path. Clearly he was truly alone. Like he'd always been. And this opportunity was too good to pass up. Fuck the consequences. And fuck Wildebeest for believing in a man left with too little to believe in good over evil. ---
The Book of Wrestling. Three thousand, five hundred and fifty-five time stained pages. Wrapped in a brown cover that was marked with a small wrestling ring symbol in the center. The cover had been tore by the claws of a falcon and wrinkled by the wrath of a storm. It'd been through a lot, and yet, despite it all, here it sat.
All gathered together, each page in place, under the glow of a spotlight, in the confines of a dark, silent room. The stories inside it echoed through the shadows, in ways that you couldn't comprehend, in epic scenes of combat, and emotional tales of conflict. The Lord's, the Judge's, the Keeper's and the Wizard all watched by the side, as the Light shined down over the title in which they were all remembered.
Inside the book's worn cover, many regulations and codes were recorded, with one simple goal: the achievement of success inside the sacred ropes that seated the battles waged throughout time. Inside its pages, the book is very clear that to achieve the success that is so desired, you are to capture one thing and one thing only.
That thing, oddly enough, isn't the North American championship. Nor is it any one victory or any specific person. It isn't the victory of any labeled tournament or grand battle. It isn't being apart of the best match of the best card of the entire year. And it isn't even attaining the World Heavyweight Champion.
These times, individually, are nothing but sparks in the night. Some of them glow brighter than the others. But they all go out. They all fade away. And when they're out, all that remains is a quiet trail of smoke that slowly vanishes in the wind.
Success, as told by the Book of Wrestling, is glory. Glory that'll burn brightly through any darkness, for the eternity. Glory that'll crackle with fire in the background as other men rise up through battle to capture titles and pieces of the puzzle. Glory that'll glow vividly in the eyes of every man and woman ambitioning to be...you, someday.
The noise of opening steel came from the left. Moments later, it shut, and the large shadow of a figure moved across the light being shone. The footsteps boomed throughout the small room like falling boulders. He moved around the table, across the right corners, and stopped once he was in front of the camera.
He kneeled down, a long, dark beard falling down, hands stretched out onto either end of the table, and he faced the camera that showcased his most prized possession. The source of all his knowledge. The savior of his entire professional career.
It wasn't gold and it couldn't go around his waist, but nevertheless, it was far more valuable to him than any other man's golden strap.
Denia had told him that sometimes, there's just something about his eyes that was different than the other people she knew, or the other wrestler's she'd seen. He'd beam with the sort of fire that she couldn't imagine anything could put out. In times of intensity, in times like these, was when she'd notice it. She'd tease him about it, and tell him to calm down, but secretly, she loved how he got when he was in that state of mind. She could never feel safer, or more turned on for that matter.
The camera began to zoom in on the shadowy features that made up the face of the North American Champion. The closer that it came, the more detail that was broadcasted into the world. The breeze firing from his nostrils throughout every exhale brushed down on his facial hair. Which, by the way, was in no way trimmed or maintained. It was wild, and unpredictable, much himself.
"The Wildebeest calls for forgiveness, as this message will be no short broadcast."
He turned his neck in both directions to crack it both times before continuing.
"James Stall..." the name of the World Heavyweight Champion was spoken in way that bothered the Wildebeest. A man with such an achievement should be shown respect. But the Wildebeest's voice betrayed him, as the champion's name was spoken with a ill, disgusted tone. "Congratulations." but he couldn't go against his Book's codes for long.
"You had a lot to say about me a few days ago, during your celebratory morning after, and Wildebeest listened to every word you said. And for the last few hours, Wildebeest's has thought over everything you brought up, as if the very words you spoke were included inside of this very Book of Wrestling."
He glanced down, toward the book that saved his life, and then returned his intense glance to the man in which he'd addressed.
"You're afraid."
His words weren't spoken as you'd expect them to be. There was no tone of arrogance. He'd said them as if he were talking to a friend. As if they were nothing out of the ordinary. And his eyes told the same story, as if they knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it were true.
"The Wildebeest watched your video, listened to your words, and watched as you tried to ignite a spark of anger with delusion in which you could use to your advantage during our match-up. You weren't speaking with the confidence of a world champion. You were speaking with fear in your heart. And Wildebeest isn't about to stoop to your level and claim that that fear is because of me, for it is clear that that fear comes from something else.
That fear comes from the idea of slipping.
You won the championship that you've sought after for so long, and now you have to scream out that you are what you are to remind yourself that you aren't in a dream. And you're afraid, James Stall, that you aren't supposed to be where you are.
The Wildebeest spotted it easily, as he has been trained to do so. It is a weakness that will be your downfall. For it won't be long until the rest of the world sees it. They'll find it in your eyes, in the lack of light. They'll find it in your voice, in the way that it isn't spoken like a man on the top of the world, but a man standing somewhere where he doesn't belong."
Wildebeest's large hand moved over the Book of Wrestling. Over his everything. Over the very item that gave HIM the certainty and confidence that James Stall's world heavyweight championship failed to do for him.
"And you know, what Wildebeest has discovered through the tone of your voice and the look in your eyes, that if you were to lose during our match-up, the whole world would start to notice the fear in your heart. The Wildebeest acknowledges that you are correct. He does not present any threat to your championship. But many others do. And you know that if you fail to defeat the Wildebeest in battle, that they'll see right through the disguise you've put on to hide your true self.
The people around the world do not want to celebrate a champion who's not ready to stand on top of the ladder, confidently, truly, for all to see. They do not want a champion who'll hide behind trash talk and frightened eyes. They will lash out at you. And they will run you out of the spot that you haven't settled into yet.
You don't want that to happen, do you James? You don't want to slip and let them all know just who their champion really is.
And you think that Wildebeest will be no challenge to a man such as yourself. A man who claims to own the very championship Wildebeest fought tooth and nail to obtain, just further proof that you aren't ready to accept who you are now and are still looking back to the comfort of yesterday. You would call Wildebeest inferior to his associates. You would call Wildebeest a weak link.
You would say that Wildebeest wasn't cut out for this business..."
His lip trembled as his hand moved down the sacred Book of Wrestling. He was wrong...he was dead wrong, and Wildebeest's every muscle flinched with the idea of getting a chance at proving to the world just how wrong he was.
Eyes darted for the camera.
"Let Wildebeest remind you of something, Stall. Something you probably didn't even know. Something you were probably too distracted to catch as you were desperately, blindly climbing toward your championship reign . The fact that Wildebeest almost lost his job in NEWEra was weakness, yes. The Book of Wrestling had failed. The learning's had failed. The lesson's, even. Wildebeest's speed, his strength, all came up short against the talent placed against him…
But what you aren't understanding is that the fact that Wildebeest ROSE UP FROM NEAR UNEMPLOYMENT to becoming apart of NEWEra's most successful stable, to giving Tombstone one of his greatest challenges, to winning the NEWEra North American Champion...proves that Wildebeest was born to be apart of this business.
You on the other hand..."
A crooked smirk crossed Wildebeest's face.
"A man who'll take any short cut to get what he wants. A man who lacks the confidence of a true champion. A man who mistreats women, who mistreats championships, who mistreats the very Judge's of OUR RING...A man like you should take a break from trying to hide who you really are with tough words and read this Book.
Learn the way of the Wrestler, Stall.
Become a champion this company can be proud of. A champion the people can be proud of. A champion that the very Judge's of the Ring can call their own. For if you do not, have no doubt in your mind that Wildebeest will come at you with unstoppable force.
Yes, he may not be Priest. He may not be Tombstone. But what Wildebeest is is nearly seven feet, three-hundred pounds of true champion, guided by a Book of Wrestling that has turned him into a more skilled, more dedicated and more focused man than you'll ever be. And it'll all be coming for you.
You will experience your worst fear. Your fear of being exposed. And it will be at the hands of a man that takes lessons not from one man but all men, a man who may not be able to do a thing about what happened to his mentor, but who will do everything in his power to make sure that you do not remember a second of it by the end of the night.
The Wildebeest is coming for you."
And with that, he stared. For a good five or six seconds. As the scene began to fade away, intensity dripping down the face of the North American champion. ---
The beating of his heart was faster than it'd been since the Casino. Hell, it was probably faster, because of the sirens that echoed through the city alleys. He inhaled and exhaled fast and strong, hoping to stay calm, hoping to keep a focused mind, but it was harder and harder by the second.
He collapsed over a garbage can, knocking it over in the process. Old moldy food and crumbled up boxes scattered around him as the sirens got closer and closer. He scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping on a piece of rotten cantaloupe, and made his way around a building.
Money was in his pockets. Along with a necklace and a wedding ring. His heart didn't feel any colder than it was before. His soul seemed not a bit darker. But that fucking wrestler's words continued to ring in his mind, like some fucking song he couldn't forget. But he had to.
He rushed down the dark city street. It all played in his mind. Every second...
He'd approached her from behind. There was no doubt that she'd heard his footsteps as they approached. But she must have had too much trust in humanity, and as Drew pulled her around, and struck her down with a back-hand, he saw the broken trust in her tearing eyes.
And it made him feel bad...And he didn't know what the fuck he was doing, kind of like at the casino, but god damn it, it was too late to turn back now…
He stripped her of her money. He ripped off her necklace. He grabbed her hand and when she pulled it back, he slapped her again, and took the wedding ring off her finger. He listened to her cry in the night as he shoved it all into the pockets that had been empty for far too long.
He tried not to think about the tears. He tried to think about the family he'd been away from for so long, who'd expect him to have something to bring them. This was good. This was the answer to all of his problems. This was...what he needed.
He took one last glance down at the woman. Tears rolled down her face, gleaming from the moon, as she held her stricken face. And then he was off.
Sirens began to follow him ten minutes later.
And at this point, they'd gotten closer and closer, and he was running out of places to hide, and he began to hear them from every direction, and he had no way to hide, no place to hide, no place to hide...he'd go back to where he was, he'd rot away, and there'd be no fool to believe in his deceit.
They surrounded him. But he'd found a place to lay. In the backseat of a car parked on the side of the road. The door was open, by some sort of dark miracle, and he curled up in the dark, closed his eyes as the sirens surrounded him and tried to find some room to breath.
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