Post by Logan on May 12, 2012 22:07:26 GMT -5
Time flows
Nobody knows
The years go by
Where we go
Alone from here
Night falls
Strange-colored walls
My eyes deceive
What is wrong
With me?
The camera man arrives in time at a grocery store to reveal a gentlemen arguing with a cashier.
DISTRESSED MAN: I put a rain check on this ham four weeks ago.
CASHIER: You need to show me the slip. I can’t give you the sale without that.
From beyond Logan watches on, standing somewhere behind the distraught man, watching on with no interest whatsoever. He does not appear connected to the world; it’s as if this current spectacle of angry exchanged words is like nothing more than watching two birds chirp in a tree. There are other lanes open and ready to ring him up without a prick show yet he chooses to stand here, unmoved, unaffected.
DISTRESSED MAN: Never again am I coming here.
The cashier rolled his eyes away from the jerk and onto Logan.
CASHIER: Number six is open, sir.
He idly sat a package of red hair dye onto the conveyer, ignoring the cashier’s suggestion.
DISTRESSED MAN: Hey buddy! You might want to move along, this is going to take a while.
LOGAN: I need this dye.
The slivering darkness inched up Logan’s torso, underneath his shirt, peeking its snake head from the shirt neck and whispering madness into his ear. He took it in cocking his face towards the Serpent’s wicked flame thrower mouth, letting it seep into his brain and take the wheel.
CASHIER: I can give you an employee discount.
DISTRESSED MAN: I DON’T WANT A FUCKIN’ –
He was taken from behind; Logan had a fist full of the man’s hair, bouncing his face off the change stand. The cashier appeared disgusted by the sudden shake up, deep down though it’d be easy for one to speculate that the cashier himself was enjoying the sight and only putting on a show of disapproval for the stores cameras that would undoubtedly be played over and over later on the day. The man’s nose cracked the edge of the wooden stand and blood squirted out onto the scanner. The pure randomness and shock of the situation froze the assaulted victim into place. He was held there, face flat into wood, cheek redden from the forceful press. Logan’s hand constantly gripping and releasing hair between locking fingers while not entirely aware of his actions or the consequences but enjoying them nonetheless. He didn’t need a Serpent to get a kick out of violence.
DISTRESSED MAN: Get yer hands off me!
He was beginning to fight back against Logan’s grasp, so he tightened; tightened like the snake itself had crawled out of his finger tips and coiled. It remerged into his ear.
LOGAN: You’re coming with me.
He was no match for Logan’s strength, he was easily overpowered. Logan brought the fellows head up from the counter and struck his nose with a bare hard fist. The blow itself was enough to instantly send the man into an unconscious state, which was good, because he preferred him not to be kicking and screaming when he threw him over his shoulder and walked out of the market, not forgetting to take the red hair dye with him.
Deep in the night you think everything is right
Tell it to yourself. Say it's just a nightmare
Something is telling you nothing can change where you are
Again
The dead weight dropped into the trunk and engulfed with darkness when the hood slammed. No one seen a thing the Serpent assured Logan, not a fuckin’ thing. He took a set of keys from his pocket and popped them into the ignition immediately after getting into the Dodge. The drive was calm, easy, a relief. He needed this freedom from reality. It wasn’t just an escape, it was a fix, a drop of Heaven from the Serpent’s addictive fang juice. He must have it, it’s what he needed to fly and thrive. The car slowed and stopped next to a police cruiser at a red light. He peered over and noticed the officer’s eyes setting into him. Perhaps something like a nervous reaction or a moment of fear should have kicked in but nothing did other than a grin and a friendly wave which the cop kindly returned. The light flickered green and the race to Warehouse Mountain was back on. The distressed man soon opened his eyes, trying to adjust them to the dim tail red lights that were the only source of light. Panic didn’t seem to do enough here, not magically explode open the trunk lid like he may have hoped, instead his chest caved in and quick short breaths accelerated his heart. The feeling of absolute doom shed its feathers, growing new ones and taking off for massive flight. He never thought things would end like this. Not in during a casual trip to the market to bark at a pimple faced cashier. If only he had waited an extra minute and caught another episode of Pawn Stars, perhaps he could have avoided this crazed lunatic somehow and not ended up with a broken nose and a free ride in a trunk. Logan must have heard the man’s desperate struggling because he turned the radio on and continued the route to insanity.
Why should it matter, your dreams of a child?
Innocence is gone. Only fear to play with
Faces are changing, but nothing is changing the pain
Too late
The Dodged stopped and died. The door slammed shut and solid footsteps approached the trunk. He thought maybe a surprise right could save his life once the hood sprang open, so he clinched his fist and cocked. The hood opened and he blindly fired into the air, into nothing. Where was he? He blinked rapidly to ease the heavy sunshine.
LOGAN: I thought you might try that.
A solid flat metal bounced off the back of his head and echoed inside his skull. He was beginning to get familiar with the feeling of slipping into blackness as he mumbled a few curse words before becoming unconscious once again. Logan tossed the home run hitting shovel to the ground and carefully grabbed the distraught man before he could dive head first into concrete, break a neck, and poop this party. With the man in his arms, he carried him into the empty barn, a place he had become familiar with over the years whenever he needed to let off a bit of steam and beat abduct a rival and beat them sensibly. He dubbed this secret gathering the ‘Fun Shack’, rightfully so, it had witnessed its fair share of torment… and fun. The man was bound by the wrists and strung up dangling from a steel rafter above. It took him awhile to wake, but several buckets of dirty water and a slap or eight later he did. He was more than shaken by the current predicament, waking up in a trunk and then waking up swinging from your wrists was more than enough to keep one from wanting to go back to sleep.
LOGAN: Who are you?
He thought he should be asking Logan this instead.
BILL: I’m Bill. Who the fuck are you?!
LOGAN: Me…?
This guy was more than dramatic with his answer, literally twirling on his heels and cutting a pose with a rotten see through grin.
LOGAN: I go by many names!
He felt Logan’s nasty hotdog breath stain his nostrils when he got close, tugging at his collar and shouting nicks into his face.
LOGAN: The Face of Treachery! Oh, yes, AND… Mr. WCF! Do you know what else they call me? I can be Captain Treachery too or a Ticket Master.
He cringed with every spray of spit that struck his face from Logan’s flapping mouth.
LOGAN: Logan is another, probably the most familiar name of names. What’s yours?
BILL: I told you my name is Bill.
LOGAN: No you didn’t.
BILL: Why did you do this to me? Was that cashier your Son or something?!
LOGAN: For God sakes, Bill. You’re starting to frighten me. What are you even saying? Maybe you took too many naps this afternoon.
He dramatically turned heels again, his back now facing Bill.
LOGAN: I tied you up for simple reasons. I promise you this is nothing complicated and you’re no part of a grand scheme. You see, Bill, there are some things that need to come off my chest. I don’t like people… let me begin there.
BILL: You sure a shrink wouldn’t have sufficed?
LOGAN: As much as I appreciate some humor, you are in no position to be sarcastic. You, BILL, who is hanging from a rafter of treachery and bound by ropes of treachery… because yes, I adore treachery. When you think vicious, you think treachery don’t you? I do. It’s not like I run around with a shirt that says hey, I want you to believe I’m a bad guy, because really, Bill, I am not.
He couldn’t make sense of anything Logan was saying. There probably wasn’t any sense to be made or was there? Logan kept his back to Bill, animating his hands and body heavily with the words he spoke while he directed them towards a wall.
Two steps I take getting closer and closer
And one more breath I take sends me further back
The edge of the metal buck stung when it struck his jaw and pain dug to the bone. Bill blurted out a blob of blood and agony.
LOGAN: That was treachery, see? I swung this bucket back and forth in my hands, demonstrating its appeal, and then playfully pretending to throw it at your face. I promised you I wouldn’t, Bill, but then I just did. You were surprised weren’t you? You looked surprised.
BILL: FUCK YOU!
LOGAN: NO! Fuck.. YOUR FACE. I’m trying, Bill. I want to be Logan, the great and powerful who overcame all odds and beat the best and greatest and fought through three legendary thirty man Wars to claw up the victories and GO TO HALL OF FAME… and be remembered. That’s all I ever wanted. So, why aren’t I relieved? SHUT UP! BILL!
Bill began laughing, well he tried, and the throbbing in his jaw made it come out as more of a half assed attempt at laugh. It really sounded like short bursts of squeals. Logan’s eyes brows shifted upwards, curiously diving back into Bill’s face.
LOGAN: What?
BILL: This is your big psychotic break?
LOGAN: I never said –
BILL: You’re pathetic, crying over some stupid bullshit you can’t be happy about in wrestling.
LOGAN: You don’t know me.
BILL: Oh but I do. You’re the asshole who wants the whole cake, but he gets the cake, and eats it… yet he’s not happy with that, he wants another cake and another. You’re never going to be satisfied with yourself you pathetic fuck.
LOGAN: I make the metaphors around here, buster. You’re the one tied up. Me? I’m pacing the pace of treachery, absolutely fine with the fact that I just abducted and beaten a complete stranger. You see, today, I might be that guy you speak of who isn’t happy with just.. a cake. Tomorrow however, WELL TOMORROW.. who even knows. I’m about as consistent as Jay Price title reigns and unpredictable as a dog with rabies. And for that, Bill, they love me!
He grabbed at his chest, lovingly hugging himself while Bill stared.
LOGAN: Did you notice the red dye?
BILL: Red dye?
LOGAN: M’hm.
Over and over it calls to your soul[/color]
Say it isn't so. Emptiness surrounds you
No one can help if the angels refuse to come here
Who's there?
He leaned over the bucket that previously chucked into Bill’s face and shattered his jaw. Logan’s hands were stained blood red, the back of his neck red as well and from what Bill could tell this man took a time out in torture to upgrade his hair fashion. The now empty box of red dye lay among the floors surface, the hay, and the big grinning girl covering the dye box taunted Bill. He could hear her saying, look at me, I’m probably off pleasuring myself in a thirty thousand dollar custom shower because I’m beautiful and make great money dying my hair while you’re here in some nutters barn in the woods strapped to a quote on quote rafter of treachery while he dyes his hair. Damn that red headed bitch, he thought. Logan must have been done with the job because he did that heel twirl again, facing Bill with a head full of red. He definitely wouldn’t pass for anything of a hair stylist, he missed a few major spots or twenty… and the end result was a mix of globs of red and black.
LOGAN: Do you like it?
He felt the pain return to his jaw so he figured it’d be best to respond with something nice this time.
BILL: Amazing job, Logan.
LOGAN: This kind of sets the whole badass Face of Treachery thing back ten years, but, I think we’ll manage.
BILL: Sets it back? Hell, it furthers it.
LOGAN: You don’t even know what I’m talking about you fuckin’ kiss ass rodent. I’m talking about breaking from the cocoon and letting the colors of my wings take shape..
His voice dropped to a seductive whisper which was slightly disturbing to say the least.
LOGAN: … and fly.
He danced ridiculously, hands whipping through his fresh red hair, eyeing Bill with a look of lust all the while.
Cold-faded photos, they lay by your side[/color]
Something in my room. Never mind blue reason
Visions are lying and reasons just live to survive
This time
The warm air leaked in through the crack in the barn walls and caressed beads of sweat over his bare chest with a dry soothing. Logan had ripped his upper clothing away and hinted towards sexual play with odd twitching of his right eye that Bill could only assume to interpret as teasing winks. He feared the worst, the absolute worst.
BILL: Just take it easy.. man..
His hand slid down over Bill’s chest and rested on his tummy.
LOGAN: Am I giving off a bad vibe, Tek?
He wasn’t sure why he was called Tek, but Bill wasn’t sure about a lot of things going on at the moment. Logan scooted backwards on his feet and engaged in another awkward dance reminiscent of a jester entertaining his king.
LOGAN: How could you even possibly beat me like this? You’re all tied up and alone with me for fuck sakes. But, no worries, Tek.. you see I want you to beat me. You beat me last time didn’t you? You didn’t just beat me; you humiliated me, along with my comrades of treachery. You expected me to sink down into some weird funk of depression and bang my head into a wall like a true fuckin’ nut job. I did not, no! I smiled. I liked it. Getting defeated by Tek and his unworthy pile of goons was purely orgasmic. You know? I’m this great legend, the guy who built the WCF while doing a head stand at the same time and juggling bowling pins from his feet and YOU beat that. It was like… ha, ha, funny.. Tek defeated the greatness! The bastard Tek, the evil fuck took out the one and only without even so much as breaking a sweat. DO IT AGAIN, TEK!
He lunged into Bill pressing his lips into his and violently biting down causing Bill’s flesh to explode into his mouth. He pulled back and spit blood into Bill’s screaming face.
LOGAN: While you’re at it, Tek, go ahead and give me a Connector. Take me to Connector City for once; the folks would really love to see that happen. How far down can Logan’s little slump sink? Let’s hold our hands and cocks to see what type of comeback he makes this time! WCF’s own whooping boy! Once great, now just a cheap fuckin’ punching bag.
He fell down onto one knee and raised his hand in a dramatic proposal type of fashion for the shivering Bill.
LOGAN: Ladies and gentlemen.. I present to you.. LOGAN!
The Serpent sweetly kissed his brain.
LOGAN: Once a typical beat em up take no shit undefeatable asshole and now just an asshole that may or may not be pinned by Tek this upcoming Sunday. Who really knows these days.
BILL: Let me go!
LOGAN: But I’m serenading you.
He climbed off his feet of treachery and carefully guided a hand near Bill’s battered cheek, petting him playfully like one would a kitty.
LOGAN: Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you, no.. I love Seth to death but prison isn’t for me. Especially not with this red hair.
A bit of relief shrouded over Bill.
LOGAN: I’m going to leave you here and hope you show up to the punching bag feast this Sunday. I imagine you will, it’s not like you have better things going on other than shouting at clerk boys over a fuckin’ ham that dropped its sale four weeks prior. Nevermind the gawd damn ham, Tek, just dance with me this Sunday.
He planted a soft kiss onto Bill’s cheek and left the barn leaving the poor man to fend for himself.
The cold. The light[/color]
The fear returning
It's not the eyes
You feel that's chilling you
Lyrics by this beautiful song, ”Acceptance”