Post by Lassiter on Jan 19, 2014 12:03:53 GMT -5
Up on Main Street,
They built a highway…
Changed its name to,
Johnson Boulevard…
*A figure is seen walking down what seems to be an abandoned highway late at night. The time is not clear, but the brightness of the moon is reflecting off what is left of a small rain on the road. One can see that the pavement is cracked, the shoulders overgrown with moss and budding trees, and the lines have not been re-painted for some time. There are some buildings on each side of the road, but not many. Wherever the figure is, it is not exactly a metropolitan downtown core. Were it not for the occasional light in some of the buildings the figure walks past, one might take the area to be completely abandoned. Perhaps it is. Perhaps everyone left in a hurry, as natural, or not-so-natural forces, overcame the town in an all-encompassing swarm. Perhaps everyone had left to chase a concrete dream somewhere corn does not grow. Perhaps the town had never been more than this.
It sounds like the figure is whistling. As the view becomes clearer, the back of the figure has the unmistakable white daggers on the back of a blue bomber jacket that signal Michael Lassiter. He is walking slowly, but confidentially; not looking around, but straight ahead. Why is he whistling? What is he whistling? Who could be happy in a place like this?
He stops whistling. He begins to speak. Who is he talking to?*
25 years. Could it be? Twenty… five… years. Time has not been kind to you, my friend. You’ve aged terribly. There’s the old general store. The coffee shop, see? The only one we ever had. I think that was… yes, that building was the movie theatre. Shit, we were in the 1980s, and I don’t even think it showed colour. They said it was nostalgic, but I’ve never understood; why long so much for the past? Wishing for something you cannot possibly have back. Move on, folks. The world keeps moving on… it never stops, no matter how badly we pine for it. Some things, no matter how deep the desire, are just out of our grasp.
*Lassiter keeps walking, same pace, same stream of what appears to be endless old buildings being left behind him. A raccoon runs out in front of him and is spooked up the steps and into what was just pointed out as the movie theatre. Lassiter chuckles*
And no matter how badly that creature pines for safety, the nature of his life is simply to avoid death for as long as possible. Why do you think that is? Why do we fear what we do not know, and wish for what we cannot have? Seems a bit backwards to me; a bit insane. Shoot for the moon, they say. Dream big, they say. Even if you miss, you’ll fall flat on your face and embarrass yourself trying. Get back on the horse, then. Never mind that the horse might kill you. Never mind that you’ve been defeated. Just get back on the horse, and lose again, and lose again, and eventually, you might learn something. What fools.
*Lassiter stops at one building in particular. It is clearly a church. The ever-reaching tower on the top of the chapel is weathered and cracked, just like the highway, but it is still there. There are two massive front doors, one of which appears to be slightly open, but Lassiter does not enter. He walks over and sits on the second-highest stair leading up to the doors, the ancient wood creaking as he does, and pulls out a small bottle of gin from his back pocket. Clearly not concerned about a swath of police cars arriving anytime soon, he reaches into his coat, pulls out a small shot glass that has some unidentifiable writing on it, and pours himself a drink, sipping slowly*
They’re fools, Alpine. Do you hear me? They’re fools, Destroyer. But I’m sure I can count you among them. No matter what we do in this life, I tell you, it will be forgotten. At some point, our history, our way of life, it will all be nothing more than some indistinguishable mark left on a vast cosmos with no trace of anything. A bit morbid, perhaps, but if it’s sugar-coating you seek, head home. The point of our lives, I tell you, is to rule. Caesar. Henry. Washington. Our most revered figures are not nuns, they are not saints, and they are not philosophers. They are dominators. They run the world. They do this because, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, all a person can hope to do is leave this earth knowing they were once on top. History may or may not remember, but they will. They will have conquered, and in a world where survival is all that counts, there is no purer form of victory.
*Lassiter takes another drink, sighing deeply*
That is why I am here. To rule. I am not here to fall off the horse and then try again. Simply put, not everyone is meant to succeed just because they work hard and have the spirit to keep fighting. You may fight back all you like; as my opponents, you will be bucked time and time again. I am here to own the horse and do with it as I please. I am here to mold the canvas on which you dance, and I am here to crush you the moment you fall down. I have not come to grace the WCF halls with my presence, hoping to someday get my picture up on the wall. I am here to tear down the walls and put up my own. Alpine, Destroyer, I have not come here to run my mouth, to fulfill my dreams, or to prove to the world that I belong. I am here to be the world. I am here to conquer. I have come here to own you. I suppose, at the very base of it…. I have come here to rule, with or without you standing valiantly in the way, pretending to be the keeper of a higher purpose.
*Lassiter takes yet another drink, with just one left in his shot glass. He stands up, turning towards the door as the moonlight bounces off the outline of the daggers on his coat. He takes a few very deliberate steps before he slides himself through the cracks of the church door.
Inside, there is total darkness, save a number of candles at what must be the altar. There is a bunch to the left and right, although only a few in each bunch are lit. Lassiter walks up the side of the church, not the main aisle, and stops by one of two collections of candles. He takes a small stick, and begins to light the ones that are not lit*
I’ve seen you, Alpine. I’ve seen the hilarity with which you present yourself. As dark as this conversation may have been thus far, I have to admit that I find it… cute. I enjoy that there is no one word to describe you; I find intriguing the lure of how you carry yourself with joyful arrogance. Dare I say, you just may have what it takes to play the game and come out on top. You are not to be underestimated; you are to be feared, treated with caution, and I can already sense that I will need to have you in the corner of my eye for as long as we share the same ring. That being said, I don’t buy into this image you have created for yourself. Sparks and suits may have their place in theatrics and children’s parties, but they do you no service here. I am hard pressed to think of a successful warrior who saw fit to cover his fighting garb with that of a cocktail hostess. There, I believe, is the difference that will keep you fighting for what I will obtain. This mask of yours, this cover, this debonair aura that surrounds you is a distraction not for me, but yourself. Yes, you will say as all men do, “No, I can be sinister, just you wait,” but there is no time for waiting. The time is now, and if you’re not prepared to act now, then act never. This persona of yours has no place here; it is a misfire on what one must due to rule. You wear the sun on your trunks as if it were a bright and powerful object, but all the sun does is shed light., no different than the smallest of candles. All it helps me see in you is something hollow, something undefined, and as a result, something weak. If you want to hold a candle to me, show me that part of you that wants to kill, and is not sorry for anything. Otherwise, stay in the playground; you’ll be far safer there.
*While speaking, Lassiter has lit the entire left collection of candles. He walks to the right side of the church, and begins to do the same thing*
Ahh yes, and then we have the polar opposite of our mysterious Australian metropolite. We have, pardon my French, a huge fucking giant. One would think after my rant on Captain Shine that I would see more potential in you. There’s no doubt that you have the brute force to stop most in your path, and that being a fighter runs through your blood. However, if experience has taught me anything, it is that there is surprisingly little room in a 7 foot, 400 pound monster for brain activity. I have no reason to believe that you are any different. I saw your battle royal tryout, Destroyer; we all did. Quite frankly, I can’t for the life of me figure out what the fuss was about. You walked in, decried the place as amateur, slapped a girl in the face, and managed to hit a few people who ran right at you. Do tell me, where in there is the fear supposed to come from? Nothing is below you, Destroyer. Giant buffoon or not, nothing here is “amateur.” Everything is a threat to you, Me, Alpine, everyone. The minute you discredit your opponent, you give him the advantage. Then again, look at me, trying to tell you what not to do, so that you might become a better fighter. Things must be getting desperate. Quite frankly, although I am cognizant of the chance that you might squash my face into the core of the earth, I could not be less worried about you if I tried. You feel free to run around, flailing your arms like a used car lot decoration, and hope that you connect. I’ll be there, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll be one step ahead of you the entire night because, well, it seems you’ve never faced anyone who deserved to be in the ring with you. I think you’re in for a brutal introduction, Destroyer. “Hulk Smash” might have worked with the amateurs, but it’s going to be the ruination of you here.
*By now, Lassiter has lit all of the candles in the church. It is immensely brighter, and the outline of the usual religious decorations around the altar are now clear. Lassiter walks up onto the altar, and traces his hand along the outside of a cross. He turns around, looking back out onto the pews, and speaks as he takes another sip from his glass and slowly paces back and forth, between the candle displays*
They say one should light candles for the dead, as a sign of remembrance. The dead are dead: why are they to be remembered in this way, if they were not strong enough to be remembered on their own right? I do not know what point a candle is to serve, but who am I to buck tradition. I’ve gone and done you both a favour. You’ve got a plethora of candles here to choose from; you get to pick yours first. You may as well take me up on the offer; I’m not going to stop until each and every person here has their own. No, you won’t be dead, of course, but you will have become but a cog in a machine greater than yourselves. Do not worry – I will be grateful. In fact, I could not rule without the help of subjects such as yourselves, Alpine and Destroyer; people willing to submit to those who fight the better fight. Have your candle, take the time to come here, and remember what your past may have been like before I arrived. From here on out, your road gets rockier than ever before, and if I can proffer the tiniest piece of advice… I’d abandon ship just like this hometown of mine before forces greater than yours force you out.
*We’ve established that much; this is apparently Lassiter’s home. The rest of the questions are without answers. With no time to consider them further, a door creaks. Lassiter immediately looks, but does not seem to go on the defensive. A pastor has entered through a locked door to Lassiter’s left. He is dressed in a beautiful green robe, holding a burning tin of incense. The intoxicating scent fills the church as the pastor speaks*
Priest: Do you seek the Lord, son?
*Lassiter cracks a smile as he takes the last sip of gin from his glass, and tips it upside down*
Lassiter: Well, Father, I thought I might find him in here, but it seems that he’s more of a rum fan.
*The pastor cannot help but crack a small smile, but there is no accompanying laughter. Somehow, the smile appears to be one of grief*
And to think, Michael… you were once a man of great faith.
Once? Am I no longer?
You taint this house with your mockery.
I bring to this house my understanding. In fact, I believe I am more faithful now than ever before. Did men fight during the time of Christ, father?
Yes.
Did some die?
Yes, but….
But what. They went to God?
No, son. They were forgiven.
They were forgiven by who?
Of course, son, by no one else but God.
And this God… what is his role?
Well, how do you mean…
I mean what is God. Is he a savior?
He is.
Is he to be revered?
Certainly.
Is he a ruler?
He rules all of mankind.
Then, Father, you may count me amongst his most faithful servants. I cherish nothing greater than I cherish one who is the finest of his craft. This God has dominion over man, he asks man to worship him, he tells man the right and the wrong way to act and behave. Why, were it not blasphemy, I’d say God teaches me to be just as God-like as he. I’ve been becoming the finest in my craft for years, Father. I have taken dominion over many, with more to come. I may not have worshipers, but I do have inferiors. You know what? I even think I tend to do all of my work… on Sunday nights. What would God say of this, Father?
God would be most disturbed, my son.
Would he be afraid?
Not of you, Michael.
Why is that?
Because he is above all else.
As am I, Father. As I will be! You can sit back and spend your life serving, but if God’s image is to rule, then I will follow the best path of all. I must. Why do you think this town dies, and this world suffers? Because people have forgotten that even God himself needed someone to fight back. People spend their whole lives crying victim and asking for someone else for help. I will not be part of that passive, defeatist culture. I will be the best because God himself demands it, Father. Now, do you have anything else? I’m growing quite tired of this place.
May God help you, Michael.
May he help me indeed, Father.
*Lassiter is not scowling or angry, but he whisks past the priest and off the altar, his coat nearly blowing out the wicks as he moves past the candles. He walks down the side aisle again and slides back out of the church, the wind instantly catching his hair and clothes. Lassiter walks down the steps, and back onto the empty highway, with the streetlights either flickering above him or completely broken. After a short time of silence, he turns right, and stops in front of the first building by the intersection. The paint on the street sign is chipped, but still readable: “Johnson Boulevard.” It looks like a house. There are no lights on. A crow flies off a crumbling chimney*
I will be better than you both, Alpine, Destroyer, because I am the finest of my craft, and you ought to follow me there. Leave your pasts behind. I do not know what they held before me, but now that you two and I are crossing paths, you owe it to yourselves to admit defeat. You two are not ready. One of you does not know what he is, and the other only knows how to be one thing. You are not prepared. You are to both become the beginning of a pile of rubble from which there will be no burying out. Don’t worry, though – I’m sure you can still have fun on Sunday. The roar of the crowd, the backstage excitement, the rush when your music hits; I’m not here to take any of that away from you. Chase it all you please; life’s little but insignificant joys may be all you have left to cling onto come Monday morning. I wish you well; I do. There is room for endless forms of success in this business. There can, though, only be one ruler. For as long as I bleed, rule is what I will do, and I will rest at the end of the day knowing that no one… no one… was better than me.
Ariana…..
July….....
.............
and…......
..............
23….........
Michael…...
It sounds like the figure is whistling. As the view becomes clearer, the back of the figure has the unmistakable white daggers on the back of a blue bomber jacket that signal Michael Lassiter. He is walking slowly, but confidentially; not looking around, but straight ahead. Why is he whistling? What is he whistling? Who could be happy in a place like this?
He stops whistling. He begins to speak. Who is he talking to?*
25 years. Could it be? Twenty… five… years. Time has not been kind to you, my friend. You’ve aged terribly. There’s the old general store. The coffee shop, see? The only one we ever had. I think that was… yes, that building was the movie theatre. Shit, we were in the 1980s, and I don’t even think it showed colour. They said it was nostalgic, but I’ve never understood; why long so much for the past? Wishing for something you cannot possibly have back. Move on, folks. The world keeps moving on… it never stops, no matter how badly we pine for it. Some things, no matter how deep the desire, are just out of our grasp.
*Lassiter keeps walking, same pace, same stream of what appears to be endless old buildings being left behind him. A raccoon runs out in front of him and is spooked up the steps and into what was just pointed out as the movie theatre. Lassiter chuckles*
And no matter how badly that creature pines for safety, the nature of his life is simply to avoid death for as long as possible. Why do you think that is? Why do we fear what we do not know, and wish for what we cannot have? Seems a bit backwards to me; a bit insane. Shoot for the moon, they say. Dream big, they say. Even if you miss, you’ll fall flat on your face and embarrass yourself trying. Get back on the horse, then. Never mind that the horse might kill you. Never mind that you’ve been defeated. Just get back on the horse, and lose again, and lose again, and eventually, you might learn something. What fools.
*Lassiter stops at one building in particular. It is clearly a church. The ever-reaching tower on the top of the chapel is weathered and cracked, just like the highway, but it is still there. There are two massive front doors, one of which appears to be slightly open, but Lassiter does not enter. He walks over and sits on the second-highest stair leading up to the doors, the ancient wood creaking as he does, and pulls out a small bottle of gin from his back pocket. Clearly not concerned about a swath of police cars arriving anytime soon, he reaches into his coat, pulls out a small shot glass that has some unidentifiable writing on it, and pours himself a drink, sipping slowly*
They’re fools, Alpine. Do you hear me? They’re fools, Destroyer. But I’m sure I can count you among them. No matter what we do in this life, I tell you, it will be forgotten. At some point, our history, our way of life, it will all be nothing more than some indistinguishable mark left on a vast cosmos with no trace of anything. A bit morbid, perhaps, but if it’s sugar-coating you seek, head home. The point of our lives, I tell you, is to rule. Caesar. Henry. Washington. Our most revered figures are not nuns, they are not saints, and they are not philosophers. They are dominators. They run the world. They do this because, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, all a person can hope to do is leave this earth knowing they were once on top. History may or may not remember, but they will. They will have conquered, and in a world where survival is all that counts, there is no purer form of victory.
*Lassiter takes another drink, sighing deeply*
That is why I am here. To rule. I am not here to fall off the horse and then try again. Simply put, not everyone is meant to succeed just because they work hard and have the spirit to keep fighting. You may fight back all you like; as my opponents, you will be bucked time and time again. I am here to own the horse and do with it as I please. I am here to mold the canvas on which you dance, and I am here to crush you the moment you fall down. I have not come to grace the WCF halls with my presence, hoping to someday get my picture up on the wall. I am here to tear down the walls and put up my own. Alpine, Destroyer, I have not come here to run my mouth, to fulfill my dreams, or to prove to the world that I belong. I am here to be the world. I am here to conquer. I have come here to own you. I suppose, at the very base of it…. I have come here to rule, with or without you standing valiantly in the way, pretending to be the keeper of a higher purpose.
*Lassiter takes yet another drink, with just one left in his shot glass. He stands up, turning towards the door as the moonlight bounces off the outline of the daggers on his coat. He takes a few very deliberate steps before he slides himself through the cracks of the church door.
Inside, there is total darkness, save a number of candles at what must be the altar. There is a bunch to the left and right, although only a few in each bunch are lit. Lassiter walks up the side of the church, not the main aisle, and stops by one of two collections of candles. He takes a small stick, and begins to light the ones that are not lit*
I’ve seen you, Alpine. I’ve seen the hilarity with which you present yourself. As dark as this conversation may have been thus far, I have to admit that I find it… cute. I enjoy that there is no one word to describe you; I find intriguing the lure of how you carry yourself with joyful arrogance. Dare I say, you just may have what it takes to play the game and come out on top. You are not to be underestimated; you are to be feared, treated with caution, and I can already sense that I will need to have you in the corner of my eye for as long as we share the same ring. That being said, I don’t buy into this image you have created for yourself. Sparks and suits may have their place in theatrics and children’s parties, but they do you no service here. I am hard pressed to think of a successful warrior who saw fit to cover his fighting garb with that of a cocktail hostess. There, I believe, is the difference that will keep you fighting for what I will obtain. This mask of yours, this cover, this debonair aura that surrounds you is a distraction not for me, but yourself. Yes, you will say as all men do, “No, I can be sinister, just you wait,” but there is no time for waiting. The time is now, and if you’re not prepared to act now, then act never. This persona of yours has no place here; it is a misfire on what one must due to rule. You wear the sun on your trunks as if it were a bright and powerful object, but all the sun does is shed light., no different than the smallest of candles. All it helps me see in you is something hollow, something undefined, and as a result, something weak. If you want to hold a candle to me, show me that part of you that wants to kill, and is not sorry for anything. Otherwise, stay in the playground; you’ll be far safer there.
*While speaking, Lassiter has lit the entire left collection of candles. He walks to the right side of the church, and begins to do the same thing*
Ahh yes, and then we have the polar opposite of our mysterious Australian metropolite. We have, pardon my French, a huge fucking giant. One would think after my rant on Captain Shine that I would see more potential in you. There’s no doubt that you have the brute force to stop most in your path, and that being a fighter runs through your blood. However, if experience has taught me anything, it is that there is surprisingly little room in a 7 foot, 400 pound monster for brain activity. I have no reason to believe that you are any different. I saw your battle royal tryout, Destroyer; we all did. Quite frankly, I can’t for the life of me figure out what the fuss was about. You walked in, decried the place as amateur, slapped a girl in the face, and managed to hit a few people who ran right at you. Do tell me, where in there is the fear supposed to come from? Nothing is below you, Destroyer. Giant buffoon or not, nothing here is “amateur.” Everything is a threat to you, Me, Alpine, everyone. The minute you discredit your opponent, you give him the advantage. Then again, look at me, trying to tell you what not to do, so that you might become a better fighter. Things must be getting desperate. Quite frankly, although I am cognizant of the chance that you might squash my face into the core of the earth, I could not be less worried about you if I tried. You feel free to run around, flailing your arms like a used car lot decoration, and hope that you connect. I’ll be there, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll be one step ahead of you the entire night because, well, it seems you’ve never faced anyone who deserved to be in the ring with you. I think you’re in for a brutal introduction, Destroyer. “Hulk Smash” might have worked with the amateurs, but it’s going to be the ruination of you here.
*By now, Lassiter has lit all of the candles in the church. It is immensely brighter, and the outline of the usual religious decorations around the altar are now clear. Lassiter walks up onto the altar, and traces his hand along the outside of a cross. He turns around, looking back out onto the pews, and speaks as he takes another sip from his glass and slowly paces back and forth, between the candle displays*
They say one should light candles for the dead, as a sign of remembrance. The dead are dead: why are they to be remembered in this way, if they were not strong enough to be remembered on their own right? I do not know what point a candle is to serve, but who am I to buck tradition. I’ve gone and done you both a favour. You’ve got a plethora of candles here to choose from; you get to pick yours first. You may as well take me up on the offer; I’m not going to stop until each and every person here has their own. No, you won’t be dead, of course, but you will have become but a cog in a machine greater than yourselves. Do not worry – I will be grateful. In fact, I could not rule without the help of subjects such as yourselves, Alpine and Destroyer; people willing to submit to those who fight the better fight. Have your candle, take the time to come here, and remember what your past may have been like before I arrived. From here on out, your road gets rockier than ever before, and if I can proffer the tiniest piece of advice… I’d abandon ship just like this hometown of mine before forces greater than yours force you out.
*We’ve established that much; this is apparently Lassiter’s home. The rest of the questions are without answers. With no time to consider them further, a door creaks. Lassiter immediately looks, but does not seem to go on the defensive. A pastor has entered through a locked door to Lassiter’s left. He is dressed in a beautiful green robe, holding a burning tin of incense. The intoxicating scent fills the church as the pastor speaks*
Priest: Do you seek the Lord, son?
*Lassiter cracks a smile as he takes the last sip of gin from his glass, and tips it upside down*
Lassiter: Well, Father, I thought I might find him in here, but it seems that he’s more of a rum fan.
*The pastor cannot help but crack a small smile, but there is no accompanying laughter. Somehow, the smile appears to be one of grief*
And to think, Michael… you were once a man of great faith.
Once? Am I no longer?
You taint this house with your mockery.
I bring to this house my understanding. In fact, I believe I am more faithful now than ever before. Did men fight during the time of Christ, father?
Yes.
Did some die?
Yes, but….
But what. They went to God?
No, son. They were forgiven.
They were forgiven by who?
Of course, son, by no one else but God.
And this God… what is his role?
Well, how do you mean…
I mean what is God. Is he a savior?
He is.
Is he to be revered?
Certainly.
Is he a ruler?
He rules all of mankind.
Then, Father, you may count me amongst his most faithful servants. I cherish nothing greater than I cherish one who is the finest of his craft. This God has dominion over man, he asks man to worship him, he tells man the right and the wrong way to act and behave. Why, were it not blasphemy, I’d say God teaches me to be just as God-like as he. I’ve been becoming the finest in my craft for years, Father. I have taken dominion over many, with more to come. I may not have worshipers, but I do have inferiors. You know what? I even think I tend to do all of my work… on Sunday nights. What would God say of this, Father?
God would be most disturbed, my son.
Would he be afraid?
Not of you, Michael.
Why is that?
Because he is above all else.
As am I, Father. As I will be! You can sit back and spend your life serving, but if God’s image is to rule, then I will follow the best path of all. I must. Why do you think this town dies, and this world suffers? Because people have forgotten that even God himself needed someone to fight back. People spend their whole lives crying victim and asking for someone else for help. I will not be part of that passive, defeatist culture. I will be the best because God himself demands it, Father. Now, do you have anything else? I’m growing quite tired of this place.
May God help you, Michael.
May he help me indeed, Father.
*Lassiter is not scowling or angry, but he whisks past the priest and off the altar, his coat nearly blowing out the wicks as he moves past the candles. He walks down the side aisle again and slides back out of the church, the wind instantly catching his hair and clothes. Lassiter walks down the steps, and back onto the empty highway, with the streetlights either flickering above him or completely broken. After a short time of silence, he turns right, and stops in front of the first building by the intersection. The paint on the street sign is chipped, but still readable: “Johnson Boulevard.” It looks like a house. There are no lights on. A crow flies off a crumbling chimney*
I will be better than you both, Alpine, Destroyer, because I am the finest of my craft, and you ought to follow me there. Leave your pasts behind. I do not know what they held before me, but now that you two and I are crossing paths, you owe it to yourselves to admit defeat. You two are not ready. One of you does not know what he is, and the other only knows how to be one thing. You are not prepared. You are to both become the beginning of a pile of rubble from which there will be no burying out. Don’t worry, though – I’m sure you can still have fun on Sunday. The roar of the crowd, the backstage excitement, the rush when your music hits; I’m not here to take any of that away from you. Chase it all you please; life’s little but insignificant joys may be all you have left to cling onto come Monday morning. I wish you well; I do. There is room for endless forms of success in this business. There can, though, only be one ruler. For as long as I bleed, rule is what I will do, and I will rest at the end of the day knowing that no one… no one… was better than me.
Ariana…..
July….....
.............
and…......
..............
23….........
Michael…...
Michael and Ariana – July 23, 2012
---
And the wind moves,
On a gravestone….
Where the name’s gone,
And everybody knows…
---
And the wind moves,
On a gravestone….
Where the name’s gone,
And everybody knows…
