Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2014 18:53:52 GMT -5
The sun drifts into Isaiah Chavis’ trailer home, using the broken blinds as a funnel to filter down into a concentrated beam of light that shines directly in the sleeping man’s eyes. That alone would usually not be enough to wake the deep sleeper, but the sound of Mrs. McGuinty’s old lawn mower choking it’s way through the small patch of grass owned by his next door neighbor blares loudly outside, not allowing the wrestler to slumber. He fights it for a few minutes, but eventually gives in and opens his bloodshot eyes. He continues laying on his bare mattress for a while, clad only in a pair of torn flannel pajama pants. He stares up at the ceiling, which is stained brown from the leak Isaiah managed to get the landlord to fix just last week.
Isaiah slowly sits up, and takes a look around him. A few empty beer bottles scatter the floor, and nearby is a small television perched on a milk crate. Other than that, and the dust bunnies, the room is empty. He shakes his head, and drags himself up to a standing position. He twists his torso back and forth, stretching the aching muscles beneath his skin. He wanders over to his closet, and wrenches the shoddy sliding door open to reveal a row of poorly kempt shirts. He digs through them, before pulling out a black hockey jersey with a red hatchet man logo on the front. He drapes it over himself, before walking out of his bedroom. He grabs a set of keys off of a rickety table by the door, and steps out into the bright summer day.
He stands on his porch, staring across at Mrs. Mcguinty’s house. It was a hideous purple single wide. It hadn’t always been that color. Before Mrs. McGuinty’s husband passed away it had been a sensible beige. As soon as he passed away, she feverishly went about the task of painting the home herself. When Isaiah, eleven years old at the time, asked his mother why the widow was behaving this way, she could only chuckle to herself and smile for a second before replying: “Death does strange things to people. Freedom does even stranger things.” Isaiah looks to his side, and sees the older woman pushing along the old rusted mower, the same one she had been using since Isaiah was a boy.
He waves at her with a smile, but she does not return it. She stops the growling motor with a frown on her face.
Mrs. McGuinty:Isaiah Joseph Liebowitz! You always were a lazy little punk kid. Can’t be bothered to help and old lady mow her yard.
Her thick southern drawl is a welcome sound to the young man’s ears. Isaiah chuckles lightly, and the woman smiles, before stepping toward the porch. She pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket, and slides one into her mouth. She offers one to Isaiah, but he refuses.
Isaiah:Nah. I’m tryin’ to quit.
Mrs. McGuinty:It’s ‘No thank you ma’am’ Show some manners boy. You’re better than all that hip hop jive nonsense you spit out.
Isaiah:That’s just who I am Mrs. M
Mrs. McGuinty:Don’t give me that nonsense. I went to your Bar Mitzvah. I seem to remember a certain young boy gettin’ real nervous and throwin’ up all over the Torah.
Isaiah:Aw come on! I was just startin’ to clean the memory out my brain.
The silver haired woman laugh her light, bubbly laugh, before taking a drag from her cigarette, and spitting the smoke out into the air. She gives her lawn mower a dirty look, before turning to Isaiah.
Mrs. McGuinty:Well. I suppose as long as you’re finally up, you can come over and have a cup of coffee. Distract me from this devil of a machine.
Isaiah chuckles, and starts making his way down the sturdy plastic steps.
Isaiah:Yeah, no problem. Lemme just grab my mail quick.
Chavis makes his way through the grass and across the street, stepping lightly as his barefoot feet press against the hot asphalt. He steps up to the big metal box, and unlocks his compartment. He pulls out a few letters, and flips through them. The first couple are collection notices that will likely never be opened. The third is one Isaiah isn’t used to seeing. He takes a look at it, and his heart jumps into his throat when he sees the WCF logo in the corner.
Isaiah:No fuckin’ way…
He drops the collection notices, and rips into the other envelope, unfolding the paper inside so quickly that he tears the edge slightly. His eyes move quickly down the page, the exictment inside of him growing with each line, until he can contain it no more, and it leaps from his throat in the form of a shriek of joy.
Isaiah:WOOOOOOOOO!
A startled Mrs. McGuinty comes running out her back door, and down to the grass. Isaiah sprints back across the street toward her, the letter grasped firmly in his hand.
Mrs. McGuinty:What in the world is all the hootin’ and hollerin; about?
Isaiah:They want me! I’m gonna be a star!
Before she can ask any more question, the wrestler wraps his arms tightly around the woman, lifting her in the air and spinning her around in a circle before setting her down. She gives him a few playful slaps before speaking again.
Mrs. McGuinty:Who wants you for what? Slow down.
Isaiah:WCF! They want me to wrestle for them! They want to bring me in right away! Oh shit! Mrs. McGuinty… everything’s gonna be okay now.
Mrs. McGuinty:Hey now! You may be excited, but that ain’t no excuse for a dirty mouth. Now, you all done hottin’ and hollerin’. ‘cause I’m about to tell you somethin’ you’re not gonna want to hear.
Isaiah:Aw come on, don’t be like that. We got a good moment goin’.
Mrs. McGuinty:Well I think this is a moment you should share with your mother.
Isaiah’s jubilant expression drops from his face in an instant. His arms hang down at his sides, as he tries to come up with some argument. His neighbor cuts him off before he can even speak.
Mrs. McGuinty:I know things ain’t been easy between you two, but your mother’s gonna wanna hear about this. If you run off to wherever you’re goin’ before visitin’ your momma, I swear I’ll tan your hide myself.
Isaiah:Alright. Fine. I’ll stop by tomorrow. Right now I gotta get packed. They’re gonna send a limo for me in a few days. They need me in China by Sunday.
Mrs. McGuinty:China?! Well good lord. Make sure you bring your Bible then.
Isaiah:Since when do you care about the Bible?
Mrs. McGuinty:Not for readin’ boy! Take it in case you get attacked. You can beat someone to death with a hardcover edition.
The two friends share a laugh and a hug, before Mrs. McGuinty leans in and gives Isaiah a kiss on the cheek.
Mrs. McGuinty:You be careful. I know it ain’t fair, but you’re gonna have to keep your mouth shut about you bein’ gay. That can still get you in some big trouble over there, and don’t you go flippin’ your lid like you tend to do. Stay cool and come back safe, you got that?
Isaiah:Yeah, I got you.
Mrs. McGuinty:Yes Ma’am! Manners boy!
Isaiah:Yes Ma’am.
Isaiah’s response is equal parts sarcastic and loving as he walks back up the steps and into his modest trailer home. He walks quickly into his bedroom and reaches into the bottom of his closet. He pulls out a black make-up box and hauls it into his filthy bathroom. He kicks a pile of clothes out of his way, as he sets the box down on what little counter he has around the sink. He gives the cracked mirror a smile before opening the box, and pulling out a couple small circular containers. He opens them, and slowly begins applying a layer of white make-up as he practices cutting his promo in front of his reflection.
Isaiah:I’m used to the jokes. Make ‘em all you want mother fuckers. Look at the Juggalo with his goofy make-up. Look at the queer thinkin’ he can be a wrestler. Ain’t he funny though? I’ve heard anything and everything you’re gonna say about me a hundred times. That shit don’t even phase me no more. See… when you see this face paint, you see some goofy douchebag gettin’ ready for a concert. When I look in the mirror, and I see this paint, I see thousands upon thousands of my family members standin’ behind me. I see all the pain I been through, I see my brothers and sisters, I see my true self. I see every battle I ever fought, and every hit I ever took. This isn’t just make-up, this is war paint. This is the mask I put on that protects me, and drives me to destroy people like Alex Jones and Adrian Adams.
He finishes covering his face in a white base coat, before reaching into the cabinet beneath the sink, and pulling out a small, crumpled state fair fan. He waves it in front of his face, allowing the make-up to dry. He taps it a few times, testing it, and when he is satisfied, he open the small jar of red, and begins spreading it over his forehead like a tribal headband.
Isaiah:I know what people think when they look at me. I know what they say, how they see me. Now, I’d stand here and tell you I don’t care, but that ain’t the truth. The truth is, I love it. I love that all you morons in the back don’t see me as a threat. You know why? It makes it easier for me to take your asses out. You walk to the ring, all thugged up, certain you’re gonna beat the little make-up wearin’ bitch into the mat. You pose and dance for the crowd, while I’m sittin’ in the corner, just waitin’ for the little bunny to hop between my teeth. You may think I look stupid, but I’m just a wolf in jester’s clothing. When you step into the ring with me, you’ll see the truth. Until then, keep thinkin’ you got me beat. It’s just gonna make my night easier.
He finishes the painted headband, and grabs the black jar. With a small brush, he slowly begins drawing skeleton like teeth across his lips.
Isaiah:Now you might be askin’, Isaiah, who the fuck are you? What the hell makes you think you’re so special? That’s easy. I got the soul of a warrior inside me. Generations and generations of my people made up some of the most talented, and vicious warriors the world’ ever seen. The vikings couldn’t conquer our land, and if the plague hadn’t wiped out most of us a year before whitey showed up, we woulda run his ass out too. Now all the strength earned by my ancestors got passed down to me, and I’m finna use it to take WCF by storm! Imma take all my rage, all my strength, all my abilities, and show the world exactly what a stupid little gay ass Juggalo like me can do.
He finishes the teeth, and begins spreading the black on the skin around his eyes, creating a skull effect.
Isaiah:The question’s still there… who am I? Am I a hero? Am I a villain? Am I here to save WCF, or burn it down? I been watchin’, and it seems like those are the only two options lately. Lemme just tell ya, I ain’t here to do none of that. All I came to do was kick ass. No bubblegum required. You feel me? I’m here to show everyone who counted me out in my life just how fuckin’ stupid they were. I’m here for me, and me alone. No stables, no partners, no liabilities. Isaiah Chavis is a lone warrior. A wolf who lives and dies on his own terms. That’s all you need to know. Trust me, you’ll be learnin’ plenty soon.
The wrestler finishes with the face paint, and carefully puts away his jars. Once that is finished, he grabs the long black hair hanging from the top of his head, and begins twisting it into six tight braids.
Isaiah: As far as my opponent’s, I can’t seem to find out much about them. I asked around, but they’re so boring, nobody remembers nothin’ about them. What I do know is it don’t matter who they are. It’s like my boy J says, this Earth shit is next, and I’m burnin’ it down. It don’t matter who you are. After you’re done with me, your whole world ain’t gonna be nothin’ but a pile of ashes. It’s gonna be violent, and it’s gonna be fun, but at the end of the day Alex and Adrian are goin’ down as my first W. You best believe that.
Finished with his braids, he smiles at the mirror, and checks his paint for any screw ups. Finding none, he leands against the doorway, and stares into his reflection’s eyes.
Isaiah:I ain’t just some painted up freak. I ain’t just some indy dipshit who wrestles on weekends. I’m a full time warrior, and that don’t change. I kick the shit out of people, and that’s all there is to it. So Adrian, Alex… when you find yourself askin’ who the fuck is Isaiah Chavis, just remember what I told ya here. The Juggalo Warrior is your worst nightmare homie. And I’m out.
Isaiah turns and walks into his bedroom. He looks around at his humble surroundings, and grins.
Isaiah:All worth it.
Isaiah slowly sits up, and takes a look around him. A few empty beer bottles scatter the floor, and nearby is a small television perched on a milk crate. Other than that, and the dust bunnies, the room is empty. He shakes his head, and drags himself up to a standing position. He twists his torso back and forth, stretching the aching muscles beneath his skin. He wanders over to his closet, and wrenches the shoddy sliding door open to reveal a row of poorly kempt shirts. He digs through them, before pulling out a black hockey jersey with a red hatchet man logo on the front. He drapes it over himself, before walking out of his bedroom. He grabs a set of keys off of a rickety table by the door, and steps out into the bright summer day.
He stands on his porch, staring across at Mrs. Mcguinty’s house. It was a hideous purple single wide. It hadn’t always been that color. Before Mrs. McGuinty’s husband passed away it had been a sensible beige. As soon as he passed away, she feverishly went about the task of painting the home herself. When Isaiah, eleven years old at the time, asked his mother why the widow was behaving this way, she could only chuckle to herself and smile for a second before replying: “Death does strange things to people. Freedom does even stranger things.” Isaiah looks to his side, and sees the older woman pushing along the old rusted mower, the same one she had been using since Isaiah was a boy.
He waves at her with a smile, but she does not return it. She stops the growling motor with a frown on her face.
Mrs. McGuinty:Isaiah Joseph Liebowitz! You always were a lazy little punk kid. Can’t be bothered to help and old lady mow her yard.
Her thick southern drawl is a welcome sound to the young man’s ears. Isaiah chuckles lightly, and the woman smiles, before stepping toward the porch. She pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket, and slides one into her mouth. She offers one to Isaiah, but he refuses.
Isaiah:Nah. I’m tryin’ to quit.
Mrs. McGuinty:It’s ‘No thank you ma’am’ Show some manners boy. You’re better than all that hip hop jive nonsense you spit out.
Isaiah:That’s just who I am Mrs. M
Mrs. McGuinty:Don’t give me that nonsense. I went to your Bar Mitzvah. I seem to remember a certain young boy gettin’ real nervous and throwin’ up all over the Torah.
Isaiah:Aw come on! I was just startin’ to clean the memory out my brain.
The silver haired woman laugh her light, bubbly laugh, before taking a drag from her cigarette, and spitting the smoke out into the air. She gives her lawn mower a dirty look, before turning to Isaiah.
Mrs. McGuinty:Well. I suppose as long as you’re finally up, you can come over and have a cup of coffee. Distract me from this devil of a machine.
Isaiah chuckles, and starts making his way down the sturdy plastic steps.
Isaiah:Yeah, no problem. Lemme just grab my mail quick.
Chavis makes his way through the grass and across the street, stepping lightly as his barefoot feet press against the hot asphalt. He steps up to the big metal box, and unlocks his compartment. He pulls out a few letters, and flips through them. The first couple are collection notices that will likely never be opened. The third is one Isaiah isn’t used to seeing. He takes a look at it, and his heart jumps into his throat when he sees the WCF logo in the corner.
Isaiah:No fuckin’ way…
He drops the collection notices, and rips into the other envelope, unfolding the paper inside so quickly that he tears the edge slightly. His eyes move quickly down the page, the exictment inside of him growing with each line, until he can contain it no more, and it leaps from his throat in the form of a shriek of joy.
Isaiah:WOOOOOOOOO!
A startled Mrs. McGuinty comes running out her back door, and down to the grass. Isaiah sprints back across the street toward her, the letter grasped firmly in his hand.
Mrs. McGuinty:What in the world is all the hootin’ and hollerin; about?
Isaiah:They want me! I’m gonna be a star!
Before she can ask any more question, the wrestler wraps his arms tightly around the woman, lifting her in the air and spinning her around in a circle before setting her down. She gives him a few playful slaps before speaking again.
Mrs. McGuinty:Who wants you for what? Slow down.
Isaiah:WCF! They want me to wrestle for them! They want to bring me in right away! Oh shit! Mrs. McGuinty… everything’s gonna be okay now.
Mrs. McGuinty:Hey now! You may be excited, but that ain’t no excuse for a dirty mouth. Now, you all done hottin’ and hollerin’. ‘cause I’m about to tell you somethin’ you’re not gonna want to hear.
Isaiah:Aw come on, don’t be like that. We got a good moment goin’.
Mrs. McGuinty:Well I think this is a moment you should share with your mother.
Isaiah’s jubilant expression drops from his face in an instant. His arms hang down at his sides, as he tries to come up with some argument. His neighbor cuts him off before he can even speak.
Mrs. McGuinty:I know things ain’t been easy between you two, but your mother’s gonna wanna hear about this. If you run off to wherever you’re goin’ before visitin’ your momma, I swear I’ll tan your hide myself.
Isaiah:Alright. Fine. I’ll stop by tomorrow. Right now I gotta get packed. They’re gonna send a limo for me in a few days. They need me in China by Sunday.
Mrs. McGuinty:China?! Well good lord. Make sure you bring your Bible then.
Isaiah:Since when do you care about the Bible?
Mrs. McGuinty:Not for readin’ boy! Take it in case you get attacked. You can beat someone to death with a hardcover edition.
The two friends share a laugh and a hug, before Mrs. McGuinty leans in and gives Isaiah a kiss on the cheek.
Mrs. McGuinty:You be careful. I know it ain’t fair, but you’re gonna have to keep your mouth shut about you bein’ gay. That can still get you in some big trouble over there, and don’t you go flippin’ your lid like you tend to do. Stay cool and come back safe, you got that?
Isaiah:Yeah, I got you.
Mrs. McGuinty:Yes Ma’am! Manners boy!
Isaiah:Yes Ma’am.
Isaiah’s response is equal parts sarcastic and loving as he walks back up the steps and into his modest trailer home. He walks quickly into his bedroom and reaches into the bottom of his closet. He pulls out a black make-up box and hauls it into his filthy bathroom. He kicks a pile of clothes out of his way, as he sets the box down on what little counter he has around the sink. He gives the cracked mirror a smile before opening the box, and pulling out a couple small circular containers. He opens them, and slowly begins applying a layer of white make-up as he practices cutting his promo in front of his reflection.
Isaiah:I’m used to the jokes. Make ‘em all you want mother fuckers. Look at the Juggalo with his goofy make-up. Look at the queer thinkin’ he can be a wrestler. Ain’t he funny though? I’ve heard anything and everything you’re gonna say about me a hundred times. That shit don’t even phase me no more. See… when you see this face paint, you see some goofy douchebag gettin’ ready for a concert. When I look in the mirror, and I see this paint, I see thousands upon thousands of my family members standin’ behind me. I see all the pain I been through, I see my brothers and sisters, I see my true self. I see every battle I ever fought, and every hit I ever took. This isn’t just make-up, this is war paint. This is the mask I put on that protects me, and drives me to destroy people like Alex Jones and Adrian Adams.
He finishes covering his face in a white base coat, before reaching into the cabinet beneath the sink, and pulling out a small, crumpled state fair fan. He waves it in front of his face, allowing the make-up to dry. He taps it a few times, testing it, and when he is satisfied, he open the small jar of red, and begins spreading it over his forehead like a tribal headband.
Isaiah:I know what people think when they look at me. I know what they say, how they see me. Now, I’d stand here and tell you I don’t care, but that ain’t the truth. The truth is, I love it. I love that all you morons in the back don’t see me as a threat. You know why? It makes it easier for me to take your asses out. You walk to the ring, all thugged up, certain you’re gonna beat the little make-up wearin’ bitch into the mat. You pose and dance for the crowd, while I’m sittin’ in the corner, just waitin’ for the little bunny to hop between my teeth. You may think I look stupid, but I’m just a wolf in jester’s clothing. When you step into the ring with me, you’ll see the truth. Until then, keep thinkin’ you got me beat. It’s just gonna make my night easier.
He finishes the painted headband, and grabs the black jar. With a small brush, he slowly begins drawing skeleton like teeth across his lips.
Isaiah:Now you might be askin’, Isaiah, who the fuck are you? What the hell makes you think you’re so special? That’s easy. I got the soul of a warrior inside me. Generations and generations of my people made up some of the most talented, and vicious warriors the world’ ever seen. The vikings couldn’t conquer our land, and if the plague hadn’t wiped out most of us a year before whitey showed up, we woulda run his ass out too. Now all the strength earned by my ancestors got passed down to me, and I’m finna use it to take WCF by storm! Imma take all my rage, all my strength, all my abilities, and show the world exactly what a stupid little gay ass Juggalo like me can do.
He finishes the teeth, and begins spreading the black on the skin around his eyes, creating a skull effect.
Isaiah:The question’s still there… who am I? Am I a hero? Am I a villain? Am I here to save WCF, or burn it down? I been watchin’, and it seems like those are the only two options lately. Lemme just tell ya, I ain’t here to do none of that. All I came to do was kick ass. No bubblegum required. You feel me? I’m here to show everyone who counted me out in my life just how fuckin’ stupid they were. I’m here for me, and me alone. No stables, no partners, no liabilities. Isaiah Chavis is a lone warrior. A wolf who lives and dies on his own terms. That’s all you need to know. Trust me, you’ll be learnin’ plenty soon.
The wrestler finishes with the face paint, and carefully puts away his jars. Once that is finished, he grabs the long black hair hanging from the top of his head, and begins twisting it into six tight braids.
Isaiah: As far as my opponent’s, I can’t seem to find out much about them. I asked around, but they’re so boring, nobody remembers nothin’ about them. What I do know is it don’t matter who they are. It’s like my boy J says, this Earth shit is next, and I’m burnin’ it down. It don’t matter who you are. After you’re done with me, your whole world ain’t gonna be nothin’ but a pile of ashes. It’s gonna be violent, and it’s gonna be fun, but at the end of the day Alex and Adrian are goin’ down as my first W. You best believe that.
Finished with his braids, he smiles at the mirror, and checks his paint for any screw ups. Finding none, he leands against the doorway, and stares into his reflection’s eyes.
Isaiah:I ain’t just some painted up freak. I ain’t just some indy dipshit who wrestles on weekends. I’m a full time warrior, and that don’t change. I kick the shit out of people, and that’s all there is to it. So Adrian, Alex… when you find yourself askin’ who the fuck is Isaiah Chavis, just remember what I told ya here. The Juggalo Warrior is your worst nightmare homie. And I’m out.
Isaiah turns and walks into his bedroom. He looks around at his humble surroundings, and grins.
Isaiah:All worth it.
