Run With Scissors [D] (Part 1 of 3) Jul 21, 2015 17:00:17 GMT -5 Kaz, Joey Flash, and 2 more like this
Post by David Sanchez on Jul 21, 2015 17:00:17 GMT -5
Run With Scissors
Tuesday, July 21st 15:30 – Royal Harbor Hotel, Sydney, Australia.
Tuesday, July 21st 15:30 – Royal Harbor Hotel, Sydney, Australia.
His teeth were itchy, the world was a bleak, loveless abyss and he had almost forgot the sweet smell of her perfume. The hotel rooms had been doing a number on his vertebrae, the quality of painkillers was not quite up to the standards he had become accustom to in the United States. His life was falling apart around him and all he could do was lie there, thinking of his wife, his son and of the fifteen year matured Glenlivet malt in his drinks cabinet back in California. David Sanchez was not himself, in truth without Sammantha he was not even human. The bed beneath him felt like bricks and razor wire whilst the constant whir of the air conditioning echoed around his skull, tormenting him to the point that no thought he could conjure was enough to drown it out. This tour was slowly but surely killing him. Perhaps the critics were right in that he should have stayed retired, he had become soft in his four year absence. Three weeks away from his comfort zone and he was relapsing each night and climbing the walls with withdrawal symptoms each day.
Australia had by far been the worst so far. The heat was almost too much for him to bear and the aches of his battle with the Juggalo Warrior still haunted his body like the brutality he had suffered was an ongoing experience. In addition to all of this the laceration upon his brow was prickling more with every passing second as the flesh started to mend itself, healing around the stitches he had received after Teo Del Sol smashed a glass photo frame into his face on Slam. The accent of the locals was something he would never get used to, so much so that since he returned from the hospital on Sunday evening he had refused to leave this dimly lit hotel room. Even now, in the middle of the afternoon, the curtains were pulled shut, hiding the Plague from the rest of society like some kind of hermit. Dressed in a pair of black shorts, barefoot and topless he lay motionless but for blinking on top of the double bed, the knowledge of his impending flight to Japan for Ultimate Showdown dancing through his subconscious. Why did he continue to torture himself like this? It couldn’t be helped, wrestling after-all was his only passion that could be considered a gainful form of employment. Pharmaceuticals and alcohol abuse did not exactly pay the bills, nor did his love for Knives and Kayden, it was a catch twenty-two situation. It would send him insane to stay retired but it would break him; either physically or psychologically to continue onwards down the path he was traveling. Leaning over to the bedside table, he wrapped his hand around the complimentary phone which was granted to guests and jammed his index finger into a series of numbers, the only numbers he needed in life, his home telephone digits.
The phone rings a few times, a few more than he would have cared it to if he was to be entirely honest but then again he hadn’t really thought about the time difference. Growing anxious as a few more moments without response he begins to twist the cord of this telephone between his fingers. Just as he starts to lose hope though and contemplates placing the phone back into the receiver and continuing to decimate the mini-bar a click is heard followed by a familiar child’s voice.
“Hi Kayden it’s your dad”
The sound of his son’s voice is all it takes and a smile forms on David’s face, he stops restlessly fiddling with the wire and immediately appears all the more relaxed.
“Hi dad, did you get my card?”
In all honesty, David hadn’t bothered to check his postal box since he had arrived at the Royal Harbor hotel. Not knowing quite how to explain this to his son though he pauses for a second, inhales a breath of disappointment at his own self-indulgence and does the only thing he can think of; lies.
“Yes son, it was really nice, thank you so much.”
“Yay, I made it myself. I miss you dad.”
“I miss you too son, is your mother there?”
“Yeah, I’ll just get her, but dad?”
“What is it Kayden?”
“Why do you hate Teo?”
It was a question he knew was coming since the moment his son had requested a replica Del Sol mask. You would think that having had such a lengthy time to prepare an answer he would have been able to come up with a better response than he does at this moment but truth be told there was no way he could explain his feelings to a five year old without scarring him for life. Biting his lip, David sits up in the bed and whispers his response in the softest voice he can muster up.
“Son, your dad’s not perfect. Sometimes I need to do things you might not understand but know this; everything that I do is for the good of our family Kayden. Don’t worry about why I do the things that I do, your only five kid. You should be focusing on chasing girls with sticks and spinning on the spot until you fall down.”
“Okay dad, I’ll go and see if I can find mom.”
The line goes quiet and the dark thought of self-destruction become all the more present in David’s mind once more. He found himself counting the seconds that his son was away from the phone, imagining Kayden’s path from the living room phone, through the hall, up the stairs and into the master bedroom of his luxurious Orange County property. He could almost hear the tiny footsteps rushing from one wing of their home to another. In contrast he looked around his hotel room and was hit by a falling piano of emptiness, this room was more of a form of torture than it was accommodation. He wondered how he had ever survived these long trips away from home in the past and with these thoughts came realizations, he never really had. Sammantha had always traveled with him, competed for the same company, they had shared rooms in sleazy hotels across the globe and left them in a condition much less hospitable than when they had arrived. His eyes surveyed the floor where last night’s clothes were crumpled in a heap and imagined how his wife would react to such untidiness, this made him chuckle a little but before he could finish laughing a voice was speaking at him down the phone again, not that of Knives’ though but still the innocent tones of his son.
“Mom’s in the shower dad, she said she’ll call you back in an hour”
This revelation crushed him slightly. Here he was breaking his heart and halfway across the world Sammantha was washing her luscious body, how dare she be hygienic when he needed to talk. He could not stay angry for long though as the very thought of her naked body brought other, more animal feelings to the surface. There is a long pause as he lets this imagery penetrate the dark thoughts and it is only by some kind of miracle that he is able to control himself and remember that it is his fiver year old son on the other end of this call and not a high-class phone sex service.
“Okay buddy, well I tell you what. How would you like to see Japan?”
“It’s a country son, that’s where I’m wrestling this weekend. I sent out tickets for you and your mother to join me there if it’s okay with her.”
“Can I come to the show?”
“Of course you can son, I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
There is silence on David’s end of the line for a few seconds as Kayden celebrates his impending trip to Tokyo. The child had never been out of California, much less traveled to Asia. The glee in his son’s voice was almost enough to melt David’s icy heart.
“Yeah! I’d love to!”
“Well it’s up to your mother, but I sent tickets out a few days ago”
“Thanks! You’re the best dad in the world!”
These words seem to stick in David’s throat a little as he looks up at his reflection in a wall-mounted mirror opposite to the bed where he was lying. He looked pathetic, unwashed, unshaven and felt even worse than the mirror cared to show. Somehow knowing that his son was not fluent in sarcasm at such a young age did not seem to thwart how much that comment hurt.
“Okay son, just tell your mother the tickets and airfare should arrive in the post tomorrow and have her call me tonight instead, I’m doing a webcast in a few hours.”
“Okay dad, love you.”
“See you soon son, love you too.”
David slams the phone back into its charging dock with a crash and rolls off of the bed and onto his feet, narrowly avoiding slipping onto his posterior as his foot misses the carpet and instead slips on an overturned bottle of Navy rum. Horrified at himself he walks over to the drapes and pulls them apart, wincing as the sunlight causes the dust particles to dance for the first time in days, his eyes struggling to adjust to the change in brightness. Sanchez stands fixated at the window for a few moments, as if it were his first glimpse at civilization in a thousand years. Growing tired of the world though he walks over to his bedside table again and delves into the top drawer, retrieving and ingesting two industrial strength painkillers for his hangover, and another two for his own enjoyment. Happy now that these pharmaceuticals will give him enough drive to get through the evening’s events he reaches down to the floor, grabbing the bottle which a few moments ago was nearly the cause of his demise, unscrewing it and washing the tablets down with a generous mouthful of Carribean goodness. Moving across the room again now he looks into his suitcase and withdraws a few items, tossing all of these onto the still room-service immaculate bedspread which suggests he had once again slept in the bathtub, on the floor or at the very least; above the covers. First it is a pair of jeans decorated with flames on the legs, followed by a simple white t-shirt and finally the coup de grace; a white wrestling mask with a golden sun on the forehead. The attire of his nemesis, one Teo Del Sol. Picking up the bottle of rum again he walks through to the en suite of his hotel room and proceeds to turn on the shower, slamming the door as the scene fades out and he is heard muttering a final phrase, racked in cynical self-loathing.
“Best. Fucking. Dad… In the world.”
Run With Scissors
(A Character Assassination)
Tuesday, 21st July 19:30 – Diamond Studios, Sydney, Australia
“I have to say Mr. Del Sol, you’re a bit bigger in person than you appear on the television.”
The scene opens up to the inside of small recording studio. Its interior is decorated with a minimalistic style. The only decoration visible to the camera is a cream, leather two seated couch and an armchair of similar fashion, the two chairs facing one another but separated by a circular, glass coffee table with a mahogany frame. On the two-seated chair is the man who on the surface, to the untrained eye would appear to be Mr Sunshine himself whilst the other is filled by an unknown entity. The masked wrestler seems to fit the bill almost to a tee if it were not for the obvious height difference and additional weight, above all else though is the sight of a familiar wedding ring upon his finger. Dressed in his typical jeans, a simple white T-shirt, beneath which the faint outline of a black rose tattoo is slightly visible and his trademark mask, complete with golden sun on its forefront. All things considered it becomes fairly obvious to the regular viewer of the World Championship Federation that this is not infact Teo Del Sol but instead, his rival; David Sanchez.
Facing him is a middle-aged man dressed in a white suit with a black shirt underneath, complimented by a pink tie and white wing-tipped shoes. The man has a greasy look about him, the kind of gentleman you would expect to buy a timeshare from. He is well-groomed, his hair combed back and beard neatly shaven into a chinstrap whilst his dark brown eyes remain fixated on this most questionable of presences in his studio. David, or rather David’s portrayal of Teo sips from a crystal glass of clear liquid, not quite full enough to be water but instead perhaps vodka or some other kind of clear alcohol. As he wonders how best to ward off this interrogation.
“You work in show-business Steven, therefor you should know we don’t all look exactly as we do on television. I was lead to believe you were taller.”
“Fair point Teo, are you ready to start the interview?”
“Ready when you are, Steven.”
The man being referred to as Steven turns to the back of the room where a glass window separates the technical aspects of the recording studio from the things which are to appear on camera. He gives a thumbs up to the audio-visual engineer behind the partition and swiftly straightens his tie in the faint reflection which beams back at him from the glass. David places his beverage down onto the table and lights a cigarette, another dead giveaway that this is not infact the real Mr Sunshine. On this day however, in the eyes of his clueless host; he is close enough of a match to send the interview into motion. Sanchez takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke upwards towards an extractor fan as a red light flicks on in the corner of the room, indicating that they are now live on the air.
“Hi there viewers, and welcome to the Diamond Show with me, “Shining” Stevie Diamond. Thank you all for tuning in to this live feed on ‘TheDiamondShow.net’ in association tonight with our new friends at WCFwrestling.com. We’re being joined in the studio tonight by a man who’s been making waves in the professional wrestling industry; Mr Sunshine himself, the enigmatic Teo Del Sol."
“Thank you Steven, and a howdy-fucking-do to all our viewers tonight, this is TDS-time bitches.”
Our impersonator for the evening takes a sip out of his glass of mysterious alcohol and another long drag at his cigarette before clearing his throat with a harsh cough and spitting a discharge of saliva and rotting innards onto the studio’s floor. Shocked by this, knowing only of Teo’s reputation as a nice, lovable character, Steven Diamond pauses for a few moments to judge his guest, aware however that he is conducting a live interview he begins to speak again as David crosses his legs in a feminine manner.
“So Teo, to start off with why don’t you tell our viewers what it was that made you get into the sport of professional wrestling? From what I understand you started off wrestling in California but later moved on to Mexico.”
“Well Steven from a young age I always enjoyed the feel of another man’s flesh against my own but I think it first started to appeal to me around the age of sixteen. I was working as a rent-boy in the So-Cal slums, you know paying for my raging crack cocaine habit by sucking the occasional dick or kicking the odd pregnant hooker in the stomach to clear my debts. Then one day I was walking home, high as fuck of course because, you know, it was a Tuesday afternoon and it would be rude not to be, am I right?”
“I… I have absolutely no idea.”
“Well, anyway. As I was saying, I was walking home and I met this nice gentleman outside of the neighborhood gym who was recruiting for the local independent circuit. He looked me up and down a few times before asking if I’d ever considered wrestling. Well, I like to think I know an opportunity when I see one so I stuck my hand in the guy’s pocket and whispered to him to meet me in the alley round back. To cut a long story short he punched me in the face and explained that he meant actual wrestling and not the bumping and grinding I’d gotten so used to given my habits of the time. So we’ll skip forward a few months, past all the steroids and the rehabilitation clinic I ran away from after fourteen hours to my first match, which incidentally went not unlike my matches of the current day. I got my ass beaten senseless for a solid twenty minutes but somehow managed to sneak my way into a victory by rolling my opponent up with a small package. Anyway, my career went on in this fashion for a few months until the biggest tragedy of my life happened and it totally salted my game. My goldfish; Bubbles died and it just tore me up inside like you wouldn’t believe. From there it was dark times, I spent my days getting beat on in front of a sold-out gymnasium packed to the bleachers with a capacity crowd of seven people whilst my evenings were spent scoring heroin from a guy who worked at Burger King and shooting up in a dumpster outside of the aquarium.”
Not quite believing what he was hearing, Steven takes a double take at the man seated in front of him, unsure whether this was perhaps a cruel prank being played on him by a co-worker. The man posing as Teo Del Sol simply smiles back, not with the beaming glow that is usually associated with Mr Sunshine however but with the serpent-like attributes that are associated with the Plague. A quick glance straight at the secondary camera tells Stevie however that this is not joke and that as they say; the show must go on. David relishes this fact, keen to destroy the reputation of the man who has been nothing short of a thorn in his side.
“Interesting stuff Teo, a little darker than we were expecting I must say. So to continue on from this point, I’m lead to believe that you went from wrestling in America under the name of Teddy Blaze to adopting the name Teo Del Sol during your stint in Mexico. Can you tell the viewers first, what made you go to Mexico and what did you make of your experiences there?”
“Well to the first part of that I must answer your question with a question I’m afraid. Why does anyone go to Mexico?”
“Not even close Steven. I was on the run from Johnny Law for a series of small possession and solicitation charges that were due to go to trial soon. So I tucked tail and headed for the border. Remember kids, it doesn’t matter how badly you fuck up your life in America, Mexico’s only a hitchhiker’s handjob away. Once I was there the local culture of meth-amphetamines and cock fighting had me hooked on the place and within a few weeks I was tweaking out of my eyeballs, doing back flips around the ring and wearing the very mask that you see on my face today.”
“I see, and what did you make of your time spent there and the wrestling circuit in Mexico itself?”
“Excellent question Stevie Dee. Well as much as I claim that this is the experience which really shaped and salvaged my career, if I’m being honest with you today I hated the place. It’s a shit-stain of a country full of lazy, work-shy tax dodgers and Cartel assassinations. Like seriously, if you took the quality of life from Guantanamo Bay and crossed it with the smell of a Taco Bell dumpster… That pretty much summarizes the sensual experience of living in Mexico. As for the wrestling I picked up while I was there, it basically resembles interpretive dance. It’s got all the glitz and glamor of ballet, with none of the hard work that comes associated with real, strong-style wrestling. I learned all of the quintessential skills that come in tow with lucha libre, from using the ropes to propel yourself like some sort of glorified trapeze artist to jumping through the air and flailing your arms like an aerodynamic epileptic. I think my real big break came in Tijuana though where I wrestled in and dominated the 117th girl-scout open, defeating little Sally Suarez with a triple back-flip kerb-stomp to win the tournament, by far my proudest achievement in this business to date.”
Still unsure if the stories he is being spoon-fed are fact or fiction, Stevie picks up a stack of paper and shuffles through it in an attempt to find some questions that perhaps his guest is unable to sabotage. David, still openly mocking Teo in an attempt to tarnish his rival’s livelihood unfolds his legs and drains the contents of his glass, shaking the empty container in a motion that suggests he wishes for a refill.
“Okay, so we’ve covered the start of your career now Teo and your time in Mexico. So I’m led to believe that from there you were snatched up by the World Championship Federation, one of America’s biggest promotions and your current employer. In your own words, can you tell us how the decision to move up into the big leagues came about and what it felt like walking through the curtain, and onto the big stage for the first time...”
“Don’t you have an assistant or something? My glass has been empty for almost a minute now.”
“Let me just see if there’s something we can do about that.”
Stevie motions with his hand for somebody to address the problem and within seconds a teenage intern busts through the door in a panicked frenzy with a bottle of vodka in hand. He steps onto camera, obscuring the view from this Del Sol imitation for a few seconds, grabs the glass with a shaky hand and pours it half-full with the vodka, the two glass objects clattering together as he shakes nervously. Just as he makes to leave the scene he is addressed by David and stops in his tracks.
“You can just leave the bottle here skipper.”
Looking at his boss for confirmation which is immediately granted in an attempt to restore some order to his show the aspiring studio producer sets the bottle down with a sharp clank on the table and quickly scurries from view, shutting the door ever so gently behind him as he steps back into the production area to continue watching this train-wreck unfold.
“Damn, I fucking love this hospitality shit.”
“Can we get back to the question?”
“Of course, what was I saying? Ah yes. Well, I was approached by WCF scouts earlier on this year, personally I think they were looking for another one of the guys in the locker-room but there was an outbreak of drug-resistant syphilis that week and most of the roster ended up in hospital that week. Luckily for me though, given my past I had developed an immunity to this particular ailment and there we have the definition of a right place, right time scenario. From there, I made my way back into America and signed my contract, keeping my Mexican alias and identity concealment of course to avoid any nasty run-ins with the police. I debuted a week later and the rest is history.”
“So from there, we’ve seen you successfully conquer Adam Blake at the pay per-view known as Blast and that leads us into this month where you’ve been involved in a brutal rivalry with one David Sanchez…”
“I fucking love that guy.”
“Okay… so as I was saying. You’ve been involved in a rivalry with David Sanchez that’s really escalated into a personal issue as of late. First it seemed like it was just jealousy and personal animosity on his part towards you but now things have been taken to a whole new level, I don’t want to delve into the attack just yet but instead I’d like to go back to the first two matches between you two. Can you tell us a little about them?”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you Steven. This whole thing started before we even competed for the first time. I was just doing what I do, you know, hanging around pre-school classrooms, giving speeches about aspirations and shit, handing out candy, scoring some Mary-Jane from the janitor, that whole deal and it turns out his kid was in the class. I guess I should have thought before I opened my mouth in hindsight because looking back I have no idea what I was even slavering about to these children. Some kind of tangent about how if you really want something then you should just kick back, relax and wait for the world to present it on a silver platter. It worked for me, who’s to say it won’t work for these kids?”
“Statistics show that Teo, facts and statistics.”
“Whatever man. Where was I? Okay yeah, so his offspring, James I think? That sounds about right basically listened to what I was saying and went home to David to tell on me. I’ll try not to bore you with the specifics but to cut a long story short I think my preaching must have pissed him off because as you seen on Slam, Sanchez took advantage of my not paying attention and got the jump on me on my way down the entrance ramp before our first match. I can’t really fault him for that but nonetheless I went to Lerch with some crocodile tears and got him fined, just because I’m a dick like that and it’s money in my pocket, money I spent on more hookers and opiates. So yeah, as you all know, David pretty much beat my ass senseless in that match but I was able to showcase my slimy ways by sneaking into the ring at the last second and causing him to be counted out.”
Talking of his loss in their first encounter still seems to make David uncomfortable, even now as he pretends to be the victor of this particular match. Spitting his disgust onto the studio floor again he sits awkwardly in this moment between moments. Trying to fight back the urge to rip off the mask which was beginning to irritate his face and stagger his breathing. In addition to this, it was also making it more difficult to consume the vodka, which simply would not do. Straightening up in the seat with the aid of a generous mouthful he composes himself and continues on, doing his best not to break character.
“I guess my cheap tactics must have stuck in his craw or something because next week when we had our rematch he proceeded to further beat me senseless until I couldn’t really take anymore and had to employ some tactics which had benefited me in the past. I hopped the barricade and kicked a fan in the face, I’ll claim it was an accident to this day but secretly I meant to do it. Getting myself counted out was the only way I could think of to get him to stop wailing on me. It seems that David didn’t see it that way as later on when I was in the medical room trying to score some morphine and adrenaline he came out of nowhere and bludgeoned me with quite possibly the best yakuza kick I have ever seen, let alone felt. From there it’s all history he beat me bloody with a pipe until I was nothing but a stain of crimson blood and urine on the hallway floor and do you know what? I deserved every stitch in my head.”
“At least you can admit it Mr Sunshine, a lesser man might have come on the show and lied about these events to make himself look good. If nothing else I’m glad you’re honest Teo. Now last week we seen what we thought was going to be your retirement party. David put on a big show and basically announced that he had ended your career, only for you to shock the world by coming out through the crowd and attacking him, smashing a picture over his head and announcing that the two of you will be competing in a weapons match this Sunday at Ultimate Showdown which is broadcast live on the WCF Network and available in over fifty-two countries, including right here in Australia for the super low price of ten dollars and one cent.”
“That’s where you need to be mindful of the specifics Steven. You see last week I witnessed David defeat Isaiah Chavis in a hardcore match as I hid like a fox among the chickens in the crowd and for the whole evening I was thinking that there is no way I could beat this alpha specimen in a fair contest. So I put my remaining three brain-cells to work and came up with a way to stack the deck completely in my favor. You see, it’s not just any weapons match, on Sunday we’re going to compete in a match where the fans are armed with weapons and can donate said items to either wrestler throughout the match as they see fit. I couldn’t have planned it better. These stupid fans love me for some stupid reason and they don’t seem to appreciate David’s wrestling superiority and dashing good looks nearly as much as they should. Not one single fan in Tokyo is going to give Sanchez so much as a word of encouragement let alone a tool with which to cause me harm. I have these puppets eating out of the palm of my hand and they’re all too wrapped up in my masked, whimsical wonder to understand that I’m the bad guy here. It is by my own admission the perfect plan and the only possible way I stand a snowball’s chance in hell of defeating David.”
Starting to feel perhaps as though he was pushing it a little and beginning to sound like his own biggest fan, which incidentally he was. Teo, or the man dressed as Teo rather quickly backtracks to the first part of the question. Safe in the knowledge his true identity remains unknown, at least to the man conducting this interview.
“Going back to your first point there though Diamond. I was actually planning to retire after the assault, I mean the concussion faded after four or five days but in truth I knew my return would only further provoke David and that the next time he struck, he’d be sure to finish the job. I hid like a snake in the grass all evening and waited for his back to be turned before I finally let my true colors be seen by all. Rushing the ring, with the surge of fear flowing through my body I crept up on him and smashed what can only be described as a masterpiece of art over his head. Unfortunately though Sanchez was too quick for me and was able to roll out of the ring before I could do any real damage. Like the scavenger I am though I still managed to cut him open when he’d already competed and was doing nothing more than honoring my career. He didn’t see it coming, I’m so proud of myself!”
“That’s a very warped sense of pride you have Teo. Now, we’ve covered the whole history between David and yourself but you’ve not mentioned how you feel about him personally. Would you care to make a comment on that?”
“When it comes to my personal feelings on David I’d have to say jealousy. I really wish I could be as talented between the ropes as that motherfucker, you know what I’m saying? Apart from that though I find myself admiring his carefree attitude and the fact that he manages to get by in this industry despite the crowd’s aversion to him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad these people love me for whatever reason they do but I really believe their adoration would be better fitted to a man like Sanchez. To me he personifies everything that makes for an upstanding member of society.”
“Okay we’re running out of time now Teo, so we’re down to our last two questions. First is the question that’s on the lips of your legions of fans around the world. What comes next for you after Ultimate Showdown?”
“Well… I figure David will probably break my neck during the match so truth be told I haven’t really thought too much about the future. I’m looking forward to a good few months of hospital food and sponge-baths, that’s for sure! What comes next in the WCF though? I don’t know how they handle handicapped employees to be honest but I expect I should get a nice redundancy payment that I can use to set up California’s first chicken restaurant where the customers bet on a cock fight and the ones who bet on the winning chicken get to eat the loser. It’s an idea I had down in Mexico but I think it’s got major retail value here in America. That aside, I think Pete and I will probably just do a lot of mescaline and do the bad thing”
“That’s… Um, something. So finally Teo, it seems, for some reason that a lot of your fans are of the younger generation. Children of school-age with hopes of someday achieving their dreams. What parting advice can you give to the kids of today?”
“That’s an easy one Steven. I’ll say the same thing tonight that I say in schools across the country”
“What’s that Teo?”
“Don’t listen to your parents, vegetables suck balls, despite what you read in the news, it’s always fun to play with fireworks. Drugs aren’t bad, they’re just expensive and always run with scissors.”
“… Well, regrettably that seems to be all we’ve got time for tonight folks I’d like to thank my guest tonight; Teo Del Sol for joining us and wish him the best of luck in his match this Sunday. I’ve been Stevie Diamond and this has been the Diamond show. As always viewers, keep on shining!”
As Steven Diamond’s closing catchphrase brings the show to a halt the large recording light in the studio clicks off and he leans forward to his guest.
“What the fuck was that, you piece of shit?”
David mimics his host, leaning forward across the table and wrapping one of his hands around the bottle of vodka before using the other to peel the mask from his head and reveal his true identity. A dramatic gasp is heard coming from Steven’s mouth which is immediately thwarted as Sanchez speaks in his own dull, monotonic tone for the first time, replacing the enthusiasm which he had kept going for so long. David gets up to his feet, shoving the mask into the crotch of his jeans and begins to make for the door with the bottle of vodka in his hand, clearly being kept as some sort of courtesy. Just as the scene begins to fade he looks back at Diamond and utters his parting words.
“That Steven was show business one-oh-one. When you lie down with pigs, you better be ready to get dirty. Enjoy your ratings spike, douchebag.”
I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream
Wednesday, 22nd July 10:00 – Paulo’s Treats, Sydney, Australia
Wednesday, 22nd July 10:00 – Paulo’s Treats, Sydney, Australia
The scene opens up outside of a busy ice cream parlour somewhere along the waterfront above Bondi Beach. Children are seen frolicking in the water, trying desperately not to disrupt the surfers of differentiating skill levels while their parents lie upon beach towels some distance away, interested not in their children’s safety but instead they harness their time by soaking in the sweltering Australian sun. The swishing of the waves combines with children’s laughter and the bustling of all the stores and stalls that surround the shore, creating a plateau of sorts. Underfoot there lies a wooden decked boardwalk, not elevated as you might find in Atlantic City but instead it merely rests upon the golden sand. Attention is drawn right away to the ice cream parlour though with its cue spilling out the front door as hundreds of tourists seek that cheap, sugary fix that will help them regulate their soaring body temperatures, amongst them stands the scourge known to audiences across the globe as David Sanchez.
David seems happy today, at peace almost as he stands just inside of the doorway, shuffling with the rest of the crowd almost like sheep following one another across the edge of a cliff. Dressed in a pair of sunglasses, plain black shorts and not much else he is seen brushing shoulders with the public, something which up until this point was unheard of. As he shuffles along, handling the monotony in his stride he smiles at the surrounding people, some of whom recognize him and wave cheerfully, others who identify and immediately avoid him entirely he is approached by a young teenage girl of maybe fourteen years old.
“Excuse me sir, could I have your autograph?”
The cue seems to part around this scene and David remains still, like a deer frozen in a car’s headlights, unsure of quite how best to handle the situation. Fight, flight or surrender. The base of any choice in life. Would he tell the girl to remove her presence from his vision? Would he simply run away and abandon his place in this cue which he had likely been waiting in for close to twenty minutes? Instead uncharacteristic as it may be for him, he obliges and smiles his best mask of lies down at the teenage girl before taking her pen and scribbling his signature onto the scrapbook she has by this point shove mere inches away from his chest and sending her away with a motioning of the hand. This display of common human decency creates quite a stir in the line as well as those who just happened to be passing by at the time. He had never been known to welcome social interaction and always seemed like he would be the type to rage at such a request, or at the very least expect some sort of financial gain in its place. All of those years of scowling and growling at people, up in smoke in a few seconds with the swish of a fountain pen across a young girl’s notebook. It was a little sad to see from a strictly certain point of view like witnessing a once fierce lion caged at the zoo.
His approachability had been brought into question and the people around him began to scramble and search their pockets for pens and paper as the cue jammed to a halt, leaving David stationary and trapped from both sides under the entrance to Paulo’s Treats. It was asphyxiating. He could almost feel their desperation saturating his skin. Why hadn’t he simply kicked the girl and left? Surely he couldn’t want a waffle-cone badly enough to endure this kind of torture. The public begin to swarm around him like flies to faeces and his expression of carelessness and normality suddenly shifts back into its auto-pilot state. His icy blue eyes sharpen as he scowls around the crowd, their fame-hungry noises pinging around his skull like a cheap pinball machine.
Finally he snaps and lashes out as a man in his mid-twenties jams a receipt under his nose on his way out of the store with ice-cream in hand. David thrashes his arms and shouts obscenities at everybody in his personal space which at the moment was being nothing short of violated. Without hesitation he kicks out, doubling the fan over with a kick to the stomach that buys him enough time to escape the circle which had formed around him. Why the fuck did he do it? He thought. It was so unlike him but deep down he had nobody to blame but himself for this latest factor in his social anxieties. Fearing what he might do should he stay in this location he begins to power-walk away, snatching an ice-cream cone from a young boy. It wasn’t a waffle-cone but by the grace of whatever deity they prayed to in Australia it would do.
As the disappointed fans and aspiring self-photographer begin to moan about his absence and tend to the well-being of thee unfortunate civilian who received a roundhouse kick to the bread basket, David powers his way through the busy crowds, until he is out of sight, lost in the midst of the tourists and sun-seekers with nothing left in his wake but disappointment and a potential lawsuit. He continues to pace down the boardwalk, the anger building up inside him like smoke in a burning building, so much so that after only two licks of the ice cream cone he tosses it to the ground. Just when all hope is lost though his cellular phone begins to ring its familiar tune of high-pitched beeps. He pulls it from his pocket and looks at the screen before he answers. It was Samm, and caller display was a wonderful invention. He blessed its creator and clicked accept, letting the sweet voice of his lover remedy his rage and send him back into the cold, calm nothingness that he called home.