Post by Teddy Battle on Jan 7, 2016 0:51:45 GMT -5
The altar at the Assumption of St Michael Church in Miami Florida is surrounded by crimson and gold sashes. Within the altar sit a table with a gold chalice filled with holy wine. Two large throne-like chairs are in front with a giant crucifix of Jesus hanging above the whole thing. Two men sit in these chairs wearing cassocks.
John Fox is a large man with a beard like a lumberjack. He hardly fits in the already oversized chair. This is the first time he’s ever been to this church, or any church for that manner. Just being in it made him feel oddly weak. He didn’t like this feeling. And when the representative was such a young man he felt even more uneasy.
“Is that a picture of Jesus on a rainbow?” John said to the younger man pointing at a stained Glass Window to the east of where they were sitting.
“As a matter of fact it is, it’s a physical representation of Jesus Christ ascending to the heavens after the third day when he rose from the dead. That’s why that part of the chapel is called the Ascension Corridor.” The young man answered with an overbearing smile “What brings you here today, Mr. Fox? Certainly, it couldn’t have been the fine art we have here.” The young blonde boy pressed. He could be hardly over 18, but he was built like a bodybuilder.
“I… well I was told that this is the church for when weird shit happens.” John said noticing the uncomfortable look on the young man’s face. “I’m sorry, weird stuff. Something strange has been happening.”
The young man took John by the arm.
“Well you’ve definitely come to the right place. We here at the Assumption of St Michael are well versed in issues of an odd nature. Perhaps you would like to tell me more about your troubles, my brother.”
“Well I was out last weekend at The Brass Rail… have you ever been there, of course not.” John started, fumbling over his own words. “It’s a strip joint. I was getting a lap dance from one of the girls, a real cutie with dark brown hair, maybe even black. She had that perfect pale skin and she wore this bright red lipstick, it was hot as hell, bro.” John seemed to forget that he was talking to a member of the church as he carried on. “Well, things started getting hot and heavy, you know. She spoke with this really erotic accent, I think she said she was from Hungary… I don’t know why I’m telling you that.”
“No, please. Carry on. The more information the better. Don’t leave out the slightest of details.”
John thought that this young man was getting his rocks off from this erotic tale of debauchery he was telling him. He probably didn’t get much of that around these parts… that guy is probably a virgin, he’s so young there’s no way he joined the cloth before getting his dick wet. He thought that he would give that he would give the little guy something to write to God about.
“So me and this chick, right. She was grinding up on me, and she says to me, do I want to go to the VIP room? I ask her what happens in the VIP room and she says to me, she says… “We BOTH get naked in the VIP room. Best $300 bucks I’ve ever spent. I’ll save you from the vivid details, but let’s just say that if she wasn’t loose before she is now, if you know what I mean…” Of course he didn’t.
“I don’t.” The young man responded. “Carry on, please.”
“Well that’s about it. That was my night with that Elizabeth broad, and the next day was when weird shit started happening to me. When I went out in the morning I felt like my skin was burning. I mean its Miami and I’m a white guy so I’m not a stranger of having my skin get burned on a somewhat daily basis, but this was different. It was like it was burning form the inside.” John started. He was unsure of how to phrase the next part, it seemed just too far-fetched, even for this odd place to handle. He decided to just blurt it out relatively out of context. “Well now I have a taste for blood. I got into a bar fight this week and broke the guys nose. When the blood started to flow from his nose I started salivating. Is that weird?”
“Well I would be lying if I said it was normal, but I wouldn’t say that it’s weird. You are not the first person to come here with similar desires.” The man said. Then he smiled, and it made John feel oddly reassured. The discomfort he was feeling was fading. The next words made him especially excited. The man reached behind him and grabbed the chalice. “This holy wine is the blood of Christ. If you are indeed afflicted in the same manner as the others this should release you from you pain.”
“Day drinking, huh? Sounds like a plan to me!” John said reaching for the cup. But the man pulled back the chalice as his smile faded.
“Listen, John. By taking this drink you are acknowledging that this is the blood of Christ, and that you are taking in the holiest of sacraments. And by doing so you are embracing God as your lord and savior.”
“Will it make me feel normal?”
“I promise you that you will never feel hungry for blood again.” He said with another reassuring smile.
He passed John the cup and motioned for him to take a sip. John was eager to get a buzz on in the middle of the day. The cup must be about 12 oz.
“The whole thing?” John asked?
“Every last drop.” The young man replied.
John obliged and he took a small sip. It was cheap wine, probably out of a box, but that never stopped him before. He opened his throat and poured the rest down. He felt a warmth flow over his tongue and down his throat.
And then all feelings of hunger went away.
Jordan Wolfram watches as the larger man took a sip and then a large gulp of his holy liquid. Then he watched as he clutched at his own throat, gagging for breath, and then dropping down. The man’s eyes glazed over, then became bloodshot, looking as though they exploded in their sockets. His face went from pink, to blue to a pale white. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a thirsty hound but not breath came from his lips.
“Spoken like a true stregoy.” He said under his breath as he motioned towards a corner of the church. Two men wearing similar cassocks came over with a gurney to take the large man away as Jordan pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed the same number he’s dialed every time that he was asked to perform this unholiest of ceremonies.
He truly hated this. HE clutched at his silver crucifix which was specially made for the brotherhood in his church. At the wrists and feet of this one were sharp edges and when squeezed would break kin causing blood to ooze from the thumbs of the newer recruits. Jordan however has been a member of this brotherhood for so long that a dull pain was all he got anymore, forming such thick calluses that blood no longer came.
Finally a voice answered on the other side.
“Hello.” It said in its familiar tone. He knew not the man’s name on the other side, but he knew how to address him.
“No luck this time, Father. We were unable to add any to our knighthood.” Oh how Jordan longed to be part of this knighthood. They were an army of the most powerful men in the world, and they were set to fight for their church and spread the message of their God in the most efficient way possible, through brute force.
“Tis a shame. Perhaps another time.”
The man hung up. Not much of a conversationist unless anything happens. Jordan only saw one
pass the test, and he was a trusted ally of his now. He remembers it like it was yesterday, but it was over 3 years prior. Brother William Wright came in with a similar issue, but when he drank of the chalice he grew in strength, and in faith. He was currently on retreat in the desserts of California at a place called Jacob’s Point. It was a journey that only Sanguinists, or the Knights of Christ could take. Only they were strong enough.
It was a reason that Jordan focused so much on his body. He wanted to join this knighthood and fight for Christ. Unable to compete in holy combat, he was forced to settle for a more carnal pleasure of wrestling in the WCF. Organized competition was highly sought after for him and without the ability to kill for his cause he figured a good ass kicking would fill his own hunger for blood that these Sangunists keep deep down inside every day.
He released the cross and the sweet pain dulled. He watched as the two men took the large men away, knowing that they were going to send him into the furnace so he left the church knowing that the smell would lag in their for hours and he had no desire to smell burnt flesh of the unholy at this moment.
He got into his car and turned the music up. HE listened to the band Default as he tore ass down the road in his forest green Jeep Wrangler. He loved to take it to the white sanded beaches of Miami and drive down a secluded part of it.
He took air out of the tire and took the top and doors off, put them in the compartment in the back and drove for about 5 minutes until he got to his favorite spot. There was a large rock protruding from the water during high tide. At low tide you can see the origin of the rock where it meets the sand, but high tide offered the best fishing.
He realized that he had his cassock on still, so he removed it revealing a white A Shirt and khaki shorts. He reached into the back of his jeep and pulled out his fishing rod and tackle box. He swam out the 10 or so feet to the rock and placed his rod and box on a flat portion. The rock was covered in algae, and it made it hard to climb, but a tight enough grip helped Jordan get to the top with his gear.
He cast for the first time and waited only a moment before catching something. A Fluke. He reeled it in and took a look at the flopping creature in his hand and thought of his opponents this week at Slam.
“Young Tiffany White. I’m not against hitting a woman, especially in the thralls of combat. For too long women have been fighting for the same rights as men, and in this world of professional wrestling it’s even harder than most to get along with. However, here we are, and there’s women like Katherine Phoenix and Sandy Coconutz fighting alongside, and against men twice their size.
Well it’s time to cut these women down to size. There’s a reason that we don’t allow women to reach any higher rank other than Sister in the church hood. They are unable to comprehend the difficult decisions that separate us from the fishes themselves. Perhaps you should remain being the secretary to the assistant to the regional manager of the Head of Talent Relations and leave the wrestling for the men and women who truly crave the fight.”
HE released the fish, tossing it back to the water. It was too small to keep anyway. The sun scalded what was exposed of his back, and how he yearned to feel the same pain that John Fox felt knowing that if he took from the holy wine after experiencing that he would truly become a Knight of Christ. He cast the reel again, and again caught another fish. A Catfish this time. He looked at the whiskers and weighed it in his hand. Too small to keep.
“Brao Kitt. You truly are the catfish of the WCF. You are this creature whose own insecurities make you revel in your own filth. You are so beautiful yet so untamed. Without a good head on your shoulder, without a higher power guiding you towards the light you will surely sink into darkness and fall into nothingness with so many more who came before you and so many more who will fall into the same pit behind you. You are merely one of a thousand yet you think you are one in a million.
Perhaps you will see the light one day, and if you get in my way you certainly will see the light. But not eh path towards salvation, rather the lights of the arena as you lay on your back waiting to be pinned.”
He tossed the catfish away with vigor. Fishing brought him such relaxation that he cared not if he didn’t catch a fish all day, however another cast of his reel and another fish caught on the hook. This one was an ugly creature, certainly big enough to keep but so disgusting that it must be thrown away immediately.
“Ugh, the ugliest creature with no redeeming qualities. I wish I was speaking of this Sea Robin in my hand but I’m not. I’m speaking of the one known as Asshole Ronson. I feel dirty even saying his name so from now on I will simply call him Ronson. This disrespectful wordsmith belongs behind a desk, and not in a wrestling ring, yet he chooses to challenge himself, which should be respected, but will ultimately be shunned. He deserves nothing, and will receive nothing. He will fall as he writes words heretic to the lord’s teaching and his final word will certainly be his end.”
The Sea Robin hits the water with a resounding thud and he could swear that the filthy fish flipped him the bird as it swam off. The sun was setting, but he descried to cast off one last time. Nothing took this time immediately as the others did, but he decided to wait it out. The cool air chilled him to the core, but it didn’t make him waiver from his cause. He thought further about the destruction he would lay upon his opponents as he waited for another nibble.
“Upon further evaluation of the people I’m up against I feel a bit insulted. No one even compares to the ability and talent that I bring. I am a 4 time all American college athlete and I have to step into the ring with a white trash ‘mastermind.’ What kind of hypocrisy is that? It seems unfair to my opponents to step into the ring with a premier athlete such as myself.”
Finally he caught something. He reeled it up and it fought back. He continued reeling it in and when he finally got it up he found a 4 lb. blue fish, perfect for filleting and serving to him and his mother. HE could get a few nice filets out of this sucker and feed his poor mother for a week. HE cleaned up his gear and climbed down off the rock. The Tide had receded in and he was able to walk easily to his car.
“This week at Slam I am the master of the ring. I will prove to everyone why they call me “The One!”
John Fox is a large man with a beard like a lumberjack. He hardly fits in the already oversized chair. This is the first time he’s ever been to this church, or any church for that manner. Just being in it made him feel oddly weak. He didn’t like this feeling. And when the representative was such a young man he felt even more uneasy.
“Is that a picture of Jesus on a rainbow?” John said to the younger man pointing at a stained Glass Window to the east of where they were sitting.
“As a matter of fact it is, it’s a physical representation of Jesus Christ ascending to the heavens after the third day when he rose from the dead. That’s why that part of the chapel is called the Ascension Corridor.” The young man answered with an overbearing smile “What brings you here today, Mr. Fox? Certainly, it couldn’t have been the fine art we have here.” The young blonde boy pressed. He could be hardly over 18, but he was built like a bodybuilder.
“I… well I was told that this is the church for when weird shit happens.” John said noticing the uncomfortable look on the young man’s face. “I’m sorry, weird stuff. Something strange has been happening.”
The young man took John by the arm.
“Well you’ve definitely come to the right place. We here at the Assumption of St Michael are well versed in issues of an odd nature. Perhaps you would like to tell me more about your troubles, my brother.”
“Well I was out last weekend at The Brass Rail… have you ever been there, of course not.” John started, fumbling over his own words. “It’s a strip joint. I was getting a lap dance from one of the girls, a real cutie with dark brown hair, maybe even black. She had that perfect pale skin and she wore this bright red lipstick, it was hot as hell, bro.” John seemed to forget that he was talking to a member of the church as he carried on. “Well, things started getting hot and heavy, you know. She spoke with this really erotic accent, I think she said she was from Hungary… I don’t know why I’m telling you that.”
“No, please. Carry on. The more information the better. Don’t leave out the slightest of details.”
John thought that this young man was getting his rocks off from this erotic tale of debauchery he was telling him. He probably didn’t get much of that around these parts… that guy is probably a virgin, he’s so young there’s no way he joined the cloth before getting his dick wet. He thought that he would give that he would give the little guy something to write to God about.
“So me and this chick, right. She was grinding up on me, and she says to me, do I want to go to the VIP room? I ask her what happens in the VIP room and she says to me, she says… “We BOTH get naked in the VIP room. Best $300 bucks I’ve ever spent. I’ll save you from the vivid details, but let’s just say that if she wasn’t loose before she is now, if you know what I mean…” Of course he didn’t.
“I don’t.” The young man responded. “Carry on, please.”
“Well that’s about it. That was my night with that Elizabeth broad, and the next day was when weird shit started happening to me. When I went out in the morning I felt like my skin was burning. I mean its Miami and I’m a white guy so I’m not a stranger of having my skin get burned on a somewhat daily basis, but this was different. It was like it was burning form the inside.” John started. He was unsure of how to phrase the next part, it seemed just too far-fetched, even for this odd place to handle. He decided to just blurt it out relatively out of context. “Well now I have a taste for blood. I got into a bar fight this week and broke the guys nose. When the blood started to flow from his nose I started salivating. Is that weird?”
“Well I would be lying if I said it was normal, but I wouldn’t say that it’s weird. You are not the first person to come here with similar desires.” The man said. Then he smiled, and it made John feel oddly reassured. The discomfort he was feeling was fading. The next words made him especially excited. The man reached behind him and grabbed the chalice. “This holy wine is the blood of Christ. If you are indeed afflicted in the same manner as the others this should release you from you pain.”
“Day drinking, huh? Sounds like a plan to me!” John said reaching for the cup. But the man pulled back the chalice as his smile faded.
“Listen, John. By taking this drink you are acknowledging that this is the blood of Christ, and that you are taking in the holiest of sacraments. And by doing so you are embracing God as your lord and savior.”
“Will it make me feel normal?”
“I promise you that you will never feel hungry for blood again.” He said with another reassuring smile.
He passed John the cup and motioned for him to take a sip. John was eager to get a buzz on in the middle of the day. The cup must be about 12 oz.
“The whole thing?” John asked?
“Every last drop.” The young man replied.
John obliged and he took a small sip. It was cheap wine, probably out of a box, but that never stopped him before. He opened his throat and poured the rest down. He felt a warmth flow over his tongue and down his throat.
And then all feelings of hunger went away.
Jordan Wolfram watches as the larger man took a sip and then a large gulp of his holy liquid. Then he watched as he clutched at his own throat, gagging for breath, and then dropping down. The man’s eyes glazed over, then became bloodshot, looking as though they exploded in their sockets. His face went from pink, to blue to a pale white. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a thirsty hound but not breath came from his lips.
“Spoken like a true stregoy.” He said under his breath as he motioned towards a corner of the church. Two men wearing similar cassocks came over with a gurney to take the large man away as Jordan pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed the same number he’s dialed every time that he was asked to perform this unholiest of ceremonies.
He truly hated this. HE clutched at his silver crucifix which was specially made for the brotherhood in his church. At the wrists and feet of this one were sharp edges and when squeezed would break kin causing blood to ooze from the thumbs of the newer recruits. Jordan however has been a member of this brotherhood for so long that a dull pain was all he got anymore, forming such thick calluses that blood no longer came.
Finally a voice answered on the other side.
“Hello.” It said in its familiar tone. He knew not the man’s name on the other side, but he knew how to address him.
“No luck this time, Father. We were unable to add any to our knighthood.” Oh how Jordan longed to be part of this knighthood. They were an army of the most powerful men in the world, and they were set to fight for their church and spread the message of their God in the most efficient way possible, through brute force.
“Tis a shame. Perhaps another time.”
The man hung up. Not much of a conversationist unless anything happens. Jordan only saw one
pass the test, and he was a trusted ally of his now. He remembers it like it was yesterday, but it was over 3 years prior. Brother William Wright came in with a similar issue, but when he drank of the chalice he grew in strength, and in faith. He was currently on retreat in the desserts of California at a place called Jacob’s Point. It was a journey that only Sanguinists, or the Knights of Christ could take. Only they were strong enough.
It was a reason that Jordan focused so much on his body. He wanted to join this knighthood and fight for Christ. Unable to compete in holy combat, he was forced to settle for a more carnal pleasure of wrestling in the WCF. Organized competition was highly sought after for him and without the ability to kill for his cause he figured a good ass kicking would fill his own hunger for blood that these Sangunists keep deep down inside every day.
He released the cross and the sweet pain dulled. He watched as the two men took the large men away, knowing that they were going to send him into the furnace so he left the church knowing that the smell would lag in their for hours and he had no desire to smell burnt flesh of the unholy at this moment.
He got into his car and turned the music up. HE listened to the band Default as he tore ass down the road in his forest green Jeep Wrangler. He loved to take it to the white sanded beaches of Miami and drive down a secluded part of it.
He took air out of the tire and took the top and doors off, put them in the compartment in the back and drove for about 5 minutes until he got to his favorite spot. There was a large rock protruding from the water during high tide. At low tide you can see the origin of the rock where it meets the sand, but high tide offered the best fishing.
He realized that he had his cassock on still, so he removed it revealing a white A Shirt and khaki shorts. He reached into the back of his jeep and pulled out his fishing rod and tackle box. He swam out the 10 or so feet to the rock and placed his rod and box on a flat portion. The rock was covered in algae, and it made it hard to climb, but a tight enough grip helped Jordan get to the top with his gear.
He cast for the first time and waited only a moment before catching something. A Fluke. He reeled it in and took a look at the flopping creature in his hand and thought of his opponents this week at Slam.
“Young Tiffany White. I’m not against hitting a woman, especially in the thralls of combat. For too long women have been fighting for the same rights as men, and in this world of professional wrestling it’s even harder than most to get along with. However, here we are, and there’s women like Katherine Phoenix and Sandy Coconutz fighting alongside, and against men twice their size.
Well it’s time to cut these women down to size. There’s a reason that we don’t allow women to reach any higher rank other than Sister in the church hood. They are unable to comprehend the difficult decisions that separate us from the fishes themselves. Perhaps you should remain being the secretary to the assistant to the regional manager of the Head of Talent Relations and leave the wrestling for the men and women who truly crave the fight.”
HE released the fish, tossing it back to the water. It was too small to keep anyway. The sun scalded what was exposed of his back, and how he yearned to feel the same pain that John Fox felt knowing that if he took from the holy wine after experiencing that he would truly become a Knight of Christ. He cast the reel again, and again caught another fish. A Catfish this time. He looked at the whiskers and weighed it in his hand. Too small to keep.
“Brao Kitt. You truly are the catfish of the WCF. You are this creature whose own insecurities make you revel in your own filth. You are so beautiful yet so untamed. Without a good head on your shoulder, without a higher power guiding you towards the light you will surely sink into darkness and fall into nothingness with so many more who came before you and so many more who will fall into the same pit behind you. You are merely one of a thousand yet you think you are one in a million.
Perhaps you will see the light one day, and if you get in my way you certainly will see the light. But not eh path towards salvation, rather the lights of the arena as you lay on your back waiting to be pinned.”
He tossed the catfish away with vigor. Fishing brought him such relaxation that he cared not if he didn’t catch a fish all day, however another cast of his reel and another fish caught on the hook. This one was an ugly creature, certainly big enough to keep but so disgusting that it must be thrown away immediately.
“Ugh, the ugliest creature with no redeeming qualities. I wish I was speaking of this Sea Robin in my hand but I’m not. I’m speaking of the one known as Asshole Ronson. I feel dirty even saying his name so from now on I will simply call him Ronson. This disrespectful wordsmith belongs behind a desk, and not in a wrestling ring, yet he chooses to challenge himself, which should be respected, but will ultimately be shunned. He deserves nothing, and will receive nothing. He will fall as he writes words heretic to the lord’s teaching and his final word will certainly be his end.”
The Sea Robin hits the water with a resounding thud and he could swear that the filthy fish flipped him the bird as it swam off. The sun was setting, but he descried to cast off one last time. Nothing took this time immediately as the others did, but he decided to wait it out. The cool air chilled him to the core, but it didn’t make him waiver from his cause. He thought further about the destruction he would lay upon his opponents as he waited for another nibble.
“Upon further evaluation of the people I’m up against I feel a bit insulted. No one even compares to the ability and talent that I bring. I am a 4 time all American college athlete and I have to step into the ring with a white trash ‘mastermind.’ What kind of hypocrisy is that? It seems unfair to my opponents to step into the ring with a premier athlete such as myself.”
Finally he caught something. He reeled it up and it fought back. He continued reeling it in and when he finally got it up he found a 4 lb. blue fish, perfect for filleting and serving to him and his mother. HE could get a few nice filets out of this sucker and feed his poor mother for a week. HE cleaned up his gear and climbed down off the rock. The Tide had receded in and he was able to walk easily to his car.
“This week at Slam I am the master of the ring. I will prove to everyone why they call me “The One!”