Enough

[Dionysus]

“Just quit.”

“You’re terrible.” 

“...a penniless, homeless disappointment.”

“A few more losses under your belt?” 

“Forever doomed to job.”

Echoes of other negative phrases permeated a dark room. Along with these longer phrases, a general sound of hushed whispers is apparent. A singular light shines over a silhouette of a man, turning his body around the room, as though looking for the cause of the noise. He turns to face the camera, his face obscured by shadow, but it did make up Dion Necurat’s features. 

“Enough.” 

As he said the word, the whispers grew louder. He extended his arms, outstretched to embrace the words floating around him. 

“That is a word I hear all too often. And yet...it is a comfort to hear it.” 

He paces back and forth in a slow, methodic fashion. 

“I came into WCF, in the hopes that my skills would be enough to see success. As it turns out, my skills are not up to par with my other brethren. For every opportunity I have latched on to…” 

He paused while a faded recording of his biggest matches played out; his Alpha Title match, the WAR Match, the Trios Championship match, and his match with Corey Black. 

“...I have not been good enough.” 

Another faded recording appeared in concert with the other, playing out each time he had been pinned. 

“And every time...I hear the same words, over and over again. That I am not good enough. That I am not talented enough. That I do not want it enough. That I am not doing enough to prove my worth to the WCF Universe. And every time, the chorus of disapproval grows louder and louder, as if they think I do not hear enough about how much I do not belong here..” 

The whispers and disapproving comments did indeed grow louder, noted at each instance of the word “enough.” Dion stepped toward the camera, his hand outstretched, first at an angle, then flesh with a plate of glass. He put his other hand against the glass, feeling around the smooth surface. 

“Every time that word is spoken...it creates a wall. A wall that becomes harder and harder to break through. At first, I thought my goal was to move away from this wall, to move away from this doubt. However, it remains, not getting enough of my attention. And the voices continue to grow louder and louder, until I have had more than enough. Tonight, I will say one thing, and one thing only to those voices.  To those who only want to see me fall...to those who continue to doubt...who continue to underestimate what I am capable of…” 

He removed his hands from the glass, turning his body away from the camera.  His body was shaking as the voices reached a climax of sound, his head tilted to one side, as if the voices were paining him.  Then, just as suddenly...

“ENOUGH!!” 

While shouting, he twisted his body around, driving a fist through the glass. It cracked and shattered in an instant, with the shards flying off in a number of directions. Dion’s hand was covered in shards, and his knuckles began to bleed from the glass. As the glass broke, the voices slowly and surely dissipated, until there was no sound to be heard, aside from the heavy breathing of the gladiator.  His balled-up fist was shaking with a newfound fury. He slowly raised his glass and blood-coated fist to his face, eyeing it carefully, then looking back at the monitor. 

“...There will be...no more reason...to doubt my capabilities. These wounds will remind me of my covenant.” 

He leaned toward his fist, kissing a shard that was still embedded between his middle and index knuckle. He lowered his hand, relaxing his fist. As he did so, a few shards fell loose, clattering and shattering to the ground. 

“Last week...my supposed manager gave me an ultimatum. Win, or do his bidding. Win, or have my life be completely destroyed. There is a slight problem with your thinking, Albert Divine… For I am not a man who can be ordered around like a dog. I will stand and fight against you and your extortion. And why don’t I just go ahead and win in the process?” 

Dion stepped forward, no longer hampered by the glass pane blocking his path. 

“Make no mistake...I will leave a wave of destruction the likes of which you have never seen, Albert Divine. It will start with Uncle Isaac. He is nothing more than an unfortunate soul, who stands in my way. He will be cast aside, like the other dogs in the pits. I will claw, bite, scrape, and fight my way back to my rightful place in this company. And it all begins Sunday.” 

Dion turned his head to the side, still facing the camera, but looking as though he is addressing someone else. 

“To my opponent, Uncle Isaac. Know that I hold no ill will toward you. You were not meant for great things. I am meant to begin my campaign against Albert Divine, The Master of Ceremonies. You are simply in my way. Do not think for a second that I will show any mercy toward you. You will be beaten. You will be broken. You will face my body, my mind, my soul. You will face an onslaught that your feeble mind cannot comprehend. You go into battle against a warrior with everything on the line. You go into battle, fully knowing that you will lose. And when you do lose...you will lose by telling me one thing...and one thing only.” 

He stepped closer to the camera, eyes wide and eyebrows narrowed in anger.

"I...have had...enough."

He turned around again, and walked off toward the darkness.  The camera panned down to the glass on the floor as the scene faded to black.