Post by Wade Moor on Oct 23, 2016 11:23:31 GMT -5
But that look in your eyes...I just can't get it out of my head. There's something buried deep inside you...and I have no intention of finding out what it is.
Goodbye, my son, my Wade.
Please know that I always loved you.
Goodbye, my son, my Wade.
Please know that I always loved you.
Part I: 1990
The silence of the swamp was an impenetrable wall, not even the cicadas singing could penetrate. The moonlight barely shone through the dense trees, blood red. It reflected off the dirty swamp water, creating near perfect conditions for it to walk among the humans. It floated in the mist towards a cabin, towards its destiny.
A piercing shrill cracked the quiet delusion as the swamp opened up and swallowed the Earth whole. It delighted in this, figuratively smiling in joy, because it couldn't literally do it. It's physical form wasn't ready. Still, it floated ever onward, ever towards the scream.
It consumed the cabin, everything that had ever transpired within, and kept it's watchful eye on the happening. Though he knew, it had to see, had to make sure. This wasn't something that could be left in the hands of its many faceless underlings. This plan had to go off without a hitch. This was its fate, or something of that effect.
It eyed the blood red moon before turning its gaze back inside the cabin. A women barely stood on the flat of her dirty feet, hunched over a table in agonizing pain. A man stood in the corner, running his filthy hand through a malodorous beard, watching every moment transpire. A doctor waited patiently on the woman, as he would. It had sent the doctor there, he had no choice. It watched as the woman grunted, delighting in her pain, trauma, her empowerment was nothing to it, only the fruit she bore.
"I'm..." the woman panted, wincing and huffing between contractions, "I think I need to push...”
The doctor hunched underneath her, ready to receive the woman's bounty.
“Elizabeth, wait”, the doctor monotonously cautioned as a silent trickle of blood ran down his hairy arm, “Something's wrong.”
It snarled. It whipped and lashed. It wanted to tear them all to pieces and leave their souls to rot in this miserable swamp. It thrashed, it shouted to the moon...
Then it heard a cry and a cough. Small at first, then he was here. Bleeding Elizabeth fell to the ground as the doctor cleaned the infant, motioning to the father to come forward. The man rushed towards the woman knelt over her, holding her head in his hands.
“Help her!” the man yelled in a hoarse tone, “Do something now!”
The doctor wasn't interested. It made sure of that. It made the doctor care for the infant, made sure it was healthy and breathing. The baby was it's husk, part of the deal. The man turned towards the doctor but it intervened, feeling it's strength returning to it. It grabbed the man's throat, pushed him against the wall. His eye's jet open in fear. It drinks it in, basking in it.
This was power, it felt.
“What are y...?!” the man attempted to shout, his own strength conflicting against it's own.
It licked it's chops as it pressed it's grip tighter.
“You don't know me, William, but I know everything. I am Death. I am venom. I am the serpent in the flesh. I am carnage and the dark one. This world? I am the architect of it's destruction. I lead lost souls into Hell.”
William gnashed his teeth, attempting to bat away the evil spirit.
“Are you paralyzed by horror? I can see the hope fading from your eyes. You will become my sacrifice...and one day, I will take your miserable life.”
It released and William fell to the ground.
“That baby is mine. Part of the concordant. This ground is sacrament to me, your Lord, consecrated in blood years before your time, Finite. The child belongs to me now and you will bring him forth into this world, prepare him for me. If you don't...”
It snarled.
“You will beg for death when you find out what it wills upon you.”
It moved to leave the cabin, but the man's strength was more than even it anticipated.
“Wait, demon!” William shouted, turning towards Elizabeth, “Save her...please. I can't do it alone.”
It laughed in toothsome irony, turning over the proposal in its malicious mind.
“Inferior?” it grated.
“Yes, Lord Moloch?” the doctor asked.
“Save the woman...and then drown yourself in the most fordable part of this wretched swamp.”
“Yes, My Lord”, the doctor replied.
It handed the infant to William and moved towards the woman. William felt the demon leave the land. He ran outside, following it's shadow up towards the sky. The blood moon shone down on him over a clearing in the trees above him. The hate searing in his eyes fell down at the infant in his arms, sleeping softly in the pale red glow.
_____________________________________----___________________________________________
Part II: Memories
The two men walked across a freshly manicured lawn, a pair of beaten black boots and a fresh pair of Air Jordan “Philly”'s – Legendary Jayson Price edition not even available until 2017 – trudge across the clipped grass and piled leaves. They step onto concrete and move up the walkway towards a building, Wade leading the way. Jayson used his shades to cover up the phenomenal hangover he nursed from the night before with Wade.
Jayson was getting too used to playing X-box and munching on coffee cakes, so Wade showed him the night like only someone from #BeachKrew could. Blow, hookers [Blue Velvet Dreams] Rumplemintz, Mandingo fights, X, obscure and overrated food chains, the works. Price slept for an hour before Wade woke him with a White Irish and morning plans.
“Who needs fucking sleep?” Price replied, grabbing the drink from Wade's meaty hand.
They raised their opposite hands and hit that Too-Thick-Skee right there in the middle of the room and it swallowed the Earth whole. That brought them here to this town of Westfield, Wade's intention all along. They walked together through the double doors into a dimly lit building, devoid of all human activity as they hid like rats in the walls. Wade lead Jayson down the hallway until they came upon the one brightly lit spot in the vicinity.
“Fuck is this?” Jayson asked, “Trophy case?”
Wade's cheek cracked as a grin split up his face, running his thick fingers across the glass as he did.
“Something like that”, Wade replied, “Take a look, sea.”
Jayson's face screwed into a grimace as he lowered the shades down from his blood red eyes. They shot from one to the next, each one showing a yearbook photo and names that he didn't recognize. He shrugged, looking at Wade who was pointing down at a plaque inscribed with “Friends Gone, But Never Forgotten 2016”.
“What the fuck is this shit,Wade?” Jayson asked, the cool tone never leaving him.
"These are my children, Jayson", Wade replied, "They're all my children. Just like Kaine and Archer, after them."
Jayson still stood there, confused, a Marlboro Red now dangling between his lips. He didn't even smoke, he just liked the taste.
"We see men like Kaine and Archer all the time, always tertiary to the tale, but still somehow try and push their way to the forefront as if we ever owed them a damn thing...but the sad truth of the matter is they're never remembered, only the one who committed heinous acts against them. Do you know where we are, Jayson?"
"My living hell? I was pretty shit in school, mainly because I spent most of my time there trying to nail the girls volleyball coach. And basketball coach. And soccer coach. And English teacher...and avoiding the men's football coach. That one got a little weird. I don't want to talk about it."
Wade chuckled.
"Nobody wants to talk about trauma, Jayson...but we're in a place that would plague my dreams, turning them into nightmares every cold night. This is Westfield High School. One night after a show, I met this kid named Jeremy. Well, actually, he met me. He waited for me, found me in the parking lot, told me his life story. He reminded me of myself, damaged beyond repair. Looking at everything under shadows because I was too far gone from the light to see anything other than."
"What's your point?" Jayson asked, sparking up the Red under the hazy flood lights.
"After our conversation, he came back to this school and murdered these kids, just days before our match at Fifteen. Maybe that's why I couldn't give you one hundred percent Jayson. This weighed too heavy on my mind. I let it in, I let Jeremy in, drinking in his pain as my own, taking in the suffering these kids family and friends must have felt."
"That's gay", Jayson replied, taking a long drag off the cigarette before ashing it on the polished floor.
"Exactly, my man, exactly. I eventually realized that this wasn't a negative burden to bear. I realized that I was his father, I created him that night in the parking lot, I was all of these children's father. It tried to drag me down to Hell, but I wouldn't let it. Soon, it was clear these kids are all in a better place, six feet under away from this miserable world. They don't have to live through this heartache, this waking nightmare every day. They, were the lucky ones, and they were done a great kindness."
"That's pretty fucked up, Wade", Jayson said, dropping his cigarette on the ground where Wade stubbed it out with the toe of his boot.
"Yeah, well that's what it is. That's where we are this week, especially against Kaine and Archer, my children, my greatest failures. Leading team WCF, a company I spearheaded into one its most successful years as one of the greatest World Champions to ever step through those ropes, only matched by those in Pantheon. This week is so far beneath me, so uninspiring that I had to walk Jayson through some of my history just to keep the viewers..., umm, entertained this week. You think they're catching that kind of value from an Adrian Archer or a Damian Kaine, for that matter? They would be more entertained by an aneurysm.
"Kaine would remind me of myself as well, if he weren't a vanilla pipsqueak with no notable achievements to date. So you were picked up by The Brotherhood, a Regiment formed in sacrament of everything held dear? How does it feel to be the third leg of the C rate stable in this WCF landscape. When our worst (spoiler: we don't have one) is better than any of your best? (spoiler: you all suck) That's got to be a god damn rotten pill to swallow, doesn't it? How does it feel to know you're walking to certain death, this week? You fancy yourself hardcore? Did you skip the week where they taught you how to actually wrestle instead of doing backyard dumpster dives for skittles and triple chunka chip cookies?
"You're a young kid, Damien, but your body speaks otherwise. It screams to me, Damien. 'Stay away from the knees! Watch the back of my head!' It shouts, but I don't listen. Something you'll find out soon, my child, I don't spare the rod. I won't spoil you by allowing any form of victory this week. I'm going to tear you limb from limb, and you're going to feel the effects faster than a triple trash can flip from the top of a chain
Wade "Godnilla" Moor Parthenon Avatar Wade "Godnilla" Moor Parthenon
Main Eventer
****
2 minutes ago Quote
link fence. You know what you are in this business, Kaine? A fucking joke. A comedy act wishing he was in a main event spot, but instead gets carried to it by better men than he. You were only appointed team captain because Bates was too busy getting sucked off by Lerch and handed another world title shot, how does it feel to know you're not even a twinkle in Lerch's eye?
"That probably stings worse than your parents abandonment, another thing we have in common, only I never let it define me. I put a knife in my fathers heart at the tender age of fourteen, and I loved every second of it. He was a bastard, my father, not so magnificent. He was a selfish, self absorbed, rotten cunt who deserved the steel in his chest cavity. You just let your daddy beat on you until you finally up and left.
"You're not a man, Kaine, you're a child. My child. At Sunday Night Slam, im going to put you over my knee, and when I'm through with you you're going to be wishing for another one of your daddy's whippings. It'll look like a day at Six Flags compared to what you're going through. I'll wrap my hands around your dinky throat, stare into your beady eyes as I beat your face into unrecognizable mush. This match could very well be your last, but for me, it's just another Sunday Night."
Wade runs his hand across the glass again, leaving behind grungy fingerprints on the sheen, clear window. A door opens somewhere in the distance.
"Should we get going?" Price asked, firing up another smoke as he did.
"I'm not worried about it. I'm not worried about anything, especially not Adrian Archer, another pleb who thinks he's God's gift to wrestling. News flash: if you have to repeat it over and over to yourself, it's probably not true. It's psychosomatic, Adrian, like the rest of your delusional career. This is the part where I call you a faggot and a lame because that's what you've come to expect from me.
"But that's the mask, Adrian. Those layers come peeling away when it's time to get in the ring, you'll learn very quickly who exactly you're dealing with Sunday Night, and trust me, you'll wish you didn't. I have to applaud you, Archer, you seem more well versed than the rest of your retarded cohorts, which was probably your intention all along. Surround yourself with chaff and the wheat looks that much better by comparison. You're still the fat girl who gets dragged along to the party with the eight to make her look like a ten, you just surrounded yourself with twos so you're not as much of a four.
"It's a brilliant, slightly cohesive plan, but one that really falls apart as soon as you step into the ring with actual talent. But you know that already, don't you? You knew that as soon as you joined with Zero Talent. That merry band of dip shits might be a big fish in a small pond anywhere else, but here they're surrounded by sharks. You're just bait for feeding, another notch on the belt before we head to Helloween and decimate the entirety of 'Team WCF', in namesake alone.
"Something everyone seems to forget is that we ARE WCF, through and through. We were here before you and we'll be here long after you're gone. I've bleed in that ring, men have died to make me who I am, the talent I have I've paid for in blood...and you, well you keep chalking it up to 'bad luck' but there's no such thing as luck. I'm this business, there are winners and losers, and if the passed few weeks have taught you anything, it should be which side of that spectrum you're standing on.
"Wish in one hand, shit in another, and while you're busy I'll punch your teeth down your fucking throat. That will be truly magnificent. They never remember the victims, Adrian, only the ones who commuted the heinous act. See you at Slam, fucking pleb."
