Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 30, 2010 18:37:10 GMT -5
Los Angeles. A city infested by two classes. The glittering, neon, self-absorbed lights of Hollywood and the fallen, broken, helpless dregs that society long ago abandoned. As Peter Damascus stared at his reflection in the pool of indeterminable liquid on the alley floor, trying to process everything he had lost, he felt the powerlessness consuming him. In the polluted moonlight he felt the large void of nothingness devouring him. Destroying him.
“I couldn’t do it.”
“That much goes without saying, genius.”
“See, things began with two men in a hospital room. And as one laid there dieing, he made a wish. A wish that the other man vowed to make true. The man’s wish was for one, shining beacon of hope in the world of professional wrestling. One place where the most elite, talented, committed people from all over the globe could gather and demonstrate what exactly it is that they possess. Their constitution, their skill, their courage. And so the man disguised himself in the bright, golden cloak of an angel and reached out to this city.
“That’s how GIW was born.
“At first the man and his disciples were like a toddler trying to cross the street. They stumbled, they fell, they bled, but they picked themselves up and tried again. And they didn’t stop trying until they had made it to the other side, their arms high in the air. The man battled against every obstacle that sought to take his place at the throne of this newly born force.
“But he lost. Was overcome by one of his own disciples. He relinquished his throne and left his followers to continue on the journey that his injuries forced him to withdraw from. At first it seemed they were capable of the task. But the bolts soon started to loosen. Cracks in the foundations began dribbling dust and broken steel.
“You see, like there is in any great tale, there was a woman. One that needed the man to protect her. One that, in that man’s absence, turned elsewhere for salvation. Turned to a demon. Was bound to it.
“When the man returned, he found that things had changed. Forever. New warriors had risen. Old ones had fallen. His one true love gone. Now nothing more than a footnote in the history of all this world’s pain, punishment and viciousness. But the man didn’t quit. He refused to surrender. Admitting defeat wasn’t in this man’s vocabulary. He waged a war. A war of redemption.
“He lost that too. He came to a crossroad – the woman’s life or his own soul. He became a demon in some vain, pathetic attempt to reconnect with the woman. It failed miserably. She witnessed the darkness in him. Resented him for it. Grew to hate and despise and fear what she saw. Just as he did whenever he looked in a mirror.
“So the man threw himself from grace. No longer a wolf amongst angels, he was now a monster amongst animals. But nothing changed. He abandoned the hypocrite he once called wife and turned to the one, true thing in this world he had left. A wish. He fought, clawed, scratched, bled and cried his way through every obstacle he came across. It wasn’t enough, though. He failed. Thrown by the wayside, as worthless malcontents continued their aimless destruction of GIW. As they continued battling for the right to be the cancer of a great man’s wish. The right to be the one, true, pathetic, twisted plague on Global Impact Wrestling.
“He just had to watch. Watch as everything burned down around him. Forced to accept the fact that he was a failure and was never good enough for anything that he attempted. To realise that his story would end just as it began – with nothing more than a delusional, unfulfilled wish.”
“What happened to the man after his story finished?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Ehehehehe.
“It’s time for Cyrus to come out and play.”
He stood in the middle of the apartment, casually flipping through the contents of Bianca Rowe’s suitcase.
“You’ve got a lot of underwear.”
“Huh?” her voice responded from the bathroom, overshadowing the splashing of the running water. “Is that you Peter? You were out all night, where have you been?!”
“Were you worried about me?” he grinned, as the water suddenly stopped.
“Well of course,” she returned from the next room. “The humiliation I took thanks to your abysmal performance at Break For The Border was enough. Can you imagine if my client then vanished off the face of the planet in order to escape a match with Raenius? I’d never live it down.”
“That guy’s a punk,” he replied. “He’ll probably miss the match, because he’ll be too busy semenating at the return of Mickey D. Like some over-hyped, overpaid, over-indulgent nobody wasn’t bad enough the first time around. I bet it’s coming on like fucking Gang Busters over in the uCw basement right now. There’ll be fat, desperate skanks on MySpace, some 7 year old wrestling matches that no one cares about anymore, a poorly planned debate with the ECW Fan Club over which now defunct fed is more worthless and probably a Marek appearance or seven, too.”
“Well, you’re certainly – ”
As she exited the bathroom, she froze completely. Dripping with hot water, her towel falling to the floor, she only stared on in awe, hew jaw hanging wide open.
“Oh my God…” was all she could muster. He only grinned in return.
She moved toward him, sliding both her palms along his gaunt, but entirely smooth, cheeks. She stared deeply into his ghostly pale blue eyes, her knees trembling slightly.
“Declan… Prescott…”
“The one and only,” he agreed, with a broad, devious smile. “Now put your clothes on, sweetheart.
“We’ve got work to do.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“That much goes without saying, genius.”
“See, things began with two men in a hospital room. And as one laid there dieing, he made a wish. A wish that the other man vowed to make true. The man’s wish was for one, shining beacon of hope in the world of professional wrestling. One place where the most elite, talented, committed people from all over the globe could gather and demonstrate what exactly it is that they possess. Their constitution, their skill, their courage. And so the man disguised himself in the bright, golden cloak of an angel and reached out to this city.
“That’s how GIW was born.
“At first the man and his disciples were like a toddler trying to cross the street. They stumbled, they fell, they bled, but they picked themselves up and tried again. And they didn’t stop trying until they had made it to the other side, their arms high in the air. The man battled against every obstacle that sought to take his place at the throne of this newly born force.
“But he lost. Was overcome by one of his own disciples. He relinquished his throne and left his followers to continue on the journey that his injuries forced him to withdraw from. At first it seemed they were capable of the task. But the bolts soon started to loosen. Cracks in the foundations began dribbling dust and broken steel.
“You see, like there is in any great tale, there was a woman. One that needed the man to protect her. One that, in that man’s absence, turned elsewhere for salvation. Turned to a demon. Was bound to it.
“When the man returned, he found that things had changed. Forever. New warriors had risen. Old ones had fallen. His one true love gone. Now nothing more than a footnote in the history of all this world’s pain, punishment and viciousness. But the man didn’t quit. He refused to surrender. Admitting defeat wasn’t in this man’s vocabulary. He waged a war. A war of redemption.
“He lost that too. He came to a crossroad – the woman’s life or his own soul. He became a demon in some vain, pathetic attempt to reconnect with the woman. It failed miserably. She witnessed the darkness in him. Resented him for it. Grew to hate and despise and fear what she saw. Just as he did whenever he looked in a mirror.
“So the man threw himself from grace. No longer a wolf amongst angels, he was now a monster amongst animals. But nothing changed. He abandoned the hypocrite he once called wife and turned to the one, true thing in this world he had left. A wish. He fought, clawed, scratched, bled and cried his way through every obstacle he came across. It wasn’t enough, though. He failed. Thrown by the wayside, as worthless malcontents continued their aimless destruction of GIW. As they continued battling for the right to be the cancer of a great man’s wish. The right to be the one, true, pathetic, twisted plague on Global Impact Wrestling.
“He just had to watch. Watch as everything burned down around him. Forced to accept the fact that he was a failure and was never good enough for anything that he attempted. To realise that his story would end just as it began – with nothing more than a delusional, unfulfilled wish.”
“What happened to the man after his story finished?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Ehehehehe.
“It’s time for Cyrus to come out and play.”
* * * * *
He stood in the middle of the apartment, casually flipping through the contents of Bianca Rowe’s suitcase.
“You’ve got a lot of underwear.”
“Huh?” her voice responded from the bathroom, overshadowing the splashing of the running water. “Is that you Peter? You were out all night, where have you been?!”
“Were you worried about me?” he grinned, as the water suddenly stopped.
“Well of course,” she returned from the next room. “The humiliation I took thanks to your abysmal performance at Break For The Border was enough. Can you imagine if my client then vanished off the face of the planet in order to escape a match with Raenius? I’d never live it down.”
“That guy’s a punk,” he replied. “He’ll probably miss the match, because he’ll be too busy semenating at the return of Mickey D. Like some over-hyped, overpaid, over-indulgent nobody wasn’t bad enough the first time around. I bet it’s coming on like fucking Gang Busters over in the uCw basement right now. There’ll be fat, desperate skanks on MySpace, some 7 year old wrestling matches that no one cares about anymore, a poorly planned debate with the ECW Fan Club over which now defunct fed is more worthless and probably a Marek appearance or seven, too.”
“Well, you’re certainly – ”
As she exited the bathroom, she froze completely. Dripping with hot water, her towel falling to the floor, she only stared on in awe, hew jaw hanging wide open.
“Oh my God…” was all she could muster. He only grinned in return.
She moved toward him, sliding both her palms along his gaunt, but entirely smooth, cheeks. She stared deeply into his ghostly pale blue eyes, her knees trembling slightly.
“Declan… Prescott…”
“The one and only,” he agreed, with a broad, devious smile. “Now put your clothes on, sweetheart.
“We’ve got work to do.”
