Post by Zane on Dec 19, 2021 23:26:36 GMT -5
Zane sat alone in the middle of the staircase, staring out of the storm door to the street. His eyes were enveloped in the black circles that one gains from a consistent lack of sleep. He chuckled a joyless chuckle from the irony of it. His room, the one that'd been his when he was a child, stood to the left at the top of those very stairs. There was a bed there, one that he could go lay down in. He could even close his eyes and tune out the world.
But he wouldn't sleep.
He hadn't slept, really slept, in weeks. Sure, he'd work himself to exhaustion when he was still in Chicago, and he'd eventually collapse into his bed in the early hours of the morning. But he wouldn't sleep. Not really. He'd blink out for twenty minutes, or an hour. Two if he was lucky. But he wouldn't sleep. Not comfortably, or peacefully. It certainly wasn't restful sleep. Instead, it was filled with visions of him being disqualified against the cosplaying cop.
Or worse.
Most of the time he had dreams of past experiences. He'd dream about things he'd done in his other life when he'd worked for Robert. He never dreamt of the good things that he'd done during those times. Only the violent ones. The horrifying ones. He re-lived those moments in vivid color and gut-wrenching sound. A sound that thundered in his head and echoed in his ears, inevitably jolting him from his restless slumber with his heart pounding in his ears.
Terrified screams. Explosions. Gruff yelling, often accompanied by gunfire. Crying children. Death rattles.
The goddamned death rattles.
They were worse when they came from the children.
Those sounds were always accompanied by flashes of blood and images of death.
He’d awaken every time with a sick feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to throw up but he couldn't. Instead, the bile just built and built, until it would occasionally shoot up his throat in a scorching explosion of pain. Maybe he deserved that after what he’d done. Maybe it was his price to pay for what he’d happily taken part in. Evil begets evil. Pain begets pain.
If only something could beget sleep.
All of this was oddly juxtaposed against memories of some of the worst moments of his career. Losses that set his career back while building up others. Losing the World Championship to that asshole von Knorre after a seven-day reign because of Cypress Morgan. Tearing his ACL and MCL, and losing a year to it. Coming up ever so short against Angelica and her insane half- mother. The Cool Kids. Hide’s winning the 2019 Battleground match at his expense. A match he should have won. Donovan’s betraying him. His suspension. Donovan seemingly abandoning him now. Nasmith’s costing him a win against a cut-rate, bottom-of-the-barrel clown. Being left out of "Horizons''.
Then there was the worst of them all. The greatest slap in the face that he’d been dealt. UGWC had erased his signature achievement.
He’d been the first, and most importantly, the only Triple Champion in UGWC history.
That had lasted for about a year. Then the company turned around and handed it to one of the goddamned CoolKids a year later. And it wasn't even Angelica. At least he could have tolerated that. But no. They had to mock him by giving it to Roxy Cotton. It wasn’t the fact of who they’d given it to, although that had been insulting enough. No. They hadn’t stopped there. Instead, they’d not only twisted the knife in the wound, but they’d also doused it in salt by hyping it up as if being the second person in company history was the biggest achievement that the company had ever seen. Somehow being the first had been reduced to being nothing more than an inconsequential footnote. A footnote that they’d gone out of their way to take from him at the time. At the time, that itself had felt like an enormous betrayal. That feeling had never gone away.
Instead, it had made him angry. The more he’d thought about it, the angrier it’d made him. He’d given his career and his health to this company, turning down offers from other companies because UGWC was his company and he’d just as soon retire than go anywhere else.
Apparently, they’d wanted him to retire and they told him by stealing his greatest achievement from him, shuffling him off to the side, and then suspending him.
They did it just to mock him.
"That's ridiculous". He hears himself say.
But was it?
A part of him wasn't so sure.
If they'd suspend him for no reason, then surely they'd go out of their way to rob him of his greatest achievement.
Wouldn't they?
He found that he couldn't conclusively say "no" to that question.
"I'm becoming paranoid...". He mutters to himself with a headshake
But was he?
Again, he couldn't conclusively answer that with a definitive "no".
He shakes his head again and blinks, realizing that he'd given himself a compelling view of the floor without realizing it. He looks back out the storm door again and notices the low mist that's rolling in. The precursor to a foggy night? Perhaps. Those were certainly common enough, even in December. Perhaps a sign of impending snow. In any case, it felt appropriate.
He'd always liked the cold. Maybe he'd try sleeping with the window open and see if it'd hold the dreams at bay. Maybe it'd freeze him into a coma. He just knew that he needed to sleep or he'd eventually lose it. Maybe if it snowed hard enough, he’d walk out into the blizzard and actually disappear. It made him think of a line from a book;
“Let the desert have what it can take”.
Snow...desert. The end result was the same.
Then again, if he did, he'd just be erased and abandoned.
Again.
"They erased me once, after all...".
But he wouldn't sleep.
He hadn't slept, really slept, in weeks. Sure, he'd work himself to exhaustion when he was still in Chicago, and he'd eventually collapse into his bed in the early hours of the morning. But he wouldn't sleep. Not really. He'd blink out for twenty minutes, or an hour. Two if he was lucky. But he wouldn't sleep. Not comfortably, or peacefully. It certainly wasn't restful sleep. Instead, it was filled with visions of him being disqualified against the cosplaying cop.
Or worse.
Most of the time he had dreams of past experiences. He'd dream about things he'd done in his other life when he'd worked for Robert. He never dreamt of the good things that he'd done during those times. Only the violent ones. The horrifying ones. He re-lived those moments in vivid color and gut-wrenching sound. A sound that thundered in his head and echoed in his ears, inevitably jolting him from his restless slumber with his heart pounding in his ears.
Terrified screams. Explosions. Gruff yelling, often accompanied by gunfire. Crying children. Death rattles.
The goddamned death rattles.
They were worse when they came from the children.
Those sounds were always accompanied by flashes of blood and images of death.
He’d awaken every time with a sick feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to throw up but he couldn't. Instead, the bile just built and built, until it would occasionally shoot up his throat in a scorching explosion of pain. Maybe he deserved that after what he’d done. Maybe it was his price to pay for what he’d happily taken part in. Evil begets evil. Pain begets pain.
If only something could beget sleep.
All of this was oddly juxtaposed against memories of some of the worst moments of his career. Losses that set his career back while building up others. Losing the World Championship to that asshole von Knorre after a seven-day reign because of Cypress Morgan. Tearing his ACL and MCL, and losing a year to it. Coming up ever so short against Angelica and her insane half- mother. The Cool Kids. Hide’s winning the 2019 Battleground match at his expense. A match he should have won. Donovan’s betraying him. His suspension. Donovan seemingly abandoning him now. Nasmith’s costing him a win against a cut-rate, bottom-of-the-barrel clown. Being left out of "Horizons''.
Then there was the worst of them all. The greatest slap in the face that he’d been dealt. UGWC had erased his signature achievement.
He’d been the first, and most importantly, the only Triple Champion in UGWC history.
That had lasted for about a year. Then the company turned around and handed it to one of the goddamned CoolKids a year later. And it wasn't even Angelica. At least he could have tolerated that. But no. They had to mock him by giving it to Roxy Cotton. It wasn’t the fact of who they’d given it to, although that had been insulting enough. No. They hadn’t stopped there. Instead, they’d not only twisted the knife in the wound, but they’d also doused it in salt by hyping it up as if being the second person in company history was the biggest achievement that the company had ever seen. Somehow being the first had been reduced to being nothing more than an inconsequential footnote. A footnote that they’d gone out of their way to take from him at the time. At the time, that itself had felt like an enormous betrayal. That feeling had never gone away.
Instead, it had made him angry. The more he’d thought about it, the angrier it’d made him. He’d given his career and his health to this company, turning down offers from other companies because UGWC was his company and he’d just as soon retire than go anywhere else.
Apparently, they’d wanted him to retire and they told him by stealing his greatest achievement from him, shuffling him off to the side, and then suspending him.
They did it just to mock him.
"That's ridiculous". He hears himself say.
But was it?
A part of him wasn't so sure.
If they'd suspend him for no reason, then surely they'd go out of their way to rob him of his greatest achievement.
Wouldn't they?
He found that he couldn't conclusively say "no" to that question.
"I'm becoming paranoid...". He mutters to himself with a headshake
But was he?
Again, he couldn't conclusively answer that with a definitive "no".
He shakes his head again and blinks, realizing that he'd given himself a compelling view of the floor without realizing it. He looks back out the storm door again and notices the low mist that's rolling in. The precursor to a foggy night? Perhaps. Those were certainly common enough, even in December. Perhaps a sign of impending snow. In any case, it felt appropriate.
He'd always liked the cold. Maybe he'd try sleeping with the window open and see if it'd hold the dreams at bay. Maybe it'd freeze him into a coma. He just knew that he needed to sleep or he'd eventually lose it. Maybe if it snowed hard enough, he’d walk out into the blizzard and actually disappear. It made him think of a line from a book;
“Let the desert have what it can take”.
Snow...desert. The end result was the same.
Then again, if he did, he'd just be erased and abandoned.
Again.
"They erased me once, after all...".