Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 30, 2010 7:28:26 GMT -5
People - journalists, fans and even friends - often ask me: who is Declan Prescott? Now, while it would be easy to give the always expected, yet ever amusing reply of ‘the undefeated owner of the world’s most hair raising wrestling company, the guy who slammed Brandon Brown into oblivion at Horizons’, I’m inclined to believe there’s more to The Significant Player. Not like I have much choice, though. You see, unavoidable events take place in this world. Should you find yourself in the blast radius of one of these events, you have one of two options: lay down like a dog and accept your fate or meet this event head on with everything you have. No matter what you decide upon, your life will never be the same.
You will never be the same.
See, this time two months ago, I would have known exactly who Declan Prescott is: a man with a name and a face. A great man no doubt, but a man all the same. A cunning man. A dangerous man. A successful man. A compassionate man. An arrogant man. A mortal man.
I’ve never been a dog, though. I was trained better than that.
Unavoidable events in my life forced my hand. I took action so extreme, even I was surprised with the results. It changed me. I feel as if a part of me is… missing. The part that made me human. That little spot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe when you’re afraid, shudders uncontrollably when you’re hurting and drives you insane with its fluttering when you’re in love. Maybe some would call it a soul.
I think I lost mine.
I extinguished the life flame of another and I fear mine may have been put out in the process. And during the last month of peace and quiet - no one trying to break my bones, no one trying to kill my wife and I, no cowboy midgets doing unspeakable things to my darling’s leg, it's certainly a welcome change - I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. Though truth be told, I can’t stand it. My brain is almost always working overtime, even when I’m dreaming (you wouldn’t believe the dreams I have, even if I was desperate enough to tell you about them). I used to have two releases when that pink stuff inside my skull could rest a little - when I was with Cara and when I was wrestling. In recent times, both have been taken from me.
GIW took a vacation over December. My genius idea, naturally (though I wish Celtic Frost had been able to run that off-time tour I came up with). And it was good. Us bags of meat aren’t machines, after all. We ache, we tire and, because of that, we need rest. But now the big return is in the works. I’m not as involved as I’d like to be because of that damned flightless, feathered freak show, Boss Penguin, - yeah, a penguin took control of my company - but nonetheless, in just over a week I’ll be making my much needed return to the squared circle. Don’t get me wrong, a break is wonderful, but it is just that - a break - not an end. And this break needs to come to a close, because I’m starting to fear for my sanity.
And what of my Cara, you ask? Well don’t panic, she’s still here - I’d never let anything happen to her. But even she has me stressed out now. You see - and you should appreciate me sharing this, as it’s not the type of thing I normally do - but lately, I’ve been absolutely overcome with terror. Not just fear, I’m talking full fledged, run for the hills, hide in a bomb shelter, put on some clean underwear and tie up any loose ends, apocalyptic levels of horror. Yet that little space in my chest doesn’t even flinch.
And that’s the scariest part.
Ever since I killed Douglas Maguire, I’ve been different. Like I’m constantly waging a losing war with a monster inside. This entity that is slowly devouring me from the inside is made up of unspeakable things. It’s dark and merciless, even compared to me. I want it to leave, but I know that such a thing is impossible. It rooted itself deep down and has no intentions of going anywhere. But I’ll fight until my very last breath. That’s what I’ve done my entire life and it will never change.
Now maybe you’re thinking I’m afraid this unwelcome resident in me will hurt Cara. And that’s exactly what I’d expect someone like you to think. But such a belief is derived entirely from ignorance. I could never harm my beautiful wife. Such a notion is simply absurd. To even think such a thing is capable is the equivalent of believing the world is flat, Santa Clause exists and Andy Savana is an asset to GIW. No, no, Cara will be always be safe, even if this nightmare completely eats away my insides and leaves me a hollow, mindless vessel, she will be safe. Even it can’t combat the purity of my love for Cara. For all life’s uncertainties, I‘ll never let any harm come to her.
What I fear - what I dread - is that, should this thing gain the upper hand on me, Cara and it won’t get along so well. The passenger inside me would never even consider harming her, but that doesn’t mean it has to like her. If what I’m saying doesn’t make sense, consider yourself lucky. It’s likely more than you deserve.
Now Cara - her sordid history aside - is an interesting specimen. She is, in every way, completely innocent. She lives her life solely to love and to be loved in return. She’s a shining beacon of what people should be like for everyone fortunate enough to find themselves in her presence. Being with her has made me a better person.
But, like me, there’s something inside her. Something she doesn’t want there. Something evil. I’m not sure how long the demon inside her has been there. I’ve only ever seen it once and didn’t really have the time or opportunity to get well acquainted. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a lot older than mine. I always thought it was a miracle that Cara, for all the abuse and betrayal she experienced over the first two decades of her life, was able to grow into the magical human being that she is. But the world corrupted her, just as it does all of us. She couldn’t control the darkness in her, only hide from it.
Now Cara is deceptively strong. The frail, underweight, traumatised blonde routine throws most people. She’s really as tough as nails and has survived things that would annihilate you or I. And because of that, she’s a lot better at keeping her monster under control than I am. I’d ask her for tips, but I doubt that’d go down all that well.
Cara’s eyes narrowed with poison, as Declan took a slow step backwards, his face flushing red and icy, horrified sweat pouring from every inch of his body. His shaky feet - far too overcome with terror to support him - gave way and he crashed to the carpet with a helpless squeak. The hazel green and white slits in her face now turned a furious red, as her pale right hand slid over a beach ball sized collection of yarn.
“So you know, huh?” she hissed with venom that instantly emptied Declan’s bladder. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stitch your lips to your tongue, so you don’t tell anybody!”
…
No, no, much better to keep it a secret - at least for now.
But back to the point I was trying to make: I’m afraid this lurking monster in me may draw out hers. Surely evil prefers company with it’s own ilk? And while Cara would be safely tucked away, protected by that treacherous thing that shares her body, she would be a prisoner. Trapped and powerless inside her own body. A fate I care not to imagine (and if my darker half has its way, I won’t have to imagine).
If I was the type to ever ask for help or guidance, I’d be doing it right now. Every time I’m near her, the room gets a little colder. Her touch - which I used to find so lovingly warm and calming - now turns my skin to cold scales. I know the only thing she’s ever wanted out of life is to be close to me. To share the one life together. To cheer side-by-side in our glorious victories and lean against one another in our crushing defeats. It was always something I happily gave her, without regret or hesitation. But now I’m afraid I can no longer do that and it terrifies me. If I knew how to, I know exactly what I’d ask:
‘Can you help me? What do I do?’
“So you know what to do, right?”
“Of course I do,” Declan replied to the elderly Woodward. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”
“I do, Declan,” the old man replied. “And that’s the problem. You don’t want to underestimate Jack Severino. From all accounts, he really has it in for you.”
“Now I know why I keep you around, old man,” Declan joked. “Because you have the best sense of humour out there! I think it would be impossible to underestimate Jack Severino. I could walk into the ring next week with all the training required to face DJ’s corpse of a momma and still be over prepared for The Diamond in Kiseragi’s Rough. Let’s review the facts, huh? Fact, after stepping into the ring with me one time, GIW’s supposedly toughest female competitor, one Gabrielle Maddison Montgomery, was reduced to a bandaged, blubbering cry-baby. Fact, Jack Severino is so inferior to that overrated piece of eye candy hooker turned wannabe wrestler that he burnt their house down and began sodomising Bones in a jealous rage. So how in the name of all things, could Severino even hope to beat me? It’s simple mathematics.”
“He’s been on an impressive streak lately,” Woodward insisted. “He won Boss P on a pole, let’s not forget.”
“Ha!” Declan mused. “Against Savana, Cyanide and Solomon! If he hadn’t won against those Down syndrome abominations he’d have had to kill himself from the shame. That’s like congratulating a mongoloid for not drooling on themselves, while shitting they’re pants. Sure, for them it’s an impressive achievement, but nothing you or I would even raise an eyebrow at.”
“Well you’ve just got all the answers as usual, huh Declan? And I assume you’re not worried about Boss P or the Polish gangster at ringside?”
“Gangsta,” Declan corrected. “Say it right, huh old man? Truth be told, Boss P is, without a doubt, the biggest challenge in this match. Or at least that’s what he’d like me to think. In reality, he’s only there to get inside my head. He wants me to panic, to be constantly watching over my shoulder during the match. He’s not stupid. He knows me being distracted is the only possible way Severino could even get a shot in on me. But that beaked bastard also realises that if he and his muscle pumping love bag involve themselves in the match, Severino’s victory won’t mean anything. The masses will just see it as the boss abusing his power - trust me, I know. And if - no, when - I still beat him, it’ll just prove to the entire world how pathetic Diamond Jack actually is. How pointless giving him a shot at the top Title really was. It‘s a double edged sword and the only way Boss P can avoid getting cut is to keep his gun toting ass out of the match.”
“I’d call you arrogant,” Woodward grinned. “But I know you’d just tell me ‘it’s not arrogant if it’s true’.”
Declan rose from the plastic chair he was seated in and leaned on the balcony railing, staring over the downtown Los Angeles area. The view from their apartment always served as a calming eye in the storm that was devouring his life.
“Your words don’t match your actions, Declan. Something has you worried. I’d appreciate you telling me, you know?”
Declan turned back to Woodward, who was still seated in his chair, opposite side of the table to where The Significant Player had just been seated. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when he realised there was no chance of the words forming. Woodward sighed with defeat.
“You know Declan, you don’t have to shut everyone ou - ”
Both men jolted with shock, as the glass door leading to the balcony slid open. Cara Prescott was standing in the doorway, dressed only in an excessively large shirt, her enormous green eyes hinting at the uneasiness in her being. She gave a brief wave to Woodward, then proceeded to Declan, pushing her body against his and wrapping her arms around his chest.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Declan spoke, before lightly kissing her on the forehead. She seemed not to take much interest in his display of affection, which was something Woodward had never witnessed before. It frightened him.
“What were you talking about?” she inquired, her voice quivering, as if she was on the verge of tears.
“Not too much,” Declan told her. “Just about my match next week.”
“You mean our match?” she replied.
“Oh… yeah. Sorry.”
The two stared at each other in silence for several long, awkward moments. Cara then shifted her gaze to the balcony floor, turned back to the apartment and proceeded inside. As she moved through the living room and into the master bedroom, out of sight, Woodward rose to his feet. As he spat words at Declan, the tone in his voice had changed to one of harshness and viciousness.
“Dammit, Declan! I don’t care who it is, but you have to talk to someone! If you don’t, you’re gonna be torn apar - ”
“Excuse me, sir.”
The two were once again interrupted, as another familiar figure entered the balcony area. Standing at some seven feet tall, dressed in a ridiculous, rainbow coloured suit, complete with pink and yellow polka dotted bowtie was none other than Aesc The Butler. He was carrying a metal tray with several small cups on it, accompanied by an array of finger food.
“Some tea and refreshments for the master and his esteemed guest?”
“No thanks, Jeeves,” Declan answered sternly. “Woodward was just leaving. If you could escort him out?”
“But of course, sir. Right this way, Mr. Woodward.”
Woodward shot a venomous gaze at Declan, before following Aesc into the apartment and towards the front door. Once the old timer had exited their home, Declan turned his focus to the door of the master bedroom. He sighed bitterly and then began moving toward it.
You will never be the same.
See, this time two months ago, I would have known exactly who Declan Prescott is: a man with a name and a face. A great man no doubt, but a man all the same. A cunning man. A dangerous man. A successful man. A compassionate man. An arrogant man. A mortal man.
I’ve never been a dog, though. I was trained better than that.
Unavoidable events in my life forced my hand. I took action so extreme, even I was surprised with the results. It changed me. I feel as if a part of me is… missing. The part that made me human. That little spot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe when you’re afraid, shudders uncontrollably when you’re hurting and drives you insane with its fluttering when you’re in love. Maybe some would call it a soul.
I think I lost mine.
I extinguished the life flame of another and I fear mine may have been put out in the process. And during the last month of peace and quiet - no one trying to break my bones, no one trying to kill my wife and I, no cowboy midgets doing unspeakable things to my darling’s leg, it's certainly a welcome change - I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. Though truth be told, I can’t stand it. My brain is almost always working overtime, even when I’m dreaming (you wouldn’t believe the dreams I have, even if I was desperate enough to tell you about them). I used to have two releases when that pink stuff inside my skull could rest a little - when I was with Cara and when I was wrestling. In recent times, both have been taken from me.
GIW took a vacation over December. My genius idea, naturally (though I wish Celtic Frost had been able to run that off-time tour I came up with). And it was good. Us bags of meat aren’t machines, after all. We ache, we tire and, because of that, we need rest. But now the big return is in the works. I’m not as involved as I’d like to be because of that damned flightless, feathered freak show, Boss Penguin, - yeah, a penguin took control of my company - but nonetheless, in just over a week I’ll be making my much needed return to the squared circle. Don’t get me wrong, a break is wonderful, but it is just that - a break - not an end. And this break needs to come to a close, because I’m starting to fear for my sanity.
And what of my Cara, you ask? Well don’t panic, she’s still here - I’d never let anything happen to her. But even she has me stressed out now. You see - and you should appreciate me sharing this, as it’s not the type of thing I normally do - but lately, I’ve been absolutely overcome with terror. Not just fear, I’m talking full fledged, run for the hills, hide in a bomb shelter, put on some clean underwear and tie up any loose ends, apocalyptic levels of horror. Yet that little space in my chest doesn’t even flinch.
And that’s the scariest part.
Ever since I killed Douglas Maguire, I’ve been different. Like I’m constantly waging a losing war with a monster inside. This entity that is slowly devouring me from the inside is made up of unspeakable things. It’s dark and merciless, even compared to me. I want it to leave, but I know that such a thing is impossible. It rooted itself deep down and has no intentions of going anywhere. But I’ll fight until my very last breath. That’s what I’ve done my entire life and it will never change.
Now maybe you’re thinking I’m afraid this unwelcome resident in me will hurt Cara. And that’s exactly what I’d expect someone like you to think. But such a belief is derived entirely from ignorance. I could never harm my beautiful wife. Such a notion is simply absurd. To even think such a thing is capable is the equivalent of believing the world is flat, Santa Clause exists and Andy Savana is an asset to GIW. No, no, Cara will be always be safe, even if this nightmare completely eats away my insides and leaves me a hollow, mindless vessel, she will be safe. Even it can’t combat the purity of my love for Cara. For all life’s uncertainties, I‘ll never let any harm come to her.
What I fear - what I dread - is that, should this thing gain the upper hand on me, Cara and it won’t get along so well. The passenger inside me would never even consider harming her, but that doesn’t mean it has to like her. If what I’m saying doesn’t make sense, consider yourself lucky. It’s likely more than you deserve.
Now Cara - her sordid history aside - is an interesting specimen. She is, in every way, completely innocent. She lives her life solely to love and to be loved in return. She’s a shining beacon of what people should be like for everyone fortunate enough to find themselves in her presence. Being with her has made me a better person.
But, like me, there’s something inside her. Something she doesn’t want there. Something evil. I’m not sure how long the demon inside her has been there. I’ve only ever seen it once and didn’t really have the time or opportunity to get well acquainted. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a lot older than mine. I always thought it was a miracle that Cara, for all the abuse and betrayal she experienced over the first two decades of her life, was able to grow into the magical human being that she is. But the world corrupted her, just as it does all of us. She couldn’t control the darkness in her, only hide from it.
Now Cara is deceptively strong. The frail, underweight, traumatised blonde routine throws most people. She’s really as tough as nails and has survived things that would annihilate you or I. And because of that, she’s a lot better at keeping her monster under control than I am. I’d ask her for tips, but I doubt that’d go down all that well.
Cara’s eyes narrowed with poison, as Declan took a slow step backwards, his face flushing red and icy, horrified sweat pouring from every inch of his body. His shaky feet - far too overcome with terror to support him - gave way and he crashed to the carpet with a helpless squeak. The hazel green and white slits in her face now turned a furious red, as her pale right hand slid over a beach ball sized collection of yarn.
“So you know, huh?” she hissed with venom that instantly emptied Declan’s bladder. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stitch your lips to your tongue, so you don’t tell anybody!”
…
No, no, much better to keep it a secret - at least for now.
But back to the point I was trying to make: I’m afraid this lurking monster in me may draw out hers. Surely evil prefers company with it’s own ilk? And while Cara would be safely tucked away, protected by that treacherous thing that shares her body, she would be a prisoner. Trapped and powerless inside her own body. A fate I care not to imagine (and if my darker half has its way, I won’t have to imagine).
If I was the type to ever ask for help or guidance, I’d be doing it right now. Every time I’m near her, the room gets a little colder. Her touch - which I used to find so lovingly warm and calming - now turns my skin to cold scales. I know the only thing she’s ever wanted out of life is to be close to me. To share the one life together. To cheer side-by-side in our glorious victories and lean against one another in our crushing defeats. It was always something I happily gave her, without regret or hesitation. But now I’m afraid I can no longer do that and it terrifies me. If I knew how to, I know exactly what I’d ask:
‘Can you help me? What do I do?’
* * * * *
“So you know what to do, right?”
“Of course I do,” Declan replied to the elderly Woodward. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”
“I do, Declan,” the old man replied. “And that’s the problem. You don’t want to underestimate Jack Severino. From all accounts, he really has it in for you.”
“Now I know why I keep you around, old man,” Declan joked. “Because you have the best sense of humour out there! I think it would be impossible to underestimate Jack Severino. I could walk into the ring next week with all the training required to face DJ’s corpse of a momma and still be over prepared for The Diamond in Kiseragi’s Rough. Let’s review the facts, huh? Fact, after stepping into the ring with me one time, GIW’s supposedly toughest female competitor, one Gabrielle Maddison Montgomery, was reduced to a bandaged, blubbering cry-baby. Fact, Jack Severino is so inferior to that overrated piece of eye candy hooker turned wannabe wrestler that he burnt their house down and began sodomising Bones in a jealous rage. So how in the name of all things, could Severino even hope to beat me? It’s simple mathematics.”
“He’s been on an impressive streak lately,” Woodward insisted. “He won Boss P on a pole, let’s not forget.”
“Ha!” Declan mused. “Against Savana, Cyanide and Solomon! If he hadn’t won against those Down syndrome abominations he’d have had to kill himself from the shame. That’s like congratulating a mongoloid for not drooling on themselves, while shitting they’re pants. Sure, for them it’s an impressive achievement, but nothing you or I would even raise an eyebrow at.”
“Well you’ve just got all the answers as usual, huh Declan? And I assume you’re not worried about Boss P or the Polish gangster at ringside?”
“Gangsta,” Declan corrected. “Say it right, huh old man? Truth be told, Boss P is, without a doubt, the biggest challenge in this match. Or at least that’s what he’d like me to think. In reality, he’s only there to get inside my head. He wants me to panic, to be constantly watching over my shoulder during the match. He’s not stupid. He knows me being distracted is the only possible way Severino could even get a shot in on me. But that beaked bastard also realises that if he and his muscle pumping love bag involve themselves in the match, Severino’s victory won’t mean anything. The masses will just see it as the boss abusing his power - trust me, I know. And if - no, when - I still beat him, it’ll just prove to the entire world how pathetic Diamond Jack actually is. How pointless giving him a shot at the top Title really was. It‘s a double edged sword and the only way Boss P can avoid getting cut is to keep his gun toting ass out of the match.”
“I’d call you arrogant,” Woodward grinned. “But I know you’d just tell me ‘it’s not arrogant if it’s true’.”
Declan rose from the plastic chair he was seated in and leaned on the balcony railing, staring over the downtown Los Angeles area. The view from their apartment always served as a calming eye in the storm that was devouring his life.
“Your words don’t match your actions, Declan. Something has you worried. I’d appreciate you telling me, you know?”
Declan turned back to Woodward, who was still seated in his chair, opposite side of the table to where The Significant Player had just been seated. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when he realised there was no chance of the words forming. Woodward sighed with defeat.
“You know Declan, you don’t have to shut everyone ou - ”
Both men jolted with shock, as the glass door leading to the balcony slid open. Cara Prescott was standing in the doorway, dressed only in an excessively large shirt, her enormous green eyes hinting at the uneasiness in her being. She gave a brief wave to Woodward, then proceeded to Declan, pushing her body against his and wrapping her arms around his chest.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Declan spoke, before lightly kissing her on the forehead. She seemed not to take much interest in his display of affection, which was something Woodward had never witnessed before. It frightened him.
“What were you talking about?” she inquired, her voice quivering, as if she was on the verge of tears.
“Not too much,” Declan told her. “Just about my match next week.”
“You mean our match?” she replied.
“Oh… yeah. Sorry.”
The two stared at each other in silence for several long, awkward moments. Cara then shifted her gaze to the balcony floor, turned back to the apartment and proceeded inside. As she moved through the living room and into the master bedroom, out of sight, Woodward rose to his feet. As he spat words at Declan, the tone in his voice had changed to one of harshness and viciousness.
“Dammit, Declan! I don’t care who it is, but you have to talk to someone! If you don’t, you’re gonna be torn apar - ”
“Excuse me, sir.”
The two were once again interrupted, as another familiar figure entered the balcony area. Standing at some seven feet tall, dressed in a ridiculous, rainbow coloured suit, complete with pink and yellow polka dotted bowtie was none other than Aesc The Butler. He was carrying a metal tray with several small cups on it, accompanied by an array of finger food.
“Some tea and refreshments for the master and his esteemed guest?”
“No thanks, Jeeves,” Declan answered sternly. “Woodward was just leaving. If you could escort him out?”
“But of course, sir. Right this way, Mr. Woodward.”
Woodward shot a venomous gaze at Declan, before following Aesc into the apartment and towards the front door. Once the old timer had exited their home, Declan turned his focus to the door of the master bedroom. He sighed bitterly and then began moving toward it.