Post by nbk on Dec 2, 2011 20:16:02 GMT -5
This was more like it, this was what you'd come to expect of your life, you'd been expecting this for months now, and as ever you had no-one but yourself to blame. It happens like this every time, you start settling in somewhere, making a name for yourself, and then, without fail, you manage to screw everything up. It no longer surprised you, but it never ceased to fuel your self-loathing. History always repeated itself, and you always managed to destroy any of the good work you had built.
And this time, this time, more than ever you had well and truly fucked up something good. You had worked long and hard, in doing so you had established a highly regarded reputation in your trade, and all this in an industry filled with talentless and delusional steroid freaks. You'd created a niche for yourself and people looked to you for guidance and idea's, you had finally become someone. You had never reached these heights before, and that made the inevitable fall from grace even more unforgivable than ever before.
It was not that long ago you were entrusted with the planning and execution of filming the company's biggest single match, you had been a man with power and respect. Fast forward to the present day and you were nothing more than a glorified runner, the fact you still carried your camera with you was laughable given no-one would let you near any of the 'talent' any more. Instead the most important thing in your possession, as far as your employers were concerned, was a torn pink and yellow g-string that had previously belonged to Gabrielle. You had recovered it from a drainpipe near the garbage disposal area, their was no explanation why they wanted this, just that you were to get it.
This was the final, and most demeaning task you had been given since you had returned from a prolonged hiatus. Fetching a bald cap and eye patch from a local fancy dress store had been your first, and then there was hunting down Johnny Blake's journal, which was surprisingly stored inside Duncan Ryder's locker. The worst thing of all was these were to be pretty much your only contributions to the company's flagship Pay-Per-View even. Officially they said they didn't want to put you under that kind of stress so early in your recovery, but you knew it was because they no longer trusted you.
Why had you made such a stupid mistake, why had you given yourself over to that ridiculous notion of love. You'd seen enough Movies and walked past enough crack addicts to know that emotion was a poisoned chalice, and it never improved anyone's life. The rejection, which was the only possible outcome, had crushed you and sent you into a downward spiral. You had spent weeks in bed, coming to terms with the realisation if just how worthless you really were. You'd known all along you were nothing, but had allowed yourself to fool yourself into thinking otherwise, setting up this inevitable head on crash with reality.
And you knew, as you walked down the corridors they were all looking at you. They knew about your delusional attempts to catch yourself a goddess, and they silently laughed at you as you passed. The cleaners, the ring crew, those fuckers from lighting with their in-jokes and private language, even Harvey...they all looked at you with a mixture of contempt and pity. Once again you were the main topic of conversation, for all the wrong reasons.
You had no-one to blame but yourself, and you had been berating yourself every moment since you returned, and that in turn had led to a migraine of epic proportions taking up residence inside your skull. You embraced the pain as best you could, because you deserved this punishment for being such a foolish imbecile.
But why did you care? Why did you put yourself under such pressure to succeed, to achieve? Why struggle to be normal? The obvious answer was your father, everyone has daddy issues don't they? You were pretty sure they did, but they definitely would have if they had shared your Father. You;r mother wasn't much better, but he clearly left the largest impression on your life, and you had the scars to prove it. But he was, and always will have been your Father, and something deep down really wants you to make him proud.
Despite the fact he was a vitriolic and sadistic man who enjoyed visiting mental and physical pain upon you, he relished any chance he had to chastise you, he use anything 'interesting' that he found to teach you something new about life and the way of the world. He probably told himself that he was preparing you, that despite his masochistic urges he was a decent mentor and father.
You never knew exactly what made him that way, the most apparent reason was whiskey, but you knew that was merely one of many catalyst's to his sadism. It was deeper rooted than that, it was almost definitely a psychological defect, that thankfully wasn't genetic, probably caused from a very similar upbringing to your own. But rather than that justifying his action, it merely meant he was more aware of the horror's he visited on you than anyone else. He'd lived this life, he'd experienced all the agony, the self doubt, and the self loathing, and he chose to visit this upon you, his son.
The worst thing was, it was only you who was forced to sleep in the garage, in the dogs old basket, only you that had to endure his entertainment, sock puppet's meant a very different thing to you than most, and you were the only one that ever saw this side to him. Your brothers and sisters grew up in an entirely different world to you, and they haven't ever to this day understood why you're so different to them. They are happy, outspoken and confident, you are introverted, cynical and self-loathing.
They had the perfect father, he laughed and played with them when they were younger, and he supported them and gave them guidance as they grew into adults. To the rest he was their idol, their god. To you he was your demons and your nightmares, all he'd given you were your insecurities, your worst fears, and the hatred that built inside. It was almost though he had designed you to be some kind of monster, not like these acrobat's you filmed, a real, true life horror story, the events people only talk about in hushed whispers.
But no-one else knew, so who could you tell. No-one had ever expected a respected town Fire Chief could be pure evil incarnate. At times you wondered if even he was aware of what he was capable of, it was like a switch flipped when you were alone, no matter where you were, if you were alone you were in danger of this mythical creature.
But you'd done what you could to control it all, your hatred of everything and everyone around you was neatly compartmentalized, you avoided the internet as you're fingers tended to take over and create the strangest works to appear on your screen, you knew he had affected you deeply, you knew his actions had twisted you from the inside.
But you couldn't blame him, that's how it started, you had to take ownership of your reality, for too long you had placed your existence in the hands of another, let them dictate your every move, but you had broken free. You made the decision to make your own decisions, and ever since that day, many years ago, you'd mad many mistakes, you had disappointed yourself, you had shamed yourself, but you at least had one thing, every single one of those mistakes were your mistakes. You had to take strength from that, and you always did, every time something like this happened, you always reminded yourself he did not control you any more, that he was not the beginning and ending of your universe, he was nothing. And eevry time you picked yourself up, and moved on.
This time would be no different.
The soiled and torn underwear was not the only thing you held in your hand, you also had you're Notice of Resignation, it was time to take your skill's elsewhere.
But before you took this step, you decide to step into the bathroom and splash some water on your face, but as you look up, you immediately spin around, set up your tripod with speed that even stuns you.
Set the scene.
And for the last time
You start filming.
The Natural Born killer stands in the bathroom, he leans against the door frame, clutching his head.
FOOLS!...That is what I made of them, The Killer brought this shame upon them. We have wasted, many days and nights...without encountering the dance...because we believed their was another way. But they...they were not as quick to believe as NBK...it was I that planted those seeds amongst them...and The Screams...they trusted me....they followed my judgement....and I have bought them nothing but waste and bile.
When we face five others....in a dance that is historic as it is unpredictable...The Screams shall not be silenced...they shall not leave me in peace, they will ensure I feel every Scream they consume, hear ever agony that they represent, and remember every second of those moments...for this Realm has been sullied to them. It reminds them to much of their mistakes...their shame...my shame and my mistakes. Everything they own...is due to me...what I am...is due to them...and we are forsaken. This kingdom must remain separate from us...as we can not much longer dwell upon this....for it will destroy the only part of us that remains in any...control.
This place...will always remind us...of the fallacy that is him. He offered and promised so much...we trusted in him, we gave ourselves to him in the faith that he would fix us....that he could save us from ourselves...but that was nothing more than a lie, like so much else. We could never register the screams inside that head of his...always shifting...never fluent....never focused...we believed it was the sign of an ever shifting ever evolving mind...and whilst we weren't entirely wrong...we were as foolish as those that believed the earth to be flat.
We were like our own prey...when we fell to our knee's, believing his lies...Prince Rudo is no god...he is merely a sham...an illusionist...a hoax. He cannot offer salvation, nor can he offer peace....his are empty promises and false dreams. He is the merchant of manipulation...and he has shamed us to our core. He is nothing not worth...our endeavours....yet he has taught us one thing...this place offers us nothing.
Our fate does not lie within this establishment...these are not the dances that we seek...we will not find our salvation here. So at Horizons...The Killer will fulfil his final obligations...and then The Rumour...will drift with the wind...[/b]
And the Natural Born killer stops talking.
And The Camera stops filming.
It was official, that would be your last footafe for UGWC, after you washed your hands you'd deliver your resignation, the underwear and a promo reel. It had a weird symmetry to it that kind of summed up your time here.
You finished washing your hands and wiped them dry on your brown trenchcoat and looked in the mirror and admired...the blotches...on your mask...
And then they returned.
And this time, this time, more than ever you had well and truly fucked up something good. You had worked long and hard, in doing so you had established a highly regarded reputation in your trade, and all this in an industry filled with talentless and delusional steroid freaks. You'd created a niche for yourself and people looked to you for guidance and idea's, you had finally become someone. You had never reached these heights before, and that made the inevitable fall from grace even more unforgivable than ever before.
It was not that long ago you were entrusted with the planning and execution of filming the company's biggest single match, you had been a man with power and respect. Fast forward to the present day and you were nothing more than a glorified runner, the fact you still carried your camera with you was laughable given no-one would let you near any of the 'talent' any more. Instead the most important thing in your possession, as far as your employers were concerned, was a torn pink and yellow g-string that had previously belonged to Gabrielle. You had recovered it from a drainpipe near the garbage disposal area, their was no explanation why they wanted this, just that you were to get it.
This was the final, and most demeaning task you had been given since you had returned from a prolonged hiatus. Fetching a bald cap and eye patch from a local fancy dress store had been your first, and then there was hunting down Johnny Blake's journal, which was surprisingly stored inside Duncan Ryder's locker. The worst thing of all was these were to be pretty much your only contributions to the company's flagship Pay-Per-View even. Officially they said they didn't want to put you under that kind of stress so early in your recovery, but you knew it was because they no longer trusted you.
Why had you made such a stupid mistake, why had you given yourself over to that ridiculous notion of love. You'd seen enough Movies and walked past enough crack addicts to know that emotion was a poisoned chalice, and it never improved anyone's life. The rejection, which was the only possible outcome, had crushed you and sent you into a downward spiral. You had spent weeks in bed, coming to terms with the realisation if just how worthless you really were. You'd known all along you were nothing, but had allowed yourself to fool yourself into thinking otherwise, setting up this inevitable head on crash with reality.
And you knew, as you walked down the corridors they were all looking at you. They knew about your delusional attempts to catch yourself a goddess, and they silently laughed at you as you passed. The cleaners, the ring crew, those fuckers from lighting with their in-jokes and private language, even Harvey...they all looked at you with a mixture of contempt and pity. Once again you were the main topic of conversation, for all the wrong reasons.
You had no-one to blame but yourself, and you had been berating yourself every moment since you returned, and that in turn had led to a migraine of epic proportions taking up residence inside your skull. You embraced the pain as best you could, because you deserved this punishment for being such a foolish imbecile.
But why did you care? Why did you put yourself under such pressure to succeed, to achieve? Why struggle to be normal? The obvious answer was your father, everyone has daddy issues don't they? You were pretty sure they did, but they definitely would have if they had shared your Father. You;r mother wasn't much better, but he clearly left the largest impression on your life, and you had the scars to prove it. But he was, and always will have been your Father, and something deep down really wants you to make him proud.
Despite the fact he was a vitriolic and sadistic man who enjoyed visiting mental and physical pain upon you, he relished any chance he had to chastise you, he use anything 'interesting' that he found to teach you something new about life and the way of the world. He probably told himself that he was preparing you, that despite his masochistic urges he was a decent mentor and father.
You never knew exactly what made him that way, the most apparent reason was whiskey, but you knew that was merely one of many catalyst's to his sadism. It was deeper rooted than that, it was almost definitely a psychological defect, that thankfully wasn't genetic, probably caused from a very similar upbringing to your own. But rather than that justifying his action, it merely meant he was more aware of the horror's he visited on you than anyone else. He'd lived this life, he'd experienced all the agony, the self doubt, and the self loathing, and he chose to visit this upon you, his son.
The worst thing was, it was only you who was forced to sleep in the garage, in the dogs old basket, only you that had to endure his entertainment, sock puppet's meant a very different thing to you than most, and you were the only one that ever saw this side to him. Your brothers and sisters grew up in an entirely different world to you, and they haven't ever to this day understood why you're so different to them. They are happy, outspoken and confident, you are introverted, cynical and self-loathing.
They had the perfect father, he laughed and played with them when they were younger, and he supported them and gave them guidance as they grew into adults. To the rest he was their idol, their god. To you he was your demons and your nightmares, all he'd given you were your insecurities, your worst fears, and the hatred that built inside. It was almost though he had designed you to be some kind of monster, not like these acrobat's you filmed, a real, true life horror story, the events people only talk about in hushed whispers.
But no-one else knew, so who could you tell. No-one had ever expected a respected town Fire Chief could be pure evil incarnate. At times you wondered if even he was aware of what he was capable of, it was like a switch flipped when you were alone, no matter where you were, if you were alone you were in danger of this mythical creature.
But you'd done what you could to control it all, your hatred of everything and everyone around you was neatly compartmentalized, you avoided the internet as you're fingers tended to take over and create the strangest works to appear on your screen, you knew he had affected you deeply, you knew his actions had twisted you from the inside.
But you couldn't blame him, that's how it started, you had to take ownership of your reality, for too long you had placed your existence in the hands of another, let them dictate your every move, but you had broken free. You made the decision to make your own decisions, and ever since that day, many years ago, you'd mad many mistakes, you had disappointed yourself, you had shamed yourself, but you at least had one thing, every single one of those mistakes were your mistakes. You had to take strength from that, and you always did, every time something like this happened, you always reminded yourself he did not control you any more, that he was not the beginning and ending of your universe, he was nothing. And eevry time you picked yourself up, and moved on.
This time would be no different.
The soiled and torn underwear was not the only thing you held in your hand, you also had you're Notice of Resignation, it was time to take your skill's elsewhere.
But before you took this step, you decide to step into the bathroom and splash some water on your face, but as you look up, you immediately spin around, set up your tripod with speed that even stuns you.
Set the scene.
And for the last time
You start filming.
The Natural Born killer stands in the bathroom, he leans against the door frame, clutching his head.
FOOLS!...That is what I made of them, The Killer brought this shame upon them. We have wasted, many days and nights...without encountering the dance...because we believed their was another way. But they...they were not as quick to believe as NBK...it was I that planted those seeds amongst them...and The Screams...they trusted me....they followed my judgement....and I have bought them nothing but waste and bile.
When we face five others....in a dance that is historic as it is unpredictable...The Screams shall not be silenced...they shall not leave me in peace, they will ensure I feel every Scream they consume, hear ever agony that they represent, and remember every second of those moments...for this Realm has been sullied to them. It reminds them to much of their mistakes...their shame...my shame and my mistakes. Everything they own...is due to me...what I am...is due to them...and we are forsaken. This kingdom must remain separate from us...as we can not much longer dwell upon this....for it will destroy the only part of us that remains in any...control.
This place...will always remind us...of the fallacy that is him. He offered and promised so much...we trusted in him, we gave ourselves to him in the faith that he would fix us....that he could save us from ourselves...but that was nothing more than a lie, like so much else. We could never register the screams inside that head of his...always shifting...never fluent....never focused...we believed it was the sign of an ever shifting ever evolving mind...and whilst we weren't entirely wrong...we were as foolish as those that believed the earth to be flat.
We were like our own prey...when we fell to our knee's, believing his lies...Prince Rudo is no god...he is merely a sham...an illusionist...a hoax. He cannot offer salvation, nor can he offer peace....his are empty promises and false dreams. He is the merchant of manipulation...and he has shamed us to our core. He is nothing not worth...our endeavours....yet he has taught us one thing...this place offers us nothing.
Our fate does not lie within this establishment...these are not the dances that we seek...we will not find our salvation here. So at Horizons...The Killer will fulfil his final obligations...and then The Rumour...will drift with the wind...[/b]
And the Natural Born killer stops talking.
And The Camera stops filming.
It was official, that would be your last footafe for UGWC, after you washed your hands you'd deliver your resignation, the underwear and a promo reel. It had a weird symmetry to it that kind of summed up your time here.
You finished washing your hands and wiped them dry on your brown trenchcoat and looked in the mirror and admired...the blotches...on your mask...
And then they returned.
-fin-
