Post by Deleted on Jan 23, 2013 23:31:19 GMT -6
Some shithole indy wrestling show. Some shithole gym. Some shithole town.
He sits in the hall near the run-down locker rooms, shoulders slumped, elbows on his knees. No one has passed by the have come near the area in awhile, even though its a necessity if one wants to get from the locker rooms to where the ring has been erected.
They know better.
His eyes stare straight ahead, never wavering. There's a thin trickle of blood running from his left nostril, dripping down over his lips...Product of some poor bastard's boot colliding with the bridge of his nose.
The same poor bastard they had to carry out of the ring and haul to the hospital a few minutes after.
The view is grainy...this isn't some state of the art HD bullshit. Probably one of those late 90's monstrosities the size of a small Buick.
But the picture isn't what matters.
It's the message.
I ain't much fer talkin'.
He snorts, wiping absently at his nose. He pauses a moment to look at the blood now on his fingertips...rubbing it between his fingers.
I guess I just ain't never seen much money in it. Talkin' is cheap where I come from, understand? Any fool 'n talk a good game. Turn a phrase an' make hisself sound like the cock a' the Gawt-Damn walk...when he ain't actually shit.
Where I come from...Words ain't worth a good Goddamn to nobody.
Actions...Actions is what matters.
And I am a man...of actions.
He snickers a little, letting his head recline back against the wall with a hollow thud.
S'about time ya'll learnt that. That ol' boy I just got done with out 'ere?
He jerks his thumb in the direction down the hall, back toward the ring.
He learnt that the hard way. I don't harbor a grudge toward him, though...nor anybody else fer that matter. Ya'll are just...tools, y'understand? Objects, layin' about in disrepair. Sad lil misfit toys, unused an' unwanted.
'at ain't right.
I know all 'ere is 'bout bein' unwanted. My daddy didn't want me. Momma prolly didn't neither, but she weren't around far back as I can remember. Every day it was the same fuckin' thing. Every day was a fresh ass whuppin' to remind me I didn't belong. 'at I was a dis'pointment. A mistake, even. Every day he took a piece of my hide, just fer bein'...me.
But we squared that debt, didn't we, Daddy?
He snickers slightly to himself.
See, I know exactly what its like t'be...neglected. Unwanted. I look at ya'll, an' I see myself. I see a bunch of little broken toys, jus' itchin' fer somebody t'come and play with 'em. An' I will. See, I gots myself a singular talent fer findin' uses fer 'em 'ats neglected. Fer givin' 'em the kind of...attention they deserve.
Whether 'ey want it or not.
Another snort.
My Daddy learnt that.
Anybody I saw fit after 'at did, too.
And ya'll...Ya'll's gonna learn that.
The hard way.
Now, don't think this is because I don't take too kindly to what ya'll 'r doin' or some such. 'is here ain't personal, y' understand. I ain't got nothin' 'gainst none a ya'll, or what ya'll stand fer...
That don't mean it'll stop what's comin'.
Not in the slightest.
It ain't nothin' personal, boys 'n girls.
Yer jus'...more toys for me t' play with.
Jus' more distractions t' get me through the days.
'Cause ya'll done made the mistake of lettin' me out my cage.
Now...
Now ya'll get to deal with the consequences.
Cut to black.
He sits in the hall near the run-down locker rooms, shoulders slumped, elbows on his knees. No one has passed by the have come near the area in awhile, even though its a necessity if one wants to get from the locker rooms to where the ring has been erected.
They know better.
His eyes stare straight ahead, never wavering. There's a thin trickle of blood running from his left nostril, dripping down over his lips...Product of some poor bastard's boot colliding with the bridge of his nose.
The same poor bastard they had to carry out of the ring and haul to the hospital a few minutes after.
The view is grainy...this isn't some state of the art HD bullshit. Probably one of those late 90's monstrosities the size of a small Buick.
But the picture isn't what matters.
It's the message.
I ain't much fer talkin'.
He snorts, wiping absently at his nose. He pauses a moment to look at the blood now on his fingertips...rubbing it between his fingers.
I guess I just ain't never seen much money in it. Talkin' is cheap where I come from, understand? Any fool 'n talk a good game. Turn a phrase an' make hisself sound like the cock a' the Gawt-Damn walk...when he ain't actually shit.
Where I come from...Words ain't worth a good Goddamn to nobody.
Actions...Actions is what matters.
And I am a man...of actions.
He snickers a little, letting his head recline back against the wall with a hollow thud.
S'about time ya'll learnt that. That ol' boy I just got done with out 'ere?
He jerks his thumb in the direction down the hall, back toward the ring.
He learnt that the hard way. I don't harbor a grudge toward him, though...nor anybody else fer that matter. Ya'll are just...tools, y'understand? Objects, layin' about in disrepair. Sad lil misfit toys, unused an' unwanted.
'at ain't right.
I know all 'ere is 'bout bein' unwanted. My daddy didn't want me. Momma prolly didn't neither, but she weren't around far back as I can remember. Every day it was the same fuckin' thing. Every day was a fresh ass whuppin' to remind me I didn't belong. 'at I was a dis'pointment. A mistake, even. Every day he took a piece of my hide, just fer bein'...me.
But we squared that debt, didn't we, Daddy?
He snickers slightly to himself.
See, I know exactly what its like t'be...neglected. Unwanted. I look at ya'll, an' I see myself. I see a bunch of little broken toys, jus' itchin' fer somebody t'come and play with 'em. An' I will. See, I gots myself a singular talent fer findin' uses fer 'em 'ats neglected. Fer givin' 'em the kind of...attention they deserve.
Whether 'ey want it or not.
Another snort.
My Daddy learnt that.
Anybody I saw fit after 'at did, too.
And ya'll...Ya'll's gonna learn that.
The hard way.
Now, don't think this is because I don't take too kindly to what ya'll 'r doin' or some such. 'is here ain't personal, y' understand. I ain't got nothin' 'gainst none a ya'll, or what ya'll stand fer...
That don't mean it'll stop what's comin'.
Not in the slightest.
It ain't nothin' personal, boys 'n girls.
Yer jus'...more toys for me t' play with.
Jus' more distractions t' get me through the days.
'Cause ya'll done made the mistake of lettin' me out my cage.
Now...
Now ya'll get to deal with the consequences.
Cut to black.