Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2015 21:46:20 GMT -6
FUN AND GAMES: “WHETHER YOU WIN OR LOSE, HURT THEM ALL!”
Game of Cards
My cards are on the table,
Stick or twist if you dare,
We're betting on a deadly game,
A personal and bloody warfare.
The king of hearts is all lined up,
To steal the chance away,
The joker's in the packet,
Plotting to rue the day.
The ace is trapped beneath the pile,
struggling to breathe,
While the Queen of diamonds is sat on top,
With pearls and money stuffed up her sleeve.
My cards are on the table,
Stick or twist if you dare,
We're betting on a deadly game,
A personal and bloody warfare.
The king of hearts is all lined up,
To steal the chance away,
The joker's in the packet,
Plotting to rue the day.
The ace is trapped beneath the pile,
struggling to breathe,
While the Queen of diamonds is sat on top,
With pearls and money stuffed up her sleeve.
Jinx’s Journal:
Saturday-March 3, 2015
Our segment opens in a dimly lit, yet well furnished bar. All is relatively quiet until a number of patrons all turn their attentions towards the main door. The door itself is nothing special. Simply wood and textured glass, nothing more. But what lies beyond the door is so much more than that. It's enough to force the patrons of the bar to back away from the door, and even begin looking for a different way out of the establishment. A number of individuals are clearly disturbed, while others are outright frightened by the moment, yet there is one individual who seems strangely calm during all of this activity. A man in a black suit with a light gray tie sits quietly with a small smirk on his face. He takes a pull of his cigarette, and continues to watch the door, even as the sounds of something trying to force its way in begins to fill the room. Fingernails clawing at the door, clawing at the window, incessant shifting just beyond the wooden seal, a dark figure moving about just beyond the glass. It sends everyone into a panic, save for one man. He takes it all in, sitting there and smirking. Another drag on his cigarette, and another unflinching smirk.
He just sits there, smirking. The sounds beyond the door are strange, erratic, following no apparent pattern or structure. And this man at the table, he can only revel in it. His eyes narrow, and without taking them from the door, he begins to speak.
"Hi who I am is not that important at this time, but it would seem as though someone has opened Pandora's Box once more, releasing the wild unknown onto the world in their own ignorance. It often amuses me to see how far people will go to fulfill their own short-sighted ends. Even at the risk of everything around them. And then, in classic form, of course... once Pandora's Box has been opened, they foolishly try to close it back up. Sorry, but it's too late for that now. Now they shall all partake in the folly they have allowed. Winning, Losing, these are all mundane terms used in a vain attempt to classify each other for the sake of elevating oneself over someone else. Tell me, does a person who willingly sacrificed their leg to prevent a disease from spreading to their entire body classify as a winner? If you asked them whether or not they felt like a winner, what would their reply truly be? It is easy to sit back and claim victory over something that neither knows nor cares for your competition, but the true measure is and always shall be the cost for such a hollow victory. Is it still a victory when you're left scarred and disfigured? Are you still a winner when your last days must be spent within the confines of a wheelchair? No, no one ever mulls over these questions, because no one likes to associate the cold reality with the beloved fantasy of what it takes to do what men and women do. What we were meant to do. Not on the outer layer, not this flimsy excuse for a purpose. No.... deep down inside where the beast inside of all of us rests. That part of you that you try so desperately to hide away, to force back into the darkness, to convince others you do not possess. No, that is not what it is to be a winner. To be a winner means to sacrifice of yourself... to pay the price for such a title. The struggle itself? That is not the price, that is merely the path. The price is what you are left with afterwards. The pain, The agony, the long road back full of doubts and second guesses. That is the price one pays for victory. This Monday night at Ignite, that price shall be paid by many."
His voice was calm, and controlled. And aside from his slightly disturbing demeanor, there was a hint of mild amusement in his voice. A sick sort of humor to be found within the very words that emerge from his mouth. He takes another pull on his cigarette, then shifts his eyes sideways. A man approaches, one who has managed to brave his fears long enough to stand with him and take in the moment. This man looks to him and holds out a hand.
"You! You sound like you know what the hell's going on! What the hell is that thing! Get her out of here, do something man! For Christ's sake!"
A sideways glance and a smirk would be his only response, before he was silently dismissed, leaving the man to return to his source of amusement at the door.
"There is something within human nature that has always brought a source of humor to me. Something that is one of man's greatest strengths and simultaneously one of its greatest weaknesses. Hope. Heh, it almost sickens me to ever say the word itself. Hope is something one holds on to in the face of insurmountable reality. The entire NEW roster holds onto this false reality. They hold onto the hope that they are able to pay the price. To become victorious and beat back the demons at their doors. New faces. Old faces. Young men. Old Men. Young women, Old women. All the same. All sharing the same hope that the beast is still locked inside, that the reality is still held in check deep within. Pathetic. They cling to their numbers like children in the night. What are wins and losses when the game still has much more to be played? Who can say they have won anything without even being tested themselves? Without paying the price?"
The other man had now chosen to flee as well, departing out of a small exit at the rear of the establishment. Meanwhile, he had chosen to stay, to stay here where all the excitement was truly going on. A few random taps and scratches against the glass would bring a smile to his face.
"Returning faces and new faces on the NEW roster has come forth and believes that their numbers will assure a victory for at least one of their number. Just like Jinx you have Thaddeus Stone making his debut; Jeremiah Vastrix is out for blood, and Boris making his return only to be making it short because of Jinx, all believe their physical abilities to be enough to defy the overwhelming odds. There is Scarlet Styles and Dasha, whom I know for fact that Jinx would love to get her hands on. The man that they say is on the rise Austin Impact, the return of the beast Seth Iser, and the Trans-Atlantic Champion Al Envy all put their faith in their iron wills, their drive to push through and succeed. They all have their tools, they all have their pillars of hope. Pillars they cling to in the face of cold, unrelenting reality. And what is that reality? Pain. Pain is what tells us that we are alive. As humans, we are born into a world of pain. And when our time draws to an end, pain is our final passage into the next world. Pain is all we know. The one constant in our world that goes for all living things. And yet, it is these faint pillars of humanly hope that bring men and women to disregard all that they know as the truth, and instead cling to these vestiges of false realities."
He takes another pull on the cigarette, while Jinx's voice can be heard faintly through the door.
".......... they don't want to believe what's coming... they don't want to believe she's as bad as I tried to tell them... she's going to come for them, come f-for each one of them and nothing will stop her... Boris... he'll come for you... she'll come and she won't stop... you're going to be concentrating on the match, on winning... she's going to be focusing on trying to hurt you... trying to injure you, to cripple you... she likes the pain, the pain she passes along to me... she likes it, likes the pain... she's going to share her pain with you... sh-e'll share it with you, and you'll b-beg him to stop... I've tried... I can't stop her, I..."
"Yes, Jinx. We know that Boris is a giant and you cannot stop him. You should know better than to try. Accept it for what it is. Accept the reality and you will find yourself one step closer to the truth of your soul. Those others... those fools who sadly believe that the only thing at stake is to win to be closer at a championship; they are the ones who shall be forced into the light. Forced into acceptance of the truth. This Monday on Ignite is to be your first contest. Let it be a baptism of fire, Jinx. Let your anger flow. Let your hatred boil over. Let your inner self feed your strength, and guide your hand. Allow yourself to be free."
He took a final drag of his cigarette, then flung the remainder aside. He stood from his chair and moved slowly towards the door. The scratching had all but faded away, while the sounds of movement slowed themselves to a mild hush. He drew closer with each step, then stopped almost a dozen feet away from the door. The bar had completely emptied itself by now, leaving only this man and Jinx, who still shifted about on the other side of the door.
"... I can't just give in to... can't give...”
“No, Jinx doesn't need you to give... Jinx can take... Jinx can take from you, take from Boris... Jinx will soon take from Scarlet and Dasha... Jinx will take everything from them and leave them with pain... Jinx likes pain, likes pain more than a teddy bear, and Jinx will share her pain with her opponent Boris... Jinx will even share with her secret inter-self-friend Julie..."
"Friend, Jinx? Is this woman your friend when she tries to harm you? When she tries to injure you and take all that you have, and take control of you? Do you trust her soft words, her inviting smile? No, Jinx... there are no friends. There are only those who want to hurt you. Those who want to give you pain. And you are to take their pain and force it back upon them all tenfold. Your goal is to hurt them back, Jinx. Hurt them back."
The woman seemed almost enthusiastic about the whole matter, about how calmly they spoke about injuring another human being. The woman's face mirrored the outer rage of Jinx. She enjoyed it. She reveled in it. And Jinx was the perfect instrument of pain. A perfect storm rolled into the form of a woman. Her smirk grew into a full smile, a twisted smile devoid of any genuine joy or happiness. It was a smile of what was to come, a symbolic gesture of the things Jinx could accomplish.
"............. No....... Julie isn't Jinx friend... Julie will hurt Jinx just like others will try to hurt her... like Boris will hurt her... but Jinx is smarter, Jinx has a plan and Jinx won't get hurt this time... Jinx will hurt Julie first...she'll hurt Julie and keep hurting her... hurt her til she likes pain, likes hurt... then Jinx will hurt others... Jinx will hurt Boris... Soon Jinx will pull out Sasha Foote’s hair... Sasha will like pain too... Jinx will hurt Sasha Foote... hurt Sasha bad, very bad... Jinx will take her hair, rip it off her head and use it to hurt her!!!!!!!!!!!!........ Jinx... has no friends... no friends at all... Jinx only has enemies... people who want to hurt Jinx..."
"No, there are no friends, Jinx. There are only those who seek to harm you. But you... you must harm them first. You must do to them what they all want to do to you, Jinx. They want to hurt you, to give you pain. They don't care about you, Jinx... none of them do. They're coming to harm you. What will you do to them?"
Her evil smile widened as she took another step forward, as if she could actually see right through the textured glass, and know he was looking into Jinx' eyes.
"...... Soon Jinx will hurt them all... Jinx will hurt them one by one... Jinx will become a champion... then Jinx will hurt them some more, hurt Julie more... hurt Boris more... hurt Father Nathan more... JINX WILL HURT THEM ALL AND KEEP HURTING THEM TIL THEY LIKE HURT!!!! TIL THEY LIKE PAIN!!!!............................... til they like pain.................................... till they like pain........................."
The man nodded slowly, then straightened his jacket and turned away from the door. Still unblinking, he walked back over to the table he was at, and laid down several bills. He would then lift a small glass from the table which was filled with a light brown liquid, and drink it down in one dose. The burning feeling in his throat brought a strange gleam to his eyes, as he took a final look back at Jinx. He then turned away for the final time, and made his way to the back of the building, exiting out the same way as everyone else. He wondered why the others seemed so frightened. Perhaps it was something they saw. He'd leave it to the unknown as he disappeared into the night. Meanwhile, Jinx still pawed at the outside of the door, his hand up and scratching lightly at the glass, while her words drifted away with the wind.
Your poker face is quite impressive,
But mine is so much better,
The sweat is dripping down your face,
Your collar is getting wetter.
I stare you down and watch your eyes,
They're darting to and fro,
The pressure builds beneath the surface,
The cracks begin to show.
I catch a glimpse of your frustration,
As you hesitate to move,
To fold the card that lines your fate,
Whether you win or lose.