Post by Deleted on Oct 9, 2015 19:47:57 GMT -6
The Good, The Bad, and The Backdoor
“Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
-
A hole.
Perhaps not a hole, but a box. A box in the ground, a curious looking box – plain white, no lettering, nothing distinguish it from any other box. So just a regular, plain, old box. But it’s in the ground. Follow me? Down the rabbit-hole, and into the ground, there is a box, and within that box is something terrifying. For everyone, that item, being or thing is different. For the likes of Chris Styles, maybe it’s an IQ test. For the likes of Blair Buchannan or Hunter Valentyne, perhaps it’s the silence of not speaking. Whatever that object is, we all have one, and it is buried deep within our subconscious. Most people neglect this part of themselves, refusing to address their problems, refusing to progress.
When you refuse to move forward, you’re only moving back. Every day you choose not to live, you die, and every time you refuse to move up in the world, you move down. It’s a duality. In life, there’s always a ying and a yang. Balance. Balance is what causes this world from plunging into mayhem, into anarchy.
Which explains why I can draw the conclusion that the world is severely unbalanced.
“I told you, I don’t know fuckin’ anything!”
“Well, Don De Luca thinks otherwise.”
My hands trembled, sweat cascaded down my left eyebrow, trickling past my eye and onto my cheek. I inhale, drawing life back into my body, trying to make sense of this scenario, trying to find a way out. And then I looked at him.
“You’re a boy. You’re a kid, you aren’t even a man. Why won’t you speak? Why won’t you fucking speak!?” In a violent motion, I brought my hand across his face. I didn’t hit him out of anger, well, not anger towards him. I struck him out of frustration, out of anger towards me, out of anger towards the world.
I was courting De Luca’s daughter, and he wanted me to prove my worth to him, prove that I could be man enough for his daughter. For whatever reason, I feel that Maria would not want me in this capacity. This wasn’t the man she fell in love with. This was a different animal. A puppet.
“Who’s the snitch?” I screamed, his answer being a shake of the head. The abandoned warehouse was well guarded. The Don’s men were at every doorway, sealing the perimeter shut, as if the cops would have the balls to do anything anyways. The mafia were the powers that be, the invisible hand, nobody was willing to stand up to them. Nobody in this town had an ounce of courage, including myself. We were alone, however, just me, and this street kid who I was interrogating. I was given instructions not to kill him, but to ‘extract information.’ I feel as if killing this kid would be an easier task.
Leaning over, I began trifling through the bag of ‘equipment’ provided to me. Knives, guns, you name it. I picked a screwdriver for my first tool. In one thrust, I jammed the screwdriver into the bound man’s hand, penetrating his skin. He screamed in pain as I began twisting it, driving it deeper. Blood spewed out, everywhere. I was just wearing jeans, so his blood began to saturate my bare skin, it was better than it getting on my clothes.
“You gonna talk now?”
“Go to hell you fuckin’ suave.” Negatory ghost rider. Lucky for me, he had another hand, which I drove the screwdriver into. This time I didn’t feel as bad, because the douchebag called me a suave. You know, it’s sort of funny, days before my match against Bobby Backdoor, I was torturing a young man, which is what I planned to do to Bobby.
It’s funny how things change in such a short period of time. A couple months ago, when I was getting sober, I would’ve been preaching about forgiveness, talking about how talented Bobby is. Fuck that guy, though. Bobby Backdoor’s greatest accomplishment was defeating me. He won the New Edge World Title in a different time than I did. Not all title reigns are created equal. I won the title in the days of Aaron Abraham, Al Envy, Hunter Valentyne, Johnny Stylez, Roger Wright, Ryan Pugh…the list goes on. Sure, is beating Valora and all them cool? Sure. But they’re perpetual Xtreme Champions, if you catch my drift.
“Is that all you got?” The young man spat out, a glimmer of terror trickling in his eyes. Terror is perhaps the most animalistic of all human emotions. When we get terrified, we have three options: we fight, we run or we freeze. Unfortunately for this young man, he was limited to the last of the three. Picking up a folder from the same bin I got the screwdriver, I skim through the man’s biography. It would be nice to know who I’m torturing. Carlos Alvarez, twenty two, a drug pusher, nothing too big, went to jail once but apparently has some sort of clue on who snitched on the Don’s men, causing a couple of them to get shot up in the streets. For living relatives, it says he has only a younger sister who is nineteen, her name is Carmen.
“You have a younger sister?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Carmen, right? I bet she’s beautiful. Tell me, do you know if she’s a virgin?” The question every brother loves to think about his baby sister. Carlos’ fear turned to rage as he leaned in his chair, trying to break free; not a chance. “You know, we don’t have a lot of leverage on you, but if I were you, I’d probably start talking, unless you want some less-than-desirable things to happen to your baby sister.” I pray to God this dude starts talking. I may not be the best guy, but kidnapping a drug pusher’s sister? That’s a little low, even for me.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
“Alright. The guy’s name is Paul, he worked in the warehouse, he overheard some things, and ended up letting it slip to some of the cops who actually do their jobs here. It was an accident, I swear, Paul’s a good guy, he’s one of us.” His face was flushed from the brown hue he maintained, now he was pale. He looked exhausted, broken even, but he made the right decision. “Apparently…he isn’t one of us.” I heard a voice behind me, followed by a slow applause. The Don. He was flanked by two men, dressed in fine Italian leather as always. He smiled at me, putting his hand on my bare shoulder.
“Mr. Judas. I have to say, you’re more crafty and darker than I thought. I may have a use for you after all. But, the job isn’t done yet. This man is of little use to me. Especially with…er…no working hands. I like the whole crucifix angle you did though, very powerful. Dispose of him.” One of his men handed me the gun. I had half a mind to blow the Don’s brains to the other side of this warehouse.
“W-wait! I told you what you wanted! You can’t kill me! You-“
“We can. And we will. Do it, Judas.” I pressed the gun to Carlos’ head and closed my eyes. What happened next, I’m not proud of. I drove the bullet through his skull, causing a portrait of blood to appear on the wall behind us. His lifeless body slumped over, deprived of any sort of being. Carlos was dead, because I was in love. “You know, Judas, you’re gonna have to learn a lesson that some of us are above everything. Carlos, he meant nothing, so I erased him. Who do you think would miss him? No one. Everyone is running scared of us. No one will speak out for him. What you did today was show strength, that’s the type of man I need my daughter to marry. A few more tasks, and you’ll get my blessing. Let me ask you something, why are you wasting your time in New Edge Wrestling? The place is dead. Dead in the sense that there are no good men. Why are you there?”
“Someone has to try to save New Edge.”
“Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
-
A hole.
Perhaps not a hole, but a box. A box in the ground, a curious looking box – plain white, no lettering, nothing distinguish it from any other box. So just a regular, plain, old box. But it’s in the ground. Follow me? Down the rabbit-hole, and into the ground, there is a box, and within that box is something terrifying. For everyone, that item, being or thing is different. For the likes of Chris Styles, maybe it’s an IQ test. For the likes of Blair Buchannan or Hunter Valentyne, perhaps it’s the silence of not speaking. Whatever that object is, we all have one, and it is buried deep within our subconscious. Most people neglect this part of themselves, refusing to address their problems, refusing to progress.
When you refuse to move forward, you’re only moving back. Every day you choose not to live, you die, and every time you refuse to move up in the world, you move down. It’s a duality. In life, there’s always a ying and a yang. Balance. Balance is what causes this world from plunging into mayhem, into anarchy.
Which explains why I can draw the conclusion that the world is severely unbalanced.
“I told you, I don’t know fuckin’ anything!”
“Well, Don De Luca thinks otherwise.”
My hands trembled, sweat cascaded down my left eyebrow, trickling past my eye and onto my cheek. I inhale, drawing life back into my body, trying to make sense of this scenario, trying to find a way out. And then I looked at him.
“You’re a boy. You’re a kid, you aren’t even a man. Why won’t you speak? Why won’t you fucking speak!?” In a violent motion, I brought my hand across his face. I didn’t hit him out of anger, well, not anger towards him. I struck him out of frustration, out of anger towards me, out of anger towards the world.
I was courting De Luca’s daughter, and he wanted me to prove my worth to him, prove that I could be man enough for his daughter. For whatever reason, I feel that Maria would not want me in this capacity. This wasn’t the man she fell in love with. This was a different animal. A puppet.
“Who’s the snitch?” I screamed, his answer being a shake of the head. The abandoned warehouse was well guarded. The Don’s men were at every doorway, sealing the perimeter shut, as if the cops would have the balls to do anything anyways. The mafia were the powers that be, the invisible hand, nobody was willing to stand up to them. Nobody in this town had an ounce of courage, including myself. We were alone, however, just me, and this street kid who I was interrogating. I was given instructions not to kill him, but to ‘extract information.’ I feel as if killing this kid would be an easier task.
Leaning over, I began trifling through the bag of ‘equipment’ provided to me. Knives, guns, you name it. I picked a screwdriver for my first tool. In one thrust, I jammed the screwdriver into the bound man’s hand, penetrating his skin. He screamed in pain as I began twisting it, driving it deeper. Blood spewed out, everywhere. I was just wearing jeans, so his blood began to saturate my bare skin, it was better than it getting on my clothes.
“You gonna talk now?”
“Go to hell you fuckin’ suave.” Negatory ghost rider. Lucky for me, he had another hand, which I drove the screwdriver into. This time I didn’t feel as bad, because the douchebag called me a suave. You know, it’s sort of funny, days before my match against Bobby Backdoor, I was torturing a young man, which is what I planned to do to Bobby.
It’s funny how things change in such a short period of time. A couple months ago, when I was getting sober, I would’ve been preaching about forgiveness, talking about how talented Bobby is. Fuck that guy, though. Bobby Backdoor’s greatest accomplishment was defeating me. He won the New Edge World Title in a different time than I did. Not all title reigns are created equal. I won the title in the days of Aaron Abraham, Al Envy, Hunter Valentyne, Johnny Stylez, Roger Wright, Ryan Pugh…the list goes on. Sure, is beating Valora and all them cool? Sure. But they’re perpetual Xtreme Champions, if you catch my drift.
“Is that all you got?” The young man spat out, a glimmer of terror trickling in his eyes. Terror is perhaps the most animalistic of all human emotions. When we get terrified, we have three options: we fight, we run or we freeze. Unfortunately for this young man, he was limited to the last of the three. Picking up a folder from the same bin I got the screwdriver, I skim through the man’s biography. It would be nice to know who I’m torturing. Carlos Alvarez, twenty two, a drug pusher, nothing too big, went to jail once but apparently has some sort of clue on who snitched on the Don’s men, causing a couple of them to get shot up in the streets. For living relatives, it says he has only a younger sister who is nineteen, her name is Carmen.
“You have a younger sister?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Carmen, right? I bet she’s beautiful. Tell me, do you know if she’s a virgin?” The question every brother loves to think about his baby sister. Carlos’ fear turned to rage as he leaned in his chair, trying to break free; not a chance. “You know, we don’t have a lot of leverage on you, but if I were you, I’d probably start talking, unless you want some less-than-desirable things to happen to your baby sister.” I pray to God this dude starts talking. I may not be the best guy, but kidnapping a drug pusher’s sister? That’s a little low, even for me.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
“Alright. The guy’s name is Paul, he worked in the warehouse, he overheard some things, and ended up letting it slip to some of the cops who actually do their jobs here. It was an accident, I swear, Paul’s a good guy, he’s one of us.” His face was flushed from the brown hue he maintained, now he was pale. He looked exhausted, broken even, but he made the right decision. “Apparently…he isn’t one of us.” I heard a voice behind me, followed by a slow applause. The Don. He was flanked by two men, dressed in fine Italian leather as always. He smiled at me, putting his hand on my bare shoulder.
“Mr. Judas. I have to say, you’re more crafty and darker than I thought. I may have a use for you after all. But, the job isn’t done yet. This man is of little use to me. Especially with…er…no working hands. I like the whole crucifix angle you did though, very powerful. Dispose of him.” One of his men handed me the gun. I had half a mind to blow the Don’s brains to the other side of this warehouse.
“W-wait! I told you what you wanted! You can’t kill me! You-“
“We can. And we will. Do it, Judas.” I pressed the gun to Carlos’ head and closed my eyes. What happened next, I’m not proud of. I drove the bullet through his skull, causing a portrait of blood to appear on the wall behind us. His lifeless body slumped over, deprived of any sort of being. Carlos was dead, because I was in love. “You know, Judas, you’re gonna have to learn a lesson that some of us are above everything. Carlos, he meant nothing, so I erased him. Who do you think would miss him? No one. Everyone is running scared of us. No one will speak out for him. What you did today was show strength, that’s the type of man I need my daughter to marry. A few more tasks, and you’ll get my blessing. Let me ask you something, why are you wasting your time in New Edge Wrestling? The place is dead. Dead in the sense that there are no good men. Why are you there?”
“Someone has to try to save New Edge.”