A Tragic and Beautiful Descent Part 2: Absolution
Mar 28, 2018 2:34:05 GMT -5
Kyle Shane, Dominator / Mortimer, and 1 more like this
Post by Joka on Mar 28, 2018 2:34:05 GMT -5
When I was a child, I heard voices. Some would sing and some would scream You soon find you have few choices I learned the voices died with me.
When I was a child, I'd sit for hours
staring into open flame. Something in it had a power, could barely tear my eyes away.
staring into open flame. Something in it had a power, could barely tear my eyes away.
All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep 'em on a leash
Hozier - Arsonist's Lullaby
Hozier - Arsonist's Lullaby
The past couple of years have been a sorry, sordid, sort of tale for me. It's never been an unusual prospect for the infamous Joka to go walkabout for any number of weeks and months, having a proclivity to lose ones mind tends to assure fantastical flights of fancy in far away places. Don't mistake my metaphor, as I don't hold myself in the same regard as an Aboriginal from Australia. I use the word walkabout as a way of putting a nice, shiny coat of paint over what is an otherwise rusted piece of shit. My multiple disappearances aren't noble trips into a wilderness to uphold some adolescent tradition, but rather a self deprecating trip into the wilderness of my own mind, and the only wild places I ever visit in the really-real world are concrete jungles where it's easy to hide. I was born and raised in the south and I assume normal people would postulate that I've gone camping a time or two. It's true that I've spent time in the forests and by the lakes of Oklahoma, hell I lived out of an old haunted sewer like some kind of super evolved adolescent samurai lizard. As I write this, a single memory keeps looming over me like a cartoon thundercloud, raining heavy tears of yesteryears gone by. The nice little doctor that wants to plug nanoscale electrodes into my brain and festoon my cranium with all manor of new-fangled gadgets and gizmos is trying to force those same memories out in an attempt to not only rid me of their petulant stink once and for all, but also to rid me of the voices in my head. I guess it's not a bad thing that she gets to further her career as a leader in psychological treatment. I don't mind the ulterior motives in the slightest. She wants her little experiment into VR exposure therapy to work.
"Do you think this will work?" a voice whispers in my ear. I've been so lost in writing this "homework" for Dr. Corrigan that I didn't even stop to acknowledge the voice. I've grown so accustomed to the little voice in my head that sometimes, I mistake it for my own thoughts. I carry on with the story that I'm bringing to life on the paper in front of me. The good doctor has informed me that the VR exposure therapy is actually a combination of two different experimental technologies that are totally revolutionizing the way scientists look at the human mind. More specifically, the way they look at the electrical reactions inside the neural network of the brain. From what I've been able to understand so far, they will put me into a medically induced coma with my eyes pried open with specula so that my brain receives the images coming through the virtual reality headset. While they play the simulated scene on the VR headset, another scientist will run a current through gold wires smaller than the smallest human hair that have been drilled through my skull and connected to certain areas of my brain. Straight up messing with the mind and making it do whatever they want, like reliving memories or fooling the brain into thinking it's awake in a simulated reality. It's all a bit over my head but according to Phoebe, I have to write out a detailed version of the worst moments in my life so they can try to build a 3D scenario in the VR headset that matches it. The homework for this week has been a detailed account of the abuse I endured at the hands of my mother and the many step"fathers" she brought home to help her torment her own child.
"Do you think this will work, Byron?" a voice whispers in my ear again. I fully acknowledge the voice this time as it shakes me from my concentration. Even with my mind racing and Joka constantly thrashing my focus away from the story unfolding in front of me, I've still written quite a bit.
"I don't think it'll work at all, Clown. I hope it'll work..."
"You think it'll be that easy to get rid of me?" He interjects, as the voice echoes in my mind. "You got another thing coming, little Badass Byron, if you think it'll be that easy to flush me away." The clown quips. His voice is grating, like nails running along a chalk board or metal being scraped along glass. A noticeable chill runs up my spine and I know he feels it too. He feels everything, he knows everything. Funny how that works. When he takes over, I'm out of the picture completely, stuck in some kind of perpetual dreamland like I'm comatose. There have been a few times where I have woken up from the dream only to find that I couldn't control the body I was stuck in, watching all the horrors wrought before me by this unseen specter in my mind controlling the strings.
"Oh... little "Badass" Byron Belasko, a man who fears nothing and no one, chilled to the bone. If only the world could see you now. It's ME they fear... not you!" He growls at me as he cackles into my ear. The sadistic guffaw that I know all too well at this point is now a bane of my existence, only reminding me of the terribly macabre actions that this monster has committed in my name.
"There's only one thing I fear in this world, Clown..."
"Me?!?" He shouts, as my head is rocked by the booming voice. It takes a second of rubbing my temple and my brow to subdue the ringing as he breathes heavy in my mind, anticipating my next words. I start to giggle and the breathing slows to a stop. My laughter gets louder and louder and I can feel him in my mind. The rage in him building and boiling, his patience running out with each chuckle expelled from my lips.
"I know, better than anyone, how much you love a good joke. Hell, we're both a couple of real Jokers, after-all. However, you know better than anybody that I don't... like it... when people... LAUGH AT ME!" He screams into my ear. His Christopher Walken-esque pauses in his sentence should have signaled to me that an outburst was coming. At this point in my career, the signature pauses in both of our sentences are like our own little silent catchphrase. However, the shock of the outburst actually causes me to break the pen in my hand. Joka notices this and begins laughing hysterically at me. I try to rub my eyes and my brow to silence the laughter but his guffaw continues to get louder and louder. I reach down, my lips pursed together tightly, and begin rubbing the stubble around my mouth in frustration. All of my attempts to silence him are futile as the volume of the laughter in my head continues to rise unabated.
"Shut up..." I whisper aloud as the laughter is haunting my every move. Each uproar of laughter is accompanied by strange voices mixed in. The cacophony of laughter and incoherent babbling bringing me to a breaking point. My hand slams down onto the table and in one flush move, I sweep it of all loose items. Without thinking or planning, I stand straight up and violently push my head into the hardwood of the table. I was trying to knock myself out but instead, I only succeeded in splitting the table in two and splitting my head wide open. I can feel the blood beginning to pour over my face. Being a masochist of sorts, a sense of pleasure floods my entire body. Like that first hit of weed or that first line of cocaine. The sweet, sweet pleasure begins to overtake me like an unstoppable body high that brings a wry smile to my face as I lay on the floor of my studio apartment, pouring blood everywhere.
The laughter stops.
"Ooooh yeah... that's the stuff..."
N'ought but a trail of blood spatters cover the floor as I crawl into the bathroom. I pull myself to my feet as I turn on the light and rush to the sink. I turn on the water and for the first time, I see it. My hands are covered in black ink and my fingers are covered in blood.
"What have I done?"
"You put y'er face back on. Y'er true face..." He whispers to me in a loving voice. My gaze slowly makes its way to the mirror and I see it. My eyes and mouth are covered in the black ink and the blood from my head has dripped down and covered my cheeks. Without warning, a single tear falls from my eye and rolls down my face. As it falls, I look down and catch it as I stare at the shiny drop sitting in the palm of my black and red stained hand.
"What do think will happen when you get rid of me? Huh?! Do you think you'll do the talk show circuit? Travel the country giving motivational speeches with the Doc. Or maybe she'll parade you around the country as her successful little experiment! You know she's only in it for the duckets, right little clown? She doesn't care if y'er cured in the end. She only cares about that great big, green dollar!" Joka fumes as I continue staring at my hand, with even more tears falling into it.
"Maybe you and the Doc can fall in love. She can be y'er replacement for Faith. You remember Faith, right? The greatest love story of PWR. Oh when you went away, I did some dirty things to her... and I laughed when she went screaming from me in terror. Maybe you and the Doc will fall in love and you can finally settle down. Have a nice little house on a street with a bunch of other nice little houses. I can see it now. Little Byron, with a picket fence and a mailbox shaped like a fish!" Joka exclaims with a fevered excitement as my head slowly raises to the mirror to metaphorically look him in the eyes as I stare at my own reflection.
"No..."
"No. That's right, Byron. Y'er not a househusband or a trophy boyfriend... or even a good person. Y'er the sadomasochistic psychopath of PCW. Y'er the berserker; an unchained monster who punishes and hurts anyone who stands in front of him. Y'er the man who curb-stomped a mans head into a bumper in Deathcore Wrestling. Y'er the man who ripped off a pound of flesh from Crystals forehead with a cheese grater in Genocide Wrestling. There is no absolution for you..." He rambles on as my mind wonders away. I could hear the words but couldn't make out what he was barking into my ear. My mind stuck on that one word.
"Absolution..."
"What? Did you say something, Byron?" He questions as I stare into the mirror with a smile curving at the corner of my mouth. I place my ink stained, blood drenched hand onto the mirror and lean in closer.
"Absolution. Y'er right, clown. There is no absolution for me. I can't force anyone to forgive me, or even you, for what we've done over the years."
"There ya go, Byron. Now you are starting to make sense and..." He replies but I quickly interrupt him mid sentence.
"But I can forgive you..."
My head cocks to the side in a show of confusion as I can feel the discombobulation emanating from him.
"I forgive you, clown. I forgive you for killing my cousin, Christina De La Cruz. Monster may not forgive you for killing her because he loved her deeply. She was his soulmate. Darren has reason not to forgive you for killing his wife... but I do."
"But..." He whimpers pathetically as I continue.
"I forgive you for abusing and torturing my first love, Faith. She may not forgive you but I do. I forgive you for throwing away every friendship I've ever had and burning ever bridge you could. Enforcer, Diamond Stud, Inkt, Ryan Pugh, Bobby Backdoor. It's amazing Darren Silvaira has stuck with me for this long. They may not forgive you... but I do."
"What... what is this? He whimpers out as I get louder to wash out his voice.
"I forgive you, Joka. You were imprisoned in my mind. It's not y'er fault you were manifested as an alternate personality of mine. You just wanted to come out and play. I forgive you for everything you've done against me. You only ever came out because I was weak. I had a weak mind and you made me strong. But I don't need y'er strength anymore. I don't need you... anymore."
"You can't do this..." He mutters with a shaky voice.
"I forgive you and absolve you of all y'er evil deeds. With you gone, they will be my evil deeds and I will take responsibility for the both of us. I forgive you, Clown. Enjoy y'er time in this head, Joka, because y'er time is drawing to a close."
I pause and stare into the mirror. Nothing. No voices. No heavy breathing in my ear. No sadistic cackling tormenting me. My hand slides down the mirror and I turn to walk away. I don't know what it was that compelled me to look but I gave the mirror one last glance as my hand rested on the light switch. A smile comes over my face and a giggle escapes my mouth as I notice the smudge of black and red from my hand somewhat resembles a skull. I turn the light off and go back to doing my homework for Dr. Corrigan as a smile stays on my face for the rest of the evening.
