Post by Murdoc on Jun 20, 2016 22:00:51 GMT -5
I can’t expect you to understand.
The throaty rasp of the Unclean Beast.
Who would?
A room in the back of a dilapidated homestead. At one time, you could almost picture it to be scenic. Pleasant, even. The memory of Game Nights and holiday lingers like a persistent stink in the fabric. Ammonia, cigarette smoke and happiness. Ghosts murmuring words of some un-intelligible sort, whispers and hisses sharp enough to raise the hairs on the back of one’s neck.
The television is broken, but the image of a wrestling ring with once colorful personalities is perpetually etched into the glass. Haunting images flicker in and out of view. A man, burly and strong but with eyes filled with compassion and understanding. A short, squat woman ... face marked with disapproval and scorn. He lies on a couch on his side facing the television ... Murdoc seated cross-legged in the gap where his knees are bent; he’s much too big for the couch he lays upon.
The front door opens with a subtle creak, dispersing the ghost.
In through the front door walks the same bearded man. Baseball cap lined with glinting fiber glass. He takes his boots off carefully at the door, the same glass affixed nearly permanently to the leather. No amount of washing will take them away. Just tweezers and blood. Murdoc instinctively reaches towards his foot, fingering at a phantom piece of glass embedded in the heel. The spectre walks slumped, worn and tired. It appears the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but onwards he moves. Never once offering a word of complaint.
She catches him coming in the door. And with no breath in between ... begins.
Mouthing obscenities soundlessly, her frame begins to grow larger and larger with each utterance. Soon, she is towering over the once proud man. The roles have changed. He looks frail and weak. Hair receding and face growing gaunt, thin ... dying. The life he once had, the spark he once possessed ... oozing from his body through every single pore.
Sucked dry.
He was a good man.
A great father and a loving husband.
A great father and a loving husband.
The husk, at times, offers faint glimmers of the man he once was. A quip. A certain twinkle in the eye. A piece of the infectious laugh that turned even the darkest nights bright. But those moments were few and far between.
Funny as could be.
Even when he escaped ... all the kings’ men couldn’t put Marcus Murdoc, Sr. back together again.
He was a proud man ...a TITAN ... and you killed him.
YOU BLED MY FATHER DRY!
The roar of his voice immediately engulfs the homestead in violent flames. Climbing the walls, scorching the wallpaper and exposing the metal wiring of the home. Stripping it to the bare-bones essentials, turning fabric to heaps of ashes. Pictures and memories destroyed in an instant by the flash fire.
And what you left in his place is ME.
In the place of a good man, you left a man filled with hate.
Hate for all the things that will NEVER be, hate for all the memories you stole from me. Regret for all the things I never got to say, and for the things I never got to hear. And as I grew up, the only thing I kept telling myself ... the only thing that kept me pushing forward was that fire. That hatred. That ANGER. That decision that I made so long ago that I would not end up like my father.
I would not end up working myself to the bone for someone who could not be satisfied.
That I wouldn’t be fattened and lied to and stuffed with complacency, only to end up devoured whole!
And lo and behold ...
... Murdoc in a PCW ring. The cheers of the fans. The promises from the company. Lies. Sweet, swet lies ... buttering him up. But the entire time, that little splinter in the back of his heart. That singular shard, that PROMISE made, kept the cinders stoked. Kept the heat up, kept the flames burning.
... the same thing happened to me.
It’s happened to me, hasn’t it?
I didn’t know when to say enough. I couldn’t see through the lies and the promises and the yes-sir and no-sir. I was given some dangling carrot and now I’ve wasted my entire adult life on something only meant to bleed me dry. Malave, your Chick-n-Strip restaurants are built with MY dreams. You fans, your television program is offered with MY blood and sweat. And every single member of the PCW roster ... your household name status is given to you by MY sacrifice. I WAS THE ONE THAT STARTED THIS! ME! I brought Pure Class Wrestling from some podunk third rate, 3:30 am timeslot on public access to the national powerhouse that it is today! My notoriety, my hard work and MY LIFE!
And what do I have to show for it?
Replicas of fake gold belts on the mantle. Statues bought for 100 dollars at the local softball trophy maker’s shop. Things I can buy online for 50 bucks, that’s what my hard work got me. And you won’t stop until I’m bled dry. Until you can wring every ounce of vitality from my soul like leaching the marrow from my bones and I WILL NOT BE A PARTY TO IT ANY LONGER!
Showtime, you’re right. You said it yourself. Everyone has had to deal with me. Every single person in authority has had to deal with me over a decade and now that you just randomly decided to take the reins, it’s your turn. And that’s perfectly fine with me. You decided to be proactive, take me on face to face. Showtime, you don’t have the STONES to stop me. You don’t have the ability to stop me. What makes you think I’m going to play by your fucking rules?
And this week, you’ve put yourself directly in front of me.
I don’t care about Dan Fierce; I dropped him last week.
I don’t care about Grimm; he can’t give me what I want.
But you can and you’re in my way.
I told you what I wanted.
You want to be the guy that lifted the Curse of Murdoc? Fine, you can hang that fake medal on YOUR wall ... just as soon as you give me what I want. Give me what I want and I will be done with this place. I will be done and you will NEVER have to deal with me again and you can go on doing your patriotic Star-Spangled bullshit.
The Curse of Murdoc ... the anger. The rage. All the unanswered questions and the regret. The loss.
All of them are about to come crashing down on your head.
Do the right thing.