Post by Tyler Scott on Oct 23, 2017 14:49:41 GMT -5
The rusty screwdriver gouges at the orange flesh.
Tyler Scott crouches in corner of a dark garden close to the PCW Arena. Only the light from the television escaping through the curtains provides enough illumination to work. Five large misshapen pumpkins lined up in a row, ready to be prepared for All Hallows’ Eve.
The first pumpkin, rather than the usual tradition of sliding the top, he carefully leaves a couple of joining sections to form a halo.
“I am not reborn or saved. Those who are reliant on others for help are weak and pathetic. I have been to the very bottom of existence. I lost everything that meant something to me – my career, loved ones. And yet; I did not turn to anyone else for aid. No one is my saviour other than me. I still have my self-respect. Even without a single penny to my name; possessions confined to a stolen children’s backpack and a single set of clothing; I never ever lost my dignity. I still had the hunger and determination to put my life back together.”
Tyler carves out the face of Gabriel into the skin of the pumpkin – no straight lines – rough, wonky and jagged.
“Gabriel – you are pitiful. You sing the graces of your Lord Seromine. You believe he has saved you but you have only succeeded in selling your soul. You freely acknowledge that you are in his debt. No man should ever be indebted to another. I would rather lose everything and maintain my identity than hide away under the control of someone else.”
“I have known Rick Majors for a long, long time. We have competed fiercely on many occasions. Rick Majors is a man who stood by his values and fought for his family – an honourable competitor and good man.”
“I respect Rick Majors. I do not respect Gabriel.”
“False deities cannot protect against real threats. You cannot hide from me.”
Tyler turns the screwdriver upside down and, with the handle, smashes in the top of the pumpkin. The halo caves in and exposes the true soft interior. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a candle and inserts inside the pumpkin.
There was something very ironic about carving out a pumpkin depiction of so-called Razor Blade with the bluntest tool he could find. There was nothing sharp about Razor Blade - clumsy and stiff in the ring, boring and repetitive on the microphone. Rusty screwdriver would be a much more appropriate name for that buffoon.
Tyler stabbed away at the pumpkin, puncturing hole after hole in an unrefined brutal fashion. The multiple incisions add up to form a stupid goatee. Two tiny eye holes later and the latest pumpkin is done. Tyler hangs Razor Blade from the tree, dangling helplessly. He allows himself a little chuckle to himself as he draws the comparison between Razor Blade’s languishing career.
Yet another pumpkin – this time with more blemishes and scrapes on its husk than any others. Beaten and bashed, this pumpkin appears to take more punishment than most. It’s always taken a fair few blows before Tyler Scott had even laid his hands on it.
“Tyrone Smith – a man with his own demons. I can appreciate that. We all have them, some more than others. Your addiction is pain-killers. My addiction was alcohol.”
“What exactly is the source of your addiction Tyrone? Is it simply biological – your body broken by the years of competing. Are the drugs the only thing keeping your withered body from giving up completely.”
“Or is it purely psychological? Is it just your brain reacting to cues or mental tension? Is it your brain’s way to coping with your stressful, poor excuse for a life?”
“It matters not what the reasons for your pathetic weaknesses are. Whilst I am understanding to your troubles, I certainly won’t be offering you a shoulder to cry on.”
The difference between you and me, Tyrone, is that you are still addicted whereas I am an ex-addict. I am reformed and charged. I changed my life for the better. You are still sinking in self-pity."
Tyler Scott slides the screwdriver through the soft spongy flesh. The pumpkin can hardly hold itself together. Far too easy.
He turns to the biggest, roundest, plumpest of all the pumpkins. Bulging at the waistline, and a small squished head – the perfect representation of Hiroshi Yukio. Rather than a face, Tyler Scott begins to carve a symbol. Slashing away at angles, a Japanese character begins to appear. Tyler, having wrestled all around the world in his youth, had picked up a basic Japanese vocabulary from his time training in renowned dojos. As time has gone by, much of his knowledge of the Japanese language had faded, but a few memorable terms have remained:
Honour – Meiyo 名誉
Fight – Tatakai 戦い
Victory – Shori 勝利
Between the grooves, he hacks the pumpkin flesh away. Once finished, it reveals another Japanese word that he remembers vividly, which came immediately to mind.
失う
‘Ushinau’ – translated into English as ‘Lose’ – personified by Hiroshi Yukio
The last pumpkin – the sturdiest and thickest skinned of them all. At first, the screwdriver struggles to make a dent through the pumpkin and leave only superficial scars. But Tyler Scott knows that, when it comes to Grimm, determination is key.
“Phinehas Dillinger. Grimm – the man of a thousand monikers. Known as the Crimson Demon, The Hangnail Horror, The Destroyer of Moonshine, The Phantom of Bullshit amongst other ridiculous nicknames.”
Tyler Scott keeps scratching away, gradually digging deeper into the skin of Grimm.
“A man who believes that by using long words it somehow makes him superior to everyone else. Grimm – you have spoken bollocks ever since I have known you. I can only assume you have been spouting the same Ye Olde English crap since your mother spat you out. You were probably telling stupid stories when your umbilical cord was being snipped."
"But I can see right through you Phinehas. You may be a tough competitor. You may be hard to break through, but you are only human like the rest of us. Just as fragile and just as mortal."
Tyler finally breaks through the hard outer of the pumpkin through to the middle. As he carves out Grimm’s frosty face, he finishes the final of five pumpkins.
Amongst a pile of willow branches, Tyler Scott sits. He pulls and twists the limbs around one another – manipulating joints and wrenching ligaments as he loves to do in the wrestling ring. Slowly, a figure emerges with two legs, two arms and a skull. Scott carefully continues to wrap the canes around the branches, forming depth. The figure grows, muscles emerge and finer details become defined.
The wickerman stands proud in the middle of the lawn as Tyler Scott looms over it, surveying his work. Content with his efforts, he slips his right hand into his deep trench coat pocket and rummages around amongst the numerous accumulated items. After identifying the object he wanted, he pulls out a small matchbox. He slides out he tray, takes out a match and strikes.
Tyler then proceeds to walk around the property, alighting all the carved pumpkins. One by one, the faces of his competitors appear from the darkness. He places the final pumpkin on the porchway and ignites. With a short sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door, he immediately turns and strolls away from the house. As the burning pumpkins form a menacing circle, Tyler strides past the wickerman, strikes a final match and tosses it at the base. The grass below immediately kindles and the flames rise up the legs of the wickerman until the whole figure burns and crackles.
The father of the family emerges from the front door, flickering pumpkins surround the porch way. A burning wicker man scorches the lawn. The bewildered man looks around wondering who had done this and why.
Tyler Scott sneaks off into the night. This house does not belong to him. Not yet. But he will soon make his mark.
The five pumpkins, burning from within, slowly disintegrate and melt into a mush.
As the pumpkins dissolve into nothingness – the wickerman burns brightly in the centre. He might be self-destructive – but Tyler Scott will take you down and outlast you all.
There are no treats here.
