Post by Tyler Scott on Aug 13, 2018 15:05:34 GMT -5
Another bottle of whiskey.
Another pack of high-strength painkillers.
Tyler Scott mixes the two whilst staring up at the living room ceiling.
“I’m in the main event for goodness sake” Tyler talks out loud. “Why the fuck do I feel like this?”
“I have a chance to knock that cocky smirk off Kyle Shane’s arrogant face, and ram his douchebag tongue down his throat. I am one chop away from destroying his voice box so that I don’t have to listen to his stupid whiny voice ever again. Why I am not excited that prospect?”
“I am challenging for the biggest championship in wrestling. I am one win away from becoming the best wrestler in the world. I should be ecstatic. I should be riding a wave of euphoria. So why am I laid here with this a sinking feeling?”
“My entire career I thought I could do this on my own. I believed I was good enough, not only to make a career in professional wrestling but to win championships. Whilst I have had a modest amount of success, there have been many more prevailing setbacks and disappointments. I have been injured. I have lost bookings. I have burnt bridges with promotors. My livelihood was taken from me, followed by my loved ones, my home and my dignity.”
“Yet, I have put myself together again. I came back to Pure Class Wrestling to finish what I started all those years ago I wanted to show people that I still have what it takes. Furthermore, I needed to prove to myself that this wasn’t all for nothing. This hobby, this craft, this way of life – I need it to be worth something.”
“Against the odds, I have fought my way back to up to the top of card.”
"I’ve faced Kyle Shane before. At Living a Legacy, I pushed him all the way. I gave everything I had and it wasn’t enough. Yet, here I am once again. What is the point? If I cannot win the PCW World Championship, is there any point in competing anymore?"
"That one allusive victory has to surpass all the failures. If it doesn’t – if it is an anti-climax – then the one thing I have chased my entire life will be in vain. It can’t be futile. It can’t be meaningless. It is the only thing I have left – the PCW World Championship is everything to me. Being second is the same as being last. Runner up is first placed loser."
“If I can’t win the World title, then…then…I don’t know…”
“What am I saying…I can do this. I can beat Kyle Shane. I can. I can. But…but…”
Tyler’s mood hops up and down between expectant optimism and fearful pessimism. He realises that he is a lose-lose situation.
“But….I haven’t achieved this all by myself…"
“I am not sure exactly how much of this main event run is down to me and how much is due to influence of others. Would I have got here by myself? Probably not…maybe I am only here because of Seromine. His influence and his interference has undoubtedly helped me. His rivalry with Kyle Shane has helped project me forward.”
“But am I just a pawn in Seromine’s game?”
A sudden burst of aggression overcomes Tyler as he punches a cushion half way across the room.
“No…fuck that. I’m nobodies pawn. I’m the one using Seromine. Yeah…that’s right…I’m playing him. I have got what I wanted – a World title shot. Maybe the little extra help – the divine intervention – just got me to the main event slightly quicker. If all it takes is riding on the coat-tails of some psychopathic zealot, then so be it. I will ride those coat-tails all day long. I can jump off at any time. Yeah…I can jump off at any time…unlike Gabriel. I’m not like that little pussy. I can jump off at any time….”
“Besides…what the fuck have I got to be sorry for? People get leg-ups in life all the time. Privileged work-shy millennials inherit wealth from their hard-working parents. The macho bankers and investment funds give jobs for the boys. The establishment promote the brown-nosers up the pecking order. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve worked hard all my life. I have never been handed any opportunities, nor have I expected to receive to receive them. I have tried to maintained my integrity at all times. I have never tried to deceive anyone…apart from myself, possibly.”
Tyler pops a couple more painkillers from the foil wrapping and chucks them, one by one, to the back of his throat.
“Is success in Pure Class Wrestling worth seeking your soul for? Is my pride, my identity and my soul worth he same as gold? Is glory worth the sacrifice of aligning with Seromine?"
Tyler reaches out, grabs the bottle and downs the remaining whiskey.
“Yes…”
“No…”
“Ye…”
“N…”
“Y..”
With that, Tyler’s eyes slowly begin to close. They droop but Tyler resists the temptation to fall asleep. His eyelids widen before dropping again, this time further. Tyler tries again to stay awake but eventually, the tiredness overcomes him. The exhaustion of reality weighs too heavy on him. The pull of darkness is too strong. The freedom of unconsciousness , away from daily struggles, is too appealing. Tyler falls into a sleep. A long, deep sleep.
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Tyler Scott remains in a slumber state. He lays in his tomb, alone. No one has called. No one has missed him. Family, friends, acquaintances – no one cares. It takes four days before anyone realises.
Mary, a concerned elderly neighbour begins to worry. She hasn’t seen Tyler in over four days and, whilst it isn’t uncommon for him to be away for long periods of time, the car is still in the driveway. The curtains have been open for days. Mary decides to knock on his door. She knocks has hard as her fail fists can but there is no answer. It will take much more than a simple tap or nudge to wake Tyler from his slump.
Peering through the kitchen window, Mary sees a sink full of unwashed dishes. Unfinished glasses of drink and discarded plates of food litter the worktops. She moves to the rear of the house, working her way around to the next window – the lounge. There, lying flat on the couch, is the motionless Tyler Scott, with arms crossing his chest. His lips sapped of all moisture. His skin is a pale blue. Next to him, on the coffee table, a scattered array of empty bourbon bottles, and half empty sachets of painkillers. Mary bangs on the window, lightly at first but gradually louder and louder. Tyler does not react leading Mary to think the worst – that her neighbour has passed away.
A deeply religious woman, Mary’s first point of call is not the police or the emergency services. She calls her local pastor, Gabriel, for assistance.
Gabriel, who was not doing anything better with his time when Mary called, came almost immediately. The Pastor peers through the glass and sees the same scene as Mary did – the corpse of Tyler Scott. But Gabriel does not see the same outcome.
Gabriel turns to Mary and says “Our friend has fallen asleep, but I know a holy spirit who can wake him. He will rise again.”
Gabriel looked to the skies, closes his eyes, and summons the spirits. Instantaneously, a ghostly phantom, beaming with hope, appeared next to Gabriel. His presence towered over the mortal Gabriel, with a glowing halo of light emanating from him. Mary is stunned as a feeling of unexplainable warmth and comfort falls over her. Everything in her life that she believed in but had never seen or experienced was suddenly in front of her eyes. In an instance, her faith was explained and justified. She had not experienced such joy before.
Gabriel looks up and says “Seromine…my lord…this man, Tyler Scott, has fallen asleep.”
Seromine looks down at the Pastor and Mary as says “I am Seromine. I am the resurrection of life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after death. Everyone who believes in me shall never die.”
Seromine places his hand over the face Gabriel, and the other over the face of Mary.
“Do you believe in me, Gabriel?”
“Yes my Lord.” Gabriel retorts clearly.
“Do you believe in me, Mary?”
“Yes…my lord.” Mary responds, muffled and incoherent under Seromine’s almighty healing palm.
“Then you shall see my glory!” Seromine realises them both and point towards the house. “Arise…Lazarus”.
The door knob turns slowly and swings open. There, standing in the door way, alive with the glory of Seromine, is Tyler Scott. A wave of health and confidence passes over is body and mind. With a new strength and a new purpose, Tyler emerges.
“Thank you Seromine.”
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Mary, being the almighty gossiping housewife she was, immediately told her friends at church of the miracle that has occurred. Word spread throughout the congregation and throughout the parish of the rising of Lazarus. The story of Seromine rising Tyler Scott from the dead became instant folklore.
Soon, the entire land was talking about Seromine – the miracle maker. Peasants told the farmers. Farmers told customers at the market. Servants told their masters. The gentry told the king’s court.
King Kyle of Shane, upon hearing the gossip of the peasant villagers and the chattering of his royal servants, calls a meeting of his court. The court consisted of his most trusted and loyal advisors. The idea of another leader with a growing following enraged King Kyle. He was the most beloved figure in the whole of the land - how dare anyone challenge him.
“Your Highness, people are taking about a man called Seromine who is performing miracles, bringing men back to life...” A royal advisor, advises.
“What are we going to do?” Another joins in “If he continues to perform these miracles, soon everyone will believe in him”
Yet another nameless and gormless member of the court throws his two pence in “The more people that believe in Seromine, the fewer followers you will have your Highness."
“Quiet!” King Kyle yells, cutting the room to complete silence. “It is all lies. This is obviously idle chit chat.”
“But your Highness, people witnessed Seromine bring Tyler Scott back to life. They are calling him Lazarus. He is alive and well; and walking throughout your castle grounds as we speak.”
King Kyle reacts angrily again “Are you really telling me that there is a man who is able to bring other men back to life?”
“Yes your Highness…”
“No man can perform miracles! I will prove that. There is only one thing to do to stop this madness. We must capture this charlatan Seromine and prove he is nothing but a fraud. We will expose him for what he really is and then kill him in front of all his ‘believers’. Let’s see if he can resurrect himself.” King Kyle chuckles to himself, instigating the rest of his court to join in the laughter, before Kyle slams his fist down on the table. “Bring me Seromine!”.
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An army of King Kyle’s men drag two figures by their arms. A trail of dust is kicked up into the air, as their limp bound feet drag through the sandy soil.
Seromine and Pastor Gabriel are heaved up the wooden stairs and onto the stage. They captured Seromine by luring him into a miracle. Gabriel, there as a loyal disciple, tried to protect his Lord, but was taken hostage too. They were kicked, beaten and lashed.
A mixed crowd bay for blood and mercy in equal quantities as they are both strung up, with thick yarn around their necks. The noose is tightened and the slack drawn. Seromine and Gabriel are yanked into the air, just enough for their toes to reach the floor and take the pressure off the neck.
A trumpet sounds. The crowd parts like the red sea and King Kyle appears on horseback, flanked by two rows of artillery. He slides down from the saddle and climbs the steps. He stares at Gabriel and then Seromine – defiance in both of their eyes.
“So this is the magical miracle man, Seromine. Word has it that you bring men back to life, is this true?” King Kyle enquires.
The stricken Seromine responds. “No one dies if they believe in Seromine”.
“What are you talking about?” Kyle exclaims. “There is only one king in this land. There is only one person that these people need to follow, to believe in. That is me! You both are simply impersonators, frauds. Impersonating the King is treason. The penalty for treason is death by hanging.”
King Kyle leans in to Seromine. “Your followers will now watch you die. And there will be no-one to bring you back.”
King Kyle decrees that the weight be lowered. The executioner pulls the pin. Seromine and Gabriel are hauled into the air, gasping for air as the rope lacerates their throats. Their bodies flail from side to side but get slower and slower. Their limbs go weak. Seromine and Gabriel leave this world, side by side.
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King Kyle returns to his chamber, satisfied with his day’s work. He enters the throne room, with only a few remaining stubby candles for illumination. King Kyle takes the heavy crown from his head and places it down on the velvet cushion atop a golden plinth. A sigh of relief is quickly followed by a sharp intake of breathe and startled wide eyes. He takes a jolting step back as he sees a shadowy figure in front of him.
There, sat in the royal throne, is the reborn Tyler Scott. He strokes his stubbly beard and smirks. “Did you forget about me?”
With that, Kyle feels a horrific pain in his heart. Tyler lunges forward and drives a sword deep into his chest and out the other side. The air explodes out of his lungs as Kyle gasps desperately for air. As the strength leaves his body, Kyle slumps down to one knee and then two. The life gradually leaves his body and his eyes roll to the back of his head. The only this holding Kyle upright is the sword held by his killer. Tyler with gentle ease, releases the grip and Kyle drops to the floor, encircled by his own blood.
“You may have killed the miracle maker...but you cannot kill the miracle itself.”
Tyler tiptoes around the pooling blood and reaches out to the ownerless crown. Taking it in both hands, he feels the weight and the burden of this victory. Satisfied, he places the crown upon his head.
“Arise Lazarus”
“Hail King Tyler”
“I have returned to claim my glory.”
