Post by Gerard Angelo on Sept 23, 2019 22:20:43 GMT -5
I sat on my leather couch in my entertainment room, the only light fighting against the darkness was the pale light of my wall-mounted flat screen television. It seemed fitting at the moment. Darkness was closing in around me, personally and professionally. I lifted the bottle of Jim Beam to my lips and took a deep swig of the brown fire-water. I pulled it away and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes turning back upwards, watching the Chicago Bears obliterate Washington on Monday Night Football.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of a lot of things.
I’m tired of dealing with magic.
I’m tired of elves showing up randomly in my house at all hours of the day.
I’m tired of having the looming threat of some ancient evil entity.
But most of all, I’m tired of losing.
I’m tired of going out there every week and getting my ass handed to me by someone. Whether it’s getting dropped on my head by Grimm, or Seromine shoving his dirty little finger into my eye.
I’m sick of it.
Yet I have no one to blame but myself here. Could I blame it on the fact that I’m a little distracted by goblins and golems? Sure. But I won’t. I have to be better. I have to be able to block everything else out when it comes to my career. When I get in that ring, my focus needs to be on the person that's standing in the corner across from me. If I can’t do that, well, I should just hang the boots up right now.
This week my focus needs to be on Brenna Gordon. A returning star that didn’t have things go her way in her first go-round with Pure Class. She wants to make a name for herself in her first match back. Now that’s all well and good. I hope she can find traction this time around and go on to have a great PCW career that ends with a Hall of Fame induction.
But it’s not starting this week. Especially at my expense.
I winced in sympathy as Case Keenum threw his third interception of the night, the Redskins seemingly becoming the embodiment of my career this year. Everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong for them tonight. Much like myself in two thousand and nineteen. I didn’t know if Washington could turn it around this year, but I know that I definitely could
I refuse. I refuse to be a loser. I refuse to be the guy that’s someone’s shocking upset win over and over until it just becomes expected. I’ve come too damn far and accomplished too damn much to fade into an afterthought. I refuse to be anyone’s stepping stone around here.
Brenna wants to make a name for herself. But I want to make a statement. Scratch that. I need to make a statement. I need to show everyone that I’m still Gerard fuckin’ Angelo. Not that shell of a former World Champion that’s shown up in my wrestling gear the last few weeks. I need to show everyone that I’m not broken. Show that I’m still the goddamned main event around here.
I stood up as I grabbed the remote, changing the channel. I had already lost my fantasy football week so there was no reason to still watch this blowout. I flipped over to a certain longest running episodic Monday night television show as I lifted the whiskey bottle and chugged another deep drought of it. I set it down. Suddenly the room started to shake. I set the bottle down, thinking I had drunk a little too much. When the shaking got worse I started to wonder if it was an earthquake and I looked around for the closest doorway to stand in. In my slightly drunken stupor, I happened to notice that nothing that wasn’t nailed down wasn’t moving, it just seemed to be the room itself. As I stared at the picture frames on my wall to judge if they were moving are not, the wall started to shimmer as if there was a thermal in front of it. I took a few steps back and got into a defensive stance, wondering if it was Amanda or another such person from the Department of magical defense.
That’s when the shimmer in the wall split open as if someone had split reality with a knife. I reached over and grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck, holding it upside down in a make-shift weapon. Jim Beam poured down my arm, leaking down to stain my carpet. The split opened wide, revealing the darkest darkness that I’ve ever seen if that makes sense. It was like the black void of space, without the stars. I stood there frozen as a feeling of pure dread rolled down my spine, radiating through my body. The little voice in my head was telling me to run as far as I could, away from this black hole of pure evil. That’s when two red eyes opened up in the darkness. They were a deep, solid, crimson. The color of freshly split blood, but they seemed to burn with the intensity of the fires of Hell. as I stood there, frozen in unnatural fear, I heard an evil cackle pour from the hole. It was the same one I heard in my dreams, and it sent another shiver down my spine. The laugh made my stomach turn into knots and I fought the urge to vomit right then and there.
But that was nothing compared to the voice.
COME TO ME, ELECTI
The voice was the same one too. The cold, unfeeling, voice. The one that sounded like it belongs to death himself. It made my knees weak. My whole body shook as I fought to stay on my feet.
COME TO ME, ELECTI. COME FIND YOUR TRUE DESTINY.
Another wave of nausea flooded through my body and I fell to my knees, dropping the whiskey bottle with a dull clang of glass on the floor. Again, I fought the urge to unload the contents of my stomach right then and there.
YOU MUST COME, ELECTI. THE PROPHECY MUST BE FULFILLED. IT IS OUR DESTINY.
I couldn’t hold back anymore and I unleashed a torrent of whiskey, half-digested hot wings, and bile on the floor. I collapsed as I heard the ancient laughter of the entity echoing out through my brain, the last thing I heard as I faded from consciousness.
“Gerard! Gerard!”
I heard my name being called as I was shaken back to consciousness. My eyes opened and I was looking into almond-shaped brown eyes. I gasped a bit and sat up in fear, looking around as I tried to regain my bearings. I realized I was still in my entertainment room on the floor. The brown eyes belonged to Amanda. She was kneeling next to me, rubbing my back with a small hand.
“What happened?” she asked, looking at me with concern in her eyes. She noticed I was still visibly shaken from what happened before. “We got an alert of some crazy magical energy coming from here. Nothing like we've ever seen before! I got here as fast as I could.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, dried vomit flaking off my beard and onto my shorts.
“I saw it,” I said, not looking at her. “It was here. It talked to me. I saw it. I saw him.”
“Who?” she asked, but she likely already knew the answer. I turned to her, my eyes wide with fear as I remembered how the voice sounded. How it sounded like it was the end of everything.
“Evil it’s self.”
I’m tired.
I’m tired of a lot of things.
I’m tired of dealing with magic.
I’m tired of elves showing up randomly in my house at all hours of the day.
I’m tired of having the looming threat of some ancient evil entity.
But most of all, I’m tired of losing.
I’m tired of going out there every week and getting my ass handed to me by someone. Whether it’s getting dropped on my head by Grimm, or Seromine shoving his dirty little finger into my eye.
I’m sick of it.
Yet I have no one to blame but myself here. Could I blame it on the fact that I’m a little distracted by goblins and golems? Sure. But I won’t. I have to be better. I have to be able to block everything else out when it comes to my career. When I get in that ring, my focus needs to be on the person that's standing in the corner across from me. If I can’t do that, well, I should just hang the boots up right now.
This week my focus needs to be on Brenna Gordon. A returning star that didn’t have things go her way in her first go-round with Pure Class. She wants to make a name for herself in her first match back. Now that’s all well and good. I hope she can find traction this time around and go on to have a great PCW career that ends with a Hall of Fame induction.
But it’s not starting this week. Especially at my expense.
I winced in sympathy as Case Keenum threw his third interception of the night, the Redskins seemingly becoming the embodiment of my career this year. Everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong for them tonight. Much like myself in two thousand and nineteen. I didn’t know if Washington could turn it around this year, but I know that I definitely could
I refuse. I refuse to be a loser. I refuse to be the guy that’s someone’s shocking upset win over and over until it just becomes expected. I’ve come too damn far and accomplished too damn much to fade into an afterthought. I refuse to be anyone’s stepping stone around here.
Brenna wants to make a name for herself. But I want to make a statement. Scratch that. I need to make a statement. I need to show everyone that I’m still Gerard fuckin’ Angelo. Not that shell of a former World Champion that’s shown up in my wrestling gear the last few weeks. I need to show everyone that I’m not broken. Show that I’m still the goddamned main event around here.
I stood up as I grabbed the remote, changing the channel. I had already lost my fantasy football week so there was no reason to still watch this blowout. I flipped over to a certain longest running episodic Monday night television show as I lifted the whiskey bottle and chugged another deep drought of it. I set it down. Suddenly the room started to shake. I set the bottle down, thinking I had drunk a little too much. When the shaking got worse I started to wonder if it was an earthquake and I looked around for the closest doorway to stand in. In my slightly drunken stupor, I happened to notice that nothing that wasn’t nailed down wasn’t moving, it just seemed to be the room itself. As I stared at the picture frames on my wall to judge if they were moving are not, the wall started to shimmer as if there was a thermal in front of it. I took a few steps back and got into a defensive stance, wondering if it was Amanda or another such person from the Department of magical defense.
That’s when the shimmer in the wall split open as if someone had split reality with a knife. I reached over and grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck, holding it upside down in a make-shift weapon. Jim Beam poured down my arm, leaking down to stain my carpet. The split opened wide, revealing the darkest darkness that I’ve ever seen if that makes sense. It was like the black void of space, without the stars. I stood there frozen as a feeling of pure dread rolled down my spine, radiating through my body. The little voice in my head was telling me to run as far as I could, away from this black hole of pure evil. That’s when two red eyes opened up in the darkness. They were a deep, solid, crimson. The color of freshly split blood, but they seemed to burn with the intensity of the fires of Hell. as I stood there, frozen in unnatural fear, I heard an evil cackle pour from the hole. It was the same one I heard in my dreams, and it sent another shiver down my spine. The laugh made my stomach turn into knots and I fought the urge to vomit right then and there.
But that was nothing compared to the voice.
COME TO ME, ELECTI
The voice was the same one too. The cold, unfeeling, voice. The one that sounded like it belongs to death himself. It made my knees weak. My whole body shook as I fought to stay on my feet.
COME TO ME, ELECTI. COME FIND YOUR TRUE DESTINY.
Another wave of nausea flooded through my body and I fell to my knees, dropping the whiskey bottle with a dull clang of glass on the floor. Again, I fought the urge to unload the contents of my stomach right then and there.
YOU MUST COME, ELECTI. THE PROPHECY MUST BE FULFILLED. IT IS OUR DESTINY.
I couldn’t hold back anymore and I unleashed a torrent of whiskey, half-digested hot wings, and bile on the floor. I collapsed as I heard the ancient laughter of the entity echoing out through my brain, the last thing I heard as I faded from consciousness.
“Gerard! Gerard!”
I heard my name being called as I was shaken back to consciousness. My eyes opened and I was looking into almond-shaped brown eyes. I gasped a bit and sat up in fear, looking around as I tried to regain my bearings. I realized I was still in my entertainment room on the floor. The brown eyes belonged to Amanda. She was kneeling next to me, rubbing my back with a small hand.
“What happened?” she asked, looking at me with concern in her eyes. She noticed I was still visibly shaken from what happened before. “We got an alert of some crazy magical energy coming from here. Nothing like we've ever seen before! I got here as fast as I could.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, dried vomit flaking off my beard and onto my shorts.
“I saw it,” I said, not looking at her. “It was here. It talked to me. I saw it. I saw him.”
“Who?” she asked, but she likely already knew the answer. I turned to her, my eyes wide with fear as I remembered how the voice sounded. How it sounded like it was the end of everything.
“Evil it’s self.”