Post by Holden Ross on Oct 7, 2019 18:20:11 GMT -5
“And how did that make you feel, William?” the Doctor asks William, a heavy, bearded man in a gray windbreaker and gray sweats. His eyes are fixed on the toes of his battered, Velcro, Wal-Mart specials on his feet and the small hole in which the tip of his sausage-like big toe pops out now and ten. His thick shoulders bounce up-and-down in a shrug and a scowl creases his forehead.
“Like a piece of shit, I guess….” Is his whispered reply.
Dr. Malcolm's head nods knowingly.
“I tried calling my sponsor, Cory, but he was at work. A-a-and I'm in no way blaming him for me going to that bar. If that damn bartender wouldn’t have sold me that shot….He knows I’m trying to quit drinking!” William bawls to the group. Holden rolls his eyes while the other gathered round nod their heads, sigh, or pat William on the back. Dr. Malcolm took note of Holden’s response but says nothing.
“So, by that reasoning, camp guards weren’t responsible at Auschwitz?” comes from the back. When everyone turns, they see Holden, shaking his head in disgust.
“That's not what I said! But he knows I’m trying to-“ William is cut off by Holden.
“Because you whine about how hard it is to anybody who will listen! Christ! I bet you were on your mom's tit until you were twelve, weren’t ya?”
“Fuck you….” William nearly whispers.
“I guess not all of the Broken are evolved, eh, Doc?” Holden snarls before chuckling to himself.
“You can leave now, Holden. I'll call you later….let you know when We want you back…” Dr. Malcolm finally inserts himself into the argument. Holden's jaw drops before he stands, shaking his head as he walks to the door. The rest of the group sits in silence while he leaves. After shutting the door, Holden hears William as he starts down the hall. “He was always an asshole….”
Holden revs the engine of the Caddy before tearing ass out of the parking lot. Checking messages and voicemails, his mood is immediately lifted. It's Wes, his cousin, and he is excited in the voicemail.
“We got the building! That old pub on the East side, remember? And we got approval to turn it into another gentlemen’s club. Call me!”
Holden lights a blunt with a tarnished, well used, brass Zippo and exhales the plume of smoke out of the window which is down about an inch. “Say 10” by Marilyn Manson thunders from the sound system while the classic machine rockets down the two lane highway. Tabitha has reserved a room for them at an Air B&B not a half hour away, overlooking a quaint pond in a secluded home in the country. It could be the beginning of what was put on hold when he went into rehab.
He parks in the driveway behind her BMW and she greets him at the door with a kiss and a hug. She looks amazing in a pair of jeans that look painted on and a P.C.W. t-shirt cut off just above her belly button. Her eyes sparkle and her lips part in a true smile of happiness, which brings one in return from him.
“How was your meeting?” she asks as they cross through the house. They step out onto the patio and take a seat where she has a bowl loaded in a new, expensive glass bong. He takes a hit and hands it off to her exhaling the plume into the night air.
“It went great; Malcolm says that I’m progressing faster than he expected.” a little white lie….
Days later….[\u]
Holden sits upon his Throne of scrap metal in what appears to be a room under construction; bare studs along the walls, a pair of saw horses set up with a plank of wood resting on them, stacks of lumber on the floor in the background. He is wearing faded jeans and a black hoodie with the Leviathan Cross on the front in red. The Underground Championship resides on a makeshift mannequin; it’s more like a scarecrow really. Made from scrap iron, it is fitted with Holden's old black leather biker's jacket and the head is that of a stuffed grizzly; its muzzle frozen in an eternal snarl. The Belt is around the waist of this Frankenstein nightmare while the Belt's current owner puffs on a blunt where He resides upon His Throne.
“The Deadly Rumble. My first Battle Royale-ish match in my career and the stakes couldn’t get much higher. The winner earns a shot at the World Championship.” He says through a haze of smoke. “Is it really a World Championship? Honestly, has it been defended anywhere outside North America? I ask because, and I am a little ashamed to admit it, I don’t have any clue as to whether the belt has earned that distinction.”
He takes another long puff from the blunt before flicking the roach off camera. After plugging his left nostril with his finger, Holden rockets a jet of smoke out of his right nostril, before ending the little spectacle with a snot rocket that lands a few feet away.
“This match is sure to have the current top stars such as myself and my good friend, David Hunter, as well as a slew of curtain jerkers such as Razor Blade, Miss Gordon, Texas Tim, and potentially the likes of Rick Majors, who I destroyed at the last Trauma; I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t make it into the match. Even past stars have the potential to show up….but I don’t give a damn about some dusty old relic trying to brush the dust off and come off the shelf. Unless it’s that crazy fuck I’ve heard so much about, NCM, then I don’t care about the fossils.
What I do care about is ensuring myself or Dave wins the shot at the belt. Cause if it ain’t me winnin this thing, I'mma make damn sure Dave wins it. And if it ultimately come down to me and Dave as the final two….” He whistles a sharp, short note. “Then the fans get a treat, don’t they? My first Rumble match and I have every intention coming out the winner. Your current Underground King will soon be your World Champion. See ya soon, fellas….”
The scene fades out on Holden as he lights a fresh blunt. Dazed and Confused is one of his favorite movies and is how he will be leaving both his opponent, and the fans, when he walks out of “Deadly Intentions” the Winner.
“Like a piece of shit, I guess….” Is his whispered reply.
Dr. Malcolm's head nods knowingly.
“I tried calling my sponsor, Cory, but he was at work. A-a-and I'm in no way blaming him for me going to that bar. If that damn bartender wouldn’t have sold me that shot….He knows I’m trying to quit drinking!” William bawls to the group. Holden rolls his eyes while the other gathered round nod their heads, sigh, or pat William on the back. Dr. Malcolm took note of Holden’s response but says nothing.
“So, by that reasoning, camp guards weren’t responsible at Auschwitz?” comes from the back. When everyone turns, they see Holden, shaking his head in disgust.
“That's not what I said! But he knows I’m trying to-“ William is cut off by Holden.
“Because you whine about how hard it is to anybody who will listen! Christ! I bet you were on your mom's tit until you were twelve, weren’t ya?”
“Fuck you….” William nearly whispers.
“I guess not all of the Broken are evolved, eh, Doc?” Holden snarls before chuckling to himself.
“You can leave now, Holden. I'll call you later….let you know when We want you back…” Dr. Malcolm finally inserts himself into the argument. Holden's jaw drops before he stands, shaking his head as he walks to the door. The rest of the group sits in silence while he leaves. After shutting the door, Holden hears William as he starts down the hall. “He was always an asshole….”
Holden revs the engine of the Caddy before tearing ass out of the parking lot. Checking messages and voicemails, his mood is immediately lifted. It's Wes, his cousin, and he is excited in the voicemail.
“We got the building! That old pub on the East side, remember? And we got approval to turn it into another gentlemen’s club. Call me!”
Holden lights a blunt with a tarnished, well used, brass Zippo and exhales the plume of smoke out of the window which is down about an inch. “Say 10” by Marilyn Manson thunders from the sound system while the classic machine rockets down the two lane highway. Tabitha has reserved a room for them at an Air B&B not a half hour away, overlooking a quaint pond in a secluded home in the country. It could be the beginning of what was put on hold when he went into rehab.
He parks in the driveway behind her BMW and she greets him at the door with a kiss and a hug. She looks amazing in a pair of jeans that look painted on and a P.C.W. t-shirt cut off just above her belly button. Her eyes sparkle and her lips part in a true smile of happiness, which brings one in return from him.
“How was your meeting?” she asks as they cross through the house. They step out onto the patio and take a seat where she has a bowl loaded in a new, expensive glass bong. He takes a hit and hands it off to her exhaling the plume into the night air.
“It went great; Malcolm says that I’m progressing faster than he expected.” a little white lie….
Days later….[\u]
Holden sits upon his Throne of scrap metal in what appears to be a room under construction; bare studs along the walls, a pair of saw horses set up with a plank of wood resting on them, stacks of lumber on the floor in the background. He is wearing faded jeans and a black hoodie with the Leviathan Cross on the front in red. The Underground Championship resides on a makeshift mannequin; it’s more like a scarecrow really. Made from scrap iron, it is fitted with Holden's old black leather biker's jacket and the head is that of a stuffed grizzly; its muzzle frozen in an eternal snarl. The Belt is around the waist of this Frankenstein nightmare while the Belt's current owner puffs on a blunt where He resides upon His Throne.
“The Deadly Rumble. My first Battle Royale-ish match in my career and the stakes couldn’t get much higher. The winner earns a shot at the World Championship.” He says through a haze of smoke. “Is it really a World Championship? Honestly, has it been defended anywhere outside North America? I ask because, and I am a little ashamed to admit it, I don’t have any clue as to whether the belt has earned that distinction.”
He takes another long puff from the blunt before flicking the roach off camera. After plugging his left nostril with his finger, Holden rockets a jet of smoke out of his right nostril, before ending the little spectacle with a snot rocket that lands a few feet away.
“This match is sure to have the current top stars such as myself and my good friend, David Hunter, as well as a slew of curtain jerkers such as Razor Blade, Miss Gordon, Texas Tim, and potentially the likes of Rick Majors, who I destroyed at the last Trauma; I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t make it into the match. Even past stars have the potential to show up….but I don’t give a damn about some dusty old relic trying to brush the dust off and come off the shelf. Unless it’s that crazy fuck I’ve heard so much about, NCM, then I don’t care about the fossils.
What I do care about is ensuring myself or Dave wins the shot at the belt. Cause if it ain’t me winnin this thing, I'mma make damn sure Dave wins it. And if it ultimately come down to me and Dave as the final two….” He whistles a sharp, short note. “Then the fans get a treat, don’t they? My first Rumble match and I have every intention coming out the winner. Your current Underground King will soon be your World Champion. See ya soon, fellas….”
The scene fades out on Holden as he lights a fresh blunt. Dazed and Confused is one of his favorite movies and is how he will be leaving both his opponent, and the fans, when he walks out of “Deadly Intentions” the Winner.