A King among his subjects....
Nov 10, 2019 22:36:44 GMT -5
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Rick Majors, The Anarchist, and 2 more like this
Post by Holden Ross on Nov 10, 2019 22:36:44 GMT -5
“You have overcome so much, Holden. From addiction and drug abuse to emotional, and physical abuse, at the hands of your grandfather; he used to lock you in closets and pour freezing cold water on you when you 'misbehaved,’ is that not true?” Doctor Malcolm sits across from Holden, in Holden's living room. A coffee table; covered in gouge marks, burn marks, graffiti, and a smattering of beer and soda cans, as well as take-out bags from local fast food establishments, separates them. There also is a green, glass bong about two feet tall with a pill bottle full of fresh bud resting next to a blue Bic lighter.
“Yeah, happened when I was a kid, while my moms was at work. So what?” is Holden's reply.
“Don’t you see, Holden, how it has shaped you? You are who, and what, you are now, today, because of what happened to you as a kid. There is a direct correlation between the trauma of your childhood and your numerous vices which try to control you today.”
“And you gave me some tools to use to hold back those vices. I’m perfectly fine, doc.”
Malcolm gives a little shake of his head to pair with the sigh that escapes him.
“Holden, I have just started down this path with you. You are doing an amazing job, but, you have so far to go! You can't rebuild an engine with just a screwdriver and a hammer….you need wrenches, sockets…so many more tools if..”
“But I’m not trying to rebuild or fix anything. That’s you who wants to do that. I’m more than happy being the ice cream truck who runs down the fat little shits who don’t get out of the way…”
Malcolm pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb while breathing in deep, and slow, through his nose. He exhales just as slowly out of his mouth and pops his eyes open while, simultaneously, a million dollar smile curls his lips.
“You’re right, I am trying to fix, or at least duct tape together, your life. I am trying to help you see what you are capable of being! Of who you really are!”
Holden scoffs and lights a joint.
“If I am such a treasure, Doc, why did my Mom hide me from my Dad? W-why can’t I keep a relationship for more than a handful of months or even longer than a few booty calls? Why do I go to bed, every night hoping I don’t wake up again but, then I’m disappointed the following morning when I wake up?”
“You still wish you were dead?” Malcolm leans forward, latching on to Holden's hard to hear truth, and he tries to run with it.
“Everyday.....why wouldn’t I?”
“Fuck! You!” Holden ducks as an empty glass sails past his head and explodes against the wall. Tabitha, forgotten, is standing in the kitchen with tears trailing down her cheeks. “Am I nothing?! I am trying to be understanding but then I hear shit like that?!”
Malcolm reads the torrent of emotions swirling across Holden’s face; regret, anger, embarrassment, and finally rage.
“Tab-Tabitha! Hold on one second! You have got to realize He has to love himself, he has got to want to live for Himself or anything you and him have will fail! If this is all, only for you, it will all blow up in your faces! In fact, I told Holden he shouldn’t be in a relationship with anyone, but I see how you are a positive force in his life. Please, Tabitha, don't take it that way…”
Holden has risen and has crossed to her. She resisted his hug at first but quickly melted into his arms, and then into a bout of tears, with her head resting on His chest.
“I'm falling for you, you know that, right? B-but I c-can't be with you if you don’t want to be here yourself.”
He hugs her, tight, and kisses her on the top of her head. He looks over to the Doctor, who is standing, concerned. He also knows, now is the best time, if he is going to do it.
“Holden, can I be frank with you? All of the abuse, both mental and physical, has caused..no…that’s not the right word. It…it has… Created! Yes, created, a more evolved man. Look at your profession, for example; you absorb high amounts of pain, and damage, that would incapacitate most men. You do it in nearly every match and are even considered a “King” of sorts within the company you work for.
Twice growing up you say you attempted suicide; once when you were twelve and again two years later. Both times you failed because either the rope broke or, in the second attempt, the branch broke. Both time you had made it to that point and returned to us, the Living World. Don’t you see? There is a reason you are here! Not a religious reason, I'm not saying God wasn't ready to “bring you home.” But, rather, you are destined for a greatness you can’t yet see. I’m not the only one who sees this in you; Tabitha sees it and I believe your two cohorts in Pure Class see it too…”
“I can’t be with you if I have to worry about you killing yourself when you’re home alone. I can’t be here all the time and it’s not fair for me to have to be. Please, tell me the truth, do you really wish you were dead?” she says through eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m trying…”is all he can answer and the dam of her tears breaks, and they spill down her cheeks. All Holden can do is look over at Malcolm while squeezing her tight.
“And that’s all that you can do. We are here, both me and Tabitha are here, to support you as you try. And, soon, you won’t be “trying,” you will be “doing.” Doc Malcolm knows which buttons to push when. “Holden, you are a remarkable young man with so much to accomplish in your future. With, hopefully, her at your side….”
Holden looks down at Tabitha's tear streaked face and she up at his bruised, and healing, face. They kiss and miss the poisonous grin parting the “good” doctors lips.
Several days later
Fans at home, visiting any one of the P.C.W. social media sites found a link to a video posted early in the morning of Monday, November eleventh. Clicking on the link took you to another site with a video embedded in the center of a black page. Once “play” was clicked, the video started with a red silhouette of a devil's head. The shot then abruptly cuts to footage shot by a hand-held camera inside of a dark room. Red, green, blue, and white lights flash and strobe while smoke created by both a machine and a combination of tobacco and marijuana. Heavy bass thumps from a hip-hop song and as the camera pans around, women's silhouettes are backlit by flashing lights as they grind and sway in front of (presumably) men in low, leather chairs.
The camera catches a woman working a pole on a stage near the center of this chaos before moving on to finally come to a stop on a man sitting on a Throne made from scrap iron. He is in a pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and battered Doc Martin’s. To be fair, the jeans have seen better days; the knees are torn out and several holes dot each thigh. He puffs on a blunt and bobs his head in time with the beat. Tabitha, the ring girl, slinks up next to him and gives him a kiss on his cheek before disappearing off camera.
“Once again, you fall short in your bid to end the rebellion that is known as Pandæmonium. I caught Justin's little speech at Trauma, sixteen thousand strong…yadda-yadda-yadda….”
Holden takes a long draw from the blunt before crushing the roach out on the arm rest.
“Now, I haven’t been in the business all that long, but, even I know how fickle the fans are. Sure, you got a core group of fans who will follow you into the sunset but, for the most part, your sixteen thousand turns into barely a handful. And, let’s also be honest in that none of us give a damn what any of the fans think…your sixteen grand quickly becomes zero when it really matters.
The three of us, we are working together, for the same cause. And no, it isn’t for the destruction of P.C.W. or to overthrow Loki and install our own president. All tired and stupid tropes that have nothing to do with us. We're proof that might makes right and we already are holding most of the Gold. I get it, Justin, you’re scared and, most of all, aware of the course you’re on, taking you towards your inevitable match with Gerry, when you lose that belt you have fought so hard to obtain.”
The song changes; same style just a different beat.
“And at the next Trauma, my newest nemesis has teamed up with P.C.W.’s newest punching bag, the South Texas Deathride. Rick, old man, you got saddled with a couple of grade A fuck ups. You can see the conclusion of this match, just as well as I, can’t you, Rick? Your Texas buddies, laid out like last week, and me strangling, or beating, the life out of you. I get it, you won’t die. Here’s the thing, though; I relish in inflicting pain and suffering. The more you get up the more pleasure I gain in battering you. When our war is over, Rick, neither of us will ever be the same again. I owe you, Rick. I got myself to the dance but you opened the door. This is all. Your. Fault.”
The camera abruptly goes black and the clip ends. The Underground King holding court among his subjects. Guess they’re not apart if Justin's sixteen grand….
“Yeah, happened when I was a kid, while my moms was at work. So what?” is Holden's reply.
“Don’t you see, Holden, how it has shaped you? You are who, and what, you are now, today, because of what happened to you as a kid. There is a direct correlation between the trauma of your childhood and your numerous vices which try to control you today.”
“And you gave me some tools to use to hold back those vices. I’m perfectly fine, doc.”
Malcolm gives a little shake of his head to pair with the sigh that escapes him.
“Holden, I have just started down this path with you. You are doing an amazing job, but, you have so far to go! You can't rebuild an engine with just a screwdriver and a hammer….you need wrenches, sockets…so many more tools if..”
“But I’m not trying to rebuild or fix anything. That’s you who wants to do that. I’m more than happy being the ice cream truck who runs down the fat little shits who don’t get out of the way…”
Malcolm pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb while breathing in deep, and slow, through his nose. He exhales just as slowly out of his mouth and pops his eyes open while, simultaneously, a million dollar smile curls his lips.
“You’re right, I am trying to fix, or at least duct tape together, your life. I am trying to help you see what you are capable of being! Of who you really are!”
Holden scoffs and lights a joint.
“If I am such a treasure, Doc, why did my Mom hide me from my Dad? W-why can’t I keep a relationship for more than a handful of months or even longer than a few booty calls? Why do I go to bed, every night hoping I don’t wake up again but, then I’m disappointed the following morning when I wake up?”
“You still wish you were dead?” Malcolm leans forward, latching on to Holden's hard to hear truth, and he tries to run with it.
“Everyday.....why wouldn’t I?”
“Fuck! You!” Holden ducks as an empty glass sails past his head and explodes against the wall. Tabitha, forgotten, is standing in the kitchen with tears trailing down her cheeks. “Am I nothing?! I am trying to be understanding but then I hear shit like that?!”
Malcolm reads the torrent of emotions swirling across Holden’s face; regret, anger, embarrassment, and finally rage.
“Tab-Tabitha! Hold on one second! You have got to realize He has to love himself, he has got to want to live for Himself or anything you and him have will fail! If this is all, only for you, it will all blow up in your faces! In fact, I told Holden he shouldn’t be in a relationship with anyone, but I see how you are a positive force in his life. Please, Tabitha, don't take it that way…”
Holden has risen and has crossed to her. She resisted his hug at first but quickly melted into his arms, and then into a bout of tears, with her head resting on His chest.
“I'm falling for you, you know that, right? B-but I c-can't be with you if you don’t want to be here yourself.”
He hugs her, tight, and kisses her on the top of her head. He looks over to the Doctor, who is standing, concerned. He also knows, now is the best time, if he is going to do it.
“Holden, can I be frank with you? All of the abuse, both mental and physical, has caused..no…that’s not the right word. It…it has… Created! Yes, created, a more evolved man. Look at your profession, for example; you absorb high amounts of pain, and damage, that would incapacitate most men. You do it in nearly every match and are even considered a “King” of sorts within the company you work for.
Twice growing up you say you attempted suicide; once when you were twelve and again two years later. Both times you failed because either the rope broke or, in the second attempt, the branch broke. Both time you had made it to that point and returned to us, the Living World. Don’t you see? There is a reason you are here! Not a religious reason, I'm not saying God wasn't ready to “bring you home.” But, rather, you are destined for a greatness you can’t yet see. I’m not the only one who sees this in you; Tabitha sees it and I believe your two cohorts in Pure Class see it too…”
“I can’t be with you if I have to worry about you killing yourself when you’re home alone. I can’t be here all the time and it’s not fair for me to have to be. Please, tell me the truth, do you really wish you were dead?” she says through eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m trying…”is all he can answer and the dam of her tears breaks, and they spill down her cheeks. All Holden can do is look over at Malcolm while squeezing her tight.
“And that’s all that you can do. We are here, both me and Tabitha are here, to support you as you try. And, soon, you won’t be “trying,” you will be “doing.” Doc Malcolm knows which buttons to push when. “Holden, you are a remarkable young man with so much to accomplish in your future. With, hopefully, her at your side….”
Holden looks down at Tabitha's tear streaked face and she up at his bruised, and healing, face. They kiss and miss the poisonous grin parting the “good” doctors lips.
Several days later
Fans at home, visiting any one of the P.C.W. social media sites found a link to a video posted early in the morning of Monday, November eleventh. Clicking on the link took you to another site with a video embedded in the center of a black page. Once “play” was clicked, the video started with a red silhouette of a devil's head. The shot then abruptly cuts to footage shot by a hand-held camera inside of a dark room. Red, green, blue, and white lights flash and strobe while smoke created by both a machine and a combination of tobacco and marijuana. Heavy bass thumps from a hip-hop song and as the camera pans around, women's silhouettes are backlit by flashing lights as they grind and sway in front of (presumably) men in low, leather chairs.
The camera catches a woman working a pole on a stage near the center of this chaos before moving on to finally come to a stop on a man sitting on a Throne made from scrap iron. He is in a pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and battered Doc Martin’s. To be fair, the jeans have seen better days; the knees are torn out and several holes dot each thigh. He puffs on a blunt and bobs his head in time with the beat. Tabitha, the ring girl, slinks up next to him and gives him a kiss on his cheek before disappearing off camera.
“Once again, you fall short in your bid to end the rebellion that is known as Pandæmonium. I caught Justin's little speech at Trauma, sixteen thousand strong…yadda-yadda-yadda….”
Holden takes a long draw from the blunt before crushing the roach out on the arm rest.
“Now, I haven’t been in the business all that long, but, even I know how fickle the fans are. Sure, you got a core group of fans who will follow you into the sunset but, for the most part, your sixteen thousand turns into barely a handful. And, let’s also be honest in that none of us give a damn what any of the fans think…your sixteen grand quickly becomes zero when it really matters.
The three of us, we are working together, for the same cause. And no, it isn’t for the destruction of P.C.W. or to overthrow Loki and install our own president. All tired and stupid tropes that have nothing to do with us. We're proof that might makes right and we already are holding most of the Gold. I get it, Justin, you’re scared and, most of all, aware of the course you’re on, taking you towards your inevitable match with Gerry, when you lose that belt you have fought so hard to obtain.”
The song changes; same style just a different beat.
“And at the next Trauma, my newest nemesis has teamed up with P.C.W.’s newest punching bag, the South Texas Deathride. Rick, old man, you got saddled with a couple of grade A fuck ups. You can see the conclusion of this match, just as well as I, can’t you, Rick? Your Texas buddies, laid out like last week, and me strangling, or beating, the life out of you. I get it, you won’t die. Here’s the thing, though; I relish in inflicting pain and suffering. The more you get up the more pleasure I gain in battering you. When our war is over, Rick, neither of us will ever be the same again. I owe you, Rick. I got myself to the dance but you opened the door. This is all. Your. Fault.”
The camera abruptly goes black and the clip ends. The Underground King holding court among his subjects. Guess they’re not apart if Justin's sixteen grand….