Post by Grimm on May 9, 2006 16:16:39 GMT -5
Phinehas Grimm knew that it was a physical impossibility, but nothing surprised him anymore. He just shrugged his shoulders at the sunlight pouring through every window, on every wall, on every side of the building. Even though it found its way among holes in the roof and gaps in the siding, even through loose floorboards, he gave the inexplicable light nothing more than a second glance. Then he sat down in the back, on one of the few remaining wooden pews that could still support a person’s weight.
This light, whatever its source, was more than sufficient in revealing the state of disrepair in which Grimm found himself. Dust hung in the air as it had for decades. Weeds sprouted through the floors and climbed the walls, threatening to claim the entire structure and eat away at it, piece by piece. A honeysuckle vine, just now beginning to bloom, wound its way up a plain wooden podium that still clung to its place of honor at the front. Most of the other pews were rotting from the inside out, falling victim to years of assault from the damp, the algae, the fungus that lived to turn this haven of rest to mere splinters. Dry rot abounded.
And yet…the stained glass windows were intact. Not a pane was broken. Nothing so much as a crack marred them. The colors diffused the sunlight, bathing the decrepit old place in a rainbow swath from floor to the remaining beams of the ceiling. The stained glass itself had no discernible patterns. No designs. No Star of Bethlehem, hill of Golgotha, empty tomb, or ascension. Just color. Grimm sat with his arms stretched out on the back of the pew, picking at a soft spot in the wood.
It was so still there that his mind couldn’t help but wander. He had broken the unbreakable, quite possibly ending the poor fool’s career. He took a man’s livelihood away from him but that was to be expected. It was what Grimm was paid to do. It was why the crowds showed up, and the reason he made the trip to Greenville week after week. And it was the risk you took by signing your name to a Pure Class Wrestling contract. Sooner or later, chances were you would step into the ring with Phinehas Grimm. The Abomination of Desolation. At best you would only be humiliated. At worst…well, cracked vertebrae and lacerated faces speak for themselves.
Grimm was the International champion and was a few missteps away from having an unblemished record. As such, you could say he was a bit perplexed at the idea of facing 2Guys at the upcoming Trauma. These were tag team partners who were not ashamed of their dismal showing thus far. In fact, they almost seemed proud of their nonexistent abilities. So what did they have in common with Grimm? Did the powers-that-be anticipate Grimm manhandling the duo? Was it a reward for his performance, or punishment for theirs? Did they expect a handicap match to actually challenge him, and so book what they thought would be a crowd-pleasing battle to the end? Perhaps it was none of the above. Maybe something else was going on here…something more malevolent, even. This was professional wrestling, after all. Grimm wouldn’t put it past anyone to set this entire evening up as a scheme to make him more vulnerable. An attack during the match, or a blindside assault on the walk back to the locker room. He would be prepared for anything this week.
Grimm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He inhaled the scent of mold. The damp. Things forgotten. And flowers. The aroma of bouquets and the occasional lone bloom hung just under the surface. He didn’t know if it was the smell of life or death. But he knew he would find out soon enough.
This light, whatever its source, was more than sufficient in revealing the state of disrepair in which Grimm found himself. Dust hung in the air as it had for decades. Weeds sprouted through the floors and climbed the walls, threatening to claim the entire structure and eat away at it, piece by piece. A honeysuckle vine, just now beginning to bloom, wound its way up a plain wooden podium that still clung to its place of honor at the front. Most of the other pews were rotting from the inside out, falling victim to years of assault from the damp, the algae, the fungus that lived to turn this haven of rest to mere splinters. Dry rot abounded.
And yet…the stained glass windows were intact. Not a pane was broken. Nothing so much as a crack marred them. The colors diffused the sunlight, bathing the decrepit old place in a rainbow swath from floor to the remaining beams of the ceiling. The stained glass itself had no discernible patterns. No designs. No Star of Bethlehem, hill of Golgotha, empty tomb, or ascension. Just color. Grimm sat with his arms stretched out on the back of the pew, picking at a soft spot in the wood.
It was so still there that his mind couldn’t help but wander. He had broken the unbreakable, quite possibly ending the poor fool’s career. He took a man’s livelihood away from him but that was to be expected. It was what Grimm was paid to do. It was why the crowds showed up, and the reason he made the trip to Greenville week after week. And it was the risk you took by signing your name to a Pure Class Wrestling contract. Sooner or later, chances were you would step into the ring with Phinehas Grimm. The Abomination of Desolation. At best you would only be humiliated. At worst…well, cracked vertebrae and lacerated faces speak for themselves.
Grimm was the International champion and was a few missteps away from having an unblemished record. As such, you could say he was a bit perplexed at the idea of facing 2Guys at the upcoming Trauma. These were tag team partners who were not ashamed of their dismal showing thus far. In fact, they almost seemed proud of their nonexistent abilities. So what did they have in common with Grimm? Did the powers-that-be anticipate Grimm manhandling the duo? Was it a reward for his performance, or punishment for theirs? Did they expect a handicap match to actually challenge him, and so book what they thought would be a crowd-pleasing battle to the end? Perhaps it was none of the above. Maybe something else was going on here…something more malevolent, even. This was professional wrestling, after all. Grimm wouldn’t put it past anyone to set this entire evening up as a scheme to make him more vulnerable. An attack during the match, or a blindside assault on the walk back to the locker room. He would be prepared for anything this week.
Grimm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He inhaled the scent of mold. The damp. Things forgotten. And flowers. The aroma of bouquets and the occasional lone bloom hung just under the surface. He didn’t know if it was the smell of life or death. But he knew he would find out soon enough.
