Post by Lantlas on Mar 24, 2006 23:07:24 GMT -5
::In a concealed room, Lantlas sits on the concrete floor by himself. Hugging his knees to his chest, he sits in desperate fear over what is going to happen. Rocking back and forth, he silently hums a tune to himself. Suddenly, his eyes flash green, and his expression turns sour.::
Lantlas- Look at you, how pathetic... All afraid that something's going to happen instead of figuring out how to make something happen.
Lantlas- How can I not be? Someone is going to die, and it's going to be my fault.
Lantlas- Yes, it is. There's nothing you can do to change it. So instead of going out and doing what you do best, which is shake off this ridiculous nimrod you've got for an opponent this week, you're going to hide and let fate run its course?
Lantlas- What else is there to do?
Lantlas- What would you do without me? You've examined your opponent this week, have you not?
Lantlas- Yes.
Lantlas- And you've discovered what?
Lantlas- He either likes to play dress-up or has a serious Kane fetish.
Lantlas- Yes! Another human with issues! This one has a grudge against that psycho named Grimm for reasons of messing up his face. Now, he's turned into Sherlock Holmes, the Reaper version or something.
Lantlas- What's your point?
Lantlas- What, does it require a serious mental health disorder and a shitty childhood to be a human wrestler in this place?
Lantlas- What does that have to do with anything?
Lantlas- Because, as you can see, we're dealing with the same shit and a different name! Someone trying to gain some distinct psychological edge, because their life is that much more miserable than the next one. How is that a combatitive attribute?
Lantlas- The "you don't know what I've been through" argument, I guess?
Lantlas- No one really knows what anyone else is been through, so what the hell does that matter?
Lantlas- I guess they figure if they emphasize that they've had it hard growing up, it makes them that much more immune to pain and defeat?
Lantlas- Silly human logic. Now the one who gets shit on the most by life becomes the biggest and toughest?
Lantlas- Aren't we just as guilty as they are?
Lantlas- If you ever start using your past as an excuse to be a miserable whiny bitch, I'll kill you myself. No one's ever heard of a depressed elf!
Lantlas- No one's ever heard of a wrestling elf either.
Lantlas- Fair enough.
Lantlas- Don't you love how the joke of the name is supposed to somehow get under my skin?
Lantlas- What did they call you this time, a gnome?
Lantlas- Wasn't it our best friend Johnny Vivacious a few weeks ago who tried the exact same form of mockery?
Lantlas- I believe it was.
Lantlas- And can we recall what happened to him?
Lantlas- Didn't you get the memo? Kri saw him in the unemployment line. They got in a debate over whose past sucked more.
Lantlas- Everyone's got a story.
Lantlas- You're sounding more Elven by the day.
Lantlas- I'm hoping that's a good thing.
Lantlas- Beats the hell out of sitting like a psychopath in the padded room, doesn't it?
::Lantlas looks down at himself, then pushes himself up to his feet. He looks around, and brushes off his jacket.::
Lantlas- Did you hear about what happened to the girl you saved?
Lantlas- Yes.
Lantlas- Alter fate just to bring happiness to someone else, and not a week later, she's already trying to end it again. Irony at it's best, I suppose.
Lantlas- Fate... What if it balanced itself out with the same person?
Lantlas- Don't you even start getting all...
...
I'm running down the hall again, unsure of what is real. I feel a vibration in my pocket, and I look at my cell phone.
SINN, SETH
No time, big guy. I've got things to do. As I turn a corner, I see Blake Smith walking with his head down, and a masked man with a knife is sneaking up behind him! I run towards them, but I run straight into the wall! I look around, and I see neither of them. They've completely disappeared, must be my mind again. I get back up, gotta get to the locker room before it's too late. I feel something trickling on my arm, and I see my scar has reopened. That's weird, considering I didn't really hit the wall that hard. I reach to wipe off my arm, but it's still there. Nothing's coming off on my hand.
I look back in front of me, and I'm no longer in a hallway. I'm back on a cold, rainy night. A small candle resides in an otherwise darkened house. I know this night, I can't be back in this night! I feel someone tap my shoulder, and I look to see Devon Drake there. She's got a knife in her hand.
"Let's finish this one off!"
This didn't happen, why the hell is Devon here? Weren't she and I enemies when this happened, mostly because she warned me this is what was going to happen in the first place? We run towards the window, but for some reason I don't feel wet. I try to push open the window, but my hands seem to be too wet to get a grip. I look up through the window, expecting to see the horrific sight that drove me mad that night, but suddenly the image is clear and sunny. I look next to me, and Devon Drake is no longer there. I turn around, and I'm standing on the sunset cliff. The sun is setting on the ocean. I take a glance back, and the house has disappeared. This is getting really weird. I walk towards peak of the cliff, and I hear someone behind me.
"Why'd you have to do it, Lantlas?"
That voice is not whose I'd expect to hear on this cliff. It's one I know, however. I turn my head and I see Christine, walking towards me with bloody arms. I reach towards her, but for some reason I can't touch her.
"You did this. Why did you have to do this to me?"
I try to tell her I didn't, but it's no use. She steps towards the cliff, even though I'm uselessly trying to stop her.
"Stick it in your Elven heart," she mutters as she steps off. I figure, hell, if I can't touch her, I better jump after her. I leap off the cliff head-first, trying to catch up with her. I get to the point where I'm face-to-face with her, but her eyes are different. Something really isn't right, this doesn't look like Christine. I don't feel like I'm falling anymore, and I look back... it's not Christine. It's Devon. Her eyes are turning red with rage.
"What right did you have to go through this?"
Go through what? Seconds ago, I was falling off a cliff. She grabs something out of my hands, but I felt it. The sharpness of her nails almost drew blood in her fury. She looks up at me again.
"What fucking right did you have to go through this?!"
She slams the object down and storms off. I look at my arm, and it's no longer bleeding. I touch the wall, and it's really there. I'm inside my locker room, and Devon's bag is opened before me. I pick up the object she slammed down. A thin, hard-covered book, reading "Drake, Devon. The Meadows Behavioral Health Institution. Dr. Virgill White."
Figuring there's no turning back now, I open the cover, and out falls a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, I see it's her record.
DRAKE, D. - Criminal Record
15 counts of Breaking and Entering
4 counts of Robbery
18 Counts of Theft
Attempted Murder
Attempted Vehicular Manslaughter
Murder in 1st Degree (served five years, is still on parole for another two years)
Manslaughter (got off on Insanity, twice)
12 counts of Assault
Assaulting a Police Officer
Assaulting a State Trooper
I drop the paper in absolute shock. I knew Devon had a temper issue, but I never knew it was this to this degree. I look through the book, and realize there's only one page with any writing on it. Trying to decipher the freakishly bad handwriting, I manage to understand what it says.
This will be the one and only account of my stay here I will record, and that is only out of mandatory restrictions. They won't let me out of here until I tell my story. The problem is, there's no story to tell. Everyone has their demons, but seldom do they become a physical part of your being. Seldom does it come through and you black out not to remember a thing of what you have done or whom you have hurt or even killed. I remember going to my father’s funeral. It was on Christmas day and I was in shackles. I was let out that day from prison to wish my father a fond farewell, yet I don’t remember what happened. All I can remember is my mother looking at me with her cold blue eyes damning my existence. I remember hearing her saying things like ‘I wish that brat never came to be!’ and ‘If only I killed her when I had the chance, this would have never happened.’ My mother, the woman who gave me life, saying such things during my father’s funeral, she was wishing for my own funeral. Quite apt if you ask me.
Sometimes I wish I never came to be, but here I am and here I will stay. Everyone has their faults, but for me and few others my fault is my other side. A much darker, heartless side. A side I’m scared of, even just to mention. No one knows about this except for myself and my former therapist. Accidentally killed him too. Gotta hate hypnosis… And I do with a passion. Although, I know I have a few things in common with a certain blue haired elf and his idiot brother who just found out he had a mind of his own. I just know that this demon of mine shares my mind, body, soul, heart and mind. And I am scared to death that it’ll resurface when it’s least wanted. Something or someone will trigger it and that’ll be that. I may end up killing someone again and I fear that someone will be someone extremely close to me. I just hope my fears are wrong this time, but generally they aren’t when it comes to it…
"Found some interesting literature, have you?"
I drop the book. Kieran, my conscience, what a surprise. I turn to see those knowing green eyes, awaiting my reprimand. Those piercing eyes, I knew I'd screwed up big time.
"Everyone does have their own story, Lantlas. That's the society you've grown into. Those normal people with padded, precious lifes are in offices and banks, businesses and colleges... The life of the professional wrestler is never a golden-paved road, otherwise this career is not the one they would've chosen. Trials await anyone who tries to get in this business, it's just a level of degree to what happened to them beforehand."
Cue the 'feeling like an ass' music, for I think I've just done so. Before I can respond, I feel a different part of me take over...
"So the girl's gone through periods of being psycho and hurting people, big deal."
Kieran's expression turns angry. "What the hell did you just say?"
"Through this logic, I guess I should feel sorry for Showtime and every other opponent I'm ever gonna have cause their parents didn't love them or they never learned to read, or some other pity-driven excuse to why they haven't improved their lives... What makes this broad any different?"
Kieran hauls back and lets loose with her nails on the side of my face. I grab them in pain, feeling blood rushing to my face. I supress the part of me once again. She turns me around and grabs the lapels of my jacket. "You will not mock me." She pushes me away and leaves the locker room, in ever so familiar fashion. As I bring my hand to my face one more time, I can't help but once again think that something about her is very familiar...