Post by Non Compos Mentis on Dec 4, 2006 8:35:21 GMT -5
The wall is colored taupe, the kind of brown shade that would disguise most, if not all, of the stains that would grace the wall over its lifetime. It is dull and unexciting and should be chosen for exactly that quality as it is beyond anybodies taste in style. Not only was this color unexciting, it was wholly depressing and served to temper any emotion that was currently surfacing in the watching person. This wall was the equivalent of watching paint dry. Every so often there was a pit or scratch, even a divot, in the wall that had been filled in carelessly and quickly with bland, boring polyfiller and grout. This made the wall uneven and even uglier than before, if that was even possible.
Down below was something even more disgusting than the taupe wall. A dark khaki colored carpet was lying, dead and distasteful, on top of the decrepit floorboards and had quite a lot of its fibers ripped and pulled away over time. There were spots where everything but the basic material of the carpet was showing, where all pieces of khaki colored fiber had disappeared. Around the floor there were masses of blots and spots where a multitude of stains had been produced by a variety of different solutions and sources. Tea, Coffee, Saliva, Urine and Blood. All of these were present and unwashed, showing a distinct lack of hygiene and sanitation. The floor, as well as the wall, showed an absence of attention and effort that seemed to compound just what this place was about.
Looking around, there appear to be many cheap and cheerful wooden tables scattered around with accompanying chairs that are covered in mangy, scuffed red fabric and with most of the inside stuffing leaking out onto the khaki carpet. The tables were arranged roughly into a social format with many seats placed evenly apart to encourage the casual conversation and gossip that usually occurred between the occupants.
Gradually, a commotion starts out of view as a group of people enter the room. A glance shows many people moving slowly towards seats, unwavering and clear as if they had reserved their place or had grown too accustomed to their seat to leave it now and take another. A further, more detailed and intense glance shows that the people aren’t just moving slowly, they are shuffling. The ‘people’ are, in fact, a large group of elderly men and women, making their way to the only seats they can ever remember using in their entire lives. The parade finds their way to their seats, commencing the daily chit-chat and games of dominoes and bridge that go on for hours.
Around the room there are several groups of people who are partaking in their chosen activity but there are also small numbers of loners and recluses hanging around on their own, isolated from the others by themselves. Many are occupying themselves with their favorite books or magazines, some lighting up matches in order to set alight the pipes and cigarettes lying at their side. However, the others that are alone are more interesting and encapsulating than these. They have their own stories, their own adventures from lives that have been lived to their fullest or lived in regret.
Looking to the left there is an old man slumped into one of the poorly padded, stained chairs. His hair is long, stretching down past his shoulder blades in all its carefully petted and unmated glory. Its color is a deep, mysterious black that you could lose yourself in if you weren’t careful. His eyes burn like a fire going through the middle of the night, illuminating the darkest of skies with the desire and pure emotion that lies in them. His lush goatee beard drops a good two inches below his chin, its tone the same as his hair. His face, however, bares no resemblance to the comparative youthfulness of his hair and beard. His features were rugged and grizzled, a sure sign that he had been is some wars of attrition that had taken their toll on him. Despite this he was still attractive considering his advanced years, every woman he had met wondered about his other personal features, specifically below the belt line.
You see, before ending up in this place his was a genuine Latino lover. He never met a woman that didn’t want to sleep with him and he never met a woman he didn’t want to sleep with. His previous success coupled with his rugged good looks proved to be a combination that was irresistible to every woman on the planet. Even now, his slumped position in his chair was acting to protrude his genitals forward towards an amassed group of the nurses that worked in the home. In his heyday he had a the power to keep a woman at his fingertips all day with the promise of relations, but now was a different matter. The interest had dried up long ago, the youthful strut replaced by an elderly shuffle and his looks were no longer as alluring as they were. At this point he was desperate, he was living testament that love was an addiction and he needed his fix, he had done for over a year now. Nevertheless, he would try as hard as possible before it happened.
Aside from this man was another, equally interesting man who had stowed himself away into the corner of the room. He spent his time in solitude and loneliness, reading books and observing the actions of everybody around him. Other than his distant position to the rest of the group there are other major differences about him that make him utterly unique to the rest of them. Just looking at him there are obvious things that look odd. He happens to be the only person in the room, and probably existence itself, that is both male and owns a full head of shocking blue hair. Around here it would be normal for some of the women to be seen occupying a blue rinse, that slight aqua tinge to the hair that seemed to be the trademark of females in late life. His hair eloped over his face and disguised most of his features but his eyes burned through the strings of hair in front of them and showed their brilliant color, a combination of blue and green, a turquoise.
He had also become resentful of his previous life, having given up for the safety and the care of his family. He had chosen to give up everything he had ever worked for, every title he had ever earned and every shred of respect in the industry he had fought for. Now, he had lost everything, all of the titles, all of the respect and he had been forced into fulfilling his promise of protecting his family and, thus, was kept away from his one true calling, his job. Now he was in the home, he was only visited by his wife and child one a month, twice if he was lucky. The promise he had made now resulted in a life of solitude and his protection no longer needed. All he had given up was now a waste and he wished dearly that he could have it back. Everything he had left behind was now leering at him with contempt and the man stared back wishing it would leave him to his own thought, not reminding him of his eternal mistake.
The third and final man that is sitting on his own is an imposing figure. He is only sat on his own because everybody else feels intimidated by his size. He too has had a past filled with triumph and honor and a close history with the blue haired man across the room. Still, this man has also got the same resentment of the past as his comrade, having given away his career at its peak, leaving years of success unattended. His life too was based on his career and he had put it all on the line to prove a point, and lost. To be quite specific he actually drew, but no matter, his career ended promptly and he was left to wonder what had happened for the rest of his life.
The man had been a giant when he was working, he had been a true behemoth in his years in the business and had been unstoppable before he met the man with blue hair opposite him. Since he had left though, he had gradually shrunk on height so that he was now a few inches shorter than he had been. Still, however, he was an immense man with the presence to frighten many men half his age never mind those around him. The man had even managed to scare many of the staff into leaving him alone completely.
These three truly look like the epitome of old age, the one hanging on to his youth by the skin of his teeth, the one distancing himself from anything because he lost what he really got close to and the one who resents giving up his life for the sake of beating a rival. The three men are depressed, they are stressed and they are pissed at everything.
This is the place wrestling careers come to die. This is the place where every wrestler wishes they will never end up. It signifies that their career has gone downhill, it signifies that their whole life has gone into a spiral of decay. Being here shows that they have failed to be what they were always supposed to be, wrestlers. This place is a rotting hell hole of depression, hate and anger where stale dreams ferment and decay even more and their holder is sent to hell.
These careers, these dreams they hold so tight of success and recognition, they are cut short and when they are, they come here to live out their lives in the way they deserve to. They deserve their fate because they have the audacity to put their whole life on the line to prove a point to somebody else, to become an idol to women and have more power as the boss or to give up on something that seems right morally but knowing you are giving up your true calling. These people gave up on something worth a lot more than what they were risking, they gave up their lives and their souls. They now live with the resentment of what happened, what was and what could have been if they had just held on.
The Latino man comes back into view, his preened facial hair making a striking focal point. His eyes and his package are still aimed squarely at the group of nurses ahead but none of them seem to be taking any attention of him, leaving him to simmer in a pool of his own hormonal depression.
The Latino Lover boy was once a fifty time World Champion, at least that’s what they say. He was one of the greatest wrestlers on the face of the planet and had a reputation that spanned the globe. This man wasn’t just a legend, he was an Icon, a messiah for all wrestlers that dreamt of becoming a one time World Champion, not to mention Fifty. He had the world in the palm of his hand, he could have done anything without anybody saying anything to him. He could get away with murder if he wanted.
But, like all legends, like all messiahs, there was not a happy ending. He thought that being a mere wrestler was not enough. He wanted more, he wanted power. So he made PCW, he made a monster. Now he is desperately trying to hold on to all of his power and all of his allure before he loses it for good. There are people on the horizon that have more control over his creation than he has, all he is trying o do now is hang on until he can no longer.
The blue haired, peculiar one enters again, staring around the room, keeping his eternal vigil over everybody else. His eyes wander around as he waits constantly for his monthly visit, the highlight of his time inside the home.
The blue haired wanderer, the man that gave up everything that was in his heart to protect his daughter and wife. The man that gave up his only chance of true happiness so that he could keep his legacy. He covers himself from the world because he is ashamed of what he did to himself. He was ashamed that he had left the place he loved and ashamed that if he was given the chance to go back he would take it with both hands. He would always go back if given the chance because it was part of his soul and he could not rid himself of it.
The giant finally pops back into view, his towering figure an ominous sign of the power he still possesses. He is looking around intently at the area around him, specifically at the group of nurses in the middle of the room that give him a sneering glance every so often to show their anger at him and his steadfast stubbornness in not liking them attending to him.
The Giant, he lost his whole career with a flippant comment. He said he would quit if he didn’t win, he said he would end his career voluntarily if he failed to beat his opponent. The giant had lost his career even though he could still compete at the highest level, he could still compete for the biggest prize in the game. He was gradually shriveling up with jealousy a the thought of the youngsters who were challenging for the title that he could take as his own.
At Last Call, another person will enter this place of boredom, jealousy and hatred. The person will not enter by their own will though, they will fall by my hand, they will be left helpless in the ring with no hope of return. I will end their career by force rather than with a word or by a gentleman’s agreement.
Grimm, you have not held that title for long, and yet you consider it to be your title, your dearest possession. You have told me that I have given away my North American title for only a chance to be beaten by you, you have said that I have been promoted to a whipping boy. Let me tell you this Champ, I will not lose that match, I will not be your whipping boy and I will take that belt from your waist and put it around my own. You have held that title for only one month and I have no doubt that you will defend it with your life, but in that case you will lose your life and your title, and you will end up here, in the world where you will regret your every action.
Grimm, you may be the champion, you may be a great wrestler, but I have had to wait months for this shot, I have had to wait whilst people undeserving of a shot have been handed their chance, and in that time I have prepared, I have become more than anything you can handle and I will become the PCW World Title.
For I am Non Compos Mentis
The next PCW World Champion.
Down below was something even more disgusting than the taupe wall. A dark khaki colored carpet was lying, dead and distasteful, on top of the decrepit floorboards and had quite a lot of its fibers ripped and pulled away over time. There were spots where everything but the basic material of the carpet was showing, where all pieces of khaki colored fiber had disappeared. Around the floor there were masses of blots and spots where a multitude of stains had been produced by a variety of different solutions and sources. Tea, Coffee, Saliva, Urine and Blood. All of these were present and unwashed, showing a distinct lack of hygiene and sanitation. The floor, as well as the wall, showed an absence of attention and effort that seemed to compound just what this place was about.
Looking around, there appear to be many cheap and cheerful wooden tables scattered around with accompanying chairs that are covered in mangy, scuffed red fabric and with most of the inside stuffing leaking out onto the khaki carpet. The tables were arranged roughly into a social format with many seats placed evenly apart to encourage the casual conversation and gossip that usually occurred between the occupants.
Gradually, a commotion starts out of view as a group of people enter the room. A glance shows many people moving slowly towards seats, unwavering and clear as if they had reserved their place or had grown too accustomed to their seat to leave it now and take another. A further, more detailed and intense glance shows that the people aren’t just moving slowly, they are shuffling. The ‘people’ are, in fact, a large group of elderly men and women, making their way to the only seats they can ever remember using in their entire lives. The parade finds their way to their seats, commencing the daily chit-chat and games of dominoes and bridge that go on for hours.
Around the room there are several groups of people who are partaking in their chosen activity but there are also small numbers of loners and recluses hanging around on their own, isolated from the others by themselves. Many are occupying themselves with their favorite books or magazines, some lighting up matches in order to set alight the pipes and cigarettes lying at their side. However, the others that are alone are more interesting and encapsulating than these. They have their own stories, their own adventures from lives that have been lived to their fullest or lived in regret.
Looking to the left there is an old man slumped into one of the poorly padded, stained chairs. His hair is long, stretching down past his shoulder blades in all its carefully petted and unmated glory. Its color is a deep, mysterious black that you could lose yourself in if you weren’t careful. His eyes burn like a fire going through the middle of the night, illuminating the darkest of skies with the desire and pure emotion that lies in them. His lush goatee beard drops a good two inches below his chin, its tone the same as his hair. His face, however, bares no resemblance to the comparative youthfulness of his hair and beard. His features were rugged and grizzled, a sure sign that he had been is some wars of attrition that had taken their toll on him. Despite this he was still attractive considering his advanced years, every woman he had met wondered about his other personal features, specifically below the belt line.
You see, before ending up in this place his was a genuine Latino lover. He never met a woman that didn’t want to sleep with him and he never met a woman he didn’t want to sleep with. His previous success coupled with his rugged good looks proved to be a combination that was irresistible to every woman on the planet. Even now, his slumped position in his chair was acting to protrude his genitals forward towards an amassed group of the nurses that worked in the home. In his heyday he had a the power to keep a woman at his fingertips all day with the promise of relations, but now was a different matter. The interest had dried up long ago, the youthful strut replaced by an elderly shuffle and his looks were no longer as alluring as they were. At this point he was desperate, he was living testament that love was an addiction and he needed his fix, he had done for over a year now. Nevertheless, he would try as hard as possible before it happened.
Aside from this man was another, equally interesting man who had stowed himself away into the corner of the room. He spent his time in solitude and loneliness, reading books and observing the actions of everybody around him. Other than his distant position to the rest of the group there are other major differences about him that make him utterly unique to the rest of them. Just looking at him there are obvious things that look odd. He happens to be the only person in the room, and probably existence itself, that is both male and owns a full head of shocking blue hair. Around here it would be normal for some of the women to be seen occupying a blue rinse, that slight aqua tinge to the hair that seemed to be the trademark of females in late life. His hair eloped over his face and disguised most of his features but his eyes burned through the strings of hair in front of them and showed their brilliant color, a combination of blue and green, a turquoise.
He had also become resentful of his previous life, having given up for the safety and the care of his family. He had chosen to give up everything he had ever worked for, every title he had ever earned and every shred of respect in the industry he had fought for. Now, he had lost everything, all of the titles, all of the respect and he had been forced into fulfilling his promise of protecting his family and, thus, was kept away from his one true calling, his job. Now he was in the home, he was only visited by his wife and child one a month, twice if he was lucky. The promise he had made now resulted in a life of solitude and his protection no longer needed. All he had given up was now a waste and he wished dearly that he could have it back. Everything he had left behind was now leering at him with contempt and the man stared back wishing it would leave him to his own thought, not reminding him of his eternal mistake.
The third and final man that is sitting on his own is an imposing figure. He is only sat on his own because everybody else feels intimidated by his size. He too has had a past filled with triumph and honor and a close history with the blue haired man across the room. Still, this man has also got the same resentment of the past as his comrade, having given away his career at its peak, leaving years of success unattended. His life too was based on his career and he had put it all on the line to prove a point, and lost. To be quite specific he actually drew, but no matter, his career ended promptly and he was left to wonder what had happened for the rest of his life.
The man had been a giant when he was working, he had been a true behemoth in his years in the business and had been unstoppable before he met the man with blue hair opposite him. Since he had left though, he had gradually shrunk on height so that he was now a few inches shorter than he had been. Still, however, he was an immense man with the presence to frighten many men half his age never mind those around him. The man had even managed to scare many of the staff into leaving him alone completely.
These three truly look like the epitome of old age, the one hanging on to his youth by the skin of his teeth, the one distancing himself from anything because he lost what he really got close to and the one who resents giving up his life for the sake of beating a rival. The three men are depressed, they are stressed and they are pissed at everything.
This is the place wrestling careers come to die. This is the place where every wrestler wishes they will never end up. It signifies that their career has gone downhill, it signifies that their whole life has gone into a spiral of decay. Being here shows that they have failed to be what they were always supposed to be, wrestlers. This place is a rotting hell hole of depression, hate and anger where stale dreams ferment and decay even more and their holder is sent to hell.
These careers, these dreams they hold so tight of success and recognition, they are cut short and when they are, they come here to live out their lives in the way they deserve to. They deserve their fate because they have the audacity to put their whole life on the line to prove a point to somebody else, to become an idol to women and have more power as the boss or to give up on something that seems right morally but knowing you are giving up your true calling. These people gave up on something worth a lot more than what they were risking, they gave up their lives and their souls. They now live with the resentment of what happened, what was and what could have been if they had just held on.
The Latino man comes back into view, his preened facial hair making a striking focal point. His eyes and his package are still aimed squarely at the group of nurses ahead but none of them seem to be taking any attention of him, leaving him to simmer in a pool of his own hormonal depression.
The Latino Lover boy was once a fifty time World Champion, at least that’s what they say. He was one of the greatest wrestlers on the face of the planet and had a reputation that spanned the globe. This man wasn’t just a legend, he was an Icon, a messiah for all wrestlers that dreamt of becoming a one time World Champion, not to mention Fifty. He had the world in the palm of his hand, he could have done anything without anybody saying anything to him. He could get away with murder if he wanted.
But, like all legends, like all messiahs, there was not a happy ending. He thought that being a mere wrestler was not enough. He wanted more, he wanted power. So he made PCW, he made a monster. Now he is desperately trying to hold on to all of his power and all of his allure before he loses it for good. There are people on the horizon that have more control over his creation than he has, all he is trying o do now is hang on until he can no longer.
The blue haired, peculiar one enters again, staring around the room, keeping his eternal vigil over everybody else. His eyes wander around as he waits constantly for his monthly visit, the highlight of his time inside the home.
The blue haired wanderer, the man that gave up everything that was in his heart to protect his daughter and wife. The man that gave up his only chance of true happiness so that he could keep his legacy. He covers himself from the world because he is ashamed of what he did to himself. He was ashamed that he had left the place he loved and ashamed that if he was given the chance to go back he would take it with both hands. He would always go back if given the chance because it was part of his soul and he could not rid himself of it.
The giant finally pops back into view, his towering figure an ominous sign of the power he still possesses. He is looking around intently at the area around him, specifically at the group of nurses in the middle of the room that give him a sneering glance every so often to show their anger at him and his steadfast stubbornness in not liking them attending to him.
The Giant, he lost his whole career with a flippant comment. He said he would quit if he didn’t win, he said he would end his career voluntarily if he failed to beat his opponent. The giant had lost his career even though he could still compete at the highest level, he could still compete for the biggest prize in the game. He was gradually shriveling up with jealousy a the thought of the youngsters who were challenging for the title that he could take as his own.
At Last Call, another person will enter this place of boredom, jealousy and hatred. The person will not enter by their own will though, they will fall by my hand, they will be left helpless in the ring with no hope of return. I will end their career by force rather than with a word or by a gentleman’s agreement.
Grimm, you have not held that title for long, and yet you consider it to be your title, your dearest possession. You have told me that I have given away my North American title for only a chance to be beaten by you, you have said that I have been promoted to a whipping boy. Let me tell you this Champ, I will not lose that match, I will not be your whipping boy and I will take that belt from your waist and put it around my own. You have held that title for only one month and I have no doubt that you will defend it with your life, but in that case you will lose your life and your title, and you will end up here, in the world where you will regret your every action.
Grimm, you may be the champion, you may be a great wrestler, but I have had to wait months for this shot, I have had to wait whilst people undeserving of a shot have been handed their chance, and in that time I have prepared, I have become more than anything you can handle and I will become the PCW World Title.
For I am Non Compos Mentis
The next PCW World Champion.
