Post by Grimm on Jul 9, 2012 15:55:58 GMT -5
How about that, he thought.
It wasn’t so much that life flashed before his eyes, which was a blessing to be sure. Had four and thirty years of the Dillinger experience been forced upon him all at once he was sure to lapse into a catatonic state. And that was not at all conducive to surviving a wrestling match, let alone winning one.
Phinehas Grimm hadn’t believed it had ever actually occurred. He thought it was just something people said in an attempt to bring order out of chaos. There’s no telling what the mind and the subconscious can project in the eye of a traumatic incident. In the split second between the realization events are about to get exceedingly inconvenient and the moment of impact. The brain can conjure all manner of madness in that small window of recognition.
Especially when time comes to a complete stop, which was what Grimm was currently experiencing with some amusement.
No, there were no scenes of little Phinehas frolicking in a creek or hoisting his first title belt overhead. It was more along the lines of everything freezing and becoming more real. Meaning beyond meaning. He felt the pulse in his neck beneath Machine’s paw. Smelled the salt and butter slathered on popcorn from the highest reaches of the arena. Heard the groan of Jake Andrews as he struggled to his feet. Tasted the iron tang of blood on his tongue. Saw the looks of joy on each individual face of the crowd, no matter their favorites, as they anticipated his impending doom. Grimm glanced into Machine’s eyes, beyond the mask, and watched the colors shift from the brightest of greens to…something else.
Grimm did not like what he saw. A storm rolled in off the horizon. The enormous German was about the break him. Someone believed toying with the specter of his brother was amusing. The remnants of AWA seemed to agree they already had the run of the place. How else to explain the brazen attitude as soon as they stepped through the curtains into PCW? The interference, the post-match beatings, the limp-wristed slaps doled out from the announcer’s table.
Phinehas couldn’t turn his head but he knew Whitey Ford still sat between Jerry and Al. That’s right, Whitey, I sense you. Please note there is no grace period here. No slight goes unpunished.
Machine tightened his grip and Grimm gasped. A tingle ran through his extremities. The lull was over. The roar of the crowd rushed over him as he felt himself plummet towards the mat. But not before one last flicker of thought came to him.
There will be a next time. There’s always a next time.
It wasn’t so much that life flashed before his eyes, which was a blessing to be sure. Had four and thirty years of the Dillinger experience been forced upon him all at once he was sure to lapse into a catatonic state. And that was not at all conducive to surviving a wrestling match, let alone winning one.
Phinehas Grimm hadn’t believed it had ever actually occurred. He thought it was just something people said in an attempt to bring order out of chaos. There’s no telling what the mind and the subconscious can project in the eye of a traumatic incident. In the split second between the realization events are about to get exceedingly inconvenient and the moment of impact. The brain can conjure all manner of madness in that small window of recognition.
Especially when time comes to a complete stop, which was what Grimm was currently experiencing with some amusement.
No, there were no scenes of little Phinehas frolicking in a creek or hoisting his first title belt overhead. It was more along the lines of everything freezing and becoming more real. Meaning beyond meaning. He felt the pulse in his neck beneath Machine’s paw. Smelled the salt and butter slathered on popcorn from the highest reaches of the arena. Heard the groan of Jake Andrews as he struggled to his feet. Tasted the iron tang of blood on his tongue. Saw the looks of joy on each individual face of the crowd, no matter their favorites, as they anticipated his impending doom. Grimm glanced into Machine’s eyes, beyond the mask, and watched the colors shift from the brightest of greens to…something else.
Grimm did not like what he saw. A storm rolled in off the horizon. The enormous German was about the break him. Someone believed toying with the specter of his brother was amusing. The remnants of AWA seemed to agree they already had the run of the place. How else to explain the brazen attitude as soon as they stepped through the curtains into PCW? The interference, the post-match beatings, the limp-wristed slaps doled out from the announcer’s table.
Phinehas couldn’t turn his head but he knew Whitey Ford still sat between Jerry and Al. That’s right, Whitey, I sense you. Please note there is no grace period here. No slight goes unpunished.
Machine tightened his grip and Grimm gasped. A tingle ran through his extremities. The lull was over. The roar of the crowd rushed over him as he felt himself plummet towards the mat. But not before one last flicker of thought came to him.
There will be a next time. There’s always a next time.
