Post by Mr. Showtime on Jun 1, 2014 21:31:49 GMT -5
All is quiet in the partially burned down South Carolinian home. The only sound is the crackling of the fire burning in the hearth. The red, yellow and orange flames dance their savagely seductive dance. Each color blurring into the other emanation the slightest hint of gray smoke.
It is a bit warm in the year for a fire, but “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght liked the look of it. Or is that Phinehas Grimm. It didn’t really matter the reason this vessel liked the hypnotic waves of the flames. Showtime is hunched over in a rotting armchair, lost in a trance.
He’s obviously been a bit unhinged for the past few months and things have begun to spiral out of control. He can’t remember what happened in his most recent visit to New Jersey, but it can’t have been good. He remembers most of it though. He still smells of the swampy grounds, feels the thick post thunderstorm air, and most of all he tastes revenge. But the moment he entered the house everything goes black.
There is a pungent order in the air, one that can almost singe the tiny hairs in his nostrils. He is the one to blame for the smell, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. It actually reminded him of Rick Majors. The tie at Trauma was severely unsatisfying. Showtime or Grimm, whoever he may be, neither man enjoyed the idea of ending a match in a draw.
He’s run the events of that night over and over again in his mind. At least this is something that could settle his mind. He is becoming somewhat obsessed with it, mostly because it was real. He knows that the match happened. He’s looked over the highlights of it and can tell that he was a participant. He remembers certain things about it and all of them make his feel almost like a real human being.
So much has happened in his recent history, and Rick Majors just happens to be his constant. It’s a tangible that he has grasped onto, and something he looks forward to repeating. A re-match has been set and it is the opportunity to right the mistakes of his past.
“Shouldn’t everything be like that?” he whispers to himself. The idea that he could go back and redo some of his mistakes is pulling at him. A clean slate could be achieved only if everything allowed for a rematch. He has no doubt that Majors might be thinking the same but there is a difference. In Showtime’s case he has the rage of two men burning inside of him. The anger cocktail of Phinehas Grimm and Michael Wryght is a very dangerous sip to swallow. Majors have better be ready. That is if Showtime makes it out of this house tonight.
The sound of footsteps pulls him out of his trance, but his head stays stationary. Someone is walking up the stairs and emerges from the shadows.
“Phinehas?” speaks a meek voice for the hall. It’s Ruth’s voice, Grimm’s sister and conspirator against Showtime.
“Is that who I am today?” he dryly replies.
“You left the door open, I’m guessing that was not an accident,” she goes to continue but the smell of the room over powers her. “My God, is that…”
“Gasoline?” Showtime asks, knowing the answer to be true.
“Why is everything doused in gas?”
“When there is nothing left to burn you must set yourself on fire.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I don’t know who I am anymore. Regardless of who I was, he is already dead. I can’t see anything bringing me back to who I was, there is only who I am now. I am dangerous. Not only to my self, but to innocent people as well. I’ve tried numerous times to hurt people, and have held you here against your will. These are all signs of a man that is not fit to be left on the loose.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I think I’ve already proved that I can do as I please.”
She goes to say something more but notices that there is clothing in the middle of the room. They are laid out as if to show a man that vanished within them. They are the soiled garb that Showtime has constantly worn since all of this madness began to take over his mind. There is a brownish, once white, dress shirt tucked into a pair of tattered trousers. At the bottom of the legs a pair of tarnished back dress shoes.
Ruth reaches down and finds that they are soaked. She looks back at her captor and then returns her gaze to the clothing. She can only guess that the fact that these are so drenched that they are not meant to last the night. She notices a dark brown stain across the shoulder of the dress shirts. When she feels it the stain sticks to her fingers.
She looks up in horror at her realization, “It’s blood.”
“That it is,” is all Showtime can say.
“Whose blood is it?”
“It’s my blood.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Well if I took it, doesn’t it make it mine?
“You know this old house reminds me of myself,” starts Showtime. “Once it was a well made structure. It served a purpose and it was nice to look upon. Then there was an accident, or maybe not an accident, but an act of violence either way. Then somewhere through the destructiveness of this blaze, mercy stepped in and stopped the house from burning to the ground.”
“What did you do?”
Showtime doesn’t answer her only raises to his feet to pace the room. He just continues with his rant, “But was it mercy that stopped this poor building from destruction? Maybe the fire was suppose to burn this place down to just a pile of tinder and crumbled brick. A family was still left homeless and now this piece of property just has a scarred glimpse of his former glory. A stain of which stands here not letting something to replace what was here.”
“You’re starting to scare me,” says Ruth backing away towards the exit.
“Now look at it,” demands Showtime. “It will never be the same. It can’t be that once loving home again. It has changed too much. At some point there is no return to the norm, only the chance to create a new one. Now this structure is just here almost as if it was always like this. I bet the local children tell stories about it. A villain in it’s own right. Maybe the family that the house turned on all those years ago haunts it. Or maybe a witch lives here, the type that eats puppies and little ones that venture too close.”
“Or maybe it’s the site where a heroic firefighter saved that family,” Ruth tries putting a positive spin on it, but as she speaks Showtime only ignores.
“See, it reminds me of myself, because mercy has scorned us both. Neither of us can go back to who we were, and out futures seem bleak. Maybe it’s right that the two of us are removed from this mortal coil tonight. There will be nothing left of either of us to torment this world any longer.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Have you known me to be whimsical, Ruth?” Showtime asks with a curious eye, looking at her for the first time.
“I’m sure that you will be able to be yourself, come with me and I will help you.”
“Help me?” scoffs Showtime, as he picks up a bottle of lighter fluid from the corner. “Why would you want to help me and why should either of us trust the other? I’ve clearly held you here against your will and you’ve clearly had some hand in all of this.”
“Please Phinehas…”
“Don’t call me that,” Showtime growls.
“Please Michael…”
“Nor that,” he growls again. “Both of those men are dead no matter which of them I was. The prophecy was right. One of us was to be destroyed, and it was me.”
“There is still time if you would only listen.”
Showtime is in no mood for listening and squeezes the bottle into the fireplace. The fire explodes and escapes its confines jumping to the floor and walls. It doesn’t take long for the fire to engulf the room igniting the surrounding gasoline. Showtime stands in the middle just watching it happen. Ruth begins to panic and runs for the door, leaving him behind. She has a clear sight to an escape, but stops and turn back. She can’t have Showtime’s death on her conscience and rushes to his side.
She just stands beside and says, “Well the two of you may need company.”
“No Ruth, you must leave.”
“Not without you I’m not, and I doubt that my brother would let me burn here.”
It is something that Showtime didn’t expect, and an intelligent ploy on Ruth’s part. He had brought her here to protect her from Showtime, and it wasn’t in his plan to be the one to hurt her. She leans her head on his shoulder hoping that it comforts him. He thinks about this longer than she expected him to, since she had no intention on dying here tonight. Before the flames get too close Showtime grabs her and rushes for the door.
The two hurry to higher ground and watch the building burn to the ground. Showtime breathes a deep sigh finding contentment that at least one ruined vessel finally has peace. The other would only have Rick Majors.
It is a bit warm in the year for a fire, but “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght liked the look of it. Or is that Phinehas Grimm. It didn’t really matter the reason this vessel liked the hypnotic waves of the flames. Showtime is hunched over in a rotting armchair, lost in a trance.
He’s obviously been a bit unhinged for the past few months and things have begun to spiral out of control. He can’t remember what happened in his most recent visit to New Jersey, but it can’t have been good. He remembers most of it though. He still smells of the swampy grounds, feels the thick post thunderstorm air, and most of all he tastes revenge. But the moment he entered the house everything goes black.
There is a pungent order in the air, one that can almost singe the tiny hairs in his nostrils. He is the one to blame for the smell, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. It actually reminded him of Rick Majors. The tie at Trauma was severely unsatisfying. Showtime or Grimm, whoever he may be, neither man enjoyed the idea of ending a match in a draw.
He’s run the events of that night over and over again in his mind. At least this is something that could settle his mind. He is becoming somewhat obsessed with it, mostly because it was real. He knows that the match happened. He’s looked over the highlights of it and can tell that he was a participant. He remembers certain things about it and all of them make his feel almost like a real human being.
So much has happened in his recent history, and Rick Majors just happens to be his constant. It’s a tangible that he has grasped onto, and something he looks forward to repeating. A re-match has been set and it is the opportunity to right the mistakes of his past.
“Shouldn’t everything be like that?” he whispers to himself. The idea that he could go back and redo some of his mistakes is pulling at him. A clean slate could be achieved only if everything allowed for a rematch. He has no doubt that Majors might be thinking the same but there is a difference. In Showtime’s case he has the rage of two men burning inside of him. The anger cocktail of Phinehas Grimm and Michael Wryght is a very dangerous sip to swallow. Majors have better be ready. That is if Showtime makes it out of this house tonight.
The sound of footsteps pulls him out of his trance, but his head stays stationary. Someone is walking up the stairs and emerges from the shadows.
“Phinehas?” speaks a meek voice for the hall. It’s Ruth’s voice, Grimm’s sister and conspirator against Showtime.
“Is that who I am today?” he dryly replies.
“You left the door open, I’m guessing that was not an accident,” she goes to continue but the smell of the room over powers her. “My God, is that…”
“Gasoline?” Showtime asks, knowing the answer to be true.
“Why is everything doused in gas?”
“When there is nothing left to burn you must set yourself on fire.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I don’t know who I am anymore. Regardless of who I was, he is already dead. I can’t see anything bringing me back to who I was, there is only who I am now. I am dangerous. Not only to my self, but to innocent people as well. I’ve tried numerous times to hurt people, and have held you here against your will. These are all signs of a man that is not fit to be left on the loose.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I think I’ve already proved that I can do as I please.”
She goes to say something more but notices that there is clothing in the middle of the room. They are laid out as if to show a man that vanished within them. They are the soiled garb that Showtime has constantly worn since all of this madness began to take over his mind. There is a brownish, once white, dress shirt tucked into a pair of tattered trousers. At the bottom of the legs a pair of tarnished back dress shoes.
Ruth reaches down and finds that they are soaked. She looks back at her captor and then returns her gaze to the clothing. She can only guess that the fact that these are so drenched that they are not meant to last the night. She notices a dark brown stain across the shoulder of the dress shirts. When she feels it the stain sticks to her fingers.
She looks up in horror at her realization, “It’s blood.”
“That it is,” is all Showtime can say.
“Whose blood is it?”
“It’s my blood.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Well if I took it, doesn’t it make it mine?
“You know this old house reminds me of myself,” starts Showtime. “Once it was a well made structure. It served a purpose and it was nice to look upon. Then there was an accident, or maybe not an accident, but an act of violence either way. Then somewhere through the destructiveness of this blaze, mercy stepped in and stopped the house from burning to the ground.”
“What did you do?”
Showtime doesn’t answer her only raises to his feet to pace the room. He just continues with his rant, “But was it mercy that stopped this poor building from destruction? Maybe the fire was suppose to burn this place down to just a pile of tinder and crumbled brick. A family was still left homeless and now this piece of property just has a scarred glimpse of his former glory. A stain of which stands here not letting something to replace what was here.”
“You’re starting to scare me,” says Ruth backing away towards the exit.
“Now look at it,” demands Showtime. “It will never be the same. It can’t be that once loving home again. It has changed too much. At some point there is no return to the norm, only the chance to create a new one. Now this structure is just here almost as if it was always like this. I bet the local children tell stories about it. A villain in it’s own right. Maybe the family that the house turned on all those years ago haunts it. Or maybe a witch lives here, the type that eats puppies and little ones that venture too close.”
“Or maybe it’s the site where a heroic firefighter saved that family,” Ruth tries putting a positive spin on it, but as she speaks Showtime only ignores.
“See, it reminds me of myself, because mercy has scorned us both. Neither of us can go back to who we were, and out futures seem bleak. Maybe it’s right that the two of us are removed from this mortal coil tonight. There will be nothing left of either of us to torment this world any longer.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Have you known me to be whimsical, Ruth?” Showtime asks with a curious eye, looking at her for the first time.
“I’m sure that you will be able to be yourself, come with me and I will help you.”
“Help me?” scoffs Showtime, as he picks up a bottle of lighter fluid from the corner. “Why would you want to help me and why should either of us trust the other? I’ve clearly held you here against your will and you’ve clearly had some hand in all of this.”
“Please Phinehas…”
“Don’t call me that,” Showtime growls.
“Please Michael…”
“Nor that,” he growls again. “Both of those men are dead no matter which of them I was. The prophecy was right. One of us was to be destroyed, and it was me.”
“There is still time if you would only listen.”
Showtime is in no mood for listening and squeezes the bottle into the fireplace. The fire explodes and escapes its confines jumping to the floor and walls. It doesn’t take long for the fire to engulf the room igniting the surrounding gasoline. Showtime stands in the middle just watching it happen. Ruth begins to panic and runs for the door, leaving him behind. She has a clear sight to an escape, but stops and turn back. She can’t have Showtime’s death on her conscience and rushes to his side.
She just stands beside and says, “Well the two of you may need company.”
“No Ruth, you must leave.”
“Not without you I’m not, and I doubt that my brother would let me burn here.”
It is something that Showtime didn’t expect, and an intelligent ploy on Ruth’s part. He had brought her here to protect her from Showtime, and it wasn’t in his plan to be the one to hurt her. She leans her head on his shoulder hoping that it comforts him. He thinks about this longer than she expected him to, since she had no intention on dying here tonight. Before the flames get too close Showtime grabs her and rushes for the door.
The two hurry to higher ground and watch the building burn to the ground. Showtime breathes a deep sigh finding contentment that at least one ruined vessel finally has peace. The other would only have Rick Majors.
