Post by Mr. Showtime on Aug 11, 2014 21:44:11 GMT -5
It would be lying to say that these last few months have been easy on the man known as “Mr. Showtime.” His sanity has been turned upside down. From thinking that he’s a monster that he’s not to accepting the monster that’s he’s become. He’s lost what was once a happy home, and is driving off the only person in this world that truly cares for him.
Around this time last year he was at the pinnacle of the sport. The World Championship was secured around his waist and he was the leader of stable that terrorized all of Pure Class Wrestling. Movie producers were breaking down his doors, and fans were lined up around the corner. The Frickin’ Superstar was truly living the dream. What a difference a year makes.
The thought of how much worse things could be next year sends shivers down Wryght’s spine. He isn’t one to put stock into fearing the unknown, but he’s definitely more in tune with it now. He’s come to grips with the fact that he is no longer the master of his own destiny. Instead of running from the uncertainty he’s embraced it. Now that he’s beginning to learn pieces of this grand conundrum there is no backing out. He’s committed to running with the Black Hand and the darkness it entails.
Do you know what else is different from a year ago, Phinehas?
“Stop calling me Phinehas,” Showtime growls to himself. “I know who I am, and though you may only be here to make things worse I have you under control.”
It’s a lie that no matter how many times he tells he’ll never believe. He only hopes that he has enough of a handle to keep whatever it is from hurting someone it shouldn’t. As long as he keeps his mind sharp he’s able to keep the voice at only that. It will still attempt to force Showtime to commit vile deeds, but he’s now able to refuse. Though if he indulges in alcohol or even skips meals his mind gets lazy and the beast within escapes.
In an attempt to connect with his former self he decided that a visit to a familiar place was in order. “The Best Gym” in Brick, New Jersey was once like a second home to him. Honestly, it was more of a first home since he spent more time here than at his house. The gym allows select members in at all hours of the night, but it is rare that any of them would be here at this time.
Showtime sits alone trying to relate with the once familiar surrounding. It is almost like watching an adaptation of your own life. The general story is similar to how you would recount it, but someone messed with the dialog and minor plot points making it foreign. His whole life dubbed and they couldn’t even attempt to match the lips with the words.
You didn’t answer my question.
“I was ignoring you.”
Always so hostile, Mikey.
“Don’t call me that.”
Well if you’d prefer Phinehas I’d be more than glad to oblige.
“Stop it.”
It’s a simple question, that you already know the answer to.
The voice in his head is always there when Showtime wants privacy. It gnaws at him at the least opportune times, especially when he might be able to think straight. Though this time their train of thought is on the same rail.
“Ford”
Exactly! A year ago he was the only one you could trust. A man that you were kind enough to take under your wing and make sure that he found a home in Pure Class Wrestling. You opened the channels for him to claim the top spot in your sport and how does he repay you?
“That’s not even the worst of it.”
Whatever could you mean? The fact that you made sure he didn’t go to prison even though he’s probably a murder? The fact that if it weren’t for you he’d be someone’s bitch this very moment.
“He’s a tough guy I’m not convinced he’d be the bitch.”
The pitcher or catcher doesn’t make much difference at the end of the day. You’ve legitimately saved his life from ruins. How does he repay that kindness?
“By stabbing me in the back when he had nothing to do with any of it,” replies Showtime, catching the voices bate. The anger inside of him begins to grow steadily. As much as he hates the voice in his head he couldn’t agree more. They’re thoughts that he doesn’t want to dwell on. He’s already put so many people in harms way by continuing to wrestle. Now that he has a real reason to be mad with both are on the same page the results could be deadly.
As valid of a point that may be, Showtime didn’t consider it. For once he’s willingly allowing the hate fire to engulf him. It’s one thing to have a match with Ford, but another for him to come out and single Showtime out. Only a twinge of restraint is left in him to question.
“It didn’t need to go down that way.”
Maybe it is jealousy that drove him. An egotist always hates those that he’s needed to lean on in the past. The sight of you and Eira in the Trauma Main Event was infuriating to him. You stepping into the spotlight only recasting shadows that he is all too familiar with.
“No we were friends then, and it was never like that.”
Not to you it wasn’t, but then why attack you out of everyone out there. Eira is defiantly on sour terms with him, and everyone hates the Dillingers. Hell even the Dillingers hate each other most of the time. He came out at the precise moment and singled you out.
“No that’s not how it went down.”
Believe what you will, but I was there. He pushed you in the corner and began to dig into you. You were only defending yourself. Even if it were a simple mistake, why didn’t he stop? With you at his side the Horrors of Hangtown would have at least needed to think twice. The five of you should have dismantled Eira, and when Murdoc came out it would’ve been too late. Leaving him to a massacre of his own.
“Stop it!” Showtime bellows, still not trusting the twisted voice. Every fiber of Wryght’s body telling him that voice is only evil. This time is no exception, except…
You know I’m right. You know that Ford has a beating coming to him and there is no one more deserving to give it to him than you.
He doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t. He longs to throw on an oversized pair of headphones and drown out the voice with some wholesome hardcore death rap metal tunes. All of it would be futile though. The voice has reeled him in and there is no recanting, because Showtime actually agrees.
“It’s about time we work together,” darkly seethes Showtime. He sees himself in the mirrors that line the gyms walls, almost not recognizing himself. The showman that once resided in this building is nowhere to be seen and now is replaced by a snarling shell of a man. His bright blue eyes are only slits and his cocky half smile replaced with a snarl. If Lewis Carol were writing this story, then this Showtime would definitely be the one from the other side of the looking glass.
Times have changed my friend.
“They certainly have and the good olds days for Ford have vanished,” Showtime replies before a racket catches his attention. The thought of some ghoul from Hangtown following him home flashes across his mind. Stranger things have happened. He turns towards the noise readying for anything.
“Who are you talking to?” comes the sweet feminine voice of Perfection. It is the only thing that Showtime didn’t anticipate. She is the only one keeping him almost even and in this rage is not the time that he wanted to see her.
“No one,” he lies.
“But I heard you.”
“I was only talking to myself then.”
“Really,” she asks stepping out of the shadows. “You were really intense a few seconds ago.”
“You have no idea,” he replies. He is in one mindset for the first time since he can remember, and if this conversation is intense then what is in store for the treacherous Whitey Ford?
Around this time last year he was at the pinnacle of the sport. The World Championship was secured around his waist and he was the leader of stable that terrorized all of Pure Class Wrestling. Movie producers were breaking down his doors, and fans were lined up around the corner. The Frickin’ Superstar was truly living the dream. What a difference a year makes.
The thought of how much worse things could be next year sends shivers down Wryght’s spine. He isn’t one to put stock into fearing the unknown, but he’s definitely more in tune with it now. He’s come to grips with the fact that he is no longer the master of his own destiny. Instead of running from the uncertainty he’s embraced it. Now that he’s beginning to learn pieces of this grand conundrum there is no backing out. He’s committed to running with the Black Hand and the darkness it entails.
Do you know what else is different from a year ago, Phinehas?
“Stop calling me Phinehas,” Showtime growls to himself. “I know who I am, and though you may only be here to make things worse I have you under control.”
It’s a lie that no matter how many times he tells he’ll never believe. He only hopes that he has enough of a handle to keep whatever it is from hurting someone it shouldn’t. As long as he keeps his mind sharp he’s able to keep the voice at only that. It will still attempt to force Showtime to commit vile deeds, but he’s now able to refuse. Though if he indulges in alcohol or even skips meals his mind gets lazy and the beast within escapes.
In an attempt to connect with his former self he decided that a visit to a familiar place was in order. “The Best Gym” in Brick, New Jersey was once like a second home to him. Honestly, it was more of a first home since he spent more time here than at his house. The gym allows select members in at all hours of the night, but it is rare that any of them would be here at this time.
Showtime sits alone trying to relate with the once familiar surrounding. It is almost like watching an adaptation of your own life. The general story is similar to how you would recount it, but someone messed with the dialog and minor plot points making it foreign. His whole life dubbed and they couldn’t even attempt to match the lips with the words.
You didn’t answer my question.
“I was ignoring you.”
Always so hostile, Mikey.
“Don’t call me that.”
Well if you’d prefer Phinehas I’d be more than glad to oblige.
“Stop it.”
It’s a simple question, that you already know the answer to.
The voice in his head is always there when Showtime wants privacy. It gnaws at him at the least opportune times, especially when he might be able to think straight. Though this time their train of thought is on the same rail.
“Ford”
Exactly! A year ago he was the only one you could trust. A man that you were kind enough to take under your wing and make sure that he found a home in Pure Class Wrestling. You opened the channels for him to claim the top spot in your sport and how does he repay you?
“That’s not even the worst of it.”
Whatever could you mean? The fact that you made sure he didn’t go to prison even though he’s probably a murder? The fact that if it weren’t for you he’d be someone’s bitch this very moment.
“He’s a tough guy I’m not convinced he’d be the bitch.”
The pitcher or catcher doesn’t make much difference at the end of the day. You’ve legitimately saved his life from ruins. How does he repay that kindness?
“By stabbing me in the back when he had nothing to do with any of it,” replies Showtime, catching the voices bate. The anger inside of him begins to grow steadily. As much as he hates the voice in his head he couldn’t agree more. They’re thoughts that he doesn’t want to dwell on. He’s already put so many people in harms way by continuing to wrestle. Now that he has a real reason to be mad with both are on the same page the results could be deadly.
As valid of a point that may be, Showtime didn’t consider it. For once he’s willingly allowing the hate fire to engulf him. It’s one thing to have a match with Ford, but another for him to come out and single Showtime out. Only a twinge of restraint is left in him to question.
“It didn’t need to go down that way.”
Maybe it is jealousy that drove him. An egotist always hates those that he’s needed to lean on in the past. The sight of you and Eira in the Trauma Main Event was infuriating to him. You stepping into the spotlight only recasting shadows that he is all too familiar with.
“No we were friends then, and it was never like that.”
Not to you it wasn’t, but then why attack you out of everyone out there. Eira is defiantly on sour terms with him, and everyone hates the Dillingers. Hell even the Dillingers hate each other most of the time. He came out at the precise moment and singled you out.
“No that’s not how it went down.”
Believe what you will, but I was there. He pushed you in the corner and began to dig into you. You were only defending yourself. Even if it were a simple mistake, why didn’t he stop? With you at his side the Horrors of Hangtown would have at least needed to think twice. The five of you should have dismantled Eira, and when Murdoc came out it would’ve been too late. Leaving him to a massacre of his own.
“Stop it!” Showtime bellows, still not trusting the twisted voice. Every fiber of Wryght’s body telling him that voice is only evil. This time is no exception, except…
You know I’m right. You know that Ford has a beating coming to him and there is no one more deserving to give it to him than you.
He doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t. He longs to throw on an oversized pair of headphones and drown out the voice with some wholesome hardcore death rap metal tunes. All of it would be futile though. The voice has reeled him in and there is no recanting, because Showtime actually agrees.
“It’s about time we work together,” darkly seethes Showtime. He sees himself in the mirrors that line the gyms walls, almost not recognizing himself. The showman that once resided in this building is nowhere to be seen and now is replaced by a snarling shell of a man. His bright blue eyes are only slits and his cocky half smile replaced with a snarl. If Lewis Carol were writing this story, then this Showtime would definitely be the one from the other side of the looking glass.
Times have changed my friend.
“They certainly have and the good olds days for Ford have vanished,” Showtime replies before a racket catches his attention. The thought of some ghoul from Hangtown following him home flashes across his mind. Stranger things have happened. He turns towards the noise readying for anything.
“Who are you talking to?” comes the sweet feminine voice of Perfection. It is the only thing that Showtime didn’t anticipate. She is the only one keeping him almost even and in this rage is not the time that he wanted to see her.
“No one,” he lies.
“But I heard you.”
“I was only talking to myself then.”
“Really,” she asks stepping out of the shadows. “You were really intense a few seconds ago.”
“You have no idea,” he replies. He is in one mindset for the first time since he can remember, and if this conversation is intense then what is in store for the treacherous Whitey Ford?
