Post by nickyd on Aug 12, 2019 19:23:03 GMT -5
The solemn beeps of a hospital monitor. The groans of pain. The scent of death and sterile, overly lemon scented hospital floors.
It is December 2004, and snow flurries fall picturesquely outside in the hills of some quiet town nestled somewhere in the Northeastern part of the country. The nurses go about their daily duties as we have reached the morning shift change.
An elevator opens and a family of four get out, a young couple and their two children, a boy and a girl, get out. The man and woman discuss where their loved one is at, and head in that direction, discussing how long one will be there, before taking turns, a shift of their own, to sleep and visit this sick and dying individual. The children, still so young, have no firm grasp that on this floor, no one goes home, at least, not in the physical sense.
The elevator opens once more, and a younger Duncan Aries, in his mid 20s, saunters out, clad in a denim jacket which covers a solid black t-shirt with a single blue spade printed on it, stonewash jeans, and a pair of Timberland boots, as they clop, clop, clop on the squeaky clean floors. Aries, even in this dark morning of winter, has on his olive tinted Aviator shades, and looks none too pleased to be at this place, not in the way you would expect though. This is less of the usual “I hate hospitals” the general public has, and more “This is a fucking nuisance and a waste of my time.” He walks with a purpose.
A young nurse at the front desk picks up her head to see Aries, but he pays her no mind, rounding the corner and continuing his long strides. He knows where he is going, and the fact that visiting hours have just started. “Don’t you worry, “ Aries thinks to himself, “I won’t be here long.”
There, at the end of the hall, is room 622, just after the restroom and a janitor’s closet. The door is open, and Aries walks in, closing the door behind him.
There, in a hospital bed, lies Aaron Gladdis, the biological father of the young man who has become Duncan Aries. He has not risen yet. Aries peers down at him, a look of poor disgust on his face.
“You know, you were supposed to be awake, awake and ready for me to knock your ass out, you piece of shit.”
Aries clenches his teeth, and cracks his knuckles, trying his best not to raise his voice too much in this place.
“Yeah, both of you gave me up, but at least she had a good reason, fucker. Three times she fought cancer, including right after I was born, and she fought with a courage you only wish you had. I was given a better life so that you could go and drink your liver away, so you could gamble off whatever future I could have had.”
Aries paces in this small room.
“So I need you to do me a favor, right here, right now. I need you to just fucking go already. Get out of here. You did nothing right here, save convince a bunch of idiots you were some kind of saint. You played a great role, so great only someone like me could see right through it.”
Tears begin to well up under the sunglasses, and Aries swallows hard. Nah, this shithead doesn’t deserve my tears.
“I became a success despite you, despite the hole you left me in.”
Aries shakes his head, and turns to leave, as Aaron stirs, letting out a yawn, and blinking, looking up at Duncan.
“Duncan?”
There is a moment of these two just staring at one another, Aaron wondering why his estranged son is there, and Duncan himself wondering why he even bothered coming, just to gloat over a dying man?
“I gave you strict orders, “Dad”. Just fucking go already. Go to the light, go to the gates of hell, just fucking go already.”
Before Aaron can even struggle to say another word, Aries storms out, brushing past the janitor, and to the elevator, where this scene dissolves with the closing of the elevator doors.
Present day. The morning begins with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. Raindrops tap on the windows. Coffee brews, and pots and pans are taken out in preparation for breakfast. Taylor Gladdis, the wife of Duncan Aries, stands in a San Diego State t-shirt and basketball shorts, as a curly haired little girl, Mia Gladdis, clutches her hand, the other popping a Goldfish cracker into her mouth.
Upstairs Duncan sits on the edge of the bed, peering out the bay window, just watching nature unfold in a symphony of summer sounds, the crash and boom, the morning light show.
“I have earned this. I have earned this attitude, this outlook on life, this demeanor that makes people sick. I have earned this through the crosses put on my shoulders, and this idea that I was going to die alone in the gutter. I have fought and clawed and scraped to get here, to stand here, 41 years of age, and a legacy in this sport I can be proud of. I’m not a saint, and neither are the people who dropped me off one cold morning in a place far from here, one wanting the best for me, the other without a fucking care in the world. Maybe that’s the only thing I ever inherited from you, that indifferent smug attitude of giving zero shits, having zero fucks, checking my internal bank account, and seeing not one care in there.”
Aries stretches and gets up from the bed, walking into the bathroom. He splashes water on his face. Shaving cream follows and we see Duncan carefully taking a single blade razor to his face.
“I didn’t spend this time feeling bad for myself, Persey, because in essence, I gave you a gift, albeit inadvertently, but a gift just the same. I gave you one week of relevancy, one week for you and all your cornholing, LARPY senpai freakazoids to actually think you’re somehow this dominant force in Trinity Wrestling. I hope you had a great time, watched the Fifty Shades movies like 40 times and fingered each other under your wells ran dry. But a week is all you got, Persey, before the waves of reality come crashing down on your scrawny ass. A week is all a piece of human garbage like you deserves, so for the last time, you are welcome, so, so welcome, but now I come to collect. Now I come to give you the receipt, courtesy of a boot to your taint and a right hook to that dumb ass face of yours.”
Aries continues shaving, finally rinsing off and admiring his smooth face.
“I came to this fucking shithole as a favor for a walking poster boy for abortion, but what I have quickly come to realize is this place needs me. It really does. This is but a simple blip on the wrestling radar, a bargain bin DVD in a sea of piss poor attempts at a pro wrestling promotion, and it is in dire need of relevancy if a fat ass Russian stereotype and a wrestling sex slave collection of vague “mysterious sensuality” is what is supposed to keep people tuned in. Persey, you are quite simply the medium in which I am going to get a hearty thank you from Trinity management, even the ones who flirt with you assholes in hopes of being tied up and slapped around like something special.”
“And that’s the thing, happy go lucky human Pandora sex toy, there is nothing special about you, nothing intimidating, nothing mysterious, nothing that is going to bring this company to the forefront of the wrestling scene. You are dispensable, like a used tampon in the Haven washroom. Like a broken off anal bead after Pandora gets bored. I mean, again, bravo for capitalizing on my gift to you, and, well, not pinning me, and not making me submit, and well, not really doing anything to show supremacy over me. But that is the Haven way, isn’t it? Talking a good “sexually mysterious” game, but then taking the easy way out, I guess because you’re all easy? Am I connecting the dots? No? Meh.”
Aries reaches into the cabinet and takes out some after-shave, splashing it on his face. He returns to the bedroom, opening the bay window curtains all the way. The storm has subsided some, becoming a sprinkling sun shower.
“Like I said, at the end of the day, Persey, I just don’t care about you, Haven, or whatever you imbecilic nimrods do behind closed doors. Die in a bus fire on the way to a sex toy convention, inbred and create fish people who worship “scary” YouTubers while wearing braces even though you don’t need them, and multi-colored hair because rainbows and shit, do whatever, just, for the love of whatever tin foil hat wearing god or goddesses you worship, hell I don’t know, maybe the guy who works the rope section at Home Depot, stop pretending you are some dominant force we should fear, because at the end of the day, people fearing whatever form of the clap they can get being too close to any of you doesn’t make you something to fear. It makes you an epidemic of fucking stupid untalented human glory holes that need to be eradicated. I plan on doing my part in making Trinity Wrestling a better place by slapping you around like the little bitch you are.”
“You know, in a way, I am doing the world at large a great service, by recycling bullshit and turning it into glory, turning it into what works, turning it into what will make Trinity Wrestling better than what the idiots behind it have clearly failed to do. It is obvious to me that this place needs a hero, and even though I don’t fucking care about that shit, I am about protecting the wrestling environment against people who cannot wrestle their way out of a wet paper bag. It is too bad that your time is up, isn’t it Persey? You have to return to irrelevancy, return to obscurity, return to those days of just picking up the money from Pandora Fuck’s night stand, and going back into the Haven broom closet with the rest of the tools. It isn’t the most glamorous life, but hey, you’re serving Pandora, risking life, limb, and your immune system in the process. You’re a brave one, Persey, dumb as a brick, but brave.”
Aries laughs to himself, letting out a yawn.
“I’m not a religious guy, Persey, and chances are, since you are a useless little toy for Haven, with no clear cut identity or reason for anyone to discern you from the rest of the idiots in your group of sweaty slutty clam jams, you’re not either. But I pray you truly have enjoyed your week. Barked like a dog. Took a foot long steel dildo to the asshole. You know, your usual shit. Because I have a duty, Persey, to the sanctity of pro wrestling that I normally give less than a flying fuck about, and that is to cleanse this place of the stupid. Cleanse this place of the useless. Cleanse this place of the untalented jerkoffs that were hired to Trinity Wrestling for shits, giggles, and the occasional punch to the face, or in your case, the snapper.”
“Trust me, Persey, there is no haven from the deserving beating I am about to give you. Say amen, bitch, and go fuck yourself.”
With a wink, Aries departs to the downstairs for breakfast.
It is December 2004, and snow flurries fall picturesquely outside in the hills of some quiet town nestled somewhere in the Northeastern part of the country. The nurses go about their daily duties as we have reached the morning shift change.
An elevator opens and a family of four get out, a young couple and their two children, a boy and a girl, get out. The man and woman discuss where their loved one is at, and head in that direction, discussing how long one will be there, before taking turns, a shift of their own, to sleep and visit this sick and dying individual. The children, still so young, have no firm grasp that on this floor, no one goes home, at least, not in the physical sense.
The elevator opens once more, and a younger Duncan Aries, in his mid 20s, saunters out, clad in a denim jacket which covers a solid black t-shirt with a single blue spade printed on it, stonewash jeans, and a pair of Timberland boots, as they clop, clop, clop on the squeaky clean floors. Aries, even in this dark morning of winter, has on his olive tinted Aviator shades, and looks none too pleased to be at this place, not in the way you would expect though. This is less of the usual “I hate hospitals” the general public has, and more “This is a fucking nuisance and a waste of my time.” He walks with a purpose.
A young nurse at the front desk picks up her head to see Aries, but he pays her no mind, rounding the corner and continuing his long strides. He knows where he is going, and the fact that visiting hours have just started. “Don’t you worry, “ Aries thinks to himself, “I won’t be here long.”
There, at the end of the hall, is room 622, just after the restroom and a janitor’s closet. The door is open, and Aries walks in, closing the door behind him.
There, in a hospital bed, lies Aaron Gladdis, the biological father of the young man who has become Duncan Aries. He has not risen yet. Aries peers down at him, a look of poor disgust on his face.
“You know, you were supposed to be awake, awake and ready for me to knock your ass out, you piece of shit.”
Aries clenches his teeth, and cracks his knuckles, trying his best not to raise his voice too much in this place.
“Yeah, both of you gave me up, but at least she had a good reason, fucker. Three times she fought cancer, including right after I was born, and she fought with a courage you only wish you had. I was given a better life so that you could go and drink your liver away, so you could gamble off whatever future I could have had.”
Aries paces in this small room.
“So I need you to do me a favor, right here, right now. I need you to just fucking go already. Get out of here. You did nothing right here, save convince a bunch of idiots you were some kind of saint. You played a great role, so great only someone like me could see right through it.”
Tears begin to well up under the sunglasses, and Aries swallows hard. Nah, this shithead doesn’t deserve my tears.
“I became a success despite you, despite the hole you left me in.”
Aries shakes his head, and turns to leave, as Aaron stirs, letting out a yawn, and blinking, looking up at Duncan.
“Duncan?”
There is a moment of these two just staring at one another, Aaron wondering why his estranged son is there, and Duncan himself wondering why he even bothered coming, just to gloat over a dying man?
“I gave you strict orders, “Dad”. Just fucking go already. Go to the light, go to the gates of hell, just fucking go already.”
Before Aaron can even struggle to say another word, Aries storms out, brushing past the janitor, and to the elevator, where this scene dissolves with the closing of the elevator doors.
Present day. The morning begins with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. Raindrops tap on the windows. Coffee brews, and pots and pans are taken out in preparation for breakfast. Taylor Gladdis, the wife of Duncan Aries, stands in a San Diego State t-shirt and basketball shorts, as a curly haired little girl, Mia Gladdis, clutches her hand, the other popping a Goldfish cracker into her mouth.
Upstairs Duncan sits on the edge of the bed, peering out the bay window, just watching nature unfold in a symphony of summer sounds, the crash and boom, the morning light show.
“I have earned this. I have earned this attitude, this outlook on life, this demeanor that makes people sick. I have earned this through the crosses put on my shoulders, and this idea that I was going to die alone in the gutter. I have fought and clawed and scraped to get here, to stand here, 41 years of age, and a legacy in this sport I can be proud of. I’m not a saint, and neither are the people who dropped me off one cold morning in a place far from here, one wanting the best for me, the other without a fucking care in the world. Maybe that’s the only thing I ever inherited from you, that indifferent smug attitude of giving zero shits, having zero fucks, checking my internal bank account, and seeing not one care in there.”
Aries stretches and gets up from the bed, walking into the bathroom. He splashes water on his face. Shaving cream follows and we see Duncan carefully taking a single blade razor to his face.
“I didn’t spend this time feeling bad for myself, Persey, because in essence, I gave you a gift, albeit inadvertently, but a gift just the same. I gave you one week of relevancy, one week for you and all your cornholing, LARPY senpai freakazoids to actually think you’re somehow this dominant force in Trinity Wrestling. I hope you had a great time, watched the Fifty Shades movies like 40 times and fingered each other under your wells ran dry. But a week is all you got, Persey, before the waves of reality come crashing down on your scrawny ass. A week is all a piece of human garbage like you deserves, so for the last time, you are welcome, so, so welcome, but now I come to collect. Now I come to give you the receipt, courtesy of a boot to your taint and a right hook to that dumb ass face of yours.”
Aries continues shaving, finally rinsing off and admiring his smooth face.
“I came to this fucking shithole as a favor for a walking poster boy for abortion, but what I have quickly come to realize is this place needs me. It really does. This is but a simple blip on the wrestling radar, a bargain bin DVD in a sea of piss poor attempts at a pro wrestling promotion, and it is in dire need of relevancy if a fat ass Russian stereotype and a wrestling sex slave collection of vague “mysterious sensuality” is what is supposed to keep people tuned in. Persey, you are quite simply the medium in which I am going to get a hearty thank you from Trinity management, even the ones who flirt with you assholes in hopes of being tied up and slapped around like something special.”
“And that’s the thing, happy go lucky human Pandora sex toy, there is nothing special about you, nothing intimidating, nothing mysterious, nothing that is going to bring this company to the forefront of the wrestling scene. You are dispensable, like a used tampon in the Haven washroom. Like a broken off anal bead after Pandora gets bored. I mean, again, bravo for capitalizing on my gift to you, and, well, not pinning me, and not making me submit, and well, not really doing anything to show supremacy over me. But that is the Haven way, isn’t it? Talking a good “sexually mysterious” game, but then taking the easy way out, I guess because you’re all easy? Am I connecting the dots? No? Meh.”
Aries reaches into the cabinet and takes out some after-shave, splashing it on his face. He returns to the bedroom, opening the bay window curtains all the way. The storm has subsided some, becoming a sprinkling sun shower.
“Like I said, at the end of the day, Persey, I just don’t care about you, Haven, or whatever you imbecilic nimrods do behind closed doors. Die in a bus fire on the way to a sex toy convention, inbred and create fish people who worship “scary” YouTubers while wearing braces even though you don’t need them, and multi-colored hair because rainbows and shit, do whatever, just, for the love of whatever tin foil hat wearing god or goddesses you worship, hell I don’t know, maybe the guy who works the rope section at Home Depot, stop pretending you are some dominant force we should fear, because at the end of the day, people fearing whatever form of the clap they can get being too close to any of you doesn’t make you something to fear. It makes you an epidemic of fucking stupid untalented human glory holes that need to be eradicated. I plan on doing my part in making Trinity Wrestling a better place by slapping you around like the little bitch you are.”
“You know, in a way, I am doing the world at large a great service, by recycling bullshit and turning it into glory, turning it into what works, turning it into what will make Trinity Wrestling better than what the idiots behind it have clearly failed to do. It is obvious to me that this place needs a hero, and even though I don’t fucking care about that shit, I am about protecting the wrestling environment against people who cannot wrestle their way out of a wet paper bag. It is too bad that your time is up, isn’t it Persey? You have to return to irrelevancy, return to obscurity, return to those days of just picking up the money from Pandora Fuck’s night stand, and going back into the Haven broom closet with the rest of the tools. It isn’t the most glamorous life, but hey, you’re serving Pandora, risking life, limb, and your immune system in the process. You’re a brave one, Persey, dumb as a brick, but brave.”
Aries laughs to himself, letting out a yawn.
“I’m not a religious guy, Persey, and chances are, since you are a useless little toy for Haven, with no clear cut identity or reason for anyone to discern you from the rest of the idiots in your group of sweaty slutty clam jams, you’re not either. But I pray you truly have enjoyed your week. Barked like a dog. Took a foot long steel dildo to the asshole. You know, your usual shit. Because I have a duty, Persey, to the sanctity of pro wrestling that I normally give less than a flying fuck about, and that is to cleanse this place of the stupid. Cleanse this place of the useless. Cleanse this place of the untalented jerkoffs that were hired to Trinity Wrestling for shits, giggles, and the occasional punch to the face, or in your case, the snapper.”
“Trust me, Persey, there is no haven from the deserving beating I am about to give you. Say amen, bitch, and go fuck yourself.”
With a wink, Aries departs to the downstairs for breakfast.