Post by Sara Pettis on Sept 22, 2019 14:54:19 GMT -5
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
W O R K
It was a cold, dark night in the Ozone Park neighborhood of Queens, New York. There was this rundown bingo hall with a decrepit sign out front: Controversial Circle Wrestling Academy & Ice Cream Emporium. Outside of the building was the man known as The Raging Dead. As he looked at the sign and examined every inch as if for the first time, his wife expected some sort of avalanche of memories to occur. That is not at all what happened. All he was capable of was a cold, dead stare.
"This is where you trained a good chuck of the wrestlers who are killing it all over the country, and some who kill it all over the world. You spent countless hours a day... for yeeeeeeears⦠trying to mold the business in your image. You still... still don't recognize any of this?"
"You keep asking me the same questions, expecting different answers. That is the definition of insanity, Sara."
"You know the definition of insanity... how much four McRibs come to with tax... what presidents were assassinated while in office... but you don't remember anything about your own life. I'm sorry, Nathan. This is still hard for me to deal with. How are you okay with this?"
She unlocked the front door and storms inside, and he begrudgingly followed. Inside was a dusty wrestling ring, with enough chairs set up for a small scale event.
"I have nothing to not be okay with. I have no empathy for your situation, as I don't remember aaaaaaanything. There's nothing for me to be upset about."
He walked past her and rolled into the ring. He tested out the tightness of the ropes, and then turned around to a surprise. Sara springboarded into the ring and caught him with a tornado dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, planting him square on his head.
"What the fuck was that?"
"You had some kind of head trauma that made you this way. I'm just trying to jolt your memory the old fashion way."
As he got to his knees, she connected with a shining wizard. He rolled out of the ring to gain his composure. Inside the ring, Sara hit the ropes and then used the momentum to launch herself over the ropes with a handspring twisting moonsault⦠only for him to catch the much smaller woman on his shoulder. Without hesitation or remorse, he launched her head first at the ring post. She started to pull herself up while holding on to the ring skirt, and he grabbed her by the hair from behind.
He turned her around and pushed her up against that same ring post. The two shared an angry gaze, that soon turned passionate. Then, for the first time in months, Raging Dead felt a heartbeat. The two engaged in a passionate kiss outside of that dusty, old wrestling ring on that cold, dark night in the Ozone Park neighborhood of Queens, New York.
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
I have already begun roaming the streets, in search of Tuesday Night Sin. Upon arrival⦠a little over forty-eight hours from now... I will do everything in my unimaginable power to decapitate Franke Lowe. Then I will become the first ever Trinity Wrestling Pure Champion. Yes, I understand the rules of that division. This is not the shoot you're looking for, folks. This is a preview of the damage that I will cause on Tuesday.
Frank Lowe is the first on a long list of Trinity Wrestlers who will feel my rage. Soon enough... they will all realize that this is not some cutesy gimmick that I do just to get a rise out of people. It's not an exaggeration when I say I have been awake for two years.. but also very much dead. That is the truth, and sooner or later... you will have to accept that I am the monster that this company needs.
Sara thinks that I should not call myself a monster. She thinks that because I suffered some kind of physical, emotional aaaaaand or mental trauma... that I should not be held accountable for my actions. Do you know what I say to that? Fuuuuuck that. I know exactly where I'm going, despite not knowing where I've been. Frank Lowe doesn't need to know where the fuck I've been. He only needs to know where I am going to be this Tuesday night... and that's standing over his lifeless corpse with blood dripping down my chin.
I'm a motherfucking monster.
What did you expect?
Frank Lowe is going to be the ground floor of the mound of bodies I turn Trinity Wrestling into.
Bye.
W O R K
It was a cold, dark night in the Ozone Park neighborhood of Queens, New York. There was this rundown bingo hall with a decrepit sign out front: Controversial Circle Wrestling Academy & Ice Cream Emporium. Outside of the building was the man known as The Raging Dead. As he looked at the sign and examined every inch as if for the first time, his wife expected some sort of avalanche of memories to occur. That is not at all what happened. All he was capable of was a cold, dead stare.
"This is where you trained a good chuck of the wrestlers who are killing it all over the country, and some who kill it all over the world. You spent countless hours a day... for yeeeeeeears⦠trying to mold the business in your image. You still... still don't recognize any of this?"
"You keep asking me the same questions, expecting different answers. That is the definition of insanity, Sara."
"You know the definition of insanity... how much four McRibs come to with tax... what presidents were assassinated while in office... but you don't remember anything about your own life. I'm sorry, Nathan. This is still hard for me to deal with. How are you okay with this?"
She unlocked the front door and storms inside, and he begrudgingly followed. Inside was a dusty wrestling ring, with enough chairs set up for a small scale event.
"I have nothing to not be okay with. I have no empathy for your situation, as I don't remember aaaaaaanything. There's nothing for me to be upset about."
He walked past her and rolled into the ring. He tested out the tightness of the ropes, and then turned around to a surprise. Sara springboarded into the ring and caught him with a tornado dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, planting him square on his head.
"What the fuck was that?"
"You had some kind of head trauma that made you this way. I'm just trying to jolt your memory the old fashion way."
As he got to his knees, she connected with a shining wizard. He rolled out of the ring to gain his composure. Inside the ring, Sara hit the ropes and then used the momentum to launch herself over the ropes with a handspring twisting moonsault⦠only for him to catch the much smaller woman on his shoulder. Without hesitation or remorse, he launched her head first at the ring post. She started to pull herself up while holding on to the ring skirt, and he grabbed her by the hair from behind.
He turned her around and pushed her up against that same ring post. The two shared an angry gaze, that soon turned passionate. Then, for the first time in months, Raging Dead felt a heartbeat. The two engaged in a passionate kiss outside of that dusty, old wrestling ring on that cold, dark night in the Ozone Park neighborhood of Queens, New York.
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
I have already begun roaming the streets, in search of Tuesday Night Sin. Upon arrival⦠a little over forty-eight hours from now... I will do everything in my unimaginable power to decapitate Franke Lowe. Then I will become the first ever Trinity Wrestling Pure Champion. Yes, I understand the rules of that division. This is not the shoot you're looking for, folks. This is a preview of the damage that I will cause on Tuesday.
Frank Lowe is the first on a long list of Trinity Wrestlers who will feel my rage. Soon enough... they will all realize that this is not some cutesy gimmick that I do just to get a rise out of people. It's not an exaggeration when I say I have been awake for two years.. but also very much dead. That is the truth, and sooner or later... you will have to accept that I am the monster that this company needs.
Sara thinks that I should not call myself a monster. She thinks that because I suffered some kind of physical, emotional aaaaaand or mental trauma... that I should not be held accountable for my actions. Do you know what I say to that? Fuuuuuck that. I know exactly where I'm going, despite not knowing where I've been. Frank Lowe doesn't need to know where the fuck I've been. He only needs to know where I am going to be this Tuesday night... and that's standing over his lifeless corpse with blood dripping down my chin.
I'm a motherfucking monster.
What did you expect?
Frank Lowe is going to be the ground floor of the mound of bodies I turn Trinity Wrestling into.
Bye.