Post by Deleted on May 7, 2012 11:25:48 GMT -5
Isaac - Drakz - Genghis
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And so we start, yet another week in the life of the greatest entertainer the world has ever known.
The one man show.
The only necessary feature.
My name is Isaac Cray though most of you will know me by my pseudonym.
I am Drakz.
The wrestler, the actor, the booker, the commentator, the host, the gentleman you all tune in to see week after week, year after year. And pray tell what has our leading man been up to over the course of the previous weeks? Only becoming the first English man to become America's hero that's what. No I don't mean I'm anything like EBR because what did he really do to deserve the red, white and blue adoration? Did he take down a dangerous terror suspect? An arms dealer?…….Ok so he was an arm dealer.
Hutton Brown has been struck from the FBI's most wanted list and I've received a dirty great pay off for my troubles, not that it was much trouble kicking a cripple around a ring. To think I was paid to do what most would pay to do.
What? You wouldn't spend your hard earned cash on beating a handicapped fool half to death? Well that's your choice and I respect you for standing by it. I personally wouldn't pay for it either, it loses its glamour when your money's on the table. The same goes for hookers. If you've got to pay then you're obviously doing something terribly wrong.
However, I digress.
Whilst beating Hutton and putting him back where he belongs, (half way down the card), was fun, it means nothing in the long run, not for me at least. It hasn't affected my path, it hasn't raised me up any further. I guess I yet again proved I'm fundamentally greater than everyone's favourite demon by besting Hutton only a week after he beat Trace, but that's simply common knowledge by this stage.
I shall merely follow with a repetition of my previous statement. My win has gained me nought, nada, f*ck all. I am still the same being, walking the same line.
Hutton, many thought you were to be a bump in my road, the man who could put the brakes on. You may have beaten Trace Demon, you may have even beaten Obo, regardless of his claims that you simply climbed a ladder, but like everyone else you were unable to beat me. You are set for the main event at the Pay Per View but now you have been forced to realise I am the better man regardless of your one foot in the lime light. You are aware that even if by some horrific twist of fate you come out on top at Survival of the Fittest, I will be coming for you. I can come for that belt any time I want, so you'd better hope you're not stood in my spot when the time comes.
The only thing that saddens me is that losing to myself won't have knocked your confidence. Losing to me doesn't shatter anyone's dreams or expectations because a loss at the hands of Drakz is an expectation. No one cries themselves to sleep having fallen to me because only the ignorant would have ignored the possibility, nay certainty, of the outcome. Like Obo, this is my curse.
Whilst on the topic of blind ignorance, it seems Trae Drizzle continues his monotonous quest for vengeance no matter how little interest I show. He dangles the bait in front of my eyes and I merely look past it. Granted there was a minor clash of heads when I told him to fight Elias but I was hoping he'd lose and I could go on with my life minus his presence. However it turns out Elias isn't quite the monster I thought he was, suffering defeat at the hands of a family man. I honestly thought perhaps he was to be my greatest challenge thus far but after seeing his performance last week, in person I might add, I am starting to doubt the validity of my initial mindset.
Avatar.
A Hindu icon or a sh*tty Pocahontas rip off? Turn my brown eye blue Drake.
As for Mr. Demon's attempt at getting my attention, I would like to raise the point that continually showcasing your inability to perform my finishing manoeuvre with the finesse it requires merely makes you easier to ignore. I suppose you're running with the idea that 'actions speak louder than words?'Need I remind you that a child asking "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" is boring, so you can only imagine how tedious your physical recital is quickly becoming. One more fumbled Needle Damage and I think my brain may actually just block you out entirely.
POOF!
Gone, just like that. I won't even be able to see you any more and I'd still beat you, if you somehow managed to wangle a rematch. Not that it's likely as Xavier Pierce is an acquaintance of mine, albeit a somewhat dubious one. It won't take long for that to vanish though. Once I've defended this golden trouser tightener a few times he'll be overcome by dollar signs and I won't be able to put a foot wrong by him. It's genius in that I will have free reign to do what I like whilst showcasing the most clean cut of gentlemen as a dribbling dollar whore.
I am unmatched in both the physical and political battlefield.
I am Genghis Khan.
Fear me and my facial hair.
The one man show.
The only necessary feature.
My name is Isaac Cray though most of you will know me by my pseudonym.
I am Drakz.
The wrestler, the actor, the booker, the commentator, the host, the gentleman you all tune in to see week after week, year after year. And pray tell what has our leading man been up to over the course of the previous weeks? Only becoming the first English man to become America's hero that's what. No I don't mean I'm anything like EBR because what did he really do to deserve the red, white and blue adoration? Did he take down a dangerous terror suspect? An arms dealer?…….Ok so he was an arm dealer.
Hutton Brown has been struck from the FBI's most wanted list and I've received a dirty great pay off for my troubles, not that it was much trouble kicking a cripple around a ring. To think I was paid to do what most would pay to do.
What? You wouldn't spend your hard earned cash on beating a handicapped fool half to death? Well that's your choice and I respect you for standing by it. I personally wouldn't pay for it either, it loses its glamour when your money's on the table. The same goes for hookers. If you've got to pay then you're obviously doing something terribly wrong.
However, I digress.
Whilst beating Hutton and putting him back where he belongs, (half way down the card), was fun, it means nothing in the long run, not for me at least. It hasn't affected my path, it hasn't raised me up any further. I guess I yet again proved I'm fundamentally greater than everyone's favourite demon by besting Hutton only a week after he beat Trace, but that's simply common knowledge by this stage.
I shall merely follow with a repetition of my previous statement. My win has gained me nought, nada, f*ck all. I am still the same being, walking the same line.
Hutton, many thought you were to be a bump in my road, the man who could put the brakes on. You may have beaten Trace Demon, you may have even beaten Obo, regardless of his claims that you simply climbed a ladder, but like everyone else you were unable to beat me. You are set for the main event at the Pay Per View but now you have been forced to realise I am the better man regardless of your one foot in the lime light. You are aware that even if by some horrific twist of fate you come out on top at Survival of the Fittest, I will be coming for you. I can come for that belt any time I want, so you'd better hope you're not stood in my spot when the time comes.
The only thing that saddens me is that losing to myself won't have knocked your confidence. Losing to me doesn't shatter anyone's dreams or expectations because a loss at the hands of Drakz is an expectation. No one cries themselves to sleep having fallen to me because only the ignorant would have ignored the possibility, nay certainty, of the outcome. Like Obo, this is my curse.
Whilst on the topic of blind ignorance, it seems Trae Drizzle continues his monotonous quest for vengeance no matter how little interest I show. He dangles the bait in front of my eyes and I merely look past it. Granted there was a minor clash of heads when I told him to fight Elias but I was hoping he'd lose and I could go on with my life minus his presence. However it turns out Elias isn't quite the monster I thought he was, suffering defeat at the hands of a family man. I honestly thought perhaps he was to be my greatest challenge thus far but after seeing his performance last week, in person I might add, I am starting to doubt the validity of my initial mindset.
Avatar.
A Hindu icon or a sh*tty Pocahontas rip off? Turn my brown eye blue Drake.
As for Mr. Demon's attempt at getting my attention, I would like to raise the point that continually showcasing your inability to perform my finishing manoeuvre with the finesse it requires merely makes you easier to ignore. I suppose you're running with the idea that 'actions speak louder than words?'Need I remind you that a child asking "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" is boring, so you can only imagine how tedious your physical recital is quickly becoming. One more fumbled Needle Damage and I think my brain may actually just block you out entirely.
POOF!
Gone, just like that. I won't even be able to see you any more and I'd still beat you, if you somehow managed to wangle a rematch. Not that it's likely as Xavier Pierce is an acquaintance of mine, albeit a somewhat dubious one. It won't take long for that to vanish though. Once I've defended this golden trouser tightener a few times he'll be overcome by dollar signs and I won't be able to put a foot wrong by him. It's genius in that I will have free reign to do what I like whilst showcasing the most clean cut of gentlemen as a dribbling dollar whore.
I am unmatched in both the physical and political battlefield.
I am Genghis Khan.
Fear me and my facial hair.
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Monday 16th April 2012
- 23:03 -
If you were to ask me why we're getting into a limousine I couldn't give you a straight answer. I personally hate the things, they're just so…….cheap. They lost their air of superiority years ago to the rental companies that let any yelling, fat slapper hang out of the sun roof with a glass of Cava for $50. They are the hen night's carriage in my eyes yet still I have just picked my booze swilling companion up from a medical facility in one. Perhaps I'm subconsciously making an attempt to be ironic and it's gone over even my head. Either way we're in motion and the hospital is quickly shrinking in the back window as we head off into the night.
I look over at David who is quite happily supping away on a litre bottle of JD.
"So Professor Brennan, how's the body feel?"
David has to finish his mouthful of whiskey and remove the bottle from his pursed lips before I receive an answer.
"F*cked."
"Well if it's any consolation you just managed to walk out of the building, which believe me is quite some feat, considering you were in awful shape. I mean you're still in awful shape…"
"Appreciate it buddy…."
"I'm not going to butter my conversation Davey, you look like sh*t. Luckily I was made aware of your whereabouts and was able to come and provide you with the only medicine a man of your stature needs."
I look around the interior of the mobile sex dungeon and wonder how many broads have been four balled within an inch of their life on these seats. I wouldn't mind but the chances are it was by greasy investment bankers all well over 60. Balls are wrinkly enough at my age.
I'm snapped from my tangent of thought as my compadre pipes up.
"How did you find me? I didn't even know where I was myself."
"You're part of The New Epoch now David, we always know what's going on and how to remedy foul situations. Believe me when I say you're in the safest hands possible. We especially have a knack for locating patients. Michael found me half dead in a hospital bed once upon a time and brought me back to a world I remembered. I was so very lost at that moment, trapped in a dark room inside my own mind. I hadn't seen Michael for well over a year, hell I hadn't seen anyone I knew, at least not to my knowledge. Yet still he found me, even though I was checked in under a false name. Like I say, we have our ways."
David smiles and takes another mouthful of Jack, and no I don't mean he's sucking his Dad's c*ck. The whiskey is flowing and I remember the joint I hid under the seat before leaving the vehicle and embarking on my rescue mission. I place the stick in between my lips and put a light to it, speedily filling the tunnel like back seats with a haze. Whilst I know David won't accept a pass on the smoke he also won't complain about any that enters his lungs passively. A good man.
"So were you forced into sobriety through hospitalisation or did that happen prior to the accident? I assume something must have happened before the injuries were sustained because you were looking pretty dry in there."
"No it was forced. I've got no reason to lay off."
Hmmmm. I don't believe him but he's obviously got his reasons for not telling me the truth. F*ck it I don't care, he can make his own decisions. I can hardly pass judgement on someone for going clean when my best friend has just recently given the monkey on his back the heave ho.
"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you your opinion on Michael's sudden u turn. Do you buy it? I mean I know on the surface he wouldn't pull the wool over our eyes but at the same time it doesn't make a lot of sense to me."
"It could be an excuse?"
"For what?"
"Losing to Schneider?"
"Obo?"
"You've got to believe…."
He takes another swig.
"….Michael's livid about losing to a man he knows he can beat."
"But what makes you think going clean is linked to that?"
"It gives him an opportunity for a second chance without losing face. If he was strung out the first time around then of course he was always going to lose. At least that's what he wants the world to think."
"The clean Kyzer is a stronger Kyzer? Perhaps. I just hope he doesn't expect me to follow suit. I'm not reliant on the addiction so much as the key to avoiding the sober me. If I even tried to go cold turkey I'd be a danger to us all."
"That sounds like another excuse to me."
He smiles and I know he could well be right but I also know what happened the last time I was unmedicated and honestly I can't be bothered with the amount of energy it took up. I am the king right now and I have no reason to change that. I draw a massive lung load of puff.
"No disrespect meant by that man, you know I'm hardly against indulging in one's vices."
He stamps an exclamation mark on the sentence by knocking back a load more of the mucky water I gave him.
Our conversation is suddenly interrupted by the harsh ringing of my cellular phone. I wince at the sound it makes, f*ck I hate that sound. Why can't the world wait for me to contact it? I run on my own f*cking time, stop prying into my time.
I take it out of my pocket and see the number is withheld.
"I've had cold calls from this withheld number for the last 2 weeks. Watch…."
I answer the call and press the phone to my ear.
"Yes?"
As with tradition the caller waits for a second and then hangs up on hearing my voice.
"Literally every day for the last 2 weeks that has happened. As soon as I answer they hang up."
"Couldn't you just get the number blocked?"
"Can you do that with an unknown number? To be honest it doesn't matter because I wouldn't want to. I'd rather find out who the f*ck it is than block them out."
"Probably just some 15 year old fan boy kid who found your number somewhere and likes to hear your voice while he's beating off over your most recent match."
I nearly choke on the smoke in my lungs, but as the honed professional I am I manage to hold it and release slowly.
"As hilarious as that statement was I don't see how it could be true. Only you, Michael and Xavier Pierce have my telephone number. It's not published anywhere so I don't see how anyone could get a hold of it."
"Someone's f*cking with you bro."
"Hardly. If this is their idea of f*king with me they need to get laid."
In reality they are actually doing a pretty good job, because my imagination alone is enough to make a possibly harmless call into the most terrifying of experiences. My emotional ballet with paranoia is a delicate one, forever tooing and froing impossibly close to the border. These calls are making me question the very people I hold close to myself. You might ask do I have trust issues? The answer is yes. People nine times out of ten only involve themselves with me to benefit themselves, be they friend or foe. If you pose as my friend you reap the rewards my lifestyle promises, if you are my foe you are brought into a limelight brighter than you ever thought possible.
The man with the Midas touch.
Eventually he forgets to wear his gloves and turns his own c*ck to gold though. A victim of his own success. This is something I am forever aware of and forever avoiding. Is it any wonder a prank phone call rattles my nerves so?
And the dreams, oh jesus christ the dreams.
"I've been having some pretty crazy stuff going on in my head when I sleep recently."
"Sorry?"
That was a real veering off in terms of the subject of conversation. I have to remember I'm not verbalising everything I think.
"Bat sh*t crazy dreams."
"Any more so than usual?"
"Hmmmmm. I guess that's subjective. They have been a lot more relevant than usual. They've been almost a narrative on my waking thoughts as oppose to a realisation of my fantasies. I feel like I'm almost trying to warn myself about something. Does this sound as clichéd as I feel it does?"
"Yep."
To hell with it. Keep your moon fairy talk to yourself Isaac.
"Haha, yeah I guess it does."
Get it together man, we've got a long drive ahead and you don't want David to think you've gone soft by the time we reach our destination.
Taking the initiative I jostle the bottle from David and take a long swig before passing it back to it's true master. I shift myself into a comfier position and my hand sticks to a substance that adorns the faux leather interior. I close my eyes and attempt to ignore the truth.
I hate this limo.
- 23:03 -
If you were to ask me why we're getting into a limousine I couldn't give you a straight answer. I personally hate the things, they're just so…….cheap. They lost their air of superiority years ago to the rental companies that let any yelling, fat slapper hang out of the sun roof with a glass of Cava for $50. They are the hen night's carriage in my eyes yet still I have just picked my booze swilling companion up from a medical facility in one. Perhaps I'm subconsciously making an attempt to be ironic and it's gone over even my head. Either way we're in motion and the hospital is quickly shrinking in the back window as we head off into the night.
I look over at David who is quite happily supping away on a litre bottle of JD.
"So Professor Brennan, how's the body feel?"
David has to finish his mouthful of whiskey and remove the bottle from his pursed lips before I receive an answer.
"F*cked."
"Well if it's any consolation you just managed to walk out of the building, which believe me is quite some feat, considering you were in awful shape. I mean you're still in awful shape…"
"Appreciate it buddy…."
"I'm not going to butter my conversation Davey, you look like sh*t. Luckily I was made aware of your whereabouts and was able to come and provide you with the only medicine a man of your stature needs."
I look around the interior of the mobile sex dungeon and wonder how many broads have been four balled within an inch of their life on these seats. I wouldn't mind but the chances are it was by greasy investment bankers all well over 60. Balls are wrinkly enough at my age.
I'm snapped from my tangent of thought as my compadre pipes up.
"How did you find me? I didn't even know where I was myself."
"You're part of The New Epoch now David, we always know what's going on and how to remedy foul situations. Believe me when I say you're in the safest hands possible. We especially have a knack for locating patients. Michael found me half dead in a hospital bed once upon a time and brought me back to a world I remembered. I was so very lost at that moment, trapped in a dark room inside my own mind. I hadn't seen Michael for well over a year, hell I hadn't seen anyone I knew, at least not to my knowledge. Yet still he found me, even though I was checked in under a false name. Like I say, we have our ways."
David smiles and takes another mouthful of Jack, and no I don't mean he's sucking his Dad's c*ck. The whiskey is flowing and I remember the joint I hid under the seat before leaving the vehicle and embarking on my rescue mission. I place the stick in between my lips and put a light to it, speedily filling the tunnel like back seats with a haze. Whilst I know David won't accept a pass on the smoke he also won't complain about any that enters his lungs passively. A good man.
"So were you forced into sobriety through hospitalisation or did that happen prior to the accident? I assume something must have happened before the injuries were sustained because you were looking pretty dry in there."
"No it was forced. I've got no reason to lay off."
Hmmmm. I don't believe him but he's obviously got his reasons for not telling me the truth. F*ck it I don't care, he can make his own decisions. I can hardly pass judgement on someone for going clean when my best friend has just recently given the monkey on his back the heave ho.
"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you your opinion on Michael's sudden u turn. Do you buy it? I mean I know on the surface he wouldn't pull the wool over our eyes but at the same time it doesn't make a lot of sense to me."
"It could be an excuse?"
"For what?"
"Losing to Schneider?"
"Obo?"
"You've got to believe…."
He takes another swig.
"….Michael's livid about losing to a man he knows he can beat."
"But what makes you think going clean is linked to that?"
"It gives him an opportunity for a second chance without losing face. If he was strung out the first time around then of course he was always going to lose. At least that's what he wants the world to think."
"The clean Kyzer is a stronger Kyzer? Perhaps. I just hope he doesn't expect me to follow suit. I'm not reliant on the addiction so much as the key to avoiding the sober me. If I even tried to go cold turkey I'd be a danger to us all."
"That sounds like another excuse to me."
He smiles and I know he could well be right but I also know what happened the last time I was unmedicated and honestly I can't be bothered with the amount of energy it took up. I am the king right now and I have no reason to change that. I draw a massive lung load of puff.
"No disrespect meant by that man, you know I'm hardly against indulging in one's vices."
He stamps an exclamation mark on the sentence by knocking back a load more of the mucky water I gave him.
Our conversation is suddenly interrupted by the harsh ringing of my cellular phone. I wince at the sound it makes, f*ck I hate that sound. Why can't the world wait for me to contact it? I run on my own f*cking time, stop prying into my time.
I take it out of my pocket and see the number is withheld.
"I've had cold calls from this withheld number for the last 2 weeks. Watch…."
I answer the call and press the phone to my ear.
"Yes?"
As with tradition the caller waits for a second and then hangs up on hearing my voice.
"Literally every day for the last 2 weeks that has happened. As soon as I answer they hang up."
"Couldn't you just get the number blocked?"
"Can you do that with an unknown number? To be honest it doesn't matter because I wouldn't want to. I'd rather find out who the f*ck it is than block them out."
"Probably just some 15 year old fan boy kid who found your number somewhere and likes to hear your voice while he's beating off over your most recent match."
I nearly choke on the smoke in my lungs, but as the honed professional I am I manage to hold it and release slowly.
"As hilarious as that statement was I don't see how it could be true. Only you, Michael and Xavier Pierce have my telephone number. It's not published anywhere so I don't see how anyone could get a hold of it."
"Someone's f*cking with you bro."
"Hardly. If this is their idea of f*king with me they need to get laid."
In reality they are actually doing a pretty good job, because my imagination alone is enough to make a possibly harmless call into the most terrifying of experiences. My emotional ballet with paranoia is a delicate one, forever tooing and froing impossibly close to the border. These calls are making me question the very people I hold close to myself. You might ask do I have trust issues? The answer is yes. People nine times out of ten only involve themselves with me to benefit themselves, be they friend or foe. If you pose as my friend you reap the rewards my lifestyle promises, if you are my foe you are brought into a limelight brighter than you ever thought possible.
The man with the Midas touch.
Eventually he forgets to wear his gloves and turns his own c*ck to gold though. A victim of his own success. This is something I am forever aware of and forever avoiding. Is it any wonder a prank phone call rattles my nerves so?
And the dreams, oh jesus christ the dreams.
"I've been having some pretty crazy stuff going on in my head when I sleep recently."
"Sorry?"
That was a real veering off in terms of the subject of conversation. I have to remember I'm not verbalising everything I think.
"Bat sh*t crazy dreams."
"Any more so than usual?"
"Hmmmmm. I guess that's subjective. They have been a lot more relevant than usual. They've been almost a narrative on my waking thoughts as oppose to a realisation of my fantasies. I feel like I'm almost trying to warn myself about something. Does this sound as clichéd as I feel it does?"
"Yep."
To hell with it. Keep your moon fairy talk to yourself Isaac.
"Haha, yeah I guess it does."
Get it together man, we've got a long drive ahead and you don't want David to think you've gone soft by the time we reach our destination.
Taking the initiative I jostle the bottle from David and take a long swig before passing it back to it's true master. I shift myself into a comfier position and my hand sticks to a substance that adorns the faux leather interior. I close my eyes and attempt to ignore the truth.
I hate this limo.
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Sunday 25th September 2011
- 03:19 -
For a road side cafe this tin box doesn't smell so bad. The 2 other patrons besides myself however……….jeez.
Luckily the room is long enough for me to sit at the opposite end and escape the palpable stench that surrounds them.
The neon glow of the strip lights makes it hard not to squint, and eventually I yield and bury my eyes in the palms of my hands. Pushing the ball where the thumb meets the wrist right into each socket. It helps me clear my mind if only for a short while.
Massaging the soft tissue and thinking of nothing but.
I'm so immersed in my meditation that I haven't heard the waitress approach the table. She coughs and her position is made clear to me. I roll my neck upward, dragging my fingers down my face, contorting it into a smear, before looking directly at her.
She's pushing 45 and sporting wrinkles like she's 60.
Under paid, overworked, unappreciated.
No doubt the 40 a day are the reason behind the road map she calls a face but who the f*ck am I to tell her anything of the sort?
"What can I get you?"
"I'm waiting for somebody."
"You still need to buy something, we're not running a meet and greet here."
Fiesty………That or plain sick of it all. Whichever it is she just became a lot more attractive.
"I thought you'd be happier to see clientèle at this time in the morning? Or did you chose the graveyard shift to avoid the customers?"
She raises a badly drawn on eye brow.
"Do you want a drink or not?"
"I guess. I'd ask for a cup of tea but something tells me I'd regret it. To hell with it I'm celebrating, I'll take a milkshake."
She smirks, I don't think she ever imagined I'd be ordering kids drinks.
"What flavour?"
"All of them."
I smile ever so sweetly at her before winking an eye. She doesn't look at all impressed and it's only now I notice the two Neanderthals down wind are looking over. Are they the muscle? Better keep a low profile. It's ever so hard though. This lady of the night jots down something on her note pad, probably 'extra spit', and then turns and walks away. I stare at her ass, the same way I stare at every female ass, until she goes out of focus and I return my head to my hands.
I'm tired and to be honest am just in need of some friendly conversation, I was hoping for a little more banter from the staff here but it seems they're here to do their job and nothing more, especially if you're an out of towner like me.
Ten minutes pass, I think, and I hear the sound of a glass touching down on the table but I maintain the position I'm in and don't bother to even look up. I'll get the bill before I leave. Yet another 10 minutes pass, (this is all guess work as my eyes remain closed the entire time) and I am disturbed yet again, this time by the sound of a straw, noisily slurping the remnants from the bottom of a drink. I break my habit and sit back, looking across the table at the thief.
"That was the worst shake I've ever drunk. What was it?"
And so it seems he snuck in without saying a word. We've both driven from pretty much equidistant points to where we are now in an attempt to talk on neutral ground. I say this but really I think Michael just wanted to meet me half way to lessen the strain on my mental state. 14 hours ago I emotionally kicked the sh*t out of the woman that let me stay in her 'spare room', rent free for 9 months. Margaret Cray. Officially now dead to me regardless of the fact that she probably still has at least a couple of months left in her. Michael seems to think this may have left me feeling fragile or some sh*t so it seems he's overcompensating by coming to meet me in this back water, road side dive.
"I'm pretty sure the waitress's tonsils were in there somewhere. Thanks mate, you helped me dodge a bullet there."
He doesn't look quite so smug any longer.
"I should have guessed you had already p*ssed off the management."
"I try to be agreeable, it seems most people just don't appreciate it."
I really do.
"I'm going to cut to the chase, seeing as I've been behind the wheel for half a day and can't be bothered with small talk."
"Shoot daddio."
"What the f*ck is going on in your head?"
Wow what an opener! Does he actually expect an answer to that?
"Come on Michael, I don't want to be here all night."
"What I mean is why the sudden change of tune? I've been asking for over a month now. I've told you over and over you should come back and fight alongside me and you've avoided giving a straight answer every time. Suddenly though, out of no where, without me even mentioning the matter, you tell me you're coming back. Something triggered that."
"Could I not just have finally made a decision? Don't sell yourself short brother, you're mighty persuasive."
"Cut the sh*t bro. You can masquerade around as whatever you want but don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. You know who I am, you know what I've done. We're family."
He remembers where I've just driven from and decides to rephrase that last bit.
"We're comrades."
"No you're right we are family. Real family. Not like the rat bag I just left behind."
"So come clean with me. What's changed your mind about returning?"
F*ck it, if I can't tell Michael who can I tell.
"To prove a point."
"To who?"
"Everyone."
I really hadn't thought about this yet, so this is news to me as well as him. It's home truth time.
"I need to prove I am the only one worthy of being on top.
I need to prove it to those who came before me that thought they were the pinnacle, those who ran along side me desperately trying to keep up and those who have arrived in my wake and wondered if I was as great as the stories say.
I need to let the public know I am not done. That there is still a reason to remember me.
I need to take the suits behind the desks by the balls and let them know there is no longer a safety net. That they don't have complete control.
I need to prove to the cabbage in the hospital who shares my name that I have never listened to a word she has said.
Above all else though Michael, above every person that I've just mentioned I need to prove to myself that I am the f*cking man!
My ego is somewhat lost these days and rightfully so, I have nothing to be proud of. I need to set my status into concrete, once and for all, so deep that I will never forget who I am and what I'm capable of. I want people to love me or hate me, I'm sick of this indifference that the every day man suffers. "
I'm just so bored of it all. I need the drama. I need the constant mind games.
"And do you think you're good enough still?"
"In this state? Not at all. I'm a sleep deprived wreck. I've spent every moment of recent memory sedated, holding back my unadulterated self and dealing with an injection of the past. It would be foolish to think I could just walk back in there tomorrow and take back the crown."
I feel as if a veil has been torn from my eyes, clearing my vision ever since I left the hospital yesterday. I have a mission again, a reason. Clearing the weight that was bearing down on me in its parental form has released more endorphins than any of the pills in my system.
My trail of thought is brought to a halt though as one name reminds me that a loose end still remains.
Dr. Phillips.
Although apparently not the graduate she claimed to be so I guess it's simply Miss Phillips.
Her input, her existence, is unexplainable to me.
"There is something else I wanted to mention Michael. You're sure to remember the threatening letter I received from one Dr. Phillips."
"The girl caring for your Mother?"
"That's the thing. She's not even an employee of that hospital."
"She was brought in specially?"
"No, you don't understand. No one else is aware of her existence. The fact that you know who I'm talking about is a great relief to me, there was a moment on hearing this information that I started to doubt my own sanity."
I'm yet to tell him I visited her the week before and skull f*cked the life out of her, but that's not important. I'm not one to brag about my sexual exploits.
"You mean she's just some random girl?"
"I don't know. Honestly I haven't a clue where or who she is, but it seems she knows a lot about me. Enough to find my estranged Mother and use her as a stepping stone into my line of sight. She seems to have dropped off of the radar though. I've not heard anything from her since the letter."
"Some crazy fan?"
"Please. I've been out of the game too long. Why would she wait until now to try and contact me. I've been a ghost for years."
Dead to the world. Hopefully I taught her a lesson though. Regardless of who she was I'm pretty sure I stamped that flame out with my actions the previous week.
"Do you want a smoke?"
"Sure let's get the hell out of here."
We stand up and head for the door but Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee have risen from their respective seats and seem to have other plans.
"You still haven't paid."
The ball needs kicking to get it rolling again. No time like the present.
"I'm sorry gentlemen, how rude of me."
I walk back up the cafe to the table we were previously sat at and pick up the glass now coated in a thin layer of dried milk. As I walk past the counter I empty my pocket of loose change on to it, most of which cartwheels to the floor. I then spin and launch the frosted glass directly into the mouth of one of the brutes blocking our exit. He falls back into his seat and his companion charges, lifting me off of my feet and dumping me into a set of chairs and a table, now wailing on my beautiful face with his hands that bare more resemblance to joints of beef than tools of dexterity.
This isn't going as smoothly as I'd hoped.
After taking a series of shots and doing my best to hold back nervous laughter, the lummox is felled by a fist full of protruding car keys and Michael drags me up to a vertical base. As we make for the door the glassed lad attempts to block our way again, but then comes the kick I mentioned previously, however I'm not sure if it got the ball rolling so much as throbbing. Either way he drops like a sack of sh*t and we scarper toward Michael's car. We clamber inside and Michael picks a hunk of flesh from the groove of his key before stabbing it into the ignition and revving the engine into life.
"You know you got here in your own car don't you?"
"I'll buy a new one with all the money from my shiny new WFWF contract. Plus those boys are less likely to come after us if they have a vehicle to smash to pieces."
We're already doing a tonne down the road so any thoughts of returning for my clapped out wagon are futile.
"You need to get yourself together if you're going to return to the ring. You just got your ass handed to you by a bloated mess of a man."
I don't respond because he's right. I've got a lot of work to do if I'm to show the world I haven't skipped a beat, because in reality I've skipped about a hundred. Reality doesn't do me any favours. Isaac Cray doesn't do me any favours. It's time to assume the mask of old.
Isaac the lonely medicine man has to put up a wall. A wall in the shape of a middle finger. A wall with one word written across it……..
Drakz.
- 03:19 -
For a road side cafe this tin box doesn't smell so bad. The 2 other patrons besides myself however……….jeez.
Luckily the room is long enough for me to sit at the opposite end and escape the palpable stench that surrounds them.
The neon glow of the strip lights makes it hard not to squint, and eventually I yield and bury my eyes in the palms of my hands. Pushing the ball where the thumb meets the wrist right into each socket. It helps me clear my mind if only for a short while.
Massaging the soft tissue and thinking of nothing but.
I'm so immersed in my meditation that I haven't heard the waitress approach the table. She coughs and her position is made clear to me. I roll my neck upward, dragging my fingers down my face, contorting it into a smear, before looking directly at her.
She's pushing 45 and sporting wrinkles like she's 60.
Under paid, overworked, unappreciated.
No doubt the 40 a day are the reason behind the road map she calls a face but who the f*ck am I to tell her anything of the sort?
"What can I get you?"
"I'm waiting for somebody."
"You still need to buy something, we're not running a meet and greet here."
Fiesty………That or plain sick of it all. Whichever it is she just became a lot more attractive.
"I thought you'd be happier to see clientèle at this time in the morning? Or did you chose the graveyard shift to avoid the customers?"
She raises a badly drawn on eye brow.
"Do you want a drink or not?"
"I guess. I'd ask for a cup of tea but something tells me I'd regret it. To hell with it I'm celebrating, I'll take a milkshake."
She smirks, I don't think she ever imagined I'd be ordering kids drinks.
"What flavour?"
"All of them."
I smile ever so sweetly at her before winking an eye. She doesn't look at all impressed and it's only now I notice the two Neanderthals down wind are looking over. Are they the muscle? Better keep a low profile. It's ever so hard though. This lady of the night jots down something on her note pad, probably 'extra spit', and then turns and walks away. I stare at her ass, the same way I stare at every female ass, until she goes out of focus and I return my head to my hands.
I'm tired and to be honest am just in need of some friendly conversation, I was hoping for a little more banter from the staff here but it seems they're here to do their job and nothing more, especially if you're an out of towner like me.
Ten minutes pass, I think, and I hear the sound of a glass touching down on the table but I maintain the position I'm in and don't bother to even look up. I'll get the bill before I leave. Yet another 10 minutes pass, (this is all guess work as my eyes remain closed the entire time) and I am disturbed yet again, this time by the sound of a straw, noisily slurping the remnants from the bottom of a drink. I break my habit and sit back, looking across the table at the thief.
"That was the worst shake I've ever drunk. What was it?"
And so it seems he snuck in without saying a word. We've both driven from pretty much equidistant points to where we are now in an attempt to talk on neutral ground. I say this but really I think Michael just wanted to meet me half way to lessen the strain on my mental state. 14 hours ago I emotionally kicked the sh*t out of the woman that let me stay in her 'spare room', rent free for 9 months. Margaret Cray. Officially now dead to me regardless of the fact that she probably still has at least a couple of months left in her. Michael seems to think this may have left me feeling fragile or some sh*t so it seems he's overcompensating by coming to meet me in this back water, road side dive.
"I'm pretty sure the waitress's tonsils were in there somewhere. Thanks mate, you helped me dodge a bullet there."
He doesn't look quite so smug any longer.
"I should have guessed you had already p*ssed off the management."
"I try to be agreeable, it seems most people just don't appreciate it."
I really do.
"I'm going to cut to the chase, seeing as I've been behind the wheel for half a day and can't be bothered with small talk."
"Shoot daddio."
"What the f*ck is going on in your head?"
Wow what an opener! Does he actually expect an answer to that?
"Come on Michael, I don't want to be here all night."
"What I mean is why the sudden change of tune? I've been asking for over a month now. I've told you over and over you should come back and fight alongside me and you've avoided giving a straight answer every time. Suddenly though, out of no where, without me even mentioning the matter, you tell me you're coming back. Something triggered that."
"Could I not just have finally made a decision? Don't sell yourself short brother, you're mighty persuasive."
"Cut the sh*t bro. You can masquerade around as whatever you want but don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. You know who I am, you know what I've done. We're family."
He remembers where I've just driven from and decides to rephrase that last bit.
"We're comrades."
"No you're right we are family. Real family. Not like the rat bag I just left behind."
"So come clean with me. What's changed your mind about returning?"
F*ck it, if I can't tell Michael who can I tell.
"To prove a point."
"To who?"
"Everyone."
I really hadn't thought about this yet, so this is news to me as well as him. It's home truth time.
"I need to prove I am the only one worthy of being on top.
I need to prove it to those who came before me that thought they were the pinnacle, those who ran along side me desperately trying to keep up and those who have arrived in my wake and wondered if I was as great as the stories say.
I need to let the public know I am not done. That there is still a reason to remember me.
I need to take the suits behind the desks by the balls and let them know there is no longer a safety net. That they don't have complete control.
I need to prove to the cabbage in the hospital who shares my name that I have never listened to a word she has said.
Above all else though Michael, above every person that I've just mentioned I need to prove to myself that I am the f*cking man!
My ego is somewhat lost these days and rightfully so, I have nothing to be proud of. I need to set my status into concrete, once and for all, so deep that I will never forget who I am and what I'm capable of. I want people to love me or hate me, I'm sick of this indifference that the every day man suffers. "
I'm just so bored of it all. I need the drama. I need the constant mind games.
"And do you think you're good enough still?"
"In this state? Not at all. I'm a sleep deprived wreck. I've spent every moment of recent memory sedated, holding back my unadulterated self and dealing with an injection of the past. It would be foolish to think I could just walk back in there tomorrow and take back the crown."
I feel as if a veil has been torn from my eyes, clearing my vision ever since I left the hospital yesterday. I have a mission again, a reason. Clearing the weight that was bearing down on me in its parental form has released more endorphins than any of the pills in my system.
My trail of thought is brought to a halt though as one name reminds me that a loose end still remains.
Dr. Phillips.
Although apparently not the graduate she claimed to be so I guess it's simply Miss Phillips.
Her input, her existence, is unexplainable to me.
"There is something else I wanted to mention Michael. You're sure to remember the threatening letter I received from one Dr. Phillips."
"The girl caring for your Mother?"
"That's the thing. She's not even an employee of that hospital."
"She was brought in specially?"
"No, you don't understand. No one else is aware of her existence. The fact that you know who I'm talking about is a great relief to me, there was a moment on hearing this information that I started to doubt my own sanity."
I'm yet to tell him I visited her the week before and skull f*cked the life out of her, but that's not important. I'm not one to brag about my sexual exploits.
"You mean she's just some random girl?"
"I don't know. Honestly I haven't a clue where or who she is, but it seems she knows a lot about me. Enough to find my estranged Mother and use her as a stepping stone into my line of sight. She seems to have dropped off of the radar though. I've not heard anything from her since the letter."
"Some crazy fan?"
"Please. I've been out of the game too long. Why would she wait until now to try and contact me. I've been a ghost for years."
Dead to the world. Hopefully I taught her a lesson though. Regardless of who she was I'm pretty sure I stamped that flame out with my actions the previous week.
"Do you want a smoke?"
"Sure let's get the hell out of here."
We stand up and head for the door but Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee have risen from their respective seats and seem to have other plans.
"You still haven't paid."
The ball needs kicking to get it rolling again. No time like the present.
"I'm sorry gentlemen, how rude of me."
I walk back up the cafe to the table we were previously sat at and pick up the glass now coated in a thin layer of dried milk. As I walk past the counter I empty my pocket of loose change on to it, most of which cartwheels to the floor. I then spin and launch the frosted glass directly into the mouth of one of the brutes blocking our exit. He falls back into his seat and his companion charges, lifting me off of my feet and dumping me into a set of chairs and a table, now wailing on my beautiful face with his hands that bare more resemblance to joints of beef than tools of dexterity.
This isn't going as smoothly as I'd hoped.
After taking a series of shots and doing my best to hold back nervous laughter, the lummox is felled by a fist full of protruding car keys and Michael drags me up to a vertical base. As we make for the door the glassed lad attempts to block our way again, but then comes the kick I mentioned previously, however I'm not sure if it got the ball rolling so much as throbbing. Either way he drops like a sack of sh*t and we scarper toward Michael's car. We clamber inside and Michael picks a hunk of flesh from the groove of his key before stabbing it into the ignition and revving the engine into life.
"You know you got here in your own car don't you?"
"I'll buy a new one with all the money from my shiny new WFWF contract. Plus those boys are less likely to come after us if they have a vehicle to smash to pieces."
We're already doing a tonne down the road so any thoughts of returning for my clapped out wagon are futile.
"You need to get yourself together if you're going to return to the ring. You just got your ass handed to you by a bloated mess of a man."
I don't respond because he's right. I've got a lot of work to do if I'm to show the world I haven't skipped a beat, because in reality I've skipped about a hundred. Reality doesn't do me any favours. Isaac Cray doesn't do me any favours. It's time to assume the mask of old.
Isaac the lonely medicine man has to put up a wall. A wall in the shape of a middle finger. A wall with one word written across it……..
Drakz.
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It seems this week I've been given the night off, or at least just been called in for pleasantries. I face a new gun. I can't remember much of the details, or any of them for that matter. All I know is that it took Obo a little too much effort to put him away last week if you ask me. You would expect our Heavyweight Champion to finish this soggy eared gentlemen in a matter of seconds, not drag it out with a series of reversals and dodges. You will see no such thing this time around. I appreciate my time off and want to waste as little of it as possible rolling around in the ring with the greenest of green.
You've got to feel sorry for the guy though, facing the man who is at the top of the pile, whether rightly so or not, in his first match and then the following week being fed to me? Things aren't looking too good for your career when you kick things off by getting squashed twice in a row.
It makes you wonder who he p*ssed off?
Whose balls did he step on?
Every other newcomer has had the advantage of playing with boys their own age, where as he has been thrown to the dogs. Two experienced, vicious, old dogs. I can see the lad only wants to get an autograph or two but is it really worth suffering this humiliation, so early on in your career, just for a couple of names? At least by next week, when he's recovered, he can scratch Drakz and Obo off of his list of 'people I want to kick my head in'.
When you look at it that way maybe I'm doing him a favour?
It would be an insult not to stomp him into the matt. He doesn't want me to go easy on him because he wants to have experienced what it's truly like to get in the ring with Drakz. He'd feel short changed if I gave him any less than 100%.
I hereby make it my duty to put a smile on the kid's face!
When he wakes up in that hospital bed with every last inch wrapped up in plaster I want him to get a warm feeling and let that beaming smile fill the room, knowing he's one of the select few people on the planet to feel my wrath.
Perhaps I should start doing this at wrestle reunion? Just busting up fans. $10 for 5 minutes. There's a thought for when I'm half crippled and broke.
New guy I shall not fail you!
You've got to feel sorry for the guy though, facing the man who is at the top of the pile, whether rightly so or not, in his first match and then the following week being fed to me? Things aren't looking too good for your career when you kick things off by getting squashed twice in a row.
It makes you wonder who he p*ssed off?
Whose balls did he step on?
Every other newcomer has had the advantage of playing with boys their own age, where as he has been thrown to the dogs. Two experienced, vicious, old dogs. I can see the lad only wants to get an autograph or two but is it really worth suffering this humiliation, so early on in your career, just for a couple of names? At least by next week, when he's recovered, he can scratch Drakz and Obo off of his list of 'people I want to kick my head in'.
When you look at it that way maybe I'm doing him a favour?
It would be an insult not to stomp him into the matt. He doesn't want me to go easy on him because he wants to have experienced what it's truly like to get in the ring with Drakz. He'd feel short changed if I gave him any less than 100%.
I hereby make it my duty to put a smile on the kid's face!
When he wakes up in that hospital bed with every last inch wrapped up in plaster I want him to get a warm feeling and let that beaming smile fill the room, knowing he's one of the select few people on the planet to feel my wrath.
Perhaps I should start doing this at wrestle reunion? Just busting up fans. $10 for 5 minutes. There's a thought for when I'm half crippled and broke.
New guy I shall not fail you!
