Long hard road outta Hell
Dec 14, 2020 11:36:57 GMT -6
Deana Barrows, Jack Puffer, and 1 more like this
Post by outcast on Dec 14, 2020 11:36:57 GMT -6
Pride
That curly-haired f**k PerZag stood there staring in the mirror. He asked again, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the worthiest of them all?”.
He responds to himself, changing his voice as if the mirror was actually answering. “Oh, it is you PerZag, the worthiest of them all”.
Aren’t you like twelve and six? Seems like your shit to me.
He didn’t take kindly to that remark. The little kissy-face he had been making in the mirror morphed to anger as he turns from the mirror. I didn’t know anything could get him out of the mirror. His eyebrows become lowered and pulled closer together, with squinted eyelids, and tightened lips.
I smirk, but that smirk is knocked off my face with a slap. I feel my lip slightly cut against my teeth as my head snaps. I quickly return fire with a right hand, but my knuckles find only glass. The mirror cracks, and spiderwebs across the glass. I feel shards pierce my flesh and dig into my knuckles. I barely have time to register the pain of my hand before I am slapped across the face again.
Learning from my previous mistake I do not attempt a punch, instead a kick. Just as before though I find only mirror, and receive another slap for my efforts. As I hold my mouth, I look around to see I am surrounded by mirrors and the sight of PerZag. I taste the blood from my lip seeping into my mouth and suck on the cut to get the blood out, something about the metallic taste fuels me.
I charge shoulder first at the PerZag I suspect as the real one and hit glass thrice. This time though there are shards that break loose, and I catch them in my hand. I turn and throw the pieces of glass wide like buckshot from a shotgun. And this motherf**ker just laughs saying, “missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me”.
Did I miss, or did I cut that precious face of yours?
PerZag freaks and runs to the mirror checking his face. He takes the bait and gives away where he really is. He’s too busy looking at himself to even notice me coming behind him. I feel those golden curls slide over my fingers like a ring as I grab him by the skull. I ram that face he loves so much into the mirror, and then I do it again and again. I do it until the mirror is shattered and PerZag’s face looks like a jigsaw puzzle.
I lean in and whisper into PerZag’s ear, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs sixteen eighteen”.
I release PerZags golden locks and he falls to the ground only to fade away. I reach to my inside vest pocket, and again find my Newport supply at zero. Hell is a bitch. Suddenly the mirrors shatter all around me. I duck down, covering my head as the shards of glass give way.
Sloth
I look around and find myself on a beach, maybe this isn’t hell after all. But, f**k it is hot. I take my vest off, loosen a few of the top buttons of my shirt and roll my sleeves up. This beach seems deserted, but in the distance, I hear what sounds like Jimmy Buffet tunes.
I make my way towards the music, that is if you want to call what Jimmy Buffet makes music. In the distance, I see a cabana and palm trees, and as I get closer, I see someone lying in a hammock strung up between two palms. By the time I reach the relaxing beach bum I have sweat through my shirt and am dying of thirst. I lean my arm against the palm and rest my head against it.
Heyyyyy man.
I slowly lift my head and see Ed Houston laying in the hammock with a White Russian in his hand, and sunglasses covering his eye. The Rocketman seems to not have a care in the world as he sips his drink and stares out into the endless ocean.
Nice hammock.
Thanks, man, it really ties the beach together.
I suppose you are going to try and stop me now.
Ah man, whatever will be will be ya know?
What the f**k does that even mean?
Ya know, it is what it is man.
I look at Ed just lounging in the hammock, sipping his drink, and sparking a J. For a moment I am envious of him, he seems to not have a care in the world, and feels no stress. This may be hell, but Ed looks to be in his own personal heaven. I can’t kill him, he’s done nothing to me, and there is no fear of him coming after me if I let him live. He never follows through with anything, never tried to get his world title back, never tried to get the tag team titles back, if he wins the rumble, he may not even try to get the world title. The man is chill, but he is also a unmotivated f**k.
I step to the side of the hammock and snatch the joint from his hand. “Hey man, I would have shared, just ask me”, the dimwit says. I shake my hand as I put the joint in my mouth. I grab the sides of the hammock and pull them up over Ed. “Hey man there is a beverage here,” he says as he tries to protect his White Russian. I pay him no heed as I flip the hammock over and over again, trapping Ed inside like a fly stuck in a web.
This aggression will not stand man.
Yes, it will, you won’t stop me, no one will stop me. The annoying sounds of Jimmy Buffet fade away, the water of the ocean evaporates leaving only a sand bottom. The palms, the hammock, and Ed blow away into sand, and the beach turns into a desert.
The sun bakes down on me as I wander aimlessly through the desert. My skin is dry, my lips are chapped and beginning to peel. My feet become heavier with every step, and I feel every drop of water perspiring out of my body. But I cannot stop, because I know if I stop, I lose.
My legs give out on me and I stumble, falling to all fours. I cannot take a moment to rest though, I must get to my feet and must keep pushing forward, complacency is not allowed, comfort-ability is not allowed. Comfort is a slow death, but so is cooking in this sun.
Then in the distance, I see it, my lifeline. An oasis in the middle of this desert, flashing neon.
Envy & Greed
The sight of this structure and the thought of water add a little pep to my step. I try to run, but it is impossible. Not even jogging can be performed, as I try to jog, I fall to all fours once more, so I begin to crawl. All that matters is that I make it.
I stumble through the door and feel the refreshing air-conditioned air hit my face. The coolness was harsh at first because I was so hot, but soon my entire body is eased and relaxed as I pull myself onto a stool at the bar. A musclebound old man was behind the bar, clearly, this was The Accelerator, but he didn’t seem to notice me. Poor senile old f**K.
WATER!
Sorry, we only got beer and whiskey.
Well, f**k me.
Ice?
He just shakes his head no, and says "beer or whiskey?".
Whatever is coldest.
He nods his head and pulls a can of Natural Light from a cooler and sits it in front of me. Of course, it's Natty Lite, this is hell. I crack the can open and the smell makes my stomach turn, but I am too thirsty not to drink. As soon as that sawdust flavored beer hits my mouth it takes me away to paradise. I feel myself fall down all twelve steps of sobriety and land in a pit of despair. I'm familiar with this pit though, I call it home.
Another sip and I snap back to the bar. Over my left shoulder, I hear murmuring. I look back over my shoulder to a table in the corner and there sits a lousy lot of legacy and their lackeys. Warstein, Hart, Jackson, Deanna, James Ravens little pet Betsy, and her BFF Atara.
The group is huddled together discussing what I can only assume is a plan to protect Raven at all cost, or who is going to be jerking who off in their little circle. They haven't even noticed I'm in the place, they don't seem to notice anyone but their selves.
I hear a voice grumbling to the right of me and I look down the end of the bar to notice a brooding man. Accelerator pours him a shot and when he says, "leave the bottle", I recognize it is Mack. He, however, does not seem to recognize me. Mack will take a shot, look to the table of Legacy, mumble a bit and take another shot.
I continue to nurse my beer, wanting only to be hydrated and not buzzed. I hear the door open and look to see Puffer and Zybala. "This could get interesting", I think as I watch them walk past me as if I don’t even exist and join Mack. Accelerator joins the group as well, but all I can hear from them is mumbling.
I sit drinking my shitty beer and looking back and forth at the two groups as the tension in the room rises to a level of combustion as the humming mumbles of each group grows louder and louder. The murmuring reaches a level that sounds like being inside of a beehive when a loud thud and shattering of glass breaks the humming and both groups grow silent for a moment as Warstein leaps to his feet.
YOU F**KING CUNTS, I SHOULD BE THE ONE WHO WINS THIS RUMBLE AND I SHOULD BE THE LEADER.
Lower your voice, and realize your place.
Yeah f**k you Warstein, you screwed me out of the North American title.
F**K YOU ZYBALA AND F**K THE BILLS!
Calm down Shawn, this isn’t the time or the place.
Shut up cunt. It should be me who wins this rumble, and I should be the champion, me, me, me.
Shawn begins stomping his feet like a child and crosses his arms in a huff. Mack stands up from the bar, doing another shot as he does so.
I tell ya what Shawn after I take my championship back, I’ll dedicate one of my monthly appearances to kick-starting your f**ken jaw for ya.
Warstein moves around the table to stand nose to nose with Mack. Legacy stands behind Warstein, with Puffer and Zybala behind Mack. Me, I’m just trying to enjoy this beer.
Don’t worry boys, we’ll take the burden of being champion off your shoulders.
Everyone turns to see the A-List standing in the doorway. There is an awkward silence, and then everyone begins to laugh at Branson and Thomas.
Relax everyone, you know I’m going to win.
Xavier Lux seems to have joined the party. After him, one by one everyone from the Righteous Rumble enters the bar, each proclaiming that they will win and are the rightful contender until the bar becomes cramped with the ego of it all. Each person joining their little clique of friends, while I remain at the bar, an outcast.
I was never one for an overcrowded bar, and I had quenched my thirst so I slinked out of the door escaping the proverbial “dick measuring contest”. It looks as if I left at the right time too because as I walked out feeling for a Newport once more, I notice a large shadow looming over the bar.
Wrath
I look up to realize the red-skinned Raven is in the sky above the bar. From his mouth emerges a fireball like a dragon that consumes the whole structure of the bar. I jump to avoid the explosion and flames as debris flies and flames spray. The screams of everyone inside being burned alive are sickening, but not as sickening as the arrogant laugh of the Devil Raven.
The Devil Raven has taken back his human form and stands watching as the screams fade into death and the fire eats the building. His wrath has destroyed everyone but me, including his protectors. I look to my right and see a smoldering board that fits nicely into my hands like a club.
You forgot someone.
As Raven turns the ember clad club strikes the side of his face, knocking him to his knees. His shocked look signifying that in the mass of challengers he had forgotten about me, but I would make sure today that the name Outcast is the last one he remembers.
I strike upside his head with the board knocking him to the ground. I swing overhead down onto his skull and repeat this over and over until my arms fail and his skull is mush. I fall to my knees and drop the board looking at the now decapitated Raven.
How the f**k do I get out of here?
I have been trapped by own wrath.