Post by Slayne on Mar 13, 2022 22:49:32 GMT -5
Indy Darling was back. Not only had he returned from the hospital bed Kurtis put him in, but he had come back with more power and influence than he had when he left. As if not finishing the job did not weigh heavily enough on Slayne’s troubled mind, the thought of his brother lining his pockets with Kurtis’ own blood, sweat, and tears had him on the verge of a complete breakdown.
Yet despite all of his anger and resentment, despite the disappointment he felt when his brother emerged from the crowd to save Mark Hunter’s career, Kurtis would not let it get the best of him. His shocked reaction and forced retreat was more than he wanted anyone to see. That instinctual reaction had betrayed a weakness within him, something he had swore to his opponents that he did not have.
Over the next several weeks, he took that perceived weakness and used to hone his physical strength and skills. Whether under the guidance of The Entity or not, Kurtis spent that time doing the one thing he did best; he denied his humanity and focused his mind and body like an uncaring and untiring machine. He would be better than Indy Darling. He would be better than Nathan O’Connor. He would be better than all of them, no matter how much blood had to be spilled, of his own or that of others.
For not even death itself could deny a machine of its glorious purpose, of its one true function. Not even death could deny Kurtis Slayne.
“I remember the day that I found out my father had died like it was yesterday. I was twelve years old, living in a homeless shelter in Allentown because my mother had gotten us kicked out of another temporary home. She probably slept with the wrong guy or stole from her boyfriend’s stash. I don’t know what she did to cause it, I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s only important to the story because Child Protective Services were called in when someone at the shelter found out I hadn’t been enrolled in school that year.”
Kurtis tilts his head slightly to the side as he takes a drag from his cigarette, his cold eyes displaying a complete lack of emotion or investment as he looks beyond the camera to tell his story.
“As long as we were staying at the shelter, the social worker knew where to find me. She made sure I had some shitty laptop that was supposed to catch me up on everything I’d missed by avoiding public school. The only things that kept her from hovering over me while I worked was her overflowing caseload and my own college reading level. That gave me time to read about the things that really interested me, namely the life and career of Clive Darling.”
He leans back in the metal folding chair, allowing his body to slump and his head to hang backwards. The ring set up in the 2300 Arena can be seen behind him, hardly an innovative setting for a professional wrestling promo, but it makes for an appropriate one on a tight budget.
“I spent weeks scouring the dirt sheets and independent wrestling websites, reading about every match he had ever been in. For a guy who had never made it to the big stage, his wikipedia page was surprisingly full of useless information. I could read all about his family, his win/loss record, even his fucking high school grade point average. What I didn’t find was a single mention of me or the night he spent with my whore of a mother.”
Without raising his head, he lifts the lit cigarette to his mouth and takes a long drag. As his hand drops back to his side, he exhales with an audible sigh before going back into his story.
“Until I looked at his pictures online and saw my own eyes staring back at me from his face, I wasn’t even sure if he was really my father. The only thing I had up until that point was my mother’s word, and that wasn’t worth a goddamn thing. That’s why I needed to learn about him for myself. Maybe in my immature mind, I thought I could find all the answers to my questions. Instead, I read about how he traveled all around the world with his other son by his side.”
Kurtis pulls his upper body forward, his elbows landing on his knees to catch him in a casual slouch.
“I had already developed a healthy hatred for him based on his absence alone, but the more I read, the more that hatred continued to grow. I don’t know if that’s something a guy like Nathan O’Connor can understand. On some level, we’re probably not that different. This damned sport runs in our families. Even our training has its parallels, seeing as how his brother Jason broke him into the business and now I have the Entity guiding me. Only Nathan was accepted into his family lineage with open arms while I had to force my way in. Hell, one look at him and you can see how bright Nathan’s future will be. I just hope he understands how many dark shadows his bright future will cast. Shadows where the unwanted souls like me will be waiting to bring that future to a premature end.”
He lifts his head and rolls it in a circle until it gives off a loud crack and then lowers his head again. He continues to speak in a soft tone, unable to be bothered with something as trivial as looking at the camera.
“But I digress. This is supposed to be how death has affected me, not how the death of a dream could affect Nathan O’Connor. Which brings me to the day I read about Clive Darling dying in some VFW hall during a show in front of fifty people. I didn’t cry or scream or curse at some imaginary god for the pain I felt. I didn’t share my feelings with an overpaid therapist or take out my aggression by bloodying my knuckles. I kept that shit tucked inside where it could grow and fester, so I could use it when I needed it.”
Kurtis lifts his head to take a drag from his cigarette, finally making the effort to set his gaze on the camera.
“That being said, the death of Clive Darling, the death of the father I never knew, was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. Not because I was sad that I’d never get to meet him, not out of some intangible sense of loss for a parental figure at all. The only sense of loss I experienced was knowing that I’d never have the chance to spit in his face, to curse him for damning me with an unwanted existence. His death robbed me of glorious vengeance, of a righteous confrontation I’d been daydreaming about since I first heard his name. He proved to be just as selfish in death as he had been in life.”
He continues to stare ahead, but his voice remains void of emotion, his words forming in a tone barely above a whisper.
“I can’t pretend to guess how death has shaped Nathan’s life. I couldn’t even begin to describe how losing someone made him feel or motivated him. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. Any loss that he’s experienced, any pain that he’s felt, is miniscule when measured against my own disappointment. Thankfully, I have good-looking and well-adjusted people like Nathan O’Connor and Nathaniel Darling to help me express myself. Whether it’s twisting the joints of my opponents in directions they’re not meant to go when that bell rings, or if it’s beating up my brother in a parking lot until I’ve finished what I started, I’m more than happy to show everyone how my father’s death affected me.”
Kurtis takes one final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away with his finger, sending a cascade of embers into the air when it bounces off the camera lens.
“It’s just more fuel to the fire, another nail in the coffin. It’s one little tile in the mosaic of my hatred, and Nathan O’Connor will get to see the entire picture in just a few short days.”
The picture fades until the screen has gone completely dark, leaving Kurtis’ final message to be heard yet unseen.
“Death, be not proud, though some have called thee,
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.”
Yet despite all of his anger and resentment, despite the disappointment he felt when his brother emerged from the crowd to save Mark Hunter’s career, Kurtis would not let it get the best of him. His shocked reaction and forced retreat was more than he wanted anyone to see. That instinctual reaction had betrayed a weakness within him, something he had swore to his opponents that he did not have.
Over the next several weeks, he took that perceived weakness and used to hone his physical strength and skills. Whether under the guidance of The Entity or not, Kurtis spent that time doing the one thing he did best; he denied his humanity and focused his mind and body like an uncaring and untiring machine. He would be better than Indy Darling. He would be better than Nathan O’Connor. He would be better than all of them, no matter how much blood had to be spilled, of his own or that of others.
For not even death itself could deny a machine of its glorious purpose, of its one true function. Not even death could deny Kurtis Slayne.
**************
“I remember the day that I found out my father had died like it was yesterday. I was twelve years old, living in a homeless shelter in Allentown because my mother had gotten us kicked out of another temporary home. She probably slept with the wrong guy or stole from her boyfriend’s stash. I don’t know what she did to cause it, I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s only important to the story because Child Protective Services were called in when someone at the shelter found out I hadn’t been enrolled in school that year.”
Kurtis tilts his head slightly to the side as he takes a drag from his cigarette, his cold eyes displaying a complete lack of emotion or investment as he looks beyond the camera to tell his story.
“As long as we were staying at the shelter, the social worker knew where to find me. She made sure I had some shitty laptop that was supposed to catch me up on everything I’d missed by avoiding public school. The only things that kept her from hovering over me while I worked was her overflowing caseload and my own college reading level. That gave me time to read about the things that really interested me, namely the life and career of Clive Darling.”
He leans back in the metal folding chair, allowing his body to slump and his head to hang backwards. The ring set up in the 2300 Arena can be seen behind him, hardly an innovative setting for a professional wrestling promo, but it makes for an appropriate one on a tight budget.
“I spent weeks scouring the dirt sheets and independent wrestling websites, reading about every match he had ever been in. For a guy who had never made it to the big stage, his wikipedia page was surprisingly full of useless information. I could read all about his family, his win/loss record, even his fucking high school grade point average. What I didn’t find was a single mention of me or the night he spent with my whore of a mother.”
Without raising his head, he lifts the lit cigarette to his mouth and takes a long drag. As his hand drops back to his side, he exhales with an audible sigh before going back into his story.
“Until I looked at his pictures online and saw my own eyes staring back at me from his face, I wasn’t even sure if he was really my father. The only thing I had up until that point was my mother’s word, and that wasn’t worth a goddamn thing. That’s why I needed to learn about him for myself. Maybe in my immature mind, I thought I could find all the answers to my questions. Instead, I read about how he traveled all around the world with his other son by his side.”
Kurtis pulls his upper body forward, his elbows landing on his knees to catch him in a casual slouch.
“I had already developed a healthy hatred for him based on his absence alone, but the more I read, the more that hatred continued to grow. I don’t know if that’s something a guy like Nathan O’Connor can understand. On some level, we’re probably not that different. This damned sport runs in our families. Even our training has its parallels, seeing as how his brother Jason broke him into the business and now I have the Entity guiding me. Only Nathan was accepted into his family lineage with open arms while I had to force my way in. Hell, one look at him and you can see how bright Nathan’s future will be. I just hope he understands how many dark shadows his bright future will cast. Shadows where the unwanted souls like me will be waiting to bring that future to a premature end.”
He lifts his head and rolls it in a circle until it gives off a loud crack and then lowers his head again. He continues to speak in a soft tone, unable to be bothered with something as trivial as looking at the camera.
“But I digress. This is supposed to be how death has affected me, not how the death of a dream could affect Nathan O’Connor. Which brings me to the day I read about Clive Darling dying in some VFW hall during a show in front of fifty people. I didn’t cry or scream or curse at some imaginary god for the pain I felt. I didn’t share my feelings with an overpaid therapist or take out my aggression by bloodying my knuckles. I kept that shit tucked inside where it could grow and fester, so I could use it when I needed it.”
Kurtis lifts his head to take a drag from his cigarette, finally making the effort to set his gaze on the camera.
“That being said, the death of Clive Darling, the death of the father I never knew, was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. Not because I was sad that I’d never get to meet him, not out of some intangible sense of loss for a parental figure at all. The only sense of loss I experienced was knowing that I’d never have the chance to spit in his face, to curse him for damning me with an unwanted existence. His death robbed me of glorious vengeance, of a righteous confrontation I’d been daydreaming about since I first heard his name. He proved to be just as selfish in death as he had been in life.”
He continues to stare ahead, but his voice remains void of emotion, his words forming in a tone barely above a whisper.
“I can’t pretend to guess how death has shaped Nathan’s life. I couldn’t even begin to describe how losing someone made him feel or motivated him. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. Any loss that he’s experienced, any pain that he’s felt, is miniscule when measured against my own disappointment. Thankfully, I have good-looking and well-adjusted people like Nathan O’Connor and Nathaniel Darling to help me express myself. Whether it’s twisting the joints of my opponents in directions they’re not meant to go when that bell rings, or if it’s beating up my brother in a parking lot until I’ve finished what I started, I’m more than happy to show everyone how my father’s death affected me.”
Kurtis takes one final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away with his finger, sending a cascade of embers into the air when it bounces off the camera lens.
“It’s just more fuel to the fire, another nail in the coffin. It’s one little tile in the mosaic of my hatred, and Nathan O’Connor will get to see the entire picture in just a few short days.”
The picture fades until the screen has gone completely dark, leaving Kurtis’ final message to be heard yet unseen.
“Death, be not proud, though some have called thee,
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.”