Post by Dreamkiller on Mar 14, 2021 22:31:31 GMT -5
Feel
I was almost saved, you know? A few years ago, I was almost pulled out of it all. See, while having no emotions and being able to just turn off can be useful, it can also feel like your own personal hell. Your relationships crumble, you never feel like you’re enough or that it’s even fair. Part of you doesn’t care, but there is always that little spark that wants to do what is right for others - that wants to be a good person.
If you can’t be the person your family and friends deserve then shouldn’t you just walk away and disappear? If all they do is worry and it impacts their lives, then shouldn’t you do them a favor and just go? There came a time when I thought that was for the best. My sister was gone, my brother was gone and my father was dead. It was my mother and me. And all I did was make her worry. Tasmin was a teenager and in boarding school in London; she had her own life to worry about. My mother was free of my father’s abuse and bullshit, but now had a new reason to stay up all night worrying….
Me.
I was out on the town, doing whatever - and whoever - I wanted. I would come home at four A.M. smelling of cheap alcohol, a pocketful of money, and often some weed or a pill (or two). I had no life or direction. I was spiraling and she had no idea how to fix it. The thing is...she couldn’t fix it. No one could. Only I could pull that plane out of its nosedive, but I didn’t want to.
So one night, I left my mother’s home. I left her alone to live her life and no longer worry about me. I left her a note, I packed my bags and went to London. There, I could keep half an eye on my baby sister and look for my older brother while being able to continue the lovely self-destructive lifestyle that had become my trademark. But Brett was still in my life. No matter how wrong I treated him, no matter how many times I laughed off his romantic attempts or his sweet words, he was there.
If I drank too much, he’d hold back my hair. If I felt sick, he’d check on me. If I got in a fight, he’d get my drunk ass out of the pub. This is what Brett did, and it slowly built up. I felt like I was drowning, that the world was water and it was slowly covering my eyes and body. It was filling my nose and mouth and I couldn’t breathe, and as I sank, the entire world was going black. I felt it fill my lungs and every single day was like I was choking and gasping just to survive. But then through the darkness, he grabbed my hand and pulled me back from the brink.
And this is where you see my true colors. Cause even a savior couldn’t find a place in my heart…
London England
5 Years Ago
Take My Hand….
My fingers slowly moved along the plastic cylinder. The liquid inside was almost clear with only a slight yellow tinge. I looked around my bathroom with a sigh. My body was already out of it due to the shots of whiskey and the weed. But I needed more. For the first time, the alcohol and weed weren’t enough to stop it. They weren’t enough to continue keeping me numb. I needed something else. Something harder…
A guy at the pub said he knew what I needed. He promised to hook me up, and the first taste was free. I brought it home, put the powder on a spoon, and warmed it. I marveled as it slowly dissolved into a liquid and I soaked it up through the cotton. And now it sat in front of me, all in this little plastic syringe. And here I was sitting on the floor in my underwear. My hair was a mess, my makeup smeared from crying. But even in this sad, desperate state, I had my doubts. The trepidation was always there…
But then it hit the headache. All I wanted was for the pain to stop, for the headaches to go away. It was like pressure building up in my skull. I wanted to take a drill to my head and let all that pressure out. I wanted it to just go away. Normally, my indifference and the mixture of herb and alcohol did it, but not this time. Not anymore. It had been so long since I cried. So long since I let it out that the tears burned my eyes and cheeks.
It felt like Lava….
I needed to do it. I needed something to stop it. Before I knew it, I had the rubber around my arm. I felt the sting of the needle piercing my skin. But this wasn’t like a tattoo sting. This was something else. Something different. I pushed the end, the liquid started to disappear as a small amount of blood flowed back into the needle. But then I could feel it. I felt it work its way through my body and as it did, I felt my humanity get pushed back. I felt the person I was disappearing and for a moment I knew the true taste of freedom and the ecstasy of death…
I felt the hands on my chest, I felt his mouth on mine. I heard the anguish in his voice and my eyes opened. There he was. Brett. His long hair flowing down the sides of his face as he panicked. All the peace I felt was gone and now the pain of life flowed through. I could breathe again, I could see the reality and now. Because of him, I could feel. And at that moment, when I turned and looked into his eyes - the life-saving eyes full of love - all I felt was anger. He smiled and breathed out hard as a few tears fell. Brett put his arms around me and sighed but as he pulled away I was only able to manage three little words towards him.
“I hate you….”
Flickering Hate
“I hate most of you.”
Kayla Richards, the Project: Honor Noble Champion. A person who represents the Fallout brand not just in name, but also in her utter blatant and disregardful attitude. sits on a white marble bench. She leans back and clasps her hands together sitting them on her knees as her legs cross over.
“I don’t think anyone will be surprised when I say that. See, I am not what you would call a “people person”. Not in my day-to-day life, not in my business life, or on social media or indeed within my own family. I have been in fist fights with my sisters. I am surprised my own fiance even wants to deal with me most of the time. It is just how I am. But even I have to give credit where it is due, and Finale gave me a real fight. It’s very sad to me that someone like Finale put in such an effort against me and came up on the losing end when my opponent at Wired Consequences took such a beating only to fluke a win.”
She tuts and clicks her tongue before pushing her way to her feet, leaning down and picking up the Noble Title. She positioned it on her shoulder over the top of her leather jacket, a black and green Type O Negative t-shirt underneath it, and a pair of torn black jeans and black boots complete the outfit.
“Finale did well, but wasn’t good enough to beat the Noble Champion. As many have found out over the years and as people will realise in Project: Honor, I can be rather difficult to defeat. See, aside from the hiccup in the Tyrant match and the horrible moment against Jason Long, I have been showing every single one of you what kind of star I am. I’m loud, I’m brash, I am liberal with my use of curse words and in the ring I don’t give a shit about rules or following them. Which makes it all the more ironic that I have this doesn’t it? But with that being said I have been too, well, nice. I have second guessed things I have wanted to say and do, and because of that I let my guard down. Starting against Finale, all that fucking changes.”
“Fallout has already gotten the shaft once this week with our whiny, subtweeting thin-skinned Legacy Champion having to go one-on-one with her little brother who represents the other side. I refuse to allow Fallout to take another hit by losing the Noble Title in my first defence to a guy like Jason “I wish I was a daddy like John Nash Strader” Long.”
“The fact is Jason, you know you got lucky against me. You didn’t so much beat me as you escaped me. For ten minutes, I beat you down and humiliated you. I took my foot off the gas for one second and you were lucky enough to capitalise on it and beat me. Congratu-fucking-lations. But, the downside to that is you have been voted in as my first defence. And payback, much like me, is a bitch.”
“The people have spoken, Jason. And at Wired Consequences, you’ll get your chance to win this championship from me. If you think for one second lightning will strike twice for you? Well, I have some bad news.”
She starts to walk, her boots hitting the hard tiled floor as she moves to the next room, revealing herself to be in some kind of museum or art exhibition. She smiles slowly and stops in front of a statue that we can’t properly see before continuing.
“I know I can’t let this title fall into your hands, Jason. You may have been a champion at other places, but that means nothing in Project: Honor. This place is different, this place is growing and has the potential to be one of the biggest companies in the world. Especially Fallout. And something that really bothers me is your stupidity. I can forgive many things, Jason. I can forgive the fluke win. I can forgive your arrogance because when push comes to shove, you are in fact a talented athlete; you just need to look at what you did to Kallie Reznik to see that.”
“Unfortunately, what lets you down is your lack of intelligence. And it’s not just in your professional life, it’s also in your personal one. Who the fuck wants to call themselves the step-father of a child they have only known for two weeks? It’s creepy, it’s stupid and you need serious mental help.”
“That is just one side of it.”
“Cast your mind back to the promo you cut on me before our match, Jason. There is a key indicator on what kind of person you are right there. See, like a giant pussy, you apologised for letting emotions get the better of you. You said that in the Tyrant match - and by the way you special, concussion-fueled idiot, it was a match, not a chamber - you talked about how you had a chance to prove yourself. And it was. That’s where I proved myself and earned the Noble title. You could have done that, you could have shown everyone from Fallout, Proving Ground and the entire Project: Honor fanbase that Jason Long was here to stay and was a great competitor worthy of the King name.”
“At least, that’s what you said on February 24th in your promo against me. Two days later though, when you and I were jabbing back and forth on Twitter, your tune was so much different. You told the world how the name didn’t matter, how “opting out” was different than quitting.”
“Tell me Jason, how long before you ‘opt-out’ of being a stepfather? How often before you ‘opt-out’ of actually caring about and defending the Noble title?”
“You’re a quitter, a hypocrite, an idiot and a waste of oxygen. And the saddest part of all this is that you don’t even see it. When you tell the world all you care about is titles and give up a chance in a match after your boss TOLD you that the “Fallout” winner would get something special, it makes you look like a fool. When you say you care about something and then two days later flip the script and say it was stupid and full of shit, what does that do, Jason?”
She can’t help but chuckle and shake her head before looking up at the statue. We pull out to find a large marble visage of Richards the first of England.
“It doesn’t make you a king. This is a king, this is Richard the First of England. One of the greatest Kings in history. Not that you would know that, being Irish. My country graced yours with grace and laws. And you, well, you were peasants living in mud and squalor. Name a great Irish king. Without Google. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Kayla pauses and looks at the nails on her left hand as her right clutches the Noble Title.
“Can’t name one, can you? And that is honestly because...well. As a great man once said ‘On the seventh day the Lord rested, but before that he did, he squatted over the side of England and what came out of him... was Ireland’. And now, here you are, stinking up the wrestling world with your thot-chasing hypocritical nonsense. It’s so strange to me how a grown man can’t figure out the simplest and most basic forms of life. You do not run your mouth about things you don’t know, and if you don’t want something known, don’t put it on social media.”
“The fact is Jason, this match should be getting people excited. It should be between a man who is athletic and can go in the ring against a woman who has shown just how good she can be with the added story that you have beaten me. But, I don’t want that narrative Jason, because that narrative pegs us as equals. And we are far, far from that.”
“You are a name that has travelled around the world and despite your young age, people know you for infamous reasons as well as the positives from your career. You’re a big arena rock band. Like Nickleback. I’m known too, but not quite as well known. I’m critically acclaimed and even my enemies who I have beaten, humiliated and destroyed put some respect on my name. I am a fucking artist. I’m like the band Nothing More. Talented, objectively better than most.”
“And at Wired Consequences, I am going to step in that ring, put this title on the line and I will defend it against you. And while I do have some noble reasons for it, like not wanting the title to fall in the hands of a self-confessed quitting child, wanting to represent Fallout and do well for Mr DeMarco. But, the truth is. My real reason is simple. I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it because I refuse to be 0-2 against someone like you. I’m doing it, for my own glory for my own name and for my own fucking Legacy. And because of that Jason, I am going to kick your stupid, smirking, goofball face into the third fucking row.”
“And kill your goddamn dreams…”
I was almost saved, you know? A few years ago, I was almost pulled out of it all. See, while having no emotions and being able to just turn off can be useful, it can also feel like your own personal hell. Your relationships crumble, you never feel like you’re enough or that it’s even fair. Part of you doesn’t care, but there is always that little spark that wants to do what is right for others - that wants to be a good person.
If you can’t be the person your family and friends deserve then shouldn’t you just walk away and disappear? If all they do is worry and it impacts their lives, then shouldn’t you do them a favor and just go? There came a time when I thought that was for the best. My sister was gone, my brother was gone and my father was dead. It was my mother and me. And all I did was make her worry. Tasmin was a teenager and in boarding school in London; she had her own life to worry about. My mother was free of my father’s abuse and bullshit, but now had a new reason to stay up all night worrying….
Me.
I was out on the town, doing whatever - and whoever - I wanted. I would come home at four A.M. smelling of cheap alcohol, a pocketful of money, and often some weed or a pill (or two). I had no life or direction. I was spiraling and she had no idea how to fix it. The thing is...she couldn’t fix it. No one could. Only I could pull that plane out of its nosedive, but I didn’t want to.
So one night, I left my mother’s home. I left her alone to live her life and no longer worry about me. I left her a note, I packed my bags and went to London. There, I could keep half an eye on my baby sister and look for my older brother while being able to continue the lovely self-destructive lifestyle that had become my trademark. But Brett was still in my life. No matter how wrong I treated him, no matter how many times I laughed off his romantic attempts or his sweet words, he was there.
If I drank too much, he’d hold back my hair. If I felt sick, he’d check on me. If I got in a fight, he’d get my drunk ass out of the pub. This is what Brett did, and it slowly built up. I felt like I was drowning, that the world was water and it was slowly covering my eyes and body. It was filling my nose and mouth and I couldn’t breathe, and as I sank, the entire world was going black. I felt it fill my lungs and every single day was like I was choking and gasping just to survive. But then through the darkness, he grabbed my hand and pulled me back from the brink.
And this is where you see my true colors. Cause even a savior couldn’t find a place in my heart…
London England
5 Years Ago
Take My Hand….
My fingers slowly moved along the plastic cylinder. The liquid inside was almost clear with only a slight yellow tinge. I looked around my bathroom with a sigh. My body was already out of it due to the shots of whiskey and the weed. But I needed more. For the first time, the alcohol and weed weren’t enough to stop it. They weren’t enough to continue keeping me numb. I needed something else. Something harder…
A guy at the pub said he knew what I needed. He promised to hook me up, and the first taste was free. I brought it home, put the powder on a spoon, and warmed it. I marveled as it slowly dissolved into a liquid and I soaked it up through the cotton. And now it sat in front of me, all in this little plastic syringe. And here I was sitting on the floor in my underwear. My hair was a mess, my makeup smeared from crying. But even in this sad, desperate state, I had my doubts. The trepidation was always there…
But then it hit the headache. All I wanted was for the pain to stop, for the headaches to go away. It was like pressure building up in my skull. I wanted to take a drill to my head and let all that pressure out. I wanted it to just go away. Normally, my indifference and the mixture of herb and alcohol did it, but not this time. Not anymore. It had been so long since I cried. So long since I let it out that the tears burned my eyes and cheeks.
It felt like Lava….
I needed to do it. I needed something to stop it. Before I knew it, I had the rubber around my arm. I felt the sting of the needle piercing my skin. But this wasn’t like a tattoo sting. This was something else. Something different. I pushed the end, the liquid started to disappear as a small amount of blood flowed back into the needle. But then I could feel it. I felt it work its way through my body and as it did, I felt my humanity get pushed back. I felt the person I was disappearing and for a moment I knew the true taste of freedom and the ecstasy of death…
I felt the hands on my chest, I felt his mouth on mine. I heard the anguish in his voice and my eyes opened. There he was. Brett. His long hair flowing down the sides of his face as he panicked. All the peace I felt was gone and now the pain of life flowed through. I could breathe again, I could see the reality and now. Because of him, I could feel. And at that moment, when I turned and looked into his eyes - the life-saving eyes full of love - all I felt was anger. He smiled and breathed out hard as a few tears fell. Brett put his arms around me and sighed but as he pulled away I was only able to manage three little words towards him.
“I hate you….”
Flickering Hate
“I hate most of you.”
Kayla Richards, the Project: Honor Noble Champion. A person who represents the Fallout brand not just in name, but also in her utter blatant and disregardful attitude. sits on a white marble bench. She leans back and clasps her hands together sitting them on her knees as her legs cross over.
“I don’t think anyone will be surprised when I say that. See, I am not what you would call a “people person”. Not in my day-to-day life, not in my business life, or on social media or indeed within my own family. I have been in fist fights with my sisters. I am surprised my own fiance even wants to deal with me most of the time. It is just how I am. But even I have to give credit where it is due, and Finale gave me a real fight. It’s very sad to me that someone like Finale put in such an effort against me and came up on the losing end when my opponent at Wired Consequences took such a beating only to fluke a win.”
She tuts and clicks her tongue before pushing her way to her feet, leaning down and picking up the Noble Title. She positioned it on her shoulder over the top of her leather jacket, a black and green Type O Negative t-shirt underneath it, and a pair of torn black jeans and black boots complete the outfit.
“Finale did well, but wasn’t good enough to beat the Noble Champion. As many have found out over the years and as people will realise in Project: Honor, I can be rather difficult to defeat. See, aside from the hiccup in the Tyrant match and the horrible moment against Jason Long, I have been showing every single one of you what kind of star I am. I’m loud, I’m brash, I am liberal with my use of curse words and in the ring I don’t give a shit about rules or following them. Which makes it all the more ironic that I have this doesn’t it? But with that being said I have been too, well, nice. I have second guessed things I have wanted to say and do, and because of that I let my guard down. Starting against Finale, all that fucking changes.”
“Fallout has already gotten the shaft once this week with our whiny, subtweeting thin-skinned Legacy Champion having to go one-on-one with her little brother who represents the other side. I refuse to allow Fallout to take another hit by losing the Noble Title in my first defence to a guy like Jason “I wish I was a daddy like John Nash Strader” Long.”
“The fact is Jason, you know you got lucky against me. You didn’t so much beat me as you escaped me. For ten minutes, I beat you down and humiliated you. I took my foot off the gas for one second and you were lucky enough to capitalise on it and beat me. Congratu-fucking-lations. But, the downside to that is you have been voted in as my first defence. And payback, much like me, is a bitch.”
“The people have spoken, Jason. And at Wired Consequences, you’ll get your chance to win this championship from me. If you think for one second lightning will strike twice for you? Well, I have some bad news.”
She starts to walk, her boots hitting the hard tiled floor as she moves to the next room, revealing herself to be in some kind of museum or art exhibition. She smiles slowly and stops in front of a statue that we can’t properly see before continuing.
“I know I can’t let this title fall into your hands, Jason. You may have been a champion at other places, but that means nothing in Project: Honor. This place is different, this place is growing and has the potential to be one of the biggest companies in the world. Especially Fallout. And something that really bothers me is your stupidity. I can forgive many things, Jason. I can forgive the fluke win. I can forgive your arrogance because when push comes to shove, you are in fact a talented athlete; you just need to look at what you did to Kallie Reznik to see that.”
“Unfortunately, what lets you down is your lack of intelligence. And it’s not just in your professional life, it’s also in your personal one. Who the fuck wants to call themselves the step-father of a child they have only known for two weeks? It’s creepy, it’s stupid and you need serious mental help.”
“That is just one side of it.”
“Cast your mind back to the promo you cut on me before our match, Jason. There is a key indicator on what kind of person you are right there. See, like a giant pussy, you apologised for letting emotions get the better of you. You said that in the Tyrant match - and by the way you special, concussion-fueled idiot, it was a match, not a chamber - you talked about how you had a chance to prove yourself. And it was. That’s where I proved myself and earned the Noble title. You could have done that, you could have shown everyone from Fallout, Proving Ground and the entire Project: Honor fanbase that Jason Long was here to stay and was a great competitor worthy of the King name.”
“At least, that’s what you said on February 24th in your promo against me. Two days later though, when you and I were jabbing back and forth on Twitter, your tune was so much different. You told the world how the name didn’t matter, how “opting out” was different than quitting.”
“Tell me Jason, how long before you ‘opt-out’ of being a stepfather? How often before you ‘opt-out’ of actually caring about and defending the Noble title?”
“You’re a quitter, a hypocrite, an idiot and a waste of oxygen. And the saddest part of all this is that you don’t even see it. When you tell the world all you care about is titles and give up a chance in a match after your boss TOLD you that the “Fallout” winner would get something special, it makes you look like a fool. When you say you care about something and then two days later flip the script and say it was stupid and full of shit, what does that do, Jason?”
She can’t help but chuckle and shake her head before looking up at the statue. We pull out to find a large marble visage of Richards the first of England.
“It doesn’t make you a king. This is a king, this is Richard the First of England. One of the greatest Kings in history. Not that you would know that, being Irish. My country graced yours with grace and laws. And you, well, you were peasants living in mud and squalor. Name a great Irish king. Without Google. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Kayla pauses and looks at the nails on her left hand as her right clutches the Noble Title.
“Can’t name one, can you? And that is honestly because...well. As a great man once said ‘On the seventh day the Lord rested, but before that he did, he squatted over the side of England and what came out of him... was Ireland’. And now, here you are, stinking up the wrestling world with your thot-chasing hypocritical nonsense. It’s so strange to me how a grown man can’t figure out the simplest and most basic forms of life. You do not run your mouth about things you don’t know, and if you don’t want something known, don’t put it on social media.”
“The fact is Jason, this match should be getting people excited. It should be between a man who is athletic and can go in the ring against a woman who has shown just how good she can be with the added story that you have beaten me. But, I don’t want that narrative Jason, because that narrative pegs us as equals. And we are far, far from that.”
“You are a name that has travelled around the world and despite your young age, people know you for infamous reasons as well as the positives from your career. You’re a big arena rock band. Like Nickleback. I’m known too, but not quite as well known. I’m critically acclaimed and even my enemies who I have beaten, humiliated and destroyed put some respect on my name. I am a fucking artist. I’m like the band Nothing More. Talented, objectively better than most.”
“And at Wired Consequences, I am going to step in that ring, put this title on the line and I will defend it against you. And while I do have some noble reasons for it, like not wanting the title to fall in the hands of a self-confessed quitting child, wanting to represent Fallout and do well for Mr DeMarco. But, the truth is. My real reason is simple. I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it because I refuse to be 0-2 against someone like you. I’m doing it, for my own glory for my own name and for my own fucking Legacy. And because of that Jason, I am going to kick your stupid, smirking, goofball face into the third fucking row.”
“And kill your goddamn dreams…”
