Post by Addy A on Apr 12, 2020 16:33:49 GMT -5
The man they call Flop sits in a chair on chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room. He stares straight ahead with a serious look not seen on the man before in his time in Alpha Pro Wrestling.
You know, Eli. You may have timed your fight with me at the most unfortunate time for you. While my brother has decided to drop our charade and end our game with his actions in Action Wrestling - I no longer see the point of playing the game without a partner. This wasn’t solitaire.
So Eli, let me introduce myself.
My name is Hieronymus Watts. You and everyone else can call me Harry. Now, you and I are not here to exchange pleasantries and introductions. So let’s get straight to the crux of why I am, Eli.
I am here to take your Alpha Pro Wrestling Junior Heavyweight Title. You have been a solid champion since you took the gold from around the waist of Alex Scott. But, in the world of champions - solid isn’t enough. The foundation is the base of what great is built upon. People don’t go to open homes to look at the quality of the concrete slabs on which the walls are erected. Reality TV shows don’t waste hours on the pouring of said slab. The foundation is the start, but is irrelevant. The foundation only exists so that greatness can be built. The foundation only exists so that people can see beauty.
You have laid the foundation for your Junior Heavyweight Championship to grow, but it will be I, Hieronymus Watts, that takes it to the glorious heights that it belongs.
Harry Watts smiles.
He is dressed with white overalls as he walks through the green pastures. Harry Watts steps out purposefully with each stride. He finds himself by an old decaying tree stump and next to him is an ever loyal goat. Harry looks at the goat as he reaches inside his overalls.
“I don’t need you anymore.” he laughs as he looks down in the goats eyes.
He pulls a cleaver out from his overall and in one clean strike he decapitates the goat where it stands. Watts lifts the carcass on his shoulders and walks in the direction he was headed. He leaves the head staring into oblivion.
Though while you may have laid the foundations you are worthless beyond that Eli. You are pointless. You may as well be buried with the concrete slabs that I build my empire upon. You are nothing but disposable, Eli. Like the toilet paper that wipes the shit my ass, you serve a purpose and then you are discarded, flushed away and forgotten. Not worthless. Not pointless. But disposable, forgotten when something bigger, better, improved comes along. You are like the lines of a pop song, catchy and cool until someone else comes along with something catchier and cooler, and you are forgotten like everything that has come before you. Consigned to be a line in a title history in the back pages of a wrestling almanac.
Harry grins.
I could keep going like forever, Eli. The words will change, but the truth behind those words will never change, because destiny consigns us to who we are and who we will be. And I see what you are and what you will be and it is nothing of particular greatness. You will not be like me, you will never have the inner mechanisms to climb those stairs. Something about your nature, something about your smile. They like you. I like you, but they will not allow you to eat with them.
I will not allow you to eat.
The table has never been set for likes of you, Eli. The table is for the Gods, Eli. Not the servants you tend to their canker sores. Sure, they give you the illusion that you have the chance to eat, but the truth they are only feeding you the scraps they no longer with to gorge themselves upon.
That is when I shatter your illusion, Eli.
That is when they take back theirs.
That is when I take what makes you whole.
For a woman in her thirties she slept gracefully; he thought to himself. Her blonde hair, while unkempt, had a certain alluring nature to it’s scattered mess. Her eyes, while closed, captured the pleasantries of an undisturbed sleep. The curtains flowed with the light summer’s breeze.
He was watching her as the breath entered and exited her body. He was watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed peacefully. He was smiling
He was smiling as he knew despite all the peace that she was experiencing now, he would take that from her soon. He would take his giant hand and clasp him firmly over her nose and mouth. The shock would wake her. But she would not be able to scream through his monstrous fingers. He would feel her body tense with fear and it would make him gleeful. He would smile a sickening smile and he felt her fruitless attempt to writhe free of his grip. He would slowly squeeze the air from her lungs like an anaconda squeezing its prey.
She would struggle.
But she would not break free.
This made him… happy.
She would try to fight back.
But he would strike her down.
She would try for his eyes.
She would do what she needed to do to save herself.
He would let her try.
Because the more fight she showed – the more he enjoyed it.
But he would not let her escape. He would not let her be safe.
He would take her - this victim of his. He would have his way with her. I would beat her to her last breath, but he would take it.
His hands would dance like a drum over her body – having their way with his soft, supple skin.
She rolled over in her sleep, letting out a small sigh.
She is peaceful now… But I will change that very soon, he thought to himself.
He edged close to her open window. He looked at her form and admired the mess of bedding.
He was going to have her.
But not now…
He slowly turns and walks away. He allows one last glance of his shoulder before walking into the darkness of the witching hour.
You may think I am talking about the Junior Heavyweight Title, Eli. I am not. The title only serves as a prize. This is not what I really want - what I really want is your smile. The effervescence, the brightness of our pearly whites. It serves as a juxtaposition to the darkness of this world. When I have finished with you, Eli. My goal is to turn that smile upside down to form a frown.
I wish to see each of your pearly while teeth turn yellow stained with the bleakness of society. I want to see your perfectly toned and taut skin weathered and cracked by the turning wheels of desolation of man’s existence.
Then I will look down from my glorious tower built from the sweat on your glands and the labor of your hands on the strength on your back. I will down upon you, sitting in the barren landscape of your wasteland when I have taken everything from you.
You will be forgotten.
A single grain of meaningless sand in the endless desert of existence.
And me?
I will be your Harvester.
I will be Champion.
Hieronymus Watts stands with his hands cups together, he opens them and a single butterfly flies away.
You know, Eli. You may have timed your fight with me at the most unfortunate time for you. While my brother has decided to drop our charade and end our game with his actions in Action Wrestling - I no longer see the point of playing the game without a partner. This wasn’t solitaire.
So Eli, let me introduce myself.
My name is Hieronymus Watts. You and everyone else can call me Harry. Now, you and I are not here to exchange pleasantries and introductions. So let’s get straight to the crux of why I am, Eli.
I am here to take your Alpha Pro Wrestling Junior Heavyweight Title. You have been a solid champion since you took the gold from around the waist of Alex Scott. But, in the world of champions - solid isn’t enough. The foundation is the base of what great is built upon. People don’t go to open homes to look at the quality of the concrete slabs on which the walls are erected. Reality TV shows don’t waste hours on the pouring of said slab. The foundation is the start, but is irrelevant. The foundation only exists so that greatness can be built. The foundation only exists so that people can see beauty.
You have laid the foundation for your Junior Heavyweight Championship to grow, but it will be I, Hieronymus Watts, that takes it to the glorious heights that it belongs.
Harry Watts smiles.
***
He is dressed with white overalls as he walks through the green pastures. Harry Watts steps out purposefully with each stride. He finds himself by an old decaying tree stump and next to him is an ever loyal goat. Harry looks at the goat as he reaches inside his overalls.
“I don’t need you anymore.” he laughs as he looks down in the goats eyes.
He pulls a cleaver out from his overall and in one clean strike he decapitates the goat where it stands. Watts lifts the carcass on his shoulders and walks in the direction he was headed. He leaves the head staring into oblivion.
***
Though while you may have laid the foundations you are worthless beyond that Eli. You are pointless. You may as well be buried with the concrete slabs that I build my empire upon. You are nothing but disposable, Eli. Like the toilet paper that wipes the shit my ass, you serve a purpose and then you are discarded, flushed away and forgotten. Not worthless. Not pointless. But disposable, forgotten when something bigger, better, improved comes along. You are like the lines of a pop song, catchy and cool until someone else comes along with something catchier and cooler, and you are forgotten like everything that has come before you. Consigned to be a line in a title history in the back pages of a wrestling almanac.
Harry grins.
I could keep going like forever, Eli. The words will change, but the truth behind those words will never change, because destiny consigns us to who we are and who we will be. And I see what you are and what you will be and it is nothing of particular greatness. You will not be like me, you will never have the inner mechanisms to climb those stairs. Something about your nature, something about your smile. They like you. I like you, but they will not allow you to eat with them.
I will not allow you to eat.
The table has never been set for likes of you, Eli. The table is for the Gods, Eli. Not the servants you tend to their canker sores. Sure, they give you the illusion that you have the chance to eat, but the truth they are only feeding you the scraps they no longer with to gorge themselves upon.
That is when I shatter your illusion, Eli.
That is when they take back theirs.
That is when I take what makes you whole.
***
For a woman in her thirties she slept gracefully; he thought to himself. Her blonde hair, while unkempt, had a certain alluring nature to it’s scattered mess. Her eyes, while closed, captured the pleasantries of an undisturbed sleep. The curtains flowed with the light summer’s breeze.
He was watching her as the breath entered and exited her body. He was watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed peacefully. He was smiling
He was smiling as he knew despite all the peace that she was experiencing now, he would take that from her soon. He would take his giant hand and clasp him firmly over her nose and mouth. The shock would wake her. But she would not be able to scream through his monstrous fingers. He would feel her body tense with fear and it would make him gleeful. He would smile a sickening smile and he felt her fruitless attempt to writhe free of his grip. He would slowly squeeze the air from her lungs like an anaconda squeezing its prey.
She would struggle.
But she would not break free.
This made him… happy.
She would try to fight back.
But he would strike her down.
She would try for his eyes.
She would do what she needed to do to save herself.
He would let her try.
Because the more fight she showed – the more he enjoyed it.
But he would not let her escape. He would not let her be safe.
He would take her - this victim of his. He would have his way with her. I would beat her to her last breath, but he would take it.
His hands would dance like a drum over her body – having their way with his soft, supple skin.
She rolled over in her sleep, letting out a small sigh.
She is peaceful now… But I will change that very soon, he thought to himself.
He edged close to her open window. He looked at her form and admired the mess of bedding.
He was going to have her.
But not now…
He slowly turns and walks away. He allows one last glance of his shoulder before walking into the darkness of the witching hour.
***
You may think I am talking about the Junior Heavyweight Title, Eli. I am not. The title only serves as a prize. This is not what I really want - what I really want is your smile. The effervescence, the brightness of our pearly whites. It serves as a juxtaposition to the darkness of this world. When I have finished with you, Eli. My goal is to turn that smile upside down to form a frown.
I wish to see each of your pearly while teeth turn yellow stained with the bleakness of society. I want to see your perfectly toned and taut skin weathered and cracked by the turning wheels of desolation of man’s existence.
Then I will look down from my glorious tower built from the sweat on your glands and the labor of your hands on the strength on your back. I will down upon you, sitting in the barren landscape of your wasteland when I have taken everything from you.
You will be forgotten.
A single grain of meaningless sand in the endless desert of existence.
And me?
I will be your Harvester.
I will be Champion.
Hieronymus Watts stands with his hands cups together, he opens them and a single butterfly flies away.
