Post by Cameron Behringer on Jul 18, 2015 22:48:14 GMT -6
i.
Moments pass, orbiting
our conscious, cruel planets,
returning to remind us
of our suffering. They take
their time, staying in space
just long enough for us to forget.
The hands of the clock
are far more cruel
than the hands of any god.
ii.
The rusted hinges of the door shrieked as Elizabeth Mauduit entered the apartment. A blast of warm Florida air followed her in and left the entrance feeling like a humid swamp. As she turned from closing the door, she pulled her oversized sunglasses from her face and peered into the room with awe. I had turned the lights off, but what appeared to be a hundred mechanical faces peered back at her, radiating a dim and ominous light.
Along the walls and counters, an army of clocks greeted her, ticking off time. Their second hands moved out of synch, creating a miserable echo. Her eyes bounced around to each one, her face She placed her glasses on the neck of her shirt and moved forward, looking past the light and into the dark depths of the open room.
“Cameron?" Her tone sounded like that a worried mother. I did not answer immediately. Instead, I let her bask in the hideous robotic lul of the clocks. It was a symphony of time that, in this moment, neither of us could escape.
"I saw him." I rested my forehead in my right palm and massaged my temples. At the mention of the topic, pain crept from my shoulder, up my neck, and into my skull. It was a stabbing sensation, the kind that felt permanent and all consuming. Elizabeth turned toward the sound of my voice and squinted, her eyes beginning to adjust.
"Who?" Elizabeth's hands went to work immediately. She dug into her bag and pulled out a handful of orange bottles. Her memory of the place led her past the ticking clocks and into the living room. She maneuvered past the table and beside the couch, tripping over a mound of objects in her way. As she finally made it, she placed the bottles on the glass coffee table. As much as I wanted to taste comfort, I could only lean back and stared into her.
"It was..." I found myself unable to utter the syllables that stuck together to form his name. There was silence. For a moment, the ticking dissipated into our collective understanding.
"In person?" I was thankful she knew better than to say it.
"No." My willpower left me as I snatched the medications all at once. Rather than worry about what they were, I dumped their contents into the table and threw them into my mouth at random. As I swallowed the chalk, Elizabeth sat on the empty cushion to my right.
"I was in the compound..." I could picture the walls, the Minions inside going about their perpetual orders. I could smell the iron in their blood and the stench of infection. Elizabeth heard it in my voice.
"Cameron, you're here now." Her arm creeped over my shoulder. As she brushed my cheek, my only thought was that this was the most sentimental I'd seen her in years.
"I went down the stairs" a monumental pressure began to build in my chest. It was a feeling similar to running in cold, dry air and never recovering. "I shouldn't hav-"
"Cameron, I'm going to turn the lights on." Without waiting for my approval, she jumped from the couch and felt through the dark to the wall. As she flicked on the light, she found herself surrounded by clocks of varying shape and size. Her brows furrowed as she looked to me.
"I couldn't remember when I was." I bit down on my bottom lip in an attempt to ground myself. My fingers dug into the skin on the sides of my head and my heart became a hummingbird. As I attempted to regain what little composure I had left, Elizabeth stepped over the piles of clocks and stood in front of me.
"Today is July Eighteenth. The year is two thousand and fifteen. Your name is Cameron Behringer, no longer Minion.” She kneeled down, her deep green irises glaring into my own.
“I-” I attempted to respond.
"Today is July eighteenth. The year is two thousand and fifteen. Your name is Cameron Behringer, no longer Minion.” She refused to break eye contact. “Say it.”
“Today is July eighteenth.” The fluttering began to intensify, and sweat poured down my brow. I shook my head and leaned back. As my hair pressed against the pillow, I could feel the harrowing wet of anxiety on the back of my neck.
“What year is it?”
“Two thousand…” The room swirled above me. Elizabeth’s voice was shallow and distant. “Two thousand and fifteen.”
“Good. Good.” She reached forward and grasped my hand. “What is your name?”
“Cameron.” My mouth was dry.
“Cameron what?” Her tone was soft, yet demanding.
“Cameron Behringer.”
“Good. Are you a Minion?” The question seemed so simple, but it took me a long period of mulling it over to understand its significance. After several moments, a sense of clarity took over my being, and the spinning dissipated quicker than it had come. I looked down to Elizabeth, unblinking, and let out a breath of relief.
“I will always be a minion.”
iii.
“Honor is a contagion deep as fear, renown a calamity profound as self. Why do I call honor a contagion deep as fear? Honor always dwindles away, so earning it fills us with fear and losing it fills us with fear.” Cameron’s eyes are fixed upon the camera. His hair is more disheveled than usual, and his wrinkled clothes hang off him. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing red chest hair and scars. Around him, the light of countless clocks illuminates his pale skin against the dark.
“And why do I call renown a calamity profound as self? We only know calamity because we have these selves. If we didn't have selves what calamity could touch us?” He pauses to allow the quote to marinate in his listener’s ears. He smiles.
“It would be wise for Lexi Pearl to ponder Lao Tzu’s question, especially in this moment. We are at the precipice of Heatstroke, and there, we shall see the shattering of the ego.” He trails off and chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.
“Sexy Lexi. Sexy Lexi.” Cameron clicks his tongue and leans forward before looking up at his audience.
“In this name, we see the culmination of the self in its worst form. It is a lifetime of building self-interest and image. When one cannot say their own name without adding a subjective adjective they’ve labeled themselves, you know that there is an issue with the self.” Cameron licks his lips.
“If you need help understanding, simply rewatch my match at Breakthrough Twenty-Seven. Lexi felt the need to introduce herself to the situation and focus the attention on herself throughout the entire contest. When it was over, she claimed that I would be in Ian’s position at the Pay-Per-View before she had even won the title.”
“To her credit, she did defeat the luckiest man on the planet for the Zero Gravity title at Breakthrough Twenty Eight in a hard fought contest. Based on her previous conjecture, I would’ve assumed it’d be a cut and dry match, but I was wrong. For most of the match, Lexi found herself on the defensive. After the German suplex and gutwrench, I thought you were done for, but I was wrong, and I can admit that. You held your own against a man who beat our current champion, somehow.” Cameron rolls his eyes and taps his foot.
“The point of the matter is, Lexi Pearl is as in love with herself as one can be. She has built her name into more than a simple body. Lexi Pearl is a grand idea whose time has come to be questioned...” Cameron ponders the thought and shakes his head.
“But now, we’re here. We come to Heatstroke as something more than competitors for this title. We stroll into Montreal Quebec as enemies, and that is your fault, dear. We could have stepped into that ring in a bond of competition, but you made a terrible, terrible mistake.” Cameron sat back in his chair and crossed his left leg over his left before tilting his head.
“Before we get into the ring, I would like you to rewatch my match with Valquist. That was a war between two men who respected one another. That was a test of will between two wrestlers who had nothing but admiration and something to prove. I want you to watch what I did against Valquist. In fact, I’d like you to also rewatch that match with Ian that you were at ringside for. Take careful note of my tactics, study the maneuvers I employed, know me as the man who tore apart the bodies of men I had no ill will against…” He trails off and grins.
“Then, I would like you to watch our match from the outside. As we stood, just the two of us in that ring, I want you to remember the thoughts running through your head. I want you to remember the confidence you felt after we made it past three others to reach that point. I want you to remember the glow in your face when you thought you would get a Zero Gravity title shot at the Pay-Per-View.” He chuckles.
“That, my darling Lexi, is nothing compared to the devestation you shall feel on July twentieth. See, when you appeared on that ring apron, you told me everything that I needed to know. At that moment, when you grabbed my attention, you became something more than a wrestler and opponent. You became a victim.” He sighs.
“As I awoke from the Lazarus Bullet, I knew the foolishness I had committed. I realized the fault in my ways, but I’m afraid that you have not. I worry that you will come into Heatstroke thinking that this is another match that you will be able to walk away from. Allow me to make something abundantly clear.” Cameron leans forward once again.
“This will not be a repeat of Fate of the Gods.” He clasps his hands together and cracks his knuckles.
“I come to Heatstroke with a single purpose, Lexi: to put down the idea that is your name. I come to Heatstroke with the intention of exposing you to the entire world as a self-gratifying egotist who doesn’t live up to the talent around her, much less her own moniker.” Cameron winces.
“We could’ve had something special, Lexi. We could’ve put on a show that revitalized the Zero Gravity Championship after Patrick held it. Instead, you felt that interrupting me during my match with Dathyn was clever trick. Now, the level of appreciation for our match and the title around your waist is an afterthought. Lexi, my dearest Lexi…” He trails off, his face growing sinister.
“This will not be a match. This will be an execution.” He sneers.
“I am the calamity.”
