Post by English/Corpse on Sept 24, 2015 19:52:02 GMT -6
VOW Presents
A Casanova English Original
Entitlement
“Foolish curs, that run winking into
the mouth of a Russian bear and have their heads crushed like rotten
apples. You may as well say, that’s a valiant flea that dare eat
his breakfast on the lip of a lion.”
-William Shakespeare (Henry V)
~Prologue~
UNKNOWN DATE
UNKNOWN LOCATION
Her eyes flickered underneath the thin
layer of porcelain skin covering, just subtle enough that you could
tell there was life in this otherwise motionless vessel. The
distractions were louder than ever, the irritating course from "Tiny
Tim's Tiptoe Through The Tulips" echoed around the room
ricocheting off each white wall. The lights still flickers in 15
minute intervals that get so intense on occasion it could induce
seizure in the non-epileptic. She weathered the storm now, her eyes
still moving quickly, but then stop. Come to complete and abrupt
stop. The room loses itself in her ears, all the sounds are gone. The
hot orange flash of the lights going on and off, off and on, are
going unnoticed. She is in the drivers seat, she has the control now.
Not the drugs, not the people holding her here.
Miss Jones' lids blast open like a
camera shutter, her pupils dilated as she gasps for a signaler
orgasmic air. Muscles tighten involuntarily, convulsing like a sexual
release. Knees shaking she has found it, her peace, her high. Her own
personal mental Utopia.
Infinity.
She is ready.
Reborn.
SEPTEMBER 12TH
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND
CANADA
Maybe when I am champion again things
will be different this time. Maybe I will be able to focus and
dedicate myself like that prestigious accolade deserves. It
represents my pride, a year long struggle to establish myself as the
most dominate wrestler on the VoW roster. It gives me the opportunity
to keep spreading my gospel. It gives me the chance to continue and
heal the weak. Months ago my brother came to me with this problem. My
loving mother was in the cross hairs of one powerful faux business
man named Mr. Rudolf. Andrew came to me, like the child he still is
looking for his brother to solve his problems. Mr. Rudolf's untimely
demise was just the tip of the iceberg. Andy expected me to put my
neglectful mother into rehab. He begged me to fix her, and when it
wasn't to his standards he dare question my authority. We will see
how he likes mother now. Then I can put this all behind me, continue
to build my organization. I can continue to absorb the spotlight
forcing these fragile minds to listen to my words, and what the
fitting victim. Valquist, the great mirage of everything moral and
pure. I grind my teeth at the name.
“I am so very excited to see Andrew
Cassidy. I am certain he will be ecstatic that I have achieved a full
recovery.”
She wore a dress. Red polka-dots
scattered around a pure white, around her neck rest a pearl necklace
that shines almost as proudly as her teeth. Her lips boasted red, and
her cheeks were gently patted with a pink blush that brought about
the complete resurrection of her eyes. The strands of sweat soaked
hair that stretched down past her neck was now dry, chopped shoulder
length. Much more appropriate for her age as Audrey tells me. I'm not
a maverick of female fashion. Then again, I don't believe she is
either. My mom looked like a house wife from the fucking 50's. It was
surreal, even for me.
“Yeah mom, I am sure that he will be
excited to see you. You look beautiful.”
I say smiling, trying to make it seem
authentic like this was somehow normal to me, but it's even fucked up
for my standards to watch how easily a person can be shaped and
manipulated like a piece of clay. Then again, look outside. Look at
the television. . . theories passed off as facts. News that
constantly contradicts itself at every turn. No one knows who to
trust anymore, or what to believe. Well the smart ones anyway, the
other billions are busy buzzing around a hot white light that would
rather burn them up than illuminate their darkness.
Mom lifted her red painted nails up the
the glass of the limousine and clicked them rhythmically on the side
of the window letting out a giggle as we come to a small wooden
bridge that hangs over the water for a mere second.
“What a beautiful view. I think I
love it here.”
It was like she had never seen it
before, then again maybe she hadn't; or it's been so long that it had
been presented to sober eyes. She was right , it was beautiful the
eroding rock I called home as a child. Slowly every year the packed
sand that made up this little island chipped away a little and gave
pieces of itself to the ocean. I always said this was the perfect
place to come and die, if you stand in one place long enough you'll
drown. It was funny to think of where I grew up in comparison to the
city Valquist calls home. The concrete modern day Utopia that housed
some of the worlds wisest. No, where I came from had little
opportunity, but it still had wisdom. Wisdom you don't find in a
book. Enlightenment, here you had to determine what that meant on
your own if you had any chance of survival.
“Yeah. Andrew and I used to really
like hopping off the bridge.”
My mother gasps.
“My heavens from such a height?”
She shook her blonde hair at the
liberty I'm sure she wouldn't of bestowed upon us if she had of been
sober. Every time I come here now I feel proud, I feel proud because
of how these people treated me. I was the black sheep around here,
the son of junkie. A thief as a teenager, something I am not quite
proud of and will never openly admit, but you have to do what you
have to do to get by. I come from a long line of survivors, thriving.
. . that's a trait we haven't quite picked up yet. This is the kind
of town built on religion and gossip. The kind of town that makes
sure their kin don't intertwine themselves with the likes of us.
The poor, the scum, the unworthy.
Mom hummed looking out the windows
distracted and wide eyed with joy I've never recognized. Just where
the last paved arm of the city reached out to meet the plush
engulfing greenery that was The Island countryside a boy stood maybe
only 13. A poorly rolled joint hung out of his mouth, as the limo
passed slowly he squinted with swollen red retina in an attempt to
puncture the window tint.
That could have been me. Years ago it
would have been so simple to fall into that cycle. My mom offered me
my first hit when I was 14. Pride is a weird thing, I grew mine all
on my own. These kids used to tell me that my mom was a junkie whore,
that I would amount to nothing. Now I pass their methed out kids in a
limo smirking at how things have turned out. Valquist is so
disconnected with this so called age of reality that he is trying to
produce. Not all men are born equal. Maybe in Infinity City, but not
here in the real world. Every man is born into a story they did not
write, a world they did not choose to be a part of it. Geographical
location has a lot to do with how ones mind forms. Out here, I had to
do what I had to do to survive. I had to live in the mud, learn to
manipulate it. Learn to make a hut of it and call it home. Maybe, if
I was born in Infinity City my ideas would line up a little more with
Valquist, but the truth is he wouldn't understand. He was born
entitled, and privileged. He was born clean, and respect just follows
with no effort. Me? I have to justify every action. I am judged on my
past and my actions and I have no entity named Isis to blame it on. I
wasn't given respect I took it. I didn't wait for the spotlight to
shine on me. No, I murdered the operator and shut the whole fucking
thing off.
At Armed and Dangerous I am not
fighting a man. I am fighting an idea. The idea that I am not good
enough. The idea that because I go about things a little differently
that I don't deserve respect. I'm out matched psychically most nights
I get in that ring, and I understand that. I revel in that. The fact
that I am able to dismantle a human of superior caliber because it's
the only position I have ever known. My back has always been against
the wall, failure has never been an option. I fight the dominate
ideology of society and this business. I'm not a jacked up body
builder, I can't bench 400 pounds. I am also not going out there and
doing a 720 splash. I'm just out there doing what mommy taught me. .
. surviving.
I've been defined by that woman my
entire life. That all comes to a close at Armed and Dangerous when I
destroy the manifestation of all the people that said I couldn't do
it. The ones that still sit at home in the grand delusion that they
can't change their lives. Lawrence tapped the brakes lightly pulling
into my mothers place, pulling me from my deep thought.
Andy was sitting on the deck, but got
up to his feet quick when he caught a glimpse of the black limo
pulling up the gravel driveway. What a contrast to the environment my
opponent has been raised. Andrew already had a beer half drank, he
was holding it with a light grip by the bottle neck. Lawrence put the
limo in park, and my mother let out a nervous school girl giggle
checking her hair in the reflection of the glass. L opened the door
for me, before walking along the back of the limo to do the same for
my mother. She flung her hair like she had a close up, and little
Andy's jaw nearly dropped. He had never witnessed our mother this
way. It was confusing, but imagine if he was the one that did it to
her. I had to, they wanted her to be better. He came running to big
brother to solve his problems. The one with enough guts to act, to
proudly smear blood upon his hands. He needs me much like innocent
Valquist needs his knight in faded armor Isis Derrida.
“Hello Andrew.”
My mother spewed rainbows and shit
sunshine now. A beautiful alternative to the gut rotting diarrhea and
burning stomach bile that used to come with the inability to afford
her medicine.
“Andy! So early in the day to be
having a drink. It's not even 5 O'clock.”
She shook her head from side to side
and pouted her lower lip in disappointment, like she hadn't done hot
rails at 3 in the morning. Lawrence waited in the limousine for me to
deal with my family matters. I followed a couple paces behind,
observing the situation. I wanted to see my brothers reaction. He
came to me asking me the heal our mother, and so I did. It was
difficult to put my mother through that treatment, but I owed it to
us all. I have always been able to do what is hard, always able to
pull the trigger. Growing up I may have been the misfit you do not
associate with, and maybe that is why I crave the devotion of others.
However, growing up I was that kid that you just didn't fuck with. I
had too much fight, I was too much trouble. I had nothing to loose,
nothing is all I have ever known, but once I got that taste for
blood. . .
Andrew let screen door slam in front of
my face as he followed our mother inside. I push the door open just
in time to catch Andrew chug the reminder of his beer and slam it on
the counter by the sink.
“Well, it's ah. . . good to have you
back Mom.”
Andy says grabbing another beer from
the fridge. Normally my brother doesn't drink this heavily, but he
has been worried about our mother for weeks while I had her in
“treatment.”
“Well I am thoroughly thrilled to me
home Andy. I am glad that things can turn around so quickly. I
haven't felt this delightful since I was a young woman.”
Andy walks slowly over to the press
board kitchen table that I sat at observing the interaction with a
hawk eye. He places his beer on the table, and my mother's head
snaps around like a sixth sense.
“What are you doing Andrew!”
She snatches a coaster from the dark
wooden cupboard and slid it quickly under the beer bottle to prevent
the cheap wood from staining.
“We need to talk Cassidy.”
Andy gets up from the table and walks
into the small light carpeted living room. He doesn't take a seat on
the large green 20 year old sectional couch, he stands there
signifying that he means “serious business.” I couldn't help it
and laugh slightly.
“What?”
“What the fuck did you do? I asked
you to get her better not turn her into a robot.”
I gave him exactly what he asked. He
came to me about Rudolf, I had it taken care of. He came to me about
my mother's lack of sobriety, and I did what I do best. . . I solved
the problem. The problem that has plagued the both of us our entire
life. With the help of Audrey Hemsing I was able to give my mother a
new lease on life.
“Look, I did exactly what you asked. I got her the best treatment
available, now if she even thinks about doing drugs her head aches. .
. her stomach hurts. It's physically impossible. I gave you a mother
and you are still angry.”
I gave her fucking enlightenment. I gave her reality. I gave Andy a
mother. Here he is still attacking me as I look out through the
hallway at my mother in the kitchen still humming. I look back at
Andrew who shakes his head. More sad and confused than angry at this
point.
“How can I not be mad! Fuckin' look
at her Cassidy. She isn't who she was, it's like a clone. An
imitation. It's like she was pulled out of a 50's catalog. She's a
fucking housewife without a husband. Where the hell did you send
her?”
Andrew wasn't wrong. I was feeling sick
observing my mother do the dishes, listening her hum an early 70's
tune I am sure she heard in captivity. I had to leave. Get out of
there. I was couldn’t bare it, it wasn't my mother anymore it was
someone entirely different. Someone well, but still in her eyes I
couldn't see a trace of who she was. It was then at that moment with
the warm September breeze drifting through the kitchen as she
cleaned.
Perfection is repulsive.
ARMED AND DANGEROUS PRESS CONFERENCE
CASANOVA ENGLISH LIVE!
SEPTEMBER 25TH
THUNDER BAY, ONTARIO
I pull the cloud past my throat and
into my lungs holding it for a second before releasing it from my
lips like a jet stream. I am growing to hate this part of the
schedule, the part where you sit down and yell about how much better
you are than your opponent. This week I decided to change things up
and agreed to a press conference, which I have negotiated into more
of a “sit down and listen” kind of event. Here I am about to go
on another mundane rant of how I will decimate the Full Measures that
stand before me. At least I'm not babbling about enlightenment. I
wait behind the stage as Bryan Combs finishes my introduction.
“Mr. English will unfortunately be
taking no questions. He is merely addressing his opponent to hype the
event.”
The media let out a collective groan as
I smirk walking toward the stage a lit cigarette still hanging from
my mouth, easily my trademark. I blow smoke rings over the audience
as the cheers and jeers simmer down to a delightful whisper. I clear
my throat putting the cancer stick between my fingers as I address
the drones.
“Thank you all for taking the time to
join me on this rare occasion. As all of you should know this weekend
at Armed and Dangerous I face off against “The Valiant” Valquist,
and his shape shifting alter ego Isis Derrida. A man that labels me
as predictable and stale.”
The crowd cheers at the mention of
Valquist; or maybe is is the mention of myself growing stale. This is
the ultimate test for me. This is my chance to prove to these people
that one on one Casanova is the best in this company. Something I
have to prove not only for myself, but for The Orphanage. With Brett
out of active competition for 3 to 6 months the front lines of The
Orphanage is showing signs of weakness.
“Contrary to popular belief I am not
as predictable as you people think. Sadly, The Orphanage did not help
me defend my championship in my loss to Ziu. Do I wish they did. . .
sure. I mean it would stop a string of events that in my honest
opinion tarnished Visionaries of Wrestling. I am an honest man, I
wish I cheated harder. I wish I ripped out Ziu's fucking eyes. That
is on me, that is a mistake I intend to rectify with the slaughter of
Valquist and Isis Derrida. Also, The Orphanage defiantly did not help
me win that Championship. I took to the top rope and I drove that
piece of gold into the skull of Vanessa ending her career and truly
beginning mine. I did that all on my own. Not with The Orphans, or
tapping into a part of myself so different I have to label
separation. That is the power of what I preach. You take philosophy
to that ring and your brothers are always with you in faith. I can
hear The Orphans crying for my reign as king once, and I will
deliver. I will do that once more. Isis, I know the war that takes
place in this ring. As much as you want to say you know war, you know
sacrifice. . . you have no fucking idea. You don't know her like I
do. I am intertwined to her, married to war. All people know of you
are tales, stories told to us by a man with a crush on you. Told to
us my an admirer. How can we trust that propaganda? I feel like you
imbeciles watching VoW are no longer asking yourself these questions.
He attacked me, catching me downed once and off guard the second.
Then has the audacity to question my courage. Where was Isis when
Valquist was beat by Ryder Blade? Where was Isis when Cameron
Behringer was getting the best of you? Where was he when Brett Carson
was putting on a clinic and showing you exactly what it means to main
event in VoW? He was absent, hiding. Only rearing his ugly head when
he sees someone wounded. A mere vulture. My bones will never be
picked. You will find yourself alone once again when I purge that
entity from VoW like an exorcism.”
Valquist gave Isis life again, a vessel
in which to become part of. He did what he had to do to be
successful, because even Valquist understands that he alone cannot
hold on to the prestigious World Visionary Championship without the
assistance of the monster within. The crowd is getting slightly rowdy
with the comments made directed mostly at Isis Derrida the protective
armor that surrounds the glass king.
“Assaulting me at a contract singing
doesn't prove a thing, and to be frank it's downright tacky. For a
dog that barks so loud I expected a much more fierce bite. When I am
done with you the ending of The Diary of Isis Derrida, will be
similar to the end of The Diary of Anne Frank.”
Some members of the audience let out an
“Ohhhhh!” others boo widely convinced in the power of the man
Valquist calls Isis. The arrogance of Valquist is what bothers me. He
walks with his nose so high up in the air, I'm not sure he could
smell his own shit even if he thought it stank. He believes his words
are weapons, but with me. . . they are just something to choke on. I
puff the coffin nail lightly spinning it in my fingers as I speak.
“Valquist, your lack of humility will
come and back to bite you. You come from a city that celebrates the
crowing of a single championship by building you a statue. I feel
like I saw that on a certain cable network TV show recently. . .
anyway they build you a statue for being the 3rd
Visionaries World Champion. How fucking pathetic. I hope to God that
your daddy had he law firm pay for it, in such an economic down turn
I would hate to see such a shameful statue be built on the tax
dollars of the residents in Infinity City. I mean the money would be
much more well spend ordering Armed and Dangerous LIVE on PPV and
witnessing the destruction of Valquist's ever erect, throbbing member
of an ego. You are the one that says people need to be enlightened,
so allow every one the opportunity. Give them a chance to see who’s
punch tastes the best! That's what it comes down to isn’t it Val. .
. faith. Who believes in their cause more. With you I am have lost
sight of your cause, it's inefficient. Unnecessary. All I see is
faith in your self, faith in your brother. I think even you have lost
sight of the end goal. You are too worried about Valquist, Isis
Derrida, and Infinity City to worry about the hard working wrestling
fan.”
That one gained me some cheers, not
like I didn't expect that. After all I am home in Canada, where
politics plays a much smaller factor in sports entertainment.
“Isis Derrida's waltzes in here and
picks the bones of 5 top athletes while they are all laid out, and
all the sudden he makes these people believe he is some omnipotent
force conjured up within the soul of Valquist. This isn't about all
about a championship, this is about respect. This is about forcing
you to look in the mirror and realize your not as good as you think
you are. This is your chance to realize that you have gotten one
pinfall in the last month. This is your chance to meet the thing you
preach. . . reality. All you care about is your own path, plain and
simple you are selfishness. You are willing to become whatever you
have to become to maintain relevance and in the process you are
willing to burn those loyal to you. Still these fans cheer your name,
still these fans accept your darkness. I thought I was good at brain
washing, but clearly you have lived the cult community much longer
than I. Infinity City isn't it? I need to bring your extradition to
the high councils of Infinity City, or whatever elitist robe wearing
shit those elders are into. It honestly seems like a Greek society
where wise old men bestow a hell of a lot more than their wisdom upon
young boys. I mean that would explain why it pays to have a good law
firm. This isn't Infinity City though, this is VoW. Yet, still you
walk around with your head held high like a great conquer. I wish
everyone could believe in themselves so easily that one instance of
success could drive out all the other numerous memories of failure
far away. You might have these people fooled, but I am not sure you
have this locker room convinced quite yet. There is Ryder Blade who
has been making you look foolish on Twitter every chance he gets.
There is Cameron Behringer who has pinned you to the mat before you
won that Visionaries World Championship. My protege Brett Carson even
embarrassed you on Breakthrough. Then there is Ziu, Seth, and Stacy
three others besides Carson and I your even more delusional side Isis
Derrida attacked when we all were finished going to war. Then there
is that embarrassing stint in VoW last year you seem fearful to
address. You know that sad string of 3 matches that resulted in a
string of losses, which caused you to vanish. This match has the
highest stakes. This will be the first time that World Visionary
Title is defended, or captured twice. An immortality based on VoW
that I don't believe you have earned. Like it or not I am entering
this match not just representing myself, or The Orphanage. I am doing
this as a member of VoW, as a person who has been here making this
organization a credible place for people to compete. I'll do it for
all the people in the locker room who look at you and see the same
glass house I see. Who see a ignorant delusional, old, boring
champion. I'll do this for Ryan Omega, for Sky, For Frei for fuck
sake. I'll even do it for little Stacy Jones, people who have broke
their back in this ring making this a credible organization, not to
have it tarnished by entitled bigots like you walking in here like
this company owes you something. You preach enlightenment, but all I
ever have seen radiate from you is that overwhelming sense of
entitlement. ”
VoW chants erupt from the few hundred
Thunder Bay fans in the parking lot of the Fort Williams Gardens. I
take a long haul off the cigarette allowing the fans to digest what I
have said, for some of them know it to be true. Valquist walked in
here from day one acting like he should be the franchise player, and
on a stroke of luck his dream came true. He wasn't careful with his
big lotto winnings, and now the check is about to bounce.
“We don't owe you a thing. You owe
us, and as I started the process on Breakthrough you will pay your
debt in blood. I hope you have more tricks up you sleeve than Isis
Derrida, because you are going to need it. You are going to have to
shape shift into the offspring of Jaws and King Kong if you have the
slightest chance of defeating me Val. I have been here before, two
other times. The World Visionary Championship on the line. The fans
screaming, just two people one on one, fighting for the opportunity
to RIGHTFULLY be called the best. Not some moniker they give
themselves because they won something, winning something means
nothing. You don't win honor, you defend it. That is your job
Valquist, for the questions should never be am I a worthy challenger.
The question remains are you an adequate champion? And is adequate
good enough? I've been the only mainstay here in VoW. Ziu, V, they
came. . . and they have fallen. At the last PPV I was champion I was
so dominate that I couldn't find a challenger. I had to reach outside
the organization to the now deceased GPW in hopes of a challenge. I
live for challenge. I preached for it when I was here in the early
days destroying every talent that walked in my way. I dropped jaws
when I beat Matt Slater an established wrestling veteran, and to me
that signaled the very rise of a new era. It signalized the true
separation of VoW, it proved this place was more than a splinter off
another wrestling federation. VoW has done a lot for you Valquist, so
what in the fuck have you done for it? I wear this company like a
badge of honor, you know some people say the best members of other
federations wouldn’t even be competitive in the midcard here in
VoW. They would fucking drown in Sprintex! Truth is Val, there is a
target on your back, but it's not in the shape of a bull's eye, it's
in the formation of a question mark.”
“So you were god damn right when you
suggested that I am worried about this formation of the main event
here in VoW, for it is a cesspool of unoriginality. What this is the
2nd contender that I am facing with some kind of being
living inside them like an exaggerated schizophrenic. I could see
something in Ziu's eyes too, but sadly that went unconfined. See I am
happy there is a main event forming here in VoW. I am glad because
there has been one name that has been a mainstay there no matter the
names that have floated in and out, or remained on this roster. That
name is mine. For a year I put this company on the map without a
championship. It's only when that strap was introduced fickle
materialistic elitists like you came running merely to add an
accolade. It's about far more than that for me Valquist. It's why up
and down this roster everyone puts a mister in front of my fucking
name. It's because like it or not I have earned the respect of
everyone in that locker room on some level. I don't need to prove
anything to you Valquist, not at all. You have to prove it to me, you
have to prove it to these blood thirsty fans that you are the man you
say you are. You think I am the only one with doubts. How many people
have you pinned since becoming champion? None. It's just the nature
of the beast, it's not really anything personal. Some men were born
to kill, and some men were born to die.”
I smile at the crowd now arguing over
who is going to win this match. A fan frenzy I don't think Val and I
could of dreamed we would create. At Armed and Dangerous Valquist
defends his Championship, and I defend my pride. I suck one last draw
from the cancer stick, blow the toxic fumes above my audience and
flick the cigarette into the crowd. A big black boot stomps it as it
hits the ground.
“Valiance is only determined by the
danger in which you face, and right now you are displaying much more
ignorance than that trademark personality trait you claim to radiate.
You belittle me, you speak to me as if I am merely an ant. I'm not
here to scream “LOOK AT ME! I'M A BIG DEAL!” because, well that
fact is already established. Established by how many times I have
stood in that ring with my hand raised, when people dare dub me the
underdog. That is the thing Valquist, you are no champion. In fact I
don't think you even know what in the fuck you are talking about. Who
drives the ship up there? Truth is it doesn't matter who mans the
wheel of consciousness I think you are both equally pathetic. One man
seems unable to win a match without the homoerotic support of his
BFFL, and the other hasn't ever stepped in the VoW ring talking about
a delusional rendition of reality he will never have the opportunity
to establish. Me, I am pure. I am scum. I am the average man, the
flawed man. The one that is willing to cheat to get what he needs,
but is willing to do it right here in the open for the judgment of
all mankind. Like it or not I am one of the fans. I just hoped the
barricade one day and proved this shit isn't that hard. I stood on
the sidelines watching men with bulging muscles, men with pure raw
athleticism, pumped full of the latest steroid fight each other for
masculinity. I am proof you don't need to stand at the sidelines, I
am proof that entitlement gets you no where. I am the scum of the
earth, a savage willing to claw another mans eyes out if that means a
victory, because that is real human nature. That is honest. That is
reality. I'll do what it takes so that I am never walked on and spit
at again. I'm the scum of the earth, but I will never be the grime on
the bottom of a boot. Like it or not I am the champion elect, the man
who proved a journalist can put down the pen, and pick up the sword.
At Armed and Dangerous, you will taste that cold steel. Then you will
be. . . infinite. If you have your head so far up you ass that you
think I am a joke, then you have already lost. There has been 3 World
Champions in VoW history. . . and not a single title defense. You
haven't done anything yet. Like it or not, I define your success. I'm
your path to so called enlightenment.”
“CASS-A-NOVA” chants rival
“Valquist” chants from the pumped up Ontario crowd. I smile wide
at the divide we have created. At any moment I fele a riot could take
place, and we are days before Val and I step through those ropes to
engage in battle.
“Let us not kid our selves. I am far
too intelligent to not realize what is really afoot here Mr.
Valquist. I understand that Isis is here to separate the strong from
the weak. That is what he is doing. He is protecting you. . . the
weak. Don't try and jam this ideology down our throats like a
throbbing cock. I won't allow you to rape the reputation I have
helped this company earn. He isn't here to validate my credibility,
no he is here to mask your fallacy. You talk to me of reality and you
prance around like a shape shifting Micheal Jackson. Turn the lights
out all you want, flick on the cool spotlights and the dramatic drawn
out speeches on how you intend to be the beautiful glimmering face of
VoW. All the smoke and mirrors and sci-fi bullshit won't save you
Valquist. I'll tear away at the skin of Isis to reveal your
completion, only to ground that into the canvas, striking you until
your nothing but a wet stain on that VoW mat to be spat on every time
I walk through those ropes. Vultures like you, they don't belong
here. One more second and this all could have been avoided. I failed,
I admit that. At Heatstroke for a second in your life Val. . . you
were better. Quicker. Armed and Dangerous will be different. It's not
convoluted with the physical being of four other men, no it's you and
I one on one; or as close as it gets with you it seems. I'll destroy
the nightmare, then I will crush the dream. I've always loved
efficacy, there is nothing like killing two birds with one stone.”
“You masked cry for enlightenment
doesn't take away the entitlement that I see pouring from you. Like
this is your rightful spot. Well at Armed and Dangerous daddy isn't
going to give spoiled little Valerie what she wants. Full Measures,
your religious mantra. Honor it, you will have to if you have a
chance in hell after all. . .”
“I am The Modern Day Messiah.”
SEPTEMBER 28TH
FORT WILLIAM GARDENS
THUNDER BAY, ONTARIO
ARMED AND DANGEROUS
You know last time I was here I was
facing a woman with multiple personality disorder. We went one on one
in the first every 30/20 Vision match and she beat my face so bad
while in that deranged state that I couldn't open my left eye for
three days. My body ached, and I was proud of sling that championship
over my shoulder because that is exactly what a champion looks like.
Bloody, bruised, fucking battle torn. It's only right I insure that
the next champion goes through that right of passage whether it be
Valquist or I.
This is it, I can hear them about to
que up my theme music. This is it, the battle for immortality. To be
engrained forever in the history of VoW. Valquist has the chance to
defend that championship, to expose me as a liar. To show all those
people that call me down that they are right. I am overrated, not as
good as they say. That negativity is what powers me. I have always
worked better with “You can't” than “You can.” I've had that
in my genetics since youth, the determination to not be what people
expect. Here I am, a kid who came from nothing facing a well off
architect from Infinity City. . . and here is the kicker I am the
fucking bad guy. Then again this same society supposedly crucified
their savior.
"yeah, I remember her saying:
I'm already dead... I'm already dead...
I'm already dead..."
I step out onto the stage to the
electricity, the love, the hatred. When I'm out here on the stage, in
the darkness for a brief moment it's all the same. It's all energy,
all attention. All eyes on Casanova English. I hear Jerry announce me
as the challenger and my native Canadian's give me more love than any
state on the other side of the boarder. Pulling the lighter up I
spark the cigarette between my lips.
"You're going to get up and
scream. I'm already dead... I'm already dead... I'm already dead..."
You're going to get up and-
Burn an x in your head."
I feel the heat from the pyro through
the leather sleeves of my jacket. I strut down that ramp like the
dozes of other times I have before, but this times it's different.
This time Val and I created something special. A feud that has
captivated and divided these fans. Tonight we truly put VoW on the
map. I step through the ropes taking a long haul off my cigarette
before tossing it into the crowd. I can almost feel the breath of the
first row. 4,680 people packed into this small arena, and it's so
loud you would think it was MSG. I crack my neck and smirk. This is
my time. This is my chance to prove without a doubt that Casanova
English is the face of VoW. The face of a new era. Not some
ridiculous gimmick. Just a man. Just one of them who seized
opportunity. Here I am, yet again in the biggest match of my life.
Yet again with Satan's foot on my neck. The battles I have had inside
my own mind, they are far more strenuous than anything I have endured
in this ring.
Still I ask myself briskly taking a
breath; is this the dawn of a savior; or is this the dawn of a new
age?
An age of monsters.
Nah, this time the sheep is dressed as
a wolf.
And me? I'm worse than both. I am not
an animal, I am not a monster. I am man. Raw and naked standing
defiant in the face of judgment, of malice, of. . . valiance.
Keep your fairy tales. Dr Jackal or Mr.
Hyde, Bruce Banner or The Hulk, Vanessa or The Queen?
Valquist
or
Isis Derrida
It won't matter, I've been here before.
I've had the dream, I've conquered the reality.
My name is Casanova English. A former
journalist, a rising star in the art of professional wrestling.
United, with the cult presence of brethren, my family. An
organization and a faith called The Orphanage. Bound to a blood paved
highway driven by justice, open for mankind’s judgment. Reveling in
success as the ones society had dubbed inadequate. Like a disease we
penetrate the immunity of corporate greed.
On this road the sun never sets, it's
burning pushing through the windshield like a magnifying glass trying
to scorch me from existence, but I am resilient. The tank isn't even
close to empty yet. My pathway is lined with the bones of men
claiming to be valiant. One by one I sent them to their own infinity,
leaving myself the only one worthy to be crowed king. I hold my head
high, waiting for the opportunity to once again rightfully claim the
position as emperor. Along with my brothers I carve a new era of
wrestling, nay a new era of humanity. Defined by ones will and
perseverance in the gaze of an ever judgmental decaying corpse that
is collective normality. The Orphans of this world, the forgotten,
the weak, the hungry and starving savages will bound together as
community, as family.
I am the sacrifice. I am The Modern Day
Messiah, this is my kingdom.
This is your end.
Fuck infinity.