Post by Valquist on Oct 9, 2015 10:11:14 GMT -6
Monday 28th September 2015
Fort William Gardens, Ontario, Canada
An echoing buzz fills a silent arena with its only sign of life. Lost in his own thoughts, Val sits on the ring ropes with a dim orange stage light illuminating the white ring mat. Head down, looking at the shine of the black gym mat, Val had remained slumped and static. Running sweat had dried, with Val’s face becoming dry and cold. The Valiant one’s musky brown eyes are tired and bloodshot. Behind Val, sitting in the first row of red seating, Chris McCarthy sits typing on a tablet device, with his feet up against the barricade. Valquist’s long cardio workout was demotivating and void of any purpose. Chris couldn’t get Val up to his usual speed. Half an hour elapses with this static scene, of the two immovable objects in silence, surrounded by nothing more than vacant ringside seating in a nine thousand seated arena.
“So much for the tour,” Chris says casually, eventually breaking the thick ice of today’s disappointment.
Val, typical to his character, does not respond. Turning his head backwards to acknowledge Chris is all the Brooklyn native can get out of Infinity’s number one wrestler.
“So much for the grand path of enlightenment,” Chris furthers, not eluding to the problem at hands.
Val ponders his tempered thoughts, fighting the reality of his depressive status.
“Monsters are always spawned by truth, a reaction to terrible people and awful circumstance,” Val says in a dried tone, his voice weak and his mouth dehydrated. “Isis was never a monster, a negative reaction, he was made to conquer those genuinely corrupt, absent of any morals, and championed by distasteful words. Dissatisfaction over the actions of such vile men rules the thought of my moment.”
“You know my stance, you know how much I value your legacy, and all those fighting for something better,” Chris says, trying to avoid the point at hand.
“He’d say that I’m better than this. That we deserve more than what we’ve been robbed of,” Val says, still looking at the ground below.
“And what about you? This isn’t Derrida’s decision,” Chris asks and elaborates.
“They’ve left us both without a choice.”
“As far as fairy tales go, we’re somewhere between the original Grimm stories and the darkened imaginations of Tim Burton.”
“Chris, this was always about elevation. Always about being the first and last you. Him, them, everyone. They’re just plastic toys, replicated a million times, breakable and cheap.”
“There decision was already made, and we must live with what will become of your absence,” Chris says, trying to level with Val.
“Of my permanence,” Val elaborates.
Amongst the silence and moans, a shadow at the top of the ramp appears, instantaneously recognisable to both Val and Chris. He does not come fully into the light.
“Time has come to be serious in such reflection,” the angelic voice says. “To measure your worth amongst the masses, and whether they deserve your presence.”
“They don’t,” Chris immediately replies, concluded on his strict opinions.
“Let’s not shirk from the dire situation, let’s be open. Frank when you spell your disgust of the federation, and of its standard. Disgusted by their treatment. Appalled by their professionalism and their stubbornness for resolution. Either you come back from this, forced to live face down in the mud, or you take a step back and do not let their rueful decisions corrupt any future you may have. Val, my brother, they are not worthy to stand amongst us.”
“You’re not worthy amongst us,” Val replies, still refusing to look up, his eyes rooted to the foot of the earth. “I don’t want to look up from this, to take another step forward when all that has ever happened from the beginning is a misunderstanding. Even now, when you are right and truthful, even when in the flesh, your means of amends will not fly by the root of my anger.”
“You may be built of nobility, Val, but you’re not meant for immortality. We fight long enough, this is always how it ends, fallen from your path, thrust into this dark place. Fighters never see the sunset, and are only ever mutilated in resurrection. To keep that smile you must either fully commit to a path of even greater disfigurement, and torment of the body and mind, or you must fade under the rule of your own thumb.”
Once again, Valquist is left pondering. An equal silence looms, though the strong breath of Val’s brother reminds them both that one would not be here without the other. That the weight of such actions and words would mean something so strong. A bond of words unbreakable amongst family.
“Even though your glare is of objection, and you have been stricken without result, I am offering a breath of finality. Though you may not see me at the level beneath your podium, I am saving you from the inroads of a poisonous path. We can bury every grumble and every falsehood, and go peacefully as one. You can turn towards your friend, your human consciousness to stroke your egos, and seek to find an ulterior means of reclamation, but I know. We know. We see the wastefulness of continuance, only I’m not afraid to admit it.”
Val finally stands, looking down the ramp of the darkened shadow of his brother, no longer frightened of his face, corrupted by features not as cruel as what was imagined and realised.
“Our mantra will always be everlasting, even in the wake of our end. We do not fight and scratch and claw at half-truths and at grey patches of earth. We embed amongst the black and white, and thrive with both fists raised. Your arms are lowered, and I see clearly that you no longer have the patience to live this lie that you accept them for their flaws. You do realise why I was nothing more than a reimagining, right?”
Val steps forward up the entrance ramp, with Chris stepping over the barricade to watch from closer as Val approaches the ghost from his past.
“I do not think I can swallow this reality, brother,” Val says, his inner walls breaking before them both. “At least not yet.”
“Then you must choose,” his brother replies, “and never come back from your decision. It is those within the federation that are forced to live in the regret of their failure. Your held is still held high.”
“What about Chris?” Val asks.
“Leave him. Do nothing. Do anything.”
Chris walks next to Val, but the athlete turns his head, not daring to look the American in the eye.#
“He’s right Val. Life moves on, and given light of your doom and loss, they have failed you.”
“Be the first and last you, the one and only. Even in defeat and loss and tragedy. Never compromise and never allow the vultures to ruin your essence or your achievements.”
Val turns to face Chris, and the pair shake hands, but Val turns away again without ever staring Chris in the face. Walking away from both men and into a shadow of his own, Val fades from the darkened, cold arena.
“My name is Valquist, and this was the story of my end.”