Post by Caleb Lockwood on Sept 11, 2017 4:18:39 GMT
We open on Caleb Lockwood in a hoodie and jeans, sitting on the rim of a Dumpster, feet dangling lazily off the edge. When he speaks, his voice has a rasp to it, a certain edge that sounds unfamiliar coming from his throat, but at the same time eerily at home. "Well...hello there, Imperial. Wrestling. Federation. I bet you didn't think you'd see me again. As it happens, I bet you didn't think about me at all. I was just another statistic, a holdover that didn't hang on tight enough...the answer to a trivia question nobody ever asks."
Caleb chuckles to himself, looking up at the sky with a half-smile on his face. "Don't worry. I thought about you. I thought about you every time I washed out of a job interview, every time my ears started ringing and I couldn't place it. You were on my mind every cold night, every meal I missed, because...you represented the dream every one of us..." he gestures around him with an arm, and the camera shifts slightly to reveal a series of makeshift shelters behind him. "...ever had. You were my out. And let me tell you...once you get a taste of the good life...you never forget it."
He pushes off the Dumpster slightly, landing on his feet with a brief reflexive wince. Caleb shakes his head, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he begins to walk. "I was devastated when they gave me my prognosis. The ligaments in my knees were shot. I'd been concussed at least eight times undiagnosed. I had multiple discs in my back that were threatening to slip. I was a walking time bomb, and IWF refused to clear me. They didn't want my blood on their hands. The cost-benefit just wasn't there. So out I went."
Caleb walks deeper into the alley, camera keeping steady pace with him. "And it wasn't just IWF. I tried to find work on the independents. They all asked the same question: why'd IWF release you? I made the mistake of telling one. He refused to book me. Then he told others. I got a few gigs from people who were just so hard-up for talent that they'd risk me, but...the offers dried up. Only took a few months. And then where was I? Twenty-eight years old, no career experience outside of wrestling. No chance of clearing a physical. Everything that had pulled me up from the street...gone."
He continues, casually sidestepping a trash can around which a group of vagrants are huddled, warming their hands as the unseasonably chill weather settles around them. "I'd been living with Ace, but I couldn't go back. I couldn't look him in the eye...couldn't look Tiffany in the eye. I'd failed them. I'd failed myself. I took what savings I had, the things I had with me on the road, and I left. Came back to Oakland. Tried to get a regular job. But I couldn't move the way I was used to moving. I could barely make one job work, and do you know..."
Caleb chuckles, an angry, bitter laugh, devoid of any joy. "Do you know how much the fucking slumlords charge? I blew through what I had before the bookings dried up. I came home after a show, locked out. None of my things were mine anymore. I didn't have the money to fight it. I barely had the money to keep myself fed...and even that went. So it was back to the streets." He thumps a brick wall as he passes with a fist. "Back to rot. I'd gotten out...but the city pulled me back in."
Grunting, he hurdles another cardboard structure, landing on the other side with a whisper-light thud. "I thought that was it. I thought I'd never get out again. My ticket was wrestling, and I'd never wrestle for a crowd larger than fifty again...like I said, you get a taste of the big life, you never let go. Madison Square Garden had cheered my name. How could I go back to Legion halls and high school gyms? So I resigned myself. This was how it'd be. I'd lost my reason to live, so I lived just out of habit. I spent...oh, years on inertia. I'd escaped gravity's pull for so long, but it had its revenge...until she came."
Caleb grins fondly, the first genuine display of warmth we've seen from him so far. "She found me, among the lost and broken things, and she pulled me from the nest of trash I'd found again for myself. She fixed me. Reforged me, showed me that even as I am, I can still fight. And..." he chuckles, shaking his head. "It was the strangest thing. The doctor that diagnosed me? Turns out he had been been wrapped in a network of false diagnoses and malpractice, a trail miles long. I wasn't as bad as he thought. My knees were fine. My spine had healed. The concussions were misdiagnosed. I asked her...and she just said it was fortunate. And who the hell am I to argue with that?"
He pauses, reaching another alley mouth, and looks down the street. "Rowan made a promise to me the day she found me. Three. One was that I would never be alone again. I would always have a home...and she told the truth. She took me in. No expectations. No demands. No subservience. I wasn't her pet project on a pedestal. All she gave me was a chance...she brought me back here because she knew it was what I needed." He clenches his fist, looking down as his fingernails bite into his palm with a look of satisfaction. "And she has kept her promises to me...so I keep mine to her."
Caleb unclenches his hand, the half-moon bite of his nails glowing an angry red among the pale white of his palms. "I bet you're wondering something, Will. Why don't I shut up about my sob story? Why don't I get to why we're here?" Caleb shakes his head, chuckling again before looking up at the stars. "I did get to why I'm here. I'm here because of her. I'm here because I had been hungry too long, and I had forgotten what it was to really feed. Five years ago, you would have recognized me, Will. Your brother Chris was like me. Cocky, ready to take on the world, breathtaking and acrobatic...and it's a miracle he hasn't become me. But then, what has he become? I haven't seen him in a while, Will. You might want to start looking...or is Shea all it takes to wipe away family?"
He chuckles again, a brief, dismissive sound, voice growing dark as his eyes flash with a stormy anger. "I remember what family was supposed to feel like. I remember a time when I thought I had it again. A father figure, a woman I loved, an open door and a soft bed. All the things that were supposed to make life right again. But I should have known better." he shakes his head, voice almost a growl. "I should have known that your luck can turn on a fucking dime and steal away your future just like that. Fate's a fickle bitch, Will. It stole some of the best years of my life. It stole my flesh and blood. What'll it do to you?"
Caleb looks across the street into a darker alley, light seeming to be swallowed by the edge of the shadow that fills his vision. "I didn't answer your challenge because I thought you needed to be humbled, or because I have any hate for you. I don't. I did it because walking into Madison Square Garden again awakened that hunger that I had fought so hard to control, and it was eating me from the inside out. I had to sate it, or my body would devour itself from the inside out."
"That's all you are, Will. You're a stopgap. You're meat on the table to fill a yawning void, a pit in my stomach. So again, this isn't personal." Caleb pauses, a brief grin flitting across his face. "Man's gotta eat. I'll see you in Yankee Stadium." With that, Caleb turns and strides across the street, walking into the alleyway. We fade to black as he enters the mouth of the alley, darkness swallowing him whole and leaving nothing but the receding sound of his footsteps to echo into the night.
Caleb chuckles to himself, looking up at the sky with a half-smile on his face. "Don't worry. I thought about you. I thought about you every time I washed out of a job interview, every time my ears started ringing and I couldn't place it. You were on my mind every cold night, every meal I missed, because...you represented the dream every one of us..." he gestures around him with an arm, and the camera shifts slightly to reveal a series of makeshift shelters behind him. "...ever had. You were my out. And let me tell you...once you get a taste of the good life...you never forget it."
He pushes off the Dumpster slightly, landing on his feet with a brief reflexive wince. Caleb shakes his head, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he begins to walk. "I was devastated when they gave me my prognosis. The ligaments in my knees were shot. I'd been concussed at least eight times undiagnosed. I had multiple discs in my back that were threatening to slip. I was a walking time bomb, and IWF refused to clear me. They didn't want my blood on their hands. The cost-benefit just wasn't there. So out I went."
Caleb walks deeper into the alley, camera keeping steady pace with him. "And it wasn't just IWF. I tried to find work on the independents. They all asked the same question: why'd IWF release you? I made the mistake of telling one. He refused to book me. Then he told others. I got a few gigs from people who were just so hard-up for talent that they'd risk me, but...the offers dried up. Only took a few months. And then where was I? Twenty-eight years old, no career experience outside of wrestling. No chance of clearing a physical. Everything that had pulled me up from the street...gone."
He continues, casually sidestepping a trash can around which a group of vagrants are huddled, warming their hands as the unseasonably chill weather settles around them. "I'd been living with Ace, but I couldn't go back. I couldn't look him in the eye...couldn't look Tiffany in the eye. I'd failed them. I'd failed myself. I took what savings I had, the things I had with me on the road, and I left. Came back to Oakland. Tried to get a regular job. But I couldn't move the way I was used to moving. I could barely make one job work, and do you know..."
Caleb chuckles, an angry, bitter laugh, devoid of any joy. "Do you know how much the fucking slumlords charge? I blew through what I had before the bookings dried up. I came home after a show, locked out. None of my things were mine anymore. I didn't have the money to fight it. I barely had the money to keep myself fed...and even that went. So it was back to the streets." He thumps a brick wall as he passes with a fist. "Back to rot. I'd gotten out...but the city pulled me back in."
Grunting, he hurdles another cardboard structure, landing on the other side with a whisper-light thud. "I thought that was it. I thought I'd never get out again. My ticket was wrestling, and I'd never wrestle for a crowd larger than fifty again...like I said, you get a taste of the big life, you never let go. Madison Square Garden had cheered my name. How could I go back to Legion halls and high school gyms? So I resigned myself. This was how it'd be. I'd lost my reason to live, so I lived just out of habit. I spent...oh, years on inertia. I'd escaped gravity's pull for so long, but it had its revenge...until she came."
Caleb grins fondly, the first genuine display of warmth we've seen from him so far. "She found me, among the lost and broken things, and she pulled me from the nest of trash I'd found again for myself. She fixed me. Reforged me, showed me that even as I am, I can still fight. And..." he chuckles, shaking his head. "It was the strangest thing. The doctor that diagnosed me? Turns out he had been been wrapped in a network of false diagnoses and malpractice, a trail miles long. I wasn't as bad as he thought. My knees were fine. My spine had healed. The concussions were misdiagnosed. I asked her...and she just said it was fortunate. And who the hell am I to argue with that?"
He pauses, reaching another alley mouth, and looks down the street. "Rowan made a promise to me the day she found me. Three. One was that I would never be alone again. I would always have a home...and she told the truth. She took me in. No expectations. No demands. No subservience. I wasn't her pet project on a pedestal. All she gave me was a chance...she brought me back here because she knew it was what I needed." He clenches his fist, looking down as his fingernails bite into his palm with a look of satisfaction. "And she has kept her promises to me...so I keep mine to her."
Caleb unclenches his hand, the half-moon bite of his nails glowing an angry red among the pale white of his palms. "I bet you're wondering something, Will. Why don't I shut up about my sob story? Why don't I get to why we're here?" Caleb shakes his head, chuckling again before looking up at the stars. "I did get to why I'm here. I'm here because of her. I'm here because I had been hungry too long, and I had forgotten what it was to really feed. Five years ago, you would have recognized me, Will. Your brother Chris was like me. Cocky, ready to take on the world, breathtaking and acrobatic...and it's a miracle he hasn't become me. But then, what has he become? I haven't seen him in a while, Will. You might want to start looking...or is Shea all it takes to wipe away family?"
He chuckles again, a brief, dismissive sound, voice growing dark as his eyes flash with a stormy anger. "I remember what family was supposed to feel like. I remember a time when I thought I had it again. A father figure, a woman I loved, an open door and a soft bed. All the things that were supposed to make life right again. But I should have known better." he shakes his head, voice almost a growl. "I should have known that your luck can turn on a fucking dime and steal away your future just like that. Fate's a fickle bitch, Will. It stole some of the best years of my life. It stole my flesh and blood. What'll it do to you?"
Caleb looks across the street into a darker alley, light seeming to be swallowed by the edge of the shadow that fills his vision. "I didn't answer your challenge because I thought you needed to be humbled, or because I have any hate for you. I don't. I did it because walking into Madison Square Garden again awakened that hunger that I had fought so hard to control, and it was eating me from the inside out. I had to sate it, or my body would devour itself from the inside out."
"That's all you are, Will. You're a stopgap. You're meat on the table to fill a yawning void, a pit in my stomach. So again, this isn't personal." Caleb pauses, a brief grin flitting across his face. "Man's gotta eat. I'll see you in Yankee Stadium." With that, Caleb turns and strides across the street, walking into the alleyway. We fade to black as he enters the mouth of the alley, darkness swallowing him whole and leaving nothing but the receding sound of his footsteps to echo into the night.
Well howdy there pardner.