Post by Princess on Mar 10, 2014 1:23:26 GMT
Everything spins around inside my head as I sprawl out on my couch. The television is off, yet I stare into the black blankness as I search within the reflection as though searching within myself. The chill of my soul upon this world is becoming more and more prevalent. I sip my wine from a tall Merlot glass. Thank you, Maynard, for such a lovely blend of flavors in my mouth. Thank you for the dry blood that stains the corners of my mouth and opens the third eye for introspection. My eyes close and tears are hard to fight back. How could it be so difficult? How could the process be such an unrewarding, un-fulfilling experience. The title I hold, that I clutch for grim death, will be taken from me in a matter of days, in a matter of weeks. Can I replace it with the new Invictus belt, or will Pooler best me? Will I conquer, or will I be denied the quest I have had since I arrived. I want to know the answers, I want to be the top dog, but it seems like nobody cares. I breathe deep, come on, just one time.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I don't feel any better, the rage, the pain, the sadness, it mixes and spins within my soul like a poorly blended margarita, or worse...someone blending a Martini. The atrocity is enough to make me taste the bile at the back of my mouth. I swallow hard, and the knots in my stomach do not go away.
I cry.
I weep.
I rage.
Someone...anyone...HELP ME! I am in HELL!
I curl into the fetal position on my couch and clutch the title close. Two months plus of work, of clawing and scraping, and it's simply being TAKEN from me, without having to even LOSE it. They are "merging" it...but that doesn't change the fact that the truth is, they don't WANT me to have it. They want to punish me for...for what? For not kissing Angel's pompous ass? For not licking the boots of the King, Spike?
Fuck them.
They can all die.
I wish they would burn...like I feel my soul burning.
Caught in the machine, spinning around as a cog in their ever-changing plans. I'm not free to decide my own fate. I'm simply victim to the symptoms of their wills. They wanted to say that Cross wasn't the "Hero", that Jones wasn't "worthy". No...it's not that, it's that they were THREATS. Threats to the power that Spike decided was his. That he used Angel to attain, the head of booking. Now look where they are, on the downswing. The only belt they truly hold is the tag titles, because Pooler is in the same situation as I am, though he appears not to be contemplating it. He seems assured of victory. Assured of winning the merger, leaving me in the cold, harsh winter of Westeros while he enjoys the summer on the beaches of Hawaii or Jamaica.
Pompous.
Psychotic.
Impotent.
I can't believe them...any of them. What is with this...the pain. It burns, it hurts so deep. The cuts on my dreams, on my aspirations.
Make them Pay, Kristoff. Make them pay for their sins.
His voice is in my head. Damn him for ever allying himself with me. Damn them all. Forced into the corner, forced to associate with others that I feel are lesser. Associating with Vampires, and criminals. I just wished to be rid of them all, to rise above them.
So why don't you? Rise...Kristoff. The silent anarchy of their own souls isn't enough to stop you. Control your rage, harness the aggression and focus it at the world. Find another answer. The way out is through.
Get out of my head, Du Lac. Get out of my mind. I don't need more occupants of my own insanity. I don't need telepathy, I don't need superhuman powers. I am PERFECTLY NORMAL. I need nothing. Nothing but...
Aspiration.
Passion.
The boiling entropy of the foes' dreams as they writhe before you.
Grasp the bras ring, melt it with your soul. Show them all your true self.
"HOW DO I FIGHT DESTINY?"
I am losing it. The voice of my new associate is infiltrating my mind. Redirecting my thoughts like all the torment I endured in school. The screams of others, the screams that forced my hand to shove a fork down the throats of my enemies. The blood-curdling screams of those who no longer can speak the slurs against me. They all paid for their atrocities, but now I can't stop these. How do I?
Get the gun. Spin the dial.
"Suicide is not the answer. No...I'm not you, Sephiroth. I'm not your voice in my head. I can't survive. I can't feel myself anymore. Nothing matters, the world is corrupt and I am merely-"
A sinner.
A monster.
Their destroyer.
"No. I am not. I am just me, just Kristoff Liam Bates. I can't destroy them all, not alone...not..."
Spin the dial. Get the gun. Spin the Dial.
"WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING TALKING ABOUT!!!"
The room falls deathly silent. I am losing my mind. Hearing voices other than my own within my head. I can feel his hand on my shoulder. I feel him guiding me, pointing me to the gun on the table. But it wasn't there moments ago. How did it...how...
I take a long drink of the wine straight from the bottle. The gun is floating now, in the air. The dial spins. The hammer pulls back and-
CLICK.
Again the dial spins.
CLICK.
What does it mean. What...spinning, firing. Spinning...spinning...I feel dizzy. I feel ill. Bile taste, too late...a red stain of vomit-wine is on the cream-colored carpet. A few chunks cling to the maple coffee table. The gun keeps spinning, the dial keeps turning. There are no bullets, are there. Or...
BANG!
Instead of a bullet, the gun transforms into a letter with Du Lac's seal on it. What...what is this. This is NOT normal. Not at all. I grasp the letter opener, my hand shaking. I feel the pain of despair rise within me. Help...someone... I crack the wax seal, and unfold the parcel.
"High Stakes, March 23rd of the year 2014 will be host to a Roulette Championship Battle for all Male Competitors at a shot for an Imperial Championship shot."
Imperial Roulette. The gun...the dial...spinning around, every man in this federation will be given a shot at the top. A shot...determined by luck. Luck and skill. A second path. The way out is through...and I will be entering into the roulette, if only to have a plan B. If only to...
"Become the champion. Invictus or Imperial, either way...I will come out of High Stakes the winner. I guess...everyone else should just...watch out."
Yes, Child. And the business of pain will be yours to execute.
"Every male competitor. I'll face them all. Verona...Pooler...Spike...Angel. All will see the consequences of their plans. I'm not a toy of theirs to play with. I'm not a slave. I am ALIVE! I am not a PUPPET!"
My Puppet.
"A few short weeks and I will be the master of my own Destiny. The options before me. In this, the winter of my discontent. In this, the middle of my life when I feel the path has become unclear. Clarity, the decision. The red pill of Invictus. The Blue Pill of a shot at the Imperial. Alice is calling...and in the end they will all..."
Be rendered mute.
SHUT UP!
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I don't feel any better, the rage, the pain, the sadness, it mixes and spins within my soul like a poorly blended margarita, or worse...someone blending a Martini. The atrocity is enough to make me taste the bile at the back of my mouth. I swallow hard, and the knots in my stomach do not go away.
I cry.
I weep.
I rage.
Someone...anyone...HELP ME! I am in HELL!
I curl into the fetal position on my couch and clutch the title close. Two months plus of work, of clawing and scraping, and it's simply being TAKEN from me, without having to even LOSE it. They are "merging" it...but that doesn't change the fact that the truth is, they don't WANT me to have it. They want to punish me for...for what? For not kissing Angel's pompous ass? For not licking the boots of the King, Spike?
Fuck them.
They can all die.
I wish they would burn...like I feel my soul burning.
Caught in the machine, spinning around as a cog in their ever-changing plans. I'm not free to decide my own fate. I'm simply victim to the symptoms of their wills. They wanted to say that Cross wasn't the "Hero", that Jones wasn't "worthy". No...it's not that, it's that they were THREATS. Threats to the power that Spike decided was his. That he used Angel to attain, the head of booking. Now look where they are, on the downswing. The only belt they truly hold is the tag titles, because Pooler is in the same situation as I am, though he appears not to be contemplating it. He seems assured of victory. Assured of winning the merger, leaving me in the cold, harsh winter of Westeros while he enjoys the summer on the beaches of Hawaii or Jamaica.
Pompous.
Psychotic.
Impotent.
I can't believe them...any of them. What is with this...the pain. It burns, it hurts so deep. The cuts on my dreams, on my aspirations.
Make them Pay, Kristoff. Make them pay for their sins.
His voice is in my head. Damn him for ever allying himself with me. Damn them all. Forced into the corner, forced to associate with others that I feel are lesser. Associating with Vampires, and criminals. I just wished to be rid of them all, to rise above them.
So why don't you? Rise...Kristoff. The silent anarchy of their own souls isn't enough to stop you. Control your rage, harness the aggression and focus it at the world. Find another answer. The way out is through.
Get out of my head, Du Lac. Get out of my mind. I don't need more occupants of my own insanity. I don't need telepathy, I don't need superhuman powers. I am PERFECTLY NORMAL. I need nothing. Nothing but...
Aspiration.
Passion.
The boiling entropy of the foes' dreams as they writhe before you.
Grasp the bras ring, melt it with your soul. Show them all your true self.
"HOW DO I FIGHT DESTINY?"
I am losing it. The voice of my new associate is infiltrating my mind. Redirecting my thoughts like all the torment I endured in school. The screams of others, the screams that forced my hand to shove a fork down the throats of my enemies. The blood-curdling screams of those who no longer can speak the slurs against me. They all paid for their atrocities, but now I can't stop these. How do I?
Get the gun. Spin the dial.
"Suicide is not the answer. No...I'm not you, Sephiroth. I'm not your voice in my head. I can't survive. I can't feel myself anymore. Nothing matters, the world is corrupt and I am merely-"
A sinner.
A monster.
Their destroyer.
"No. I am not. I am just me, just Kristoff Liam Bates. I can't destroy them all, not alone...not..."
Spin the dial. Get the gun. Spin the Dial.
"WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING TALKING ABOUT!!!"
The room falls deathly silent. I am losing my mind. Hearing voices other than my own within my head. I can feel his hand on my shoulder. I feel him guiding me, pointing me to the gun on the table. But it wasn't there moments ago. How did it...how...
I take a long drink of the wine straight from the bottle. The gun is floating now, in the air. The dial spins. The hammer pulls back and-
CLICK.
Again the dial spins.
CLICK.
What does it mean. What...spinning, firing. Spinning...spinning...I feel dizzy. I feel ill. Bile taste, too late...a red stain of vomit-wine is on the cream-colored carpet. A few chunks cling to the maple coffee table. The gun keeps spinning, the dial keeps turning. There are no bullets, are there. Or...
BANG!
Instead of a bullet, the gun transforms into a letter with Du Lac's seal on it. What...what is this. This is NOT normal. Not at all. I grasp the letter opener, my hand shaking. I feel the pain of despair rise within me. Help...someone... I crack the wax seal, and unfold the parcel.
"High Stakes, March 23rd of the year 2014 will be host to a Roulette Championship Battle for all Male Competitors at a shot for an Imperial Championship shot."
Imperial Roulette. The gun...the dial...spinning around, every man in this federation will be given a shot at the top. A shot...determined by luck. Luck and skill. A second path. The way out is through...and I will be entering into the roulette, if only to have a plan B. If only to...
"Become the champion. Invictus or Imperial, either way...I will come out of High Stakes the winner. I guess...everyone else should just...watch out."
Yes, Child. And the business of pain will be yours to execute.
"Every male competitor. I'll face them all. Verona...Pooler...Spike...Angel. All will see the consequences of their plans. I'm not a toy of theirs to play with. I'm not a slave. I am ALIVE! I am not a PUPPET!"
My Puppet.
"A few short weeks and I will be the master of my own Destiny. The options before me. In this, the winter of my discontent. In this, the middle of my life when I feel the path has become unclear. Clarity, the decision. The red pill of Invictus. The Blue Pill of a shot at the Imperial. Alice is calling...and in the end they will all..."
Be rendered mute.
SHUT UP!
Well howdy there pardner.