Post by "Godly" Ken Davison on Jun 16, 2012 20:05:27 GMT -6
The red sun balances on the highest ramparts of the mountains, and in its waning light, the foothills appear to be ablaze. A cool breeze blows down out of the sun and fans through the tall dry grass, which streams like waves of golden fire along the slopes toward the rich and shadowed valley.
In the knee-high grass, "Godly" Ken Davison stands with his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, studying the vineyards below. The vines were pruned during the winter. The new growing season has just begun. The colorful wild mustard that flourished between the rows during the colder months has been chopped back and the stubble plowed under. The earth is dark and fertile.
The vineyards encircle a barn, outbuildings, and a bungalow for the caretaker. Except for the barn, the largest structure is the owner's Victorian house with it's gables, dormers, decorative mill work under the eaves and carved pediment over the front porch steps.
This was supposed to be their house. Davison contemplates a mental image of Crystal's face, as detailed as a photograph. The thought of her perfect features engender thoughts of succulent, sugar-laden bunches of pinot noir and grenache with translucent purple skin. Davison can almost taste the phantom grapes, imagining them bursting in his teeth.
Ken liked to come here on occasion. In a way, it seemed to center him. Where as focusing on the loss of Sydney Laroux seamed to bring out the worst in him, remembering his first and only love would bring out his more human side.
”To me, this was where I pictured my life right now. I am living my childhood dream. Professional wrestling champion, working all over the globe. I never in a million years had pictured doing it on my own. But, that is exactly what I have been doing for the last seventeen years. But, most recently, it has been with the help of Rose Acantha that I am even attempting to return to the level at which I had been able to succeed at for so long.”
As it slowly sinks below the mountains, the sun sprays light so warmly colored and so mordant that, where touched, the darkening land appears to be wet with it and dyed forever. The grass grows red as well, no longer like a fireless burning, but instead, a red tide washing over his knees.
”But, you learn quickly to adapt. The life I planned is not the what fate had planned for me. I've found a new direction in life, but not a new direction in my career. Simply put, the beatings will continue until all debts have been repaid.”
Ken turns and looks over the mountains. Even with his back turned to the camera, the emotion in his voice is still evident.
”Conway, I must say that I more disappointed in you than I ever could have imagined. No, it's not because you treated us to that wonderful little ditty at the start of your little diatribe. It's because you couldn't even use your own words. That's fine, though, because your words won't make a lick of difference when we get in the ring. As for the fact that I am, to borrow your words, “butt hurt” about a loss two years ago... YOU'RE KENDAMNED RIGHT I AM! There are two types of people in this world, Conway. You can either bend over and take it like a champ, or you can use that to fuel your fire. In case you haven't noticed, bitch cakes, I'm the type that I do things to spite people for the sheer and utter reason of spiting them. I won't lie, it doesn't always end well for me, but even if I fail, I have to at least try. How is this your problem? You really have to ask me that question? When our match is over, and you have once again fallen victim to the “Hands of God” or perhaps “The Rapture,” that's a fun one. You haven't seen that one yet... once it's all said and done, you'll have figured out exactly how this is your problem.“
“And while you have spent the last two years supposedly evolving...”I have spent the last ten months having been stripped bare emotionally. The “Godly” Ken Davison you knew is gone. The cold, calculating bastard you once knew was destroyed by a woman who in a moment of weakness took her own life. So while you were busy evolving, I became some far more feral, far more primal. And when you mix that with the intellect a man such as myself possesses, well, there is no need to evolve.“ Davison chuckles to himself. “Evolving? Really, Ace? Evolving? What are you, a freakin' Pokemon?”
Davison turns back toward the camera. His look is solemn, as he carefully considers his next words.
This isn't a simple matter of believing my own words. The simple fact of the matter is that you got lucky. Yeah, you once managed to gain a measure of legitimacy to you name at my expense. Now, it's my turn. How's the old saying go? Turn about is fair play? If I needed you help, I'd ask for it. Although we both if I was on fire and you were holding a glass of water, you'd drink it. Because you are nothing more than an ankle, you lack both the depth and the warmth to be a cunt. All the things you've done here in NCW mean as much as the things I've done anywhere else... absolutely nothing. You of all people realize that the past is the past and we've both had our history lessons. This is the here and now and that is what matters, isn't it, Conway?”
“I was more than glad to point out how far you've fallen, but what you fail to realize is that I have fallen even farther in all aspects of my life, personally and professionally. When Rose came to me I confided in her that one of my own selfish reasons for signing that contract was that I was hoping to get a shot at you. Win or lose, you have always brought out the best in me, and at this point, that is what I need.”
Davison furrows his brow. Pausing before letting the words leave his lips. “I respect you, Ace. I know that when I look across the ring I am going to be staring at a man who respects me as well, although you'd never dare admit it even in your most private moments. But don't think for a second that I will hesitate to tear your head clean off your shoulders and **** down the hole. Because this is a business, and I am still in the business of hurting people.”
Davison watches as the sun continues to sink into the horizon. With each passing moment, the grass seems to grow into a darker, deeper shade of red.
”Until I defeat you, Ace, you will be the ghost that haunts me, professionally at least. You defeated me when I was at the height of my glory. You took my title away from me and I have yet to reach the top of the proverbial mountain since then. But I assure you, you are the farthest thing from being the epitome of virtue to which I aspire.”
Davison takes a second to stop and breathe. He knows all to well the games that The Ace likes to play. Hell, he liked to play them, too. He would have remain calm. He must not fall prey to the traps that the predator has laid ever so carefully. Every thought, every action he has taken was chosen with a meticulous precision to try and illicit the anger inside of him. But on this day, he would not play the victim.
”Reborn is the most appropriate place for me to return to pay-per-view, even if it isn't on the main show. Because more so than anyone else on the card, I am the living embodiment of that name. Conway, I can't count the number of times I tried to end my own life while fighting the depression of losing my closest friend. I took this body, which I took pride in and kept clean, and I desecrated it with drugs and alcohol. I have hit rock bottom and I will tell you, I never want to go back there. And making sure that I do what I say and go back to my old habit of beating your ass so badly your family doesn't even want to be seen with out because of sheer embarrassment is exactly how I plan on doing it. Despite all of our history, Ace, this isn't personal. You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That thing called luck? You're **** out of it.”
Davison begins walking away from the camera as the sun dips ever lower into the horizon. The camera fades to black.
In the knee-high grass, "Godly" Ken Davison stands with his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, studying the vineyards below. The vines were pruned during the winter. The new growing season has just begun. The colorful wild mustard that flourished between the rows during the colder months has been chopped back and the stubble plowed under. The earth is dark and fertile.
The vineyards encircle a barn, outbuildings, and a bungalow for the caretaker. Except for the barn, the largest structure is the owner's Victorian house with it's gables, dormers, decorative mill work under the eaves and carved pediment over the front porch steps.
This was supposed to be their house. Davison contemplates a mental image of Crystal's face, as detailed as a photograph. The thought of her perfect features engender thoughts of succulent, sugar-laden bunches of pinot noir and grenache with translucent purple skin. Davison can almost taste the phantom grapes, imagining them bursting in his teeth.
Ken liked to come here on occasion. In a way, it seemed to center him. Where as focusing on the loss of Sydney Laroux seamed to bring out the worst in him, remembering his first and only love would bring out his more human side.
”To me, this was where I pictured my life right now. I am living my childhood dream. Professional wrestling champion, working all over the globe. I never in a million years had pictured doing it on my own. But, that is exactly what I have been doing for the last seventeen years. But, most recently, it has been with the help of Rose Acantha that I am even attempting to return to the level at which I had been able to succeed at for so long.”
As it slowly sinks below the mountains, the sun sprays light so warmly colored and so mordant that, where touched, the darkening land appears to be wet with it and dyed forever. The grass grows red as well, no longer like a fireless burning, but instead, a red tide washing over his knees.
”But, you learn quickly to adapt. The life I planned is not the what fate had planned for me. I've found a new direction in life, but not a new direction in my career. Simply put, the beatings will continue until all debts have been repaid.”
Ken turns and looks over the mountains. Even with his back turned to the camera, the emotion in his voice is still evident.
”Conway, I must say that I more disappointed in you than I ever could have imagined. No, it's not because you treated us to that wonderful little ditty at the start of your little diatribe. It's because you couldn't even use your own words. That's fine, though, because your words won't make a lick of difference when we get in the ring. As for the fact that I am, to borrow your words, “butt hurt” about a loss two years ago... YOU'RE KENDAMNED RIGHT I AM! There are two types of people in this world, Conway. You can either bend over and take it like a champ, or you can use that to fuel your fire. In case you haven't noticed, bitch cakes, I'm the type that I do things to spite people for the sheer and utter reason of spiting them. I won't lie, it doesn't always end well for me, but even if I fail, I have to at least try. How is this your problem? You really have to ask me that question? When our match is over, and you have once again fallen victim to the “Hands of God” or perhaps “The Rapture,” that's a fun one. You haven't seen that one yet... once it's all said and done, you'll have figured out exactly how this is your problem.“
“And while you have spent the last two years supposedly evolving...”I have spent the last ten months having been stripped bare emotionally. The “Godly” Ken Davison you knew is gone. The cold, calculating bastard you once knew was destroyed by a woman who in a moment of weakness took her own life. So while you were busy evolving, I became some far more feral, far more primal. And when you mix that with the intellect a man such as myself possesses, well, there is no need to evolve.“ Davison chuckles to himself. “Evolving? Really, Ace? Evolving? What are you, a freakin' Pokemon?”
Davison turns back toward the camera. His look is solemn, as he carefully considers his next words.
This isn't a simple matter of believing my own words. The simple fact of the matter is that you got lucky. Yeah, you once managed to gain a measure of legitimacy to you name at my expense. Now, it's my turn. How's the old saying go? Turn about is fair play? If I needed you help, I'd ask for it. Although we both if I was on fire and you were holding a glass of water, you'd drink it. Because you are nothing more than an ankle, you lack both the depth and the warmth to be a cunt. All the things you've done here in NCW mean as much as the things I've done anywhere else... absolutely nothing. You of all people realize that the past is the past and we've both had our history lessons. This is the here and now and that is what matters, isn't it, Conway?”
“I was more than glad to point out how far you've fallen, but what you fail to realize is that I have fallen even farther in all aspects of my life, personally and professionally. When Rose came to me I confided in her that one of my own selfish reasons for signing that contract was that I was hoping to get a shot at you. Win or lose, you have always brought out the best in me, and at this point, that is what I need.”
Davison furrows his brow. Pausing before letting the words leave his lips. “I respect you, Ace. I know that when I look across the ring I am going to be staring at a man who respects me as well, although you'd never dare admit it even in your most private moments. But don't think for a second that I will hesitate to tear your head clean off your shoulders and **** down the hole. Because this is a business, and I am still in the business of hurting people.”
Davison watches as the sun continues to sink into the horizon. With each passing moment, the grass seems to grow into a darker, deeper shade of red.
”Until I defeat you, Ace, you will be the ghost that haunts me, professionally at least. You defeated me when I was at the height of my glory. You took my title away from me and I have yet to reach the top of the proverbial mountain since then. But I assure you, you are the farthest thing from being the epitome of virtue to which I aspire.”
Davison takes a second to stop and breathe. He knows all to well the games that The Ace likes to play. Hell, he liked to play them, too. He would have remain calm. He must not fall prey to the traps that the predator has laid ever so carefully. Every thought, every action he has taken was chosen with a meticulous precision to try and illicit the anger inside of him. But on this day, he would not play the victim.
”Reborn is the most appropriate place for me to return to pay-per-view, even if it isn't on the main show. Because more so than anyone else on the card, I am the living embodiment of that name. Conway, I can't count the number of times I tried to end my own life while fighting the depression of losing my closest friend. I took this body, which I took pride in and kept clean, and I desecrated it with drugs and alcohol. I have hit rock bottom and I will tell you, I never want to go back there. And making sure that I do what I say and go back to my old habit of beating your ass so badly your family doesn't even want to be seen with out because of sheer embarrassment is exactly how I plan on doing it. Despite all of our history, Ace, this isn't personal. You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That thing called luck? You're **** out of it.”
Davison begins walking away from the camera as the sun dips ever lower into the horizon. The camera fades to black.
