Post by "Godly" Ken Davison on Jul 21, 2012 3:11:35 GMT -6
Standing calmly in front of a plain black curtain is “Godly” Ken Davison. Instead of his usual priestly garb, he is dressed a bit more casually. Wearing a pair of hunter green jeans and a black sleeveless t-shirt, he would fail to stand out in a crowd aside from the fact that his is still wearing his color and tinted sunglasses, both hunter green to coordinate with his jeans.
”Now that I have given you a taste... a morsel.. a small sampliing of the man I have become, you should be smart enough to know what lies in front of you, Mike, The last time we faced, yes, I still mourned my beloved Crystal. But the death of my friend Sydney Laroux, it tore the old wound back open. To be honest, I held back and now, I can't wait to get my hands on you. But I am not going to lie to you, Laszlo. I had absolutely no desire to face you at Picture Perfect. Now, don't sit there and think that this has anything to do with having some sort of fear or respect towards you. No, no, no. You should know well enough by now that I don't work that way. What I wanted was something far more... for lack of a better term... fun.”
“You see, Laszlo, this match isn't just a title match for me. This is therapy. It's coming up on a year since I was forced to watch as my world crumbled around me. It's coming up on a year that the “Godly” Ken Davison that you used to know gave way to the deviant soul known as NV Laroux. It is coming up on a year since I came to realize that in the end, there is no right and wrong. There are only choices that we make. And in the last year I have made the choice to let myself go... to let myself of the proverbial chain. NV taught me how to do that.”
Davison chuckles a bit before continuing.
”Some people look at me and look at what I've become and they think that I am sick. They think that NV Laroux is some sort of illness that lurks inside the nether regions of my mind until he's called upon to unleash my fury. Maybe those people are right. Maybe they're wrong. But the fact of the matter is, he is a part of me now. And Laszlo... he wants to play.”
“Call it professional courtesy, Laszlo. After all, a true friend will stab you in the chest. So pay close attention to what I have to tell you... I might be a little more violent than usual. “Why is that?” you might ask yourself. Is it revenge for the Pawn Shop Match all those years ago? Do I really bare that grudge after all these years? The answer to both of those questions is no. But just to give myself that extra bit of ferocity, I've taken myself off my meds and Lord only knows when NV will take over..”
Davison laughs manically.
«-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-»
The Relapse
Date July 17th, 2012
Time: 1:37 AM
Laying on the linoleum floor, there was no was room for pretense. Though Ken Davison did not know it, the ambulance was on it’s way. A neighbor heard the collapse and called for help. It was help that NV Laroux did not want, as he had managed to come out and take control. Surrounded by empty prescription bottles and various bottles of alcohol, he was making an earnest attempt to escape, not his match against Mike Laszlo, but the constant torment he has put himself through the last six months. He reaches towards his refrigerator, seeing something that does not exist.
”You, there on the bridge… where have you been? What is you name? Where will you go once you fall? Are you going to hell? Do you need me? I can give you directions…”
Davison writhes in agony on the floor, wrestling with the demons that have settled in his body.
”I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out…. I am tired of this hell. It's like I fell here from another dimension. I am sick of dealing with the beasts and the filth. I can barely take it. I hope I can't make it. GOD! PLEASE! TAKE ME FROM THIS DIMENTIA! I WANT TO GO HOME!”
He pounds his fist on the floor, as blood begins to trickle from his mouth. The headlights of a car shine through his kitchen window. As a shadow crosses into the light, Davison freezes, enraptured by the light as though he is seeing something from the beyond.
”Sy... Sy... Syd? Is that you? Have you finally come to take me with you? Please, tell me this isn't a dream. I’m so sick and tired of the taste of tears. Rid me of the sting of pain, the smell of fear and the sounds of crying. I am done standing on the edge of your life. Do you remember? Was it all you wanted? It was all I wanted!”
“I tried. I tried, damnit! I just wanted to do was protect you. But you wouldn't let me.”
The shadow dances across the floor and the walls. With each movement, NV's bloodshot eyes dart spastically around, his drug infected brain trying to make sense of it all. The anger of his loss seems to take control of him.
”Please, Sydney, don't cry. Smile! Smile! You should be happy. Your troubles are over. My troubles still linger. All I wanted was to earn my feathery wings so I could be with you, to take me away from here. But instead you left me behind.”
Pain wracks Davison's body again as he thrashes around like a wounded animal. He begins sobbing, as the anger passes and is overtaken by guilt.
”If only I could have been there, I’d be the hand for you as your were sinking in the quicksand of your troubles. Instead, I was a prayer for the dead, a living legacy... your, legacy, Syd. See the pain etched in my face? Come and take me to the heavens. Are you proud of me, Sydney? Have I made you proud?”
The car is shut off and the headlight quickly fade back into the darkness.
”NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You're gone! Damnit! Don't leave from here! Don't leave me here! I hate it here! Come back! I need you back! Don't leave me again! I need you here! I need to see you smile!”
Ken's rant is cut short as there is a pounding at his front door. With each thud, NV curls tighter into the fetal position, as though concussion blasts are ripping through his body.
”Mr. Davison... open up! We're here to help you!”
”Like hell you are! You just want to make me “better”. You don't know what better is! Leave me the hell alone. I don't want to fight Junior. I don't want to fight any more. I just want this all to end!”
”Mr. Davison, if you don't let us in, we are going to be forced to break the door down.”
”Mr. Davison? Mr. Davison is dead.”
Laroux almost hisses the words in disgust as they roll off his tongue.
”He was murdered by the ghost of one who no longer walks the Earth. And I will be damned if you try and make me what you call “better”. I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. Leave me the fu...”
The door flies open with a crashing sound that is almost deafening. The red and red lights of the ambulance race across the walls.
”Why must insist on saving those who don't want to be saved? Get back or I swear I will...”
Davison again doubles over in pain as the EMTs begin coming through the front door. Laroux grabs an empty beer bottle and begins trying to smash it on the floor.
”I swear I'll slit my wrist if you come near me.”
He starts trying harder to smash the bottle. His body is far too weak and all he succeeds in doing is creating a slight crack. The EMT kneels next to him and picks up the empty pill bottles. Upon examining them, he looks down at our helpless subject.
”Mr. Davison, we're here to help you. Everything is going to be just fine.”
”Fine? You wouldn't know my idea of fine if it bit you in the ass. Let me ask you something. Have you ever brought someone back from the dead?”
”Yes, I have. And we are going to get you taken care of before we have to bring you back from the dead.”
”Then bring her back. Bring her back to me!”
”We've got to take care of you first.”
The EMTs rush in and begin strapping Ken down onto a stretcher. He continues to scream as the EMTs try to hold him still.
”Sydney! SYDNEY! I'm gonna be there soon! SYD!!!”
«-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-»
Davison is still laughing as the picture returns.
”I'm surprised the TMZ hasn't picked up on the fact that I had a relapse. For some reason they love in getting in the personal lives of wrestlers. That's neither here nor there, I suppose. What truly matters is the fact that somehow, I have gotten back in touch with the part of me that wants nothing more than to see destruction left in his wake. With that fifteen pounds of gold on the line, it makes this match matter for so much more than our foolish pride.”
“So here we are, Laszlo, standing on the precipice of our futures. It may have been years since you have beaten me, but even your best wasn't good enough to keep me down. As long as I am breathing I will not forget the pain and misery you put me through. I won't forget the Malicious Intent off of that rooftop. Last week was just the preview of what I have planned for you. Now, Laszlo, you are going to finally see how right you are when you say the wars of our past don't matter. Because I am going to take this match... your title... and your future.”
Davison stares a hole through the camera as the camera fades into black.
”Now that I have given you a taste... a morsel.. a small sampliing of the man I have become, you should be smart enough to know what lies in front of you, Mike, The last time we faced, yes, I still mourned my beloved Crystal. But the death of my friend Sydney Laroux, it tore the old wound back open. To be honest, I held back and now, I can't wait to get my hands on you. But I am not going to lie to you, Laszlo. I had absolutely no desire to face you at Picture Perfect. Now, don't sit there and think that this has anything to do with having some sort of fear or respect towards you. No, no, no. You should know well enough by now that I don't work that way. What I wanted was something far more... for lack of a better term... fun.”
“You see, Laszlo, this match isn't just a title match for me. This is therapy. It's coming up on a year since I was forced to watch as my world crumbled around me. It's coming up on a year that the “Godly” Ken Davison that you used to know gave way to the deviant soul known as NV Laroux. It is coming up on a year since I came to realize that in the end, there is no right and wrong. There are only choices that we make. And in the last year I have made the choice to let myself go... to let myself of the proverbial chain. NV taught me how to do that.”
Davison chuckles a bit before continuing.
”Some people look at me and look at what I've become and they think that I am sick. They think that NV Laroux is some sort of illness that lurks inside the nether regions of my mind until he's called upon to unleash my fury. Maybe those people are right. Maybe they're wrong. But the fact of the matter is, he is a part of me now. And Laszlo... he wants to play.”
“Call it professional courtesy, Laszlo. After all, a true friend will stab you in the chest. So pay close attention to what I have to tell you... I might be a little more violent than usual. “Why is that?” you might ask yourself. Is it revenge for the Pawn Shop Match all those years ago? Do I really bare that grudge after all these years? The answer to both of those questions is no. But just to give myself that extra bit of ferocity, I've taken myself off my meds and Lord only knows when NV will take over..”
Davison laughs manically.
«-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-»
The Relapse
Date July 17th, 2012
Time: 1:37 AM
Laying on the linoleum floor, there was no was room for pretense. Though Ken Davison did not know it, the ambulance was on it’s way. A neighbor heard the collapse and called for help. It was help that NV Laroux did not want, as he had managed to come out and take control. Surrounded by empty prescription bottles and various bottles of alcohol, he was making an earnest attempt to escape, not his match against Mike Laszlo, but the constant torment he has put himself through the last six months. He reaches towards his refrigerator, seeing something that does not exist.
”You, there on the bridge… where have you been? What is you name? Where will you go once you fall? Are you going to hell? Do you need me? I can give you directions…”
Davison writhes in agony on the floor, wrestling with the demons that have settled in his body.
”I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out…. I am tired of this hell. It's like I fell here from another dimension. I am sick of dealing with the beasts and the filth. I can barely take it. I hope I can't make it. GOD! PLEASE! TAKE ME FROM THIS DIMENTIA! I WANT TO GO HOME!”
He pounds his fist on the floor, as blood begins to trickle from his mouth. The headlights of a car shine through his kitchen window. As a shadow crosses into the light, Davison freezes, enraptured by the light as though he is seeing something from the beyond.
”Sy... Sy... Syd? Is that you? Have you finally come to take me with you? Please, tell me this isn't a dream. I’m so sick and tired of the taste of tears. Rid me of the sting of pain, the smell of fear and the sounds of crying. I am done standing on the edge of your life. Do you remember? Was it all you wanted? It was all I wanted!”
“I tried. I tried, damnit! I just wanted to do was protect you. But you wouldn't let me.”
The shadow dances across the floor and the walls. With each movement, NV's bloodshot eyes dart spastically around, his drug infected brain trying to make sense of it all. The anger of his loss seems to take control of him.
”Please, Sydney, don't cry. Smile! Smile! You should be happy. Your troubles are over. My troubles still linger. All I wanted was to earn my feathery wings so I could be with you, to take me away from here. But instead you left me behind.”
Pain wracks Davison's body again as he thrashes around like a wounded animal. He begins sobbing, as the anger passes and is overtaken by guilt.
”If only I could have been there, I’d be the hand for you as your were sinking in the quicksand of your troubles. Instead, I was a prayer for the dead, a living legacy... your, legacy, Syd. See the pain etched in my face? Come and take me to the heavens. Are you proud of me, Sydney? Have I made you proud?”
The car is shut off and the headlight quickly fade back into the darkness.
”NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You're gone! Damnit! Don't leave from here! Don't leave me here! I hate it here! Come back! I need you back! Don't leave me again! I need you here! I need to see you smile!”
Ken's rant is cut short as there is a pounding at his front door. With each thud, NV curls tighter into the fetal position, as though concussion blasts are ripping through his body.
”Mr. Davison... open up! We're here to help you!”
”Like hell you are! You just want to make me “better”. You don't know what better is! Leave me the hell alone. I don't want to fight Junior. I don't want to fight any more. I just want this all to end!”
”Mr. Davison, if you don't let us in, we are going to be forced to break the door down.”
”Mr. Davison? Mr. Davison is dead.”
Laroux almost hisses the words in disgust as they roll off his tongue.
”He was murdered by the ghost of one who no longer walks the Earth. And I will be damned if you try and make me what you call “better”. I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. Leave me the fu...”
The door flies open with a crashing sound that is almost deafening. The red and red lights of the ambulance race across the walls.
”Why must insist on saving those who don't want to be saved? Get back or I swear I will...”
Davison again doubles over in pain as the EMTs begin coming through the front door. Laroux grabs an empty beer bottle and begins trying to smash it on the floor.
”I swear I'll slit my wrist if you come near me.”
He starts trying harder to smash the bottle. His body is far too weak and all he succeeds in doing is creating a slight crack. The EMT kneels next to him and picks up the empty pill bottles. Upon examining them, he looks down at our helpless subject.
”Mr. Davison, we're here to help you. Everything is going to be just fine.”
”Fine? You wouldn't know my idea of fine if it bit you in the ass. Let me ask you something. Have you ever brought someone back from the dead?”
”Yes, I have. And we are going to get you taken care of before we have to bring you back from the dead.”
”Then bring her back. Bring her back to me!”
”We've got to take care of you first.”
The EMTs rush in and begin strapping Ken down onto a stretcher. He continues to scream as the EMTs try to hold him still.
”Sydney! SYDNEY! I'm gonna be there soon! SYD!!!”
«-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-»
Davison is still laughing as the picture returns.
”I'm surprised the TMZ hasn't picked up on the fact that I had a relapse. For some reason they love in getting in the personal lives of wrestlers. That's neither here nor there, I suppose. What truly matters is the fact that somehow, I have gotten back in touch with the part of me that wants nothing more than to see destruction left in his wake. With that fifteen pounds of gold on the line, it makes this match matter for so much more than our foolish pride.”
“So here we are, Laszlo, standing on the precipice of our futures. It may have been years since you have beaten me, but even your best wasn't good enough to keep me down. As long as I am breathing I will not forget the pain and misery you put me through. I won't forget the Malicious Intent off of that rooftop. Last week was just the preview of what I have planned for you. Now, Laszlo, you are going to finally see how right you are when you say the wars of our past don't matter. Because I am going to take this match... your title... and your future.”
Davison stares a hole through the camera as the camera fades into black.
