Post by Cyrus Daniels on Mar 29, 2013 12:17:38 GMT -6
A simple circular white clock face is our focus as it ticks, on the wall to the right of it, was the tally of freedom that had been etched out every day since Cyrus' release over a year ago.
A solitary dim light bulb swings on its frayed wire, hanging from the ceiling and swaying like a pendulum.
The light it emits flickers, as it is suspended above the bald ex-convicts head, a dim halo.
Cyrus Daniels sat on the simple wooden cane chair in the middle of the small windowless room, wearing a simple black wife beater form fitting tank top which only complimented his impressive physique.
The big bald bastard leant back in his chair, hearing his disapproving mother's voice echo in his head, telling him he shouldn't slouch. and he smiled because she was no longer here to dictate what he should or shouldn't do.
In his massive fingerless gloves, he held an air line ticket. A one way return ticket to Russia. The American Dream was over, the land of opportunities was lost. There soon would be nothing left for him here in the Land of the Free. He looked at the date for which it had been booked, May 21st 2013.
It was almost over. Almost...
They say time has a funny way of catchin' up to ya, but that would assume you could ever outrun it in the first place. So many people try to evade it, to deny it, to hold on to whatever precious moment they think they're entitled to. They want things to last forever, but nothing ever does. They continue to take things for granted, things they really shouldn't. The lovin' of a Sheila, a house to come home to, or even the security of their *** damned job.
Yet for every son of a bitch that takes all that he has been given for granted, there is another who wastes it, pissin' it all away, taking not the moment he has in his hands for granted, but the next. For all the Mike Laszlos, Joe Everymans, Alex Jones' and Will Washington's, it doesn't matter what happens today when there's always tomorrow.
What happens when there are no more tomorrows? What happens when you don't have all the time in the world? What happens when the day you've waited for your whole life never comes? What happens when ya realise that all the time you've spent thinking life was a beach, when you've spent your days dusting the sand from your feet, looking out to the sea waiting for your ship to come in was wasted? That ocean ya see beyond the shores of your ambition is beyond your reach because you've trapped yourself behind glass. That sand beneath your feet is getting a little deeper, a little quicker. Turns out ya wasn't on a beach after all, but stuck in an hourglass.
As it dawns on you that you're drownin', runnin' outta time, watching the sea threaten to erode your every hope, your every dream and your every ambition, when ya realise that your time is finite, well then the mad dash to the finish line really begins doesn't it, mate? Things really become desperate don't they? Especially when ya realise that your not one of the six rats that has been chosen to scramble about in some cage for that last piece of cheese. Will Washington is a man of second chances, always banking on another time, another place and another set of circumstances instead of making the most of every opportunity.
The clock is ticking Will, it really is now or never for your limp-wristed World Title ambitions. This company is now on borrowed time and everybody knows it. It has inspired so many of you perennial mid-carders to step it up and stake your claim to be the final Champion because for the past six years you've taken this company for granted, and if I was feeling at all generous, I'd say I don't blame you. For so many years you've seen and heard so many people step up and threaten to change this company forever and achieve nothing. New Championship Wrestling has survived Revolutions and Empires, but when the bump on the road is Kelly's stomach, suddenly it is all derailed.
What does that say? I have only been here for a fraction of the time most of you have, but it tells me that Kelly never really cared about this company or those in her employ, it was all her plaything and now she's grown bored, and I for one can't blame the Sheila, she probably realises now that havin' the World Champion in her purse isn't as much fun as it first seemed, but then nobody ever accused me of bein' a businessman so what do I know, right?
All I can do is hurt people, and that's what I'm expected to do this Sunday, but before ya get your boxers in a twist Will, understand that Criminal Intent aren't out for hire, no not this time, we agreed to this match simply because we were sick of being overshadowed by Curtis' own ambition and greed. For months it was more about the Church and less about Criminal Intent, and I've never been good at playin' the good dog on somebody else's leash.
Here and now I renounce my faith in the Church of Thor. The fact that Roberto came to us is more a testament to the man's sense of humour, he wants Stephen to break whatever little faith you have left, and he wants me to break Will himself. Your quest for redemption is a little too late, there is nothing here left to save, except maybe yourself. New Championship Wrestling is dead. The American Dream dies here as we bury the punisher and drape him in the flag of his patriots.
We won't tread on you.
We'll just stomp you into the ground.
Rendered as impotent in the conclusion of your legacy as this very company will be in its own.
The dim light flickers, and for a few moments the room is plunged into darkness, before the room is flooded with the light of the outside world. A slender female silhouette stands in the door way for a moment and calls for him.
Woman: Cyrus...
The light returns and there stood in the door way was the last person he expected to see.
Daniels: Nicole...
Nicole Kingsley shuts the door behind her, before she enters the room, she stands before the big man in a white dress that teased her elegant curves and inspired his blood.
Nicole: Carly told me I might find you here...so where's the bucket she told me to avoid?
Cyrus nods over to the corner and Nicole glances over at it.
Nicole: It's apple juice, right?
Cyrus simply shrugs, his expression betraying nothing.
Nicole: So what will you do now, after New Championship Wrestling I mean?
Daniels: Why do you care?
Nicole: Because...I just...I don't know, I just do, alright?
Cyrus then holds up his plane ticket and she takes it from him, taking a moment to digest what it all means.
Nicole: What the hell is this? Does Stephen know?
Cyrus shakes his head.
Daniels: Nobody needs to know, Nic...
Nicole: The hell they don't. I thought Stephen was your friend. I thought I....meant something to you...
Cyrus then gets up and walks passed her, she reaches out to grab him by the arm as the dim bulb flickers again as he glares at her.
Nicole: Don't you dare walk away without explaining this to me Cy...I took a job in this company for you, for us...you owe me some kind of explanation as to what the hell has changed between us...
Daniels: I can't be the man you want me to be. I can't play the devout boyfriend like some *** damned neutered bitch okay Nic? I'm wrong for ya on so many levels, I'm damaged, I can't be responsible for ya, not with my past, not with the people I know, not with the things I've seen. Trust me, its better this way. It's time to move again, there's nothing for me here...
Cyrus goes to turn away from her, closing his eyes and lowering his head, but Nicole insists by cupping the side of his face and stroking the sideburns with her fore finger.
Nicole: Cy...look at me...look at me please...
Cyrus opens his eyes and the two stare at each other for a moment.
Nicole: What are you running from...really?
Daniels: This...
Cyrus then grabs Nicole and shoves her up against the wall, she grimaces slightly from the pain as he grabs her dress and tears it from her, exposing some of her figure enhancing red bra, he then imposes himself upon her by pinning her to the wall and kissing her with a ferociousity that borders on the thin line between consenting adult and criminal. Nicole's resistance starts to wane as she gives herself to him, and Cyrus loosens his grip on her wrists and pulls her from the waist, breathing heavy closer to him and the whole thing seems to skirt a very thin line indeed. For him there was no more tomorrow, for her there was only today. They didn't have all the time in the world to work this out. They were not masters of their destinies, only slaves to the ravages of time, and whilst Cyrus Daniels was ravaging from inside the walls of his prison, he may as well enjoy the curves of its hourglass.
A solitary dim light bulb swings on its frayed wire, hanging from the ceiling and swaying like a pendulum.
The light it emits flickers, as it is suspended above the bald ex-convicts head, a dim halo.
Cyrus Daniels sat on the simple wooden cane chair in the middle of the small windowless room, wearing a simple black wife beater form fitting tank top which only complimented his impressive physique.
The big bald bastard leant back in his chair, hearing his disapproving mother's voice echo in his head, telling him he shouldn't slouch. and he smiled because she was no longer here to dictate what he should or shouldn't do.
In his massive fingerless gloves, he held an air line ticket. A one way return ticket to Russia. The American Dream was over, the land of opportunities was lost. There soon would be nothing left for him here in the Land of the Free. He looked at the date for which it had been booked, May 21st 2013.
It was almost over. Almost...
They say time has a funny way of catchin' up to ya, but that would assume you could ever outrun it in the first place. So many people try to evade it, to deny it, to hold on to whatever precious moment they think they're entitled to. They want things to last forever, but nothing ever does. They continue to take things for granted, things they really shouldn't. The lovin' of a Sheila, a house to come home to, or even the security of their *** damned job.
Yet for every son of a bitch that takes all that he has been given for granted, there is another who wastes it, pissin' it all away, taking not the moment he has in his hands for granted, but the next. For all the Mike Laszlos, Joe Everymans, Alex Jones' and Will Washington's, it doesn't matter what happens today when there's always tomorrow.
What happens when there are no more tomorrows? What happens when you don't have all the time in the world? What happens when the day you've waited for your whole life never comes? What happens when ya realise that all the time you've spent thinking life was a beach, when you've spent your days dusting the sand from your feet, looking out to the sea waiting for your ship to come in was wasted? That ocean ya see beyond the shores of your ambition is beyond your reach because you've trapped yourself behind glass. That sand beneath your feet is getting a little deeper, a little quicker. Turns out ya wasn't on a beach after all, but stuck in an hourglass.
As it dawns on you that you're drownin', runnin' outta time, watching the sea threaten to erode your every hope, your every dream and your every ambition, when ya realise that your time is finite, well then the mad dash to the finish line really begins doesn't it, mate? Things really become desperate don't they? Especially when ya realise that your not one of the six rats that has been chosen to scramble about in some cage for that last piece of cheese. Will Washington is a man of second chances, always banking on another time, another place and another set of circumstances instead of making the most of every opportunity.
The clock is ticking Will, it really is now or never for your limp-wristed World Title ambitions. This company is now on borrowed time and everybody knows it. It has inspired so many of you perennial mid-carders to step it up and stake your claim to be the final Champion because for the past six years you've taken this company for granted, and if I was feeling at all generous, I'd say I don't blame you. For so many years you've seen and heard so many people step up and threaten to change this company forever and achieve nothing. New Championship Wrestling has survived Revolutions and Empires, but when the bump on the road is Kelly's stomach, suddenly it is all derailed.
What does that say? I have only been here for a fraction of the time most of you have, but it tells me that Kelly never really cared about this company or those in her employ, it was all her plaything and now she's grown bored, and I for one can't blame the Sheila, she probably realises now that havin' the World Champion in her purse isn't as much fun as it first seemed, but then nobody ever accused me of bein' a businessman so what do I know, right?
All I can do is hurt people, and that's what I'm expected to do this Sunday, but before ya get your boxers in a twist Will, understand that Criminal Intent aren't out for hire, no not this time, we agreed to this match simply because we were sick of being overshadowed by Curtis' own ambition and greed. For months it was more about the Church and less about Criminal Intent, and I've never been good at playin' the good dog on somebody else's leash.
Here and now I renounce my faith in the Church of Thor. The fact that Roberto came to us is more a testament to the man's sense of humour, he wants Stephen to break whatever little faith you have left, and he wants me to break Will himself. Your quest for redemption is a little too late, there is nothing here left to save, except maybe yourself. New Championship Wrestling is dead. The American Dream dies here as we bury the punisher and drape him in the flag of his patriots.
We won't tread on you.
We'll just stomp you into the ground.
Rendered as impotent in the conclusion of your legacy as this very company will be in its own.
The dim light flickers, and for a few moments the room is plunged into darkness, before the room is flooded with the light of the outside world. A slender female silhouette stands in the door way for a moment and calls for him.
Woman: Cyrus...
The light returns and there stood in the door way was the last person he expected to see.
Daniels: Nicole...
Nicole Kingsley shuts the door behind her, before she enters the room, she stands before the big man in a white dress that teased her elegant curves and inspired his blood.
Nicole: Carly told me I might find you here...so where's the bucket she told me to avoid?
Cyrus nods over to the corner and Nicole glances over at it.
Nicole: It's apple juice, right?
Cyrus simply shrugs, his expression betraying nothing.
Nicole: So what will you do now, after New Championship Wrestling I mean?
Daniels: Why do you care?
Nicole: Because...I just...I don't know, I just do, alright?
Cyrus then holds up his plane ticket and she takes it from him, taking a moment to digest what it all means.
Nicole: What the hell is this? Does Stephen know?
Cyrus shakes his head.
Daniels: Nobody needs to know, Nic...
Nicole: The hell they don't. I thought Stephen was your friend. I thought I....meant something to you...
Cyrus then gets up and walks passed her, she reaches out to grab him by the arm as the dim bulb flickers again as he glares at her.
Nicole: Don't you dare walk away without explaining this to me Cy...I took a job in this company for you, for us...you owe me some kind of explanation as to what the hell has changed between us...
Daniels: I can't be the man you want me to be. I can't play the devout boyfriend like some *** damned neutered bitch okay Nic? I'm wrong for ya on so many levels, I'm damaged, I can't be responsible for ya, not with my past, not with the people I know, not with the things I've seen. Trust me, its better this way. It's time to move again, there's nothing for me here...
Cyrus goes to turn away from her, closing his eyes and lowering his head, but Nicole insists by cupping the side of his face and stroking the sideburns with her fore finger.
Nicole: Cy...look at me...look at me please...
Cyrus opens his eyes and the two stare at each other for a moment.
Nicole: What are you running from...really?
Daniels: This...
Cyrus then grabs Nicole and shoves her up against the wall, she grimaces slightly from the pain as he grabs her dress and tears it from her, exposing some of her figure enhancing red bra, he then imposes himself upon her by pinning her to the wall and kissing her with a ferociousity that borders on the thin line between consenting adult and criminal. Nicole's resistance starts to wane as she gives herself to him, and Cyrus loosens his grip on her wrists and pulls her from the waist, breathing heavy closer to him and the whole thing seems to skirt a very thin line indeed. For him there was no more tomorrow, for her there was only today. They didn't have all the time in the world to work this out. They were not masters of their destinies, only slaves to the ravages of time, and whilst Cyrus Daniels was ravaging from inside the walls of his prison, he may as well enjoy the curves of its hourglass.