Post by Guillotine (QDT) on Sept 12, 2019 13:04:24 GMT -5
Wednesday 11th September 2019, 19:50
My mind meditates on and merges into the cruel onslaught of waves, relentlessly crashing against the kaleidoscopic shore in the cool of dusk. The stones beneath me provide scant safety from its billowing bellicosity. I ponder the deep. I consciously beckoned the Leviathan out of its watery abyss. I own that, for better or worse. No one had the courage to drag it to land like I have. Not a soul dared exposing its fragile underbelly, leaving it writhing for breath like I did. But the cost is excruciating. Its toll provokes such regret it renders me ready to let the dark tide swallow me. If that’s what it takes.
There’s no normal now. It’s him or me. Live or die. Swim… or sink. We don’t get to just do life, smiling and nodding as we embark on ventures new; puppet strings pirouetting to Torture’s tempo and Camila’s cadence, dollars and stars sparkling in their eyes. WE DON’T GET TO BE THE FUCKING SAME. The game’s changed irrevocably. The bookers made no secret that they had designs on me moving onto Walter, Payton Jr or even a certain Ryan Lockhart months ago. “We want to protect our assets” they parroted. Bollocks to that; we left them certain there was no way William and I were just going to walk on merrily. We’ve gone too deep. One of us has to perish, in spirit at least. Execution isn’t a name or a gimmick. It’s a harsh reality. Everyone’s crowing about how uneven the stipulation is that I must be banished to the Cruiserweight division for the entirety of Tawny’s pregnancy if I fail… but trust me, the consequence is even graver for Leviathan. Only one of us will truly leave that cage and I’ll be damned if it’s not me.
Uncontrollable, silent weeping purges up and out from my gut as my thoughts finally rest on what they’ve been lurking around. My child. Tawny. I can’t articulate these cacophonous feelings, never mind process them.
Gentle footsteps caress the pebbled sand behind me. The fragrance of jasmine and vanilla enthrals my senses as soft dark hair rests against my cheek, collecting my tears. Jenna holds me tightly; every fibre of my being quivering in the warmth of her embrace.
I resolve that this is the last tear I’ll shed for Tawny fuckin’ Layne.
Sunday 28th April 2019, 16:11
QDT: Yo homes, smell ya later.
I yell to the cabbie as he accelerates off, leaving me and my beloved 201 & Fun strap with a hoard of unwashed goobers outside the Green North entrance of the Golden 1 Center. An AW rep ushers me between the guardrails as the fans hang merchandise, Havoc programmes and their sweaty, wank worn palms in my face. I notice one chubby cockmuncher talking to his bellend of a friend with their girlfriends sporting embarrassed grimaces.
Cockmuncher: Who dat jobber?
Bellend: Isn’t it one of Adam Young’s entourage? Or Kid Krazzy?
I figure it’s Teddy Geisel?
Let’s ask him.
Nah dawg, that’s rude. I have a better idea.
He hovers his putrid smelling Jaice Wilds poster in my direction.
Sign this bro.
I oblige, scribbling on the corner and handing it back to him with a complimentary smirk.
What does it say?
Before I pass through the entrance, I observe their quizzical acne ridden faces as they study the autograph - “If the Catholic Church saw you fucktards, they’d start promoting abortions. P.S. My name? Your bitches be wailing it like banshees later”.
Sunday 28th April 2019, 23:52
My eyes track the path of the medic’s finger and, though my skull throbs like a motherfucker, at least I’m compos mentis now. Donnie from Production leans towards the doc anxiously with a tentative hand on his shoulder.
Donnie: If he ain’t concussed, can I get him out of here? Wade’s loco back there. He’s destroyed thousands of dollars of AW kit. We’d better not inflame him further.
Inflame? Only thing in flames is his career. Let me stay and clothesline the turd out of his prolapsed rectum, just like I did earlier.
Doc sighs and steps back.
Doctor: Remember, any problems, call me immediately. Whatever the time.
I nod as Donnie leads me to the Green North exit door. As it opens... holy shit. There must be hundreds of people congregated eagerly, all chanting three letters - Q, D and, ya guessed it, T.
Immediately I see my old friends Cockmuncher and Bellend, the Bert and Ernie of the AW Galaxy. As I prophesied, their girls scream my name.
Hey QDT, you da man bro. Your dope sig just made me 3 gs on eBay. Sick burn.
Take our babes home with you. It would be our privilege to get out-dicked like you cucked Wade Moor in the Rumble!
One of the girlfriends pulls her panties down under her skirt and throws them at me. I duck to avoid residual neckbeard jism. I turn to Donnie just as the cheers and chants crescendo overwhelmingly.
Where’s my cab?
Cab? No Quixote, you’re off to the hotel in THIS tonight.
He points towards a plush white limousine carefully navigating the sea of bodies. Two security guards approach and flank me towards it. I enter ambivalently; not quite believing my newfound luxury. Donnie holds the door open and is instantly swarmed by fans who the guards keep at bay assertively.
Look, QDT, I’ve been championing you to management for months. You’re 20 years old. You could have 3 glittering decades ahead of you in this business. But please, keep clear of Wade. He’ll derail you beyond comprehension.
There’s no turning back. I’ve awoken the Godnilla and ravaged his resting place. He’s coming for me, Donnie, and I’m waiting. If a bear stalks, you show a hint of fear or hesitation, you’re eaten alive. Stand up to it and you have a fighting chance. Same principle - the more Wade snarls, the more I bite back. I know unequivocally, to my very core, that I’m fucking better than him. I terrified him tonight. This was the warning flare. To fully overthrow him, will I have to burrow through godforsaken pits, deplete years from my career and locate within myself the bitterest reservoirs of malice? Certainly. I’m willing.
There’s a commotion emanating from the arena exit. A familiar voice roars my name along with a barrage of expletives. It’s Wade Moor, making an irate beeline for the limo. Before I can react, Donnie slams the door and the driver speeds away, almost flattening a zealous fan.
Let me out, lipdick!
But we’re too far gone. Too far gone indeed. In the rear view mirror, I lock eyes with Wade. His blackened iris transmit unbridled animosity as an abominable smile knots his jawline; retaining its striking menace through the dimming of distance.
Monday 10th June 2019, 07:44
Having not long settled the Evolution 2 adrenaline which kept me up most of the night, this wakeup piss is far from welcome. Through smudged vision, I traipse into the bathroom.
Tawny: You should be sleeping!
Despite a frilly bra and thong doing little to conceal her modesty, Tawny’s hands rush to cover her wrists rather than her curves. She drops a razor into the sink. Flakes of blood and skin run into the plughole. I see her reflection in the mirror gazing at the morning glory stretching out my boxer shorts, quite amply if I do say so.
I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to it.
No, it’s my fault. Should’ve locked the door. How are you feeling after last night?
She’s walking on eggshells. She needn’t be.
Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?
You know, because of the… loss.
Hardly a loss. Moor needed an army of goons to pin me. It confirmed what I already knew - he’s desperate. He KNOWS I wield the power to topple him, again.
I’m disciplining myself not to sexualise Tawny as she brushes her teeth, pert booty arched at an angle. Her casual flaunting seems less seductive than it does sisterly; somehow unaware, it seems, that I’d be capable of desiring her. She spits the toothpaste out and is mortified to notice leftover drops of congealed blood. I no sell for her dignity’s sake.
Let his ego be fed. He got his victory but you won the war. Everyone can see that. You should move on. I hear the US Title’s vacant...
No shitting way. Do you really think I can let last night slide? I’m superior, Tawn. One on one, smoke cleared, mirrors shattered, his bells and whistles lodged up his arse, I will beat him. My only mistake was underestimating his brazen disregard of professional pride. I thought surely he wouldn’t want to defeated me so taintedly. He knows the question is still alive, the one that’s been gnawing away at his cumbersome mind… is QDT better than Wade Moor?
I wouldn’t expect this to be over. There’s no way he’s done with you. He has something planned, I promise you.
Before I can contemplate the significance of this, I become abundantly aware of her breasts pressing up against my chest. Tawny kisses me on the cheek.
Thank you for all you’re doing for me. I don’t deserve your kindness.
You deserve everything.
Sunday 4th July 2019, 23:27
As I pace around the talent suite, the ominous sound of Walter’s theme buzzes from the staging area. Jenna rushes in and immediately comes under Tawny’s hostile glare.
Jenna: Qui, that’s your cue. We need you up front!
She interlinks arms with me and walks out towards the curtain.
I can’t believe how comprehensively you took out Leviathan. I’m proud of you. Knew you could do it.
Tawny shoulder barges her, sending her tripping on her heels and tumbling to one knee.
Whoops, I’m so sorry.
Tawny locks my arms and escorts me onwards as my music hits, without a modicum of concern for Jenna. As we approach the entranceway, a sinister masked figure emerges from a dark corner and clenches me by the shoulders with otherworldly strength.
Leviathan: B̵͇͇͚̮r̞̟e͖͖̭a͚͟k̀ ͙̟̬a̸͓̩̪̘̥̣ ̘̻̗̠̞l͇͔̘͈̮̳̱͠e̲g̪̦̤̦͖̞͜.
With gleeful frenzy pouring from her eyes, Tawny winks at him as we pass through the curtain.
Saturday 27th July 2019, 06:15
As I gradually rouse to consciousness, the scent of death dominates my nostrils. A slither of sheet covers Tawny’s nude back as she’s slumped face down in alarming stillness, top n’ tail with me. I check her pulse, as is customary by now, given the circumstances in which we met. She’s alive. My mind rewinds back over the memory shards of our moonlight tryst in a Blue Velvet haze. What should’ve been beautiful or at least satisfying morphed into a straight to DVD horror movie. I’d long wondered how she’d taste, what it’d be like to be inside her but now I wish the cork had never left the bottle.
As the putrid aroma of this room becomes too pungent, I dry heave and flee to the landing; getting changed as I go. The rustic staircase creaks as I descend so I tiptoe to avoid waking anyone and halting my escape. A voice calls from the living room.
William Moor: Quixote, come.
I have no choice but to oblige. Sitting bow legged on the carpet around unnecessary firelight are William and his two zombies Noah and Cameron. I strain to hide my repulsion with a forced grin as Moor coils a filthy, meaty finger in a “come hither” gesture. I sit.
So nice to hear you and Tawny had FUN last night.
Ew. Freaky cunt. Hang on, someone’s missing.
I’m thrilled I could make your dreams come tr…
Where the fuck’s Jenna?!
Didn’t she join you and Tawny in your rendezvous?
I jump up and begin searching the decadently ghoulish premises, to no avail. Moor shouts upstairs.
Quixote, rest a while. I have extravagant plans for you.
I can’t stomach the masquerade a second longer. Not today. These fucks can bite me. I don’t even want to take Tawny away. She’s made her own bed, literally.
Monday 26th August 2019, 22:14
My world’s caving in around me but I’m not stunned. I lost Tawny weeks ago. Did I expect her to stick the knife in so forcefully and without hesitation? Well, no.
You didn’t strike first but you will strike hardest.
It’s Jenna. With my head down nursing my risotto and chicken, I was oblivious to her sitting at my catering. Other wrestlers and staff are giving me a wide berth, casting looks of pity at my fate.
I don’t give a steaming shit about Leviathan. This is about Tawny. How could she slip away like that? This Mad World bullshit is so transparent. I expected better of her than that.
She was a trojan horse, Qui, don’t you realise? She wanted to dismantle you from day 1. She has woven so many webs of lies. Do you really buy the rape accusation? I don’t, and it sickens me because she denigrates anyone with genuine experiences of sexual assault. Andreas Cannock was just another man she tried to destroy. It’s a sport to her.
You’re so wrong. I’m not a fucking idiot. She’s been manipulated.
All this time you’ve seen her as a little victim, even when she’s shown her teeth like tonight. Tawny’s nothing but a professional con artist. Sound familiar?
I was never taken in by Leviathan. If SHE deceived me, she’s on a whole other level.
Jenna removes my hand from the fork I’m using to toy with my food and she holds it firmly.
I’m not a vengeful person, Quixote, but you need to do anything possible to pay retribution to William and Tawny. Sink as low as your imagination can muster. They have it coming… and worse.
Thursday 12th September 2019, 15:26
William, Wade, Leviathan, cumdonkey… I know you’re all watching. Our opus is finally coming to its conclusion. If you have any doubts or harbour macabre machinations of prolonging this hell, I draw your attention to the structure that promises finality for one of us.
The behemoth Execution Cage seems to stretch into the rafters. A faint buzz emanating from the dimmed arena lights precedes the playback of “Resurgam”. The cage’s mesh appears sharp and malevolent. As I climb up from the outside, I am careful to negotiate the hazardous route of “foreign objects” (stupid, inadequate wrestling parlance) hooked to various spots both inside and on the exterior of the cell.
As if we needed more weapons of war. Steel chairs, barbed wire baseball bats, sledgehammers, blugeons, a fuckin’ cat o’ nine tails, a pellet gun, a Medieval spike… what in the bloody hell is this?
As I reach the top of the cage, I see a glass case mounted in the corner bracket. It contains a livid looking spider, its front legs lifted towards me.
Ah, the Atrax Robustus, also known as the Funnel Web. What sick minds designed such a monstrosity as this prison of punishment? How fitting, William, that our twisted tale culminates in what seems to be a close physical manifestation of the sick psychological enmity we’ve been engaged in for months.
I sit on the ceiling and peer down below to the ring canvas, 25 feet away I estimate. I palpitate and perspire; skin burning from the terror that pervades but doesn’t rule me.
Listen knobrot, this was long in the making. Could you have expected this five months ago when I was mauling every Cruiserweight in sight and you were sleepwalking in the bosom of a #BeachKrew tribute act? I bet you didn’t even know me, given your limp dicked apathy at the time. That’s OK. You more than know me now.
You’re thinking I wished that I never played Havoc with your career and dared to wake the Leviathan now, don’t you? I can’t deny I’ve paid a heavy price to ascend to the summit of Action Wrestling. I can’t pretend you haven’t taken something valuable from me. No matter where we go from here, a piece of my soul will always be in your possession.
I loved Tawny. I’m not gonna spin some macho yarn implying the opposite and claiming she didn’t rip my heart off the fucking pulmonary artery and trample all over it. She hurt me. Did I want to be with her? Not necessarily but I have never cared so much for a human being as I have for her. Her life was in my hands that night we met and I never took it out of them. It was a responsibility I took gravely serious, for the first time in my goddamn life.
I clear my throat by spitting excess saliva down through the mesh. Its slow fall further illustrates the lofty doom that awaits one of us.
It really doesn’t matter to me if she was a plant all along or whether you poisoned her brain, so you can lay down that measly trump card right now. All that I know is she’s gone and she was ignorant enough to get wrapped around your finger. My life has been built upon rotten foundations from the beginning. I put my love and my trust in my parents, unconditionally, innocently. And what did they do? They called me worthless, insignificant, an accident… EVERY frickin’ day. Until I kicked 50 Shades of Brown out of them, of course. Now they’re out of my life. I’ve been conditioned to associate love with pain. This is just another thump in the arm. It really isn’t anything significant.
But this baby… fuck sake. Touche. This is your only real scalp. You’ve got me questioning incessantly “is the baby mine?”, “is it Leviathan’s?”, “will she keep it?”, “is it safe?”, “how the hell can I ever be a father?”. I can’t even begin to answer that.
I mentally mark my course and venture to climb down the cage.
You hear all that? It’s called HONESTY. A quality you’re incapable of exhibiting. I knew this about you early doors. You’re so petrified of exposing your vulnerable underbelly that you’ll do and say anything to hide it, like a naked fatty in the school gym showers. This is why you fracture off into numerous personalities; you’re too weak to do anything but disassociate. The Havoc Rumble ruined you so thoroughly, like a bloody hymen penetrated by a horse cock, that you splintered into GEE GOSH DARN NICE OL’ William Moor. But you realised you couldn’t convincingly maintain this shtick because it’s so far away from your authentic vile arsehole personality, so you introduced your “scary” clown alter ego, Leviathan. You couldn’t control your latent desire to intimidate little kids so you channeled it into your in ring entity.
Two can play that game. Guillotine is the perfect mirror for Leviathan. The nemesis that reminds you exactly who you are, who you’re not and who you’ll never be. I didn’t metamorphose, I grew. Guillotine’s not a mirage or an avoidance. It’s not a childish intimidation tactic. I’ve always sliced through the veneers and I never stopped into our entanglement. All I did was put on a titfucking mask but you saw what you wanted to see. You thought I was being swept up in the waves of your senseless philosophy because the opposite was too bloodcurdling for you to conceive of. Guillotine didn’t make you tremble at night… but QDT does.
You’re a maestro of lies. The best illusionists use sleights of hand to distract the audience from what’s really going on. The drama and special effects you conjured, calling in a few favours from your production bumchums, served only to sidetrack from the truth that I’ve had the upper hand all along. I deprived you off the Evolution 2 World Title shot you thought you’d cruise to at the Rumble. I flattened you in mere minutes at Glory. All you have over me is a screwjob 123 and, in this ring, that’s all you’ll ever hold.
You believed that sham we called the Dark Tide to be a battle of wills; who will betray who first and most agonisingly. It was never that for me. As I said, I wanted to sit under your learning tree for a while. Of course, you interpreted this as me learning from your voracious competitiveness and in ring mastery. In actuality, I have NOTHING to learn from you in that regard except for bad habits and archaic strategies. No thanks. But, during the charade, I wanted to study you. I wanted to know you. Call it morbid curiosity.
What did I learn? Very little I didn’t already know. Anything supernatural about you is your supernatural ability to peddle such BS to the most feeble lifeforms imaginable, like your acolytes Noah and Cameron. Your pride is staggering. You’re not as skilled or charming as you think you are. You suck the life out of a room whenever you enter it. You snore like a rhino. I don’t think you washed your hair once during my stay at The Home For Wayward Souls.
But most of all? You’re a scared little boy. I first saw it in your eyes whilst you were mid air, hurtling out the ring at Havoc after I clotheslined you to shit. It’s only grown up to this moment and I’m going to enjoy watching you hyperventilate and piss your pants inside this Execution Cage.
My feet hit the padded floor below and I walk to midway up the ramp with the eerie structure as a backdrop.
Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more cowardly, you used Tawny as a proxy to negotiate the only stipulation that gives you a glimmer of hope. If I lose at Execution, I will be banished back to the Cruiserweight division for the entirety of Tawny’s pregnancy.
And so we come full circle… you hope. I wish I’d never dared awaking the Leviathan? Alas, no, you dearly pray you’d never summoned me from my Cruiserweight supremacy. I still remember your shenanigans with your buddy Alex Pasternak in an Eli Lobo mask. You played dumb at the time but it had all the markings of a William Moor stunt - facade, denial and chicanery. That was the biggest mistake you ever made.
If, by some gross injustice you squeak past me at Execution, you would just love to lock me down to a division you’re sheltered from and throw away the key. But like clowns, sea beasts and your capability to be a “nice guy”, this concept is nothing but a fable.
5 months is long enough. It’s time I put Leviathan back to sleep. It’s time for your Execution.
Gonna miss you… “buddy”.
Friday 13th September 2019, 01:13
Fragments of dream and memory intersperse in my slumber. I feel awake but I cannot move a muscle. An acidic sensation fills the room as a music box chimes.
Daddy… help me. I’m stuck!
A baby girl sits at the end of my bed.
You’re not stuck. You’re free.
Suddenly, chains appear around her and her eyes become sewn shut. I shudder.
OK Daddy. I love you.
I love you too. I’ll do anything to protect you. You know that, right? You come first now. Always
You promise?
I promise.
I don’t feel safe here. I’m surrounded by monsters and bad people that want to hurt me.
I know. Just hang in there. When this is all over, I’ll protect you. I’ll take you away from the evil. Trust me.
We’re both sobbing.
Daddy, can I tell you a secret?
Anything, sweetie.
I…
*RING RING!* Crap, that’s the phone. I look up and she’s nowhere to be seen. *RING RING!* I better answer it. Who the fuck’s calling this time of night?
Hello?
…
Who is this?
…
Screw that. I go to hang up when a spectral whisper stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s Tawny.