I know who I am. Who are you?
Mar 13, 2022 13:56:06 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Carter Shaw, and 5 more like this
Post by ππ’π₯ππ¬ πππππ on Mar 13, 2022 13:56:06 GMT -5
"So, how was it?!" she asks, "I knew you needed to go back home. You've been away for so long."
Standing in his Minneapolis apartment, Corey Black drops his backpack on the floor and looks out the floor to ceiling windows. The city is covered in snow, reflecting twinkles of light from the tall towers and neon lights.
"I know who I am," he says, as he closes his eyes. She smiles. Inside, he's hollow. But he opens his eyes and smiles back.
"And who are you, Mister King?" she questions, playfully putting her fist into his shoulder. He sells it, stumbling backward. "C'mon, tell me!" she says, striking a very Mortal Kombat pose. His demeanor changes. No longer smiling, no longer selling the playful shot. She notices, freezing her stands and dropping her arms.
"Oh no.." she eeks out, barely letting it pass her lips. Corey crumples onto the couch, sitting there looking out across the vast white snow blanketed land, all the way to the horizon.
"It's who I am," he says confidently but near vacant, "who I was, who I always will be. I should have known."
He is lost in his own mind, everything he thought he knew was broken into pieces before his very eyes.
In the hours following Monday Night Clash: Casino Night, Atlantic City is the brightest it has been in a while. Celebrities line the streets as they've exited the Jim Whelan Boardwalk Hall, some waiting to head back to NYC, some looking around for a place to continue the party. Wrestlers from AW trickle out to join the parties, a big group goes to cross the street but the light turns green, the amber hand appears and in a flash a black car flies by them, hanging a left and sliding through the intersection on it's way south. Inside, the over sized poker chip rustles around in the back seat, Corey Black at the wheel. His foot meets the floor as his car accelerates down a lonely dark street. It starts low, but Corey's elongated scream reaches a guttural growl. Green light, green light, yellow light.. red light. It's after the red light Corey finally lets off the gas and literally stands on the brake, sending white smoke off the ground as his car slides and comes to a stop sideways on the road. He's breathing heavy, his mind running even faster than his vehicle was. But it's silent. The engine and Corey both have stopped exuding themselves. He hangs a sharp but controlled left turn, toward the airport.
He pulls in and parks, just sitting there for a moment. Contemplating. In this quiet time, his mind races. One step away from getting what he's wanted for years. One fucking step. All he has to do is beat Dandy DiVito. He reaches back and grabs his bag, it's a bookbag with his gear and other travel essentials. On the side, there's a zipped up pocket which he pulls open. Inside, a small box. He grasps it, opening to look inside at its contents. It's the same small box he's had for a while now. In a flash, he closes it and drops it back in the pocket, securing the zipper and opening the car door. He heads toward the airport entrance.
"Alright, it's time I ask again, Corey Black.. who are you?"
Corey and Taylor are sitting on his couch. Some time has passed since he arrived back home from Atlantic City, the poker chip is sitting on the table behind them. Corey stands up, his blue t-shirt with white lettering reads 'Burning Hammer Dojo' in death metal font, his gray joggers rest around his waist and his white and blue Adidas shoes cling to the floor. Taylor stands too, she's wearing a loose shirt and shorts, casual night in the apartment. The conversation, though, is anything but. Corey walks over to the windows, floor to ceiling and turns back inward.
"I'm the Son of Death. It was what caused my father to.. and when I was born, it was him," he says, nearly stammering, "that's why I'm so drawn to it and the village and the stories. It's fucking stupid, I know."
"It's not stupid," she says, "it's not your fault. You were saddled with this from day one. But it doesn't define you. You've gone years as yourself and you've done so much more than you ever did before."
"I've been living a lie!" he shouts, turning and slamming his fist on the window, "and the only place I can turn it off and feel fucking normal is.. is when there's someone standing across the ring from me, trying to beat me."
"You've been living your truth. Now that you know, deep down what's inside you, you can rewrite your meaning. You can scrap it all and be a new person. The person you were when you thought it wasn't part of you anymore. Than man that achieved more in his time than anyone would have predicted twenty years ago - and do it for another twenty," she confidently states. He nods.
"It isn't closure, though, it's just - I don't know," Corey says, walking back over and dropping into the couch. "It won't bring anyone back. I think about them all the time, you know. How they'll never know what I've done and I'll never know what they would have."
"They'd be great people today," she says, "I'd have loved to meet them."
"I don't know how you put up with this shit," he says with surprise in his voice, "I'm a walking horror movie with nothing but pain in my ledger."
She just smiles at him. Places her hand on his. Takes it all away. Moments pass, he glances back at his bag.
"What's over there?" she asks, not knowing what he's looking at.
He pauses. For what feels like an eternity he wrestles back and forth in his mind. Now? Do it? No, it's not the right time. But when is?
...
"I was just checking the time, I have a flight to catch," he lets out, she nods and stands up, grabbing his bag for him, he takes it from her and slings it over his shoulder.
"Bring it home. Not for me, not for us, but for you. Don't think about what you think you are, it isn't you. Not anymore. Those kinds of myths aren't real unless you dwell on them."
Standing in his Minneapolis apartment, Corey Black drops his backpack on the floor and looks out the floor to ceiling windows. The city is covered in snow, reflecting twinkles of light from the tall towers and neon lights.
"I know who I am," he says, as he closes his eyes. She smiles. Inside, he's hollow. But he opens his eyes and smiles back.
"And who are you, Mister King?" she questions, playfully putting her fist into his shoulder. He sells it, stumbling backward. "C'mon, tell me!" she says, striking a very Mortal Kombat pose. His demeanor changes. No longer smiling, no longer selling the playful shot. She notices, freezing her stands and dropping her arms.
"Oh no.." she eeks out, barely letting it pass her lips. Corey crumples onto the couch, sitting there looking out across the vast white snow blanketed land, all the way to the horizon.
"It's who I am," he says confidently but near vacant, "who I was, who I always will be. I should have known."
He is lost in his own mind, everything he thought he knew was broken into pieces before his very eyes.
LATER
In the hours following Monday Night Clash: Casino Night, Atlantic City is the brightest it has been in a while. Celebrities line the streets as they've exited the Jim Whelan Boardwalk Hall, some waiting to head back to NYC, some looking around for a place to continue the party. Wrestlers from AW trickle out to join the parties, a big group goes to cross the street but the light turns green, the amber hand appears and in a flash a black car flies by them, hanging a left and sliding through the intersection on it's way south. Inside, the over sized poker chip rustles around in the back seat, Corey Black at the wheel. His foot meets the floor as his car accelerates down a lonely dark street. It starts low, but Corey's elongated scream reaches a guttural growl. Green light, green light, yellow light.. red light. It's after the red light Corey finally lets off the gas and literally stands on the brake, sending white smoke off the ground as his car slides and comes to a stop sideways on the road. He's breathing heavy, his mind running even faster than his vehicle was. But it's silent. The engine and Corey both have stopped exuding themselves. He hangs a sharp but controlled left turn, toward the airport.
He pulls in and parks, just sitting there for a moment. Contemplating. In this quiet time, his mind races. One step away from getting what he's wanted for years. One fucking step. All he has to do is beat Dandy DiVito. He reaches back and grabs his bag, it's a bookbag with his gear and other travel essentials. On the side, there's a zipped up pocket which he pulls open. Inside, a small box. He grasps it, opening to look inside at its contents. It's the same small box he's had for a while now. In a flash, he closes it and drops it back in the pocket, securing the zipper and opening the car door. He heads toward the airport entrance.
"I know who Dandy DiVito is. In a world of miscreants and rats, none are dirtier. Even the lowest scum on the totem pole look at this man with a side gaze. The kind of person people cross the street to walk on the other side to avoid. You can see it in his face; the anger, the disdain.. the pain. It's hard telling who exactly hurt Dandy DiVito. And really, it doesn't matter. Rumors are his family are back together, his brother showing up and becoming Dandy's hype man added some octane to the whispers. The golden child, the one who didn't turn his back on everything to pursue dreams of fame. The apple of daddy's eye. Richie lives large, balls out, has sportscars and models on his arm. Dandy lives in the low down swamps of Jacksonville and, luckily, didn't get someone pregnant. That we know of. The family dynamic isn't what causes him pain, though, he's too oblivious to see it. He's latched on, again, at the teet of someone else and it's just benefitting Dandy until it isn't and a knife is slowly placed in the backs of everyone around him. Rinse, repeat, die. Dandy DiVito's pain comes from Dandy DiVito. He's a fucking leech. A leech that will have its guts splattered across the bottom of my boot." As the darkness breaks, Corey Black is seen standing in front of the stacked rows of television screens which all turn on, fading in to life from a still, calm black to now displaying various blurry and poorly taken images of Dandy himself. Corey is wearing a three piece suit, all black in color. Gone is the insecurity of his day to day life, instead he's laser focused on his task. "But he's a fighter. He's tried to blaze his own path and by hook or by crook he's the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. He's got a fast track to the main event of Evolution and his name is in lights next to mine at Battlebowl. I could shoot my shot and day he doesn't deserve this - but he knows it. I could say he's a stain on the business and life as a whole - he knows that too. I could list every single accomplishment I've ever done and used that as leverage to put the doubt in his mind that he can beat someone like me - but he knows he can't. He just chooses not to believe it. This profession is filled with men and women that won't tip the hat until you've tipped it for them. A broken neck wouldn't tip Dandy's hat unless it was for himself. God, everyone is out here talking about how Lissie Hope is the whore and using everyone around her.. Dandy DiVito is a protowhore, the kind of slut other sluts should try to mimic to maximize their game. Up and down this roster is filled with people that Dandy has sucked off and fucked over. Until he's met with real man to man shit. It was by my hand that Walter was destroyed. My strength was instrumental in vanquishing Philidor Holdings. I boosted the stock of Frank Venable and Graham Baker. There's countless other ventures I have pursued and accomplished while Dandy spent his days zonked and feeding on everyone that gave him a fair shot. That's not a World Champion. That's a world-class criminal. Legalized bullying. Tne only thing he knows how to do. Using every advantage he can to get ahead in life and once he reaches the end of his trail - he hires a Ronan to do the grime work like a fucking Don. A paid hit while he stood back and watched. His hands couldn't get dirty, not because he doesn't want to, but because he didn't need to. And when the dominoes all fell, as did Don DiVito. CJ Phoenix took his pound of flesh, a well deserved and long awaited destruction of this shithawk. And on that same Clash, Casino Night, I took my Championship claim down from twenty feet. As Dandy's life flashed before his eyes and he hardly escaped his destiny, he watched as the main event scene in Action Wrestling all were forced to bend a knee. On his back, Dandy watched as his title reign had an expiration date attached to it. I'm traveling the landscape honing my craft, learning new techniques even after two decades and carrying the Action Wrestling flag to destination after destination. I've got some of the biggest names in and outside this place tugging at my pants, begging for a contest inside the sacred ropes. All while here at home, a Jackson Pollock tattooed, slack-jawed rodent resides over all." Corey leans against the wall on the right as the television screens fade to the logo of the show of shows. He grins, looking to his left into the lens once again. "I'd love to shove my elbow through this bitch's mandible and fix whatever impediment he has, but, he's known better than to fuck with the King. I've sat back and watched him lead Alex Richards along, lead The Following along, hell, lead Sam Kidsgrove along and yet in all this time, in all these years, it seems like the one soul Dandy DiVito has not stuck his foot out in front of is.. well, me. An unchallenged throne awaits. I'm here. In the big boy's sandbox. And I'm standing right fucking in front of you, DiVito. The thing you have to remember is that this sandbox doesn't need to see my face every week to be mine. I don't have to compensate for anything by trying to take CJ Phoenix out only to get absolutely humbled in the process. Does it sting to have this beast at your disposal, he cleans up CJ and then your clock gets sprung forward ten years into CTE territory with a chair to the dome? Of course it doesn't, you have absolutely no shame. No sense of true self-worth, not enough to feel it, anyway. I made it no secret that this right here, what we have going on, it's about the Evolution main event. I'm not interested in spending another two hours in Havoc. I'll do it if I have to, but the way this one's gonna go - it'll be you scratching and clawing through the roster to try to get into that main event with me. Where I belong. It's who I am, Dandy. I'm the best wrestler this company, that company, anybody will ever see. But I'm also a flawed man. One that can admit that he isn't an ideal person. Nobody is perfect and I'm far from it. I've got bones in my closet I hope nobody ever uncovers but I carry that weight with me. I shoulder that shit and I bite down to take the axe to the wood. If putting down someone that, frankly, should have been put down years ago gets me to where I want to be, well, call me Dandy DiVito. I'm about to put a blade in this guy's neck to get what I want. You see it as a bigger payday, a chance to rub shoulders with folks you can manipulate. A cover story in a magazine, influencers will see it and you'll be surrounded by money, gold, cars and mansions - even more so than you are now. That's well and good, it's a viable place of passion within you and your vastly empty heart. It's just misguided. Your trajectory, no matter how much you try to fenagle the angle, always lands back at Earth. You will come tumbling down and have to rebuild your ship time and time again. You're reckless, you're negligent.. you're a tragedy. Over and over and over. You reach the stars just long enough to get that taste before a malfunction inevitably turns your trip through the cosmos into a pile of debris. That's when you have to turn outward, forge faux bonds and cut them away faster than your own family did. I, Dandy, have never landed in my twenty one years in this sport. I've never plateaued, I've never been stagnant. Always moving forward, upward and onward. Bigger, better, greater things. A near constant barrage of things nobody believed I'd ever do. Record breaking title reigns, branching out and getting out of my comfort zone, building this Action Wrestling brand up to reach the great heights it has reached - and only two things really remain. That Evolution Main Event is mine. Havoc will have to wait a couple years. I don't plan on losing the World Title after I murk this bitch. And the only thing I have to do is break this motherfucker in half. The job is half done, between the shit he's put through his body and the shit his body has been through, I'll bisect and flay this goof like a high school science project, then I'll handle Tati Jolee's moxie request for a match with the best in the company like a true champion would - with a Burning Hammer and a one, two, three. This man had the audacity to take to Twitter and type into the everblack that he's the greatest. Him. Dandy DiVito. Four time World Champion, most of anyone here in the company, putting his flag down on the greatest. Get the fuck out of here. Walking around like you deserve to be acknowledged. Like you earned anything more than the concussion you got at Casino Night and the multiple I'm about to give you at Battlebowl. After that the only thing you deserve it a bullet between the eyes, you rotten piece of shit. Send Ronan, send lil Richie, send the whole fuckin' Gang DiVito, there isn't an ARMY large enough to protect you long enough to get you into the Evolution main event and keep that belt around your methly small waist. Start from ashes again, begin anew and do what you do best, Dandy. You've done it before and you'll certainly do it again. Just continue to stay the fuck out of my way. As brash and forthcoming as you are, I am your opposite. I am patient. I am willing to let it all play out and when the time is right, the King will always conquer. You have to try control your own narrative while I - I, Dandy, dictate." Corey steps out in front of the wall, reaching to his left into the darkness and pulling out a crown. He doesn't place it on his head, instead Corey holds it in both hands and looks down upon it. "This has been my defining factor. Above championships, above companies, beyond my wildest dreams.. so many have discredited my status in this sport and they've all learned that one time or another, that knee will be bent. It's almost a built in place of contention at this point, isn't it? I've heard from better men than you, Dandy, that being the King means nothing to someone like you. That they would take this crown from my head and I'd be left nothing more than a jester. A laughing stock at the bottom of a moat." Corey extends his hands, moving the crown closer to the lens. "Come take this from me, Dandy. Be the greatest of all time, defeat the King and deny him a place in the most prestigious contest in our craft. Nobody in the ladder match could do it and I'd argue they each had a better chance than you do. There was two rail thin women in that contest, there were two former World Champions, there was a fire-filled returning star that wanted nothing more than to prove his worth and Dion also was there, someone that had the most to gain and the least to lose. I challenged them to take this from me and they fucking couldn't. What, other than your misguided belief that you are better than everyone makes you truly think that you have what it takes to walk down MY aisle into MY ring and deny MY best chance at obtaining MY goal? Is it the talking heads you have surrounded yourself with? The yes man that does a better job hyping you up than Flavor Flav did Public Enemy? Is it that behemoth on your payroll that will jump when you command it and send a nail through a board with his own bare hands? No, Dandy, it isn't any of those. You have to believe it because if you don't, nobody else will. Nobody has believed in you your whole life. You've had to make others believe by way of your own fucking hubris. Creating that aura by shoving kids in the dirt, getting in fights with adults and it got so bad that walking away from your priveladged life only to fail and fail and fail some more was the path that looked most enticing to you. I know who you are, Dandy DiVito. You're a myth. You're a hoax played by yourself, on yourself, and you believe it just enough to make it viable. I won't claim to be the man to open your eyes to it, you got yourself a taste when someone else put a baby in your old lady. You started to have a sense of worth, a reason to give a fuck about something other than yourself and in true Dandy DiVito fashion - that spaceship turned into a motherfucking fireball. You've had your 'main event match' that amounted to about as much as we thought it would from you and Roy Speede. It was another feather, no matter how matted and shitty, you could put in your cap to feed this off-base agenda you have with yourself. Getting over how you're worthy of being talked about with names like D-Day, Gravedigger and Corey fuckin' Black. Myths aren't kings. They can't hold this crown. They aren't biggest show, biggest match material. Strip away that myth and we're left with boring ol' rich kid Dan, sitting in his home studio making beats out of old songs and trying to mumble his way onto Death Row Records with six hits on SoundCloud. In a life filled with lies, the worst one you've told is to yourself. You told yourself this is who you are and you agreed. You believed it. I don't believe in you." Corey steps back to the left and puts the crown down, coming back into frame empty handed. He shows his palms to the lens, a toothy grin forms. "That will stay put and in its place will be the thing that puts the false sense of hope in Dandy's heart, the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship. In his hands, a weapon of hate and malice. In mine, an aspiration of heights never before seen. At Evolution, the winner of Havoc won't have a fable to deal with. They'll battle a king for all the glory. A chance at immortality awaits. For you, DiVito - I don't give a fuck what your future holds. Needle in your arm, bullet in your brain, neck broken in half.. hell you could go on to be Governor of Florida, whatever your fate is, you'll have a justification for it. In your final moments, I want you to think back to the time you tried to deny a king. When your own crazy delusions led you to what is the biggest match of your life and you were left broken. And what happened when you failed. When everything YOU believed fell apart like a dry birthday cake. Crumbling through your fingers and littering the floor with what could have been. I'm the King of All Wrestlers, Dandy. It isn't hyperbole. It isn't a myth. It's impending on you. Stop me from taking the World Title.. and being in the Evo main event. Just fucking try and stop me." All the screens turn off at once, leaving Corey in darkness once again. He hesitates, reaching for the left wall to push open the exit but he doesn't yet. Instead he stands here, complete darkness, total silence. Just.. being. A few moments pass and he breathes in deep, pushing the door open and leaving through it. |
"Alright, it's time I ask again, Corey Black.. who are you?"
Corey and Taylor are sitting on his couch. Some time has passed since he arrived back home from Atlantic City, the poker chip is sitting on the table behind them. Corey stands up, his blue t-shirt with white lettering reads 'Burning Hammer Dojo' in death metal font, his gray joggers rest around his waist and his white and blue Adidas shoes cling to the floor. Taylor stands too, she's wearing a loose shirt and shorts, casual night in the apartment. The conversation, though, is anything but. Corey walks over to the windows, floor to ceiling and turns back inward.
"I'm the Son of Death. It was what caused my father to.. and when I was born, it was him," he says, nearly stammering, "that's why I'm so drawn to it and the village and the stories. It's fucking stupid, I know."
"It's not stupid," she says, "it's not your fault. You were saddled with this from day one. But it doesn't define you. You've gone years as yourself and you've done so much more than you ever did before."
"I've been living a lie!" he shouts, turning and slamming his fist on the window, "and the only place I can turn it off and feel fucking normal is.. is when there's someone standing across the ring from me, trying to beat me."
"You've been living your truth. Now that you know, deep down what's inside you, you can rewrite your meaning. You can scrap it all and be a new person. The person you were when you thought it wasn't part of you anymore. Than man that achieved more in his time than anyone would have predicted twenty years ago - and do it for another twenty," she confidently states. He nods.
"It isn't closure, though, it's just - I don't know," Corey says, walking back over and dropping into the couch. "It won't bring anyone back. I think about them all the time, you know. How they'll never know what I've done and I'll never know what they would have."
"They'd be great people today," she says, "I'd have loved to meet them."
"I don't know how you put up with this shit," he says with surprise in his voice, "I'm a walking horror movie with nothing but pain in my ledger."
She just smiles at him. Places her hand on his. Takes it all away. Moments pass, he glances back at his bag.
"What's over there?" she asks, not knowing what he's looking at.
He pauses. For what feels like an eternity he wrestles back and forth in his mind. Now? Do it? No, it's not the right time. But when is?
...
"I was just checking the time, I have a flight to catch," he lets out, she nods and stands up, grabbing his bag for him, he takes it from her and slings it over his shoulder.
"Bring it home. Not for me, not for us, but for you. Don't think about what you think you are, it isn't you. Not anymore. Those kinds of myths aren't real unless you dwell on them."