Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed...
Aug 4, 2022 4:30:03 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Johnny Bacchus, and 2 more like this
Post by Addy A on Aug 4, 2022 4:30:03 GMT -5
Addy A sits on the steps of the altar, a crucified Jesus is on prominent display behind her. “Big Bad Odin Balfore.” “Ha.” “Ha.” “Ha.” “Welcome to the terrordome, homie. I see you, I know what you’ve done, I know your history. I also know that last time we danced you fell at my feet. And once again, we find ourselves circling each other with another for a title shot, but for that Tatiana can wait. Right now…” “Right now, I’m dealing with you.” “I’m not going to undersell everything you’ve accomplished. That would be remiss and just plain stupid. But, I am going to tell you that you ain’t that man anymore.” “Big Bad Odin died a long long time ago, long before his father died of disappointment. There was a time when people would look at you and run, when they would hear your footsteps and cower in corners, hoping, praying they didn’t earn the ire of Big Bad Odin Balfore.” “Then.” “Not Now.” “There was a time when your stench of cheap liquor and tirade of cheap insults was enough to intimidate, but that era has long passed you by, Big Bad. Now, you’re clinging to relevance like the British monarchy.” “Emperors rise and emperors fall.” “And you’ve fallen hard. Harder than you even care to imagine. From being the pinnacle, to relying on death shots of desperation to beat WALTER, to curling up like a cheap rug against Alice Gemini. You’re relying on history and placeholders like Holden Ross to breathe life into your failing corpse.” “I’m sorry.” “But that’s not good enough.” “Not against me.” “I know. I know. Big Bad. I haven’t got your longevity, yet. Spare me your rhetoric, I’ve heard it… repeated ad nauseum. And here’s the thing, it’s just a line, a self-aggrandising reassurance that you still mean something, that you haven’t burned away to ash, to nothing.” “You may as well have.” “The most memorable moments in history are moments of impact. In your desperate desire to stay relevant you’ve lost all the impact you’ve ever made. You’re frittering away every last ounce of idolisation the lay people have ever held for you. Like every old daaawg lost in time you’re still screaming ‘it's the way I’ve always done it.’ Belligerently holding onto the old country like it was something to value.” “Sorry.” “But it’s you that’s been left behind. It’s you that is standing still, getting passed by the future, because you’re fixated on the past. Fixated on what you’ve done, not what you can do. It’s not cancel culture turning its back on you. It’s you being consigned to the pages of the history books, being buried in the depths of everyone's internet history. I’m not awake, Big Bad.” “You’re asleep.” “But you’re so lost dreaming about your golden era that you can’t even see it. More fool to you, Big Bad.” “But that’s not why you’ve already lost on Clash. Not because an old daaawg can’t learn new tricks, but because you still think your old tricks are good enough and too stubborn to learn. I can already hear you screaming, ‘but it's always worked’. Not this time.” |
Her thoughts had been jumbled since North Dakota, a history she honestly believed was behind her had re-emerged, not from a source that was known to her but one that knew her too well. Initially, she dismissed it without a second thought, but like a loose thread it just hung there, waiting to be unravelled. Every night, she would try to sleep, it would tap against the back of her skull just begging to be entertained. It didn’t matter if she put her head on the pillow sober, or she drowned her thoughts with bottles of tequila. Like a persistent woodpecker it was always there. Knock. Knock. Knock. Rolling over in frustration, Adelaide Ainsworth flung herself out of bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. Stumbling, half-asleep, half-drunk from her earlier evening alcohol consumption, she clumsily turned the light on. Using the wall to momentarily hold her balance she stepped with deliberation to her walk-in wardrobe. Sliding the door open and stepping inside she was confronted by a plethora of outfits that wouldn’t be out of place in any nightclub at three AM. Frantically, Adelaide starts to throw her clothes to the side, one by one. Her actions, clearly that of someone seeking a specific item. Missing her target, she starts sliding the dresses back across the rail one by one as she looks for it. Black dress. No. Slide. Red dress. No. Slide. Ripped jeans. No. Slide. Yellow halter neck. No. Slide. Denim skirt. No Slide. Blue Dress. Yes. Adelaide pulls the dress off the rack, she pulls it from his protective plastic wrapper, holding it in front of her, she admires it like a long forgotten lover. She lovingly caresses the dresses with the fingertips on her left hand, subtly feeling each crease from its time waiting for her to return. She brings it to her face, snuggling her cheek into its contours as it lays across her right forearm. The smells of her many perfumes still linger in the fabric of this, her fabled, favourite blue dress. For her reputation as a party girl, this dress belies her reputation as the three AM drunk dialler and more apt to belonging at the ball as the clock strikes midnight. Adelaide slides her dress over the top of her pink pyjamas, dress though bunched by the cotton singlet and shorts underneath, rests against her body as it should. She twists her waist to appreciate her form. It has been several years since she felt like this. She loses herself in time past. “What’re you wearing, Mummy?” mumbles the sleepy Neveah Ainsworth, rubbing her eyes. Adelaide snaps back to the present. |
Addy is no longer sitting on the steps on the altar, but in the front row of pews looking upon the crucifixion of Christ. “When you put all of our weight in achieving and maintaining a singular goal, you’ll eventually find yourself drowning under your own weight of being. That. That is where you find yourself right now, Tatiana.” “Your lungs aren’t burning from the sea water, yet. But your legs are getting heavy and they are struggling to hold your head above the water line. You will find yourself pulled underneath by my poseidon-like grip on Monday Night Clash.” “With you in my clutches, I can imagine you struggling to break yourself free, arms flailing, legs kicking, screaming for mercy that becomes sobering begging as you realise the fate that is about to befall you. You’ll succumb to the weight of your own expectations, but in your very last moment before you succumb - you’ll come to realise the truth. It wasn’t me pulling you under.” “It was you.” “It’s that realisation that hurts you the most.” “I’m not going to be one to tell the truth will set you free, Tatianna. The truth has caused me more problems than it has ever solved, but I will tell you the truth. Your own chains are what are holding back, binding yourself to the Television Title, binding yourself to homeland, binding yourself to Hope. You’ve made yourself as much a slave as those bought across to the seas. You’ve become subservient and you can’t find a way free of the prison of your own creation.” “That’s the truth, Tatianna.” “While it can be overwhelming when the prize you value most is within your grasp, but out of your reach, you can’t be blinded by the illusion of grandeur to the point that you're stuck with tunnel vision staring at the headlights of a semi trailer coming to run you over.” “It’s not death you need to rise from, TJ.” “That’s the easy escape from your cycle of diminishing returns. It's the ability to rise from your repeated failures that’s the difficult part of the process. You’ve shown the bounce-back factor, but anyone can reach for the sky on a trampoline, Tatiana.” “Now you’re on this slippery slide - what’re you going to do?” “You can grit your teeth and grind your nails against the cold steel to fight your way back or you can sit there and cry about it. The former gets you respect, the latter gets you cast aside like Johnny’s used condoms - forgotten like last week’s trash. What you do about it is your choice but you’re not using me to arrest your career’s struggle with gravity.” “In spite of everything I am and everything that’s said about me, the one thing I am not - is your rehab. I’m not here to pick up the pieces of your soul because your ego can’t process pain other than quitting in the face of adversity. I am taking the first step to making the Television Title mine and you just happen to be in the way and I don’t feel sorry for you.” |
