Post by vespertine on Nov 8, 2023 16:32:10 GMT -5
::Colma. California. 10 minutes south of San Francisco. Where the dead outnumber the living by 5 to 1. It is San Francisco's official graveyard. No more room in the City so Colma is their go to spot. In all there are 10 cemeteries here. One is dedicated to the Chinese workers that helped build the Railroads through the Rockies to California. One is dedicated to the Japanese who helped build up San Francisco's fishing trade. Another one is dedicated to Catholics. There is even a Judaic cemetery. And recently, one opened for muslims, hinduists and Zorastrians. Above each entrance to each cemetery is a quote. They all say different things in different languages but the meaning is quite clear in each of them:
"Peace be to those who rest here."
The gates close at dusk. Nobody wants to disturb the dead after nightfall. Occasional night critters come by, an owl, a bat, a raccoon. Field mice too. Deer often are the primary visitors are night. A coyote, a bobcat and even a mountain lion have been spotted. They are of course the corporeal kind. The incorporeal residents come out too. A little boy wakes, walks around, to go back to sleep in the ground. He died in the 1906 earthquake. An old Japanese grandfather who died while protecting his wife from an attacker gets up, groans as he wanders around before settling back into the afterlife of the Universe. In the back hills, there is even a pet cemetery, where the spirits of dead pets have been spotted trying to find their masters who may or may not be dead themselves.
The gravedigger and his apprentices are done for the night. They aren't afraid of the things that awaken and go bump in the night yet they are tired from digging all day. They turn the lights on in their shed, grab a bite, maybe a drink and then depart for the night. Like death, they lock the door, and turn out the lights.
There is a twisted gnarled oak tree next to one shed. Shortish yet majestic in the way its limbs are twisted and gnarled and gives off an etherealness. The moon is full but won't be for long as the fog from the Bay is coming in. At the base of grandfather Oak, two green neon lights come up (or open as the case maybe.) One blinks out for a second, then comes back into view. Suddenly they move forward. The two lights are Vespertine's eyes. She has strapped on her back a black bass guitar. She is the bass guitarist for her band "Inner Darkness". On this night though, she takes it off her back and starts to strum "Stairway to Heaven" as she walks. Soon she is followed by whatever ghost, ghoul, goblin or other night creature that enjoys music.
As the moon goes behind the fog and the light leaves all in darkness, she walks down a paved road between grave plots, neon green eyes still flaring but she addresses us all the same.::
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ves: Joey. Now how close were you to losing your last match? You go ahead and write it down in that little journal you keep that you won by a half inch dick length, against some Billy Ray Cyrus look alike, with a guitar.
(She holds her bass guitar out for all to see. It's a Les Paul Gibson VI, edition 2. All black with one purple stripe going down the middle. She continues)
He used something like this on you after your match. Unlike Billy though, I respect my instruments, I respect my band mates. I respect the music. But on that same show, I soundly beat Chase Jackson. I saw his soul and took it.
(She stops, shrugs)
I can't keep these country boy names straight. Jimmy Jo Bob Johnson beat Jubal Early Jones Jr. Ole Billy Autry beat Beuter Perkins for the Wholesome County Wide title. I don't know. Seems a tad too hick for me. But what I do know, Joey, is that no matter how good you are, how much of a playah (airquotes) you are, the result remains the same. You saw how I handily took down Chase, right? The same thing will happen to you. I'm not your equal my sweet, I'm your better. I'm your superior. So, Madrox, bring it! Bring your boy toy, JD, your pen, your sketch pad and I guarantee you that when the night is over, when the smoke clears and the dust has settled, the only one remaining with their hand raised in victory will ...
be....
ME!
(She walks again as she plays)
And no, I won't use my guitar to beat you over the head. This is reality and in reality we don't do those things. I can beat anything you bring to the ring any day of the week without the use of a guitar. I'm an extremist. My whole body is a weapon. Think about THAT a second. So, when you write in your sketchpad, you better come up with a plan to beat me because if you don't, you WILL lose.
(She stares intensely into the camera)
YOU are my stepping stone in Action Wrestling. There is no escape, no running, no hiding. I'm here, my sweet, to stay! I'm here to take my place, take control, take over. I'm the creature in the night, in your heart, that you need to face to win. But you won't win. You can't win. You just aren't good enough and you won't go deep enough in your tank of reserves to get that win. I'm just... that.... much.... better.
(Her eyes flare up when she says this)
I see you, Joey, I see your soul...
(She disappears back into the darkness. The moon comes out for a minute before going back behind the fog.)
And it is mine...