The Key That Breaks The Lock. (998 words)
Dec 13, 2020 14:16:04 GMT -5
Stuart Slane, Max f'n Daemon, and 1 more like this
Post by Downfall on Dec 13, 2020 14:16:04 GMT -5
Hands grope among the bric-a-brac on an old dresser as we open, and for a moment he doesn’t think he’ll find it. But then, he extracts the key. A small, almost insignificant key, but it’s handle is an intricately carved heart. He holds the key up to eye level, and regards the diary in his hands.
He turns the key in the lock.
"You ever wonder how much of our lives is locked away in manners such as this? How much we hide so that the past gives no one, not even the fractured portions of our own minds, power over ourselves."
"If we are who we are and our choices define us, Dionysus always made that choice that holds him back, because deep-down he's just too weak to stomach the idea that he'll have to step up to expend effort on a weekly basis. He couldn't do it; If he did win the TV title from Ash Blake, then he'd be in a place where he couldn't flake when things got too tough. He couldn't sit in the background and let his little amnesia bit play out in the background like a third-rate showing of Memento on the movies that suck channel. He'd have to come out here, prove his case, and talk about why he's the man to beat. Well, Dionysus? Why's that? Because you're an "agent of chaos", as you claimed to be against Ash?"
He snorts derisively.
"Dionysus, you're about as chaotic as a high-school girl dying her hair at 3 am in a manic state. All of your accoutrements speak about someone who just flings shit against the wall to see what sticks. Couldn't make it as a thespian gimmick, so I put on Spartacus cosplay and called myself Crimson. Couldn't be taken seriously as a hardcore fighter, so I got concussed and came back as an amnesiac. And everyone who's passed you by meanwhile, they have levels of grit and toughness that you can never match."
"Because we are who we are. I eagerly await your assessment of me, seeing if you even deign to show up until bell time; Because there isn't a damn thing you can say to me or about me that I can't counter with the fact that I defeated the unbeatable Ash Blake fairly and on her terms, while you, a two-hundred seventy five pound giant with pretensions of being a gladiatorial warrior got thrashed soundly. I'll ring that fucking bell from now till Doomsday, I ended the streak. I'm the one who does the impossible. You?"
"You're always the person who could have so much potential. Damn that faint praise, maybe you show a spark of brilliance some weeks, maybe you'll try really hard and come off good even in defeat. Or maybe you wear a fat suit and whale hat and be the talk of the town for precisely one week before the novelty of your premise wears off and you realize that you have to commit to continuing development and growth, and you aren't strong enough to sustain that."
"And let's never forget... I'm the one who put you where you are right now. You were directionless and facing the Chad Fords of the world, and I pushed you and engaged you to try harder. And you didn't, you sent out a stunt double and hid from a real fight with me. Then I broke your fucking head and left you laying in a hospital bed. So everything that is attributable to your current state is all because you just didn't have it in you to fight when I came down hard on you. And now that you're not holding back anymore... why? Was it some pep talk given to you by Blake? Or was it because you saw me looming in your rear view mirror, and once again after you'd broken you used me as motivation to pick yourself back up! "
"And NOW, will you want to speak out and call me on my negative actions, prodded by the tantalizing carrot of this gold belt I'm hanging in front of you? I'm openly tempting you now, holding out your one chance at finally proving something to the world now, be the man with that spark every week, level up to God-mode and try and take it from me. It still won't work. You can bring your absolute most genius concept, your cuttingest most in-depth assessment of me as a person, and it still won't be enough, because we are who we are, and I stand on a plateau you will never reach in your fucking life. You can try, and once again you might just get that good attaboy you fought so hard before falling, but the outcome now is going to be the same as when I sent you through that table."
"This is not a grudge match. THIS IS WAR, motherfucker! And it's a war by god I'll win."
His voice rising like a hurricane wind, his eyes are blazing coals set inside his face. Each last word is a whipcrack of stentorian thunder.
He replaces the strap around the diary, fitting the clasp, and he takes that small silver key, putting it in the lock. And, with a quick twist, he breaks the key off inside of it.
"With my own two hands, I am going to break you. I am going to come at you like nothing you've ever seen before in your life. Prepare yourself and dig in deep, when I finally and irrevocably fuck you up everyone will see it for what it is. You think you're walking through a threshold this week... but I am gonna slam the door in your face, and break the key off in the lock to keep you out."
"Welcome back to the School of Punishment, Dionysus."
He stands, and walks out of the room, leaving that diary with it's broken key as a small, quiet memento of his passing.
He turns the key in the lock.
"You ever wonder how much of our lives is locked away in manners such as this? How much we hide so that the past gives no one, not even the fractured portions of our own minds, power over ourselves."
"If we are who we are and our choices define us, Dionysus always made that choice that holds him back, because deep-down he's just too weak to stomach the idea that he'll have to step up to expend effort on a weekly basis. He couldn't do it; If he did win the TV title from Ash Blake, then he'd be in a place where he couldn't flake when things got too tough. He couldn't sit in the background and let his little amnesia bit play out in the background like a third-rate showing of Memento on the movies that suck channel. He'd have to come out here, prove his case, and talk about why he's the man to beat. Well, Dionysus? Why's that? Because you're an "agent of chaos", as you claimed to be against Ash?"
He snorts derisively.
"Dionysus, you're about as chaotic as a high-school girl dying her hair at 3 am in a manic state. All of your accoutrements speak about someone who just flings shit against the wall to see what sticks. Couldn't make it as a thespian gimmick, so I put on Spartacus cosplay and called myself Crimson. Couldn't be taken seriously as a hardcore fighter, so I got concussed and came back as an amnesiac. And everyone who's passed you by meanwhile, they have levels of grit and toughness that you can never match."
"Because we are who we are. I eagerly await your assessment of me, seeing if you even deign to show up until bell time; Because there isn't a damn thing you can say to me or about me that I can't counter with the fact that I defeated the unbeatable Ash Blake fairly and on her terms, while you, a two-hundred seventy five pound giant with pretensions of being a gladiatorial warrior got thrashed soundly. I'll ring that fucking bell from now till Doomsday, I ended the streak. I'm the one who does the impossible. You?"
"You're always the person who could have so much potential. Damn that faint praise, maybe you show a spark of brilliance some weeks, maybe you'll try really hard and come off good even in defeat. Or maybe you wear a fat suit and whale hat and be the talk of the town for precisely one week before the novelty of your premise wears off and you realize that you have to commit to continuing development and growth, and you aren't strong enough to sustain that."
"And let's never forget... I'm the one who put you where you are right now. You were directionless and facing the Chad Fords of the world, and I pushed you and engaged you to try harder. And you didn't, you sent out a stunt double and hid from a real fight with me. Then I broke your fucking head and left you laying in a hospital bed. So everything that is attributable to your current state is all because you just didn't have it in you to fight when I came down hard on you. And now that you're not holding back anymore... why? Was it some pep talk given to you by Blake? Or was it because you saw me looming in your rear view mirror, and once again after you'd broken you used me as motivation to pick yourself back up! "
"And NOW, will you want to speak out and call me on my negative actions, prodded by the tantalizing carrot of this gold belt I'm hanging in front of you? I'm openly tempting you now, holding out your one chance at finally proving something to the world now, be the man with that spark every week, level up to God-mode and try and take it from me. It still won't work. You can bring your absolute most genius concept, your cuttingest most in-depth assessment of me as a person, and it still won't be enough, because we are who we are, and I stand on a plateau you will never reach in your fucking life. You can try, and once again you might just get that good attaboy you fought so hard before falling, but the outcome now is going to be the same as when I sent you through that table."
"This is not a grudge match. THIS IS WAR, motherfucker! And it's a war by god I'll win."
His voice rising like a hurricane wind, his eyes are blazing coals set inside his face. Each last word is a whipcrack of stentorian thunder.
He replaces the strap around the diary, fitting the clasp, and he takes that small silver key, putting it in the lock. And, with a quick twist, he breaks the key off inside of it.
"With my own two hands, I am going to break you. I am going to come at you like nothing you've ever seen before in your life. Prepare yourself and dig in deep, when I finally and irrevocably fuck you up everyone will see it for what it is. You think you're walking through a threshold this week... but I am gonna slam the door in your face, and break the key off in the lock to keep you out."
"Welcome back to the School of Punishment, Dionysus."
He stands, and walks out of the room, leaving that diary with it's broken key as a small, quiet memento of his passing.