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Author Topic: -Heart- [II of II vs Trey]  (Read 336 times)

Entragian

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-Heart- [II of II vs Trey]
« on: September 17, 2014, 10:16:57 PM »


“I’m a monster,” said the shadow of the Marquess suddenly. “Everyone says so.”

The Minotaur glanced up at her. “So are we all, dear,” said the Minotaur kindly.

“The thing to decide is what kind of monster to be. The kind who builds towns or the kind who breaks them.”

― Catherynne M. Valente



It’s day.

He sits in that same plastic chair that he sat in during his last visit to Lovelock Correctional Facility. She’s on the other side of the plexiglass just like last time. She wears the same orange jumpsuit just like last time. She has the same worn, washed out look in her eyes as last time.

Gaunt: Why do you keep coming here? Why do you send me money?

She rubs a hand across a face that lacks make-up, a face cratered with new little scars from new little battles.

Entragian: Just wanted to see you. Just…want to try and help.

She laughs. It is hollow, broken…a giggle that lacks any real amusement.

Gaunt: You can’t help me, Isaac. You can’t even help yourself…

She shakes her head, sighing. She picks at the chipped black nail polish on her ragged fingernails.

Gaunt: It’s in your voice. It’s in your face. I knew it from the first time you came here…

Entragian: You knew what?

Gaunt: Trey’s right. You have lost your teeth…

She lets the receiver drop, the thud reverberating through the plexiglass.

It’s night.

A few weak rays of moonlight slant through the window, illuminating the hospital room and the frail form of the boy lying in the little bed.

Isaac sits by his bed. He leans forward. Jack’s voice is nothing but a whisper in the darkness.

Jack: Hurts tonight.

Entragian: Should I go?

Jack twists his head weakly from side to side on the pillow.

Jack: Stay. Lean close…

Isaac leans closer.

Jack: Show me.

Jack gestures to Isaac’s teeth…and The Pale Rider opens up his mouth and displays his razor-tipped chompers. Jack smiles, the burnt flesh around his mouth stretching thin.

He reaches up with a small hand; the fingers fused together…and lightly touches a few of the sharp tips of Isaac’s teeth.

Jack: I still see them.

Isaac leans back, smiling a little.

Entragian: I think he means…on a symbolic level.

Jack is silent for awhile, seeming to fight against the pain in order to get the right words out.

Jack: Maybe you did lose them along the way. And maybe…Trey found them.

Another pause.

Jack: Trey lost something too, though. And you’ve found what he lost…

Jack’s hand reaches downward, the fused fingers falling against Isaac’s chest.

The little hand presses against the black cloth of his dress shirt…

The hand remains there, marking the monster’s heartbeat.



Perspective is everything, Trey.

It defines history. It’s paramount to how you leave your mark on the world. Your legacy is written based on the eyes of those that see you. Your actions, your morals, your decisions…it all becomes your story.

If you’re a great hero that has saved millions of human lives on the battlefield, the eyes of those you’ve saved see you as a saint, a savior...

But if that great hero is seen from the eyes of a rat, things take on a different view. The rat, bleeding and dying in the hero’s metal trap, can only look up into heavens and see a monster that blots out all light. A thing of incredibly cruelty…that picks it up, trap and all…only to throw it out into the cold where it’s mangled form lands painfully on the frozen ground.

No one set of eyes will ever see you quite the same as you see yourself or the same as others see you. It’s all subjective.

Just as one person’s trash is another person’s treasure, one person’s hero is another person’s monster.

That is the complexity of life.

Just as you’ve never seen it from my point of view…I’ve never seen it from yours. I’ve told you before that it’s hard for me to sympathize with your plight because I never gained and lost the love of the people. I suppose it could be said that they’re “warming” up to me a bit now…but it’ll be a long time before I’ve gained any love or trust from the masses. That’s understandable.

I imagine…that it sucks, though. I imagine that you feel like you’ve been chewed up and spit out. I imagine that you feel replaced. I imagine that you feel as though you’re a victim of the SHOOT Project machine, warped and twisted in an attempt to bear the weight of this place on your shoulders for such a long time.

You were a defender.

People believed in you, people looked up to you; people were INSPIRED by you…

And I can’t argue with you, Trey. You’re 100% right…

I have lost my teeth.

We all lose things along the way. Bits and pieces of ourselves, some more important than others. You’ve lost something too. Something that gave you strength. Something that drove you forward. Something that gave you the tenacity and the endurance to ALWAYS fight no matter the unbearable odds.

You’ve lost something far more important, Trey.

You’ve lost your heart.

And that has always been the greatest flame to ever burn within the Wayward Son. That has always been your power. That has always been your passion. That heart…is the reason you triumphed against evil time and time again. It’s the reason you stomped SCAR beneath your heel and propelled yourself forward the last time you won Master of the Mat.

It is the reason you have always beaten me.

It is the reason that the people rallied behind you and loved you and cheered for you and YEARNED for you to capture the happy ending that you so rightfully deserved.

And you’ve lost it. You let that fire die. You let bitterness snuff it out. You let envy overcome your passion. You let hatred turn your heart to stone.

And Trey…as much as you want to blame me for that, as much as you want to blame SCAR for that…you can’t. We were nothing more than a challenge that you overcame. I was a battle that you won.

I was a monster that you slew.

SCAR was a beast left bleeding and conquered as you blazed by, nearly slain by the hand of the hero. The trajectory of your path after SCAR…was defined solely by your own actions. Your own choices. Your own failures and how you chose to react to those failures. Now you can project all of that onto me…you can say I turned off the light on SHOOT Project’s back porch so that the Wayward Son would never find his way back again.

But you know that’s a lie.

You turned off that light yourself.

You are responsible for turning your back on the fans. You are responsible for the path you now walk. You are ACCOUNTABLE, Trey…for everything you do and everything that you have done.

I know a thing or two about accountability.

And I also know…that there are TONS of people in this world that I should drop to my knees in front of and beg forgiveness from. I can admit that. People I’ve hurt, people I’ve crippled, people I’ve betrayed…people that deserve my regret.

You aren’t one of them, Trey.

I will never apologize to you.

I will never be the scapegoat that you need me to be.

Look inward, Wayward Son…

Look past the bitterness encrusting your soul, shake off the flakes of jealousy that have frozen your heart…and realize something about yourself.

The monster that you are becoming…is the monster you have decided to become.

No one forced this transformation. No one else is responsible for shutting off the lights and opening the door that leads to blackness. You’ve done this to yourself. You’ve opened this door. You THINK…it’s going to yield better results. You think it’s going to change your life and your career. You’re seduced by what lies beyond that door. I’ve been there…I know.

I could tell you not the walk through it, but I know you won’t listen.

I could you tell that you’ll lose everything if you keep walking this thorny path into a lightless wilderness…not just your heart, which is already gone…but your family too. You won’t listen. But in time…you’ll learn.

Just like I learned.

So Trey…by all means…reach down into that abyss and pick up my teeth.

Brush the dirt from them…but before you stick them into your mouth? Let me tell you about them. I need you to UNDERSTAND what they are…and the WEIGHT of them.

They’re nothing but a pair of symbolic dentures crafted of fear, forged of bitterness, glued together by hatred…a burden to weigh down your head and leave a foul aftertaste lingering in your throat.

They’re good for nothing but chattering rhetoric and grinding in frustration.

There’s no power in those teeth, Trey. They’re just a gateway to self-destruction…

And believe me when I tell you…I’m glad to be rid of them.

Gnash them all you want at Revolution 130, Trey.

The only one you’ll be embarrassing on that night…is yourself.

It’s too bad you lost your heart, hero.

I’ve found it…

And in the Master of the Mat tournament…after I have beaten your ass to a level that I’m satisfied with…I’m gonna grab your head…force it up to my chest…and press that grimy little ear EVER so close…

So that you can hear every single heartbeart.

Thump, thump, thump…

Maybe that sound will wake you up before it’s too late.

Maybe you’ll spit those teeth right outta your mouth before they ruin you.

I’m dropping you either way.

And even as the referee’s hand hits the canvas, even as the bell rings, even as the fans roar…

The loudest sound to rise above that cacophony will be the sound of this tell-tale heart.

Beating louder, beating harder, beating stronger…

Beating you.

FIN.