Life doesn't give us choices... Disclaimer: Graphic Content
Oct 3, 2022 17:33:47 GMT -5
Raion Kido likes this
Post by John Cable on Oct 3, 2022 17:33:47 GMT -5
“Maybe it was the night I lost my parents... and my childhood.” a deep, gravelly voice churns the words through gritted teeth.
A small foot steps into a pool of inky, viscous fluid at the bottom of his homes staircase, the darkness completely enveloping, and terror coursing through his every fiber.
“Mommy?” his small voice creaks into the void of blackness all around as he reaches slowly towards the floor. Panic rushes through his mind as he fumbles in the night, hands waving around him before his finger tips graze the ever growing puddle beneath him, and he stops, fingers trembling, and rubs them across the carpet.
Thick lines groove the pool in the dark before he finds the body of his mother there on the floor, dead and gone minutes ago.
A muffled scream is heard from the kitchen beyond the door in the dark.
John creeps slowly away from his mothers lifeless corpse in the puddle of her blood towards the narrow swinging door down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, and then he hears the voice... the one he will hear forever in his nightmares... the man... the one who changes his life forever.
John swings the doorway open slowly when he hears the words that will echo in his mind for eternity.
“Come in here, kid. Your Dad wants to tell you something.”
Raspy, and drawn out... the kind of voice you can feel in your spine... and no amount of bleach can make you feel clean again.
John makes his way into the dim light of the kitchen, and there, strapped to a chair, bound and gagged, his hair ruffled and unkempt, a thick rivulet of blood running down the side of his head from a large bruise forming on his forehead, was his father.
“Dad!” John yelled as he took a hasty step into the kitchen before seeing the man. His father screamed behind the gag, desperation flared in his eyes as he strained against his bindings, but for not.
The moments and years that followed would haunt John forever, and the blood stains on his hands would rob him of his innocence for the first time... but not for the last.
“Maybe it was nearly dying in the streets trying to make it on my own...” that gravely, gritty voice pressed the words through pursed lips, seething with hatred and malice.
A young John, weathered by a few years of uncertainty and instability, lies shivering, pallid and pale, sweat rolling down his gaunt cheeks beneath a few filthy newspapers and a tattered, blue plastic tarp huddled in the mouth of an alleyway. Tall brick buildings loom overhead, and the sun bears down upon the world with a vengeful Floridian gaze.
Malnourished and sickly, the specter of death looms above the shell of the boy he once had been, just waiting for the spirit within him to give up, and flee this existence of pain and misfortune. The dark shadowy cloak of wisps and tendrils swirl about the blacked bones of death, hovering there, a grin spread wide across his bony maw. Just then... rays of sunlight split the ever growing darkness, slicing their shadows and bleak overcast fingers of gloom, daring to allow the light of day to spill into the coming night.
“Boy... you should have come home a long time ago. Let's get you up and get you home. We've got work to do... or at least you do anyway.” Hank Winthrope says as he makes his way over to the young man in the alley. “Just look at you.” he smiles at the teen and then reaches down to get him up as Death fades away into the beams of light.
A stack of papers are strewn across a small table next to a blue roped boxing ring. Each of them has a different boxing company's logo at the top of the page, but they all say the same thing.
“Mr. Winthrope,
Due to recent events, we can no longer extend a contract offer for you to compete in our company.
Thank you for your interest. We wish you well in the future..
Sincerely,”
“Call it fate... destiny... dumb luck... whatever you want to. I’m a wrestler because Life only ever gave me the option to fight to survive... It's the only thing I’ve ever known… and someday… this is how I'll die.”
A small foot steps into a pool of inky, viscous fluid at the bottom of his homes staircase, the darkness completely enveloping, and terror coursing through his every fiber.
“Mommy?” his small voice creaks into the void of blackness all around as he reaches slowly towards the floor. Panic rushes through his mind as he fumbles in the night, hands waving around him before his finger tips graze the ever growing puddle beneath him, and he stops, fingers trembling, and rubs them across the carpet.
Thick lines groove the pool in the dark before he finds the body of his mother there on the floor, dead and gone minutes ago.
A muffled scream is heard from the kitchen beyond the door in the dark.
John creeps slowly away from his mothers lifeless corpse in the puddle of her blood towards the narrow swinging door down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, and then he hears the voice... the one he will hear forever in his nightmares... the man... the one who changes his life forever.
John swings the doorway open slowly when he hears the words that will echo in his mind for eternity.
“Come in here, kid. Your Dad wants to tell you something.”
Raspy, and drawn out... the kind of voice you can feel in your spine... and no amount of bleach can make you feel clean again.
John makes his way into the dim light of the kitchen, and there, strapped to a chair, bound and gagged, his hair ruffled and unkempt, a thick rivulet of blood running down the side of his head from a large bruise forming on his forehead, was his father.
“Dad!” John yelled as he took a hasty step into the kitchen before seeing the man. His father screamed behind the gag, desperation flared in his eyes as he strained against his bindings, but for not.
The moments and years that followed would haunt John forever, and the blood stains on his hands would rob him of his innocence for the first time... but not for the last.
“Maybe it was nearly dying in the streets trying to make it on my own...” that gravely, gritty voice pressed the words through pursed lips, seething with hatred and malice.
A young John, weathered by a few years of uncertainty and instability, lies shivering, pallid and pale, sweat rolling down his gaunt cheeks beneath a few filthy newspapers and a tattered, blue plastic tarp huddled in the mouth of an alleyway. Tall brick buildings loom overhead, and the sun bears down upon the world with a vengeful Floridian gaze.
Malnourished and sickly, the specter of death looms above the shell of the boy he once had been, just waiting for the spirit within him to give up, and flee this existence of pain and misfortune. The dark shadowy cloak of wisps and tendrils swirl about the blacked bones of death, hovering there, a grin spread wide across his bony maw. Just then... rays of sunlight split the ever growing darkness, slicing their shadows and bleak overcast fingers of gloom, daring to allow the light of day to spill into the coming night.
“Boy... you should have come home a long time ago. Let's get you up and get you home. We've got work to do... or at least you do anyway.” Hank Winthrope says as he makes his way over to the young man in the alley. “Just look at you.” he smiles at the teen and then reaches down to get him up as Death fades away into the beams of light.
“Maybe it was the multitude of dreams dashed by greed and power...” the voice says.
“Mr. Winthrope,
Due to recent events, we can no longer extend a contract offer for you to compete in our company.
Thank you for your interest. We wish you well in the future..
Sincerely,”
“Call it fate... destiny... dumb luck... whatever you want to. I’m a wrestler because Life only ever gave me the option to fight to survive... It's the only thing I’ve ever known… and someday… this is how I'll die.”