The wolf ate the lamb and we all lived happily ever after.
Feb 28, 2021 23:44:11 GMT -5
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Post by Daniel MacNamara on Feb 28, 2021 23:44:11 GMT -5
“...Do you know why it’s good to tell children fairy tales?”
That voice cut through the quiet of the night, smoothing out along the air as if being spread by the flat of the same knife that moved its edge through the near palpable tension. His words were more than just words tonight, and as he spoke into the crisp air, it was as if he was conducting surgery. Every word was deliberate, placed with care while he stood at the building’s ledge with a booted heel cocked up and caught on the corner while his other leg remained anchored onto the roof. Tension kept him in place, but he felt weightless, barely a consideration as the small controlled chaos of the street wafted up towards where he was, watching it all.
“Children don’t need the stories of old to know that the monsters are still lurking about them. They know that already, they know that dragons are still nestled soundly in their caves, that goblins are in the closet, waiting to snatch them as they sleep, and they most assuredly stay informed on the status of the monsters beneath their bed.” Danny couldn’t help the grin that was spreading across his rounded lips as he spoke out the nonsense that was falling off the tip of his tongue much more recklessly than he’d been speaking before, or was he? Was there wisdom in the words that he put out there? “Children don’t care if you think that their fears are nonsense. They know what they know, and they’re not unshaken by your logic and rationale. You see, because they know monsters exist, and there’s no telling them otherwise, fairy tales tell them that the monsters can be beaten, that the dragon that seemed so incomprehensibly endless can be brought down to its knees.”
Pause. Beat. Danny lifted a hand and casually corrected that crooked crown he wore on his mane of red.
“Unfortunately for Blue Barrera, I’m here to weave an entirely different kind of tale; I’m here to teach her a lesson about what happens to little lambs that roar like lions; and if you didn’t know? The tale doesn’t end so fucking well for the bloody lamb. It never works out well for the lamb.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he denied it its manifestation, at least for now. The Wayward Prince exhaled, his breath rolling out like smoke against the cold air, those eyes of his cutting back down to the street below, gesturing towards it with his off hand.
“You could have been one of them, Blue. You could have led a life of mediocrity and normalcy, and you probably would have been able to lead a life more suited to your alleged preference. No one would have cared, even in a world where it seems we constantly cancel each other over despicable behaviors, you could have lived a quiet life with your bigotries among your peers and not a single one of us would have noticed you. You could have said everything you ever wanted with very little consequence, because there would have been no weight to your words. It's not much weight, but it was enough to get noticed, wasn't it? For all of your lukewarm mediocrity, your loud mouth got you noticed. Not your talent, not your skill, not your work ethic. For all your alleged hatred of whores, it was your mouthwork that got you noticed, and that's not the good thing that you think it is, you reckless oaf. I suppose the good news is, is that if I leave it in working order, you can still run it while on your podcast that no one seems to listen to.”
Sigh. He was already pulling his pack of seven stars from his coat pocket. The concept of podcasts fucking annoyed him.
“That’s not the makings for a good story though, is it? Hardly the start of a Fairy Tale, no. There needs to be a lesson, there needs to be something to take away from it. You had to bleat, and you had to make noise. You had to subject us all to the vulgarities of who you were. You wanted the attention, and you wanted the platform, and you wanted all eyes on you. So, your story’s going to be told, but it’s not going to be told by you. I’m the narrator here, and with the artistic license that I’m ripping from your flesh? That story is going to be written out in your blood so everyone capable of reading out the cautionary tale of Blue Barrera knows exactly what the cost of pride is.”
The cigarette freed, he mouthed the filtered end, cupping his hands to protect that zippo from the wind, breathing life to the cherry that he sparked up happily, suckin’ greedily like an infant at his mother’s tit, trying to suckle that cancerous smoke. There it was. That head reclined in relief, eyes closing as the nicotine was inhaled and then exhaled. Eyes opening again, his posture correcting, working those shoulders loose for a moment.
“This match isn’t because I need recognition, Blue. It’s not because I need you at all. This is your biggest moment, I want you to know that because it may escape you. I need you to pay attention to this because in everything I have planned, I’m scared that it might not be taken in. What you thought were legitimate chances at making something of yourself, Blue? Those were nothing, those seem big now, but they’re going to prove inconsequential in the long run. The brushes in which you were humiliated by Bryan? That was nothing. The chance you thought you had of taking Union by storm died out, ripped from your grasp before you could even wrap your fingers around it? All of that, isn’t going to matter.”
Inhale. Exhale. He needed a bigger release than just the fucking nicotine this time, but he had to try something. Nerves, they were getting to him. Not because of this match, but because of something bigger, something deeper, something he dare not articulate.
“I won’t banish you, Blue. I won’t make you leave once you’ve been beaten. I’m going to let you walk away on your accord, I’m going to give you the greater gift of self exile, this is going to be the story of when Blue Barrera realizes that being the center of attention, and the center of a story that’s being written out in her own blood, are two very different things. She’s going to learn that just because she can talk, doesn’t render her capable of delivering a message that’s worth hearing. She’s going to learn that for all her pride, she has nothing to be proud of, and that in the moment that’s going to define her career? She was nothing more than a statement to be made. That’s the tale of Blue Barrera, a story as repetitious as the vile mouth that keeps bleating out baha, baha as if the cry of submission and confused religious iconography are badges of honor. Then again, when you use a Star of David to symbolize Islam, then you probably weren’t ever going to produce anything of value, were you?”
That’s when Danny looked at the camera, raised his eyebrows and just shrugged.
“Things to think about, for you to consider, for the people who’ve let you crawl into their homes, to consider. The world hasn’t been kind to lambs lately, and that lack of hospitality certainly hasn’t missed you, but you bring it on yourself, you contemptuous brat. You’ve never stopped once to think about the consequences of your actions, if you had, you’d have never accepted this match, and you certainly wouldn’t have crowed about it. I’m climbing my way back up from the bottom for a second time, Blue. In what world do you think that I’m going to let you halt my ascent up to him? He and I have been ordained to try and kill eachother in that ring, and you’ve placed in my path. Even I didn’t think you weren’t arrogant enough to truly do that. I thought that somewhere in your hubris, you had half a brain.”
The final exhale of smoke, he dropped that cigarette and snuffed it out beneath his heel, turning his attention back to the camera for a final time.
“What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is something that I never thought I’d have to spell out: when you’re a lamb, don’t send for a fucking wolf.”
And just like that, everything snapped to black, as quiet as a silenced lamb.
That voice cut through the quiet of the night, smoothing out along the air as if being spread by the flat of the same knife that moved its edge through the near palpable tension. His words were more than just words tonight, and as he spoke into the crisp air, it was as if he was conducting surgery. Every word was deliberate, placed with care while he stood at the building’s ledge with a booted heel cocked up and caught on the corner while his other leg remained anchored onto the roof. Tension kept him in place, but he felt weightless, barely a consideration as the small controlled chaos of the street wafted up towards where he was, watching it all.
“Children don’t need the stories of old to know that the monsters are still lurking about them. They know that already, they know that dragons are still nestled soundly in their caves, that goblins are in the closet, waiting to snatch them as they sleep, and they most assuredly stay informed on the status of the monsters beneath their bed.” Danny couldn’t help the grin that was spreading across his rounded lips as he spoke out the nonsense that was falling off the tip of his tongue much more recklessly than he’d been speaking before, or was he? Was there wisdom in the words that he put out there? “Children don’t care if you think that their fears are nonsense. They know what they know, and they’re not unshaken by your logic and rationale. You see, because they know monsters exist, and there’s no telling them otherwise, fairy tales tell them that the monsters can be beaten, that the dragon that seemed so incomprehensibly endless can be brought down to its knees.”
Pause. Beat. Danny lifted a hand and casually corrected that crooked crown he wore on his mane of red.
“Unfortunately for Blue Barrera, I’m here to weave an entirely different kind of tale; I’m here to teach her a lesson about what happens to little lambs that roar like lions; and if you didn’t know? The tale doesn’t end so fucking well for the bloody lamb. It never works out well for the lamb.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he denied it its manifestation, at least for now. The Wayward Prince exhaled, his breath rolling out like smoke against the cold air, those eyes of his cutting back down to the street below, gesturing towards it with his off hand.
“You could have been one of them, Blue. You could have led a life of mediocrity and normalcy, and you probably would have been able to lead a life more suited to your alleged preference. No one would have cared, even in a world where it seems we constantly cancel each other over despicable behaviors, you could have lived a quiet life with your bigotries among your peers and not a single one of us would have noticed you. You could have said everything you ever wanted with very little consequence, because there would have been no weight to your words. It's not much weight, but it was enough to get noticed, wasn't it? For all of your lukewarm mediocrity, your loud mouth got you noticed. Not your talent, not your skill, not your work ethic. For all your alleged hatred of whores, it was your mouthwork that got you noticed, and that's not the good thing that you think it is, you reckless oaf. I suppose the good news is, is that if I leave it in working order, you can still run it while on your podcast that no one seems to listen to.”
Sigh. He was already pulling his pack of seven stars from his coat pocket. The concept of podcasts fucking annoyed him.
“That’s not the makings for a good story though, is it? Hardly the start of a Fairy Tale, no. There needs to be a lesson, there needs to be something to take away from it. You had to bleat, and you had to make noise. You had to subject us all to the vulgarities of who you were. You wanted the attention, and you wanted the platform, and you wanted all eyes on you. So, your story’s going to be told, but it’s not going to be told by you. I’m the narrator here, and with the artistic license that I’m ripping from your flesh? That story is going to be written out in your blood so everyone capable of reading out the cautionary tale of Blue Barrera knows exactly what the cost of pride is.”
The cigarette freed, he mouthed the filtered end, cupping his hands to protect that zippo from the wind, breathing life to the cherry that he sparked up happily, suckin’ greedily like an infant at his mother’s tit, trying to suckle that cancerous smoke. There it was. That head reclined in relief, eyes closing as the nicotine was inhaled and then exhaled. Eyes opening again, his posture correcting, working those shoulders loose for a moment.
“This match isn’t because I need recognition, Blue. It’s not because I need you at all. This is your biggest moment, I want you to know that because it may escape you. I need you to pay attention to this because in everything I have planned, I’m scared that it might not be taken in. What you thought were legitimate chances at making something of yourself, Blue? Those were nothing, those seem big now, but they’re going to prove inconsequential in the long run. The brushes in which you were humiliated by Bryan? That was nothing. The chance you thought you had of taking Union by storm died out, ripped from your grasp before you could even wrap your fingers around it? All of that, isn’t going to matter.”
Inhale. Exhale. He needed a bigger release than just the fucking nicotine this time, but he had to try something. Nerves, they were getting to him. Not because of this match, but because of something bigger, something deeper, something he dare not articulate.
“I won’t banish you, Blue. I won’t make you leave once you’ve been beaten. I’m going to let you walk away on your accord, I’m going to give you the greater gift of self exile, this is going to be the story of when Blue Barrera realizes that being the center of attention, and the center of a story that’s being written out in her own blood, are two very different things. She’s going to learn that just because she can talk, doesn’t render her capable of delivering a message that’s worth hearing. She’s going to learn that for all her pride, she has nothing to be proud of, and that in the moment that’s going to define her career? She was nothing more than a statement to be made. That’s the tale of Blue Barrera, a story as repetitious as the vile mouth that keeps bleating out baha, baha as if the cry of submission and confused religious iconography are badges of honor. Then again, when you use a Star of David to symbolize Islam, then you probably weren’t ever going to produce anything of value, were you?”
That’s when Danny looked at the camera, raised his eyebrows and just shrugged.
“Things to think about, for you to consider, for the people who’ve let you crawl into their homes, to consider. The world hasn’t been kind to lambs lately, and that lack of hospitality certainly hasn’t missed you, but you bring it on yourself, you contemptuous brat. You’ve never stopped once to think about the consequences of your actions, if you had, you’d have never accepted this match, and you certainly wouldn’t have crowed about it. I’m climbing my way back up from the bottom for a second time, Blue. In what world do you think that I’m going to let you halt my ascent up to him? He and I have been ordained to try and kill eachother in that ring, and you’ve placed in my path. Even I didn’t think you weren’t arrogant enough to truly do that. I thought that somewhere in your hubris, you had half a brain.”
The final exhale of smoke, he dropped that cigarette and snuffed it out beneath his heel, turning his attention back to the camera for a final time.
“What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is something that I never thought I’d have to spell out: when you’re a lamb, don’t send for a fucking wolf.”
And just like that, everything snapped to black, as quiet as a silenced lamb.