Post by Johnny Violence on Feb 28, 2021 20:47:56 GMT -5
Can you hear me? When I talk to you, can you hear me? When I call your name, can you hear my voice? Am I a whisper? Am I soft spoken? Do my words wield passion with childlike wonder?
Do you see me… like I see you? Can you peer at yourself high above the treetops? Do you peek through your fingers in panic like I do the exact moment you’re about to make a mistake you can’t stop yourself from making?
Can you feel me? When I watch you, do you feel me? That burning sensation, does it fill you with that passion that keeps you going?
No, not that burning sensation.
Johnny was busy though. He was patting down the soft Earth with the spade of the shovel, a crude cross of twigs and deadwood tied together with vines spearheaded into the ground. His thoughts breezed past his ears deafened in the wind.
Still.
He couldn’t help but feel those eyes still peering at him. But from where?
Where are you?
He drives the shovel into the dirt and sighs a sigh of satisfaction of a job well done, but he only pretends to show his rise in self esteem. Johnny can’t shake the feeling. He starts to stare off into the swamp land, the foliage thick as the jungle. There was barely enough light to peek through to highlight the vines woven through the trees’ branches or the algae covering the top of the murky water in a layer as thick as mucus.
He puts his hands on his hips and starts to pace the swamp side.
Who are you? What do you want from me?
But then there it was.
Camouflaged among leaves sat a mask. It was a long beautiful wooden mask, aged perfectly, painted and cracked fit for the most stereotypical of witch doctors.
It startled Johnny when he realized what he was staring at was staring back at him.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Johnny called out.
There was no answer.
You’re not the one.
The eyes that burned his soul weren’t the same eyes spying on Johnny now.
“Who are you?” Johnny calls out again.
But the eyes just blink. The mask sits still.
Does he think you can’t see him?
He tries to keep his eyes on the mask but as Johnny makes his way to the black stallion standing so patiently waiting for him, he drops his attention for a split second. His eyes go back to the trees but the rustling leaves draw Johnny’s attention to the trees above him now, where the mask again was peering down.
Now Johnny was a bit on edge.
These aren’t his trails normally travelled. He had to be on edge.
Trying his best to act as nonchalant as possible, he starts to gear up the horse for a ride but it was the beginning of his ploy. Checking straps and tightening the saddle was a way for him to seemingly take his attention from the mask and unsheathe his sword.
Blade towards the sky, the eyes behind the mask were now staring at the point of the sword.
The mask was unfazed.
“I don’t know who you are and I don’t know how long you’ve been following me, and I don’t care.”
Johnny gives the area another once over. It felt like there were more eyes than these.
“I’ve certainly taken more than my fair share of wrong turns but I’ve left stones unturned and I’ve fed your Mother Earth. I think what’s best for all of us if I went on my merry way we let my foot prints wash away in time.”
But there it was.
“wait. waitwait. wait.” little voices echo through the swamp.
Johnny didn’t want to take his eyes off of the mask before him but when he did, slowly, more and more pairs of eyes started to open up in the trees and dark foreground of the foggy bog.
“he’s watching. heswatching he’swatching.” It was like a Dolby sound system. He was surrounded.
“Who’s watching?”
There was a bit of hesitation.
Johnny looked back to the mask at the end of his sword. The eyes didn’t even blink now.
He lowered them but his hands gripped the handle like a vice.
Slowly the echoes crept forward, what sounded like wind became audible.
“viduus. viduusviduus”.
A small smile crept in just like the echoes across Johnny’s lips.
He was watching him. And Johnny wanted to be watched.
This was exactly what he wanted.
Digging the shallow grave of Switchblxde Sharpe was more than just making the Earth rich with nutrients. It was a show pony’s head in his bed. It was a warning.
It was a history lesson.
“Good.” Johnny told his wide eyed audience. He stares back at the crude cross before back at the first mask… well, he thinks it's the first mask.
“You can tell him he can keep watching. I’ve got nothing to hide. My hills have eyes. I, too, have been watching.”
Johnny sheathes the sword on the side of the stallion before he mounts up. Her thunderous hooves dampened by the soft muddy swamp dirt barely got enough grip for her to walk back to her trail well travelled.
“wait. waitwait. wait.” echoes around him again.
He pulls on her reins and she stops to pace the swamp another time around the block.
He knew that might grab their attention.
“While he’s busy watching me, I’m busy making my next step. He might want to remind me he’s some big baddie voodoo daddy of Union Battleground. He can go on about being a former Battalion champion even though Salvation had zero defenses in their 56 days sometime 3 years ago like anybody carries a flicker of his flame. Let him remind me that recently he became a two time Four Horsemen Medallion winner only to come up short against Bryan Williams at the hottest event of the grandest stage of the year.”
“You stripped yourself raw and bare of all your tricks and you tried to showcase your natural talent, you tried to show off that underneath all the flash and flair was a man, a true man full of grit ready to show the world the definition of a War Horse.”
“And like at the Crown of the King Cobra, you fell oh so short of being everything, and you’re left with nothing.”
“Demoted. Relegated. Stuck to being a sacrifice. My sacrifice.”
Cue Creed. No? Not funny? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?
Alright moving on.
“I told Sebastian exactly who I was. I’ve told the world exactly who I am. My story has been written and read and if you want to be stuck in 2018, then allow me to offer an old adage. History tends to repeat itself.”
“I’ve been a bucking bronco hot out the gate since 2009. I’ve been bucking and stomping my way down this road and leaving the roadkill like bread crumbs. I have no problem going back a few steps. I have no problem flipping through the pages and finding the chapter where Johnny Violence snuffs out the last of the burning brightness of a fallen star.”
“That X is more than a breadcrumb. It marks my “I Told You So.””
“When I say I’m going to do something, it gets done.”
Johnny pulls the reins and kicks at the sides of his trusty steed to head toward the dirt path at the entrance of the bog.
The eyes peer through the trees, blinking in a frightening unison like a mexican wave at a soccer game.
He swizzles his head along the path until the horse stops abruptly. Johnny almost fell ass over tea kettle. He gathers himself before looking down in front of the horse, a rather small man, maybe a child in the oversized mask sat cross legged.
“Look, my journey was never to fill my gourd with the glory of past champions. My destiny isn’t to be stuck at jerking curtains. Johnny Violence is meant for the marquee. I am a king fit to fight current champions… future champions. I am the one who creates the tolls, I don’t pay them. I suggest you get out of my way or be trampled like a Slipknot concert.”
Are Slipknot still a band? Are they still cool?
But before Johnny knew it, more masks began to appear almost before his very eyes. The line of eyes was almost so disgusting it triggered his trypophobia.
It was obvious. If Johnny wanted to keep travelling on his road to greatness, he’d have to pass Viduus Morta.
With a smile, Johnny thought, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The scene begins to fade away, with Johnny walking away, the thunderous hooves of his stallion clip clopping as they finally meet the more solid ground. The camera pans down to nothing but the mask. No eyes peeking out. No childlike body holding it up. Just the mask shattered like it might have been stomped by a 2 tonne majestic beast.
He who strikes first, must strike the hardest.
Black.
Do you see me… like I see you? Can you peer at yourself high above the treetops? Do you peek through your fingers in panic like I do the exact moment you’re about to make a mistake you can’t stop yourself from making?
Can you feel me? When I watch you, do you feel me? That burning sensation, does it fill you with that passion that keeps you going?
No, not that burning sensation.
Johnny was busy though. He was patting down the soft Earth with the spade of the shovel, a crude cross of twigs and deadwood tied together with vines spearheaded into the ground. His thoughts breezed past his ears deafened in the wind.
Still.
He couldn’t help but feel those eyes still peering at him. But from where?
Where are you?
He drives the shovel into the dirt and sighs a sigh of satisfaction of a job well done, but he only pretends to show his rise in self esteem. Johnny can’t shake the feeling. He starts to stare off into the swamp land, the foliage thick as the jungle. There was barely enough light to peek through to highlight the vines woven through the trees’ branches or the algae covering the top of the murky water in a layer as thick as mucus.
He puts his hands on his hips and starts to pace the swamp side.
Who are you? What do you want from me?
But then there it was.
Camouflaged among leaves sat a mask. It was a long beautiful wooden mask, aged perfectly, painted and cracked fit for the most stereotypical of witch doctors.
It startled Johnny when he realized what he was staring at was staring back at him.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Johnny called out.
There was no answer.
You’re not the one.
The eyes that burned his soul weren’t the same eyes spying on Johnny now.
“Who are you?” Johnny calls out again.
But the eyes just blink. The mask sits still.
Does he think you can’t see him?
He tries to keep his eyes on the mask but as Johnny makes his way to the black stallion standing so patiently waiting for him, he drops his attention for a split second. His eyes go back to the trees but the rustling leaves draw Johnny’s attention to the trees above him now, where the mask again was peering down.
Now Johnny was a bit on edge.
These aren’t his trails normally travelled. He had to be on edge.
Trying his best to act as nonchalant as possible, he starts to gear up the horse for a ride but it was the beginning of his ploy. Checking straps and tightening the saddle was a way for him to seemingly take his attention from the mask and unsheathe his sword.
Blade towards the sky, the eyes behind the mask were now staring at the point of the sword.
The mask was unfazed.
“I don’t know who you are and I don’t know how long you’ve been following me, and I don’t care.”
Johnny gives the area another once over. It felt like there were more eyes than these.
“I’ve certainly taken more than my fair share of wrong turns but I’ve left stones unturned and I’ve fed your Mother Earth. I think what’s best for all of us if I went on my merry way we let my foot prints wash away in time.”
But there it was.
“wait. waitwait. wait.” little voices echo through the swamp.
Johnny didn’t want to take his eyes off of the mask before him but when he did, slowly, more and more pairs of eyes started to open up in the trees and dark foreground of the foggy bog.
“he’s watching. heswatching he’swatching.” It was like a Dolby sound system. He was surrounded.
“Who’s watching?”
There was a bit of hesitation.
Johnny looked back to the mask at the end of his sword. The eyes didn’t even blink now.
He lowered them but his hands gripped the handle like a vice.
Slowly the echoes crept forward, what sounded like wind became audible.
“viduus. viduusviduus”.
A small smile crept in just like the echoes across Johnny’s lips.
He was watching him. And Johnny wanted to be watched.
This was exactly what he wanted.
Digging the shallow grave of Switchblxde Sharpe was more than just making the Earth rich with nutrients. It was a show pony’s head in his bed. It was a warning.
It was a history lesson.
“Good.” Johnny told his wide eyed audience. He stares back at the crude cross before back at the first mask… well, he thinks it's the first mask.
“You can tell him he can keep watching. I’ve got nothing to hide. My hills have eyes. I, too, have been watching.”
Johnny sheathes the sword on the side of the stallion before he mounts up. Her thunderous hooves dampened by the soft muddy swamp dirt barely got enough grip for her to walk back to her trail well travelled.
“wait. waitwait. wait.” echoes around him again.
He pulls on her reins and she stops to pace the swamp another time around the block.
He knew that might grab their attention.
“While he’s busy watching me, I’m busy making my next step. He might want to remind me he’s some big baddie voodoo daddy of Union Battleground. He can go on about being a former Battalion champion even though Salvation had zero defenses in their 56 days sometime 3 years ago like anybody carries a flicker of his flame. Let him remind me that recently he became a two time Four Horsemen Medallion winner only to come up short against Bryan Williams at the hottest event of the grandest stage of the year.”
“You stripped yourself raw and bare of all your tricks and you tried to showcase your natural talent, you tried to show off that underneath all the flash and flair was a man, a true man full of grit ready to show the world the definition of a War Horse.”
“And like at the Crown of the King Cobra, you fell oh so short of being everything, and you’re left with nothing.”
“Demoted. Relegated. Stuck to being a sacrifice. My sacrifice.”
Cue Creed. No? Not funny? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?
Alright moving on.
“I told Sebastian exactly who I was. I’ve told the world exactly who I am. My story has been written and read and if you want to be stuck in 2018, then allow me to offer an old adage. History tends to repeat itself.”
“I’ve been a bucking bronco hot out the gate since 2009. I’ve been bucking and stomping my way down this road and leaving the roadkill like bread crumbs. I have no problem going back a few steps. I have no problem flipping through the pages and finding the chapter where Johnny Violence snuffs out the last of the burning brightness of a fallen star.”
“That X is more than a breadcrumb. It marks my “I Told You So.””
“When I say I’m going to do something, it gets done.”
Johnny pulls the reins and kicks at the sides of his trusty steed to head toward the dirt path at the entrance of the bog.
The eyes peer through the trees, blinking in a frightening unison like a mexican wave at a soccer game.
He swizzles his head along the path until the horse stops abruptly. Johnny almost fell ass over tea kettle. He gathers himself before looking down in front of the horse, a rather small man, maybe a child in the oversized mask sat cross legged.
“Look, my journey was never to fill my gourd with the glory of past champions. My destiny isn’t to be stuck at jerking curtains. Johnny Violence is meant for the marquee. I am a king fit to fight current champions… future champions. I am the one who creates the tolls, I don’t pay them. I suggest you get out of my way or be trampled like a Slipknot concert.”
Are Slipknot still a band? Are they still cool?
But before Johnny knew it, more masks began to appear almost before his very eyes. The line of eyes was almost so disgusting it triggered his trypophobia.
It was obvious. If Johnny wanted to keep travelling on his road to greatness, he’d have to pass Viduus Morta.
With a smile, Johnny thought, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The scene begins to fade away, with Johnny walking away, the thunderous hooves of his stallion clip clopping as they finally meet the more solid ground. The camera pans down to nothing but the mask. No eyes peeking out. No childlike body holding it up. Just the mask shattered like it might have been stomped by a 2 tonne majestic beast.
He who strikes first, must strike the hardest.
Black.