Post by Sammy Kuklinski on Jun 11, 2018 1:42:36 GMT -5
The Knife Slides through Flesh
Caden placed a heavy hand on the coat, letting the needle guide its way through its path. He enjoyed sewing, having been taught it, it became something that he had done to calm himself. Or appease a part of him. He wasn’t sure anymore which it was doing. He just knew that it felt better inside when he had begun to do just that. Of course, the woman who taught him that probably didn’t understand just what he was doing to calm himself down. Originally, he had used it to simply sew up the parts of the jacket that were torn during the struggle. But eventually, something in him told him to simply mark himself in some way. Of course, a mark on his own flesh would reveal him quickly. No. He needed something that could only be visible when he was killing. Something that only those who would be his victims would see. Thus his coat was made. At first they were scraps of clothing, pieces of the dress, things like that. They were the bits and pieces of clothing that he liked most on them. But the urges grew stronger and stronger. The more that he tried to suppress it, the more the urge became stronger and stronger. And eventually, it got to the point that he agreed to the demands. He had made a mess of his first true trophy. It was barely able to be stitched. But what he could get onto his coat was enough. The face of a woman, so beautiful and serene. The more trophies he collected the easier it became. The better he became at withdrawing the flesh. Peeling skin from muscles. Teeth had also started to become another small trophy to take with him. He had made a mask for himself, decorating its mouth with the stolen teeth. Something he still missed, in some part of his mind. The needle slipped through, forming the last seal on his new patch. Alexander Devin was now part of him forever. As it should be, in some sense. After all, he was there to take some of his sin away. Taking it away by making him bleed out. Their shared blood together was what made it all seem worth it.
“And I have more sin to bleed out. Ain’t that right, Miss Daniels? Ain’t I got a bit more to shed before I eventually feel complete? Look, I know that to you, all I am is some kind of obstacle. See, the two of us, we are two very different kinds of people. You are someone that the crowd adores, Miss Daniels. You are the kind of person who the crowd can truly get behind. Someone they cheer, they love, they respect. I promise you, that when you go out there, children will cheer to hear your name. After all, why wouldn’t they? You represent everything that Union Battleground fans love to see. A story of triumph. Hope. Joy incarnate, seeking to prove yourself in the ring. I won’t fault you for any of that either. After all, it’s what you are. I used to know a girl like you. Back when I was...not what I am now.
This girl I knew, named Karissa...she was a real spark of joy in the lives of so many of us working class men. Quick to put a drink in your hand, and a laugh as sweet as huckleberries. Ah, she was a good girl. That infectious laughter of hers, it could fill an entire room. I thought about her a lot, even before I chose to kill her. Never in a wrong way, of course, no, I’m not like that. But, her laugh...filled me with joy. I needed to keep it with me forever. And you know how I did that? I did that, by adding her to my coat. She would always be there, placed by my heart. When I think of that...it still brings me some semblance of joy. I know that ain’t right...but it’s the truth. I won’t lie to you none, Miss Daniels. Miss Sarin gave me instructions though, and they were pretty explicit. See, I ain’t to take the old trophies anymore. It would unbecoming of a child of god to do things like that. So I ain’t about to break my little pact with the Father none. Now, I collect trophies from my opponents in the form of clothes, or hair. You’re my first main event opponent, Miss Daniels. Which means I’ll need something special from you.
I try to make sure that I don’t...fall back into what I used to do. But, there are certain habits that I just can’t shake none. Habits that have kept me satisfied, and probably will for a long time, Miss Daniels. I have to make my opponents bleed, or make myself bleed, as an example. If I don’t, well...it just feels wrong of me to leave God without a proper sacrifice. So, I’ll cut us both open. Let our blood soak the mat, so that He knows that we are worthy beings. I won’t break bones none, less of course my boot hits your nose too hard. Can’t promise nothing about that. I will leave you on the mat, helpless before the Father. He is the one to pass judgement on you, not me. I’m just his blunt instrument. A tool. And I have my own sentence to complete. God has given me forgiveness, and he offers it in the form of flagellation. I am not one to disobey his orders. I’ve seen the pit of fire that he speaks of. I’ve seen the flesh burned and watched the haunted souls scream out in anguished cries. The weeping and gnashing of teeth, and the terrified wails of the damned. I won’t be flung down there. I won’t. I was promised a way out of that judgement. And I intend on seeing it through.
You ain’t going to be the end of that journey, Miss Daniels. Miss Sarin said that she wants to see me at the top of Union. I intend to make it there, and I will step upon your broken body to do it. I intend to see my name etched in Union Battleground’s history, because though you maybe the side of Union that the fans love to see, I am what Union truly is. A broken and bleeding body, fists scarred, and face a crimson mask. I am no cheer of triumph, I am a scream of horror. I’m not the roar of pyro, I’m the conflagration of a very real hell. I’m your sacrificial altar, Miss Daniels. And you, are my spotless lamb. Come. It is time to worship.”
As his last words rumbled free of his throat, his hand gripped the coat tight, slinging it over his shoulders as he pulled it on. The new patches that adorned it seemingly perfect. Yes, this was truly what he needed. Now, to wait. Because the day was coming soon. And he had to be ready for it.
Post by Alyssa Daniels on Jun 11, 2018 22:52:47 GMT -5
“God means something different to each of us.”
The stone walls within this old abandoned church are crumbling due to neglect. Debris is scattered throughout, on floors and in the pews. Cobwebs can be seen in corners and in some of the pews. Still, the altar at the head of the old church still displays an undamaged stone cross. Alyssa kneels at the altar, the knees of her jeans shamelessly pressed against the dusty floors. She has her head bowed. Her voice narrates over the scene as the Alyssa in the frame begins to pray.
“Some see God as a guiding light, a symbol by which to live. They feel him as a reassuring hand on their shoulder when they feel uncertain in their path, an ear to hear troubles that they don’t wish to share with others, and a driving force to stay positive even when everything around them screams to give up or give in.”
Alyssa smiles, her eyes closed.
“Many in this sport see God when they look inward. When they look in the mirror, the image that looks back at them appears to be all-powerful. They spew their bravado to convince the world of their power, skill, and influence. They see Wrestling Gods, Queenslayers, the Alpha and Omega of everything they desire. They do whatever they want, believing that their own code of morality stands above any silly rules or common decency.”
To the left of the altar - Alyssa’s right - a door creaks. Perhaps a gust in the air caused it to shift on its hinges or maybe it was an animal. It is an old church after all. Nevertheless, Alyssa decides to investigate the sound. She stands and walks cautiously to the door. She pulls the handle of the cracked door and opens it to reveal a stone staircase descending beneath the church.
“Still yet, there are others that see God as a path toward retribution. Maybe they see a past that they want to distance themselves from. Maybe they see a light that they hope can pull them out of their own personal darkness. That in itself isn’t a bad thing. It isn’t a bad reason to turn to God for answers.”
She withdraws a small flashlight and shines it down into the darkness.
“But some use God as their next addiction, the next thing to control them.”
The light shines down and shows an unremarkable stone floor at the bottom. Nothing much else is visible from her vantage point. She decides to descend into the darkness.
“Someone who wishes to distance themself from a dark past must practice and demonstrate personal growth. Using God as the next crutch doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean you’ve changed or gained ground. Imagine filling a cup with sewer water then mixing in some lime flavoring. How do you imagine it tastes?”
Upon reaching the bottom, she flashes the light around the room. To her surprise and confusion, all she can see are cells lined with rusted steel bars.
“Adding flavor doesn’t change the original nature of a substance. Poor Caden is being led to believe that this isn’t true. He’s lead to believe that if he does as she says, he will be shown penance for his actions. By following her, he shall release the souls of those he’s tormented to live by God’s side. He’s being controlled, wielded as an implement of destruction by an insane woman. In fairness, I don’t think is news to anyone save Caden himself. But the issue is deeper than Miss Saren. At a casual glance, she appears to be the mastermind controlling the monster. It is not by her power, however, that Caden marches on his path of destruction.”
One cell on the far wall directly across from the stairs hangs open while the others are all closed and locked. She’s startled by a rat that scurries under her feet but regains her composure and inches ever closer to the cell. As she reaches the door and looks inside, her flashlight stops on an object on the floor and leaning against the cell’s back wall. She steps closer to find a marionette, strings still connected to a set of control bars. She squats down to examine it.
“It is not Miss Saren who shows her power through control. It is Caden who seeks someone to control him. Long ago before this religious conwoman entered his life, Caden gave up control of his actions. He gave into his anger as a child. Maybe he fought it at first, but for whatever reason, he didn’t feel like self-control was worth the effort. He allowed himself to do terrible, unspeakable things because of his anger. He occasionally expresses remorse but only to imply that it will happen again. It’s a seemingly unbreakable cycle hard-coded into his behavior. Miss Saren is no mastermind. She just points him in a direction and winds his anger up tight. Anyone could take his reigns if they wanted. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
Alyssa picks up the control bar and the marionette comes to life, standing on the stone floor. With gentle flicks, the arms and legs simulate movement.
“The things he’s capable of, they can certainly be intimidating. After all, that’s how the game works, right? Enough talk about this destructive force and you start to believe it. Miss Saren allows this Old Testament style force to lay waste to the Battleground. But I’m not intimidated. For all the control she thinks she has, he is never in control. He still gives in to anger and rage, letting emotion consume him. In that ring, I am the antithesis to his unbridled demolition. I study my opponents and their tendencies. He goes into every fight expecting his same powerful style to carry him to victory with no consideration to whom he faces. He loses more and more control as the match wears on, while I constantly adapt to my opponents. And I fight on through pain most would succumb to.”
After causing the marionette to dance for a few seconds, she withdraws a pocket knife from her jeans pocket, one she keeps on her person for protection.
“Caden, you need not apologize to me. You need not apologize to Miss Saren. When you find a second loss on your Battleground record this Friday, you should apologize to yourself. Apologize for letting everything else control you but you. Apologize for your complete lack of attention to the task at hand. Apologize for allowing this indoctrination from your anger and your mistress to take hold of you and never let go. When that bell rings and you look into this little girl’s eyes across the ring, you will have a simple choice.”
With a few swipes, the knife severs the hold of the control bar on the marionette.
“Cut the strings… Or fall.”
The marionettes falls to the floor, crumpled in a heap.
