Post by pretzelbender on Apr 6, 2020 22:06:42 GMT -5
Miles Lucky is a young man in a haunted body. He is long and quick, full of nervous ticks and indifference that allow his steps to work in contradictions. He can be rude, nonsensical and angry, creepy, some asshole with a shaking leg that he can’t stop. He is obsessed with pigeons, with junk, with moving, and all at once, obsessed with nothing. Why is he important, you ask? Well, unfortunately, Miles Lucky is our hero.
Sometimes, Miles hiccups and spills. He becomes overwhelmed, the skin of his fingers have nothing left to give. Flipping the mattress doesn’t change it, isolation doesn’t mend it, grabbing the face of a mannequin and roaring in it’s blank face doesn’t dispel it. The bubble in his chest, after days of monotonously observing and letting the absolute imprisonment of his situation sink in, pops in a way that floods him with anxiety like a caged animal.
He cries all day, because an animal in a cage has nothing left to do but howl. A clipped bird can only hop and sing. Miles Lucky, in tears, can only grab an axe and runs from his room and out into the desolate town.
This town, where it’s always wet and cold, where the clouds don’t change from it’s gloom. A town that was possibly once very beautiful and deteriorated slowly over time, like an eighteenth century painting. He marches and avoids the gas station and those worried and protective eyes that would catch him and convince him to settle down. Those same eyes, just as bright as words spoken, persuading him to stay.
Telling him not to look into hooded eyes. Making sure he doesn’t stomp mice. Demanding he drinks water. Warning him not to dig a hole to China. Polite. Spinning stories. Polite. Pulling his leg, definitely pulling his leg. Please. Please, Miles. Don’t. His long pale fingers tighten around the handle of the axe, his worn out shoes padding against the wet gravel of the empty street.
He hated it here.
Yet, the small town of Red Cliff is where he has agreed to stay and it’s wrenching to him. It’s the worst decision to make, there’s nothing for him here and there’s a longing for elsewhere deep within his bones. Yet, sometimes, and that is the word of the day-- sometimes, you stay where you don’t want to be anyway, because those eyes are all you have. Those eyes are your only friend, the only person you need. It brings him to tears on and off, boiling down to sprout back up as he swings his axe at the door.
He can’t relax, he can’t settle down-- he doesn’t even know if this is it, but something tells him that it is. Somehow, he knows that this is it. Our home.
As he assaults the door, the wood dusting up at the impact of another hit, he thinks of Indi Ryhder. Indi Ryhder, his next opponent in a career that offers him small, feigned escapes that are worth the pain of waking up back behind the imaginary bars presented to him by crows, rain, tumbleweeded people, uncertain timelines and a mouth full of sticky foreign candy that knew more than him.
“Everyone has a home!”
Indi Rhyder is wrong.
When the door gives and he steps over the broken wood into the home, it's the first thing he thinks of. She’s wrong. For all she’s told and all she knows, for all that’s seen and shared with her, she’s fucking wrong and it sends him reeling. The home begins to suffocate him as he stands in the middle of it. His teeth grit in fear, his eyes wide, his grip on the axe whitens his knuckles further and he shakes in growing panic that is punctuated by his quickening breaths.
Everyone has a home.
She’s full of shit. This is supposed to be his, this is meant to be. It doesn’t feel like it. The tears start going again, the panic being replaced by anger as he paces around the home. He peaks, he screams and he swings.
The words come from Miles. He’s sitting at a small dining table, the axe he swung planted right in the middle. He’s silent for a moment, his teeth clacking together as he thinks, his puffy red eyes staring off into the side.
“I’m guessing that I have to start somewhere. That’s how it works. You say something until you can’t stop saying something or until what you need to say comes out, I’m. Uh. You-”
He shakes his head and laughs miserably, interrupting himself. He needs to begin, he needs to start. He mumbles, his head swaying as if he were measuring their weight, their cons.
“She’s always listening, everyone is her business.”
His mouth twists bitterly. An afterthought.
“Everyone has a home.”
He takes a deep breath and leans forward on the table, still not making eye contact with the camera as he speaks.
“You have a way with words, you know that? You’re so sure of yourself and what you believe, of everything. It’s hard to find someone who speaks with the same sort of peace only the dead can experience.”
He picks at his wounded fingers, it hurts, but he has to.
“It’s hard to find someone like you.”
Finally, he stares into the camera. He looks disappointed for a moment, as if she would be sitting right there across from him with that soft, knowing smile. Her hair streaked with outer space, her skin covered in silver as small planets revolve around her because Indi can do that, she can change the rules and be the moon at the center of the galaxy. She believes all that’s shared with her, she’s as beautiful as the stars that whisper in her ears and as knowing as the universe that cradles her.
That’s her first mistake: thinking that Miles is something that the universe can grasp as well.
“It’s hard to find someone so wise and naive.”
His tone shifts, there’s a determination to him past the puffiness of his now burning eyes.
“She’s listening, right? All the time, she hears it all and she sees it all, so she should know that you don’t have a chance here. She should know that I’m on the opposite side of a clock she can’t read because numbers on the back don’t exist. Does she know, though, the one and only thing that makes us alike, me and you? That we don’t have a home, we have a prison, and that’s why you’ve been running the same way that I have, the one constant being a ring. You can have that inner peace, you can be content with what the world is giving you, but you still want a chosen someone to scuffle with in the name across from yours.”
He can’t stay still anymore, so he stands like he can pull a blanket and reveal her to something that already knows her well enough. There’s a reason that the most interesting thing about Indi isn’t her wrestling career. She has more to give than any other opponent, so Miles has a lot to take. He refuses to miss out. If he can grab a shooting star from her like a heart out of her chest, then he will.
“I’m not content. I don’t believe in any plans that I don’t make. The universe can’t touch me because I’m too busy grabbing the world you’re so sure of and shaking it. I don’t need to be nice, I don’t need to make friends. Those you rely on will bring you down into your own heap, she is going to kill you in the end for listening to what she has to say. The stars are going to burn you for trusting them and I’m going to choke you for even thinking that you can speak to me as if we’re made of the same stuff. Thinking I can ever be held or controlled like you.”
He takes a moment to calm himself down, leaning on the table and hanging his head to breath before he sits down once again. He frowns and shakes his head to himself, mumbling and nodding.
“I can’t. I’m not so weak, I’m not so bending. I’m no one’s business but my own. You’ll know it. It’s going to be fun, didn’t we agree? Tearing each other apart, watching your pretty face twist at the impact of my fist. I have a lot to take out on you, I have a lot of things bothering me. You and her and the universe? Are the perfect punching bags for me and I’ll take every shot that I have. I’m sure you’ve accomplished a lot, but I’m only worried about you. You and the things you carry. You and the things you know.”
He grabs a hold of the axe handle, removing the tool from the table with a tough pull that sends the steel of the blade to the floor by his feet. He leans on it from his chair.
“I’m going to do my best to hurt you for those things. I want you to hurt me too. We’re going to build a home together in that ring and we’re going to destroy it too.”
He reaches for the camera.
“See you there, Indi, and Happy Pigeon Day.”
He cuts and huffs and stands once again. Miles leaves the home and fixes nothing; heading into the woods and building the chair that he hits Bryan Williams with in a separate promotion days later. You were going to put the Infinity title in your promo? Well, it’s not in this one either.
Life is like that, everything crosses, he already made himself known before getting there. Yes, he can make a small home out of Union. Yes, maybe everyone has one, but don’t tell Indi. She already knows anyway.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Sometimes, Miles hiccups and spills. He becomes overwhelmed, the skin of his fingers have nothing left to give. Flipping the mattress doesn’t change it, isolation doesn’t mend it, grabbing the face of a mannequin and roaring in it’s blank face doesn’t dispel it. The bubble in his chest, after days of monotonously observing and letting the absolute imprisonment of his situation sink in, pops in a way that floods him with anxiety like a caged animal.
He cries all day, because an animal in a cage has nothing left to do but howl. A clipped bird can only hop and sing. Miles Lucky, in tears, can only grab an axe and runs from his room and out into the desolate town.
This town, where it’s always wet and cold, where the clouds don’t change from it’s gloom. A town that was possibly once very beautiful and deteriorated slowly over time, like an eighteenth century painting. He marches and avoids the gas station and those worried and protective eyes that would catch him and convince him to settle down. Those same eyes, just as bright as words spoken, persuading him to stay.
Telling him not to look into hooded eyes. Making sure he doesn’t stomp mice. Demanding he drinks water. Warning him not to dig a hole to China. Polite. Spinning stories. Polite. Pulling his leg, definitely pulling his leg. Please. Please, Miles. Don’t. His long pale fingers tighten around the handle of the axe, his worn out shoes padding against the wet gravel of the empty street.
He hated it here.
Yet, the small town of Red Cliff is where he has agreed to stay and it’s wrenching to him. It’s the worst decision to make, there’s nothing for him here and there’s a longing for elsewhere deep within his bones. Yet, sometimes, and that is the word of the day-- sometimes, you stay where you don’t want to be anyway, because those eyes are all you have. Those eyes are your only friend, the only person you need. It brings him to tears on and off, boiling down to sprout back up as he swings his axe at the door.
He can’t relax, he can’t settle down-- he doesn’t even know if this is it, but something tells him that it is. Somehow, he knows that this is it. Our home.
As he assaults the door, the wood dusting up at the impact of another hit, he thinks of Indi Ryhder. Indi Ryhder, his next opponent in a career that offers him small, feigned escapes that are worth the pain of waking up back behind the imaginary bars presented to him by crows, rain, tumbleweeded people, uncertain timelines and a mouth full of sticky foreign candy that knew more than him.
“Everyone has a home!”
Indi Rhyder is wrong.
When the door gives and he steps over the broken wood into the home, it's the first thing he thinks of. She’s wrong. For all she’s told and all she knows, for all that’s seen and shared with her, she’s fucking wrong and it sends him reeling. The home begins to suffocate him as he stands in the middle of it. His teeth grit in fear, his eyes wide, his grip on the axe whitens his knuckles further and he shakes in growing panic that is punctuated by his quickening breaths.
Everyone has a home.
She’s full of shit. This is supposed to be his, this is meant to be. It doesn’t feel like it. The tears start going again, the panic being replaced by anger as he paces around the home. He peaks, he screams and he swings.
“I don’t know what to say.”
The words come from Miles. He’s sitting at a small dining table, the axe he swung planted right in the middle. He’s silent for a moment, his teeth clacking together as he thinks, his puffy red eyes staring off into the side.
“I’m guessing that I have to start somewhere. That’s how it works. You say something until you can’t stop saying something or until what you need to say comes out, I’m. Uh. You-”
He shakes his head and laughs miserably, interrupting himself. He needs to begin, he needs to start. He mumbles, his head swaying as if he were measuring their weight, their cons.
“She’s always listening, everyone is her business.”
His mouth twists bitterly. An afterthought.
“Everyone has a home.”
He takes a deep breath and leans forward on the table, still not making eye contact with the camera as he speaks.
“You have a way with words, you know that? You’re so sure of yourself and what you believe, of everything. It’s hard to find someone who speaks with the same sort of peace only the dead can experience.”
He picks at his wounded fingers, it hurts, but he has to.
“It’s hard to find someone like you.”
Finally, he stares into the camera. He looks disappointed for a moment, as if she would be sitting right there across from him with that soft, knowing smile. Her hair streaked with outer space, her skin covered in silver as small planets revolve around her because Indi can do that, she can change the rules and be the moon at the center of the galaxy. She believes all that’s shared with her, she’s as beautiful as the stars that whisper in her ears and as knowing as the universe that cradles her.
That’s her first mistake: thinking that Miles is something that the universe can grasp as well.
“It’s hard to find someone so wise and naive.”
His tone shifts, there’s a determination to him past the puffiness of his now burning eyes.
“She’s listening, right? All the time, she hears it all and she sees it all, so she should know that you don’t have a chance here. She should know that I’m on the opposite side of a clock she can’t read because numbers on the back don’t exist. Does she know, though, the one and only thing that makes us alike, me and you? That we don’t have a home, we have a prison, and that’s why you’ve been running the same way that I have, the one constant being a ring. You can have that inner peace, you can be content with what the world is giving you, but you still want a chosen someone to scuffle with in the name across from yours.”
He can’t stay still anymore, so he stands like he can pull a blanket and reveal her to something that already knows her well enough. There’s a reason that the most interesting thing about Indi isn’t her wrestling career. She has more to give than any other opponent, so Miles has a lot to take. He refuses to miss out. If he can grab a shooting star from her like a heart out of her chest, then he will.
“I’m not content. I don’t believe in any plans that I don’t make. The universe can’t touch me because I’m too busy grabbing the world you’re so sure of and shaking it. I don’t need to be nice, I don’t need to make friends. Those you rely on will bring you down into your own heap, she is going to kill you in the end for listening to what she has to say. The stars are going to burn you for trusting them and I’m going to choke you for even thinking that you can speak to me as if we’re made of the same stuff. Thinking I can ever be held or controlled like you.”
He takes a moment to calm himself down, leaning on the table and hanging his head to breath before he sits down once again. He frowns and shakes his head to himself, mumbling and nodding.
“I can’t. I’m not so weak, I’m not so bending. I’m no one’s business but my own. You’ll know it. It’s going to be fun, didn’t we agree? Tearing each other apart, watching your pretty face twist at the impact of my fist. I have a lot to take out on you, I have a lot of things bothering me. You and her and the universe? Are the perfect punching bags for me and I’ll take every shot that I have. I’m sure you’ve accomplished a lot, but I’m only worried about you. You and the things you carry. You and the things you know.”
He grabs a hold of the axe handle, removing the tool from the table with a tough pull that sends the steel of the blade to the floor by his feet. He leans on it from his chair.
“I’m going to do my best to hurt you for those things. I want you to hurt me too. We’re going to build a home together in that ring and we’re going to destroy it too.”
He reaches for the camera.
“See you there, Indi, and Happy Pigeon Day.”
He cuts and huffs and stands once again. Miles leaves the home and fixes nothing; heading into the woods and building the chair that he hits Bryan Williams with in a separate promotion days later. You were going to put the Infinity title in your promo? Well, it’s not in this one either.
Life is like that, everything crosses, he already made himself known before getting there. Yes, he can make a small home out of Union. Yes, maybe everyone has one, but don’t tell Indi. She already knows anyway.