Everyone expects his or her life to pan out to a happy ending. They reject anything that's not based upon the standards reflected before them. But then again, whose standards are they really? Shine them up as much as you like, they still stink of the same rotten shit exposed to millions upon millions. Your rights become the sins of others; and vice versa.
But then again, who are you to say what's supposed to be of normal human interaction? Where were these personality flaws written into society as notoriety? You're forced into a path, destined to follow it, plummeting to your final resting place. You constantly fight your deepest, and darkest temptations, your mind overcrowded with self-doubt.
You slowly become a zombie within your existence.
But the intelligent ones have found an alternate route to enjoying their deepest fantasies.
I live on the human temple of others; flesh and blood. Not a vampire, that bullshit isn't anything more than a holiday tradition. I take in their flesh, fighting soul drenched within its soft tissues. I drown in their blood, quenching my thirst of power with theirs. I'm not the type to have the pointed canines, transform into a bat, or scorched by sunlight. No, I'm a different beast. I dress the same, eat the same, and talk the same. Death is a step below me, and hell isn't anything but a burden.
I'm the spitting image of you, which makes me even more terrifying.
"This is the finale, eh?" Freddie said to himself, his Air Forces scuffing against the pavement with each step.
Nathan Paradine wanted to be remembered as one of the greatest. But when was Paradine ever really that good? Sure, he hit a couple high spots in his career, and a strong gust of wind pushed him along even further, but he's never been respected. Maybe that's what he forgets; or he figures he can push himself past that doubt.
Who the fuck knows, it's still a mystery, right along with my winning streak, if you ask all the dirt sheet pundits. Five matches, five wins; pinning each one of my opponents. Mind you I said "pin", because the consensus from the masses is that I wasn't the better man in a couple of those matches.
Good for me, bad for them.
Now, here’s Nathan Paradine. Former Hostility headknocker. Someone my mentor handled more than a few times.
Freddie's eyes struggled to remain open, the weed numbing his body and mind. His spine tingled as his pace slowed to a crawl. Everything around him began to creep at the same pace, forcing a smile across his face. He had one thought in his mind, lingering around since spawning earlier that morning.
The night was dark and gloomy, leaving the shadows to roam along the ground, creating an eerie sensation of fear and curiosity. Thunder boomed above, as if shaking the earth with each crack. Lightning occasionally cracking, filling the sky with it's only sense of luminosity. Even the moon was hidden beneath the thick sheets of clouds, leaving the darkness to cast its reign of depression on all those standing beneath it.
"Perfect night for a funeral." I thought aloud.
The ground was damp from the rain, my shoes no longer the store-bought white, as they continued to be caked with the mud squishing beneath, with each step taken. My coat and pants drenched, sticking to my body, and feeling as if they weighed fifty pounds more. If it weren’t such an important funeral, I would've never been out in this weather. I'd be lucky if hypothermia hadn't already started to settle in.
As I continued down the mud-covered path, I could begin to make out the rows and rows of white chairs lined up on the wet grass. The seats soaked, and covered with mud, as if they hadn’t been used at all. In fact, as I continued to get closer, I could make out that in fact, they hadn't been touched.
Poor bastard. I thought. He wasn't even getting the proper burial he deserved.
As I continued my way to the chairs, lightning cracked in the sky, giving a millisecond of light for which, I could see the emptiness before me. I could make out some of the words streaking down them, written on white sheets of paper with a black marker.
Amy Jo Smyth... Zoltan... Konrad Raab....
All empty, never been sat on, and sitting uselessly before the casket at the head of the chairs. I walked through the middle of the thirty rows of chairs, taking a look at each name smeared on the back of the seat.
Tom Marrow…Jeff Jackson… Nathan Paradine.
Every seat empty and casting a lonely presence among the funeral. I then took a pack of cigarettes from my inner jacket pocket and tried lighting one up. An awful habit, I know. Finally, on the fourth match, I managed to get one lit, and took a long, relaxing drag, exhaling slowly.
As I finally made my way to the lonely podium, near the casket, I rummaged throughout my inner coat pockets yet again, looking for the folded notepad paper I had placed in there earlier. Finally finding it, I pulled it out, and tried to mask it from the rain with the hood of my coat. Stepping up to the podium, I looked at the empty chairs and smiled. I then began my eulogy for whomever was listening.
"Nathan Paradine. Gone too soon, yet not soon enough. An underachiever, yet arrogant enough to think he had some sort of special talent. Simply a fool whom masked himself with false aspirations and promises. He was the type of man to say one thing and do another. Give his word and break it within the same sentence. He thinks he can stop my train on this track to the CWF World title, but he’s sadly mistaken. He wasn't the greatest, merely a spot holder for a dying company, and now trying to hold together a dying school. He should've strongly considered his retirement."
I took another drag as the sky cracked, once again illuminating the cemetery, still showing the emptiness before me. I'm sure had someone come out and seen me, they'd thought I was nuts. If they only knew. Exhaling, I continued.
"Fuck you Nate. You’re the last piece of the old Hostility left here, and you’re way past your expiration date. I’ve got a date with destiny, and I’m going to take two more points from you for your mistakes. Au Revoir." I finished as I folded the paper back up and tossed it carelessly on the grass.
Almost done. I thought.
Bending over to pick up the shovel lying beside the casket, I spit on to the chest of the man laying within the wooden box, still smiling given the conditions of this shitty night.
"Now he’s had the proper burial." I said, as I kicked out the pulleys holding the casket above the earth. With an echoing crack, the coffin tumbled to its side, dumping the face of the man that once was. His face smashed into the cement floor, as it stuck to the surface, his skull breaking into numerous pieces. Then grabbing the shovel, I began covering the casket, water dripping from my hair, allowing me to taste the salty sweat dripping from my head.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."