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| Crucify Me; Mark Cannon | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 6 2015, 02:08 AM (28 Views) | |
| Cannonboy | Mar 6 2015, 02:08 AM Post #1 |
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Wrestler
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Lights. A thousand dancing, sparkling lights. We are underground now. We are in his domain. The camera swoops through crowd of half-dead revelers. They grind against each other, eyes closed, minds gone. The camera finds the end of the crowd and pans up. There is a god sitting on a throne. Mark Cannon sits above the fray, streaks of red paint dotting his face like a Pollock painting. Cannon: Welcome to hell. Are you enjoying it? The god gestures to a boy standing in a corner. He opens his mouth and beckons him. Cannon: Come you boy, tend on my mortal thoughts. The boy comes towards the throne, puts a tab of ecstasy on his own mouth, before sticking his tongue in Cannon's mouth. They make out for a while before Cannon pulls back smiling, the tab on his tongue. Cannon: Erik Holland. You are a worthy adversary. A skilled one. You are a man who has truly earned this chance against me. A raven crows, Mark's head leaps up. A smile grows over his face. Cannon: The Raven himself is hoarse. You think I'm easy pickins', don't you Holland? You think I'm the fragile little gay boy who did nothing to earn this title. A lot of people have been calling me a coward. They tell me I took the belt from Johnny by "betraying" him. What they can't admit is that I was only one in that ring brave enough to take what was mine. This belt was never Johnny's, Erik. And it will certainly never be yours. Let me tell you a story. He stands up and snaps his fingers. Two boys walk up and stand on either side of Cannon. They are dressed in altar boy robes that have the crotch cut out. One swings incense while the other stands ready with altar bells. Cannon: Before I came to FIW, I was a loser. I was a powerless twerp who got paid to get beaten by men, straight men, who wanted an easy win under their belt. They had me strut out into the ring in rainbow tights, talk in a lisp and then get power-bombed to the mat. I remember asking the booker if I could actually fight in one of the matches and he told me that "A Faggot will win in this fed when the sun explodes." So I kept taking the money. And I kept taking falls. The altar bells ring. The incense swings. The cameraman begins to realize there's pot in the incense burner. The camera gets a little shaky. Cannon: Then one man came to the ring. His name was Daniel Prophet. Prophet was a rich, white, straight boy who wanted to prove he was tough. He booked a squash match against me. It was supposed to be standard: I take a few shots, lie down, he gets to be hero for a day. But he took it one step farther. He was Jesus-freak ya know? Before the match, he told the crowd he'd "Crucify Me" to show me the error of my ways. I thought he was playing a character. I was wrong. The altar bells the ring. The incense boy takes a shot. Cannon: So he does his thing. He knocks me "out," he pins me, he plays hero the crowd. I lay in the middle of the ring wondering if I should get guac with my burrito that evening. Then he takes it a step further. He takes out a hammer. He tells the crowd that Jesus had his legs broken to stay on the cross. Then he smashes my ankle with the hammer. The altar bells ring. Cannon rubs his ankle. Cannon: Hasn't been the same since. When my manager told me Prophet wanted Round 2, he thought I'd turn it down. On the contrary. I said yes, with glee in my eyes. The altar bells ring. The incense boy hands something to Cannon. Cannon: Poor Daniel Prophet stepped into the ring with me, thinking he was in for an easy win. I knocked that boy out with one kick. Mark takes the nail and spins it into his palm until it breaks through the skin. Cannon: Then I twisted his right wrist until I heard it SNAP. He pushes the nail further into his palm. The bells ring as Mark grits grits his teeth, the nails almost through the other side of his hand. Cannon: He screamed. It was the sweetest sound I ever heard. Then I went to work on his left wrist. I snapped it like a twig. To this day the silence of that crowd is the sweetest music I've ever heard. Prophet never wrestled again. I ended his career just as I'll end yours, Holland. With one last push, he forces the nail entirely through his palm. He turns his hand upward, starring at the bloody nail coming out of his hand. He extends his arm to one of the Altar boys. Cannon: I was fired that night. And I made a vow. To never let a privileged, white straight man take what's mine. That's you, Mr. Holland. You think your rage makes you dangerous. You think your hate makes you unbeatable. You think I'll faint at the sight of blood. You think a No DQ match scares me. The altar boy comes over and puts his mouth on the nail. Going down on it to kiss Mark's palm. Cannon: I'm ready for blood, Erik. I'm ready to have mine spilt and to spill yours. I'm ready to break every bone in my body to keep this title. BECAUSE NO ONE WILL EVER MAKE ME POWERLESS AGAIN. The altar boy retracts his mouth. Mark, slowly, painfully pulls the nail out of his hand. Blood pours from the open wound as he closes his eyes. He takes his hand and wipes it across his forehead. Blood drips down into Mark's eyes, cheeks and mouth. His teeth are stained red with his own blood by the time he says: Cannon: Don't you know, Holland? Hell is empty. All the devils are right here. Mark opens his eyes revealing bloodshot pupils. The camera fades to black as Mark licks his own blood off his lips. End. |
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