Post by synn on May 12, 2023 0:29:16 GMT -5
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Malick asked, his whispered voice cutting through the silence of the Alaskan night.
“Yeah, I do this all the time.”
Juniper wasn’t sure about it. She had been to the abandoned asylum before too, but tonight something felt off.
“Just trust me.” Russet was always an adventurous kid, and tended to get himself into completely avoidable situations because of it. He wasn’t a bad kid, just liked to go against the grain.
The three of them were careful to make as little noise as possible, although none of them were exactly sure why. Nobody had been to this building in decades, and it sat in a decrepit state of decay that even the worst war zones would envy. Still, there was something eerie about it, especially under a full moon.
Their steps crunched the remaining snow, and each of them winced with the sound. The old brick structure was only about 300 yards from them now, and coming more into view with every step.
“I don’t know about this,” Mallick spoke up again.
“Shhhh” Russet shushed him.
Juniper hadn’t said a word since they got out of the car a quarter mile ago, at the wood line. She had seen, heard, smelt, felt a presence there. Something else was in these woods, but her fear caused her to swallow her tongue. Her fear of the unknown. Her fear that something she couldn’t see could, in fact, see her.
There it was, lit up in the moonlight, the old asylum. The place that any Alaskan will know if you ask, but never bring up on their own. The only sanitarium in the state, and one of the worst in the United States. Morningside Hospital. The place for Lost Alaskans.
They were right on the grounds now. The sign out front was overgrown with weeds older than anyone they knew. It had dust and dirt on it, and Russet brushed it off. “We’re here.” There was something about this place that didn’t sit right with Juniper, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. What she could put a finger on was the sign. She reached out and touched it, sending a shiver down her body like the biting Alaskan cold never could.
“There’s a fence, and it looks like the gate is padlocked.” Mallick, such an observer.
“When has a fence ever stopped anyone?” Russet shot back, unnerved by his friends' lack of enthusiasm for their imminent trespass.
They both looked back at her as if waiting for her decision, like whatever she thought would sway them one way or another. It was like their eyes screamed “well?!”. She wanted to run back through the woods to the car, but she knew she would never be invited again. Anything was better than being home, so she nodded before choking out the words, “lets go.”
“Atta girl!” Russet was happy with her choice, but it drew an eye roll from Mallick. No matter what her decision was, it would have been wrong to someone. SO MUCH PRESSURE!
The decision had been made, and they moved towards the fence surrounding the massive institution. Russet jiggled the padlock. It was older than he was. “We need to either break it, or find another way inside.” His words were accompanied by steam, it was colder than a witches tit out here.
There was a snap from the woods behind them, but the two boys didn’t seem to notice.
“Look for another way in,” Russet was directing traffic. Mallick went one way, Juniper went the other. Their flashlights, aided by the moon, made their vision of the place that much more eerie. Vines had crawled up the sides of the brick, suffocating it. Bricks were chipped, and the window paint was chipped and molded.
Juniper continued to crunch around the East side of the building, when she came across a crooked, rusty sign that was hanging from the fence. It, like everything else here, had seen better days. Shining her light on it to get a better read, she mouthed the words.
In front of her, behind the fence, was a giant yard. This must have been where they had their outside time, at least those who were lucky enough not to be in a cell 24 hours a day. When this place was in use, it was criminal to be insane. Right now, she felt like a criminal trying to get inside. Leave well enough alone. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
The windows were fogged with dirt and soot. She flashed her light into the flat black windows, but couldn’t see anything from the inside. She felt her hands shaking as she gripped the cold steel of the flashlight. In the distance, she could hear the voices of the two boys. Maybe they found something. Just as she pulled her light down off the side of the building, she did a double take. She could have sworn she’d something in the window. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She took off to the West side of the building where the boys verses were. When she caught up with them, they had a stick, and were trying to a piece of paper that had fluttered in the breeze and landed in front of them, just beyond the chain link.
“Juni! You have small hands! Can you reach this?!” Russet was adamant about getting this piece of paper. She took the stick from him and reached her hand in–she could almost fit it through to the wrist. She stuck it with the edge of the stick and dragged it to where they could get it. When they uncrumpled it, the three of them gasped.
“Holy hell, this is an amazing find!” Mallick said, the steam coming out with each word as if he just smoked an entire cigarette and blew it out.
“This is only the beginning,” Russet huffed, “we NEED to get inside.”
There was another large sign on the other side of the fence, about 60 feet down. They shuffled down to the only sign on the entire property that wasn’t dilapidated.
Malick asked, his whispered voice cutting through the silence of the Alaskan night.
“Yeah, I do this all the time.”
Juniper wasn’t sure about it. She had been to the abandoned asylum before too, but tonight something felt off.
“Just trust me.” Russet was always an adventurous kid, and tended to get himself into completely avoidable situations because of it. He wasn’t a bad kid, just liked to go against the grain.
The three of them were careful to make as little noise as possible, although none of them were exactly sure why. Nobody had been to this building in decades, and it sat in a decrepit state of decay that even the worst war zones would envy. Still, there was something eerie about it, especially under a full moon.
Their steps crunched the remaining snow, and each of them winced with the sound. The old brick structure was only about 300 yards from them now, and coming more into view with every step.
“I don’t know about this,” Mallick spoke up again.
“Shhhh” Russet shushed him.
Juniper hadn’t said a word since they got out of the car a quarter mile ago, at the wood line. She had seen, heard, smelt, felt a presence there. Something else was in these woods, but her fear caused her to swallow her tongue. Her fear of the unknown. Her fear that something she couldn’t see could, in fact, see her.
There it was, lit up in the moonlight, the old asylum. The place that any Alaskan will know if you ask, but never bring up on their own. The only sanitarium in the state, and one of the worst in the United States. Morningside Hospital. The place for Lost Alaskans.
Back in the territorial days, Alaskan’s could be one of three places. Inside (Alaska), Outside (Anywhere else) or Morningside (the asylum branded as a ‘hospital’). The place that claimed to help people through some of the most atrocious acts in human history.
The story of Morningside Hospital is a civil rights story. Prior to statehood, there were no services available in the Territory of Alaska for individuals who experienced mental illness or developmental disabilities. At the time, mental illness was considered a crime. Alaskan adults and children were arrested, convicted of being insane, and sent by the federal government to live at Morningside Hospital. They were taken from their families and communities by dog sled, train and boat. In the end, at least 3,500 Alaskans were sent to Morningside between 1904 and the 1960s, when Morningside was finally closed. Many were never heard from by their families again. These are the Lost Alaskans.
They were right on the grounds now. The sign out front was overgrown with weeds older than anyone they knew. It had dust and dirt on it, and Russet brushed it off. “We’re here.” There was something about this place that didn’t sit right with Juniper, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. What she could put a finger on was the sign. She reached out and touched it, sending a shiver down her body like the biting Alaskan cold never could.
“There’s a fence, and it looks like the gate is padlocked.” Mallick, such an observer.
“When has a fence ever stopped anyone?” Russet shot back, unnerved by his friends' lack of enthusiasm for their imminent trespass.
They both looked back at her as if waiting for her decision, like whatever she thought would sway them one way or another. It was like their eyes screamed “well?!”. She wanted to run back through the woods to the car, but she knew she would never be invited again. Anything was better than being home, so she nodded before choking out the words, “lets go.”
“Atta girl!” Russet was happy with her choice, but it drew an eye roll from Mallick. No matter what her decision was, it would have been wrong to someone. SO MUCH PRESSURE!
The decision had been made, and they moved towards the fence surrounding the massive institution. Russet jiggled the padlock. It was older than he was. “We need to either break it, or find another way inside.” His words were accompanied by steam, it was colder than a witches tit out here.
There was a snap from the woods behind them, but the two boys didn’t seem to notice.
“Look for another way in,” Russet was directing traffic. Mallick went one way, Juniper went the other. Their flashlights, aided by the moon, made their vision of the place that much more eerie. Vines had crawled up the sides of the brick, suffocating it. Bricks were chipped, and the window paint was chipped and molded.
Juniper continued to crunch around the East side of the building, when she came across a crooked, rusty sign that was hanging from the fence. It, like everything else here, had seen better days. Shining her light on it to get a better read, she mouthed the words.
“FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE.”
In front of her, behind the fence, was a giant yard. This must have been where they had their outside time, at least those who were lucky enough not to be in a cell 24 hours a day. When this place was in use, it was criminal to be insane. Right now, she felt like a criminal trying to get inside. Leave well enough alone. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
The windows were fogged with dirt and soot. She flashed her light into the flat black windows, but couldn’t see anything from the inside. She felt her hands shaking as she gripped the cold steel of the flashlight. In the distance, she could hear the voices of the two boys. Maybe they found something. Just as she pulled her light down off the side of the building, she did a double take. She could have sworn she’d something in the window. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She took off to the West side of the building where the boys verses were. When she caught up with them, they had a stick, and were trying to a piece of paper that had fluttered in the breeze and landed in front of them, just beyond the chain link.
“Juni! You have small hands! Can you reach this?!” Russet was adamant about getting this piece of paper. She took the stick from him and reached her hand in–she could almost fit it through to the wrist. She stuck it with the edge of the stick and dragged it to where they could get it. When they uncrumpled it, the three of them gasped.
“Holy hell, this is an amazing find!” Mallick said, the steam coming out with each word as if he just smoked an entire cigarette and blew it out.
“This is only the beginning,” Russet huffed, “we NEED to get inside.”
There was another large sign on the other side of the fence, about 60 feet down. They shuffled down to the only sign on the entire property that wasn’t dilapidated.
ACCESS DENIED.
“FUCK!” Russet yelled. He punched the sign with the full force of rage with an infusion of disappointment. The entire fence shook, the steel on chain link ringing like bells in the forest. He hit it again. More shaking, more bells. It shook, but didn’t move. He looked at Juniper. “You’re gonna have to go over the top.”
“Why me?!"
“You’re the smallest.”
“Russet—no—”
“Are you scared?”
She bit her lip and took a deep breath, exhaling with an audible sigh.
“Lift me.”
“Why me?!"
“You’re the smallest.”
“Russet—no—”
“Are you scared?”
She bit her lip and took a deep breath, exhaling with an audible sigh.
“Lift me.”
“The first person I beat when I stepped in the door was an OCW legend, now I have the splendid opportunity to defeat another. And defeat him, I will. I didn’t come this far just to come this far, and I can’t let someone like Easton soil the best World Title in the business. Because let's be honest with ourselves, Mr. Alexander…..spoil it you would. Anti-hero’s only work in fantasy, which to this point has been the signature of your career. A fantasy. A fallacy. Flaccid.
Easton you were one of the ones I used to watch in my bedroom, a bowl of popcorn and some Hi-C, and one that I looked at as someone who was the fabric of the OCW cloth. A ‘legend’ who has stuck with the company through thick and thin, who has been there the most turbulent of times. When OCW was up or down, Easton Alexander was there, through the glory and the wreckage. Whenever OCW needed someone to shoulder the load, Easton was right there volunteering as tribute. Noble, if nothing else. Loyal, to a fault. I can respect it, while also pitying it. When you first got here, the champions were world class. You were fighting an uphill battle. I respect that. When I arrived here, the champions were world class, I was fighting an uphill battle. I did something about it.
You sat there and chewed the fat, I cut it off with a surgeon’s precision. I took on all comers and I did something in six months that you have never done. I won the OCW World Heavyweight Championship. I stepped in the footprints of legends, and made my own tracks. You stepped in those very same footprints, and blended in. Bless your heart, you are trying, and improving, but when is enough enough. It’s been years, Easton. I did in six months what you failed to do in an entire career. You’re no spring chicken anymore. You’re like the little engine that could, you keep chugging along, but the station keeps getting further and further away. Now you have the displeasure of facing me. All of the names on that long list of misgivings, and the one that will stick in your core like a million daggers at once? SYNN.
I guess you could say your chance at the world title….Access Denied.
I crack myself up sometimes. Hey, even a demon can laugh once and a while.
I get it. You try to be intimidating. You push your chest out and huff and puff, but you’ve still never managed to blow a house down. This house is made of reinforced steel. When I saw your name on the card, honestly, I smiled a crooked smile. I knew it would be a battle. I knew you would give it your very best, because you always do. Problem is, your best isn’t, and hasn’t been, good enough. I expect to feel pain. I expect you to push me to my very limit, to give the hardworking and well paying members of the Proud and Strong their just due. I expect this to be the match of the year, and easily my toughest challenge to date.
But in the end, the outcome will be the same. It is always the same.
Easton Alexander will fail to get the job done.
We’ve read this book cover to cover, every page. We’ve seen it already. Hey, at least you’re consistent, I’ll give ya that.
Now, before you get your britches in a bunch, let me rewind. Yes, I called you a legend, because you are. You were on the roster with the likes of Outcast, Plethora, Killa K, PIC. You survived on a roster loaded to the gills and you etched your name in history alongside of them……..as just a notch below. It’s okay, sometimes you’re Harmon Egan, sometimes you’re Charlie Nickels. There is nothing wrong with being second tier, but when you believe in your heart of hearts that you belong on the top shelf with the rest of the high priced liquor you sometimes need a reality check and to be sent down with the rest. You aren’t well liquor, far from bottom of the barrel, but you sure as hell don’t command luxury pricing. I’m the fine wine served with a 5 star meal at Jean-George. You’re the margarita special at Chili’s. Still good, but it’s clear we aren’t the same.
I can smell the fear in you. It’s intoxicating. I can smell your overwhelming self disappointment, and your absolute need to matter to someone. To finally get over that hill and be something more than another name on the card to sell tickets. To be a champion. To be the face of the place.
I understand, I was a fan once.
I get how much this company means to those who watch, participate, and endorse it. I understand how this business can eat your soul alive, how your demons can catch up to you and derail any progress you may be making. I didn’t want that to happen to me, I decided to BECOME the demon. To lock all my fear and anxiety away, to bury all of my pain, and to become the combination of all of them. I control them, I do not let them control me. You? Your desperation is evident in every step you take. Every breath reeks of self-loathing and insignificance.
You can’t see it because you have had the same blinders on for years now. You might wanna wash the crust off those things, they are doing you no good. I said many moons ago that a loss sometimes tells a greater story than a win. Losing to Harmon that first time, though intentional, was the best thing that happened to me because it showed the entire world that I COULD beat him any time I wanted. When I was ready. Maybe this match will be your moment to prove to the world than you can hang with the best, even in defeat. So when you lose to me at the Pay Per View, look at the positive……..
You gave it your best, and you put the world on notice.
Easton Alexander is almost good enough.
Again.
Sometimes, it’s how you look at things.
I’m in your head, living rent free, and I am putting my feet up on the furniture. Are you going to evict me? Or are you going to find another place to call home? History says the latter.
So go on, E.A, prove me wrong.
Better yet, prove yourself wrong. That’s a bigger challenge than I’ll ever be."
Easton you were one of the ones I used to watch in my bedroom, a bowl of popcorn and some Hi-C, and one that I looked at as someone who was the fabric of the OCW cloth. A ‘legend’ who has stuck with the company through thick and thin, who has been there the most turbulent of times. When OCW was up or down, Easton Alexander was there, through the glory and the wreckage. Whenever OCW needed someone to shoulder the load, Easton was right there volunteering as tribute. Noble, if nothing else. Loyal, to a fault. I can respect it, while also pitying it. When you first got here, the champions were world class. You were fighting an uphill battle. I respect that. When I arrived here, the champions were world class, I was fighting an uphill battle. I did something about it.
You sat there and chewed the fat, I cut it off with a surgeon’s precision. I took on all comers and I did something in six months that you have never done. I won the OCW World Heavyweight Championship. I stepped in the footprints of legends, and made my own tracks. You stepped in those very same footprints, and blended in. Bless your heart, you are trying, and improving, but when is enough enough. It’s been years, Easton. I did in six months what you failed to do in an entire career. You’re no spring chicken anymore. You’re like the little engine that could, you keep chugging along, but the station keeps getting further and further away. Now you have the displeasure of facing me. All of the names on that long list of misgivings, and the one that will stick in your core like a million daggers at once? SYNN.
I guess you could say your chance at the world title….Access Denied.
I crack myself up sometimes. Hey, even a demon can laugh once and a while.
I get it. You try to be intimidating. You push your chest out and huff and puff, but you’ve still never managed to blow a house down. This house is made of reinforced steel. When I saw your name on the card, honestly, I smiled a crooked smile. I knew it would be a battle. I knew you would give it your very best, because you always do. Problem is, your best isn’t, and hasn’t been, good enough. I expect to feel pain. I expect you to push me to my very limit, to give the hardworking and well paying members of the Proud and Strong their just due. I expect this to be the match of the year, and easily my toughest challenge to date.
But in the end, the outcome will be the same. It is always the same.
Easton Alexander will fail to get the job done.
We’ve read this book cover to cover, every page. We’ve seen it already. Hey, at least you’re consistent, I’ll give ya that.
Now, before you get your britches in a bunch, let me rewind. Yes, I called you a legend, because you are. You were on the roster with the likes of Outcast, Plethora, Killa K, PIC. You survived on a roster loaded to the gills and you etched your name in history alongside of them……..as just a notch below. It’s okay, sometimes you’re Harmon Egan, sometimes you’re Charlie Nickels. There is nothing wrong with being second tier, but when you believe in your heart of hearts that you belong on the top shelf with the rest of the high priced liquor you sometimes need a reality check and to be sent down with the rest. You aren’t well liquor, far from bottom of the barrel, but you sure as hell don’t command luxury pricing. I’m the fine wine served with a 5 star meal at Jean-George. You’re the margarita special at Chili’s. Still good, but it’s clear we aren’t the same.
I can smell the fear in you. It’s intoxicating. I can smell your overwhelming self disappointment, and your absolute need to matter to someone. To finally get over that hill and be something more than another name on the card to sell tickets. To be a champion. To be the face of the place.
I understand, I was a fan once.
I get how much this company means to those who watch, participate, and endorse it. I understand how this business can eat your soul alive, how your demons can catch up to you and derail any progress you may be making. I didn’t want that to happen to me, I decided to BECOME the demon. To lock all my fear and anxiety away, to bury all of my pain, and to become the combination of all of them. I control them, I do not let them control me. You? Your desperation is evident in every step you take. Every breath reeks of self-loathing and insignificance.
You can’t see it because you have had the same blinders on for years now. You might wanna wash the crust off those things, they are doing you no good. I said many moons ago that a loss sometimes tells a greater story than a win. Losing to Harmon that first time, though intentional, was the best thing that happened to me because it showed the entire world that I COULD beat him any time I wanted. When I was ready. Maybe this match will be your moment to prove to the world than you can hang with the best, even in defeat. So when you lose to me at the Pay Per View, look at the positive……..
You gave it your best, and you put the world on notice.
Easton Alexander is almost good enough.
Again.
Sometimes, it’s how you look at things.
I’m in your head, living rent free, and I am putting my feet up on the furniture. Are you going to evict me? Or are you going to find another place to call home? History says the latter.
So go on, E.A, prove me wrong.
Better yet, prove yourself wrong. That’s a bigger challenge than I’ll ever be."
11-3
1x OCW WORLD CHAMP
1x OH SHIT CONTRACT HOLDER
1x BEHEADER OF B.O.B
1x OCW WORLD CHAMP
1x OH SHIT CONTRACT HOLDER
1x BEHEADER OF B.O.B