Post by Outcast on Aug 3, 2021 11:27:46 GMT -5
Closure...
Let me tell you something about closure.
It's f**king bullsh*t.
It's an excuse someone uses to bang and ex, or to revisit the drama from their past because their current day-to-day lives are too damn boring for them to bear.
Then, there are those like me, who use the word closure as a synonym for revenge.
I thought I wanted closure, and I thought that finding who killed Nicole and killing them would give me that mythical feeling of closure. But, as I ran that knife across Anderson's neck, I realized it wasn't closure I wanted, it was revenge. And now, as I stand here staring at Nicole's tombstone, I don't feel anything but bitterness and anger. The bitterness that I didn't have a better life with her, bitterness that I didn't have a longer life with her, and anger towards myself, because it was all my fault.
I slowly kneel, extra slow because my body is so sore from all I've endured over the past two months. It seems like the world is always trying to kill me, but I'm either too stupid or stubborn to just lay down and die.
I can promise you that closure is the last thing I feel as my hand runs across the top of her tombstone. I look at Nelson's tombstone to the left of hers, and I feel my blood begin to boil. How dare that son of a b*tch be buried next to her after he was the one who got her killed? How dare his family bury her here and not in Chicago next to Victor? How dare…
How dare I judge anyone?
I sink forward, and my head rests against her tombstone, look at me, how pathetic I must appear. A ring-war hardened veteran, who has walked through hell and back, a man whom the mere mention of my name strikes fear into the hearts of other grown men, and here I am reduced to a whimpering pile of sh*t over a lost love from years gone by. I’m like a character from a Nicholas Sparks book or some sh*t movie on the Hallmark channel.
Some OCW champion I’ll make.
But, the Outcast that steps into the ring is different from the Outcast that lives in the world. Something in me changes when I step through the curtain. It’s like a demon posses me, it takes hold of my body, mind, and soul. I pour everything I have into every match because every match could be my last one. It’s no secret that I’m an old man, but when you see an old man in a sport that chews up young men and spits them out you have to assume, no, you have to know that the only thing you can assume about that broken-down old man is that he is a survivor. And me, Xavier, I am a f**king survivor. I can’t die, because living every day is my punishment from God for all the terrible things I have done in my life and all the wickedness that has befallen the world because of my actions.
I think that is why I would seek revenge for anything and everything I could think of. It was like I needed an excuse to be bitter, violent, and enraged, but with age comes wisdom, and I have realized that is just the basis of man. The Bible gives us commandments against these feelings, against our basic instincts, against our wickedness. Because that is what we are Xavier, we are wicked to our core, and I just happen to be the most wicked of them all.
I push myself up to my knees and stare at Nicole’s grave for a moment. I reach into my jeans pocket and pull my Newport’s out. As I place one into my mouth, I think about how she was always trying to get me to quit, and how I never listened to her. Then again, I’ve never listened to anyone, because at my base, like every man, I am inconsiderate and self-centered. “Maybe if I had been different things would be different”, I think as I pull the unlit cigarette from my mouth.
Why do we wake up? Humans are evil. Humans are dumb. Humans can think yes, but only of what suits them best. Humans walk beside the rest of us, forgetting they are the rest of us. Humans are never one of a kind. I could click a few times, and find someone with your hobbies and likes. Humans can be good, but will humans do any good. Would they save a life if it meant losing something of value, or will they jump for a dollar as they watch you fall into a dark hole? In terror and horror. Humans can be good. Humans can be smart. But deep down they'll always have a dark heart.
At one point in my life, not even that long ago, I would have talked about wanting revenge on you Xavier, revenge for taking the Golden Opportunity from me in GCWA, and revenge for winning the Prison Yard match, or maybe I should that I would be seeking closure with you. But I’ve realized that is s all just bullsh*t. Truthfully, I just want to take what you have, I COVET IT! I covet that OCW championship, just as I coveted the GCWA championship, not the championships themselves, not even the pay raise that comes with them, no… I covet the validation that comes with them. Becoming OCW champion will validate the last thirty-plus years of my life, it will validate every decision I’ve ever made, it will validate my career and my life. When I take that championship from you, it will validate me to myself.
I do covet, and I do hold that championship up as a false idol, and I will break every commandment, every law both natural and unnatural to take that championship. Today, I will shed the last tear of my life, and as that tear seeps into the ground and disappears, this emo, love-struck Outcast will disappear with it. From that ground, watered by that last tear will regrow the wicked old Outcast.
I turn from my knees and sit on the ground. I exhale slowly and lean against the tombstone.
Xavier, I have shown that I am capable of doing terrible things. And when we are under those lights, fighting for the biggest prize in OCW, I will do beyond terrible things to take that championship. I am willing to commit unspeakable acts of violence to become the OCW champion. I know you won’t make it easy for me to take, but just know as much as you want to keep that championship, I covet it even more.
I pull my lighter out and flick my Bic, as I lean my head down to light my cigarette a buzz flies past my ear, and the concrete over my shoulder explodes. It was an unmistakable sound, a bullet had just missed my head and hit Nicole’s tombstone. I quickly roll around behind the tombstone just as another buzz echoes through the cemetery and a bullet strikes the tombstone.
What the f**k, where is this coming from?
I try to peak around the tombstone, but just as my eyes pop around the side of the granite block another bullet slams into the tombstone. I pull my head back to safety and pull my phone out. I flip open the camera and slowly hold it up to get a safer view. I see a glare from some bushes across the cemetery right before another bullet flies and shatters my phone.
F**k, I wonder if Apple Care will cover that?
Alright, Christian, how are you going to get out of this one?
Well, at least I have a little time to figure this out. I can have that smoke at least. Wait, where the f**k is my lighter?
I feel my shirt pocket and pants pocket, but nothing. I look around the ground near me, but again nothing. I quickly look around the tombstone… f**k me, I dropped it.
Well, I guess I don’t have that long after all.
A few minutes pass, the shooter is waiting me out, but luckily for me, I had taken a piss before I got here, and a car was coming through the cemetery. This is my chance, and that Kia Telluride is my shield.
I wait until the poor man’s Land Rover is covering the line of fire and make a break for it. It's amazing how fast adrenaline can make my stiff old knees and hips move. As I focus on the car and keeping it between me and the bushes, I hear another shot ring out, and the sound of a bullet hitting metal.
The driver panics and speeds up, sh*t, can I run any faster?
Funny how you cannot care if you live or die, but when faced with death your most primal instincts kick in and you automatically try to survive.
I try to kick it into a higher gear, and luckily find one. I cut behind the car and into the bushes, and as I do hear another shot ring out, but do not hear it hit anything.
Now that I've made it to the bushes and have become hidden by the shrubbery, it's time to circle around and find this prick. I move down the bush line as quickly and quietly as possible. I hear the pushing and locking of a bolt action rifle and as I look to my right, I see the shooter. He must have known I’d try and circle back, and I could see he was younger and quicker than I was and had got into position before I could get to him.
There he is, leaned over the hood of his black SUV, sorry I didn’t catch this make and model, I’m too concerned with the barrel aimed right at me. He had me dead to rights, there was nothing I could do except die like a man.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. As my lungs fill with the fresh Louisiana air, I think that I wish I had one last Newport… if only I hadn’t dropped my lighter.
I exhale slowly, expecting that when I open my eyes again it will be at the gates of hell. But it isn’t the sound of a gunshot that I hear next, instead, it is the sound of a horn blaring.
Is it the rapture? Is it the horns of Heaven calling me home?
No, that isn’t possible. There is no way I’m going to Heaven.
It’s the horn of a car. I open my eyes to see the Telluride barreling towards the shooter. The shooter turns and aims the gun at the SUV, and even gets a nervous shot off, but it doesn’t stop the car, and the Telluride slams into the shooter and runs him over like a giant bull toppling a matador.
I watch the Kia’s back wheels run over the shooter and the SUV come to a stop a few feet from the shooter. I then see the Kia reverse and back over the shooter before stopping and once more driving forward over the shooter.
I stand stunned and silent. Was this just a case of road rage? Did the driver need closure for their car being shot? Was this my guardian angel?
These questions are quickly answered as the SUV comes to a stop and the passenger window rolls down to reveal Hemlock, the private investigator I had hired to look into Nicole’s murder, the same one I had met in Tupelo that told me about Pete.
I could tell Hemlock had been worked over. His left eye was swollen shut, his face bruised, and his lip split.
I’ve been trying to reach you. The Dixie Mafia has green lit you.
To be continued.
Let me tell you something about closure.
It's f**king bullsh*t.
It's an excuse someone uses to bang and ex, or to revisit the drama from their past because their current day-to-day lives are too damn boring for them to bear.
Then, there are those like me, who use the word closure as a synonym for revenge.
I thought I wanted closure, and I thought that finding who killed Nicole and killing them would give me that mythical feeling of closure. But, as I ran that knife across Anderson's neck, I realized it wasn't closure I wanted, it was revenge. And now, as I stand here staring at Nicole's tombstone, I don't feel anything but bitterness and anger. The bitterness that I didn't have a better life with her, bitterness that I didn't have a longer life with her, and anger towards myself, because it was all my fault.
I slowly kneel, extra slow because my body is so sore from all I've endured over the past two months. It seems like the world is always trying to kill me, but I'm either too stupid or stubborn to just lay down and die.
I can promise you that closure is the last thing I feel as my hand runs across the top of her tombstone. I look at Nelson's tombstone to the left of hers, and I feel my blood begin to boil. How dare that son of a b*tch be buried next to her after he was the one who got her killed? How dare his family bury her here and not in Chicago next to Victor? How dare…
How dare I judge anyone?
I sink forward, and my head rests against her tombstone, look at me, how pathetic I must appear. A ring-war hardened veteran, who has walked through hell and back, a man whom the mere mention of my name strikes fear into the hearts of other grown men, and here I am reduced to a whimpering pile of sh*t over a lost love from years gone by. I’m like a character from a Nicholas Sparks book or some sh*t movie on the Hallmark channel.
Some OCW champion I’ll make.
But, the Outcast that steps into the ring is different from the Outcast that lives in the world. Something in me changes when I step through the curtain. It’s like a demon posses me, it takes hold of my body, mind, and soul. I pour everything I have into every match because every match could be my last one. It’s no secret that I’m an old man, but when you see an old man in a sport that chews up young men and spits them out you have to assume, no, you have to know that the only thing you can assume about that broken-down old man is that he is a survivor. And me, Xavier, I am a f**king survivor. I can’t die, because living every day is my punishment from God for all the terrible things I have done in my life and all the wickedness that has befallen the world because of my actions.
I think that is why I would seek revenge for anything and everything I could think of. It was like I needed an excuse to be bitter, violent, and enraged, but with age comes wisdom, and I have realized that is just the basis of man. The Bible gives us commandments against these feelings, against our basic instincts, against our wickedness. Because that is what we are Xavier, we are wicked to our core, and I just happen to be the most wicked of them all.
I push myself up to my knees and stare at Nicole’s grave for a moment. I reach into my jeans pocket and pull my Newport’s out. As I place one into my mouth, I think about how she was always trying to get me to quit, and how I never listened to her. Then again, I’ve never listened to anyone, because at my base, like every man, I am inconsiderate and self-centered. “Maybe if I had been different things would be different”, I think as I pull the unlit cigarette from my mouth.
Why do we wake up? Humans are evil. Humans are dumb. Humans can think yes, but only of what suits them best. Humans walk beside the rest of us, forgetting they are the rest of us. Humans are never one of a kind. I could click a few times, and find someone with your hobbies and likes. Humans can be good, but will humans do any good. Would they save a life if it meant losing something of value, or will they jump for a dollar as they watch you fall into a dark hole? In terror and horror. Humans can be good. Humans can be smart. But deep down they'll always have a dark heart.
And my heart, is dark as night.
I am a human being, capable of doing terrible things.
You people are mistaken if you think that
I'm awake and celebrating anything that I've become.
You people are mistaken if you think that
I'm awake and celebrating anything that I've become.
At one point in my life, not even that long ago, I would have talked about wanting revenge on you Xavier, revenge for taking the Golden Opportunity from me in GCWA, and revenge for winning the Prison Yard match, or maybe I should that I would be seeking closure with you. But I’ve realized that is s all just bullsh*t. Truthfully, I just want to take what you have, I COVET IT! I covet that OCW championship, just as I coveted the GCWA championship, not the championships themselves, not even the pay raise that comes with them, no… I covet the validation that comes with them. Becoming OCW champion will validate the last thirty-plus years of my life, it will validate every decision I’ve ever made, it will validate my career and my life. When I take that championship from you, it will validate me to myself.
I do covet, and I do hold that championship up as a false idol, and I will break every commandment, every law both natural and unnatural to take that championship. Today, I will shed the last tear of my life, and as that tear seeps into the ground and disappears, this emo, love-struck Outcast will disappear with it. From that ground, watered by that last tear will regrow the wicked old Outcast.
I turn from my knees and sit on the ground. I exhale slowly and lean against the tombstone.
Xavier, I have shown that I am capable of doing terrible things. And when we are under those lights, fighting for the biggest prize in OCW, I will do beyond terrible things to take that championship. I am willing to commit unspeakable acts of violence to become the OCW champion. I know you won’t make it easy for me to take, but just know as much as you want to keep that championship, I covet it even more.
I pull my lighter out and flick my Bic, as I lean my head down to light my cigarette a buzz flies past my ear, and the concrete over my shoulder explodes. It was an unmistakable sound, a bullet had just missed my head and hit Nicole’s tombstone. I quickly roll around behind the tombstone just as another buzz echoes through the cemetery and a bullet strikes the tombstone.
What the f**k, where is this coming from?
I try to peak around the tombstone, but just as my eyes pop around the side of the granite block another bullet slams into the tombstone. I pull my head back to safety and pull my phone out. I flip open the camera and slowly hold it up to get a safer view. I see a glare from some bushes across the cemetery right before another bullet flies and shatters my phone.
F**k, I wonder if Apple Care will cover that?
Alright, Christian, how are you going to get out of this one?
Well, at least I have a little time to figure this out. I can have that smoke at least. Wait, where the f**k is my lighter?
I feel my shirt pocket and pants pocket, but nothing. I look around the ground near me, but again nothing. I quickly look around the tombstone… f**k me, I dropped it.
Well, I guess I don’t have that long after all.
A few minutes pass, the shooter is waiting me out, but luckily for me, I had taken a piss before I got here, and a car was coming through the cemetery. This is my chance, and that Kia Telluride is my shield.
I wait until the poor man’s Land Rover is covering the line of fire and make a break for it. It's amazing how fast adrenaline can make my stiff old knees and hips move. As I focus on the car and keeping it between me and the bushes, I hear another shot ring out, and the sound of a bullet hitting metal.
The driver panics and speeds up, sh*t, can I run any faster?
Funny how you cannot care if you live or die, but when faced with death your most primal instincts kick in and you automatically try to survive.
I try to kick it into a higher gear, and luckily find one. I cut behind the car and into the bushes, and as I do hear another shot ring out, but do not hear it hit anything.
Now that I've made it to the bushes and have become hidden by the shrubbery, it's time to circle around and find this prick. I move down the bush line as quickly and quietly as possible. I hear the pushing and locking of a bolt action rifle and as I look to my right, I see the shooter. He must have known I’d try and circle back, and I could see he was younger and quicker than I was and had got into position before I could get to him.
There he is, leaned over the hood of his black SUV, sorry I didn’t catch this make and model, I’m too concerned with the barrel aimed right at me. He had me dead to rights, there was nothing I could do except die like a man.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. As my lungs fill with the fresh Louisiana air, I think that I wish I had one last Newport… if only I hadn’t dropped my lighter.
I exhale slowly, expecting that when I open my eyes again it will be at the gates of hell. But it isn’t the sound of a gunshot that I hear next, instead, it is the sound of a horn blaring.
Is it the rapture? Is it the horns of Heaven calling me home?
No, that isn’t possible. There is no way I’m going to Heaven.
It’s the horn of a car. I open my eyes to see the Telluride barreling towards the shooter. The shooter turns and aims the gun at the SUV, and even gets a nervous shot off, but it doesn’t stop the car, and the Telluride slams into the shooter and runs him over like a giant bull toppling a matador.
I watch the Kia’s back wheels run over the shooter and the SUV come to a stop a few feet from the shooter. I then see the Kia reverse and back over the shooter before stopping and once more driving forward over the shooter.
I stand stunned and silent. Was this just a case of road rage? Did the driver need closure for their car being shot? Was this my guardian angel?
These questions are quickly answered as the SUV comes to a stop and the passenger window rolls down to reveal Hemlock, the private investigator I had hired to look into Nicole’s murder, the same one I had met in Tupelo that told me about Pete.
I could tell Hemlock had been worked over. His left eye was swollen shut, his face bruised, and his lip split.
I’ve been trying to reach you. The Dixie Mafia has green lit you.
To be continued.