Continued from Chapter 1 Part. 1.1...

With my fists unclenched and the waterworks flowing, my arms stretched out toward my crack whore mother I had hoped for a hug, but like always she just pushed me aside. Never really understanding why I had tried to achieve any kind of affection from her ever, she was rotten. My hand brushed my face, wiping away the tears that were starting to freeze trying to be stronger than I was during my younger days. I failed miserably as the water kept flowing from my eyes, streaming down my cheek like a river with multiple creeks branching off. The image of my mother became blurrier and blurrier as she walked away from the motel parking lot and down the road where she would eventually receive a beating, most likely would have occurred after she had satisfied her masters.

Hairs tickled my nose; I wiped the tears from my eyes and cheeks when suddenly it had happened. My shoulder felt a tight and fast pressure close to my neck I believe and my lights went out...

When my eyelids finally peeled open, I felt my wrists and ankles had been restrained by what I found out to be rope. Someone had kidnapped me and tied me to a stiff, old, and creaky wooden chair. The strangest thing about the whole situation and yet would become one of the most life-changing moments of my life, was the five televisions set up and what was playing on them. Multiple variations of my mother taking money from men and then proceeding to either blow, fuck, jerk off, and many other different sexual favors. Vomit at that point began to spew from my mouth and down my chin and chest like a slow paced erupting volcano. Being only a young teenager at the most I had not known what to think about the whole situation. Of course, I knew what a prostitute was, but I didn’t know what to think about the whole situation.

Anger is all I can recall, engulfing my whole body like some kind of possession. My fists quenched just like they had when my mother slapped me across the face like a little bitch, my nails dug into the wooden chair arms. Thrashing of wood on wood probably from my body impulsively shaking and trying to break free with rage causing the chair to slide and scrape on the wooden floor that was beneath my feet. When it had happened the weight and force of my body struggling had tipped the chair just enough to fall over sending me crashing to the floor. The impact had been just hard enough to send the old rickety chair to pieces; where then my hands and feet could slip free from the then now loose ropes.

While my head was hurting I knew from all the horror movies on Motel television I had better move fast before my kidnapper returns. Trying hard to scramble to my feet, pitter, patter, pitter, patter, the sound of my scared and pissed feet and hands trying to get a grip, it must have taken me what felt like five minutes to climb to my feet. It was pitch black besides the light from the televisions, which I had stupidly raged on and made it almost impossible for myself to see. Walking helpless in the dark, stumbling and tripping over almost everything in my path. Laughter then began to echo throughout the dark room, but not happy clown laughter, the kind of laughter that would make a young teen shit his pants after just thinking he escaped from a horror show.

No I didn’t shit myself, but close, a little piss did trickle down my leg as I stopped dead in my tracks, I couldn’t help but pant a little. Being a dorky underfed asthmatic the pants soon turned into gasps for breath and me collapsing onto my knees hard, hard enough to bust them open a little. My little hands at the time grasped for my throat and I began coughing and choking, clearly, I had an asthma attack from panicking about the whole situation. Thud! Something hard and heavy clunked me on the back of the head and lights out once again...

This time when my eyelids peeled open and my brain started working again, I was lying in a bed, and quickly I had rolled over and recognized it to be our room. My mothers and I to be precise because her dirty, trashy, and slutty outfits were scattered about everywhere like always. What a fucking mess it was living with her, quickly I began to search and look around for any sign of someone else or breaking and entering, or something. But to no prevail I found nothing, maybe I could have possibly just had a dream, a thought that was flashing through my brain. I know what kind of fucking thirteen-year-old kid dreams about his mother getting railed by plentiful bound of men for money and it being brought to his attention by his kidnapper?

Never did I say this story was all peaches and cream nor will it never leave you a little weird out and asking yourself, why, why would I ever read this nonsense. Anyways, Slowly I allowed myself to believe it had just been a dream, but it kind of made sense, was my subconscious trying to tell me my mother is a whore? Nah, I’m just a pervert, is what came to my head back then, so I had dropped it and chalked it up to being all a dream. Knowing when my mother gets home I would have been in big trouble, so I decided it was a good night to try to find somewhere else to stay.

Climbing out of the bed, I then stretched and yawned before I headed to the bathroom to splash some water on my sweaty and confused face. The rusty pipes would take a while and burst shit looking water out of them for about a minute before clear water would begin to flow through the rusty pipes of the Motel. Thanks a lot, Democratic Policy (Not a hit on flint water, I swear).

To Be Continued...

Watching an XWF cameraman walking shakily through the dark cemetery where Father Slathe insisted on cutting the next promo. The cameraman prey like a baby deer to a bobcat or a pack of wolves if I wanted, but that wouldn’t please father, and displeasing father is not pleasant, but he means good. His guidance has gotten me this far in life; farther than I could say if my mother was still my guardian. As the cameraman passes the tombstone I am crouched behind, I let out a slight devilish chuckle, low enough you wouldn’t be able to hear. Slowly I stand to my feet and step out right behind him, reaching with my gloved hand I grab his shoulder, he lets out a loud girlishly “Shriek” I chuckle in enjoyment as Father Slathe emerges from the fog with a smile from ear to ear.

With the camera shaking in his grasp the cameraman spins around to reveal me the masked Mr. Tidbits still chuckling and standing a few inches taller than the cameraman. I am wearing my leather mask, a red bow tie, with a black on black, medium-tailed tuxedo, black shiny dress shoes, and black leather gloves. Raising my arm I point in the direction of Father Slathe and grunt, the cameraman slowly turns back around aiming the camera at Father Slathe, who is wearing his black priest’s cloak, black combat boots, and his overly large brimmed shorter top hat. His mouth opens as I slowly walk to his side and just stand as a shadowing protector.

Father Slathe: “What a beautiful darkened night to talk to the XWF universe and where better than this beautiful cemetery where some of the men on the roster may soon find to be their permanent home if they don’t watch their tongue. Mainly I am talking to you Mr. Blackcoat; you have the mouth of a virgin teenage boy, the way you talk as if Mr. Tidbits and myself have had intercourse. Did your mommy forget to teach you that such acts are full of sin? The only male on male contact our lord permits is acts of violence on men whom have lost the way and fallen to the lies of the vile. Which Mr. Blackcoat, you clearly have.

So where does that leave us? My only conclusion is to have you put down like a rabid animal, which would make Mr. Tidbits very happy. See he has been starved of violence and is growing very anxious to pounce; he hardly had enough self-control not to attack the cameraman. Oh, of course, we are aware the cameraman would have hardly put up a fight if even one at all, so please save your breath if you are thinking what pathetic men. No, it isn’t about taking on the weak, like in the animal kingdom when a lion is starving it will attack whatever, much like my son Mr. Tidbits.

Luckily for the XWF my son knows how important it is that we are allowed to stay here and either gain allies or wipe out the LIES! Unfortunately for you Mr. Blackcoat the time of drawing a treaty has passed, when you spread despicable lies about my son and me, now you will forever be an enemy of the Darkest of Holiness, The Truth! Which will certainly haunt you in your dreams and on your body physically come Savage, because The Truth will always prevail. Mr. Tidbits is already stirring madly for blood under that mask, plus you know Daddy wants some free smokes. So spread your vile lies like the sinner you are and hastily The Truth will set you free my child.

Listen, my children do you hear that, Mr. Blackcoat believes Mr. Tidbits will be worthless without me there, please child, my son would have been able to rip you limb from limb without my guidance. Yet he had it, as for me not being there, why in the world would I not be at ringside, or are you just a moron? I am his manager! Hell, maybe I will join the commentators even. Oh don’t worry, I will not interfere my boy will not need it; he has the will to accomplish this on his own. Even let’s say I am banned from ringside, forever I am instilled in Mr. Tidbits brain and heart, so Mr. Blackcoat I will always be with my son.

You keep training on that knee or ankle lock you think you have perfected and feel free to lock it in, my son feels no pain, go ahead snap it, he will still climb the ladder and reach high. Grasping that sweet, sweet, pack of smokes and guess what? They are my favorite brand FREE! I do want to applaud you on one thing, being the first one to spread lies about my son and I. Too bad the thing I applaud you about will also be the reason you may find yourself unable to wrestle anymore. Quite a shame I must say, oh well.

Oh by the way you look ridiculous, please address the problem, tell your mother to dress you better or something, I almost can’t take it. Oh and that pale face of yours', looks like a clown fucked a gargoyle! Which happens to be another pitfall for you child, because my son, well he really, really despises clowns, they drive him bonkers, so hopefully he doesn’t come to the same conclusion as I. I believe everyone with good eyes would agree with me, lucky for you, my son wears that mask that may hide the fact that you are a clown-gargoyle crossbred, worthless, sinning piece of shit! Who will soon find his place on the bottom of my son's boot!"

I stop digging a six by three by six feet deep hole, perfect for most human bodies, especially for the likes of Bobby Blackcoat, who now I know my father mainly wants me to target come Savage in the ladder match. "No complaints here, I love dismembering people!" I think to myself as I watch my father head back into the fog. As father disappears, I hop down in the grave. The Cameraman walks over to see what I am doing, aiming the camera down in my hole, I Mr. Tidbits am throwing dirt on myself. The cameraman chuckles a little. Now that isn't very nice, would you say? My arms reach out grabbing his ankles and pulling him with all my might toward the hole. The camera flies out of his hand and cuts to black...