Please Log-in or Register to get full access to the forums.

Lost Password?
Current XWF board time: 05-25-2020, 06:09 AM (time should display as Pacific time zone; please contact Admin if it appears to be wrong)                                                                
X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » XWF PPV Boards » War Games 2020 PPV Board
Post Reply 
The black card.
Author Message
Doug Whitford Offline
Active in XWF



XWF FanBase:
Flop

(boring as fuck; promos act as sleeping medicine; never recognized in public)


Post: #1
05-23-2020 06:44 PM

Thump. Thump.

It grew faster.

Thump. Thump.

Every word piercing like a knife.

Thump. Thump.

I could feel it in my chest now.

Thump.Thump.

It jumps to my throat. I can barely breathe. It feels like my heart is going to erupt from my mouth.

"Are you even fucking listening to me!?" The sudden shrillness is a skull rattling tremor that momentarily jolts me back to reality.

"Fucking typical. You just lay down and take it like a neutered dog. No fucking fight at all, you're pathetic!"

I wish she was wrong.

"You can't leave. I...I need you."

"Well you got it half-right. You do fucking need me. You're a worthless worm without me. But me? Leaving? I don't think so. You can't hold a fucking job, how do you expect to pay rent? I'm not leaving, you're getting the fuck out. Now."

A worm. A spineless creature writhing around in the dirt, not exactly an analogy I wanted to hear but, again... She wasn't wrong. Michelle has always been strong willed, much stronger than I. How we ended up together in the first place is beyond me. A miracle? It would appear that way to the outside observer. But to finally have one thing in the world worth waking up to, and watching it slowly start looking back at you with contempt and malice...it seems to me it's just all one big, sick joke.

"Please, Mick."

"Please what? Huh? Say something, anything! Give me one good motherfucking reason why I shouldn't throw every damn thing you own into the street right now."

And just like that, my brain becomes a flooded mess; every emotion, every loving thought, every desire to do better, to be better. The words stampede to my tongue, frantically trying to escape...but they can't. They fight against each other, crammed together as I try to say something, anything, to prove to her how much I truly love her. But there's nothing. Not a single word. My one chance to fight for something worth fighting for, and I can't muster the strength to do it. It is in this moment that I know I've truly lost her.

"Surprise, surprise. At least you're consistent."

Time seemed to stand still the next few moments. Every word, every movement burned etched into my brain. A scene that replays in my head every day. Every minute of every hour. For the first time in my life I felt true, unmitigated loss. As life crumbled around me I looked inward, trying to find some reason. Some explanation. Some excuse. But there were none; It pained me to admit to myself, but the fault was solely mine. It wasn't my upbringing, addiction, mental health...anything. The fact of the matter is that to this day, I just coast through life. Ambition? Goals? I wake up every morning simply because that's what my body is programmed to do. After Mick threw me out life became nothing but an unending, joyless cycle.

My soul had existed at rock bottom for most of my adult life, so when I took the inevitable fall there was a feeling of familiarity. I suppose I should consider myself lucky in that sense. I can't imagine the adjustment to a loveless, life on the streets is easy on most. It was for me. Despair was the norm, this was just a change of scenery. Sure, the nights were a little colder. The food too, with the odd exception of a friendly passerby handing me whatever leftovers they didn't feel like carrying back to their cars before heading to the next venue.

I wasn't a beggar, I had a spot to sleep and food isn't that hard to come by once your stomach rumbling overwhelms your disgust for consuming something that may have once been considered edible. I left the rattling cups of nickels and dimes to the ones out there that found solace in their bottle shelf liquor and hand-rolled cigarettes. They still found some comfort in them, more power to 'em. It would've been narcissistic for me to believe that my problems ran deeper, my scars more pronounced, but hearing their slurred ramblings and glazed over eyes while they left the world behind made me realize their self inflicted wounds were simply different. They could escape them, I envied that.

And for weeks that was my life. Existing solely to exist. Wallowing in pain and apathy.


Present day.

I awaken to my stomach reminding me than I haven't eaten in days. Self preservation is a bitch like that. I've been sleeping more lately, it staves off the hunger pangs. I roll from my makeshift bedroll with an eye on the streets, trying to gauge the hour by the activity on the streets. Traffic is light and there are no pedestrians. I guess it's sometime after two in the morning, usually the streets are bustling while the bars remain open. Perfect. I feel a violent crack in my spine as I stretch out of my slumber, my 'bed' is hard and cold, still damp from yesterday's rain. It's tough to get my legs underneath me, my body is becoming weaker and more frail by the day. I know I need something to fuel myself, the hunger is a constant nag and is in direct opposition to whatever semblance of peace I have in this dank alleyway.


"Ughhh." I mutter as I force myself to stand, immediately throwing myself against the nearby brick wall to hold myself up.

The garbage men came earlier today, so I knew that digging through the bins wasn't going to provide me with anything of substance. The Burger King on 86th is my destination. For some reason, the night manager there has a soft spot for us despondent types. Never caught her name, never really cared. Word never really got out about her, I imagine those of us who knew kept it to ourselves to avoid it becoming too popular. A burger here and there every few nights is one thing, but once they start showing up in droves it'll ruin it for the rest of us. One thing you learn out here is that you look out for yourself and only yourself.

My stomach growls so violently that I wonder if it would be audible to any passersby. On shaky legs I make my way to 86th St. I stick to as many alleyways and side streets as I can, another thing I've learned out here is that the local gangs like to use the homeless as target practice for their new recruits. Or, even more degrading, they'll make them fight eachother for a hit of whatever vein-poison they peddle. It's a win-win; the urchins get their moment of bliss and the peddlers get to see just how effective their new methods of cutting their drugs are. If the fight winner dies of an overdose, it's back to the drawing board. Like a fucked up research and development department.

After a walk that seemed to last hours, I arrive at the restaurant. No cars in the drive-thru, no others loitering. My stomach growls once more, this one almost seeming like it's pleased with our arrival. I tap on the window to the drive thru; it's a quiet knock, not to be quiet or stealthy, but simply because I couldn't muster the strength to do so any harder. After a moment the window swings open and a face I haven't seen before peers from behind it.


"No car, no service."

"Where's...the girl? The manager."

"Erin?" He says with a lifted eyebrow. "She got fired for handing out too many free meals. I'm guessing you know something about that?"

"Please, can I have something? Anything? Even something you're going to throw away. I'm so hungry."

"And I'm so going to need you to pay, this isn't a soup kitchen and I'm not going to get fired for helping out some bum. If you don't have any money I'm going to have to ask that you leave."

The growling of my stomach has now become constant, like a soundtrack to my body giving up on me. I clutch it tightly as I wonder the parking lot, searching for something that may have been left behind. And there it is: A half eaten hamburger laying next to the trash can. With a renewed vigor I limp over to the trash, my mouth salivating. I lean over to pick it up but I freeze dead in my tracks.

Something shining in the moonlight that is too out-of-place to resist investigating. I clear the trash from the area to reveal the object: A card. Black yet somehow shimmering in the moonlight, I notice the only words printed on it.


"Black card." I'd heard of these. Credit cards for millionaires. No credit limits. What was it doing here though?

I lean over and grab the card, but a searing pain in my skull nearly knocks me unconscious. In a flash, it's gone. Before I can properly question what that sensation was, my stomach interrupts again. One problem at a time. Surely this credit card was cancelled once its owner realized it was lost, but what if they hadn't noticed yet? I didn't have anything more grand in mind, I just wanted some goddamn food. So with my new source of possible wealth I made my way back to the Burger King. As a potential paying customer I decided that I would enter through the actual establishment instead. I clutch the card in my hand with a death grip, making sure not to lose it, as I approach the counter.


"Hello." The new manager says with a gulp. "May I...may I help you?" Weird. His tone has changed completely.

I eye the menu. I wasn't particularly picky about what I wanted but I knew that if this was going to work it wouldn't work for long, I wanted to get as much as I could so I could go back to my makeshift home and stay there in peace. As my eyes scan the menu I notice the man fidgeting nervously. Why is he so nervous?

"I'll have--" I try to say, but nothing comes out.

"THREE WHOPPERS MOTHERFUCKER." My heart skips a beat as I hear the booming voice. My head instantly spins around. But there was nobody. Where did that voice come from?

"Sir, I don't want any trouble. I'll be happy to serve you if you just lower your voice."

"NOW NIGGA!" That voice again. Where was it coming from?

The manager hesitates as he begins to ring up the order. I'm baffled but I'm starving. I raise the card to hand it to the manager but just as he's about to take it from me everything goes black.

I can feel my body moving. I can hear that booming voice, this time it's muffled and distant sounding. What happened to me? All I see is black.

I wake up in the bathroom, my eyes fixed on empty burger wrappers. My stomach is no longer rumbling. The cold tile is filthy yet feels good against my bare skin. I enjoy it for a moment before realizing that while my clothing was tattered and unraveling, it was there before...whatever that was. I hands run up and down my body, feeling for wounds but finding nothing. I bring my hand up to my face and notice the crimson fluid dripping from my fingertips. Blood. I panic and launch myself to my feet, collapsing against the sink as I struggle to turn the faucet. I run my hands underneath the cold water and splash it against my face.


"What the fuck?"

I stare into the mirror, viewing my panicked expression looking back at me. I don't know what happened but I need to leave. I search the room for my clothing but find none. All that I see are the empty wrappers and the black card. I lean over and grab the card before I turn towards the door, but just then I catch a glimpse in the mirror of a hulking man grinning back at me. Startled I drop the card into the sink and the reflection reverts back to that of my own. I stare at my reflection for a moment before my eyes drop down to the sink. The card lays there amidst the few drops of unwashed blood. My shaking hand nervously grasps the card as my eyes glance back up to the sink. The man is back. I'm startled, yet curious.

"Who are you?" I can barely manage to choke the words out.

"I'm you." He says with a menacing growl.

------------------------------------------------------------------

War Games huh? They sold y’all a lie and you were all too eager to fork over top dollar for it.

Ain’t nothing fun about war. It’s brutal, violent and not for the squeamish. From what I can see from you all, not a single one of you would make it. Games though, I can see all you fucking clowns love your little games so let’s play, shall we? We’ll start with one of my favorites: Never have I ever.

Never have I ever failed at two separate careers so spectacularly that I showed up on the XWF’s doorstep praying for a chance to make ends meet. Tula, you really expect me to buy that you left the Army to take care of a sick father? You couldn’t fucking hack it and you know it, you got yourself a convenient excuse and leapt at the opportunity to leave it behind. And then you start an MMA ‘career’ where you were exposed for having so little personality that you couldn’t even make it to the minor league. So you show up to the XWF expecting an easy payday, no doubt hoping to pile on the handicapped and incompetent. How long before you take the easy route again? I’ll put my money on right after War Games when I snap your worthless spine in two.

Never have I ever had such a backwards ass moral compass that I think the world needs saving. Calvary, you got it all twisted. The world needs struggle, it needs strife. Mankind sure as fuck doesn’t need a caped clown with a holier-than-thou attitude swooping in to save babies and shit. Who’s going to save the hero? Here’s a spoiler for you: This ain’t a comic, when I put you down you’re going to stay down. Permanently.

And now that the inconsequential are out of the way—Oh wait, there’s more.

Never have I ever clung to something the way that Chaos clings to his false sense of worth because he was the cream of a desolate crop. He barely managed to conquer the bunny slope before wanting to scale the real mountain. And now that he’s here he continues to show he doesn’t belong. How does it feel to be the most embarrassing champion in the history of the XWF? At it’s lowest point you weren’t even a bright spot. Doesn’t take much homework to learn that you haven’t improved a single bit in all the time you’ve been here. Still just a mediocre, flapping set of jaws who happened to find himself in the right place at the right time. Your luck ran out a long time ago, but I’ll be happy to give you a not-so-pleasant reminder when I see you in that ring.

Never have I ever been such a genetic misstep that I’ve called God’s existence into question. Jesus Christ, Bourbon. What kind of karmic justice did you deserve that would doom you to be fat, ugly AND a ginger? And that grill, my god. Look here my dentally challenged friend, I’m gonna do you a favor and knock every single one of those discolored, misshapen dick-scrapers out of your mouth come War Games. Dentist can’t help with the rest of your ailments but at least he can give you a purty little smile. Maybe fixing that mouth of yours will give you the courage to explore subject matters outside of your tired and trite Peter Gilmour barbs. Maybe that mask should stay on chief, I think I’d rather watch a 3D Tub Girl remake than see that stomach-churning mug of yours anywhere on a television screen.

Never have I ever…I’m sick of this fucking game, much like I’m sick of Centurion pulling the wool over the eyes of the dull-witted, talent-less clowns that make up 90% of the XWF roster. It’s fucking fitting that you drafted Chaos onto your team, surely you saw a lot of yourself inside him. Two uncharismatic, undeserving pieces of shit adhered to less-than-impressive moments of former glory. Congratulations on clinging to that Hart championship, XWF’s very own bronze medal. I don’t care much that Fuzz won’t write you off, but I’m telling you right now that I already have you scratched off my ‘potential survivors’ list. I can’t even say you were unlucky in drawing our team first, every single other team would get past you with no issue. It’s really quite impressive to me that we can’t even be sure that you’re the best member of your team, captain. Says a lot, considering the rest of ‘em aren’t anything to write home about either.

As for the rest? Who fucking cares. Main and Page are the only 1-2 pairing that wasn't hastily thrown together so obviously their team becomes our biggest 'threat.' If the bromance can take a 10 minute break from all that wobbling and gobbling I'll be all too happy to introduce their skulls to one another in a way they're not used to: Without candle light and sweet nothings whispered into their ears. And while they slink off, defeated, to snuggle under a blanket listening to Barry White and licking each other's wounds, Team Fuzz is going to emerge out of this whole thing with the win.
Find
Edit Hate Post Like Post Reply Quote
[-] The following 5 users Like Doug Whitford's post:
BigD (05-23-2020), iGRAVESuFAGGOT (05-23-2020), Shawn Warstein (05-23-2020), Theo Pryce (yesterday), Thunder Knuckles™ (05-23-2020)
Post Reply 




User(s) browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)