Chris Chaos
Corporate Chaos
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(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)
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07-14-2017, 07:13 PM
Continued from Part 1
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
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But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
James had been weirdly silent so far, which was perplexing to Chris to say the least. This dude couldn't shut his dick trap since he'd been here, but now all of the sudden, the silent treatment?
Loser.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Chris asked the ghost of Raven to leave. He didn't need this burden right now. He would see him Saturday. Go head, rub it in that he, not Chris, was number one contender to a title that is worth the same as a red solo cup right now with it around Blingsteen's waist. Leave Chris to his thoughts leave him to his pain. Let him get to that place.
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
That is all it is. Cue card nonsense. Nothing he ever says has anything behind it anyway.
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Chris wanted the competition. He wanted Raven to push him. He wanted to be challenged. He didn't want to win the belt the same way Caedus did, the same way Bingsteen did. He wanted to win it because he was the toughest motherfucker in the business.
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then spit on it.
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
The "Legendary James Raven" Pssht.
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
James Raven doesn't think Chris has what it takes anymore because James Raven has bought into the hype. He is a puppet, a sheep, another face in the masses.
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
He was taunting him. Mocking him. He was boiling his very core like a witches cauldron and he had uttered only one word this entire time. Just the sight of him made Chris's skin blister. He had had numerous highly intense feuds in this business, and he didn't think he hated someone as much as he hated this Raven. Right this moment.
It wasn't possible.
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Yes she would. Lenore would always be there. She would never go away.
Say something else.
SAY SOMETHING ELSE!
He ould feel the blood on his scalp from where his fingers were prying loose the roots.
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
He grabbed at the man, but he could not touch him. As much as he swung, his best shots could not reach the ghastly man in front of him, who just stared straight ahead.
Chris yelled out, and tossed his chair. He put a hole in the hotel wall with the chair. Walking back into the room, he saw the TV with his images on it.
"WRETCHED WHORE!" He yelled, kicking it. He could swear it shattered with a spark.
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Why couldn't he let Chris be? Leave him to pass or to fail on his own. Why were his failures constantly rubbed in his face. Surely more than anyone else's were. It seemed like people loved Chris's failure's even more than he hated them.
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Was this all he was destined to be? All he would ever be? Was this his fate? To be a tag team wrestler with no real hopes of being what he knows he can be. He is completely at the mercy of someone besides himself for the first time in his career.
Would he ever be great again?
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
He could still feel the cold steel on his hands. How she felt when he held her close. His precious lenore. The only reason he keeps breathing. The only reason his career is still relevant, his precious, precious Lenore.
Putting his hands on his now bleeding scalp he closed his eyes. This can't be real.
His shut his eyes tighter, maybe that would make it go away.
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
He was almost floating on air. He attacked the couch in the room, ripping it apart. He was huffing like a madman. He kicked out the window and could feel a breeze blowing. It wasn't windy out. The full moon illuminated his face, which was now contorted in seeming agony----but agony was skin deep.
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
He would send James Raven back where he came from.........
He would be one step closer to Lenore.
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
He slammed the hotel door shut and walked back into the utter destruction that was his hotel room.
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Just then the figure dissipated........as did Lenore.
He heard a faint sound but it all faded quickly into black.
When Jenny walked in, Chris was sleeping at his desk......his head down on the piece of paper under it. It was a copy of "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.
He put a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up, fists clenched are ready to strike.
"WHOA! It's me, Chris......it's just me."
"Did you see Raven? He was just here......and the belt.......and the lights were off......"
A photo of him holding the belt was still frame on the screen.
"The machine was out of Coke, so I brought you an RC....."
Typical.
34-13-2
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