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| Forgiveness | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 17 2016, 01:37 AM (7 Views) | |
| Nathan | Nov 17 2016, 01:37 AM Post #1 |
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Abel Essex: It's funny... Abel's words, monotonous and calm, fight with the howling wind for audible supremacy. He sits, cross-legged, on the grass with his elbows pressed into his thighs and chin resting in his hands. There are tombstones and monuments all around him; as far as the eye can see. Abel Essex: For years, I've blamed you for everything, you know? He's staring forward, eyes locked on one particular tombstone. It's jaded and battered by years of unforgiving weather. Much of the engraving is unrecognizable by this point, but the name is still very readable: Vince Essex. Abel Essex: I blamed you for my childhood. I blamed you for my struggles to reach higher ground in the wrestling business. I blamed you for -- fuck, I blamed you for everything. It -- it was so easy for me to do. He takes a moment; drawing in a deep breath and exhaling it ever so slowly. Abel Essex: It took -- you know, it took reaching the very bottom of the bottle recently; and I mean the very bottom, before I realized that -- fuck, before I realized that I was wrong. I was -- I was wrong about everything. He turns his head, glancing at some of the other monuments scattered around the cemetery. Abel Essex: You had your problems; but it's me, not you, that must bear the brunt of my failures. He brings his attention back to his father's tombstone. Abel Essex: I -- I've fucked up a lot in my life. And more often that not, I used you as a scapegoat; somehow, someway, it was your fault. It was your fault I was stuck in this mother fucking state for fifteen years. It was your fault Anna left me. It was your fault. He chuckles softly, more so as a defense mechanism to prevent any tears from developing in his eyes. Abel Essex: But it wasn't, not really -- it was me. I'm responsible for my failures. I -- He trails off as he wipes quickly at his left eye. He sighs softly as he climbs to his feet and digs both hands into the pockets of his jeans. He closes his eyes tightly before opening them hard and staring down at his father's tombstone. Abel Essex: I -- I guess I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, okay? I'm -- for everything, I'm sorry. I -- He trails off once again; he opens his mouth to make another attempt, but something makes him abort his plans. He sighs softly instead and walks up to the tombstone. He kisses his fingers and presses them to the top of it. A small smile appears on his face as he digs his hands back into his pockets and slowly turns around, walking away and feeling reinvigorated. -------- Angel... Is it okay if I call you that? Good. You're an intimidating figure. An aura of darkness and destruction surrounds you. You're intriguing; almost like an enigma that has yet to be solved and risks never being understood. You're a master manipulator. You're a man that enjoys trying to put fear into the minds of others. A person that is obviously well educated, but chooses to hide behind a philosophical way of life. You're a lot of things, Angel. But to me -- above all else, you're simply an individual that has disrespected me countless times. And if nothing else, if Abel Essex stands for nothing-fucking-else, he stands for respect. And I HATE being disrespected, Angel. It burns me inside. Last week, I took the opportunity to give you a little bit of your own medicine. I'm not necessarily proud of it, but when you fail to show me respect, I'm not going to show you any in return. I'm sure it upset you; kind of got you a little fired up, didn't it? Are you angry? Do you want to make an example out of me? Do it. Show me, Angel, that you are all of those things I mentioned earlier. Show me that you are truly a man that should be feared and respected. Show me, that maybe, just maybe, I'm out of my league around these parts. Show me. Prove it. Or can you? See, you seem to think people actually want to follow you. No one wants to get behind you, Angel. You're walking down a path that leads to no where. It's without proper lighting and eventually runs out of oxygen. You're lost, you've been lost, but you have your blinders on so you're completely oblivious to the fact. And now, you want others to follow you? The wrestling business is built on respect. It's built on appreciation of competition. When people like you, and others such as Eva, fail to bring forth the respect, it really irritates me. In fact, I care more about showing you the error of your ways than I do securing the title shot that awaits the winner of this match. I want to shut you up, and teach you something your piece of shit parents failed to do. End me, Angel. Conquer me. Ruin me. Can you? Or will you fail? When I look at you, I'm reminded of a big, old-style textbook in the far corner of the library. One that has been alienated for years; full of dust mites and mildew. One that has been tossed aside and unappreciated. That's you, and that's why you act like you do. You weren't loved enough. Abel will bring the love, Angel. And he's going to bring the beating you never thought you'd feel. See you in the ring. |
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7:16 PM Jul 11
