Post by The Templar on Oct 7, 2010 1:31:25 GMT -5
The loud and blinding screech of the train stopping was enough to wake him up from his deep and desolate sleep. Yet, nowadays, practically anything could wake him up, from the sounds of a chair or bed creaking from his own rustling to the sound of a loud blistering horn. This was one of those moments. Insomnia and haunting nightmares were always a few of those things that were an afterthought in his mind as he was always a victim of a small amount of it in his life. Then again, who wasn’t? That was what he believed at least. For him though, it grew progressively worse until, now, it practically consumed his life. With only an hour or two of sleep a night there wasn’t exactly much you could do. Too consistently bored and tired to do anything productive, yet obnoxiously stubborn and distracted to let his entire day go to waste by doing nothing. Reading every label on every food product in his house to timing every clock and watch in his life down to the exact second of each other; a miniscule and meaningless thing to most was what his life consisted of.
However, this gave him more than enough time in life to enjoy the little things and, realistically, his true passion. With a smirk on his face and an outstretching yawn, he took a long and exhausting stretch and rubbed away at his eyes, knowing entirely well he’d have to be well rested to actually enjoy watching Glory and Honour Wrestling’s biggest pay-per-view of the year, Full Circle. He hadn’t missed a single live pay-per-view and only a handful of live shows since back until he could remember. He was as giddy as a little school boy going out on his first date to see how everything was going to pan out. He loved it all; the storytelling, the angles, the physicality; everything. His favourite Fighty fighty persons were going to be at the show and he knew entirely well that this event was worth the wait. Not a thing in the world could ruin it for him. The anticipation and –
Snapping back into reality, he merely nods rather awkwardly in response, not even acknowledging the man’s presence. Anthony Biggins, whose name we’ll realized just shortly, gives a look at his odd coach partner but blows it off as nothing. Settling himself, Anthony, who’s wearing your grey suit and tie combination, places down his side bag and, reaching into the compartment, pulls out none other than a GHW monthly magazine. Peering over, he sees the image of Ryan Hughes, one of their top rising stars, gracing the cover. Anthony notices this and decides to pipe up and create a nice little conversation.
At that point he couldn’t listen anymore. The throbbing pain had come back, like it always did when he remembered. Placing his hand on his temple he rubbed away, trying to drown out the flash of pain. The sins of our youth, we always wound up suffering in the long run for it. It was a continuous and indescribable, yet he loved every second of it back in the day, but nowadays it was unbearable. Beginning to break out in a slight sweat, with his free hand he shakily reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small handkerchief and dabs away at his face while Anthony, like a blabbering jack ass, continued to rant away on a sport he knew little about. A mark he remembered calling them. All of them. If you lived and died for it, you were one. He supposed he was always one.
It suddenly explained why this guy knew nothing of the business. He always hated the suits, having to wind up talking to them at the beginning and end of shows, hearing all about his performance when, realistically, a quick trip to the doctor for some prescription meds and a nice sleep in the grimy hotel rooms was all that was needed. But no, this prick, who had no idea what was actually happening was giving his insight. Was it ever considered? Never. Was is ignored? Impossible since they were always so direct and annoying. Was it a waste of time? Of course, but it was one of those necessary evils.
It was at this point the red alarm was going off. The sweat was pouring profusely. The nervous and awkward twitch increased in speed. Trying to guard away his face, he responded, his voice tittering and simultaneously going from a deep groan to a near high pitched squeak.
Anthony Biggins was a renowned talker. He should have grown up to be a politician, or a correspondent on Fox news, basically anyone who no one gives a fuck about yet won’t shut up. For the next hour and half of the two hour trip, Anthony talked his heart out. And he listened. To every word. So he could make Anthony choke on it. Anthony Biggins, little did he know, was about to go through a very, very awful dream, one he would never forget, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Then, one day on a train, a man would say a little too much to Biggins and would make him snap. So the cycle went. Or so he thought. This, he figured, was the upside to insomnia, an infinite amount of time to make the world come crashing to its knees. A bittersweet story when you really thought of it.
A sly and mischievous smile stretched across his face as Anthony slowly drifted away into slumber land. Biggins had better hope this was the best dream of his life because, little did he know, the worst night terror of his life was about to become it. However, as he knew himself, there was nothing really to fear. Your worst thoughts coming into an almost seemingly reality? He supposed that was a minor inconvenience. Unable to sleep and let alone compute as a normal human being? It makes a difficult career choice. But the real reality was about to hit him shortly as he got off the train. As you wake up in a cold sweat would you tell yourself that it couldn’t get much worse? This time it could, however...
End.
To be continued.
However, this gave him more than enough time in life to enjoy the little things and, realistically, his true passion. With a smirk on his face and an outstretching yawn, he took a long and exhausting stretch and rubbed away at his eyes, knowing entirely well he’d have to be well rested to actually enjoy watching Glory and Honour Wrestling’s biggest pay-per-view of the year, Full Circle. He hadn’t missed a single live pay-per-view and only a handful of live shows since back until he could remember. He was as giddy as a little school boy going out on his first date to see how everything was going to pan out. He loved it all; the storytelling, the angles, the physicality; everything. His favourite Fighty fighty persons were going to be at the show and he knew entirely well that this event was worth the wait. Not a thing in the world could ruin it for him. The anticipation and –
Anthony Biggins:
“- Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
[/color]“- Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Snapping back into reality, he merely nods rather awkwardly in response, not even acknowledging the man’s presence. Anthony Biggins, whose name we’ll realized just shortly, gives a look at his odd coach partner but blows it off as nothing. Settling himself, Anthony, who’s wearing your grey suit and tie combination, places down his side bag and, reaching into the compartment, pulls out none other than a GHW monthly magazine. Peering over, he sees the image of Ryan Hughes, one of their top rising stars, gracing the cover. Anthony notices this and decides to pipe up and create a nice little conversation.
Anthony Biggins:
“A professional wrassling magazine, I know right? It’s a dying form of entertainment muh friend... Y’know what my favourite pawt of it? Most people like that rock ‘em, sock ‘em backyard brawling style... Or some guy doing flips all over the place looking like some crazy piece of flubber... Hell, even my boy lives for a steel chair in the face and a guy ranting on the microphone on how he’s the best in the world and that usual song and dance... But my favourite pawt? It’s the relationships. Sure, just like a movie, on screen they’re talking tough and wanting to kill each other but you just know after the show they’re out back having a beer! I mean, you’ll never see Brad Pitt pulling out a sword in public to slice up Christoph Waltz and all of the rest of them Nay-zis! It’s just a little-“
[/color][/center]“A professional wrassling magazine, I know right? It’s a dying form of entertainment muh friend... Y’know what my favourite pawt of it? Most people like that rock ‘em, sock ‘em backyard brawling style... Or some guy doing flips all over the place looking like some crazy piece of flubber... Hell, even my boy lives for a steel chair in the face and a guy ranting on the microphone on how he’s the best in the world and that usual song and dance... But my favourite pawt? It’s the relationships. Sure, just like a movie, on screen they’re talking tough and wanting to kill each other but you just know after the show they’re out back having a beer! I mean, you’ll never see Brad Pitt pulling out a sword in public to slice up Christoph Waltz and all of the rest of them Nay-zis! It’s just a little-“
At that point he couldn’t listen anymore. The throbbing pain had come back, like it always did when he remembered. Placing his hand on his temple he rubbed away, trying to drown out the flash of pain. The sins of our youth, we always wound up suffering in the long run for it. It was a continuous and indescribable, yet he loved every second of it back in the day, but nowadays it was unbearable. Beginning to break out in a slight sweat, with his free hand he shakily reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small handkerchief and dabs away at his face while Anthony, like a blabbering jack ass, continued to rant away on a sport he knew little about. A mark he remembered calling them. All of them. If you lived and died for it, you were one. He supposed he was always one.
Anthony Biggins:
“... Bouy were those the days! Oh! I suppose you must be taken a little back by such a direct approach! My name is Anthony Biggins, and wrassling is muh game! Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it? No, no, don’t get your hopes up. I’m not some big name worker hiding away on a train, escaping the public eye, ho-ho hawdly! I actually work for Glory and Honour wrassling I’m what they call ‘creative,’ I help think up some of the ideas we air.”
[/center]“... Bouy were those the days! Oh! I suppose you must be taken a little back by such a direct approach! My name is Anthony Biggins, and wrassling is muh game! Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it? No, no, don’t get your hopes up. I’m not some big name worker hiding away on a train, escaping the public eye, ho-ho hawdly! I actually work for Glory and Honour wrassling I’m what they call ‘creative,’ I help think up some of the ideas we air.”
It suddenly explained why this guy knew nothing of the business. He always hated the suits, having to wind up talking to them at the beginning and end of shows, hearing all about his performance when, realistically, a quick trip to the doctor for some prescription meds and a nice sleep in the grimy hotel rooms was all that was needed. But no, this prick, who had no idea what was actually happening was giving his insight. Was it ever considered? Never. Was is ignored? Impossible since they were always so direct and annoying. Was it a waste of time? Of course, but it was one of those necessary evils.
Anthony Biggins:
“Hmm... Say fella, I must say you look awfully familiar to meh... And you’re fairly husky to be just some regular guy, unless you’re on that ‘Jersey Shore’ of course! Ho-ho! Now, where could I have seen you before?”
[/center]“Hmm... Say fella, I must say you look awfully familiar to meh... And you’re fairly husky to be just some regular guy, unless you’re on that ‘Jersey Shore’ of course! Ho-ho! Now, where could I have seen you before?”
It was at this point the red alarm was going off. The sweat was pouring profusely. The nervous and awkward twitch increased in speed. Trying to guard away his face, he responded, his voice tittering and simultaneously going from a deep groan to a near high pitched squeak.
Fan-boy:
“I.... Uh-I uh... I go to a lot of shows... You-you-you could say... I’m a big fan.”
[/center]“I.... Uh-I uh... I go to a lot of shows... You-you-you could say... I’m a big fan.”
Anthony Biggins:
“Well... This is absolutely shawking! Here I am, big writer in major wrassling company talking to a huge fan! I’m sure you’d love to know all the ins and outs of the business and how to get an autograph from all the big names! Well...”
[/center]“Well... This is absolutely shawking! Here I am, big writer in major wrassling company talking to a huge fan! I’m sure you’d love to know all the ins and outs of the business and how to get an autograph from all the big names! Well...”
Anthony Biggins was a renowned talker. He should have grown up to be a politician, or a correspondent on Fox news, basically anyone who no one gives a fuck about yet won’t shut up. For the next hour and half of the two hour trip, Anthony talked his heart out. And he listened. To every word. So he could make Anthony choke on it. Anthony Biggins, little did he know, was about to go through a very, very awful dream, one he would never forget, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Then, one day on a train, a man would say a little too much to Biggins and would make him snap. So the cycle went. Or so he thought. This, he figured, was the upside to insomnia, an infinite amount of time to make the world come crashing to its knees. A bittersweet story when you really thought of it.
Anthony Biggins:
“... And after he landed on the ropes crotch first I said ‘Rectum? Damn near killed him! Ho-ho-ho! But listen here Scout, there’s not much of this trip left and I need muh beauty sleep or else I’m just a wreck! Listen wake meh up at the next stop, but if I’m twitching a little wake meh quick, I’ve been having the worst dreams ever lately! But no, seriously, next stop, wake meh...”
[/center]“... And after he landed on the ropes crotch first I said ‘Rectum? Damn near killed him! Ho-ho-ho! But listen here Scout, there’s not much of this trip left and I need muh beauty sleep or else I’m just a wreck! Listen wake meh up at the next stop, but if I’m twitching a little wake meh quick, I’ve been having the worst dreams ever lately! But no, seriously, next stop, wake meh...”
A sly and mischievous smile stretched across his face as Anthony slowly drifted away into slumber land. Biggins had better hope this was the best dream of his life because, little did he know, the worst night terror of his life was about to become it. However, as he knew himself, there was nothing really to fear. Your worst thoughts coming into an almost seemingly reality? He supposed that was a minor inconvenience. Unable to sleep and let alone compute as a normal human being? It makes a difficult career choice. But the real reality was about to hit him shortly as he got off the train. As you wake up in a cold sweat would you tell yourself that it couldn’t get much worse? This time it could, however...
Fan-boy:
“...There's nothing to fear... It’s only a nightmare...”
[/center]“...There's nothing to fear... It’s only a nightmare...”
End.
To be continued.