Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
La Envidia Mata RP#2
Topic Started: Apr 3 2010, 08:34 PM (262 Views)
The Corporation
sVo Icon
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Strange hands grope over David Mata's body as La Envidia Mata, crouching, stares through the keyhole.

A purple haze falls heavier over the residence as David moans in pain. La Envidia Mata stares at David's contorted silhouette offset by the flood of white light coming through the shrouded picture window.

“Kill me!” David screams.

The women in white outfits grab hold of any body part they can, a sensual and rhythmic dance of forcing David down on the bed. If he had been in his right mind, he might have enjoyed the moment.

“Please take me!” David screams, sobbing uncontrollably, heaving and hyperventilating, his eyes bugging out, his red and swollen forehead searching for the end. A pale hand grabs David's flailing arm and stabs a syringe in. David begins making gurgling sounds, then his flailing becomes more relaxed, slow, and methodical.

La Envidia Mata turns away from the keyhole, his trenchcoat flaring up in anger, as he strides down the long hallway, his boots pressing intolerably hard against the sleek marble floor.

A handsome looking geriatric stood on his mule's stirrups with his five year old daughter snug between him and the matted mane, and was clunking rather gracefully around tiny ditches outside the house.

La Envidia Mata was becoming irritable, his nostrils flaring up with a particular impatience that causes the black widow to shiver and dig itself between a crack in the slate colored plaster.

The sun washes the door to the kitchen a baby pea green. La Envidia Mata kicks the door open, causing a loud snapping, and the door to bust off it's top hinge. A group of three hispanic male cooks wearing tall white chef hats turn sharply to measure the commotion.

“Oranges!” La Envidia Mata screams. “Damn it, I need some damn oranges.”

“No Tengo naranjas. Tengo manzanas.”

The chef tosses La Envidia Mata an apple.

“Get me some God damn oranges!” La Envidia Mata yells, throwing the apple back at the man's head, knocking his tall white hat to the floor. The chefs scramble around the kitchen, hunting and searching. One shouts orders to another to go to the pantry and the other man crawls around on his hands and knees, bumping into cabinets and shelves as he frantically tries to pick up the rolling apple.

If he would have been any hotter, smoke would have snorted out of his nostrils. La Envidia Mata turns from the kitchen and stomps his way back into the hallway. The squawking of the mule outside causes La Envidia Mata to cringe.

“Damn it. Will somebody shut that damn mule up!?”

If anyone would have been within earshot, they would have thought La Envidia Mata was crazy, would have asked him what mule. There was no old man and his daughter riding a mule outside. The staff was sure of it.

But La Envidia Mata thinks otherwise, and the mule taunts him with squawk after squawk and the little girl outside laughs a sinister laugh, and the old man could think nothing of respecting the melancholic mood that has befallen La Envidia Mata.

Meanwhile, David Mata was shaking. They force him to drink, the viscous black liquid oozing down his throat, pooling indignation in his stomach.

If David had an electric drill, surely he would drill it right through his own stomach, pour it back into a porcelain boot, and leave himself for dead.

But he couldn't afford anything electric because his mother forbade it when he was little, told him he was ice water impotent, that he couldn't drill a hole because his father delighted in Hispanic women with capable thighs. When he was twelve, she sent him on a summer vacation in Mexico to learn violin and get rid of his faggoty lisp.

David digs the dry dirt with his bare hands, and now burns with a fervent malevolence at the thought that the rest of the world finds solace in watching him drink the darkness.

No-one came to his aid to stop any of this. Not even La Envidia Mata, who was musing, with one hand at his chin, the other at his elbow, with a curious look in his eye, over a large painting of a gray blob amongst a slew of other well defined yellow squares, red triangles, green circles.

“There. That darkness.” La Envidia Mata thinks, pointing to the gray blob. In some strange way he identified with it. It all made sense, that one unique shape jetting out amongst all the others, gripping La Envidia Mata and telling him “I am you, you are me.”

La Envidia Mata scoffed. He hated it.

“Get rid of this painting.” La Envidia Mata says. But no-one was around to oblige. Even if someone were around, much like the man and daughter with the mule, the painting didn't exist.

La Envidia Mata must assume that someone must have gotten rid of it, as he paces back and forth in front of David's door staring at the chaotic patterns in the black marble floor. Each rough swirl and blob reminds La Envidia Mata of the last Showdown, thoughts of Ronnie Long pulsing though his head, the cage, the fans, the brawl, the pain.

La Envidia Mata limped his way back home that night. What mattered was that La Envidia Mata won. He had taken Ronnie Long to the limit, beat him within an inch of his life, and left him dangling from the... well, perhaps he wasn't dangling from the spiral. But now he was dangling from something else.

La Envidia Mata's brain was weather wrought with a storm of idiocracy as he watched that Ronnie Long is getting a number one contender's match for the Las Vegas Championship. There was a sharp pain of stupidity that rang through the whole SVO. How could a man he had defeated get rewarded while he was pitted in an opening match with guys who are not near his league?

“Damn you!” La Envidia Mata screams at the monitor, watching the card promo where Ronnie Long faces Raven, a sharp pain in his rib.

But La Envidia Mata quickly shakes those thoughts as Ronnie Long will live to fight another day and surely their paths will cross once more.

La Envidia Mata was thinking of the end, and of the beginning. The beginning of the next chapter in the saga.

La Envidia Mata admired gauntlets. No, not the SVO gauntlet, but black leather gauntlets slipped over his hands. This was his opportunity to grab each of them by the throat and shove them up against the wall and whisper nightmares into their souls. All of them, every last one of them, covet the SVO World Title. The shiny gold status symbol dances in their heads as they lie awake at night. “If I can just get my hands on the gold” they think. But they're wrong. La Envidia Mata knows they're wrong.

The familiar words echo in a little girl's voice, “The title does not make the man. The man makes the title.”

La Envidia Mata remembers those words, how true they ring to this day. La Envidia Mata has done everything in his power to destroy all those that cross his path, thus making the SVO World Title a sign of the void. The title will adorn La Envidia Mata's waist and it will make little seeds of malevolence hop off and begin spreading their roots throughout the title, growing large branches of hate and producing forbidden fruits.

Billy Ransom, DVD, and Limp all found out. You can wrongfully covet the fruit, but cannot eat of the fruit, for if you do you will suffer the same fate as woeful Adam on that darkest of days in the garden.

And so Christ somehow manages to pop his head in as if to say “look at me” and worship. But La Envidia Mata quickly shoves his fist into those thoughts, causing the entire religion to double over, coughing up clumps of prayer, gasping for air.

That damn Asesino, La Envidia Mata thought. Spreading those false ideals of God, causing this disgusting inspiration. And now I face him along with Oliver Ranken and Killer White? Will they say their prayers too?

La Envidia Mata is half tempted to unlock the door and barge in and choke any last hope of God out of David Mata, but doesn't. He can feel the holy spirit rising out of David and fluttering out the seams of the window. Perhaps, La Envidia Mata muses, this is what makes them strong. Perhaps suffering is the very thing that these men feed off of, what they need to continue their pursuits of good.

The very thought of Ranken, White and Asesino forces a black goop up out of his festering gut that settles in his mouth, burning his tongue and singing his nose. La Envidia Mata gulps it back down, and promises himself that he will do all in his power to internalize the darkness, to not allow even the slightest thought of bliss to nauseate him.

There David is again, his eyes rolling back in his head, clutching the sheets as if they were his only hope of escape, to fly off into the sky and be burnt up by the sun. David remembers that he converted to vegetarianism two years back, rejected the values of meat, the comforts of a juicy steak. It doesn't help that he is allergic to raw vegetables, cooks everything to mush, or the fact that his mother is sleeping with garbage men. Every carrot reminds him of her, how she would cut him raw carrot coins to snack on when he was little, and his lips would swell, his tongue would itch. It made him resent his father even more.

“Please.” David begs. “Someone release me from this hell.”

“Pain” La Envidia Mata says, shutting the door behind him. “Pain is inevitable.”

“Make it stop... Please make it stop.”

“Suffering, I'm afraid, is also inevitable.”

If David had been in his right mind, or if La Envidia Mata had been in his right mind, both would have more clearly understood the immense gravity of their meeting. But because both of them were scooting across the stars, catching themselves on fire, neither one of them could rightfully acknowledge the depth of this occurrence.

The immense sunlight pouring into the room heaps of good will made La Envidia Mata glow, and he quickly drew the dark maroon curtains over the window.

“The greatest story is the one you live.”

David's ex-wife liked stewing in a warm bubble bath. She cupped warm faucet water in her hands, and poured it into her mouth. Then she would practice squirting water across the tub and into a complimentary bank mug sitting on the sink. She died in a car accident.

“The time of complete darkness draws near.”

"I can't breathe," David coughs, green with the suffocating heat mixed with the staunch smell of his mother's cigarettes. She would always complain that he exaggerated too much, yet she would go on and on about how much of a blue-balled, drunken asshole his father was when he filed for divorce.

“Your transformation is near complete.”

When he was ten, David fell into the well behind his house. His father found him a few hours later, and fetched some help from his coal-mining co-workers. Another hour and he was out, and dad had him over his knee and gave him at least a hundred thwacks. He couldn't sit for at least a week, and neither could his mother.

“You see that last bit of light?”

The shutters of David's life hang low, wilted by years of neglect. Even the dog is depressed.

“You have nothing.”

David gasps for air, but his lungs cannot find any. He tries and tries, clenching the bed sheets in frustration. La Envidia Mata grabs the syringe and stabs it violently into David's neck. La Envidia Mata releases the serum, a dark concoction indeed. La Envidia Mata withdraws the needle, then drops it on the floor. He kneels down beside David who is finally gasping deep breaths of air.

“With each breath, you will consume Nothing. It will become a part of you, and you a part of it. You will become one with Nothingness.”

The patter of mice feet rustle under the bed. La Envidia Mata watches as David's chest pumps up and down, each successive pump turning him somewhat pale, somewhat weaker. La Envidia Mata smiles sinisterly. A deep scream echoes throughout the hallway. La Envidia Mata's eyes become more and more crazed.

“You have... Nothing.”
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Free Forums. Reliable service with over 8 years of experience.
« Previous Topic · sVo Resurrection PPV RP Board · Next Topic »
Add Reply

threesixty by tiptopolive of the Zetaboards Theme Zone