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The Insomniac, The Maimed and The Gunshot; Bobby Dean Takes A Ride
Topic Started: Jan 12 2011, 04:22 PM (100 Views)
Ethan Rider
The Dark Rise
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BANG

"Ethan, Ethan..."

I can feel my body shift, my mind staying put - a dead weight that refuses to be moved. My neck cracks and sweat begins to pour from my pores, leaving a salty tinge of flavour on my parched lips. My heart begins to freeze, and my hands go numb, unable to grasp onto any solid object around me. I try to get up, to run away, but to no avail.

Falling.

Falling...

Falling.


BANG

My head smacks against the floor. The floor of what, I guess I will never know. My sight is impaired and my nose blocked, the desperation welling up as I struggle to breath, great gulps bringing only light relief. I can feel flames across my face. Fire, an intense searing force that licks my bones, my eyes and my face, slowly sliding its knife into my chest, the sharpened blade stroking my innards, twisting inside me, bringing a scream boiling up from the depths...

"HELP!"

My body subconciously convulses, my topless torso arching as the scream pierces the cool, silent air. The fire is still there, distant, but not warming. A small, pointless interferance that still holds a slight grip.

I can see again now, but the edges are blurred. I can see a solitary figure, dressed in a grey coat, a thick coat of stubble covering his cheeks and lower face. He holds a colt revolver in his right hand, swinging loose, but loaded, by his hip.

Dimitri.

The Russian raises the revolver slowly, and I try to scream again, sweat now pouring from my face and chest. But my mouth is bound, my body constricted and isolated in the line of the bullet. He laughs, almost jovially, before his index finger maliciously squeezes the trigger.

BANG...

Las Vegas, Nevada
Apartment #37
02:13 AM


A severe form of Insomnia.

Thats what the doctor had called it. The dreams kept coming, and they always ended the same. A bullet, nestling deep in my heart. Its ironic, that I've put an end to half a dozen lives, yet when I'M the one to feel the bullet pierce my skin, it drives me to insanity. Sleeping pills refuse to work, as well. Each night, its become sort of a routine now... Get to sleep at midnight. Get fucking shot. Wake up at Two AM.

There's never anybody else there. Not Matt Anderson, Flick Kendall or Amy Rider. Just me and Dimitri, myself tied to the floor with the sleek end of the revolver aimed at the side of my head.

My career can't be helping my sleeping patterns either. Another victory over DVD means that the momentum continues its steady build, but out of the ring, The Company are starting to track me down and lassoo my ankles. This past week, Matt Anderson took away my shot at the Las Vegas Championship... Of course, being Matt Anderson, he could have said anything to make me snap, and so I responded in the form expected of me.

I snapped.

But, unfortunately, Matt's little troop of cock-suckers were there to thwart my revolt before it began. Men like Colt Cooper, who I had pegged down for guys that had my back, were willing to turn on me at the slightest twitch of Andersons head.

I can still feel the dark bruise shining around my eye as I lay here, the bed sheets a tangled, damp mess, clinging to my body. My hair is moist, and I slowly prise the sheets from my body, rolling over to a basin by the side of the room. Relaxing slightly, finally free of the nightmare's grip, I splash cold water on my face, the liquid reviving my senses as it connects with my flesh. I sink back, shattered, kneeling on the wooden floor, the only sound the slow beat and rhythm of Amy's breathing downstairs.

But despite all that had gone down between myself and The Company, Matt had seen fit to place me against BBD. As pathetic as it sounds, on paper, this is my biggest match thus far. Whether Matt is trying to punish me by putting me up against a severely injured "Name That Entertains," or reward me, for some biarre reason, by moving me up the card to face Bobby.. But personally, I'm not really interested in the reasoning behind the match, or my sudden push from DVD to BBD.

I'm more interested in the fact that BBD is easy pickings right now. If I'm able to beat the guy at all, I'll be able to do it this week. Some Joker lookalike raised my hopes and chances of victory when he brutally and ruthlessly beat down Bobby... turning "Beautiful" to "Bruteiful" in multiple fell blows.

Of course I've faced Dean before. Notably, I have a victory over him, in a match where I practically took Beautiful Shame apart single-handedly, before Colt Cooper screwed me over and stole the victory. Then, just two weeks ago, when we were two of the final three in the One Shot Rumble. There, BBD took revenge, eliminating me from the match, only to be defeated by Samuel Motherfucking Amos.

Some would call it the rubber match.

Bobby touched on it perfectly himself, when he last week proposed that he's viewed as a gatekeeper. 'Beat Bobby Dean and become a Top Tier Star...' was the terminology used. That isn't about being held down by Matt Anderson and The Company. Thats about PROVING to the world that I can fuck with Shame, Wildman, Amos, Night...

"Ethan?"

I hear the weary voice of Amy, my elder sister, dressed in nothing but a dressing gown. I look around as I realize how much of a mess I must seem to her now. Lying on the wooden floor, gazing at the kitchen sink with the tap still running, water trickling from the spout. The bedcloth is damp, lying in a heap under the bed. The words ever present on her wrist, 'Slit Me,' carved into her body by a kitchen knife, suddenly seems easy to relate to.

"Amy."

"What are you doing, Ethan?"

She yawns, dragging her feet over to the sheets, which she slowly and carefully re-arranges and folds up on the bed. All those years mothering her two younger brothers obviously paid off in some ways.

"I'm going crazy, Amy... The dreams won't go."

"But Doctor Morgan said that sleeping pills help cure even the strongest insomnia.."

"I don't think Doctor Morgan has any idea what its like to be shot twice from point blank range."


Amy sighs, offering me a hand, which I take, her small, dainty fingers wrapping around mine and steadying my heaving body as I stumble back to my bed. Amy sits beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder. Despite everything that she went through when she found out our father was the assassin of JFK, she still manages to push those problems aside so as to help me.

"I'm fine, Amy. Go back to sleep. I just need to think."

She stands up, trying to hide her glee at being told to sleep. She smiles affectionately at me, and I nod back, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards slightly as she tiptoes to the door. Before she leaves, back to the comfort of a dreamless rest, she turns to look back at me.

"Don't stay up too late, little brother. You have a big match this week."

I nod as she leaves, before glancing at the clock briefly.

02:37AM

The exact time Dimitri released the bullet, the exact time the revolver planted the glistening gunshot in my arm. A minute later, and I was still falling.

Falling..

Falling.
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