Resentment
Scene one | Off-camera | 16th November
“It’s funny, you know? How long has it been now, dad? Seven, eight years? It’s weird to think, that every year I grow slightly less resentful of you. That I appreciate the time we got to spend together. But forgiven, you shan’t ever be. I’m not as angry as I once was. I’m at peace with myself. Or so I thought. The dreams, they’ve started again. They don’t stop, they plague my sleeping hours. Sometimes I break you, sometimes you break me. It’s not as therapeutic as I would like. They tell you not to read too deeply into your dreams, but I can’t help but wonder. Would you be proud of who I’ve become? Would you teach those harsh lessons once again if you knew how long I stayed hidden? Would you have hated me for going back to the ring?”
Smoke wafted from a half burnt cigarette, disappearing into the night sky. Quiet, the sound of the night world full of singing insects and chirping creatures humming lowly in the the space around him. A field, maybe a farm. He found himself sitting on a camping chair, alone. Staring into the sky. It was peaceful. A happy place to talk to the world around him. To talk to his father long since passed. He wasn’t much of one to believe in an after-life, but communicating with the memory of his father was soothing.
“It was a nice warm-up, that’s for sure. Strange characters in that place. Frustrating that Carl got one over me. Wasn’t expecting it. Honestly, don’t think anyone was. Well, you probably would have. I would’ve had the bruises to prove it too, huh? You never were a particularly efficient teacher. Never spare the rod, for the lesson of the bruising is stronger than that of the word. Old school, weren’t you? Not always though. Not always a brute, not always an alcoholic. I think I understand you more now. I understand why you turned to the bottle. I know what it feels like to be failure. I’ve felt like one for the longest time now. All the potential in the world, full of bravado and words, and yet. At the end of the day, it all falls apart. The chosen one to carry UECW, and I failed to beat the haired wonder. Gave up the other belts, because I felt no attachment to a memory of a man I had, in my mind, ended.”
The ember slowly faded as the cigarette went out. Dropped to the grass, another to the lips. He held the lighter in his hand, flicking the flame on. His eyes transfixed on the flames, the glow across his features. The small amount of warmth warming his chilled nose. His eyes distant, longing. Fixated.
“The inaugural champion, and I fell to my own teammate. Never redeemed. That’s the legacy I carry. The chosen one, who fails to live up to his own reality. I wonder, dad. I wonder if things will ever change. Will I always be the victim of a fate beyond my control? Full of bluster, yet a step short. The curse of the Rabenschwarz. Full of potential, but spat upon by the lady herself. I understand why you turned to the bottle, and your fists upon us. Traded the gloves for the strap. I understand now, more than I ever did. I don’t know why I let you back in. Hope that you were right? Hope that you would have changed after all those years. I was so very, very wrong, wasn’t I? James walked away from it all, and was happy. He’d achieved what he wanted. Fate smiled upon him, dad. Fate smiled upon him, whilst it spat upon me. The worst part?"
"The fire didn’t cleanse me.”
He inhaled deeply, shaking his head ever so slightly. The flame flickered out and clicked off. The cigarette sliding behind his ear, as he leaned back into his chair. From the holder of the chair, he raised a glass bottle. Raising it up towards the waning moon, hanging high in the sky.
“It’s going to be different this time. I know it. I can feel it. Fate won’t spit upon me anymore. I couldn’t save you, and I didn’t ever say goodbye. The flames cleansed you, absolved you of your sins. I know that now. I don’t resent you anymore. I won’t ever forgive you, but. I think I can stop hating you."
"Cheers, dad.”
He tilted the bottle to the sky, clinking an imaginary other. Drinking deeply, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Allowing his thoughts to wander freely.
Broken
Scene Two | On-camera | 16th November
The crackle of flames, embers flowing from the small fire pit. Smoke billowing into the late afternoon sky. Amber skies beyond the horizon, long grass swaying with a light breeze. Green, green grass. Sunlight piercing the branches of nearby trees. As pretty as the most loved of autumn paintings. A pristine oasis. Standing near the pit, hands stretched out towards the flames a person, a man. His eyes transfixed upon the flames, his mind elsewhere. Hands dangerously close to the leaping licks of the yellow dragons.
“Brandon Hendrix. It’s a quaint little dance that we do. You scream, you swear, and you belittle. You mock, and you bluster. Arrogance oozes from you, Brandon. It’s unfortunate that a man with such success, would be so ignorant to the precarious nature of it. Looks can be stolen. The mind can be ruined. It’s an arrogance to believe it infallible. Yet, you continue to bluster. You continue to scream, you continue to swear, you continue to run your mouth. Reality is a funny thing, Brandon.
You’ve listened to me throw it out there, over and over. Yes, I know you’ve been listening. Vanity demands that you listen to every word that comes out for you. Good or bad, you must know that you are being thought of. Being acknowledged. I understand it well, Brandon. I too once wanted the adulation of all. I too was unable to exist unless people knew who I was. I too, would scream and shout. Never as vulgar as you. I have some modicum of respect. I have some understanding of the necessity of strong language in logical sequence. I understand, Brandon. Yet, I too, can be juvenile.”
Just as the wind shifted and the flames threatened to catch, Alex lowered his hands to his side. His eyes unmoving, still focused. Deep in thought, voice gentle, soft. The gasoline grumble of his tone seemingly subdued. A slim fit woolen coat hung tightly on his frame, zipped halfway. His hands sliding into the pockets either side, the slightest shake of his head. Eyelids slowly closing.
“The Broken Messiah, Alexander Raven. I seem very lost, don’t you think? Formerly the False King, the False Prophet. Leading persons unwilling to a reality that deigned the truth. My false reality. Throwing them down, denying their connections. Refuting their disconnectedness, stretching the olive branch. Delusional, perhaps. I often think I think too hard. Would you agree Brandon? Would you agree that I think too much? Too much of myself, too little of others? My father, he thought so. He wasn’t a fan of the verbal joust. The battle of wits wasn’t his forte. The strength of the fist, that was his rule. Beat not the mind, if you can beat the flesh.”
His brow furrowed, creasing across the forehead. Frustration etching its way across his features, his left hand raising to his temple. His pointer finger tapping against his temple lightly, the rest of his fingers curled into a fist.
“You remind me of him somewhat. Wildly self confident. Unbelieving of a reality where he isn’t the superior. Disconnected from the truth. You’ve got yourself believing that you won our first encounter. The books will say that is the case, you’re right. Black and white is the world you exist in, but shades of grey are what I believe in. Shades of grey are where I lead my flock. Where I lead, my Conspiracy. I eliminated Wacky. I eliminated Holla. You eliminated us both. Tangled in a mess of your poor spear. You got lucky. Ended up on top, literally. Yet you would act as if you had conquered me in a contest of the ages. A flogging, where you trounced Alexander Raven. Broke him so badly that he cannot let it go.
Is it wrong? Maybe not. I will acknowledge that you have me fixated Brandon. I need the redemption. Not for me though, no. No, I need the redemption to silence you. I need to show that being slighted by anyone is a bad, bad decision. I need you to be the martyr for my cause. No olive branches anymore. No offer of solace. No, you’ve helped me realise where I was wrong, Brandon. You were successful in that regard. You broke Alexander Raven. No more cracked crown. No more prophecies. Just a leader. A leader of the equally broken. The equally ruined. The Messiah of the Broken. I am, thanks to you, The Broken Messiah, Alexander Raven.”
A smile stretched across his face, happy. Content. White noise buzzed loudly, the quiet of the world disturbed by the noise. The screech of birds, the croak of ravens mixing through. Grunts of exertion and pain.
“Silence!”
The frustration etched across his face, his eyes snapping open as he kicked dirt onto the flames. Then again, and again. The dirt slowly smothering the fires. The birds, the white noise, the grunts, all beginning to fade as the flames begin to die. Suffocated by the dirt. The glow of embers mixed with the brown of the earth. The sun slowly descending further behind the horizon line. The sky yellowing into blackness.
“I will relish this encounter Brandon. With you, a new beginning. A new start. A new understanding. My reality, no longer fractured. Clarity, as it were. Clarity, Brandon. Are you listening? Are you following me? I need you to listen. I need you understand what I’m telling you. Listen to me Brandon."
"Listen!"
A lighter clicks to life, a cigarette rapidly drawn from a pocket. Brought to his lips. A deep inhale, his tongue dragging across his lips as he slowly exhaled a plume of that white smoke. His eyes fixated on the glowing embers slowly fading as they too were suffocated.
“Juvenile insults. That’s what they have been called. Whack Ass, Dollar Hand, and you, Branded Hen. It’s juvenile, the name calling. Yet it gets under the skin, doesn’t it? Branded Hen. Branded, Hen. You reacted, just as all the others. It’s interesting how hot under the collar people can get, from the most mild of insults. It’s amusing to me, Branded. It’s apt too, don’t you think? You’re entire brand, is based on your assumption of superiority. Your delusion with yourself, and the world around you. Your disconnected nature, is your brand. You are branded, yet you do not realise it. Just like a Hen, you don’t understand you’re just a waiting meal for the curious fox. The hen house, it seems safe. The hen house, it does not stop the fox.
The Hen screams, and the fox feeds. Slaughter, Brandon. Slaughter and carnage. The unfortunate reality is that the carcass of the hen, becomes the nectar for those would feed upon the left over carrion. The fox slaughters and takes it due, the crows and the ravens peck the remains. Branded for slaughter by a predator it is unaware. You, are branded for me, Hen. The hen house awaits us. At the end Brandon, you’ll understand. I don’t expect you to get it now. I don’t think you could. You’re far, far too disconnected. Branded Hen, I am the fox that will feed the scavengers.”
The glow of the cigarette slowly burning down fills the air. The sun almost completely descended now. Darkness coming in, the waning moon throwing its eerie glow. Alexander Raven lightly illuminated. His eyes burning with a new founded passion. Focused, and attentive. His mind now close, his thoughts no longer distant. No longer a mind separate from the body. Flashes of anger.
“You dodged me once, not again. I will break you. There is naught else to it. I will put you down, like the humane farmer would. You will be the martyr of my cause. For when you step into that ring, understand this. The Conspiracy, my Conspiracy are always watching. Through the jeers and spewing of the masses, you will know. You will feel the eyes of them all. Those I have saved, those I will save, and those who follow willingly. Broken, yet wanting to be fixed. Do you want to be fixed Brandon? Alas. You’ve insulted me on a very personal level. You’ve made this, personal for me. It’s truly a shame, Hen. For once I am done with you, I don’t wish to ever hear my name if your mouth again. I don’t wish to ever hear you thinking of me again. For if I hear that you bluster again. I will ensure that you are silenced permanently. You truly upset me, Brandon."
"Were you listening?”
With a final cloud of smoke, the sun disappeared completely. Night illuminating the world in a light glow. The cigarette dropping into the mound of dirt that hid the now silenced fire. The crunch of shoes churning ground, steps fading away.
Then, nothing. Darkness.
Silence.
