In Circles We Walk
Scene One | Off-Camera
If you knew the exact moment you would die, would you live your life without fear? Taking all the risks you could and engaging in any and all dangerous behaviours, because you’re so certain of the exact way and when you will die. Although he had seen infinite possibilities whilst Vita Mors had occupied his mind and body, he had also seen infinite ends to his own life.
Days that had come, days that had gone. Days that would be and days that never would. The fact that his mind was beginning to fall apart, it was no real surprise. The human mind wasn’t made for what he had seen, and his own sanity was beginning to slip. The more it slipped the more he had to ask these questions of himself. The more he asked these questions the more he questioned his own existence. His own reality. He doubted whether or not the ghosts that he was seeing were truly ghosts. Were they figments of his imagination, or were they actual embodiments he had brought to life. Fears made manifest.
The Lost, it was the most prominent voice. A voice he knew he had heard before, but he was certain he had no connection with. A voice that he knew meant something to him, but the more he searched for it, the less certain he became. The less certain he was that he had ever actually even known this part of himself before. Was it some lingering effect of Vita Mors possession, or something that had invited its way into his mind when he offered his soul to the infinite nothingness? Colours cascaded and exploded behind his eyes, and the more he tried to find their source, the less he knew of them.
“You’ve been really distant lately, Lexi. Are you okay?” Luna’s voice tried to break him from his stupor, but he felt like he was walking under water. Trudging through his own existence, watching his body perform but no longer being in the driver seat. A familiar feeling, but foreign in the same instance. Was she even real? Was she even truly here? His head hurt the more he thought about it. The flash of fire, smoke wafting into the sky. Clouds of grey making shapes of the inconceivable.
“Do you remember Syco? Strange girl. Really obsessed, stranger people around her. There were moments back then, when I felt like I had something greater pulling me along. We were broken, but there was something there, you know? I felt like the things I was saying really meant something. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like that since.” Alex mumbled, gently gripping his temples, squeezing them. A deep and heavy breath as he sat there.
“She doesn’t know, because she was never a true believer. None of them ever really believed you, but. I can help you make them see. Make the Lost feel home again. Be their shepherd like you were always destined to be.” The voice bounced around his head. His own voice, but not. Something distorted but clear. Broken but unblemished.
“Lexi. I think you’re just tired, you know? I really think you need to take a break. Tell them you need to take time away. Make this match with Michael your last one. I’m worried about you, baby.” Luna’s voice swirled in his head, but opening his eyes he found himself alone. The world simply ceases to be.
He was sitting in an empty space, but it wasn’t quite empty. There was a chair, and he was sitting in it. But he was watching himself sit in the chair. From both in it and out of it. He lifted and turned his head, looking around himself. As he did, he watched himself lift and turn his head. Lift and turn, look and find. Looking into himself and looking back, seeing both himself and nothing at the same time. Infinite nothing stretched into the world beyond, cascading and falling and spanning and playing out. He breathed and with each breath the next moment found itself existing only in that which had already passed. His hand squeezed his temple and with the squeeze came understanding. Understanding passed into unknowing and in the unknown he found himself wondering.
Wondering when the next moment would end. Luna’s hand rested on his shoulder, as he sat in bed. He didn’t really remember climbing into bed, but he was certain he had been asleep. The more he tried to track his thoughts the more he wondered if he was actually awake. When was the last time he had slept? She straddled his lap and held his face in her hands, and stared into his eyes. The concern etched into her every feature.
“Where am I?’ Alex asked, a flash of pain and light exploding behind his eyes. Her hands were warm on his face, but he wondered how long they had been there. Why were her hands on his face, but also plunging into his chest? His heart hurt, and as the light cleared he realised once more that he was alone. Sitting in that hotel room, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. Looking at the empty bed that had yet to be disturbed. Unslept and unused, except for the ghosts of Lauren and Leon. It was strange how many people in his life had names that start with the letter L. It made him wonder, was The Lost really a voice in his head, or was it an amalgamation of the L named people in his life?
Had Lauren ever truly died, if his memories and thoughts of her never ceased? Someone had once told him that people didn’t die until their memory was finally erased. Would James and Lauren exist forever in their hearts, but only a forever that existed as long as they did? The more he thought about it, the more he wondered how long they had been broken. The broken ones had gathered, and it was because they were all seeking something. Lost souls seeking for a way to be found, hurting and torturing others in their quest to be acknowledged and seen as they truly existed.
“I love you, Lu. I’m sorry, I’m just… not well.” Alex said as he rolled over, the bed was full but his heart felt empty. His mind was plagued with images of that night. The night he walked in on her, and Leon. The night he saw and saw and saw and saw his mind break. Existence ended and he began to doubt the life he had. Why would he want to live in a world that demanded he suffer through heartbreak for the sake of being unable to control the actions of others.
“We’re going to get you help, Lexi. I promise you’re going to be alright, babyboy.” Luna’s voice swirled in his head, as he sat there and watched himself. Watched and saw himself watching himself, in that empty space. The space that couldn’t exist because he knew he was sitting on that chair in the hotel room. Watching the ghosts of his dead wife and the antagonist of his existence fornicate in the bed that was untouched.
“True freedom only exists when we’re dead, rockstar. Don’t you forget it.” James’ voice cut through the air, which was strange because he knew it was Luna that was currently straddling his lap, his face in her hands. Except he didn’t remember going to bed, so he wasn’t sure if this was reality or if he was dreaming. It had to be a dream, because his eyes were closed, and he was squeezing his temple. Trying to find a way to deal with the flashing lights that were exploding behind his closed eyes and pushing the voices that filled his mind.
If he knew the exact moment he was going to die, he would probably have lived his life exactly the same. For knowing how it would end was enough to ensure that it would change. Finding the correct path could make it the wrong path, and no matter how much he tried to put the pieces back together he wouldn’t ever be able to fix the broken vase that held his life within it. True freedom could only exist if he was dead, and he felt he was trapped. So trapped he must be alive, that was the truth of it.
“Don’t fight me Alex. Give in and become what you know you are meant to be. The Broken Messiah, the Prophet of Falsities and Conspiracy. Help guide The Lost and become found. For only in being found can you truly be free.”Freedom belonged to the dead, so if gave in, he would no longer be alive. That had to be the truth, and the truth was right there. He just had to wake up. He had to remind himself that no matter how many times he turned his head to look at himself looking at himself, that Luna was holding his face not in reality, but in the depths of his mind. For only the living got to feel the warmth of the living, and that was why his hands were so warm. His head was hot with thought, as he grabbed his temples and pushed the pain from beyond his eyes into the nothingness.
“Find The Lost and be free of yourself, Alexander. Find me and together we’ll help the world see the truth.” The voice bounded inside his skull, and then it clicked. He opened his eyes and looked at Luna staring at him. He felt light-headed and delirious. The colour drained from his cheeks, and the nausea rose in his gullet. He looked at her and shook his head.
“Am I awake?” Alex asked, and Luna frowned. Fear and concern etched across her features, and for the first time in a while the world didn’t change. The lights had subsided and he was going to sit upright. He was sitting there, with her. Not in a hotel, and not in a space that couldn’t exist. She was here, but not straddling his lap. Her hands were warm, warm on his face.
“None of this is real.” Luna said.
And then he woke up, his phone ringing on his bedside table. He frowned, picking it up. Her name on the screen. Peace, calm and happiness. A momentary peace.
“Hey, you okay? Something in my belly made me worried. Sorry, I know it’s silly, but… we miss you Lexi. I can’t wait to see you when you get home.” Luna’s voice washed it away. If only for a moment.
“She’ll never truly love you.” His own but not his own voice, echoed once more.
He was losing his mind.
Huh… Deja vu.
No More Dodging
Scene Two | On-Camera
“Everyone has to always add a caveat to deny the truth of what is directly in front of them. I told the world that I would beat Kris Ryans. That was the simple truth I laid down, and that was exactly what happened. I hear the little birds twittering their little delusions, trying to convince themselves that anything but exactly what was meant to happen, happened. No matter how much they want to deny it however, they know what really transpired.”
“I had Kris Ryans dead to rights. There was no question about that, there was no doubt about that. Nobody, and I mean fucking nobody, kicks out of the Raven’s Spine. That’s a simple fact of life. Kris Ryans was dead to rights before Kevin and J2H decided to jump in. Kris Ryans was going to lose to Alexander Raven and that was going to simply be it. No fanfare, no contention. One, two, three, another king fallen on their own hubris. No excuses, no arguments to be had. Just a washed out nobody pretending to be something more than they ever truly were.”
“See the truth of a man is revealed in what they let lie. Kris was not perturbed by my claims about his keyboard warrior of a wife. He felt not the need to defend against claims of her cowardice, because even he could see that. As angry as that should have made him, it wasn’t enough to bring him even close to being my better. He could not put me down, no matter what he tried. Just like Jayden Harris couldn’t put me down. Just like Austin James Mercer, Fenris and Ken Davison, couldn’t put me down. Fallen kings, heads laid to rest on the flaming blade of the Napalm Kingslayer.”
“Nobody gets to question me. Nobody gets to question how I do things. Nobody gets to put an asterisk on my achievements. Nobody gets to doubt me, because every time I say I will do something, a miracle happens. No, not a miracle. A miracle would imply that it wasn’t a foregone fucking conclusion. No every time I say something, it comes true. It comes true, because everything I say is grounded in the truth. The truth is that no matter how much you fight it. No matter how much you attempt to break it down, I was right. I continue to be right. I continue to be the only one that tells the truth around here. That when I put my mind to something, the end is a foregone conclusion.”
“The bell rings, I do what I always do, and then people get angry. They get angry that once again I was right. People like Kris Ryans dance around the idea and hide behind this faux aggression. The passive-aggressiveness of all those who felt the need to talk about it. His cunt wife was suddenly so quiet, when she had been so agitated. So concerned for her husband’s inability that she left her perfect little home to come and watch over him. To watch him, fail. To watch him, fall. To know that the man she is confident in, was nothing. That Finn and Kayla may just be right every time they call her out. Funny how things work out, isn’t it? Yet even then. That wasn't the worst of it.”
“The most egregious of all of it however? The bitter old cunt that is Michael Harris. The man who spent months doing everything but winning on his own merit wants to question the validity of my win over a man like Kris Ryans. To talk about my relevancy? To talk about how I conduct myself? The man who spent his entire title reign dodging me. Who were it not for J2H throwing his pull around at the time, would have continuously picked maggots to defend his championship against. To defend and come so close to lose every time that he had to use the village and the chemicals to ensure his own victory. The man who knew if he ever stepped in the ring with Alexander Raven? He’d never stand a fucking chance.”
“Michael Harris, how long I have waited for this opportunity. How long I have waited for my moment to prove that you were nothing but a false king using every possible scheme in your playbook to keep hold of a championship that didn’t belong to you. That you didn’t fucking deserve. An old man afraid of irrelevance, so afraid of being vulnerable that you surround yourself in a bubble to make yourself seem like you actually were anything more than what everyone accused you of being. If Kris Ryans is washed, then you are a forgotten rag in the bottom of the laundry basket waiting for the day it would be seen again.”
“That’s how I view you, Michael Harris. Scum hardly fit to wash the muck off the bottom of the bucket, and yet. Yet you’ve managed to create this… idea. This concept that you were anything but a scared old man who was afraid of fading into irrelevancy. An idea that even now stays true. An idea that I intend to prove the truth of in front of everyone. So when you think about how things ended for you. A man thrown to the sea, a prodigy, a savant of a successor left without a career. A bitter hatred that you will never see through. I want you to know that the man you dodged. The man you were afraid of, he was the one that caused it all. That in your final fucking wrestling match, Alexander Raven took Michael Harris’ head and dropped him on it. Broke the poor man’s spine and left him a whimpering shaking little fucking mess of spit, dribble and scum in the centre of that ring.”
“You are nothing beneath my boot. You are nothing in my eyes, Michael. You are simply a relic who refuses to believe that anything but the delusions in your own head are simply that. Fucking delusions. Delusion however, is a dangerous thing. I know this better than almost anyone. Delusion can lead to great strength, delusion can lead to the defiance of fate itself. Delusion can make you better and for that, I am wary. Not of you, but of what you stand for. For the depths you will sink to. I sat and watched as you shit all over the World Championship in your title reign. I watched as you cheated and lied your way through every match, and pretended like it was on your own merits that you stayed king.”
“I implore you, Michael. Bring your pretty little wives, beg your neurotic family to stand in your corner. Ask them to help you get to the match that you truly want. To see it out with J2H, just one more time. Ask them for all the support they can muster, and then know this. Know that when you’re staring up at the lights, your fingers curl inwards. Your body twitching and all sensation gone from your legs. The irrelevant one of the group. The one that you spit upon the name of. The man who Kris Ryans overlooked. The man who everyone keeps talking down on, planted you on the back of your fucking head and left you a senile old cunt in the centre of that ring, with a back that will never bounce back. A neck that will never not hurt, and a body that will never recover.”
“There is poetry here, Michael. You see, this is not a match that I have to wrestle. I don’t need this match, as much as I may seem like I do. I understand why you dodged me for so long. I understand why you were so afraid of Alexander Raven and wasted your time with nobodies like Miles Kasey and Austin James Mercer for months. I understand, because I know what it is like to be afraid. I know what it is like to be scared. Of not being seen the way you want to be seen. Of not being acknowledged, of being loved. Of losing the only things in this world that matter to you. That’s where your danger is right now, Michael. You lost the World Championship to your own hubris. You’ve got no real support in the puppet masters that pull the strings of Sin City. The world does not take your side, despite the fact that we left your son destitute.”
“Do you understand, Michael? How loathed and hated one must be, to walk into this match and not be seen as the good guy. Not be seen as the vindicator. To not be cheered onto victory, for nobody wishes to see Michael Harris drag his old ass from pillar to post in some attempt at making himself feel like he still fucking belongs here. No, Michael. Nobody cares for you. Nobody wants to see this, and that… that is why I want this match. I want this match so that every night you have to go to bed and acknowledge this. You have to acknowledge that you weren’t good enough. That when everything was stripped back, and stripped away. When the world evened the odds, you were nothing but a loser. A loser who couldn’t hang anymore. A loser who despite everything, despite all the barbs. Despite everything you might think about me, you were put to the sword and made just another victim of the Napalm Kingslayer.”
“The true World Champion Alexander Raven, in what could be his final match. He beat the man who had never lost the World Championship. In his final match, he flipped off not only every person in Sin City Wrestling. But he spat on everything they had ever done. He spat upon the legacy they had attempted to supplicate and manipulate. I’m going to take everything from you, I’m going to take everything from them. This is more than just a match for me, and that. That is why I accepted this match. That is why there was no argument about it. Kevin and James know that I can beat you. The world fucking knows that I can beat you, Michael.The only person in denial? Yourself. The man who is so stuck in his own delusions that he can longer separate the lies from the truth.”
“This is it for you Michael. I beat you, and it all ends. It ends for you, it ends your little crusade. Your son can look upon the man he knows as his father, and know that it was all for nothing. His own journey to take up your flag, resulted in nothing but pain. Pain for you, pain for him. A career thrown away at just its beginning because his daddy was nothing but a gnat on the ass of society. A parasite sucking at the life force of all those around him in a vain attempt at remaining relevant. The legacy of Michael Harris, to fall away to nothing. To be nothing. To be forgotten and ignored. That is the legacy of Michael Harris. An old man who will be forgotten forevermore when he loses to Alexander Raven.”
“The time for words is over Michael. Resort to your old ways. Prove to everyone that you can’t do it. That you can’t beat me, that you can’t beat James. That you are nothing but a loser. Summon your bitch wives, summon every bit of familial love that people have left for you. Do whatever you must, and know. Knowing that every part of it wasn’t enough to stop us. To stop me. To stop The Conspiracy. For every action you have, there will be a counter. For every choice you make, know this. I will stop you. I will be the man to beat you, and when it is all said and done. When you look up at the lights and know. Know that everything was for nothing. That you should have stayed missing at sea. That you should have stayed in your home, nice and safe. Happy and alone. You brought this all on yourself.”
“I need you to listen very closely Michael. I need you to acknowledge, and understand. This isn’t your homecoming. This isn’t your triumphant return. This isn’t your day, your night or even your life. This is the end of you. The end for you. I will break you, Michael. I will end you. I will put you to the sword for I am the Napalm Kingslayer, and I need another head for my throne. Know this. This isn’t personal. It’s just business, and my business? It involves ending the ignorant, the delusional and the broken. Guiding them home, and helping The Lost find themselves again. I will help you, Michael. Help you home, and I beg you. Stay there. Stay home and never, ever disgrace yourself like this again.”
“Are you listening? The Lost are coming home.”
