Post by The Solomons on Jan 1, 2017 22:49:48 GMT -5
Dust settles on the old garage like a thickening skin. Tools hang from the walls, abandoned for what must be years. An ancient tarp covers some hulking mass, the veiled object swallowing most of the space in the room... and before it towers Duke Solomon. He stares at it, standing like a sentry, unaffected by the dark of the room. Old lamplight crackles to life, bad wiring fighting to bring even a dim glow; Duke's sister emerges shortly after, high heels clicking against the cement floor.
Darcy approaches him, stopping short, before eyeing the object of his attention. Her black fingernails dig into the tarp, and with a single motion, she rips the blanket from its resting place. Revealed, both to Duke and the viewer... is a truck. A deep blue 1957 Chevy, to be specific. Duke doesn't budge, merely continues to stare into the uncovered vehicle. Darcy lets the tarp slip from her hands, monitoring Duke for a change in behavior.
"You used t' love this truck," she speaks quietly. "Used to work on it all the time, Duke. We could barely get you away from it, even for dinner... do you remember it?" Duke says nothing. His enormous frame doesn't so much as shift its weight. Moments pass, as though Darcy is waiting for something... but it never comes. "Ya used to... used to do a lot of things, Duke. Wanted a lot of things. Wanted to have a family, wanted to be a soldier... wanted to be a hero."
Darcy approaches him, stopping short, before eyeing the object of his attention. Her black fingernails dig into the tarp, and with a single motion, she rips the blanket from its resting place. Revealed, both to Duke and the viewer... is a truck. A deep blue 1957 Chevy, to be specific. Duke doesn't budge, merely continues to stare into the uncovered vehicle. Darcy lets the tarp slip from her hands, monitoring Duke for a change in behavior.
"You used t' love this truck," she speaks quietly. "Used to work on it all the time, Duke. We could barely get you away from it, even for dinner... do you remember it?" Duke says nothing. His enormous frame doesn't so much as shift its weight. Moments pass, as though Darcy is waiting for something... but it never comes. "Ya used to... used to do a lot of things, Duke. Wanted a lot of things. Wanted to have a family, wanted to be a soldier... wanted to be a hero."
Its slow, but Duke reacts. He twists his head to the side, bringing a hard, vacant stare straight down to his sister. Her pale hands adjust the long, hooded robe she wears. Though her smile is far from visible, it can be heard in her shifting tone. "Hero. That ringin' a bell, Duke? That's what they called you at the funeral. A hero. A man that... man that gave his life for his country. That's what them damn zombies is talkin' about now, Duke... bein' heroes. Bein' role models. Bein' warriors. Settin' examples an' shit. We understand heroism better than most, though, don't we Duke? What it means to be a hero."
She turns her shadowed face from Duke, instead focusing an unseen gaze to the camera. Duke slowly draws his own eyes back to the truck. She breathes in deep, and out just as intently, letting her thoughts coalesce. "See, y'all think heroism is somethin' to aspire to. Jus'... somethin' to gain, somethin' to aim for. Nah. Y'all got it all wrong. See, they called Duke a hero, but he didn't die a hero's death. Duke went an' fought in a war he didn't understand against people he didn't know... not 'cuz it was the right thing to do, but because he bought into government horse shit. We all did. Freedom, an' patriotism, an' all this other nonsense. All this... this intangible propaganda, all this fictitious hogwash.
He didn't fight alone an' he didn't die alone. Plenty of boys out there fightin' based on lies, or fightin' to afford a better life, or fightin' 'cuz it's all they know. None of 'em fought to be heroes, even if they thought they was. Nobody fights t' be heroes. Y'all think you're the good guys in this story, goin' out an' battlin' evil... but you don't know what that evil is. You're swingin' at ghosts. Chasin' windmills. You ain't fightin' to do right, you're fightin' for fame. Fortune. Praise. Selfish ambition, all of it. Fightin' to find your place in the world, not realizin' that everybody is. You ain't any different. You ain't superior. Y'ain't got no leverage in this here fight... y'all ain't any better than the scum you're tryin' to scrape off the street.
You masquerade as heroes, but y'all ain't nothin' but animals.
Greedy. Zealous. Always hungry fer more."
Greedy. Zealous. Always hungry fer more."
Her steps are careful, calculated. Darcy's head sinks to the side a bit, her deep hood draping against her face. She draws closer to the camera. Duke stays firmly where he is, still hypnotized by the aging vehicle.
"An' see, that's y'all's big mistake, right there. You think there's somethin' divine in what yer doin'. Y'think there's somethin' just about it, like heaven an' all th' angels are gonna come down and help you win. Ain't like that, I'm afraid... ain't like that at all. Y'all are just as foul, just as self absorbed, just as tainted by the ways o' this ol' world as me and my brother is. This ain't a battle between light an' th' dark...
This is a battle between two evils.
Y'all, with the corruption an' awfulness of th' common man--
aspirations, illusions o' greatness,
an' perfectly willing to climb over others to get what you want.
An us... with whatever blackness now lives in my brother.
Whatever horribleness I reached out to, just to bring him back.
Y'all, with the corruption an' awfulness of th' common man--
aspirations, illusions o' greatness,
an' perfectly willing to climb over others to get what you want.
An us... with whatever blackness now lives in my brother.
Whatever horribleness I reached out to, just to bring him back.
What makes us different ain't goals. We're both out fer ourselves. We're both out to climb, out to grasp that brass ring. But y'all... y'all are a commercial project, a jury rigged mess of a team with no chemistry an' no awareness of what y'all are really gettin' yourselves into. My brother an' me are absolutely, positively, one hundred percent dedicated... to each other, and whatever ills that might entail. We know who we are, we know how we operate, and we know what we want. We know our place in th' world, an' we ain't got no fancy imaginin' about us bein' the greater good. Unlike y'all, we ain't gonna pretend fer a second that we're here to inspire anybody.
Y'all ain't an inspiration. Y'all ain't even decent people.
Jus' a couple o' hypocrites and showboats lookin' fer spotlights an' paychecks.
Just... zombies
zombies up against far, far more.
Far
worse."
Jus' a couple o' hypocrites and showboats lookin' fer spotlights an' paychecks.
Just... zombies
zombies up against far, far more.
Far
worse."
Duke turns, ever so slightly. He reaches. His large hand visibly shakes as his fingers extend, thick digits sliding around the handle of a hammer. He drags it from its resting place... he hoists it skyward... and he brings it down. Hard. Loud. Once. Twice. Again, and again, he builds a momentum, a fury, slamming the head of the hammer repeatedly into the hood of the old Chevy. He doesn't vocalize--not a grunt, nor a yell. Nothing. Darcy continues staring into the camera, only the sound of the hammer destroying the truck filling the silence. It echoes off the walls. Duke doesn't stop, throwing his entire weight into the deed, forcing Darcy to speak out more when she finally does.
"Y'all think yer heroes, but there ain't no heroes here! Heroism's a fake fuckin' concept, jus' another invisible thing the folks in charge use to control you! Jus' one more way to string y'all up and make ya dance! Me and my brother, we're done dancin,' y'all hear me? Not fer the government, not fer the churches, not fer them people in the front fuckin' row. AIN'T DANCIN' FER NOBODY, and when y'all run yer filthy mouths about instillin' hope, y'all jus' demonstrate how duped y'all really is. An' y'all think YOU deserve to be th' Dynamic Division champions?
Nah.
AWE don't need some wide eyed, naive kids holdin' th' gold. I guarantee every bloodthirsty little shit fillin' that audience on Sunday, they're broken inside. They're willin' to throw down their hard earned money t' watch violence, to watch overpaid people destroy each other. Those unwashed idiots deserve champions that are JUST as violent as they want, that are JUST as bloodthirsty and brutal as they are. All them greasy, awful AWE fans, they wanna live vicariously through some terrible, barbaric ass people... an' we're gonna give that to 'em. We're gonna give 'em everything they want an' more. We ain't here to inspire, we ain't here to motivate... we're here to be every ounce, every INCH, the grotesque gladiators these sick bastards are clamorin' for."
The hammer breaks, its heavy head breaking free of its handle. It spirals through the air, crashing off screen. Darcy visibly flinches. Duke doesn't stop. He drops the broken tool with a clatter and instead begins to beat on the Chevy with his bare fists, angrily slamming his clenched hands into the hood over, and over, and over.
"Y'all think people could be good, if they just had someone to drive 'em. I ain't about that life, K-Z. I wanna meet these people at their darkest. I'm ain't gonna lift 'em up. I'm gonna find 'em in the very depths of their horrible little souls, an' me an' Duke... we're gonna be everything these people don't wanna admit they dream about. Y'all wanna make wrestlin' a better place? Me an' Duke jus' wanna peel its mask back... show it fer the grimy coliseum it really is.
An' we're gonna start
with y'all.
You think people can be good, if they jus' had someone to lead 'em.
You think people wanna be better.
But I'll bet... I'll bet when Duke's breakin' y'all's backs, them people cheer.
I'll bet when I'm beatin' y'all to a pulp, them people love every second of it.
They don't want a hero. They don't want y'all.
They jus' wanna see blood
an' I guess in that way... you're gonna oblige 'em.
You're gonna oblige 'em... real nice."
with y'all.
You think people can be good, if they jus' had someone to lead 'em.
You think people wanna be better.
But I'll bet... I'll bet when Duke's breakin' y'all's backs, them people cheer.
I'll bet when I'm beatin' y'all to a pulp, them people love every second of it.
They don't want a hero. They don't want y'all.
They jus' wanna see blood
an' I guess in that way... you're gonna oblige 'em.
You're gonna oblige 'em... real nice."
Darcy turns, hazarding a glance back to her brother. "Duke," she says softly, trying to get his attention. He doesn't hear her--or doesn't care--continuing to brutalize the truck, wide overhand swings bringing his frustrations into the once pristine vehicle. "DUKE!," she shouts more sharply... and he suddenly stops. He returns to his straight posture and dead stare, as though nothing else had ever occurred. Darcy spins in place, her robe flowing about her form as she marches for the door. "C'mon, Duke... we got some preparations to make." Duke hesitates, letting his cold fixation linger on the now beaten and battered truck... before breaking away, and following his sister out the door. The camera pans, slowly, onto the damage the Chevy's hood has sustained... before fading to black.