Post by Michael Callahan on Aug 24, 2012 18:04:48 GMT -4
AUTHORS NOTE: DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THE PRO LIFE TLC MATCH AT SHOCKWAVE SPOILT FOR YOU. JUST DON'T DO IT DAMMIT. YOU'LL SERIOUSLY REGRET THE SPOILERS BECAUSE IT'LL SPOIL AN EPIC MATCH THAT'LL BE SUPER AWESOME.
This is it.
In just a matter of moments it'll all be over.
The summation of everything Michael Callahan had sought to achieve since his arrival on Asylum hung just a few metres above his head and all he had to do to get it was to climb that precarious ladder and get it. He had to finish the job once and for all and after a long fought battle there was not a soul on this planet that could stop The Great American Freight Train from arriving on time to that final stop. The climb was an arduous one, the battle he had perservered through to get this far had been a mighty test of his endurance. Digging deep inside himself to find that last, tender morsel of energy to power his steady rise up the ladder Callahan knew he could do it. He had to. There was simply no alternative but to reach out and fulfil fate.
Tentatively he hauled his heaving, sweat-drenched body up that ladder one by one much to the dismay of a stunned silent crowd. Callahan could see the object of his desires just hanging mere metres away. He stood atop that ladder and reached out at arms length until finally-...
Beckett: Oh my God! Oh my God! Callahan's all alone now! There's nobody to oppose him! Callahan's gonna' reach up and grab it! Oh Good Lord, what a hard fought battle! He's- oh my gosh, he's atop that ladder! He's done it! Michael Callahan has realised his dreams! His dominance continues! Michael Callahan is the winner!
Nailz: And these people are going nuts! Nobody has worked harder than Callahan to get this far! None at all! He deserves this!
Brow raised, Callahan turned and looked back down to see Asylum's commentating team sat at a makeshift announce desk consisting of a plywood board on bricks announcing as he did some jobs around the house which were in dire need of doing.
Michael Callahan: What are you doing here? Can't a man paint his lounge in peace?
Beckett: And by God, Callahan's sending us a message looking down at us as if to say, I'm the alpha male! This is my house! This is my legacy!
Michael Callahan: This IS my house, I'm paying a non-fixed rate mortgage on it. Now please, get out. I've got a lot to be getting on with and I don't want to have to deal with any of your monkey business. I don't want to see you two clowns 'til after Shockwave.
With a synchronised sigh of disappointment both men pack their microphones and make their way for the door leaving Callahan to paint the last corner of the room in solitude. Nailz can't help but come back for one more line though as Callahan starts smearing red paint in the last cranny of his living room.
Nailz: AWWWH MAH GOODNESS! THERE'S CRIMSON EVERYWHERE! A REAL CRIMSON MASK! THAT CALLAHAN IS A MONSTER!
Michael Callahan: OUT!
The two co-commentators left the room as Callahan continued to smother the corner of his living room with rouge. It was a room which didn't see much use due to Callahan having his own personal den in the basement but up here was where he courted guests if he was having company and with the harrowing memories of his ex-girlfriend still fresh in his mind and the struggle to overcome the absence of his much beloved personal assistant Vikki Lahm he decided that a change of digs would be sufficient remedy for this bleak emotional longing. Losing himself with every stroke and splatter of the thick bristled brush in his hand, it wasn't until the second time someone banged knuckles on his front door that he was wrenched ungraciously from his deep concentration.
Steve Fukuyama: I'll get it!
Callahan was about to shout back not to bother and that he'd do it himself but he could already hear the sound of Steve opening the door. If Callahan had known who it was knocking he'd rather it have been himself answering. Deciding to have a nose and investigate what with the first coat of his living room being finished, Callahan sauntered in his gray overalls out of his living room and through the main hall to see who was had come to visit him. Steve turned to shout Callahan over but stopped when he saw that The American Hero was already there.
Steve Fukuyama: It's for you.
Michael Callahan: Of course it is, you dunce. This is my house and I'm the only one who lives here. Who else would it be for?
Steve Fukuyama: No, I mean... it's for you.
Clearly there was a submeaning to what Steve was trying to say but Callahan was far too dense to comprehend it until he opened the door and saw fate deal him an unexpected hook to the kidneys. Stood on his doorstep was a frail apparition of a woman with gaunt white flesh clinging to her bony, malnourished body and long, dirty, greasy blonde hair sticking to her face thanks to the downpour of rain that she was stood in. She seemed almost foreign to him since the last time they spoke but he recognised the beanie hat on her head and those tender eyes of his ex-love and knew that this sickly being was none other than Bethany Monroe. The very woman who shattered his heart by cheating with another man.
Yet how fitting it was that the woman who used to somewhat fraudulently represent in Callahan's mind as the physical and mental embodiment of beauty, purity,and sobriety once again matched her new connotations of the filthy harlot that had lied to and betrayed Callahan. Even the supposedly compassionate catholic Callahan couldn't find the space in his heart to have a jot of sympathy for this poor woman on his doorstep in a state of total disrepair.
Bethany Monroe: Michael...
She called out his name faintly as if she could barely believe her own eyes. Pure relief washed over her as the man she too used to love stood across from her in the open doorway of their once to be marital home.
Bethany Monroe: Can we... can we talk?
Michael Callahan: I have nothing to say to you.
Bethany Monroe: Please... just listen to me. I'm sorry-... I just... Can you please let me in to talk? It's been so long since I could sit down somewhere safe.
Michael Callahan: You spent fourteen years of my life emotionally manipulating me, stringing me around like your fool and now you want to talk? You broke my heart Bethany. You shattered it into a thousand pieces. You don't deserve the time of day.
Bethany Monroe: Michael please, I'm begging you. Just... ten minutes. I swear. Let me talk to you inside for ten minutes... and I'll explain everything to you. Why I did what I did, what's been going on with me, everything. Just please, give me some time?
Michael Callahan: You tell me this as if I care what you have to say or that I need explaining to. You want to know why you did what you did? Because you're no better than a common street whore shilling her wares to whatever trick you can turn. You used me for everything I was worth and then when there was something you couldn't get, you made the ultimate betrayal and you can't deal with the consequences of knowing that actually it was ALL your loss, not mine. Now you have the audacity to instead of swallowing your pride and moving on with your life come here and disturb me while I'm busy living my life? Please, tell this to someone who gives a damn. And while you're at it, change your clothes. You look ridiculous dressed up like a hobo.
Even at such a humble and fragile condition, Bethany wasn't about to be dressed down by the man who she felt had forced him into this position. She was far too stubborn to just allow him to talk down to her like this without so much of a counter-word back to lay the blame for her current situation at somebody elses feet.
Bethany Monroe: I look ridiculous? You're going to say that now that I'm one of the nations poor, I look ridiculous? Hardly sounds great on your ballot.
Michael Callahan: Don't you dare try and manipulate me like that. I can see right through you. You're not poor. You have a family.
Bethany Monroe: A family that won't take me in because they believe that this is all my fault. They believe I reap what I sowe and aren't willing to take me in because I “shamed the family”. I've lost everything Michael, every single thing.
Michael Callahan: What about your little boyfriend?
Bethany Monroe: He's DEAD Michael. He was killed by a drunk driver in Florida.
The powerful revelation stopped the conversation in its tricks. Callahan looked into Bethany's eyes and saw that raw feeling of hurt he'd seen in her eyes so many times previously. She wasn't joking. Callahan though quickly realised something which might not come as a surprise to you. He didn't give a damn about it.
Michael Callahan: M'nawww.
Bethany's pale features curled into a snarl at Callahan's callousness, unable to conceptualise how someone supposedly so wholesome and religious could care so little about somebody dying young and in such a tragic manner. She yearned to reach out and punch Callahan right in his smug little face but she just couldn't. It was more trouble than it was worth and it would completely jeopardise her attempts to rebuild the relationship.
Bethany Monroe: You heartless bastard.
Rolling his eyes, Bethany's inability to see his stance on the situation made Callahan downright laugh in her face. He could barely believed that he would be expected to care about the person with whom she cheated with being killed in a gruesome manner.
Michael Callahan: Yes, I'm heartless because I'm unsympathetic to the man who was part of conspiracy to ruin my life. That's not understandable at all.
Bethany Monroe: That man showed me more love and passion in two hours than you ever did in fourteen years of being together.
Michael Callahan: By having sex with you? How pure. Did he carry you to the hospital on his back when you broke your ankle or spend every waking moment with you when you struggled to get over your mom dying? I didn't think so.
Bethany Monroe: That was before you went to college Michael. That was before you turned into college Republican “I grew up poor and now I'm not” Mr. Superior Asshole. You weren't always like this. You had your religious convictions but you were never this unbearable back when we were kids. After you came back from Yale and the military it was like you thought I was beneath you. I felt ugly and ashamed of myself because you wouldn't even kiss me. There was no passion in our relationship. No love. Just you and your career. You loved the “constituents” more than you did me.
Intending to hit home, it had definitely done it's job and inside Callahan felt the sting of her barbed lyrical but he wasn't about to show to her that he'd felt it. He simply braced and fired back a counter argument to put her in place. She wasn't going to win this war.
Michael Callahan: You're trying to bargain your way back into my house and you're going to attempt to do so by trying to tell me, the man who remained faithful to you for fourteen whole years while you were flaunting around with fitness instructors that I'm in the wrong? That I'm responsible for your infidelity? You knew I was Catholic. You supported my pledge of abstinence until after our marriage and yet you couldn't handle it. You were too eagre.
Bethany Monroe: If you're such a devout Catholic then you can't possibly send me back out onto those streets. That's not a very Christian thing to do. The Bible says to turn the other cheek. You can't in good conscience leave me to the mercy of Kelso's wilderness, the one that I've been living out of for a quarter of a year now.
Michael Callahan: God also said do unto others as you would have done to you. I'm applying this principle in reverse by the way. I'm doing unto you as you did to me. Now I'm not actively trying to seek revenge or ruin your life. Simply stating that I won't bend over backwards after what you've done to me. All I can do is pray for you that you live safely and can find a modicum of shelter to call your own. I can also give you something to eat and a glass of water but I will not let you set foot inside my home.
Bethany Monroe: Keep your god damn food Mike. I don't give a fuck anymore. Without you, I have nothing.
Michael Callahan: Well who's fault is that?
Bethany Monroe: It's BOTH of ours faults. I didn't know what to do and I made a mistake because I didn't feel like you loved me anymore. You care more about making high office and that stupid baby belt than you do about me. They make you happier than I ever could. I just wish you showed as much love, passion and determination to hold onto me that you do that belt because I've seen you wrestle and the way you moralistically gallavant around the ring. You're no saint in the ring.
Michael Callahan: This conversation is over. I wish you the best, Bethany but for now? I don't want you darkening my doorstep anymore. Good day.[/color]
Attempting to plead, Bethany only got the cold shoulder of a door to the face as Michael both physically and symbolically shut her out of his life for good. Turning and sinking to the floor in despair Callahan's stone-heart finally crumbled as he curled up into a ball and finally unbridled his emotions. Burning salty tears carving tracks down his cheeks as Callahan failed to be able to compose himself anymore.
Fukuyama hid just around the corner to hear it all but refused to intervene allowing Callahan to have his moment of realisation in how every move he made seemed to be the wrong one. All he seemed to do was push people further and further away. His fiance, his best friends, even his own family. He'd sacrificed everything for his careers but as he sat in his porch in floods of agonising tears he knew he regretted every last moment of it.
Fade.
This is it.
In just a matter of moments it'll all be over.
The summation of everything Michael Callahan had sought to achieve since his arrival on Asylum hung just a few metres above his head and all he had to do to get it was to climb that precarious ladder and get it. He had to finish the job once and for all and after a long fought battle there was not a soul on this planet that could stop The Great American Freight Train from arriving on time to that final stop. The climb was an arduous one, the battle he had perservered through to get this far had been a mighty test of his endurance. Digging deep inside himself to find that last, tender morsel of energy to power his steady rise up the ladder Callahan knew he could do it. He had to. There was simply no alternative but to reach out and fulfil fate.
Tentatively he hauled his heaving, sweat-drenched body up that ladder one by one much to the dismay of a stunned silent crowd. Callahan could see the object of his desires just hanging mere metres away. He stood atop that ladder and reached out at arms length until finally-...
Beckett: Oh my God! Oh my God! Callahan's all alone now! There's nobody to oppose him! Callahan's gonna' reach up and grab it! Oh Good Lord, what a hard fought battle! He's- oh my gosh, he's atop that ladder! He's done it! Michael Callahan has realised his dreams! His dominance continues! Michael Callahan is the winner!
Nailz: And these people are going nuts! Nobody has worked harder than Callahan to get this far! None at all! He deserves this!
Brow raised, Callahan turned and looked back down to see Asylum's commentating team sat at a makeshift announce desk consisting of a plywood board on bricks announcing as he did some jobs around the house which were in dire need of doing.
Michael Callahan: What are you doing here? Can't a man paint his lounge in peace?
Beckett: And by God, Callahan's sending us a message looking down at us as if to say, I'm the alpha male! This is my house! This is my legacy!
Michael Callahan: This IS my house, I'm paying a non-fixed rate mortgage on it. Now please, get out. I've got a lot to be getting on with and I don't want to have to deal with any of your monkey business. I don't want to see you two clowns 'til after Shockwave.
With a synchronised sigh of disappointment both men pack their microphones and make their way for the door leaving Callahan to paint the last corner of the room in solitude. Nailz can't help but come back for one more line though as Callahan starts smearing red paint in the last cranny of his living room.
Nailz: AWWWH MAH GOODNESS! THERE'S CRIMSON EVERYWHERE! A REAL CRIMSON MASK! THAT CALLAHAN IS A MONSTER!
Michael Callahan: OUT!
The two co-commentators left the room as Callahan continued to smother the corner of his living room with rouge. It was a room which didn't see much use due to Callahan having his own personal den in the basement but up here was where he courted guests if he was having company and with the harrowing memories of his ex-girlfriend still fresh in his mind and the struggle to overcome the absence of his much beloved personal assistant Vikki Lahm he decided that a change of digs would be sufficient remedy for this bleak emotional longing. Losing himself with every stroke and splatter of the thick bristled brush in his hand, it wasn't until the second time someone banged knuckles on his front door that he was wrenched ungraciously from his deep concentration.
Steve Fukuyama: I'll get it!
Callahan was about to shout back not to bother and that he'd do it himself but he could already hear the sound of Steve opening the door. If Callahan had known who it was knocking he'd rather it have been himself answering. Deciding to have a nose and investigate what with the first coat of his living room being finished, Callahan sauntered in his gray overalls out of his living room and through the main hall to see who was had come to visit him. Steve turned to shout Callahan over but stopped when he saw that The American Hero was already there.
Steve Fukuyama: It's for you.
Michael Callahan: Of course it is, you dunce. This is my house and I'm the only one who lives here. Who else would it be for?
Steve Fukuyama: No, I mean... it's for you.
Clearly there was a submeaning to what Steve was trying to say but Callahan was far too dense to comprehend it until he opened the door and saw fate deal him an unexpected hook to the kidneys. Stood on his doorstep was a frail apparition of a woman with gaunt white flesh clinging to her bony, malnourished body and long, dirty, greasy blonde hair sticking to her face thanks to the downpour of rain that she was stood in. She seemed almost foreign to him since the last time they spoke but he recognised the beanie hat on her head and those tender eyes of his ex-love and knew that this sickly being was none other than Bethany Monroe. The very woman who shattered his heart by cheating with another man.
Yet how fitting it was that the woman who used to somewhat fraudulently represent in Callahan's mind as the physical and mental embodiment of beauty, purity,and sobriety once again matched her new connotations of the filthy harlot that had lied to and betrayed Callahan. Even the supposedly compassionate catholic Callahan couldn't find the space in his heart to have a jot of sympathy for this poor woman on his doorstep in a state of total disrepair.
Bethany Monroe: Michael...
She called out his name faintly as if she could barely believe her own eyes. Pure relief washed over her as the man she too used to love stood across from her in the open doorway of their once to be marital home.
Bethany Monroe: Can we... can we talk?
Michael Callahan: I have nothing to say to you.
Bethany Monroe: Please... just listen to me. I'm sorry-... I just... Can you please let me in to talk? It's been so long since I could sit down somewhere safe.
Michael Callahan: You spent fourteen years of my life emotionally manipulating me, stringing me around like your fool and now you want to talk? You broke my heart Bethany. You shattered it into a thousand pieces. You don't deserve the time of day.
Bethany Monroe: Michael please, I'm begging you. Just... ten minutes. I swear. Let me talk to you inside for ten minutes... and I'll explain everything to you. Why I did what I did, what's been going on with me, everything. Just please, give me some time?
Michael Callahan: You tell me this as if I care what you have to say or that I need explaining to. You want to know why you did what you did? Because you're no better than a common street whore shilling her wares to whatever trick you can turn. You used me for everything I was worth and then when there was something you couldn't get, you made the ultimate betrayal and you can't deal with the consequences of knowing that actually it was ALL your loss, not mine. Now you have the audacity to instead of swallowing your pride and moving on with your life come here and disturb me while I'm busy living my life? Please, tell this to someone who gives a damn. And while you're at it, change your clothes. You look ridiculous dressed up like a hobo.
Even at such a humble and fragile condition, Bethany wasn't about to be dressed down by the man who she felt had forced him into this position. She was far too stubborn to just allow him to talk down to her like this without so much of a counter-word back to lay the blame for her current situation at somebody elses feet.
Bethany Monroe: I look ridiculous? You're going to say that now that I'm one of the nations poor, I look ridiculous? Hardly sounds great on your ballot.
Michael Callahan: Don't you dare try and manipulate me like that. I can see right through you. You're not poor. You have a family.
Bethany Monroe: A family that won't take me in because they believe that this is all my fault. They believe I reap what I sowe and aren't willing to take me in because I “shamed the family”. I've lost everything Michael, every single thing.
Michael Callahan: What about your little boyfriend?
Bethany Monroe: He's DEAD Michael. He was killed by a drunk driver in Florida.
The powerful revelation stopped the conversation in its tricks. Callahan looked into Bethany's eyes and saw that raw feeling of hurt he'd seen in her eyes so many times previously. She wasn't joking. Callahan though quickly realised something which might not come as a surprise to you. He didn't give a damn about it.
Michael Callahan: M'nawww.
Bethany's pale features curled into a snarl at Callahan's callousness, unable to conceptualise how someone supposedly so wholesome and religious could care so little about somebody dying young and in such a tragic manner. She yearned to reach out and punch Callahan right in his smug little face but she just couldn't. It was more trouble than it was worth and it would completely jeopardise her attempts to rebuild the relationship.
Bethany Monroe: You heartless bastard.
Rolling his eyes, Bethany's inability to see his stance on the situation made Callahan downright laugh in her face. He could barely believed that he would be expected to care about the person with whom she cheated with being killed in a gruesome manner.
Michael Callahan: Yes, I'm heartless because I'm unsympathetic to the man who was part of conspiracy to ruin my life. That's not understandable at all.
Bethany Monroe: That man showed me more love and passion in two hours than you ever did in fourteen years of being together.
Michael Callahan: By having sex with you? How pure. Did he carry you to the hospital on his back when you broke your ankle or spend every waking moment with you when you struggled to get over your mom dying? I didn't think so.
Bethany Monroe: That was before you went to college Michael. That was before you turned into college Republican “I grew up poor and now I'm not” Mr. Superior Asshole. You weren't always like this. You had your religious convictions but you were never this unbearable back when we were kids. After you came back from Yale and the military it was like you thought I was beneath you. I felt ugly and ashamed of myself because you wouldn't even kiss me. There was no passion in our relationship. No love. Just you and your career. You loved the “constituents” more than you did me.
Intending to hit home, it had definitely done it's job and inside Callahan felt the sting of her barbed lyrical but he wasn't about to show to her that he'd felt it. He simply braced and fired back a counter argument to put her in place. She wasn't going to win this war.
Michael Callahan: You're trying to bargain your way back into my house and you're going to attempt to do so by trying to tell me, the man who remained faithful to you for fourteen whole years while you were flaunting around with fitness instructors that I'm in the wrong? That I'm responsible for your infidelity? You knew I was Catholic. You supported my pledge of abstinence until after our marriage and yet you couldn't handle it. You were too eagre.
Bethany Monroe: If you're such a devout Catholic then you can't possibly send me back out onto those streets. That's not a very Christian thing to do. The Bible says to turn the other cheek. You can't in good conscience leave me to the mercy of Kelso's wilderness, the one that I've been living out of for a quarter of a year now.
Michael Callahan: God also said do unto others as you would have done to you. I'm applying this principle in reverse by the way. I'm doing unto you as you did to me. Now I'm not actively trying to seek revenge or ruin your life. Simply stating that I won't bend over backwards after what you've done to me. All I can do is pray for you that you live safely and can find a modicum of shelter to call your own. I can also give you something to eat and a glass of water but I will not let you set foot inside my home.
Bethany Monroe: Keep your god damn food Mike. I don't give a fuck anymore. Without you, I have nothing.
Michael Callahan: Well who's fault is that?
Bethany Monroe: It's BOTH of ours faults. I didn't know what to do and I made a mistake because I didn't feel like you loved me anymore. You care more about making high office and that stupid baby belt than you do about me. They make you happier than I ever could. I just wish you showed as much love, passion and determination to hold onto me that you do that belt because I've seen you wrestle and the way you moralistically gallavant around the ring. You're no saint in the ring.
Michael Callahan: This conversation is over. I wish you the best, Bethany but for now? I don't want you darkening my doorstep anymore. Good day.[/color]
Attempting to plead, Bethany only got the cold shoulder of a door to the face as Michael both physically and symbolically shut her out of his life for good. Turning and sinking to the floor in despair Callahan's stone-heart finally crumbled as he curled up into a ball and finally unbridled his emotions. Burning salty tears carving tracks down his cheeks as Callahan failed to be able to compose himself anymore.
Fukuyama hid just around the corner to hear it all but refused to intervene allowing Callahan to have his moment of realisation in how every move he made seemed to be the wrong one. All he seemed to do was push people further and further away. His fiance, his best friends, even his own family. He'd sacrificed everything for his careers but as he sat in his porch in floods of agonising tears he knew he regretted every last moment of it.
Fade.
