Post by Evan De Parker on Jan 26, 2013 21:59:53 GMT -4
"Is this how Evan Envi ends...?"
Our scene blinks into color and we see a woman, possibly in her early twenties, whistling a tune to herself as she makes her way through the snow-powdered streets of one of Baltimore’s calmer neighborhoods. She’s dressed in a white coat, which nearly camouflages her in the midday snowfall. Her brown hair falls loose from beneath her rainbow-themed hat, and it, too is decorated with the frozen powder.
She grips a dog leash in her gloved right hand. At the end of the leash rests a pitbull; a muscular, battle-scarred pitbull that looked as if it could overpower the young lady at the snap of a finger.
Evan Envi watches from the window of his living room. He holds a glass filled nearly to the brim with water, moving closer to the window as the girl begins to meander out of sight.
”It’s gonna get loose one day.”
Michelle Weaver looks up from the television and stares at Evan behind sick, tired, bloodshot eyes. She moved a hand through her hair and opens her mouth to respond to Evan, but only a series of coughs escape. The self-proclaimed “MegaMegaStar” turns to her with a look of disgust.
”Good God, cover your mouth! I can’t get sick at a time like this... Here-- I got your water.”
Evan turns away from the window and moves toward the couch-ridden Michelle, handing her the glass. She groans and devours nearly half of it before placing it down on the wooden end table.
”I’m not trying to get you sick.”
She nods toward the window.
”And who are you spying on now?”
”I’m not spying on anybody... I’m people watching. And every single day, that girl that moved in down the street walks her giant pitbull, and she’s so nonchalant when she holds the leash. She looks like she’s in her own little world and-- and one day, it’s gonna snap. Someone’s gonna make the wrong movement, or the wrong noise, and it’s gonna rip itself right out of her hands and it’ll--”
Michelle sneezes and Evan nearly jumps a yard backward, giving her a look that could be easily mistaken for pure and utter contempt.
”This is sabotage. That’s what this is.”
”I’m sorry.”
”It’s a damn conspiracy!”
Michelle sighs and pushes herself up into an upright position on the couch, clearing her throat.
”I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make that flight with you tonight.”
Evan’s face doesn’t read surprise, nor does it read any sort of anger or sadness. His face falls flat and he angles his head at Michelle.
”So I’m going to London by myself, once again.”
”Evan, you’ve spent the past two days bitching about how I’m gonna get you sick. You really want to sit next to me for eight hours on a plane and then share a hotel room with me for two days?”
Logic. It brings an end to any perfectly good argument. Evan’s a man-- he should’ve known better. However, here we are, and Evan looks almost impressed by Michelle’s words.
”It warms my heart to see that you’re so mindful of my needs! You understand how important Sunday is.”
”It’s important to you... So it’s important to me. Besides-- England’s the last place I want to be with a 101-plus degree fever.”
Whatever she has said has prompted Michelle Weaver to perk her eyebrows and give Evan a pleading look.
”Will you make me some soup?”
”Jeez. This really cuts into my training time, doesn’t it? You know noon is cardio hour!”
”Jeez. I just thought that since I was so mindful of your needs, maybe the gesture would be reciprocated... But maybe not. Oh-- oh no! Look out, I feel a sneezing spell coming on. And it’s got your name written all over it. All your names.”
”Okay. Okay, fine. What kind of soup?”
”What kind of soup? Have you never been sick?!”
”No. I don’t get sick.”
”...Have you never taken care of a sick person?”
Evan blinks a few times, but looks at Michelle confusedly.
”Like-- what do you mean?”
Michelle stares at Evan with an incredulous look. She scratches her head and laughs a little, hoping to provoke the laughter from Evan that would expose his charade-- but that never happens. She clears her throat.
”Has anyone in your family ever gotten sick? A fever? Chicken Pox?”
”I think Tyler might’ve carried HPV once. That was an interesting summer.”
”Have you ever eaten chicken soup?”
”I’m a vegan. I don’t do chicken soup.”
Michelle sighs and slaps her forehead.
”Go make me some chicken soup.”
”Okay.”
*****
Our cameras follow Evan from his living room, all the way to his kitchen, where the young man makes his way to the pantry, filtering through several vegan alternatives, dried pasta, and canned vegetables before finally recovering a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. He blows dust off the top and frowns as he observes the can.
”How do people eat this garbage?”
”How do people eat yours?”
Evan looks up and pivots, glaring into the face of a middle-aged man who looks like he walked right out of the 1970’s. He wears a pair of brown pants which imitate denim, and a red polo beneath a matching brown vest. The polo hangs open to reveal an unflattering tuft of chest hair... Though, it isn’t as unflattering as the man’s thick, distracting mustache.
He looks at Evan behind literal rose-tinted glasses and smiles, extending his index and middle fingers.
”Peace, my brother.”
”...Who...”
”Muhammad. Pleased to meet you, Evan.”
”Whaaaaaaaat? There’s no way your name is Muhammad. Look at yourself. Let me see your license.”
”Evan, my friend. I understand that you have a very important event quickly approaching this Sunday... The Survive & Conquer pay-per-view, yes?”
”That’s-- that’s right. Muhammad, why exactly are you in my house?”
He leans past Muhammad and calls out for Michelle.
”Michelle! Since when is it okay to invite strangers in sunglasses into other peoples’ homes?”
He receives no answer, but Muhammad places a hand on Evan’s shoulder and laughs gently.
”And at this Survive & Conquer event, you’re going to attempt to rob a man of his livelihood. Aren’t you?”
”I’m not robbing anybody of anything. I’m not a criminal. Are you? Hm? What are you? How’d you get in here? MICHELLE!”
”Don’t bother. She can’t hear you.”
”WHAT!”
”No, I worded that horribly. She--”
Evan doesn’t wait to hear Muhammad’s explanation. He runs past him, through the doorway, sliding in his socks down the hardwood floors into his living room...
...Which was no longer his living room. Evan Envi is now standing in the middle of a dark gymnasium. There is a wrestling ring to his right, where a bright spotlight hangs and sways overhead, casting a silver glow over the shotty ring. The tarp is a faded off-white from years of abuse and then more years of neglect on top of it. A large wrench sits next to one of the turnbuckles, which is securely wrapped in duct tape.
”I drank too much, didn’t I?”
”Welcome to the rest of your life, brother.”
Evan groans and turns his attention back toward Muhammad, who is standing in the area where Evan’s doorway used to be. Evan’s eyes widen at the sight and looks at Muhammad again, perplexed.
”Hahah! I can hear how quickly your heart’s beating. Magnificent sound-- the human heart.”
”This is like... One of the worst practical jokes ever. I have a flight that I need to catch tonight. I don’t have time for this inter-dimensional, morally invasive, LSD mumbo-jumbo. Take me back to my house.”
Muhammad smiles through Evan’s miniature tirade and places a hand on his shoulder, turning him toward the wrestling ring.
”I can do that... Just not yet. Now-- do you see that wrestling ring?”
”Clearly you misunderstood what I just said. SIR, WOULD YOU PLEASE TAKE ME BACK TO MY KITCHEN. I am certain this constitutes as kidnapping. Where are we? The future?”
”Yes, we are, actually.”
”Right. It’s always the future. Am I a chubby, hairy office worker in this future too? Does my son think I’m a joke? What is it? Throw it at me. Give me my life lesson and send me home... So I can give my girlfriend her soup, and get on my plane, and go spend two days in London, and finally-- finally put an end to John Dionysus. Hahaha, God...”
Evan turns and smirks at Muhammad.
”You’re a wrestling fan, I take it. If this is the future-- you must know whether I beat him or not.”
Muhammad crosses his arms in front of his chest and returns Evan’s smirk with a gaze reflecting an eerie omniscience. He doesn’t have to respond-- Evan laughs loudly in front of him and throws an arm around the retro-dressing, rose-tinted-sunglasses-wearing man from the future.
”You know. You know, don’t you?”
”Yes.”
”So tell me. Tell me that I beat Dionysus and I bring this farce to an end. Tell me that I expose him in front of a crowd full of die-hard wrestling enthusiasts, and over a decade and a half worth of fans that lost faith in him a long time ago.
“Tell me that I did the right thing on January 27th, 2013.”
Muhammad’s smile still lingers, but it doesn’t have the same impact or conviction that it did a few moments ago. Instead, he spares a prolonged glance toward the wrestling ring-- but Evan’s gaze doesn’t follow, despite him hearing the sound of breathing in the distance. He heard the footsteps moving over the mats of the gymnasium, coming closer and closer to the ring.
The footsteps echoed, as if they were being amplified electronically. Evan kept his eyes locked on the strange man that brought him hear. He wouldn’t acknowledge the new person. He refused.
”I’m not going to tell you that, my brother. It’s a little sad that you find such joy in the thought of bringing another man’s life to a sudden... And an abrupt halt.”
”Why shouldn’t I? I’m not doing anything wrong here. I’m helping John. This is the end of the road for him, Muhammad, and let me tell you-- it’s a lot less messy this way. There’s not a whole lot more that John Dionysus has left to do in this company. He had his run with the Xtreme Title and he set the bar. I couldn’t even reach that. I couldn’t do half of the things as the Xtreme Champion that Dionysus was able to-- and that gets to me from time to time. I’ll admit it. It does...”
He hears the unknown behind him groan-- a man’s voice-- as he ascends the steel steps and steps onto the apron of the tattered ring. He groans again as he steps over the ropes and makes it inside. Evan recognizes the routine. Evan recognizes the logical movements that the man must be making to get into that ring, and perhaps for the sake of pure fear and uncertainty, he doesn’t turn.
He knows what he’ll see. He refuses to make that turn. He ignores Muhammad’s gaze which continues to amusedly travel up toward the man in the ring and then fall lazily back down toward Evan, as Evan continues.
”That’s not the way things should be. People like John-- they shouldn’t be overshadowing people like me. He can’t move as well as I do. He can’t talk as well as I do. Those... Those people don’t even care that he could lose his job on Sunday night. They just want to see him hurt me.”
”You really think that, huh?”
”I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
”In accordance to who?”
Evan, who had been looking off listlessly, allows his gaze to settle on the man who called himself Muhammad again.
”It’s not a secret.”
”...John Dionysus never had the privileged, lucky, Hollywood career that you did, my brother. John didn’t know the right people. John didn’t plug the right products. He didn’t say the right things. He fought. He fought the locker room, the system... Fought himself.”
Muhammad shrugs a bit and moves a bit past Evan, toward the ring, but Evan doesn’t bite. He refuses to turn toward the ring.
He dismisses the urge to face what he knows is standing in there. Instead, he listens.
”Let’s say you do win, Evan. Maybe you’re doing the justice that you say you’re doing and you... Take all of this away from John Dionysus. You’re selfishly taking the only life that this man knows and holding onto it to prove a point to everybody that’s ever doubted you. And more dangerously, you’re proving a point to yourself.
“While you relieve John of all of his burdens and struggles, you put the weight of the world on your shoulders. Now everybody’s expecting more from you. You’ve destroyed John Dionysus. Broken him. Left him stripped. Bare. Empty. Nothing... Except taken away the pressure to stay on the top of that mountain that you, yourself, haven’t even seen before.
“John gets to go home to his family and live the life that he’s only dreamt of away from the ring. John Dionysus gets to be a normal man. A free man.
“But you? You have to do the things that John was never able to, because you don’t get to pick on him anymore like you have for the last three months. There’s nobody else hanging around in the back on Overdrive that’s gonna fall for the same tricks John fell for-- because they’ve already seen it. They’ve seen what you’re willing to do, and now they’re wondering if you have the guts to do the same thing to one of them. And the only people left on Overdrive are established Megastars-- future Hall of Famers, and a few people that are just as hungry, and just as eager for a shot at immortality as you are.
“...And let’s say you don’t win. What happens if you lose the match to--?”
”I won’t lose to John Dionysus.”
”Well let’s just suppose you do, shall we?”
”Hm.”
”Where does that leave you then, friend?”
”What do you mean, ‘where does it l--’”
”I mean... After this match, John Dionysus could just as easily bow out with the... The grace and dignity that he was gonna do it with a month ago, before you came out and interrupted him. He could beat you, strip you, expose you as the one that’s a fraud... And then walk out with his head held high, knowing that there’s always gonna be a spot for him should he ever decide to return.”
Muhammad, still behind Evan, moves a hand to his shoulder again.
”Heh. A spot well above you.”
Evan shrugs his hand off and turns.
Without thinking about it-- without meaning to, Evan turns, ready to tell Muhammad off and reject his claims, but he freezes realizing that he’s done the same thing he’d been resisting for the past few minutes. He stares at the man in the ring, who is old-- much older than Muhammad. He sports gray hair, wrinkles, and a beaten, defeated frown. He wears modest wrestling trunks that look more like the shorts that a professional boxer or MMA fighter might wear. He wears heavy boots, knee pads, and his bare torso wears the scars of decades of service in the ring.
Evan recognizes the man as himself. He’d feared it. He’d predicted it.
”I don’t w--”
”You don’t want to see this.”
Muhammad had predicted what Evan was about to say, but he didn’t say it as an inquiry. It came out as a statement. A reaffirmation.
Any doubts as to why Muhammad would back the claim are put to rest as the pair of double doors on the other side of the gym are thrust open. The dim, remnants of the early-evening’s light flood into the equally as dim gymnasium. A young man, already dressed in his gear marches into the gym, a wild grin on his face as he looks at the man in the ring.
”You’ve gotta be kidding, Mr. Harrison!”
”...Get in the ring...”
Evan flinches. The older version of himself sounds like a former cigarette smoker, but it was likely the result of years of abuse on the torso and ribs. Regardless, he can hear the traces of himself in the voice.
”Look... I don’t wanna be your sparring partner anymore, Harrison. Alright? You’re like, sixty. It’s time to hang it up. You’re about twenty years overdue for a farewell tour.”
”Get in the ring, son.”
”Harrison, haha-- dude! You... Let me come up there.”
With a running start, the boy hops up and leaps onto the ring skirt, landing on it with one knee. He hops up to his feet and tugs on the ropes a bit before launching himself over the top and to the inside.
”Tightened the ropes all by yourself and everything, huh?”
Evan watches curiously as his supposed older self makes his way toward the wrench and nudges it out of the ring with his foot. It falls to the ringside mats below.
”I’m not finished until I have nothing left to learn from this business... And nothing else to offer back to it.”
”You have it like forty years, bro. I’m not watching you go out there and wrestle anymore. I mean, sure, you get lucky sometimes, but you look like you’re in pain every single motherfu--”
”I am. I am in pain.”
”Then STOP.”
”We’re sparring. You came all the way here.”
”To talk you down, ya old goof.”
”You came all the way here knowing that you wanted to fight. You knew I’d give you one. You wanna be in this ring. I wanna be in it. No one else is coming down here at this time on a Friday night, are they? So tape up your wrists or put on some elbow pads or do whatever you need to do-- and get your ass in the middle of the ring.”
And with that, the older Evan slaps the younger man. The young man looks shocked at first, and then enraged.
Envi stands on the outside and laughs a little.
”Haha, did you see that?! Looks like even Old Me has some spunk.”
”Looks that way. Let’s watch what transpires and talk. Shall we?”
He turns Evan around, revealing a row of seats. Empty chairs. Muhammad takes a seat in one of them and nods toward Evan. Evan sighs, and after a few moments, also takes a seat while the two in-ring competitors prepare themselves for combat.
*****
They lock up.
Future Evan is thrown to the ground roughly in what looks like a modified Half-Nelson. He gasps for air as the younger man, almost guiltily, maneuvers around him and locks in a grounded side headlock. Future Evan fights to his feet and manages to break free a few times, throwing the young man to the mat time and time again-- but his quickness overcomes the older Evan and each time, he’s locked in a headlock that was even more secure than the one before it.
”What do you really need to beat Dionysus for?”
Envi turns away from the ring and stares at Muhammad, who is still looking ahead at the action as Future Evan trades headlocks, then waist-locks, then outright chops with the young man before gasping for air, being driven to the ground with a Back Suplex.
”This is a young man’s sport, Muhammad. Dionysus knows that. He knows that he can’t hang with me... He knows what that brass ring means to me.
“Hah-- and he knows that as long as he’s in the picture, after what we’ve started, I can’t achieve that without... Without ending him. Too much has happened. Too many things have been said. There’s no way that he can continue looking me in the eye backstage after what I put him through. It’s torture...”
”So you still honestly believe that you’re helping him?”
”I know I am. He’s going to get ripped to shreds-- if not by me, then by someone else. Delikado. Christian Kane. Hell, even Roy Speede... One of these guys is gonna put him in his place. And like I said... If it’s not me, then it gets messy.”
”You care. In some sick, odd way, you care about the wellbeing of John Dionysus.”
Again-- not an inquiry. A proclamation.
”You’re making a lot of wild claims.”
Evan winces as his older self is thrown roughly into the turnbuckles and tackled by the younger man, who looks guilt-ridden by the whole ordeal. Future Evan gasps for air, clutching his ribs, crawling along the ropes on his knees.
”It goes further than you wanting to end his career. You want to see it ended in peace.”
”I couldn’t care less how it ends. I just wanna be the one to do it. That’s all.”
”You respect his talent. You felt his power. You had to cheat the victory out of him-- right out of his grasp at Christmas Chaos, and that was the only way you could’ve gotten that win. I know it.”
”That’s not--!”
”You don’t have to tell me. You’re thinking it.”
The old man is driven to the ground again. His breathing becomes more labored. Envi’s heart beats faster.
”As long as people like John Dionysus exist, there’s a chance that people like Evan Envi... May not. Maybe it’s not him that’s on borrowed time. Maybe it’s not him taking the spotlight that scares you, Evan.
“I think Biggs said it a few weeks ago, before you beat him... That you don’t want to peak, Evan. You’d rather continue crying foul. You’d rather be the next big thing instead of the big thing. After all, you’re barely twenty-four. You’ve got all the time in the world for that, right? And John Dionysus... Not so much.”
The old man-- Future Evan is able to fight off the young man as he tries to pull him up and nails a beautiful variety of Suplexes. The young man looks overwhelmed. He throws up his hands as if preparing to plead--
But the old man drives him to the mat with a decapitating Lariat.
”You’ve backed him into a corner. And--”
”And an animal is the most dangerous when you back it into a corner.”
”...Did you think this old dog was going to take your threats lying down, my brother?”
Evan shoots another look at Muhammad.
”No. I expected him to fight for his life... And I still do. I still fully expect John Dionysus to fight as if his life depended on it.”
”It might.”
They both turn back to the ring. The old man is riding a wave of momentum and he lifts the boy up once more for the finishing blow... But he’s stopped with a hard shot to the gut. The boy drives him to the mat and levels him with a Half-Nelson Suplex.
The man goes motionless.
”...Caught yourself rooting for the old dog, didn’t you, friend?”
Evan looks into the ring in horror. The young man was already gone-- as if he were never there to begin with. The old man lies in the ring, unconscious, kissed by the shadows.
”Is he dead?”
”Yes.”
Muhammad pushes himself up and meanders over to the ring, reaching under to poke future Evan’s rotting carcass with his index.
”Dead as dirt. You took everything he had from him.”
Muhammad smiles and turns to Evan.
”That’s the way things should be, right?”
”This is nothing like-- nothing like Sunday. I’m not John Dionysus.”
”No. You aren’t. Because... Regardless of the result this Sunday, Evan, you still have that chip on your shoulder. Dionysus has closure-- but you’ll be more confused than ever. It’ll be an exciting trek, won’t it?”
He pokes Evan’s dead body again.
”Is this how Evan Envi ends?”
*****
Evan blows dust off of the can of Campell's chicken noodle soup.
He drops it and takes a step back. He turns his head toward the kitchen window as he hears the barking of the pitbull-- and races to the window in time to see it fighting mercilessly to break free away from the young girl that was trying to hold it to its leash.
"Evan?"
Evan raises a hand to his forehead, closes his eyes, and groans.
Darkness.
