Post by vastrix on Jun 3, 2020 12:44:47 GMT -5
At a trailer someplace out in the country, Nathan Parker sits on his couch. He takes a long drink of a bottle of cheap vodka. He grunts as he feels the burn of the booze going down his throat. He picks up a burning cigarette from an ashtray on the coffee table and takes a nice long drag from it before putting it out. He blows smoke into the air.
The nightmares have kept him up at night. Not a wink of sleep in nearly a week.
Parker: Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me. Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me. Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me.
He’s tried sleep aids. He’s tried drinking himself into a comatose situation. The nightmares always wake him. There’s a way that he could sleep. A way for him to get his rest.
He picks up a gun from next to him on the couch, an old fashioned six shooter. He pops it open to assure himself that there’s at least one round in the gun and spins the drum before closing the gun again. He places the barrel of the gun to his right temple. His breathing quickens as he slowly adds pressure to the trigger of the gun.
*click*
An empty chamber and a failure to commit suicide. Nathan sighs and moves the gun to place the barrel in his mouth. He tastes the metal of the barrel of the gun. It was not an unpleasant flavor or sensation. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners.
This is it. This is the shot that’s going to claim his life. This was going to be the shot that splatters his brains all over the wall. His nightmares would end. He would rest at last.
*click*
Nathan opens his eyes, feeling the back of his head with his free hand. No hole. His brains are still inside his miserable head. He is not dead. Maybe this next shot. That’s it. This next shot will do it.
Nathan takes the gun out of his mouth and presses the now wet barrel up underneath his chin. His brains will be on the ceiling as well as the wall behind him. It will be a glorious mess.
If only the night terrors would have stopped. If only he could have gotten a single night of sleep. If only…
That’s when the door to the trailer opens up and a dark figure enters into the place. Nathan lets out a yelp, turns the gun toward the intruder, and fires the weapon! The gunshot misses the intruder by mere inches.
Intruder: NATE! What the fuck, man?
Nathan focuses his drunken eyes on the dark intruder in his trailer. His eyes going wide as he finally recognizes who it is.
Parker: Mick? The fuck are you doing here?
Michael “Cats” Dundee walks into the trailer with a fifth of scotch in hand. He looks around at the messy trailer before his eyes settle upon the bedraggled Nathan Parker.
Dundee: You hadn’t been around for two weeks so I thought I would check on my best customer. What’s...what’s going on here?
Nathan tosses the gun onto the coffee table with a grunt.
Parker: Nothing now that I’ve used my only bullet.
Dundee: You were trying to kill yourself?
Nathan grins wryly, but it fades quickly.
Parker: No. I was trying to lose at Russian Roulette.
Michael looks around again, clearly uncomfortable. He takes note of the empty bottles of cheap booze laying around. He sets the somewhat expensive bottle of scotch on the coffee table.
Dundee: I don’t know why you were trying to lose, but drink it off. I brought you your favorite scotch. All this cheap booze you been drinking is just going to bring you down. Oh, I got us signed on to a real wrestling company. No more of that backyard shit we been doing.
Nathan raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued.
Parker: A real wrestling company? What’s the name of the company?
Dundee: Rapid Fire Wrestling.
Parker: A real company that’s just starting out? We could be stars?
Dundee: You know it, Nate!
Michael walks over to the kitchen where he grabs two glasses. He brings them back to the coffee table where he opens up the scotch and pours two generous measures. He hands on glass to Nathan and then clinks the glasses together.
Dundee: To getting stinking rich!
Parker: A-fucking-men.
The two men drink as the scene fades to black.
The nightmares have kept him up at night. Not a wink of sleep in nearly a week.
Parker: Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me. Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me. Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me.
He’s tried sleep aids. He’s tried drinking himself into a comatose situation. The nightmares always wake him. There’s a way that he could sleep. A way for him to get his rest.
He picks up a gun from next to him on the couch, an old fashioned six shooter. He pops it open to assure himself that there’s at least one round in the gun and spins the drum before closing the gun again. He places the barrel of the gun to his right temple. His breathing quickens as he slowly adds pressure to the trigger of the gun.
*click*
An empty chamber and a failure to commit suicide. Nathan sighs and moves the gun to place the barrel in his mouth. He tastes the metal of the barrel of the gun. It was not an unpleasant flavor or sensation. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners.
This is it. This is the shot that’s going to claim his life. This was going to be the shot that splatters his brains all over the wall. His nightmares would end. He would rest at last.
*click*
Nathan opens his eyes, feeling the back of his head with his free hand. No hole. His brains are still inside his miserable head. He is not dead. Maybe this next shot. That’s it. This next shot will do it.
Nathan takes the gun out of his mouth and presses the now wet barrel up underneath his chin. His brains will be on the ceiling as well as the wall behind him. It will be a glorious mess.
If only the night terrors would have stopped. If only he could have gotten a single night of sleep. If only…
That’s when the door to the trailer opens up and a dark figure enters into the place. Nathan lets out a yelp, turns the gun toward the intruder, and fires the weapon! The gunshot misses the intruder by mere inches.
Intruder: NATE! What the fuck, man?
Nathan focuses his drunken eyes on the dark intruder in his trailer. His eyes going wide as he finally recognizes who it is.
Parker: Mick? The fuck are you doing here?
Michael “Cats” Dundee walks into the trailer with a fifth of scotch in hand. He looks around at the messy trailer before his eyes settle upon the bedraggled Nathan Parker.
Dundee: You hadn’t been around for two weeks so I thought I would check on my best customer. What’s...what’s going on here?
Nathan tosses the gun onto the coffee table with a grunt.
Parker: Nothing now that I’ve used my only bullet.
Dundee: You were trying to kill yourself?
Nathan grins wryly, but it fades quickly.
Parker: No. I was trying to lose at Russian Roulette.
Michael looks around again, clearly uncomfortable. He takes note of the empty bottles of cheap booze laying around. He sets the somewhat expensive bottle of scotch on the coffee table.
Dundee: I don’t know why you were trying to lose, but drink it off. I brought you your favorite scotch. All this cheap booze you been drinking is just going to bring you down. Oh, I got us signed on to a real wrestling company. No more of that backyard shit we been doing.
Nathan raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued.
Parker: A real wrestling company? What’s the name of the company?
Dundee: Rapid Fire Wrestling.
Parker: A real company that’s just starting out? We could be stars?
Dundee: You know it, Nate!
Michael walks over to the kitchen where he grabs two glasses. He brings them back to the coffee table where he opens up the scotch and pours two generous measures. He hands on glass to Nathan and then clinks the glasses together.
Dundee: To getting stinking rich!
Parker: A-fucking-men.
The two men drink as the scene fades to black.