Post by fowler on Mar 12, 2023 15:26:34 GMT -5
Through a mountain of white, soft, foamy bubbles a hand dives into the hot water that lay beneath them. Slowly it pulls from the concealed surface a large kitchen knife which the other hand begins to rub clean with a thick sponge.
The camera pans out to show Billy Fowler stood at a kitchen sink, dressed in black with a bright yellow apron on. He smiles and hums to himself whilst washing the knife. As he hums, he starts to sing to himself under his breath.
“Zombie, Zombie…”
As he wipes the last remnants of dirt from the blade he places the knife into the draining rack and then plunges his hand back into the water before pulling from it another, equally large knife which he begins to clean.
“Welcome to my happy place.
That probably sound weird right? It’s not that I enjoy doing the washing up… far from it in fact.
But I’ve always been surrounded by people who hate doing the washing up. We could refer to them as lazy arseholes for the purposes of this story time, and so I’ve just become used to having to do it all the time.
But I find in these moments, just me and the dirty dishes I can self-reflect. I can hear those little voices inside my head telling me all the things I block out during the day.”
Fowler places the clean knife next to its brother and reaches into the water once more. Yet again a knife is pulled from below.
“I’ve heard a lot of voices this week. Voices from the weak, the pathetic, the deluded and the fakers.
Goth, Von-Krauss, Havok and Crane. You really are a merry band of fools, jerking each other off in an attempt to kid yourselves into thinking you stand a chance of leaving the cell with the world title.
The sad truth is, you’re already irrelevant. Goth doesn’t seem to know who I am or what day of the week it is. It must be idyllic living in the fantasy world inside his head.
Von-Krauss and Crane seem preoccupied with Rob Riot, and hey I can’t blame them! Rob is a legitimate badass and a massive threat in this match. But in doing so they are taking their eyes of the two time former champion,”
The third knife hits the draining board and by now the pattern is well established as a forth knife comes up out of the sink to be cleaned.
“The there is Havok, who thinks he can validate himself though having beat me for the title before. Well take a look around mate, because Wesley Crane has too. The difference is I’m the only man to have won that belt back before and I’m gearing up to do it again. What will you have to say when my hand is held aloft and I become the first and only three time Wrestle: UK world champion?
Of course that is dependent on me being able to beat my good old friend Rob isn’t it.
Out of all of you he is my biggest challenge, but the beauty is, I don’t need to beat Riot for The Bastards to still win.”
Another knife makes it’s way to the draining board and another comes out to be cleaned.
“But enough of this. You’ve all rabbited on about this same of shit and one-upmanship all week! I’m not going to waste any more time on it. What I would rather do is give you all a little prelude to what awaits you in that ring.”
This time Fowler lifts the knife up to his eye level and examines the blade as he continues to talk.
“I told you all that I promise to unleash a new brand of violence upon you and the rest of this worthless locker room. You just get to be the poor unfortunate souls who have the first taste of their own blood.
Just imagine how sadistic Mr Blood must be to have booked you like lambs to the slaughter inside a steel structure from which you cannot escape. A chamber which I will gladly use as a weapon to tear your muscles from your bones and skin from your flesh.
I’m sure a few of you will try to hide, being the cowards that you are, but how will you be able to hide from two Bastards?
Like a pack of wolves we will pick you off one by one, little lambs, little lambs. And I’ll savour every moment of your torment, not because I’m some sort of unhinged lunatic, but simply because you have brought this upon yourselves.
Rather than enjoy the spoils that come from being in the same company as The Bastards, and basking in the fame and money that only association with us can bring, you all decided to revolt and try and fight us. I’ve warned you all of what that would mean, and this match is the culmination of those threats.
Locked inside the chamber you won’t be able to avoid the blood letting that I’m prepared to extol on you. Payment for your mistakes and your ingratitude. I mean you had every chance to feast on the scraps from our table and you turned your nose up!
Well now those rights are withdrawn, like you withhold food from a bad dog. No more feeding from our scraps, instead I end you. And in finishing each one of you off once and for all we finally accomplish what was always our end game, every title belt this company cares to put it’s name on around our waists.
I told you all that this was The Bastards world but you chose not to listen. In the chamber, you won’t be able to avoid the glaring truth.”
Fowler places the last knife on the rack and wipes his hand on the apron before removing it and walking away.
The camera pans out to show Billy Fowler stood at a kitchen sink, dressed in black with a bright yellow apron on. He smiles and hums to himself whilst washing the knife. As he hums, he starts to sing to himself under his breath.
“Zombie, Zombie…”
As he wipes the last remnants of dirt from the blade he places the knife into the draining rack and then plunges his hand back into the water before pulling from it another, equally large knife which he begins to clean.
“Welcome to my happy place.
That probably sound weird right? It’s not that I enjoy doing the washing up… far from it in fact.
But I’ve always been surrounded by people who hate doing the washing up. We could refer to them as lazy arseholes for the purposes of this story time, and so I’ve just become used to having to do it all the time.
But I find in these moments, just me and the dirty dishes I can self-reflect. I can hear those little voices inside my head telling me all the things I block out during the day.”
Fowler places the clean knife next to its brother and reaches into the water once more. Yet again a knife is pulled from below.
“I’ve heard a lot of voices this week. Voices from the weak, the pathetic, the deluded and the fakers.
Goth, Von-Krauss, Havok and Crane. You really are a merry band of fools, jerking each other off in an attempt to kid yourselves into thinking you stand a chance of leaving the cell with the world title.
The sad truth is, you’re already irrelevant. Goth doesn’t seem to know who I am or what day of the week it is. It must be idyllic living in the fantasy world inside his head.
Von-Krauss and Crane seem preoccupied with Rob Riot, and hey I can’t blame them! Rob is a legitimate badass and a massive threat in this match. But in doing so they are taking their eyes of the two time former champion,”
The third knife hits the draining board and by now the pattern is well established as a forth knife comes up out of the sink to be cleaned.
“The there is Havok, who thinks he can validate himself though having beat me for the title before. Well take a look around mate, because Wesley Crane has too. The difference is I’m the only man to have won that belt back before and I’m gearing up to do it again. What will you have to say when my hand is held aloft and I become the first and only three time Wrestle: UK world champion?
Of course that is dependent on me being able to beat my good old friend Rob isn’t it.
Out of all of you he is my biggest challenge, but the beauty is, I don’t need to beat Riot for The Bastards to still win.”
Another knife makes it’s way to the draining board and another comes out to be cleaned.
“But enough of this. You’ve all rabbited on about this same of shit and one-upmanship all week! I’m not going to waste any more time on it. What I would rather do is give you all a little prelude to what awaits you in that ring.”
This time Fowler lifts the knife up to his eye level and examines the blade as he continues to talk.
“I told you all that I promise to unleash a new brand of violence upon you and the rest of this worthless locker room. You just get to be the poor unfortunate souls who have the first taste of their own blood.
Just imagine how sadistic Mr Blood must be to have booked you like lambs to the slaughter inside a steel structure from which you cannot escape. A chamber which I will gladly use as a weapon to tear your muscles from your bones and skin from your flesh.
I’m sure a few of you will try to hide, being the cowards that you are, but how will you be able to hide from two Bastards?
Like a pack of wolves we will pick you off one by one, little lambs, little lambs. And I’ll savour every moment of your torment, not because I’m some sort of unhinged lunatic, but simply because you have brought this upon yourselves.
Rather than enjoy the spoils that come from being in the same company as The Bastards, and basking in the fame and money that only association with us can bring, you all decided to revolt and try and fight us. I’ve warned you all of what that would mean, and this match is the culmination of those threats.
Locked inside the chamber you won’t be able to avoid the blood letting that I’m prepared to extol on you. Payment for your mistakes and your ingratitude. I mean you had every chance to feast on the scraps from our table and you turned your nose up!
Well now those rights are withdrawn, like you withhold food from a bad dog. No more feeding from our scraps, instead I end you. And in finishing each one of you off once and for all we finally accomplish what was always our end game, every title belt this company cares to put it’s name on around our waists.
I told you all that this was The Bastards world but you chose not to listen. In the chamber, you won’t be able to avoid the glaring truth.”
Fowler places the last knife on the rack and wipes his hand on the apron before removing it and walking away.
