Symphony From The Swamps--RSH--E0D

[Roy "The Sorrow" Harlowe (NJC)]

“It all started with the echo of the man I once was...that man died...to breathe life into The Sorrow."

--

A darkened swamp, one where you might find a Thing. Not John Carpenter’s The Thing, but that other dude, what was his name? Oh right, Man-Thing. Gotcha, you thought I was gonna say Swamp Thing didn’t you? Ha, Man-Thing came first, but this narrative digresses. A dank swamp smothered in a thick greenish mist, smog emitting from the boggy waters. Wading through the waters is a dark shape, a little silhouette that could fill a doorway with merely his presence. It was Roy “The Sorrow” Harlowe, waltzing through the deep emerald green waters, the muck and grime sticking to his tattered multicolour nightmare of a leather jacket. Roy kneads the pond scum between his fingers and then dabs it on his tongue.



Roy: “My, my. That is dank. Delicious even, the taste of nature’s darkside if you will. Palpable, like the tension in the air whenever Feargill and I enter the ring together. It’s as solid as the concrete of the book that has chiseled into it’s every page my loathsome hatred for the Nukebuster. It seems every opportunity that is handed to this man, he uses at an opportune time to show the world just how low he can sink in the forms of humor and comedy timing. I’ve never seen anything so stilted and begging for acceptance. It’s like, Nukebuster doesn’t realize what he is beneath the facade of mismanaged psychosis. He surrounds himself with people who enable his sophomoric moronic attempts to be anything only to end up as a constant punchline for the joke that is his entire existence."



He shakes his head.



Roy: “You were given a paltry hand out to belong in this match. I’m the destined soul filled with the righteous ambition to climb to the very tip top of the upper echelons of this industry. XHF is my playground that allows me to demonstrate my sorrow filled superiority. These inane naysayers who have all lined up one by one when they came face to face with me, doubting my skills, abilities. Selling me nothing more than a snake oil salesman who mastered in illusions, a prophet of false pontificated information. How wrong they were, I proved them each wrong...one by one...inch by inch, row by row. But through all that rigmarole...there came a blemish. Nukebuster carved a scar into my record that stings me to my very core."



Roy lifts his hand, taking a rusted screwdriver to his hand and peels off a band-aid that is plastered to his palm. Taking it out reveals bloodied numbers “8-1” and Roy can’t help but sigh at the sight.



Roy: “Eight victories...eight sets of shoulders...eight rings...eight wins...one...one….ONE taste of defeat. That bitter taste...they crowd they cheered, they clamored and felt...JOY! Jovial bliss...It was disgusting. They took my angst and used it to feed the worst emotion of them all...happiness. It disgusts me...and it’s all Nukey boy’s fault that I had to experience anything BUT Sorrow! My rage...my violent venom coursed through my veins with the harrowing screams of revenge coursing through every fabric of my being."



He shakes his head as he saunters through the marshlands, coming to an incline as he comes ashore.



Roy: “Tomorrow...There is no tomorrow if I can’t lay waste and decay to Nukebuster. If he somehow manages to come out of this with my prized possession...I will not rest, and I will not hesitate to eviscerate and stick daggers in all of his organs in alphabetical order. This is everything I’ve cultivated to create...This is my future, and the best has yet to be laid to waste."





He narrows his vision as he comes to an open grave, a dilapidated shovel at the top of a mound of freshly unearthed dirt. Roy jumps into the hole, only the top of his head sticking out as he stares his visage straight into the lens of the camera.



Roy:“But two...oh, two is so much better than one. Seth Dillinger...You find yourself squarely in the crosshairs of the innovator of all things mournful and full of agonizing desecration. You my good sir...Will find yourself in my path again after this match. Whether it be in a rematch for the MidWest Championship...or when I come to collect that other prestigious championship that graces your ungraceful shoulders. You see...You’re nothing more than a 5th Avenue pretty boy that had the benefit of having a gym membership at a young age. You bang and clang the weights a few years, you figure you’re a good enough athlete to tangle with a bunch of bologna chomping bingo hall barbarians and that makes you...the very best? I admit, I’ll give you all of your dues. You’re a phenomenon in every aspect of the game…”


He holds his fingers high above his head, making his index finger and thumb incremented about an inch apart.



Roy: “But everything you’re capable of, and you’re missing...I excel and have in spades. I’m just that much more determined and burdened with a greater purpose to inflict my brand of ultra violence on any and all that stand in my way to ascending to valhallaian levels of superstardom in the world of professional wrestling. I need to bite and rend flesh, leaving only a crimson snail trail in my wake as I carve my name into every accomplishment there is to achieve in XHF and AWF. Nukebuster stopped me from winning that tag team tournament but here...I have no anchor, no albatross lassoed across my neck." 



He shakes his head and grins widely like the Cheshire Cat.



Roy: “Oh no...I only have myself to rely upon, and I trust no man more than myself. I know what I’m capable of...and I know what Nukebuster and Dillinger are incapable of doing. They can’t overcome what I am, and what I’m capable of in the long run. I narrow my keen perspective to the horizon and I see a boundless limitless journey where I leave every breathing dishonorable creature that craves the Sorrow that only I can provide!"


He slowly plants his hands on either side of the open grave, slowly pulling himself up.



Roy: “Seth Dillinger is a proud man...He represents a level of premiere athlete that this company surely needs. There’s so many gross mocking attempts in this game, you look at Nukebuster and you realize he’s just another spoke in the wheel of the cringe inducing humor that can be found in the very worst of professional wrestling. You see...Seth, he sees the bigger picture. He understands what he needs to craft and present to the world. He is a man laced in respect, a competitor who sees himself without peer. His words are articulated and innuciated with such pristine quality, it’s easy to see that a man of his intellect is holding not one, but two championships. “


Roy brings himself out of the grave hole and pushes himself up from his knees.



Roy: “Do I see a future where Fern Gully Nukebuster would represent the Ascension Wrestling Federation as a dual champion? Not in a million years, while the toe headed behemoth has a depth of strength and brawn in the valley of strength hidden deep within...but what is a muscle without a mind? I would say he had capable puppet master...but we’ve all seen the company he keeps. We’re treated to the same blank faces of a cast of characters so dimwitted you can’t help but feel your IQ drain by the digit with every moment that passes during your viewing. It’s gotten to the point where I’m questioning myself for even watching, because it’s the same result every time. I’m insane, but I’m not Nukebuster insane. Catch my drift?"



As Roy makes it up to his feet, the camera pans out revealing a body hanging from a noose. The hanging body all decked out in gold gold chains around the neck, sapphires and diamonds of the fat plump hands that lay lifeless in the air. Roy gives the body a gentle push as it sways like a metronome in the wind. Roy gives a giddy little laugh as he leaps between the hole to the opposite side of the grave and catches the body.


Roy: “Oh by like a clockmaker, I control the pendulum of your fate gentlemen. You may find this is you entering a match with THE Roy Harlowe. But no, this is a contract for your organs, to donate to the cause that is The Sorrow!"


He gives a cheer as he gives the body another push, letting it dangle in the air as it sways.



Roy: “Oh, but the fun we will have with the bounties I’ve placed on your bodies. I will brutalize every fiber of your being for my sick twisted enjoyment. Strangle every ounce of life that you’ve blessed and squandered with the passage of time. It’s time that a need breed and caliber of superstar ran the roost of XHF. You’re looking at the madman with the determined sense and where with all that this engine demands. I wish to fuel that machine with my malice and hatred, turn the world in my own mangled vision of paradise."



He can’t help but sigh as he pulls a bloodied rusted machete from his rubber boots and swings it wildly in the air like he’s strumming a guitar solo.



Roy: “That sort of blissful terror requires a certain modicum of respect though. It’s easy to crow about your desires without power...the power that trophy...that AWF MidWest title has...it will be a platform, a podium, a pulpit and I’m the good priest of horrors that’s come to spread the sermon of Sorrow. With that title, it’ll act as the hypnotic ring I need to captivate the attention of the masses. Their eyes will fill with dread, their words will call for a challenger...another sacrifice. You see Seth, I want...no, I NEED that championship...it will provide me with the goblet I need to fill my cup with the blood of the innocent warriors who come sniffing for an opportunity for that championship."


He swings that machete at the noose rope above the corpse, missing it.



Roy: “You already have one, so I don’t think your hearts in it to defend this one with the same level of vibrancy. I don’t think you want or need this championship. How often do you leave it to the side? How often do you strap on the Prestige championship first? Am I a liar? Or am I telling you things you already know, my friend."



Roy gives a robust Errol Flynn slash and manages to swipe the rope, but it doesn’t give way immediately, the fabrics twisting into tattered twine as they still holds the swinging and swaying dead body.



Roy: “You see, Nukebuster has crossed me and Seth, you have something I wish to covet. If you don’t cave into my ambitions demands, I have no choice but to turn you into a mouth that doesn’t smile. I’ll turn you into a notion that nobody would dare mention. I’ll turn you into a word that nobody has the guts to say without fear of the consequences that would be laid upon them. You’re nothing more than obstacles, blockades in my path that I will leave in a crumpled heap of rubble as I storm through and crumble you at your foundations."



Roy gives a final gutsy hack and the rope snaps dropping the body into the grave with one fell swoop.



Roy: “I want you to remember...I’m the one who will spills and paint the canvas with your blood. I will leave a trail of scarlet in my wake as I claim the gold piece as my own. I am the avalanche of human abomination put in front of you...and I will…”



Suddenly there’s a bolt of lightning that strikes down from the heavens, impacting the dirt mound and causing it to spew and cover the grave in the shrapnel of the explosion. Roy has vanished in the smoldering ash and smoke. There’s the clamoring of commotion in the distance as a collection of flashlight create spotlights over the scene. An off screen voice heard yelling the name.

“Seth! Seth! Where are you!? Mommy’s going to find you!"

The fog is thick, and the smoke deepens.


The scene fades to black.

END