The Fall and The Fire
In the lays of night we lay our scene, silently observing in a darkened living room. What furnishings are visible in the dark tell us more about the location than an image of the building's exterior. Cramped spaces; a small television, its insectile antennae wrapped in ancient looking tin foil; a ragged couch missing three of its four legs; truly, this must be a cheap apartment, somewhere in Urbana.
The pieces begin to fit as we take in the prone figure stretched out on the slouching couch, his features illuminated by the glowing television set.
His dark blonde hair is spread out wildly on the arm of the couch which he uses as a pillow, its strands knotted and unkempt. He is clad in only a pair of dark gray sweat pants and a faded "CRAZY..NOT STUPID" t-shirt. His name is Zero.
Or maybe it's Nate Logan. The two are synonymous and antithetical at the same time. A proverbial yin and yang. The man who captured the dream, the Global X-Treme Wrestling Unified World Heavyweight Championship is sleeping. But his rest looks anything but peaceful.
He tosses and turns, writhes and cries out, his actions seemingly mirroring those happening on the television set. As the tape in the VCR rolls on, it's clear that he is dreaming...rather, reliving...these horrible images.
"Greed" by Godsmack cues up as "Career Ender" Chris Lehew struts on to the stage, a smirk upon his face. He slowly makes his way down the ramp to the ring, the crowd erupting in boos. The intensity of the booing is so strong in fact, that one hot-headed fan tries to leap over the barricade to get at Lehew with a broken beer bottle, but security drags him off.
He cries out in his sleep, his voice cracking and weak.
Zero: Chris...
Zero sprints down the ramp to meet Lehew, the ref starting the match as soon as he reaches the ring. The crowd's cheers raise in volume as Zero gains a quick advantage, spearing Lehew into the corner. Both men get to their feet at the same time, and for one second that seems to stretch on indefinitely, they simply glare into one another's eyes, the hatred tangible.
Our anti-hero jerks back and forth, his closed eyes squinting farther shut as his nightmare continues.
Zero picks a steel baseball bat, out of a garbage can of hardcore goodies, then swings it into Lehew's gut with all his strength. Lehew rolls out of the way just before it hits him, the bat rattling off the steel chair. Lehew backs off, raising his hands up at Zero like a pseudo-shield.
JG: Lehew better watch himself. Zero looks about ready to snap.
Zero charges at Lehew with the bat, screaming like a madman, but Lehew deftly side-steps, causing Zero to flip over the barricade and tumble into the crowd. As Zero slowly gets to his feet, Lehew darts forward, leaping onto the barricade, then flying off with a flying bulldog onto Zero, slamming his face onto the floor.
Zero: No...no...why...why...
But dreams cannot give new answers to old questions, and on the lonely protagonist suffers.
Both men struggle to their feet at the same time, glaring at each other for a few second before Lehew lunges forward, Powerbombing Zero through the table. Lehew walks into a nearby door, disappearing. Zero slowly gets to his feet, a look of intense pain on his face as he touches his back. The pain turns to confusion as he notices that Lehew has vanished.
Zero: Chris! Chris...come...back...where did...you go...
Where indeed. Certainly not in the kalidoscopic dream realm that holds the World Champion as its prisoner.
Zero gets to his feet grabbing a nearby trash can and slamming it down on Lehew's prone form, causing a huge dent in the metal. He throws the can to the side, pulling a table out from under the ring. He sets it up, testing it for strength.
GM: What’s he up to now?
He then reaches under the ring again, pulling out a large bag. He opens the bag and empties it on the table, revealing its contents are nails, tacks, screws, and various unpleasant little metal things.
JG: I have a bad feeling about this, Garrett…
Finally, he pulls a metal gas can from under the ring, looks at it pensively for a moment, then his eyes narrow and he pours the gasoline all over the table, emptying the can, then tossing it over his shoulder. He pulls something out of his pocket-- it's not visible at first, but as the small orange glow appears in his hand, it's obvious that it is a match. He hesitates for a moment, but then tosses the match down onto the table, igniting it in a massive flame.
Zero: Ohhhh....nooo....stop...
Zero lifts two knees simultaneously into Lehew's chin, locking an arm around his neck for Zero Hour, but Lehew drives a hand up, grabbing Zero by the throat and shoving him backwards, still holding the choking grip. Zero crashes through the skybox's plate glass window, hanging over empty space, held aloft by Lehew's choke.
Zero: NO! NO! PLEASE! CHRIS! CHRIS! DON'T! DON'T DROP ME CHRIS!
Zero fights and claws at Lehew, trying to get back into the skybox and to get the grip off his neck, but Lehew holds him firm. Finally, Zero's hands slowly fall to his sides, and he lowers his head, his chin-length hair falling down over his face. The silence before was nothing. There is no sound in the arena. And then Lehew lets go.
It is said that the truest sound of despair is not made by the mouth, but by the heart. This theory is now proven wrong by the sudden ear-piercing cry from Logan.
Zero: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
Zero falls, almost in slow motion, over the fans, over the sea of people, over the barricade, and crashes into the flaming table, splintering it into a million pieces. He does not move, even as the flames begin lapping at him. Lehew limps down the steps, the fans who before took shots at him and slapped him on the back part as he comes by, few get near him, even fewer look at him. Lehew climbs slowly over the barrier, pulls Zero's motionless body from the wreckage, turns it over, and covers him. The only sound in the arena is the bell ringing, announcing Lehew the winner, and new Television Champion.
Zero: Ohhh...Chris...the fall...the fire...why...
The tape runs its course, clicking off to throw the room into pitch darkness. The sound of squirming on the couch slowly and surely subsides, the choking black miasma of the nightmare fading away, leaving only one last gasping cry.
Zero: Chris...
Fin.[i/]