Post by Casanova English on Dec 29, 2020 20:38:57 GMT -5
Carnage Wrestling Presents
A Casanova English Original
A Casanova English Original
The Road to Carnage Part II
Church on Sunday
There is a story in the Bible called The Parable of the Lost Sheep.
Christ explained it simply to his flock. There are 100 sheep and if one goes astray… well you chase that one sheep and leave the 99.
See the 99 are already righteous, already devoted - in all actuality they are fucking boring.
That one though.
That one that got away - maybe they could make a difference. Maybe they were a wolf in a sheep’s skin - pardon the cliche.
We’ll… I’ve always welcomed sinners to my table. I wonder if they will offer me the same hospitality.
I found myself staggering outside the place I made my last stand, whiskey bottle in my hand, mid-afternoon in Southern Ontario, sweating like a faucet.
The cross was cut down, but you could still tell the building was a former church, painting it red didn’t do a goddamn thing to disguise it. And it didn’t help leaving the stained glass windows at the back.
I bought it at the peak of my career to train members of the group I created that extended beyond the ropes of the wrestling ring. Some would call it a cult, others would call it a lifestyle even.
The forgotten. The ones society gave up on rallying together to shift the system, to eat it from the inside out whether it be the wrestling ring or the stock market. It lost it’s pull for the most part I’ll admit. But even in it’s last years I had people emailing me about The Orphanage. Former convicts who wanted me to help them find their footing in the industry. People 100 pounds or less showing up at my doorstep day after day like I was running a Fight Club. So, well… I started running a fight club.
I bought the old church and turned the basement into a training school. I hired an old vet to run to the thing, teach these boy and girls how to take a proper beating and bounce back.
I was there for one person. Someone who would be the closest thing I could call a friend. He was an addict, six and a half odd feet of pure wasted potential. He pissed his welding career away blowing the cash he made on heroin after his twin brother died in a crash.
He lost his family. Lost his home.
I got him back in shape, I got him in fighting form. I affectionately referred to him as Corpse.
He has a new name now. A new identity. Went through a rebirth - but haven’t we all. Millennial snowflakes melting on the tongue of depression.
He calls himself Alex Ransom now… it’s time I came home, collected my troops and returned to war.
I pushed the sweat off my forehead into my hair with my hand and fished the last mouthful from the glass whiskey bottle, tossed the bottle on the ground and kicked it into the ditch. No one answered the big wooden door the first time I thudded on it. I used the door frame to support myself for a minute - trying to refocus my vision.
I checked the handle, it was unlocked. I pushed open the large wooden door and entered a small lobby-like area. There were still some pews in the room ahead of me, the large towering stained glass window with an image of the crucifixion.
Slap! Crack! Slap!
I could hear the chops echoing through the building. I followed them to the basement door and slowly walked down.
“C’mon! Hit me again! C’mon you fucking pussy!”
Snap! Slap! Snap!
I stagger down the lat few steps and nearly fall into the room through the door. I managed to maintain my footing to see wrestling legend Anthony Bloodbath and eight students, including Ransom staring at me in silence - shocked even.
“Miss me?”, I said.
“What in the hell are you doing here?,” Bloodbath asked stepping between the ropes, out of the ring and toward me. “Are you drunk?”
He sniffed the air still well over ten feet away from me.
“I can fucking smell it from here Christ.”
Bloodbath wasn’t the most creative name, but he cut his chops wrestling in Japan before coming over here and the name just stuck. It was too late to change it a couple world titles later. I got him to head up the school for his brutality and professionalism. It was bar none. A degenerate in his early years - he matured a lot toward retirement. Hell, more than me it seems.
“I thought I’d get out of the house, have a few drinks. See what the ol’ boys were up to,” I said winking at Ransom.
He stood in the ring towering over the other students, he was over 250 pounds of pure muscle, raw talent, what he always should have been… and I needed him if I wanted to make a go at this again.
“I’m making a comeback.”
“Fuck, you are drunk. You best be thinking about the headache you are going to have in the morning. No get the hell out of my school,” Blood snarled at me before turning around and sliding into the ring.
“I’m serious,” I said.
Blood turned to me and smirked, “It’s Sunday, you know what that means….”
Church on Sunday was a concept we invented. Wrestling is a religion, we took Saturday’s off here… the only day off. And we started each training week with Church on Sunday. Brutal sparring sessions where we nearly maimed each other. It seems like nothing changed.
“Get in the ring.”
I stumble toward the ring and pull off my white v-neck. I walk to the corner of the ring and rest with my back in the turnbuckle.
“Ransom, you are up,” Blood shouted.
“Wha…” Before I can even let the word out of my lungs Ransom’s shoulder is buried into my chest. He pulls back and hits another shoulder thrust into my abdomen lifting me up, knocking the wind out of me. Before I can even land he does it again driving shoulder deep into chest muscle.
I collapse to my knees and he springs off the ropes with a boot to the side of face. He picks me up and tosses me across the ring with a belly to belly. My head hits the ground as I just start to sober up.
“Yes,” I said laughing. “I missed this.”
I roll over off my back onto my stomach just in time to be met with a kick to the gut. I roll over and scream in pain. Ransom smiles, clearly pleased with destroying the man that left him high and dry with no direction in the basement of a Canadian church.
He picks me up by the neck and throws me down just as quick with a scoop slam. He throws me into the coroner and that's when the chops begin. He blisters me with the first as his peers let out a collective groan. He lights up my chest three more times till blood comes to the surface and starts to tickle lightly mixing with sweat.
He swings again, but this time I duck, roll through and hit a drop kick that knocks him back. I get back to my feet as he spins for a back-fist and it connects right in my throat. Lower than he or I expected. I crumble to my knees and tumble to my back. I can taste the blood as it leaks into my throat. It’s not enough to choke me, but enough to put on a show.
I gargle the crimson fluid as the room is silent and Ransom slowly walks over to stand over me and see if I am okay.
All part of the plan.
I spit blood into his eyes and kick him in the back of the knee. I hit the ropes and nail a sliding elbow to the back of his head. I scurry to the corner and rip the second turnbuckle pad off. As Ransom turns around I pull him down face first with a complete shot - taking all my weight and his downward - hanging his face off the exposed turnbuckle.
His face is quickly a mask of red as he rolls over in the corner. He’s trying to wipe the blood out of his eyes and I just brace both hands on the top two ropes and start stomping his chest and face.
Stomping and stomping.
Over and over.
“Jesus fucking Christ you are going to kill him stop!”
Stomping and stomping.
Two large students grabbed my arms and pulled me off Ransom.
But Blood was wrong….
I’m ready to kill them all if I fucking have to.