Post by The Edgecrusher on Aug 6, 2009 21:29:07 GMT -5
"YOU STUPID SON OF A B*TCH!" rings out through the night, the shouts of rage and anger reverberate almost in sync with the shadows dancing on the wall cast from the glow of the TV set. The sound of flesh being worn over by the leather of an overpriced belt quickly joins in almost like a chorus.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Young Marc Simmons escapes into his own world deep inside his head. A world where he can be himself, a world where he is understood. It's a magical place where being defenseless is mearly a far fetched fairytail like a gingerbread house or universal health care. The string of the belt almost melts away, in his world Marc can fight back however he wants. The sounds of his his father Richard drown out despite the fact he has begun pounding with bare fists.
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
The world begins to spin and a fuzz overtakes poor twelve year old Marc taking him back to the present day, Now he is a much older Marc Summers. The sounds are now different, more thumping quickly followed by a matching series of bounces to the left side startle him back to reality.
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
Marc has drifted off into another flashback, ignoring his responsibility to not run down a little old lady leaving church service. He pulls off the sidewalk avoiding a rusted mailbox by only a few inches directly into oncoming traffic. He dodges a cement truck with a sharp turn that sends him skidding across the right lane and off an overpass to the street below. He comes skidding to a stop parked almost perfectly in a handicap parking spot. Well... if you consider flaming engine and no wheels almost perfect. Marc lets loose a heavy breath of relief and rests his head back. After what seems like forever to Marc he unlatches his seat belt then opens the car door and slowly steps out. He turns and looks down at the drivers seat then drops to his knees. He grabs the seat belt and gives it a giant wet kiss then turns to the cement and does the same. He pulls himself back to his feet, dusts himself off then looks up to the handicap parking sign. Marc steps back closing the door then turns and begins walking with a fake limp toward the entrance of the FCW arena.
This was Marc's third chance at life, after the closing of the AWF the place he proudly called home he had nothing. He could always use his longest running and still undefeated AWF US championship but that only went so far. With the fed closed he bounced from endless job to endless job, never really able to adjust to the regular world. His fondest moment was nailing a pizza faced manager from Burger King in the back of the head with a chair then delivering a piledriver from the fry station. However the time he drop kicked a manager from a 7-11 was pretty awesome. Marc had managed to pull a few strings to get a job as the janitor for the famed FCW. His only hope was to find a way to work his way back into the ring from there, back to the world as he had always seen it when he was young. He stops at the doors and takes a deep breath in, his arms tremble as he grasps the door handle.
"This is it Marc... one last chance..." The Edgecrusher was ready to come home, the squared circle called his name.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Young Marc Simmons escapes into his own world deep inside his head. A world where he can be himself, a world where he is understood. It's a magical place where being defenseless is mearly a far fetched fairytail like a gingerbread house or universal health care. The string of the belt almost melts away, in his world Marc can fight back however he wants. The sounds of his his father Richard drown out despite the fact he has begun pounding with bare fists.
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
The world begins to spin and a fuzz overtakes poor twelve year old Marc taking him back to the present day, Now he is a much older Marc Summers. The sounds are now different, more thumping quickly followed by a matching series of bounces to the left side startle him back to reality.
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
Marc has drifted off into another flashback, ignoring his responsibility to not run down a little old lady leaving church service. He pulls off the sidewalk avoiding a rusted mailbox by only a few inches directly into oncoming traffic. He dodges a cement truck with a sharp turn that sends him skidding across the right lane and off an overpass to the street below. He comes skidding to a stop parked almost perfectly in a handicap parking spot. Well... if you consider flaming engine and no wheels almost perfect. Marc lets loose a heavy breath of relief and rests his head back. After what seems like forever to Marc he unlatches his seat belt then opens the car door and slowly steps out. He turns and looks down at the drivers seat then drops to his knees. He grabs the seat belt and gives it a giant wet kiss then turns to the cement and does the same. He pulls himself back to his feet, dusts himself off then looks up to the handicap parking sign. Marc steps back closing the door then turns and begins walking with a fake limp toward the entrance of the FCW arena.
This was Marc's third chance at life, after the closing of the AWF the place he proudly called home he had nothing. He could always use his longest running and still undefeated AWF US championship but that only went so far. With the fed closed he bounced from endless job to endless job, never really able to adjust to the regular world. His fondest moment was nailing a pizza faced manager from Burger King in the back of the head with a chair then delivering a piledriver from the fry station. However the time he drop kicked a manager from a 7-11 was pretty awesome. Marc had managed to pull a few strings to get a job as the janitor for the famed FCW. His only hope was to find a way to work his way back into the ring from there, back to the world as he had always seen it when he was young. He stops at the doors and takes a deep breath in, his arms tremble as he grasps the door handle.
"This is it Marc... one last chance..." The Edgecrusher was ready to come home, the squared circle called his name.
