Post by Jimmy Gimmick on Sept 15, 2009 21:07:59 GMT -5
*The dying leaves detached themselves from the tree which bore them, dropping to the ground pulled by the irresistible force of gravity. Its power incontrovertible as it works undetectable by the naked eye. Autumn colored, the leaves dance through the cool breeze as they gently land on the yellowed dying grass beneath it. But what the dying grass covered was what was already dead, in the cemetery stood countless black suit clad individuals.*
“My condolences, I never really knew him but your father seemed like a good man.”
*An unknown FCW employee spoke softly to James Dimmick who stood amongst the people, yet remained separated from them. Unlike the faceless suits who had found themselves here because of business ties, Gimmick had an emotional attachment to the deceased, or used to.
Gimmick doesn’t respond to the man who passes him by, all the while assuming James’ silence was brought on by merely sorrow. After all he was family; what was closer than family?
The thought would never cross James’ mind, not now, not ever again, the human being that once inhabited the body now stood suit clad at his father’s funeral. He was dead and gone, much like Richard himself. The thought of the man dragged Gimmick’s empty stare to the closed casket that lay untouched aside a freshly dug grave. There was something absurdly beautiful about the sight of that fresh pit. Dark. Endless. Eternal.
It was finally going to be over, James thought, as he looked soullessly to his undoubtedly rotting father. He had remained unburied for so long, courtesy to all of the financial fiascoes, at one point the police even considered an investigation yet it seemed obvious, he was a lonely old man, why wouldn’t he have taken his own life? He had no friends, no family. The only ones who attended his funeral were his coworkers, a formality really.*
Father: “God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.
In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.
Amen.”
*The priest finishes, empty words. They had no meaning. To the hollowed out body who watched, he hadn’t wept for his father; that may have been the saddest part of James’ tragic existence. The priest pauses following the prayer, even he knows that no one cares about the passing of this wealthy business man, save for perhaps the man he is about to call upon; the son of Richard Voglur. He stands out amongst the crowd with his eyes locked on the elegant casket which will house his father for eternity, the wealth of the departed reflected like the blank emotions of the bystanders off of the coffin.*
“It is my understanding that James Dimmick, Richard Voglur’s son, has agreed to say a few words. I would like to call upon him to do so at this time.”
*A moment of nothing but hushed whispers followed the request before Gimmick made his first movement. His eyes turned towards the podium at which the priest stood, and once he had his gaze locked ahead his feet began to carry him through the audience. It was like heading into the ring, the fans around him watched as he paced down the aisle at a very deliberate pace.
The scene played out in slow motion in Gimmick’s mind, the leaves waved threw the mid-September sky as he caught them in his peripheral vision, they may very well have been signs. The mass of uninterested funeral attendants continued to back away from James, not taking their eyes off of the superstar. Even the priest stood down as he rounded the podium. Ascending to the mic Gimmick’s dead eyes looked down to the people, and they looked up at him, he was their superior. Everyone was listening to his word like it was…the gospel.*
“ ‘The mark of any great man, is the amount of others who lay beneath him’, a wise man once made that declaration, as far as I can tell truer words have never been spoken.”
*He watched them, they were drawn to his position, the darkly dressed individuals had gathered around James, were they cheering? That was all he could hear, he felt the rush of the crowd, gone were the blank faces, the dreary tone, all that was left was support, he had finally found salvation.*
“I was that wise man, as many of you may already know, it was a quote developed from the lifestyle I lived, the life I was bred into. As a child I didn’t spend my time riding my bikes, playing with toys. I had to be trained. I had to beaten. I had to be…created. When I was born it was clear; I didn’t have the build of a wrestler, never would so who decided to raise me the way of the warrior but dear old dad.”
*The crowd applauded as James audibly voiced his disgust with his father’s actions, his hoarse tone brought about by chain smoking made his words sound even more void of emotion.*
“All these years Richard, all these years you talked down to me, you ordered me around, you told me what I had to do, you were never a fighter, but I had to be? I didn’t want that burden. I didn’t want this life, I wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to be an outsider. I never wanted people to stare when they passed me in the streets. When I told you that did I get empathy? Instead I got a fucking contract. In one of your most overwhelming moments of hypocrisy you told me I needed not only to be a wrestler, I needed to be a superstar. I did it to make you proud. That was all I wanted you vile son of a bitch!”
*Gimmick bellowed, looking away from the fans who shared his expression as he glared at his father’s casket with nothing but utter disdain. A wad of saliva flies over the podium to the shinning black coffin, the people cheer him on as Gimmick speaks again, with more enthusiasm.*
“You were never happy, it didn’t matter what I did it only served to disappoint you. Looks like I’ll get the last laugh after all, you died alone, exactly how you deserved to. Nothing more.”
*The fans had reached their loudest point thus far; they were shirts outwardly labeling themselves as Gimmick supporters. The applause was deafening, the priest ascending the steps to join James patting him on his back as he grabbed a bouquet of flowers from the casket of Richard and smothered them into the fresh soil beneath his foot.*
“Rest in peace.”
*From amongst far off tombstones another darkly dressed figure watches the proceedings, he shakes his head. Jimmy Gimmick is being pulled away from his father’s coffin by a number of funeral attendants and even the priest joins in, the rest of the individuals watch in silence, shocked, and repulsed. The dark haired man shakes his head from his far off point and disappears behind the trees. The sky is clearing as Gimmick is dragged away, sun shines down brightly, an orchestra presents begins a hymn in honor of the deceased as per scheduled, although now no one listens.
It isn’t long before the coffin of Richard Voglur is carefully lowered into the empty grave, and the mound of dirt buries the beautifully designed casket six feet underground. The people disappeared shortly thereafter, no one left anything at the tombstone of Richard Voglur, there was no message on the stone, only the facts. He was a man without emotion, a man without love, family or friends, the only proof of the man named Richard Voglur’s existence could be found in the history books. They were all gone, and no one left remained after Voglur’s requiem.*
(End of Part IX)