Post by Alexander Raven on Jul 30, 2023 0:27:01 GMT -5
We Need to Talk
Just days prior to bloodbath in Puerto Rico, everything changed. Leon Trucose, was dead. He’d confirmed it. One of the two men responsible for him lacing the boots was gone. He’d taken his own life. Nothing fancy, nothing special. The ghost he was chasing for years was now the ghost that haunted his every waking moment.
Leon was dead.
There was once a time where they had all been friends. Somehow Alex stopped being bothered by Leon and Luna’s betrayal. That might have been stupid, but he’d forgiven them. Luna had cheated on him with Leon. Leon wasn’t particularly remorseful. Though, he never pretended to be anything other than he was. A deceitful, narcissistic and traumatised child. A perfect match for their circle of narcissistic traumatised persons.
So he sat there, staring at the last picture of happiness. Alex, his deceased wife Lauren. Luna and Leon, and James in the middle. Their little band of misfits. He held it lightly between forefinger and thumb, sitting in that dark room. Waiting for Luna. Waiting on the truth.
“Oh sweet little bird. What do you think she’ll tell you?”
Leon, or rather the ghost, stood behind his left shoulder and leaning down, looking at the photo. Alex felt his jaw tighten, his eyes narrow. He flipped the photo over and leaned forward in the chair, staring at the door. Waiting for her. Waiting for Luna. Waiting for the truth. The cackle of laughter in his ear as Leon sat himself down in a chair opposite Alex. The stupid smile plastered to his face. The arrogance of the dead was baffling.
“I hope you’ve been taking care of my sweetheart, bird boy. Must hurt to be the consolation prize.”
His fists tightened, the picture creasing in the grip of his other hand. He turned his eyes from the door, looking across at Leon. A mirror image of the picture. More evidence for the literal that this didn’t make sense. A corruption of his own mind. A hallucination that wanted to hurt him. To make him doubt himself. Prodding at the man he no longer wanted to be.
“How about Lauren, little bird? Do you think she was honest with you? Seems like you have a habit of finding unfaithful liars.”
He launched himself slamming his foot into the chair. Leon evaporating before his eyes, the chair flying across the floor and smacking into the wall. His mind was unfair at the best of times. He hadn’t tortured himself over Lauren in over a year. It was maybe a case of who he was becoming. The Triad was bringing something out in Alex that she had begged and pleaded stay hidden. Stay safely locked away. Lauren had saved him from himself. There was once a time, brain swollen, a piece of his skull removed. Injuries that reflected that of a train derailment. Even as he lay in hospital risking permanent brain damage, he wanted nothing more than to get straight back into the ring and rip apart the man who had hurt him.
She had saved him from himself.
Yet the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The door handle turned and the door swung open. Luna looked into the dark room and walked inside, flicking the light switch on. She looked at Alex puzzled, eyes flickering from the chair to him.
“We need to talk.”
He stood there, his eyes fixated on something beyond Luna. The trickery of his mind, Leon’s Ghost, hands on her shoulders. The cheshire grin plastered upon the mocking hallucination.
“Why did Leon kill himself?”
Luna’s face sunk, and his heart with it.
The Raging Raven
The night sky was filled with stars. The moon was bright in the sky, not quite yet full. The Bermuda waters were somewhat tame tonight, as a small metal rowboat floated on the waters surface. Alexander Raven was at the oars, and not dressed in all white. In fact, beyond the black shorts he was wearing nothing else. Bare-chested, no shoes or socks. The arm that had been sliced open was wrapped heavily in a thick bandage.
He slowly rowed himself away from the shoreline, towards deeper waters.
“It’s funny to me. How quick people are to belittle and drag others down. Bullies. Everyone resorts to being a bully, because being respectful? That requires more self-esteem than they have. Acknowledgement of action leads to further growth, and only in growth can we get better. Mockery is the go to outcome. I have thick skin so it doesn’t hurt me, normally. Yet it cuts me deeper than anything the disrespect I have experienced so far in these trials. I had Vhodka beat. Lachlan used what little energy he had left to ruin that. I had Knox beat. The stoned fuckwit took advantage of my near death state to steal a win. Eyes in the back of the head, that’s what they tell me. I need eyes in the back of my head, and yet. Yet they continue to mock me.”
He spits over the side of the boat, his face contorted with anger. Scrunched up in frustration. His eyes seem fixated on the empty seat across from him. The slight shake of the head. Muttered words under his breath. ‘You don’t know anything.’
Talking to ghosts.
“I was once a truly angry man. Not just angry, but stupid. Blinded by rage, I was fueled by a desire for violence. Redemption, revenge. The Raging Raven was an apt moniker for the delinquent teen who stepped into the ring. Blind to the world, I wanted nothing more than to just hurt everyone who was put in front of me. Fast forward to over a decade later. I’m sad, heartbroken. The woman who took the chirping and screaming angry man, and helped him find peace. She passes, and I hide away. On the other side of the world, I fall into a new world of work and hide. Hide from the pain, the anger and the regret.”
Alex slowly retracts the oars, pulling them into the boat. He swings one of the oars violently forward, striking at the same empty spot again. The spot his eyes haven’t moved from. ‘Shut the fuck up.’
Talking to ghosts.
“I made a promise to that woman, that I would never be that man again. As I lay in a hospital bed, brain swelling. A chunk of my skull removed. Burns all over my body, and a uncomfortably low full recovery possibility. I promised her, that I would leave this anger where it belonged. Locked up and hidden away. Yet recent times have taught me something. Promises made in suffering, are never ones expected to be kept. Though she cannot tell me, she would have wrapped my arm and kissed my face. Calming the anger and soothing the rush. Nobody soothes the rush anymore. You see…”
He extends his arm out, holding the bandaged appendage in front of his face. He reaches into his pocket with his other hand and slowly removes a shard of glass. Duct tape wrapped around it to give it a makeshift handle. He holds it up to the light for a moment, before touching it to the bandage.
“Here I am, all these years later. Risking permanent injury again. The reality is, whilst the physical wounds may heal, full recovery may not happen. In my journey to silence the bullies, to dismantle the lies, and to free myself from the Invisible Hands, something has changed. We’re all different than we were, and we will all be different at the end. Won’t we, Lachlan?”
“You know better than anyone what happens Lachlan. You know what happens when I have a point to prove. You know what happens when I have a focus. You know what happens to those who have wronged me. You wronged me, runty wolf. You took my opportunity, and then failed to capitalise. Not only did you insult me, you fucked it up. The arrogance of you to keep getting up in Puerto Rico, yet not even being able to stop Vhodka who was mere inches in front of you. Pathetic, Lachlan. Absolutely fucking pathetic. The mongrel, runty little wolf with the bravado to think that their actions will go unpunished. Not a fucking chance, Lachlan.”
The bandage begins to split, sliding the glass along it. Pressing down tighter as the shard of glass slices through the bandages. They begin to unfurl in the light sea breeze, spreading open like a cocoon and flowing into the wind. The flesh beneath raw and painful. Stitches running along his forearm. Several inches long, the wound looking rather gnarly.
“It’s not hyperbole what I want to do to you Lachlan. Your back stopped you the first time? You keep getting up and walking? I promise you, I will fix that for you. No more pain and no more walking. I’ll maim you, like this maiming me. I’m going to take this shard of glass, slip it into the base of your spine and saw away until it severs everything that keeps you walking. No more trials for you, Lachlan. Unless you want to be fucking wheeled onto that ship. Broken, runt. You will be broken. But fret not. I haven’t forgotten about you, Helena. Like your daddy, I’ll break you too.”
He pulls the glass away, finally taking his eyes away from the empty seat. Staring at the wound. He drops the shard of glass into the boat and then shoves his thumb nail deeply into the cut. A few of the stitches splitting, blood beginning to flow. ‘I am real. See? I am real, Leon.’
Talking to ghosts.
“The victim of circumstance. The other with no points to their name. Yet, everyone is quiet on Helena. Everyone was wooed by the story of pain and heartache at play. The fiddle sings its song, and everyone was worried about poor little Helena. Broken my daddy and a victim of a greater story. Nobody even asked if I was okay. Not a whimper of care. Not a word of worry. My arm cut here to there, a vein sliced clean in twain. I risked bleeding out. Yet not a single word of worry. Favouritism, Helena. Favouritism. I don’t care for favouritism. All of us deserve to suffer, and all of us deserve to do so alone. You do not deserve the care you got.”
The blood flows some more as he pulls his thumb away. He stares into it, running his palm over the bleeding wound. Then dragging his blood covered hand across his chest. Smearing his own body with his own blood.
“Blood, does not worry me. Agony, does not worry me. Weapons, do not worry me. This Bermuda Shorts match, does not worry me. I know what to do, to break poor little Lachlan Kane. The runty wolf has passed out like a little bitch before, and I will make him pass out again. I had your father beat, and were it not for the tactics of LCP, I would have redeemed my one blemish against him. No Santa to save him this time. What does worry me however, is that you are beloved. Favouritism flashed your way, and no pretending will change that. Bullies leave you be, your father swoons on your whim and the world bends to you. The Invisible Hands seek to ruin me, and you. You are a prime candidate for their manipulations. Nobody will question you. Nobody will assume anything should you cost Alexander Raven another match. It’s just Alexander Raven, failing to live up to his words once more. Isn’t that right? I can see them. The dead, the invisible. Those who would see me fail.”
“So I must not let my mind be clouded. Whilst I intend to cut Lachlan from hip to hip. You, Helena. You must be martyred for the example of what happens now. Ear to ear, the throat bleeds easiest. These trials have awoken something in me Helena. And everyone will pay in blood, for that. That is the payment that The Raging Raven demands.”
No longer smearing his chest with blood, he blinks rapidly. Almost as if breaking from a trance. He holds his maimed arm, wincing in pain. He seems confused, and very lost. He looks around him and panics, almost tipping himself out of the rowboat. His eyes locked on the empty space in front of him again for a moment. ‘Why are you here?
Talking to ghosts.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
Just days prior to bloodbath in Puerto Rico, everything changed. Leon Trucose, was dead. He’d confirmed it. One of the two men responsible for him lacing the boots was gone. He’d taken his own life. Nothing fancy, nothing special. The ghost he was chasing for years was now the ghost that haunted his every waking moment.
Leon was dead.
There was once a time where they had all been friends. Somehow Alex stopped being bothered by Leon and Luna’s betrayal. That might have been stupid, but he’d forgiven them. Luna had cheated on him with Leon. Leon wasn’t particularly remorseful. Though, he never pretended to be anything other than he was. A deceitful, narcissistic and traumatised child. A perfect match for their circle of narcissistic traumatised persons.
So he sat there, staring at the last picture of happiness. Alex, his deceased wife Lauren. Luna and Leon, and James in the middle. Their little band of misfits. He held it lightly between forefinger and thumb, sitting in that dark room. Waiting for Luna. Waiting on the truth.
“Oh sweet little bird. What do you think she’ll tell you?”
Leon, or rather the ghost, stood behind his left shoulder and leaning down, looking at the photo. Alex felt his jaw tighten, his eyes narrow. He flipped the photo over and leaned forward in the chair, staring at the door. Waiting for her. Waiting for Luna. Waiting for the truth. The cackle of laughter in his ear as Leon sat himself down in a chair opposite Alex. The stupid smile plastered to his face. The arrogance of the dead was baffling.
“I hope you’ve been taking care of my sweetheart, bird boy. Must hurt to be the consolation prize.”
His fists tightened, the picture creasing in the grip of his other hand. He turned his eyes from the door, looking across at Leon. A mirror image of the picture. More evidence for the literal that this didn’t make sense. A corruption of his own mind. A hallucination that wanted to hurt him. To make him doubt himself. Prodding at the man he no longer wanted to be.
“How about Lauren, little bird? Do you think she was honest with you? Seems like you have a habit of finding unfaithful liars.”
He launched himself slamming his foot into the chair. Leon evaporating before his eyes, the chair flying across the floor and smacking into the wall. His mind was unfair at the best of times. He hadn’t tortured himself over Lauren in over a year. It was maybe a case of who he was becoming. The Triad was bringing something out in Alex that she had begged and pleaded stay hidden. Stay safely locked away. Lauren had saved him from himself. There was once a time, brain swollen, a piece of his skull removed. Injuries that reflected that of a train derailment. Even as he lay in hospital risking permanent brain damage, he wanted nothing more than to get straight back into the ring and rip apart the man who had hurt him.
She had saved him from himself.
Yet the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The door handle turned and the door swung open. Luna looked into the dark room and walked inside, flicking the light switch on. She looked at Alex puzzled, eyes flickering from the chair to him.
“We need to talk.”
He stood there, his eyes fixated on something beyond Luna. The trickery of his mind, Leon’s Ghost, hands on her shoulders. The cheshire grin plastered upon the mocking hallucination.
“Why did Leon kill himself?”
Luna’s face sunk, and his heart with it.
The Raging Raven
The night sky was filled with stars. The moon was bright in the sky, not quite yet full. The Bermuda waters were somewhat tame tonight, as a small metal rowboat floated on the waters surface. Alexander Raven was at the oars, and not dressed in all white. In fact, beyond the black shorts he was wearing nothing else. Bare-chested, no shoes or socks. The arm that had been sliced open was wrapped heavily in a thick bandage.
He slowly rowed himself away from the shoreline, towards deeper waters.
“It’s funny to me. How quick people are to belittle and drag others down. Bullies. Everyone resorts to being a bully, because being respectful? That requires more self-esteem than they have. Acknowledgement of action leads to further growth, and only in growth can we get better. Mockery is the go to outcome. I have thick skin so it doesn’t hurt me, normally. Yet it cuts me deeper than anything the disrespect I have experienced so far in these trials. I had Vhodka beat. Lachlan used what little energy he had left to ruin that. I had Knox beat. The stoned fuckwit took advantage of my near death state to steal a win. Eyes in the back of the head, that’s what they tell me. I need eyes in the back of my head, and yet. Yet they continue to mock me.”
He spits over the side of the boat, his face contorted with anger. Scrunched up in frustration. His eyes seem fixated on the empty seat across from him. The slight shake of the head. Muttered words under his breath. ‘You don’t know anything.’
Talking to ghosts.
“I was once a truly angry man. Not just angry, but stupid. Blinded by rage, I was fueled by a desire for violence. Redemption, revenge. The Raging Raven was an apt moniker for the delinquent teen who stepped into the ring. Blind to the world, I wanted nothing more than to just hurt everyone who was put in front of me. Fast forward to over a decade later. I’m sad, heartbroken. The woman who took the chirping and screaming angry man, and helped him find peace. She passes, and I hide away. On the other side of the world, I fall into a new world of work and hide. Hide from the pain, the anger and the regret.”
Alex slowly retracts the oars, pulling them into the boat. He swings one of the oars violently forward, striking at the same empty spot again. The spot his eyes haven’t moved from. ‘Shut the fuck up.’
Talking to ghosts.
“I made a promise to that woman, that I would never be that man again. As I lay in a hospital bed, brain swelling. A chunk of my skull removed. Burns all over my body, and a uncomfortably low full recovery possibility. I promised her, that I would leave this anger where it belonged. Locked up and hidden away. Yet recent times have taught me something. Promises made in suffering, are never ones expected to be kept. Though she cannot tell me, she would have wrapped my arm and kissed my face. Calming the anger and soothing the rush. Nobody soothes the rush anymore. You see…”
He extends his arm out, holding the bandaged appendage in front of his face. He reaches into his pocket with his other hand and slowly removes a shard of glass. Duct tape wrapped around it to give it a makeshift handle. He holds it up to the light for a moment, before touching it to the bandage.
“Here I am, all these years later. Risking permanent injury again. The reality is, whilst the physical wounds may heal, full recovery may not happen. In my journey to silence the bullies, to dismantle the lies, and to free myself from the Invisible Hands, something has changed. We’re all different than we were, and we will all be different at the end. Won’t we, Lachlan?”
“You know better than anyone what happens Lachlan. You know what happens when I have a point to prove. You know what happens when I have a focus. You know what happens to those who have wronged me. You wronged me, runty wolf. You took my opportunity, and then failed to capitalise. Not only did you insult me, you fucked it up. The arrogance of you to keep getting up in Puerto Rico, yet not even being able to stop Vhodka who was mere inches in front of you. Pathetic, Lachlan. Absolutely fucking pathetic. The mongrel, runty little wolf with the bravado to think that their actions will go unpunished. Not a fucking chance, Lachlan.”
The bandage begins to split, sliding the glass along it. Pressing down tighter as the shard of glass slices through the bandages. They begin to unfurl in the light sea breeze, spreading open like a cocoon and flowing into the wind. The flesh beneath raw and painful. Stitches running along his forearm. Several inches long, the wound looking rather gnarly.
“It’s not hyperbole what I want to do to you Lachlan. Your back stopped you the first time? You keep getting up and walking? I promise you, I will fix that for you. No more pain and no more walking. I’ll maim you, like this maiming me. I’m going to take this shard of glass, slip it into the base of your spine and saw away until it severs everything that keeps you walking. No more trials for you, Lachlan. Unless you want to be fucking wheeled onto that ship. Broken, runt. You will be broken. But fret not. I haven’t forgotten about you, Helena. Like your daddy, I’ll break you too.”
He pulls the glass away, finally taking his eyes away from the empty seat. Staring at the wound. He drops the shard of glass into the boat and then shoves his thumb nail deeply into the cut. A few of the stitches splitting, blood beginning to flow. ‘I am real. See? I am real, Leon.’
Talking to ghosts.
“The victim of circumstance. The other with no points to their name. Yet, everyone is quiet on Helena. Everyone was wooed by the story of pain and heartache at play. The fiddle sings its song, and everyone was worried about poor little Helena. Broken my daddy and a victim of a greater story. Nobody even asked if I was okay. Not a whimper of care. Not a word of worry. My arm cut here to there, a vein sliced clean in twain. I risked bleeding out. Yet not a single word of worry. Favouritism, Helena. Favouritism. I don’t care for favouritism. All of us deserve to suffer, and all of us deserve to do so alone. You do not deserve the care you got.”
The blood flows some more as he pulls his thumb away. He stares into it, running his palm over the bleeding wound. Then dragging his blood covered hand across his chest. Smearing his own body with his own blood.
“Blood, does not worry me. Agony, does not worry me. Weapons, do not worry me. This Bermuda Shorts match, does not worry me. I know what to do, to break poor little Lachlan Kane. The runty wolf has passed out like a little bitch before, and I will make him pass out again. I had your father beat, and were it not for the tactics of LCP, I would have redeemed my one blemish against him. No Santa to save him this time. What does worry me however, is that you are beloved. Favouritism flashed your way, and no pretending will change that. Bullies leave you be, your father swoons on your whim and the world bends to you. The Invisible Hands seek to ruin me, and you. You are a prime candidate for their manipulations. Nobody will question you. Nobody will assume anything should you cost Alexander Raven another match. It’s just Alexander Raven, failing to live up to his words once more. Isn’t that right? I can see them. The dead, the invisible. Those who would see me fail.”
“So I must not let my mind be clouded. Whilst I intend to cut Lachlan from hip to hip. You, Helena. You must be martyred for the example of what happens now. Ear to ear, the throat bleeds easiest. These trials have awoken something in me Helena. And everyone will pay in blood, for that. That is the payment that The Raging Raven demands.”
No longer smearing his chest with blood, he blinks rapidly. Almost as if breaking from a trance. He holds his maimed arm, wincing in pain. He seems confused, and very lost. He looks around him and panics, almost tipping himself out of the rowboat. His eyes locked on the empty space in front of him again for a moment. ‘Why are you here?
Talking to ghosts.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
