Deacon
Member
This was my "show segment" that was part of Rd. 4... but not... but was... so here it is if you wanna know what happened just prior to Deacon's match. Enjoy!
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Chris Shepherd stared in the mirror. He didn’t like what looked back at him. His white-speckled blonde hair was slicked into a ponytail, like always. His slacks were pressed and creased. His deep purple polo, monogrammed with FitE around a cross, the logo that had become synonomous with Deacon’s catchphrase, was fresh from the shop, pristine. But he wasn’t, hadn’t been for the past 12 hours.
And his face couldn’t lie.
“It’s going great,” Gene had said. After months of advice, prayer and support, Chris had seen Gene grow as a person, a father trying to be what his little boy needed. And Jason, that boy, had responded. They’d went to church. They’d grabbed ahold of this Jesus.
And Jason had…
What had he done, really? He’d …
Chris couldn’t bring himself to even think it, to even picture what Gene must’ve found when he opened that closet door. Chris’ leg shook, his heel bouncing against the ground as his right knee shook. He steeled himself and turned from the mirror.
“You ok?” the thick Egyptian accent cut the silence like a razorblade. Chris hadn’t noticed the 7 footer enter the bathroom; he had chosen to get dressed in a bathroom stall, avoiding the locker room - he hadn’t wanted to see the boys. Some of them might’ve heard what happened to Gene and would want his thoughts. Chris didn’t have any, and the ones he had scared him.
“You want the truth or a lie?”
Deacon looked at Chris in that way that only he could, probably helped by being a couple heads taller.
“I’ll be fine,” Chris said.
Deacon nodded but his eyes told Chris – the Mute Freak didn’t believe him. Chris needed to reassure the Deacon, what with all that he had riding on tonight’s match. But what could he tell Deacon?
“I just…” Chris tried but lost the thought, if there had ever been one.
“You not have to say anyt’ing,” Deacon said.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Chris said, “I barely knew Jason.”
“What you t’inking?”
What was he thinking? It was as if the thoughts he’d carried had evaporated in one single moment, leaving him unsure of what to think. Or worse yet, afraid of the thoughts that came.
“It hard,” Deacon said, “he just boy.”
“He was!” Chris shouted much louder than he intended. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You old enough to know,” Deacon said. “Life not alway make sense. And t’is, it never do.”
But it doesn’t make sense, not just because Jason took his own life, but because… Chris’d prayed for him. Chris had seen him grow. Chris had heard the stories of his growth. Chris knew things were better. Chris had thanked God for the victories.
And God had lied.
I will go before you in battle. That’s what God had said would lead to the victory. But what kind of victory was this?
Chris turned away, closing his eyes and his thoughts.
“You need have it out wit’ God,” Deacon said.
Oh brother, God doesn’t want that.
Chris bit his lip, holding back the words he knew would hurt Deacon’s focus for the match.
“There you are,” some stagehand, grip, or whatever said from the bathroom entrance. “You’re due for your pre-match promo.”
Chris glared at him and he wilted back. Chris hadn’t intend it but he didn’t care. Wrong place. Wrong time.
Wrong way, the thought hit him and he turned away, biting his lip all the harder.
“Let’s do this,” Chris said, storming out of the bathroom and into the hallway. There was the Ultratitle banner, the camera. Gene’s station but no Gene. Some pimple-faced kid was trying to sort through the various controls like a greenhorn.
And Chris stopped. What was he going to say? Tell people of how faith would conquer all evils? Of how the world can be overcome through the power of the blood of Jesus? Repeat everything he’d said over the many years? Or tell them he’d lied?
I hadn’t lied. I hadn’t! I…
“Can’t do this,” the words slipped out of his heart, and tumbled from his mouth.
“What?” Deacon asked.
“I can’t do this,” Chris repeated, the words stronger this time.
The Deacon looked down at Chris as he’d done thousands of times as they discussed everything from where to eat to how to live. And then Deacon pulled the hood over his face and took… his… position.
(Cut to Deacon in front of the UT logo. Like a stone gargoyle, he doesn’t move, giving the fans a chance to process what they were seeing and to realize what it meant. Tonight, for the first time in years, the Deacon would speak.)
DEACON: Waubash, you ask if I ready? If I willing to bleed? If I willing to DIE for my belief? Waubash, I pray your Cannibal know more about who he face t’an your question suggest you do, because if t’e Cannibal not, no training from some shark will change t’is fact - Freddie Sagawa about to have very short night.
(Cut)
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Chris Shepherd stared in the mirror. He didn’t like what looked back at him. His white-speckled blonde hair was slicked into a ponytail, like always. His slacks were pressed and creased. His deep purple polo, monogrammed with FitE around a cross, the logo that had become synonomous with Deacon’s catchphrase, was fresh from the shop, pristine. But he wasn’t, hadn’t been for the past 12 hours.
And his face couldn’t lie.
“It’s going great,” Gene had said. After months of advice, prayer and support, Chris had seen Gene grow as a person, a father trying to be what his little boy needed. And Jason, that boy, had responded. They’d went to church. They’d grabbed ahold of this Jesus.
And Jason had…
What had he done, really? He’d …
Chris couldn’t bring himself to even think it, to even picture what Gene must’ve found when he opened that closet door. Chris’ leg shook, his heel bouncing against the ground as his right knee shook. He steeled himself and turned from the mirror.
“You ok?” the thick Egyptian accent cut the silence like a razorblade. Chris hadn’t noticed the 7 footer enter the bathroom; he had chosen to get dressed in a bathroom stall, avoiding the locker room - he hadn’t wanted to see the boys. Some of them might’ve heard what happened to Gene and would want his thoughts. Chris didn’t have any, and the ones he had scared him.
“You want the truth or a lie?”
Deacon looked at Chris in that way that only he could, probably helped by being a couple heads taller.
“I’ll be fine,” Chris said.
Deacon nodded but his eyes told Chris – the Mute Freak didn’t believe him. Chris needed to reassure the Deacon, what with all that he had riding on tonight’s match. But what could he tell Deacon?
“I just…” Chris tried but lost the thought, if there had ever been one.
“You not have to say anyt’ing,” Deacon said.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Chris said, “I barely knew Jason.”
“What you t’inking?”
What was he thinking? It was as if the thoughts he’d carried had evaporated in one single moment, leaving him unsure of what to think. Or worse yet, afraid of the thoughts that came.
“It hard,” Deacon said, “he just boy.”
“He was!” Chris shouted much louder than he intended. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You old enough to know,” Deacon said. “Life not alway make sense. And t’is, it never do.”
But it doesn’t make sense, not just because Jason took his own life, but because… Chris’d prayed for him. Chris had seen him grow. Chris had heard the stories of his growth. Chris knew things were better. Chris had thanked God for the victories.
And God had lied.
I will go before you in battle. That’s what God had said would lead to the victory. But what kind of victory was this?
Chris turned away, closing his eyes and his thoughts.
“You need have it out wit’ God,” Deacon said.
Oh brother, God doesn’t want that.
Chris bit his lip, holding back the words he knew would hurt Deacon’s focus for the match.
“There you are,” some stagehand, grip, or whatever said from the bathroom entrance. “You’re due for your pre-match promo.”
Chris glared at him and he wilted back. Chris hadn’t intend it but he didn’t care. Wrong place. Wrong time.
Wrong way, the thought hit him and he turned away, biting his lip all the harder.
“Let’s do this,” Chris said, storming out of the bathroom and into the hallway. There was the Ultratitle banner, the camera. Gene’s station but no Gene. Some pimple-faced kid was trying to sort through the various controls like a greenhorn.
And Chris stopped. What was he going to say? Tell people of how faith would conquer all evils? Of how the world can be overcome through the power of the blood of Jesus? Repeat everything he’d said over the many years? Or tell them he’d lied?
I hadn’t lied. I hadn’t! I…
“Can’t do this,” the words slipped out of his heart, and tumbled from his mouth.
“What?” Deacon asked.
“I can’t do this,” Chris repeated, the words stronger this time.
The Deacon looked down at Chris as he’d done thousands of times as they discussed everything from where to eat to how to live. And then Deacon pulled the hood over his face and took… his… position.
(Cut to Deacon in front of the UT logo. Like a stone gargoyle, he doesn’t move, giving the fans a chance to process what they were seeing and to realize what it meant. Tonight, for the first time in years, the Deacon would speak.)
DEACON: Waubash, you ask if I ready? If I willing to bleed? If I willing to DIE for my belief? Waubash, I pray your Cannibal know more about who he face t’an your question suggest you do, because if t’e Cannibal not, no training from some shark will change t’is fact - Freddie Sagawa about to have very short night.
(Cut)