[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jul-07-03 AT 11:10 PM (EST)]The fans filed from their seats like orderly, well-trained sheep. Their grimy hands filled with cameras, empty cups, and pointless, overpriced event programs, they trudged and huffed their way up the arena-steps happy and content - their stomachs full, their appetite for public displays of violence momentarily satiated. But he lingered for a moment in his seat, eyes set on the ring before him and the milling ring crew buzzing about it; worker bee’s fawning over their precious honey.
Max Blackshire sat low in his chair, knee’s nestled against the back of the seat in front of him, hands clasped before him. He wasn’t impressed with the show he had just taken in, unlike the majority of the others in attendance. The GXW performers he had seen seemed to be the second or third tier of their talent – at least that was what Max was hoping was the case. Otherwise his time spent in GXW would be little more than a brief distraction, and that wasn’t what Max needed at the moment.
On the contrary, Max Blackshire needed something to consume him.
Seeking out that which will eat you alive, from the inside, isn’t a task you set for yourself without knowing where it might take you. Max had inwardly hoped that GXW would be where he could find that ... fulfillment. That which could fill the undefinable void inside of him – the place where his hatred was supposed to be.
Looking around the quickly emptying arena, GXW banners hanging from the rafters, and empty ring dominating it all ... Max silently doubted if this was the place he could find that fuel, to drive him out of bed in the morning and pack his bags for him when it was time to roll into the next city, in the next state, for the next show.
Still ... what belonged to him was here. And that was purpose enough. For now.
He had hoped to catch a glimpse of his target at this event, but was not entirely shocked when his quarry was nowhere to be found. It was always about the hunt, when it came down to it. The chase for the kill. To succeed, a hunter must be patient, fierce, and unforgiving. Max held all three of those traits, plus another, even more unsettling characteristic: the ability to adapt.
Still seated, he slid the last cigarette out of his tattered pack of imported Silk Cut and tossed the wrapper aside. Lighting up, the wheels and gears in Max’s head were turning, cranking away. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time he had to get into the proper position. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was even going to get into the proper position. He was concerned, but not overly worried. He would find a way.
Nodding to himself, Max rose to his feet, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the recycled air of the arena.
Slowly making his way up the steps towards the arena exit, Max stopped at an open promotional program at his feet. The pages were bent back and dirty, but the figure profiled on the page could still be made out.
Max reached down and picked it up, eyes narrowed. It was his target. His prey. Max was close. So close, indeed.
Tearing that page from the promotional pamphlet and jamming it carelessly into his bluejeans pocket, Max discarded the rest of the program and continued up the steps.
So close, indeed.
http://www.paulbrisbin.com
-----------------------------
original music, opinion, nonsense.
Max Blackshire sat low in his chair, knee’s nestled against the back of the seat in front of him, hands clasped before him. He wasn’t impressed with the show he had just taken in, unlike the majority of the others in attendance. The GXW performers he had seen seemed to be the second or third tier of their talent – at least that was what Max was hoping was the case. Otherwise his time spent in GXW would be little more than a brief distraction, and that wasn’t what Max needed at the moment.
On the contrary, Max Blackshire needed something to consume him.
Seeking out that which will eat you alive, from the inside, isn’t a task you set for yourself without knowing where it might take you. Max had inwardly hoped that GXW would be where he could find that ... fulfillment. That which could fill the undefinable void inside of him – the place where his hatred was supposed to be.
Looking around the quickly emptying arena, GXW banners hanging from the rafters, and empty ring dominating it all ... Max silently doubted if this was the place he could find that fuel, to drive him out of bed in the morning and pack his bags for him when it was time to roll into the next city, in the next state, for the next show.
Still ... what belonged to him was here. And that was purpose enough. For now.
He had hoped to catch a glimpse of his target at this event, but was not entirely shocked when his quarry was nowhere to be found. It was always about the hunt, when it came down to it. The chase for the kill. To succeed, a hunter must be patient, fierce, and unforgiving. Max held all three of those traits, plus another, even more unsettling characteristic: the ability to adapt.
Still seated, he slid the last cigarette out of his tattered pack of imported Silk Cut and tossed the wrapper aside. Lighting up, the wheels and gears in Max’s head were turning, cranking away. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time he had to get into the proper position. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was even going to get into the proper position. He was concerned, but not overly worried. He would find a way.
Nodding to himself, Max rose to his feet, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the recycled air of the arena.
Slowly making his way up the steps towards the arena exit, Max stopped at an open promotional program at his feet. The pages were bent back and dirty, but the figure profiled on the page could still be made out.
Max reached down and picked it up, eyes narrowed. It was his target. His prey. Max was close. So close, indeed.
Tearing that page from the promotional pamphlet and jamming it carelessly into his bluejeans pocket, Max discarded the rest of the program and continued up the steps.
So close, indeed.
http://www.paulbrisbin.com
-----------------------------
original music, opinion, nonsense.