Flies

Oh look, it’s you again. 

 

Brain Hollywood. 

 

Didn’t we do this recently? A few months ago? 

 

It feels like yesterday Brian. Congrats on your big win, I mean anytime you get one I imagine it’s a big one. Anytime you hear “The Winner of this match” without the fog of unconsciousness wearing off is a minor miracle. You should probably apply to be a fucking saint after pulling that one off. 

 

I’ve got all kinds of problems Brian, I have this jumped up Kentucky fuckface running his gums every chance he gets. Begging me to come smash him into fucking dust. At the same time I have Lee Best throwing random competitors at me in random matches. Looking for the guy that’s finally going to come out here and embarrass me. Just one after another, Xander, You, fuck, is my quarterly matchup against Zion coming up next? 

 

God. I fucking despise this shit. I fucking despise wasting my fucking time, wasting my fucking energy. Lee Best is going to book me against the pitiful fucking pissants of this roster until I get old and fucking die. That has to be the master strategy, just running me through a gauntlet of fucking boredom and apathy until I start to bleed out of every orifice from the sheer amount of not giving a flying fuck I have. 

 

I want the ones that are close to you Lee. I want the ones you love, I want the ones you cherish. I want your ride or dies, I want the fuckers that will never leave you. I don’t want a fucking Egg Bandit, I don’t want a fucking idiot from Kentucky, and I don’t fucking want Brian fucking Hollywood. Send Jace down, I’ll smash him like Aaron Judge smashes baseballs, send the big dumb idiot I slammed through the flaming table, send someone that fucking matters. 

 

I get it though, I burnt your favorite toy to a fucking crisp at War Games, and you wouldn’t fucking dare risk another one of them trotting down to the ring against Clay Byrd. You wouldn’t dare send them to the massacre that awaits them. Too valuable, too good of a puzzle piece. They bring you enjoyment, they bring you happiness, they bring you everything I fucking dont. And you won’t give one of them up to me. You won’t sacrifice one of them to Clay Byrd. 

 

Instead you’ll bring in every fucking idiot from around the world of wrestling. Might as well have a fucking casting call on the fucking twitters to see who my next opponent is. Run it like American Idol, they can all come and goof off, while begging to be the next person to go up against me.

 

Wouldn’t that be a fucking site? Watching people audition for their own deaths. They’ll come on, and you can sit their with your beady fucking eyes asking STRONK to tell you what each one does in his big STRONK voice. We’ll get you a nice high table so nobody has to see what you’re doing underneath it the entire time. Then Mike can ask them some fun questions, everyone can have a little laugh, and America will put on the big brain hat and pick one. 

 

It’ll be a full time gig, it’s like watching those faces of death videos from the early 2000’s. It’ll be the most morbid show on television, and once they get their big win. Once they pass their audition you can trot them out against me on the next episode of CHAOS and I can fucking bury them faster than we all buried Lester Moregrimes. 

 

This is tedious Lee, it takes the fun out of my job, it takes the fun out of wrestling. Week after fucking week, the same dipshits. At least with the game we’ll get a new band of dipshits for me to crush every week. 

 

Hell, give old Vladimir a call, we can conscript my next batch of opponents. We’ll call them all up, tell them they are coming to High Octane Wrestling for a few matches. That they don’t even have a choice, get some of the little minnows out into the center of the ring and I’ll blow them up like Godzilla walking out of the ocean into Tokyo. You can sit up in your luxury box with your feet up, Redrum telling you all about it, and you can just giggle and laugh with all your boys. 

 

But I’m not going to stop Lee. I’m not going to stop fucking killing all these morons you send. I’m going to eviscerate Brian Hollywood faster than James Bond drops panties. I’m going to rip him apart faster than you can tear a wet newspaper with a Bears score on it. You sorry sack of useless fucking garbage. I want one fucking thing, do you want me to fucking beg for it? I’ll beg you for it. We’ve gotten to that point Lee. 

 

PLEASE GIVE ME A BOARD MEMBER TO ACTUALLY FIGHT. 

 

Send one of them down from the skybox, send one of them down with all the EPU, send them down with every fucking person you employ. I DO NOT FUCKING CARE. All of those pricks have something coming to them, all of those pricks are going to find out what happens when you cross Clay fucking Byrd. All of those little fucks that beg and grovel for every fucking dime you hand them, just like I used too. Send one of them. I don’t care which one, you get to fucking pick Lee. 

 

Because what I do to Brian Hollywood this week, that’s all on you. You made this decision, you made the call to send this son of a bitch down to the ring. Equipped with all of his top secret files, equipped with all the gizmos and gadgetry of a CEO 007. This mother fucker better be Inspector Gadget in that ring, or he’s not going to get a chance to fucking walk out of it. I’m going to beat this son of a bitch to a pulp Lee, I’m going to smack him back and forth across that ring like he’s fucking garbage. 

 

Because that’s what Brian is. Two-time former World Champion? Get the fuck out of here, that son of a bitch is dead. That son of a bitch is gone. It doesn’t matter how many wins he manages to scrape together. To win the world heavyweight title Brian Hollywood would need to find the Fountain of Youth, and be allowed to bring a fucking gun to the ring. And even then, Brian Hollywood will still find a way to fuck it all up. 

 

——————————-

 

The Behemoth stood still, the anxious feeling wasn’t quite as bad anymore. Of course the butterflies were still there, but his new family had accepted him. They’d welcomed him into their home, they’d welcomed him into their lives. The feeling of acceptance had been weird at first, the sensation of unconditional love had been missing for so long he had forgotten what that felt like. 

 

But there was still the moment at the doorway. 

 

A fly buzzed The Behemoth’s ear, he swatted at it aimlessly. It flew from his ear down into the bouquet of yellow and pink flowers he had bought for his grandmother. It flew upwards as he twisted the flowers away from it. His eyes watched it, wanting to be sure it was gone. Wanting it to disappear into the rest of the world to annoy another passerby. He watched it dart back and forth, and finally it flew out of his sight. 

 

It was so small. 

 

His brow started to sweat, even in October the Houston heat was stifling. The humidity of the summer had started to fade, but still the dry heat of the sun stung his skin. Clay stepped forward walking towards the door. He didn’t have much time today, he just wanted to remind his grandmother that he was still her grandson. 

 

BZZT

 

The fly buzzed into his left ear this time, and Clay waived his arm at his ear, shooing it away. He snarled as he turned towards it, this fly was distracting him, it was taking him away from his mission. It was pulling him away from his goal, from what he had limited time to accomplish. He watched it dart back and forth, and finally it came close enough, and this time Clay was ready. His arm flashed in front of him, and his enormous hand closed around the insect. 

 

He could feel it bouncing off of his palms and fingers, trying to escape. He felt it dance across his skin trying to walk its way out of its new found predicament. The Behemoth smirked, as he closed his fingers around the fly. His hand slowly forming into a fist. The beating of the flys wings against his palm almost tickled him as they continued to close. Clay stared at his fist and watched it contract into the closed position. 

 

The buzzing stopped. 

 

He squeezed tighter just to be sure. He smirked, and stepped forward through the cold air curtain at the entrance to the nursing home. He paused and briefly used the hand sanitizer at the entrance, and began his journey to the front desk. 

 

——————————-

 

The Monster from Plainview stood in front of his grandmother’s room door, he knocked twice before entering the room. The elderly woman smiled as he rounded the corner and he smiled back at her. He took the flowers out of the vase from the week before, and walked over to the sink, rinsing it out and filling it with clean water. He placed the new flowers into the old vase and leaned in to give the frail woman a hug. She kissed him on his bearded cheek, and he smiled again. 

 

“Whatcha watchin’ Gram?” Clay asked. Calling her grandma or gram was new to him, he’d stuck with her name the first few meetings they’d had. But she had insisted on being called his grandmother or gram. He remembered exactly how she asked, ‘Clay, when you’ve had as many kids and grandkids as I have, being called by your name is just weird. It’s either Mom, Gram, or Grandma.’ 

 

And she was right, she had a mountain of grandkids and children. Four children of her own, each one had come to the nursing home on a different Saturday to meet their newest, and oldest Nephew. Bill, Roy, Suzanne, and Sandy. His entire life he’d never known what it was like to have a cousin. What it was like to have a real family. And it was down here in Houston the entire time. Of course there was his fathers brother, but since the school had closed his uncle hadn’t so much as given him a courtesy phone call. 

 

These people weren’t indebted to the memory of his father, they weren’t brainwashed by the cult of Byrd. Robert Byrd had hidden this from Clay his entire life, he’d kept it a secret even on his deathbed. His dying words weren’t ‘Clay you still have a family.’ It wasn’t ‘Clay go see your Grandma before she passes.’ It was ‘I love you and I’m sorry.’ 

 

The last part had a lot more context now. 

 

He’d walked in his fathers footsteps his entire life, he’d trudged forward, through the mud and muck of his fathers failures and insecurities. And here was the answer to his own issue and insecurities, sitting in a nursing room in Houston. 

 

“Well, I watched Golden Girls, and before that I watched that fancy TV show you’re on. I couldn’t believe it, there you were on the middle of my television. I was hollering and screaming at the nurses to come watch my Grandson, I was so excited I almost peed all over the floor Clay.” He smiled as best he could. The person Clay was in combat, the person he was in the wrestling ring. He didn’t know how she’d react to it. 

 

“But then I heard what you said…” Her words were like icicles. They pierced and the cold stung him. The warm feeling he’d been finding here week in and week out, it felt like it was in peril. It felt like it was slipping away. He’d stayed off television for weeks hoping she’d forget how to watch, or that one of her grandchildren would forget to put it on. Or maybe something would distract her. 

 

“Yeah… ‘bout that…” Clay murmured under his breath. He waited for the response from the old woman, and she just smirked. 

 

“Well, Bill and Roy thought it was a bit much. But Suzanne and I both thought you finally gave that man what was coming to him. Sure, it was a bit much, but you had to make a point,” she justified the action. She justified the assault that Clay had put on another man. He’d beaten him with a billy club. He’d punched a knocked out man in the side of the head multiple times. 

 

“Yeah, I mean. That feller just wouldn’t quit Gram. He just didn’t understand that every time he went out there, he was askin’ fer somethin’ like that ta happen ta him. It had ta happen, I can’t let someone come out and challenge me like that. I can’t let it go unanswered. If I turned the other cheek like Bill and Roy would have had me do, they’d have all lined up ta eat me alive, they’d have been like the fly at the front door today…” 

 

Clay stopped explaining as he felt her wrinkled old hand placed on top of his. She looked her grandson up and down, from head to toe, and then back up again. 

 

“I just need to know one thing Clay, is that okay?” Her voice had changed from her normal jovial tone to a quieter, calmer, more serious demeanor. Clay nodded his head affirmatively and looked into her big brown eyes. 

 

“Do you like it?” her words hung in the air. They floated there for a moment, before Clay sat back in his chair. The question hit him like a sledgehammer. He looked up at his grandmother, a bit taken aback. 

 

“What do ya mean?” 

 

“The whole thing, the violence, the anger?” Clay took a deep breath. He’d told this woman the truth every step of the way. For the last four weeks he’d told her nothing but the God’s honest truth. He looked into her eyes, she’d know if he was lying. He could feel it, just the way she held his hand softly, but with a firm grip to keep his attention. 

 

“Yes.” Clay said somberly. She nodded her head and leaned back on her bed. The icicles ripped through his chest again, the anxiety welled up. He could feel the bile in his stomach start to turn over on itself. It felt like it was curdling. 

 

“Then I need to understand it hun.” The shock dropped Clay’s jaw. He shook his head while blinking his eyes, he was stunned. 

 

“Tell me what it feels like.” Clay smirked. He fucking loved his grandmother.