Date: January 22nd, 2020
Time: 1:38 am
“I can taste it. The failures…” The voice shakes before continuing, “The trainwreck.”
A cardboard box lies on a workbench, barely lit by a dangling and dying light.
“I came here and never got my foot off the ground. A disappointment here. Over there, well… All I found there was a meaningless gamble.”
The crooked man turns and leans over the box. He taps the corners and digs his fingernails through pieces of tape.
“Take some time away and bang. You really discover how unnecessary you are” slight chuckles slip through as Crash continues, “I have seen how disheartening it can be. I get why people leave.”
He stands solid. Unmoving. Like a god above watching his creation. Eyeing the box as he taps his lips with his fingers. His voice barely manages to squeeze out and slide through his fingers, “This. This is the key. This is the cage to house the damned.”
Crash starts prodding his fingers along the package. Slowly he begins to unravel the box and with a thud the contents falls to the workbench. Crash hunches over the item, his shadow obscuring it. His eyes blink rapidly as he slides his tongue over his lips.
“I thought maybe I wasn’t right for this audience. I believed that I wasn’t at a high enough level. Then I realized something. It all spiraled down the fucking toilet the minute I lost you. The minute I left you in the dust. Oh, my lovely.” Crash begins coughing, yet pushes through each cough continuing to speak. Weezing.
“Oh, the places we’ve been. The nights we shared.”
The Crooked man runs his finger down the mystery from within. It’s a mask. The mask he wore while wrestling for his father’s promotion. Before ever coming to HOW. Crash’s mind starts racing, back to him casting away his mask and heading States-side to try and continue his rampage.
“I get it now. You protected me. You protected us. Locking us together, bringing the halves into a whole” He mumbles in a gravelly voice, barely loud enough to make out.
As he runs his finger over the brown mask, we notice the years of wear and tear on it. Barely held together with patch jobs and even some duct tape The bottom left of the jaw has singe marks, showing previous contact with fire.
“I’m coming back. I’m getting back in that ring. Better than these people have ever seen me. This little tourney Mr. Best has put together. Well, I’ll admit, it peaked my interest. I miss the rush. The pain. The fun of it all. I just always felt something was missing.”
Crash lifts his mask up, staring into its hollow eyes as it stares back.
“I’ve been missing you.”
The Crooked Man slides the mask over his head, some clumps of hair leak through holes in the mask. The mask sits bloodstained, dirty, and ragged. The brown materials only seems to strengthen how destroyed it seems, yet it fulfills its purpose.
“I’m back, but not like you’ve ever seen. Be prepared, because I’m bringing the fucking Crash Report.” he speaks, his voice somewhat relaxed. At ease. Almost… Normal. His words echo as the dim light dies out.