Post by TNT on Mar 5, 2015 10:53:30 GMT -4
A thick film of depression filled the room, a few of the people chatted amongst each other. Tayler couldn’t help noticing the enticing aroma of 2 day old donuts and piss water coffee gracing the room. Depression, desperation and despair, each and every person in the room reeked off it, it seeped through their pours. This wasn’t a place he was used to being in, plastic chairs, sticky floors this was truly the place where hope came to die. The first man that made his way to the stage was wearing a cheap mismatched suit, the kind you would see on a 5 dollar an hour children’s magician. The man shuffled up to the podium and fidgeted with the microphone a sense of nervousness enveloping his every move.
“Welcome to Narcotics anonymous, my name is Philip and I will be hosting tonight’s meeting. I see a lot of familiar faces and a couple of not so familiar faces; let’s welcome our new member’s guys.”
The group burst into a round of solemn applauds; the concept was foreign to Tayler. Were these assholes actually congratulating him for his addiction or was this some sort of sad initiation, a kind of this is your life, the shit version. The Irishman looked round the room; many of the faces were sunken into their skulls leaving an almost skeletal look to the crowd. A few of them had heavy pock marks on their faces but in truth they didn’t look much different to the crowds in Concord that came to see him perform. The room was sparsely filled; maybe 30 people maximum and unfortunately most of them recognized each other. The nervous host signaled for the clapping to stop and once again repositioned the microphone as a bead of sweat escaped his forehead.
“Well would any of our new members like to introduce themselves? How about you sir?”
His stubby nicotine stained finger pointed right at TNT’s face, there was no escaping the attentions of the drug addled crowd. Tayler’s disdain was obvious, although most of it was aimed at himself for being so weak, for finding himself in a support group. He pushed himself up from the cheap plastic chair, his fingertips grazing some old hardened gum on the underside of the seat. This was his life now, he was an afterthought, he didn’t even deserve decent seating. Tayler made his way to the stage, his head hung lower than usual conveying how embarrassed he was to even be in the same state as these people. “These people” he was one of them now but his mind fought hard against the incriminating accusations currently coursing through his head.
Once he reached the stage he stepped up the small wooden steps, he was now at the point of no return. He had performed in front of this many people before, on multiple occasions but this was different. Now he was expected to bare his soul, to share his deepest darkest secrets, the inner demons that kept him awake at night. We all have them, the little evil thoughts that hide in the darkest corners of your mind, occasionally they flash into the forefront and you convince yourself it was something you saw on TV. Tayler had embraced and challenged many of his demons in the past; perhaps it was this mindset that confined him to this embarrassing situation. He was essentially trapped in a hell of his own making, stranded on an Island too weak to fight against the tidal waves of despair. Once he reached the wooden podium, not too dissimilar to that a priest would use to deliver his sermon on a Sunday morning, well less dressed up. Its imperfections were there for all to see. It was almost poetic that people stood behind this chipped, stained wooden podium and bared there souls to the world or rather the 29 other souls that bothered to attend that week. Each of them feigning interest at each other’s struggles while the truthfully they were all there to have their egos stroked. Tayler adjusted the microphone so that he could speak into it without having to stoop, the host couldn’t have been more than 5 foot, Tayler surmised he was chosen specifically as he would be seen as nonthreatening.
“Hello my name is Tayler and I am an addict.”
The announcement itself was greeted with active cheering, at first he was confused. This was the sort of clapping and adulation he would hear when he put someone through a table or when two men bloodied themselves falling from an 18 foot ladder. All he had done was say nine little words and the crowd was marking out. Every fiber of his being wanted that reaction to mean nothing to him, he was a star, a bad ass he couldn’t allow the cheering of a few drug addicts to mean anything to him and yet. Any hesitation he had about sharing his demons washed away as the clapping died down, he had been pulled in by the sense of community in the room, he had drank the kool aid.
“I’ve always had an addictive personality; I guess I always assumed it was something to do with being Irish. You know how we like to drink and fight at least that’s what the media will tell you. Now in my case, all of that was true, from the day I was 15 I had a mistress and she came in a bottle. Her dark silky essence was beautiful; every sip took me away to paradise instead of the hell I was living in. Of course while the cat’s away the mice will play. I often found myself waking up in an alley or police station being asked if I remembered what had happened and of course I never did. That was the beauty of my mistress; she took away all the pain and left me to revel in her beauty.”
Tayler paused for a moment, finding himself physically unable to speak. His mouth was dry; every last drop of saliva had stealthily escaped and left him with nothing. It felt as if there was a large apple growing at the back of his throat and despite the negative physical affects, he was enjoying sharing his sordid past. He did not need to see any of these people again; they were little more than single serving friends as the great Tyler Durden would put it. And yet the emotional support he was drawing from them would stick with him for a while.
“Anyway I managed to overcome various addictions, booze, violence, smoking the lot. That was until recently, I slipped and allowed myself to fall into the arms of a new substance. One hit and I was hooked, this mistress raised me up higher than I have ever been and then brought me crashing right down to earth. I have never been as great as I was when I was with her and I’m not sure I could reach that level again absence her presence. I am addicted to Chris Dolmeth.”
The crowd’s reaction was mostly positive, the majority of people clapping, obviously attempting to convey their support and understanding. A few people nodded their head almost as if they knew where he was coming from. Once the noise had died down once again, the host attempted to walk over and move Tayler off the stage. Rather than comply with his subtle demands, TNT felt the need to continue talking. Key moments of the contest from the week before running through his mind, moments, seconds when he could have turned the tide and snatched victory from the hungry jaws of defeat. The loss hit him harder than any other in his career, he had come so close to conquering Chris Dolmeth only to see himself slip into his vile clutches and lose.
“You see I am not a man who takes defeat lightly and I refuse to give up. I underestimated my opponent just as much as I overestimated my ability. You see if you fail to prepare then you should be prepared to fail. I think that’s how that bullshit goes anyway, I need to get another hit, I need another battle with the crank. I can’t let things stand as they are; the ice is just too nice, I need revenge. Every fiber of my being is screaming out for another chance to fight my demons, I need to challenge myself in order to better myself. The next time we dance, I am going to know all the steps.”
Tayler’s spun out rhetoric catches all the audience off guard, a few of the crowd clap slowly others sit in shock. Even the small chubby host has no idea how to follow TNT as he storms towards the door. Each step seems to carry more purpose than the last, the Belfast brute had no aim or reason to continue fighting before last week. He had easily disposed of the so called dark jester upon his return but now a new demon stood in his path. The Brash Brit had not only defeated him but crushed his sense of reality sending the ginger bastard into a tail spin. He woke at nights in a cold sweat, having relived the match up in his dreams and every waking moment was spent questioning his every move from the match up. If only he had done this or tried that, maybe he could have grasped victory. Nothing was going to satisfy his desires, his hunger; he just needed another hit...
EOT.
“Welcome to Narcotics anonymous, my name is Philip and I will be hosting tonight’s meeting. I see a lot of familiar faces and a couple of not so familiar faces; let’s welcome our new member’s guys.”
The group burst into a round of solemn applauds; the concept was foreign to Tayler. Were these assholes actually congratulating him for his addiction or was this some sort of sad initiation, a kind of this is your life, the shit version. The Irishman looked round the room; many of the faces were sunken into their skulls leaving an almost skeletal look to the crowd. A few of them had heavy pock marks on their faces but in truth they didn’t look much different to the crowds in Concord that came to see him perform. The room was sparsely filled; maybe 30 people maximum and unfortunately most of them recognized each other. The nervous host signaled for the clapping to stop and once again repositioned the microphone as a bead of sweat escaped his forehead.
“Well would any of our new members like to introduce themselves? How about you sir?”
His stubby nicotine stained finger pointed right at TNT’s face, there was no escaping the attentions of the drug addled crowd. Tayler’s disdain was obvious, although most of it was aimed at himself for being so weak, for finding himself in a support group. He pushed himself up from the cheap plastic chair, his fingertips grazing some old hardened gum on the underside of the seat. This was his life now, he was an afterthought, he didn’t even deserve decent seating. Tayler made his way to the stage, his head hung lower than usual conveying how embarrassed he was to even be in the same state as these people. “These people” he was one of them now but his mind fought hard against the incriminating accusations currently coursing through his head.
Once he reached the stage he stepped up the small wooden steps, he was now at the point of no return. He had performed in front of this many people before, on multiple occasions but this was different. Now he was expected to bare his soul, to share his deepest darkest secrets, the inner demons that kept him awake at night. We all have them, the little evil thoughts that hide in the darkest corners of your mind, occasionally they flash into the forefront and you convince yourself it was something you saw on TV. Tayler had embraced and challenged many of his demons in the past; perhaps it was this mindset that confined him to this embarrassing situation. He was essentially trapped in a hell of his own making, stranded on an Island too weak to fight against the tidal waves of despair. Once he reached the wooden podium, not too dissimilar to that a priest would use to deliver his sermon on a Sunday morning, well less dressed up. Its imperfections were there for all to see. It was almost poetic that people stood behind this chipped, stained wooden podium and bared there souls to the world or rather the 29 other souls that bothered to attend that week. Each of them feigning interest at each other’s struggles while the truthfully they were all there to have their egos stroked. Tayler adjusted the microphone so that he could speak into it without having to stoop, the host couldn’t have been more than 5 foot, Tayler surmised he was chosen specifically as he would be seen as nonthreatening.
“Hello my name is Tayler and I am an addict.”
The announcement itself was greeted with active cheering, at first he was confused. This was the sort of clapping and adulation he would hear when he put someone through a table or when two men bloodied themselves falling from an 18 foot ladder. All he had done was say nine little words and the crowd was marking out. Every fiber of his being wanted that reaction to mean nothing to him, he was a star, a bad ass he couldn’t allow the cheering of a few drug addicts to mean anything to him and yet. Any hesitation he had about sharing his demons washed away as the clapping died down, he had been pulled in by the sense of community in the room, he had drank the kool aid.
“I’ve always had an addictive personality; I guess I always assumed it was something to do with being Irish. You know how we like to drink and fight at least that’s what the media will tell you. Now in my case, all of that was true, from the day I was 15 I had a mistress and she came in a bottle. Her dark silky essence was beautiful; every sip took me away to paradise instead of the hell I was living in. Of course while the cat’s away the mice will play. I often found myself waking up in an alley or police station being asked if I remembered what had happened and of course I never did. That was the beauty of my mistress; she took away all the pain and left me to revel in her beauty.”
Tayler paused for a moment, finding himself physically unable to speak. His mouth was dry; every last drop of saliva had stealthily escaped and left him with nothing. It felt as if there was a large apple growing at the back of his throat and despite the negative physical affects, he was enjoying sharing his sordid past. He did not need to see any of these people again; they were little more than single serving friends as the great Tyler Durden would put it. And yet the emotional support he was drawing from them would stick with him for a while.
“Anyway I managed to overcome various addictions, booze, violence, smoking the lot. That was until recently, I slipped and allowed myself to fall into the arms of a new substance. One hit and I was hooked, this mistress raised me up higher than I have ever been and then brought me crashing right down to earth. I have never been as great as I was when I was with her and I’m not sure I could reach that level again absence her presence. I am addicted to Chris Dolmeth.”
The crowd’s reaction was mostly positive, the majority of people clapping, obviously attempting to convey their support and understanding. A few people nodded their head almost as if they knew where he was coming from. Once the noise had died down once again, the host attempted to walk over and move Tayler off the stage. Rather than comply with his subtle demands, TNT felt the need to continue talking. Key moments of the contest from the week before running through his mind, moments, seconds when he could have turned the tide and snatched victory from the hungry jaws of defeat. The loss hit him harder than any other in his career, he had come so close to conquering Chris Dolmeth only to see himself slip into his vile clutches and lose.
“You see I am not a man who takes defeat lightly and I refuse to give up. I underestimated my opponent just as much as I overestimated my ability. You see if you fail to prepare then you should be prepared to fail. I think that’s how that bullshit goes anyway, I need to get another hit, I need another battle with the crank. I can’t let things stand as they are; the ice is just too nice, I need revenge. Every fiber of my being is screaming out for another chance to fight my demons, I need to challenge myself in order to better myself. The next time we dance, I am going to know all the steps.”
Tayler’s spun out rhetoric catches all the audience off guard, a few of the crowd clap slowly others sit in shock. Even the small chubby host has no idea how to follow TNT as he storms towards the door. Each step seems to carry more purpose than the last, the Belfast brute had no aim or reason to continue fighting before last week. He had easily disposed of the so called dark jester upon his return but now a new demon stood in his path. The Brash Brit had not only defeated him but crushed his sense of reality sending the ginger bastard into a tail spin. He woke at nights in a cold sweat, having relived the match up in his dreams and every waking moment was spent questioning his every move from the match up. If only he had done this or tried that, maybe he could have grasped victory. Nothing was going to satisfy his desires, his hunger; he just needed another hit...
EOT.
