Post by Kevin Bishop on Dec 3, 2019 11:51:25 GMT -6
“Time is but a mental construct… it does not exist inherently. It is a function of attention. When we focus our attention on objects or events in a particular sequence, we construct a timeline. However, that timeline only reflects our process and order of perception. It does not necessarily coincide with reality… That’s the one thing that was crammed into my brain by old man McCain, my elder and ex cellmate. I use to keep count of the fights that I was thrown into and I’d keep count of the minutes and seconds it took to leave my opponents incapacitated… Mc would tell me it was a fool's errand to keep track, because under Cyrus Black’s watch, no man goes free within his walls… For no man goes free before their death…”
A grizzly bearded man full of too many tattooed muscles to know what to rightfully do with them all, sits on top of a custom made all royal blue V Rod Muscle Harley just on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico.
“I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, the old cooc was going on about it, but that night, the night I left the pit solidified his claims… I'm sure I'm getting a little ahead of myself though… You don’t know much about the man who sits on this beautiful piece of machinery here, do you?”
The biker cracks his neck and then he laces his fingers together to crack his knuckles, fully extending out forward until the initial crack shutters his body.
“McCain always told me I talked too much and that one day I was going to give all my secrets away…”
A rusty voice bellows from behind the biker, a voice that resembled a screwdriver being caught in a blender.
“Chamber, you still weaving your journeyman tale? You're one tall son of a bitch, but your tales are even bigger.”
The man known as Chamber turns to see a scraggly older white man walk into frame holding a half smoked cigarette in one hand and a beat up metal flask in the other.
“Mc, weren't you supposed to be resting?”
Mc huffs and takes a seat on an old beat up red Harley trike.
“Kid, I'll rest when I'm dead and gone and don't have to look after your brick shithouse ass…”
Chamber smirks, knowing this old man isn't going anywhere anytime soon and he's okay with that.
“Now can I finish telling my story?”
Mc takes a long drag from his cigarette, finishing it off and chasing it with his flask.
“It's all bullshit, but go on already…”
Chamber shakes his head and then continues with his so called “tall tale”.
“As I was saying, this old bastard's words stuck with me over the years and he found a way to keep me going even when that crooked warden thought he had me down and out… I fought my entire life and Cyrus Black used me to the fullest, to line his pockets. Powerful men frequented the prison every weekend and they always had their guy to put against me in the pit…
“That goddamn pit…”
Mc grumbles to himself and then takes another swig from his flask.
“I know, but that pit is what pushed me to survive within that confine. I wanted out and the only way out was to play Cyrus's game…”
Rewind five years and that same tattooed muscle man timidly walks down the corridor that leads to the infamous “pit”. At the end of the hallway, Chamber exits into a collective of inmates who are watching two giant men stare each other down as they stand on scales. A man with a politician smile and the body of an aged well bodybuilder stands in front of them laughing to himself.
“You big bastards are stacked for human destruction, are they not?!”
The inmates scream in unison, “Damn right, Cyrus!”
The man known as Cyrus smirks and he pats the two fighters on the back. “What do you boys say? You ready to tear the roof off this prison?”
The two fighters start jawing each other and snarling like a pair of rabid dogs.
A grizzly bearded man full of too many tattooed muscles to know what to rightfully do with them all, sits on top of a custom made all royal blue V Rod Muscle Harley just on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico.
“I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, the old cooc was going on about it, but that night, the night I left the pit solidified his claims… I'm sure I'm getting a little ahead of myself though… You don’t know much about the man who sits on this beautiful piece of machinery here, do you?”
The biker cracks his neck and then he laces his fingers together to crack his knuckles, fully extending out forward until the initial crack shutters his body.
“McCain always told me I talked too much and that one day I was going to give all my secrets away…”
A rusty voice bellows from behind the biker, a voice that resembled a screwdriver being caught in a blender.
“Chamber, you still weaving your journeyman tale? You're one tall son of a bitch, but your tales are even bigger.”
The man known as Chamber turns to see a scraggly older white man walk into frame holding a half smoked cigarette in one hand and a beat up metal flask in the other.
“Mc, weren't you supposed to be resting?”
Mc huffs and takes a seat on an old beat up red Harley trike.
“Kid, I'll rest when I'm dead and gone and don't have to look after your brick shithouse ass…”
Chamber smirks, knowing this old man isn't going anywhere anytime soon and he's okay with that.
“Now can I finish telling my story?”
Mc takes a long drag from his cigarette, finishing it off and chasing it with his flask.
“It's all bullshit, but go on already…”
Chamber shakes his head and then continues with his so called “tall tale”.
“As I was saying, this old bastard's words stuck with me over the years and he found a way to keep me going even when that crooked warden thought he had me down and out… I fought my entire life and Cyrus Black used me to the fullest, to line his pockets. Powerful men frequented the prison every weekend and they always had their guy to put against me in the pit…
“That goddamn pit…”
Mc grumbles to himself and then takes another swig from his flask.
“I know, but that pit is what pushed me to survive within that confine. I wanted out and the only way out was to play Cyrus's game…”
Rewind five years and that same tattooed muscle man timidly walks down the corridor that leads to the infamous “pit”. At the end of the hallway, Chamber exits into a collective of inmates who are watching two giant men stare each other down as they stand on scales. A man with a politician smile and the body of an aged well bodybuilder stands in front of them laughing to himself.
“You big bastards are stacked for human destruction, are they not?!”
The inmates scream in unison, “Damn right, Cyrus!”
The man known as Cyrus smirks and he pats the two fighters on the back. “What do you boys say? You ready to tear the roof off this prison?”
The two fighters start jawing each other and snarling like a pair of rabid dogs.
