Post by Admin on Jul 30, 2017 22:06:37 GMT -5
"War," Lex's voice comes out raspy. The crackling of a campfire's audible in the silence of his pause, "war never changes – an iconic line from the opening of a video game franchise I've always been a huge fan of. Yeah, I know. Borrowin' the words of others again, but maybe you'll give me a pass if I get right into it. Last night I was in Virginia – won another hard-fought battle in an arena surrounded by screamin' fans. Tonight, I'm campin' in a national park – stars overhead an' grass under my ass. Doesn't matter where the skirmish takes me next, still gonna fight my hardest 'cause that's who I am."
He leans forward, the firelight flickering over his face, showing off a few new bruises thanks to his match with Shae Messana.
"War's such an ugly concept. Death and destruction. All these casualties on both sides, all this collateral damage. Pick up a history book. Go see Wonder Woman for a nice reminder of the brutality in our history – humanity's, I mean. I can't shake that image of Normandy's battle-ravaged beach and I'm stuck dwelling on more song lyrics. This time it's Bad Religion: all good soldiers crack like boulders. Catchy little rhyme but it's true. You ever seen someone come back from a harrowin' experience and just walk it off, brush it aside and get on with that so-called normal life? Nah. Never. Damage leaves marks, even if nobody sees it."
Lex chuckles.
"From one warrior to another: what do you think makes a good soldier? Killer instinct?"
He shrugs. Sighs.
"So what do you do when it's war but it's also you against them? When there isn't a person you can trust?" A beat, "easy. You rely on that instinct. Got you this far, right? An' I'm not bankin' on some win streak bullshit here 'cause if Shae'd actually beaten me, I'd still be sayin' this now. Still feel the same way: hear the creak, feel the breeze every time that sword passes overhead. Getting closer, ain't it? Yeah. It is."
His eyes close for a few seconds like he's searching for the right words.
"Been on the road all day. Had all this time to think and it's fucked up. I'm still finding my goddamned sea legs, still adjustin' to being back in the limelight instead of singing the broken bone blues in the dark. I can guess what you're gonna say about me – about this shit – don't faze me, Nick. I know who you are. I know what you represent and no matter who else they throw at me, I'm never gonna retreat. The killer instinct was drilled into my skull as a kid. I know how to survive. I know how to adapt. I know how to get back up an' I don't break. Ever.
Fuck it – I know how this comes off. I'm preachin' soldiers and war like I've completely lost my goddamn mind. It's a wrestling match. I know that. But in my mind, it's the same as trench warfare.
Stick an' survive. That's what needs to happen 'cause I'm not gonna walk back into that locker room afterwards, knowin' I let them fuck with me, knowin' I just pissed away my chance for a real comeback in a place that matters. Call yourself SICK. Call yourself whatever you want, man. Doesn't change the reality. You're no stranger to the violence – you're The Pixie's consort, after all."
Sparks shoot up from the fire, logs popping and snapping.
"I'm the spawn of anger an' fear, just another son of rage an' love." He lets out a disdainful snort, "nah, just fuckin' with ya. I don't see myself as some kinda suburban messiah. I'm just a guy who got smacked around 'til he learned how to fight back. Not good at talkin' like some are an' that's fine. You don't need me to explain what it feels like when I hit you in the face as hard's I can. The only thing I can say with any sort of sincerity's this: I finally found myself. I'm itchin', twitchin', drivin' myself insane. I feel RENEWED, Nick. I feel alive for the first time in months. Years, even. An' there isn't a goddamned thing you can add to the pile of stupid bullshit that's gonna rock me. This is war, man. Words're useless here."
He sniffs, shakes his head.
"Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be – provided I don't fuck things up all over again. See, I made it this far, possibility to reality – this poor scalded dog transformed to scrappy contender. Stallone writes screenplays around that theme but I ain't Rocky Balboa. So the pressure's on. Let's just say I'm not ready to entertain thoughts of the less than positive outcome right now. The winning streak's precious. It needs to be nurtured and coddled, right?
I've got a clear goal here but my dreams are full of death. Screams, explosions, napalm. This could be a launch pad for me. This could be the next step on the path to greatness as I try my hardest to string together a coherent sentence. My mind's fuckin' shot. Got more miles to go 'fore I can sleep in my own bed again. I got… I gotta light that match, burn the damned bridge so I stop turnin' around to look back, stop thinkin' I can go back there. Can't. Won't. Shouldn't."
He breaks off, clearing his throat.
"I need to see the sun comin' up for a new day. Need to leave the night behind an' rise above. It's not about you or me, Nick – war's not about the good soldiers who crack like boulders. Nope. It's about endless violence and mayhem. No matter the cost, it's about acceptin' truth. So here goes, confession time, Nick. You ready?"
A grim smile curves his lips, his gaze clear and direct for the first time.
"War never changes. Neither do I."
