Post by Bishop on Oct 25, 2014 3:35:57 GMT -6
Bishop entered the hospital as quickly as he expected he would be forced to leave it. Approaching the front desk, Bishop's eyes are sullen as the receptionist smiles at him.
"How can I help you today?"
"I...I am here to visit someone. Michael Monroe."
"Alright, are you family or acquaintance?"
"Family. As unfortunate as it is.
"You never can pick your family, but cherish it. Accident like that could have taken him forever."
Bishop takes the paperwork offered to him, saying nothing in response to the receptionist. She knew not the stories he could tell, and society's views on family were tragically based upon the norms. Not taking the time to walk to a seat, Bishop fills the paperwork with as much information as he knew, given his brothers life. The crimes...the absences...his knowledge of his sibling was naught but a highlight reel. Handing the receptionist the clipboard, Bishop is directed to the hallway to the left of the desk.
Walking through the corridor, Bishop's skin crawls as the room number increase. Each number he passes ringing a bell in his mind; a warning system against who he was about to see. Opening the door to his brother's room, Bishop eyes greet Michael's as he looks towards the entryway. Saying nothing, Michael looks towards the television. A video of the last White Voice playing on the news, a prelude to a story about the dangers of professional wrestling. Bishop, expecting a worse reaction, enters the room and looks at the television as well.
Michael turns his attention from the television as the injury he inflicted upon Bishop's face comes into the light.
"Mind yourself, Gary, according to the media, wrestlers sometimes get injured."
Bishop grins, tilting his head in sarcasm and anger."I must count my blessings, that I am able to walk into your room. Such a freedom in movement."
"That's true. What would the world be like without writhing?"
Michael looks at Bishop, not giving him the chance to respond as he sits across the room.
"What would your God do without it? The sadness before the flood, the people watching in despair as Vesuvius erupted. Writhing...Is such a grand thing."
Bishop shakes his head, looking pitifully at Michael.
"Is this what you waited so long to say? What you suffered so much to accomplish? The same thing that every promotion against me said? My past with you made me expect...something more."
"Would it be spoken of so easily among the simpletons were it not true?"
"This is such a tired argument. Even the half of you that remains cannot let go the fact that we parted ways. As was needed."
"We changed titles, dearest brother, not positions. You do the same things you used to do, just for a different purpose. It is I that remained steadfast. It...is...I...That made us family, eternally."
"If there were any doubt that-"
"That what? I had lost you? You will never...ever forget me Garrett. So do not think that you have achieved any sort of affirmation." Michael shakes his head. "How did you become to naïve?"
Bishop stands up, walking over to Michael, and leaning into his face. Barely whispering as he says:
"Too often did you mistake humanity for me being naïve. Believe it or not, there is an entire planet that would denounce the fact you yet draw breathe. As meaningless as it may be."
"Ah yes, that planet full of people you fight for. Tell me, the next time The Lord kills all of them, is that a sign of your victory or failure?"
"That remains to be seen, I do not do what I do for a reward. I do it because I believe it necessary."
"If you wanted to rid the world of people like yourself, you should have just committed suicide. It would have taken less demeaning life style changes."
"I am not the one whose action will lead to self harm."
"Awe, are you concerned my life is leading me towards destruction? Is that why my legs are gone?"
Michael says with a sarcastic whine.
"How are your hands? Is that the only place that's trembling?"
Michael slowly cups his hands in each other, squinting towards Bishop as well as his appendages.
"Amazing what the flesh of a human can do to the mind. Each bite of flesh more poisonous than the next. First a tremble, then a meltdown."
Michael lunges at Bishop, but Bishop grabs his wrists, wrestling him to be still.
"You chose your earthly fate when first you indulged. Your are infected. Naught but another victim of Kuru. THAT is why I spoke so much of hell. You are on your way."
With that, Bishop turns and leaves the room, listening to Michaels screams of angry as nurses file past him to restrain him. Heading back to his car, Bishop feels a strange relief that his brothers was not long for this world, and he was not the one that drug him from it.
"How can I help you today?"
"I...I am here to visit someone. Michael Monroe."
"Alright, are you family or acquaintance?"
"Family. As unfortunate as it is.
"You never can pick your family, but cherish it. Accident like that could have taken him forever."
Bishop takes the paperwork offered to him, saying nothing in response to the receptionist. She knew not the stories he could tell, and society's views on family were tragically based upon the norms. Not taking the time to walk to a seat, Bishop fills the paperwork with as much information as he knew, given his brothers life. The crimes...the absences...his knowledge of his sibling was naught but a highlight reel. Handing the receptionist the clipboard, Bishop is directed to the hallway to the left of the desk.
Walking through the corridor, Bishop's skin crawls as the room number increase. Each number he passes ringing a bell in his mind; a warning system against who he was about to see. Opening the door to his brother's room, Bishop eyes greet Michael's as he looks towards the entryway. Saying nothing, Michael looks towards the television. A video of the last White Voice playing on the news, a prelude to a story about the dangers of professional wrestling. Bishop, expecting a worse reaction, enters the room and looks at the television as well.
Michael turns his attention from the television as the injury he inflicted upon Bishop's face comes into the light.
"Mind yourself, Gary, according to the media, wrestlers sometimes get injured."
Bishop grins, tilting his head in sarcasm and anger."I must count my blessings, that I am able to walk into your room. Such a freedom in movement."
"That's true. What would the world be like without writhing?"
Michael looks at Bishop, not giving him the chance to respond as he sits across the room.
"What would your God do without it? The sadness before the flood, the people watching in despair as Vesuvius erupted. Writhing...Is such a grand thing."
Bishop shakes his head, looking pitifully at Michael.
"Is this what you waited so long to say? What you suffered so much to accomplish? The same thing that every promotion against me said? My past with you made me expect...something more."
"Would it be spoken of so easily among the simpletons were it not true?"
"This is such a tired argument. Even the half of you that remains cannot let go the fact that we parted ways. As was needed."
"We changed titles, dearest brother, not positions. You do the same things you used to do, just for a different purpose. It is I that remained steadfast. It...is...I...That made us family, eternally."
"If there were any doubt that-"
"That what? I had lost you? You will never...ever forget me Garrett. So do not think that you have achieved any sort of affirmation." Michael shakes his head. "How did you become to naïve?"
Bishop stands up, walking over to Michael, and leaning into his face. Barely whispering as he says:
"Too often did you mistake humanity for me being naïve. Believe it or not, there is an entire planet that would denounce the fact you yet draw breathe. As meaningless as it may be."
"Ah yes, that planet full of people you fight for. Tell me, the next time The Lord kills all of them, is that a sign of your victory or failure?"
"That remains to be seen, I do not do what I do for a reward. I do it because I believe it necessary."
"If you wanted to rid the world of people like yourself, you should have just committed suicide. It would have taken less demeaning life style changes."
"I am not the one whose action will lead to self harm."
"Awe, are you concerned my life is leading me towards destruction? Is that why my legs are gone?"
Michael says with a sarcastic whine.
"How are your hands? Is that the only place that's trembling?"
Michael slowly cups his hands in each other, squinting towards Bishop as well as his appendages.
"Amazing what the flesh of a human can do to the mind. Each bite of flesh more poisonous than the next. First a tremble, then a meltdown."
Michael lunges at Bishop, but Bishop grabs his wrists, wrestling him to be still.
"You chose your earthly fate when first you indulged. Your are infected. Naught but another victim of Kuru. THAT is why I spoke so much of hell. You are on your way."
With that, Bishop turns and leaves the room, listening to Michaels screams of angry as nurses file past him to restrain him. Heading back to his car, Bishop feels a strange relief that his brothers was not long for this world, and he was not the one that drug him from it.