Post by Admin on Jan 26, 2023 2:19:09 GMT
OOC: 2499 Words, Four are Place/Location. Stating this is a dream sequence
The Ranch
Houson, TX
Veronica yawned as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She pulls the covers up under her arms as she lays down, and checks that her iPhone is plugged in on top of the nightstand. Unless it was the glass bottled Mexican made Coca-Cola, she liked her Coke going flat, so she pops open the can she brought to bed placing it back where the iPhone was too.
“I love you, Christian.”
Her eyes close, drifting to sleep. Just a shame, never a blessing of sunshine and lollipops for dreams.
Only nightmares.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some places in the world give a feeling of dread. Makes people’s skin crawl; the smell of the sickly sweet aroma of death and decay. Once, this was a place of worship. A symbol of peace, love, and acceptance. Now? It’s a place of depravity, but depending on who you ask, the church was always the former.
Nightfall is in full effect; the clouds in the sky drift slowly across it, controlling how much light from the full moon can shine through. A light fog drifts across the landscape, slowly revealing the old unkempt cemetery attached to the old church that had seen much better days. The steeple looked like it might crumble to the ground if the wind blew the wrong way, yet the old bell still hung at the top, and cracks from the bottom ran to the top from multiple spots.
Stained glass windows wrapped around the condemned building were intact. The ones of Judas betraying Christ somehow shined brighter along the Messiah's crucified body, immortalized in the windows reds, blues and greens. There is indistinct chatter from inside the building, and small light stands for shooting movies to light up the interior.
Time has eroded the pews, and dirt has destroyed the once immaculate marble floors. The central aisle, which once had the traditional red carpet, was now stained with what only God could know. They set up the lights all around the altar and positioned an older-style movie camera toward her.
The sprawled woman with strawberry blonde hair across the top of the altar, her head turned away, concealing her identity.
Depravity is more common than common sense in our fucked up world. War, genocide, homelessness, etcetera. Did you know they define the word snuff as to extinguish? For example, to snuff a candle is to extinguish the flame. The term has twisted into something perverted. People pay to capture someone dying on film. To watch life leave someone’s eyes, to draw their last breath, and to observe the person tense up before death. That’s how “Chester Roosevelt” would stay the SNUFF champion of Combat Unlimited Lethal Trials by snuffing out Veronica Strader.
The giant mute who looks like “Royston Poppelwell” stands behind the altar, looking at the death in front of him. The jester woman, who looks like "Luna Baby," runs her fingers through the deceased woman’s hair. A commanding voice an English/Irish accent grabs their attention.
“We have everything we need, all on film. The money we make from this brings me closer to being a true American. Let’s get rid of it.”
“Chester” watches “Royston” pick up the woman, slinging her like a rag doll over his shoulder. “Luna” skips behind him, heading through the old rectory toward the creepy and fog-filled cemetery. “Three Ring Barney” appears through the fog with a destination in mind. “Chester” gestured to a grave where two shovels were stabbed into the ground. The leader prepared a cheaply made wooden box as the woman's coffin. He turns to his accomplices to give instructions.
“Dig the grave, put it in the box and bury it. When you finish, come find me.”
“You gotter, otter!” “Luna Baby” chuckles, flashing an unnerving smile. “Royston” simply nods, moving toward the grave. They had a job to finish to keep their leader happy. Nothing would stop them.
Law enforcement always catches criminals because of the little things they overlook. It could be as simple as asking a question with a tiny detail only the killer would know. No matter how well someone plans, variables will always come into play.
“That’s deep enough.”
“Royston” looks at her; the sweat mixed with wet dew from the fog on his brow twinkles in the moonlight. "Luna" stabs her shovel into the ground.
“Six feet is an old wives' tale. She is goin’ nowhere!” "Luna" laughs while dragging the cheap box over into the hole the two had dug, pushing it in with her foot. “Hey, do you know why the nympho went to the cemetery?”
“Royston” blinks.
“Because she heard the place was full of stiffs! Haha!”
He stares, and she gives a joking frown.
“Smile! It was funny! Oh, fine, let’s get her into this thing and meet back up with Chester.”
Like a rag-doll, “Royston” tosses her in the coffin. Veronica Strader's lifeless face, eyes wide open and devoid of life, stares up at the cloudy night. Clouds float past the moon, illuminating her face before they cover the box. The sound of shovels hitting the pile of dirt fills the air as it moves back into the hole, covering the flimsy plywood box.
WAKE UP!
The little things, hmmm? Veronica’s eyes are greeted with the coldness of darkness. She fishes a BIC lighter out from her jeans so the flame could light the enclosure, helping her make out the surrounding details. Fear turns Veronica’s blood ice-cold with realization.
“They… they… they… BURIED ME ALIVE?!?!?!?”
Like everyone, the panic of being buried alive kicks in, but it was the claustrophobia that exacerbates her anxiety.
“Ow, fuck!” Veronica cursed, dropping the hot BIC. She presses up on the lid, and the dirt seeps through the flimsy plywood boards. Ronnie spits the dirt from her lips and awkwardly brings a hand over to wipe the debris away from her face. “How did this happen? HELP ME!!!”
Ronnie screams for a few minutes before the realization sets in that no one is coming. She wasn’t sure how long she had laid there before a familiar and warm voice weaved its way into her ears.
“Oh, Darlin’, I am the one buried in the ground; you weren’t supposed to follow me.”
“Chr-Chr-Christian? Where are you?”
Veronica turns her head to see the love of her life, Christian Cain, smiling at her.
“Right here, Luv. Quite the predicament you have found yourself in.” Christian ran his index and middle finger down her cheek to her jawline, the way he used to do.
“Last thing I remember was working on my truck, and the rest is a blur.”
Christian looks at her neck, tracing his fingertips across the bruising.
“The blur was strangulation, Ronnie. You remember nothing at all?”
Veronica shakes her head in response, trying to remember what had happened.
“I was taking the starter out of my truck, and the next thing I knew I was in this makeshift coffin, presumably buried alive as dirt is falling through the cracks onto my face.”
“You were the star of a snuff film. Strangled on camera till you took your last breath.”
“Yeah, well, definitely wasn’t my last breath unless this is purgatory and some big cosmic joke. I am talking to my dead boyfriend.”
Outcast brushes a strand of hair from her face.
“No, this isn’t purgatory or a cosmic joke. They let me come down here to help get you out of this situation.”
“And how are you supposed to do that?” Veronica looked at him, up at the lid of her coffin.
“By reminding you of who you are. You fought to get outside of your prison, were rewarded your own life through that stupid portal, and have overcome many hardships that would mentally cripple the average person. You aren’t an average woman. How many average people could survive what you have survived?”
Veronica’s nose crinkled in the uncomfortable nature of the question.
“You know I don’t enjoy comparing someone’s pain to another’s. Too many variables and not everyone's the same.”
“Stubborn forever, forever stubborn, aren’t ya? The Ronnie I know has had part of a house dropped on her, damn near electrocuted, beaten to hell and back, creeped into a jungle to bring down one of the most feared and nearly unbeatable beasts in the Supreme Machine… don’t tell me being strangled to unconsciousness and buried alive is going to stop you now?” Outcast knew it would ignite the fire under her ass she needed. The family sneer crept across her face as a deep down visceral scream came hurtling out of her.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Veronica had heard enough as she pushed up on the lid of her coffin. Outcast’s image slowly faded as the dirt came down onto her face. Ripping part of the boards away, she shoved her hands upwards and the cool night air kissed her skin.
“I am coming for you, Chester!”
If anyone had been watching, the unsettling scene would remind them of any classic zombie movie. Veronica crawled her way out of the grave that was dug for her, the cold air giving her goosebumps. Dirt throughout her strawberry-blonde hair, smeared across the tear and sweat stained skin. There was an animalistic glow in her as she finished pulling herself out. She sees her lighter in the hole and quickly scoops it out. Pulling a somewhat crushed pack of Marlboro Reds from the back pocket of her jeans, she lights a death stick, taking a deep drag to soothe her nerves.
“That son of a bitch thinks he can get past me by strangling me and burying me alive? Chester… you should’ve made sure I was all the way dead. A Strader scorned is bad for everyone.”
Veronica composes herself while scanning her surroundings and she recognizes her ‘85 Dodge D-100 and a thought comes to mind.
“Did they find the lockbox? Let’s find out.”
Veronica sneaks across the cemetery, getting closer to the church and her truck. Upon reaching it, she gets on her back to slide underneath the backend where the spare tire is put on most trucks. A mixture of a smile mixed with the familial sneer forms.
“The little things.”
Veronica punches in the code for the lockbox, unlocking it. She admires the shiny Desert Eagle with a silencer attached. A Christmas present from her biker uncle. While she hated guns, she was glad she had one right now.
“Time to make my own snuff film.”
It didn’t take long for our heroine to find her kidnappers, following their voices while talking amongst themselves. Like the “Ghost Spider”, she scales up the wall, using old lattice work which at one time had flowers intertwined all the way up that are long dead. With the help of her sleeve, she cleans a spot to peer through a dirty pane of glass. She notices the rectory door is wide open and hops down, landing on one knee and two fists.
“You two buried the bitch?”
“Does a bear use a rabbit to wipe its ass in the woods?”
The mute “Royston” smirks at the response and turns to the “Three Ring Barney” leader, “Chester”.
“I remain the Snuff Champion. Nothing will stop us from achieving our go - - -”
THWIP! THWIP!
Light shines through the holes in both the heads of “Luna” and “Royston” while “Chester” is wide eyed. They both fall to their knees and fall forward, face first, on the ground. “Chester” looks up from his companions' corpses to see the woman he thought was dead and buried pointing the gun at him along with the movie camera in Veronica’s free hand. “Chester” goes to do something but stops. Whether it was to run away or bum rush her, no one will know as she fired a shot at his feet.
“Don’t even fuckin’ think about it, Chesty LaRoux.”
“What are you? A fucking cockroach?”
“Haha, while I am half Knox and half Strader, so you aren’t far off. That should’ve told you that you making sure I was all the way dead was the way to go. Anyone from the UK who thinks they are American isn’t the sharpest knife in the wood block, it seems.”
“No one will stop me from taking what I am owed, not even a useless peon like you!”
“Chester” makes a split-second decision and rushes Veronica, catching her off guard. The camera goes up in the air, landing on the body of “Luna Baby”, catching “Chester” pushing Veronica’s gun under her chin.
“HOPEFULLY THE CAMERA CATCHES IT THIS TIME!”
“(Strained voice) God… forgives… I… DON’T!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Veronica’s knee flies up into Chester’s groin, giving her the second needed to push the silencer directly under his chin when she….
THWHIP-THWHIP!
…. fires in quick succession as the camera catches brain matter and blood shooting out the top of “Chester Roosevelt’s” now lifeless head. Veronica throws her arms up in a X to shield her from the corpse. As it impacts her arms, it’s time for her to….
“WAKE UP!!!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Veronica sits straight up, eyes widened, ragged breaths, and covered in sweat with her old Outcast shirt she sleeps in. Her hand clumsily finds her iPhone on the nightstand to see the time.
4:02AM
“What was that?”
Good thing for the insulated wallet/phone case, or the iPhone would hurt, since Veronica slammed it back down on the stand. She takes a drink of the Coca-Cola before collapsing back down on her pillow. The glasz coloured eyes stare to the heavens through the wooden ceiling.
“Well, I guess the dream makes sense, considering all the death from the last few months. It was nice to see Christian again.”
Her hand finds the cross around her neck on the gold chain. Christian didn’t want to be cremated, so she had his ring gear turned to ash, trying so hard to keep a piece of him close to her heart.
“I’m going to do everything I can to win this match for you, Christian. It’s funny how a title belt called the CU:LT SNUFF Championship finds its way to my feet. Losing you, and knowing mom probably won’t even make it till March plus my close calls… it feels appropriate somehow. This guy is definitely gonna be one of the tougher opponents I will meet in the ring and isn’t where he is by fluke. That trio is good.”
“You are just as good, darlin’.”
Veronica shakes it off, waving it off as the mind “playing” tricks on her.
“Tasers, Ladders and Chains… oh my. I really do hope he did his research on me to know that God forgives and I don’t. But I guess it really doesn’t matter because title or no title, I will be the toughest he’s had to face.”
She turns onto her left side; her arms up under the pill to prop her head. Veronica closes her eyes, wondering if there will be more nightmares for her to come.
