Post by Deleted on May 15, 2020 16:52:59 GMT -5
The EWF camera crew shows up to an abandoned apartment complex in the dead of night. They enter a dark room and see a thin man in a black zip-up hoodie and skinny jeans sitting on the floor with his back against the wall looking out of an open window, the moonlight illuminating his scarred face.
“I’ve figured you guys would eventually find me. Pretty easy to find a street rat if you know where to look.”
The man lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag, and lets out a long sigh.
“Haven’t had a drink or shot up in days. Not even a small bump to take the edge off. This is the closest I can get to numbing the pain right now. The EWF likes to present itself as this class act promotion, always looking out for the well-being of its fighters. Heh, they simply told me to quit getting high or I wouldn’t be given this opportunity. The opportunity for them to exploit a broken man in front of a live audience. Everybody loves a tragic story, right? Guess that’s a sacrifice I need to make right now though. Beats the alternative of fighting for scraps on the streets of Center City.”
The man takes another deep drag and blows the smoke out the window.
“I’m sure by now you’re wondering who the hell I am. Why, I’m Erik Crowley! Frontman of the beloved Philly emo outfit Accidental Omelette! Pfft, what a joke. We were nothing more than your run-of-the-mill Cap’n Jazz and At the Drive-In knockoffs just like every other band in that scene with a quirky name slapped on the marquee. But the degenerates of the city ate it up, and for a while there so did I. But who was I kidding? I couldn’t play an instrument and I barely had any vocal talent. I was just some shitty wannabe poet who happened to be friends with a band back in high school. I was just the guy who yelled and belted out nonsensical lyrics into a microphone, yet we somehow managed to become a Bandcamp sensation overnight. I never saw myself being in a band but it didn’t stop me from living that larger than life rockstar lifestyle, even if we were only playing small venues like the Trocadero and Kung Fu Necktie. And like most men who went all in with that self-destructive lifestyle, it all came crashing down...”
Crowley stares down at the floor for a moment before lifting his head back up with a small smirk on his face.
“I’ve always wanted to be a famous poet though. Katie thought I was good. She pushed me hard to go to college for it. Hell, maybe if I’ve gone then things would have been different for me. Maybe things would have been different for us...“
The smirk on Crowley’s face quickly turns into a look of deep guilt, as his eyes begin to tear up.
“But you know what they say, hindsight is 20/20. The past few years of scrapping and living on the streets has made me nothing more than a hard shell of the man I used to be. Fighting is all I know these days. It’s the only way I can survive, but sometimes surviving just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. I’m now a man who has nothing to lose, a man who is willing to die in that ring. So EWF, you wanna exploit a man who has gone to hell and back and has been given a shot at redemption for that feel good story you’re looking for like we’re taping an episode of The Voice? You go right ahead, because you’ve just unleashed a dangerous monster on 7 unfortunate individuals.”
Crowley flicks his cigarette out the window as the camera fades to black.
“I’ve figured you guys would eventually find me. Pretty easy to find a street rat if you know where to look.”
The man lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag, and lets out a long sigh.
“Haven’t had a drink or shot up in days. Not even a small bump to take the edge off. This is the closest I can get to numbing the pain right now. The EWF likes to present itself as this class act promotion, always looking out for the well-being of its fighters. Heh, they simply told me to quit getting high or I wouldn’t be given this opportunity. The opportunity for them to exploit a broken man in front of a live audience. Everybody loves a tragic story, right? Guess that’s a sacrifice I need to make right now though. Beats the alternative of fighting for scraps on the streets of Center City.”
The man takes another deep drag and blows the smoke out the window.
“I’m sure by now you’re wondering who the hell I am. Why, I’m Erik Crowley! Frontman of the beloved Philly emo outfit Accidental Omelette! Pfft, what a joke. We were nothing more than your run-of-the-mill Cap’n Jazz and At the Drive-In knockoffs just like every other band in that scene with a quirky name slapped on the marquee. But the degenerates of the city ate it up, and for a while there so did I. But who was I kidding? I couldn’t play an instrument and I barely had any vocal talent. I was just some shitty wannabe poet who happened to be friends with a band back in high school. I was just the guy who yelled and belted out nonsensical lyrics into a microphone, yet we somehow managed to become a Bandcamp sensation overnight. I never saw myself being in a band but it didn’t stop me from living that larger than life rockstar lifestyle, even if we were only playing small venues like the Trocadero and Kung Fu Necktie. And like most men who went all in with that self-destructive lifestyle, it all came crashing down...”
Crowley stares down at the floor for a moment before lifting his head back up with a small smirk on his face.
“I’ve always wanted to be a famous poet though. Katie thought I was good. She pushed me hard to go to college for it. Hell, maybe if I’ve gone then things would have been different for me. Maybe things would have been different for us...“
The smirk on Crowley’s face quickly turns into a look of deep guilt, as his eyes begin to tear up.
“But you know what they say, hindsight is 20/20. The past few years of scrapping and living on the streets has made me nothing more than a hard shell of the man I used to be. Fighting is all I know these days. It’s the only way I can survive, but sometimes surviving just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. I’m now a man who has nothing to lose, a man who is willing to die in that ring. So EWF, you wanna exploit a man who has gone to hell and back and has been given a shot at redemption for that feel good story you’re looking for like we’re taping an episode of The Voice? You go right ahead, because you’ve just unleashed a dangerous monster on 7 unfortunate individuals.”
Crowley flicks his cigarette out the window as the camera fades to black.