Are You My Mother?
By: Brandon Moore
Writing Prompt: Yes
Date: 21st Nov 2021
I AM YOUR NEW CRAZY
…….just look at what you made me
“All I see are enemies. It’s just demons as far as I can see. I have reoccurring vampire dreams. I look into the mirror and I don’t want to see anything. Whispers that go on forever. All I hear is screaming since…
I CAN’T REMEMBER
Hand of the shadow you’re in my projection. Listen to my verbal misdirection. The inner insurrection is a living death sentence. I am death in its essence.
A LIVING DEATH SENTENCE
I AM DEATH
IN ITS ESSENCE
…these are my graveside confessions…
All I see is a blood red moon. All I see are suicide wounds. I could die tonight, it’s never too soon. I’ve thought about death so much I don’t fear her anymore. When I die I’m not gone you just won’t see my human form. And when you speak these words back, no god will forgive you for that. My last words before death.
Let me remind you
who I really am.
Nail me in the casket where it’s just me and my depression. I’ve already died and there is no fucking heaven. We can both meet death together and let these words be our goodbye letters. I’ll go deeper than everyone. I’ll get darker than any one of them. I don’t pick and choose who I judge.
…Let me remind you of who I really am…
- My Graveside Confessions,
you ain’t never heard that slappin, slammin, riffin metal diddly?
“Alright, alright, settle the fuck down. Let’s just get straight to this week’s point. I’ll answer the rest of y’all’s questions later. But right now I wanna talk to Chris mother fucking Page. This fuggin guy. He’s actually a talented individual with accolades and prestige. A beloved sumbitch in this business. And I ain’t got a problem with him. But brother Chris Page, the other guy does. I don’t know why, but the bad man just doesn’t like ya. And I don’t know what he is gonna do to you Chris.”
I DON’T KNOW WHAT
I’M GONNA DO CHRIS!
“You see, I’m not in charge here. No. No, no.. I’m just the herald sent out to pave the way for his glamorous return. Where we will see blood rain from up above and seep down deep below, corrupting the soil beneath our very feet. Chris, I am scared. I am scared for you brother. You really have no clue what he is fixing to do. It isn’t your fault Chris. Just remember it isn’t your fault, but do accept the blessing of being the first assault committed during the beginning of an epic comeback the likes of which this industry has never before seen.”
AND IF YOU DIE, CHRIS PAGE
THEN YOU DIE
no cause to have to ask why
“For longer than I can remember, there has been a war waging inside of my noggin. Chris, you need to witness this brutal bloodbath that rattles twenty four seven inside of my own mind. You need to bare the witness of such an atrocious melee of two selves fighting for the control of self. Fighting to be the master of our destiny. One a caged animal, clawing eternally to be set free from his prison. The other, a broken man hellbent on repair and reparation. I had discovered the cure to put him at bay, but it ended up being a far worse beast that I could no longer let feast. Or it would have eventually lead to the death of me. My friend, I am not allowed to go out quietly just yet.”
SO YOU’LL TAKE
MY PLACE INSTEAD
“You only recently joined our parade of chaos, and came in upon a slave driven cart which presented you as a king. Your arrival was met with applause from around the whole wide world. Another big fish wading into the shallows of the shark infested waters, and begged for one of the great big whites to try and come rip him apart. Confidence leading the man to shadow as a beast. Perhaps you have your own internal struggle, or a boundless hole in your center that nags and nags until it is to be sated. What is it that drives Chris Page to take up arms in this battlefield? For me, it is the constant misery doing it’s best to always try and kill me. But little one, I am a survivor who never plays the role of a victim. I am a conqueror who is his own worst enemy.”
ALL WHO ARE
CLOSE TO ME
GO THROUGH ALL OF
MY HELL WITH ME
“And when I am driven to the singularity of my spirit, that is when it becomes dangerous. For me. For you. For everyone. I am trying Chris. I am trying really hard to be a righteous man and proceed through the remainder of my years living a life of honor. But the other guy.. heh.. The Despised One has no honor. No. With the bad man, you fall into a pit of despair whether you want to or not. When he sucks you into his cold and dead world, it is there where you will remain until the end of these dreary and misled days. Do you understand? Can you look into these lying blue eyes, and sift through the garbage of lies to find this particular truth? My best advice for you would be to swallow deep and run. Run away as far as you..”
Ahem. Back in your hole maggot.
SAY HELLO TO
THE BAD GUY
“shut the hell up and let me handle this before you blow it. like how you blew warstein, who is one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”
HE DON’T WANNA GO
TO WAR WITH ME
“nice to meet you Chris. i could no longer listen to that pussy maggot stroke your ego dick and play nice with it. i am the one you are looking for. the force you have been dying for. your one true love that you have been crying for while down on your knees begging your false God..”
“PLEASE HELP ME!”
somebody please save me
from this piece of crap
formally known as
“..who the fuck?”
“You wouldn’t believe the tale that has brought us here to this moment you slimy pull out stain. Could Chris Page, the ole question of CCP. After they all get blessed with a privilege meant for only kings and hear my voice utter those three words, that new abbreviation will be trending number one worldwide on Twitter followed with the hashtag for this week’s only big time ‘rasslin event brought to you by the single most loaded company in the world Fight NYC.”
“The hidden tagline for the upcoming episode of Venom number 14, a card that will go down in the history books as the beginning of something every man, woman, and child thought impossible, was buried by the powers that be to continue trying to bury their top star. Didn’t you find it odd when one of this company’s pillars and exclusive attractions goes AWOL to get the bolts in his neck tightened because his brain was loose, and they don’t do anything about it? Who went out in front of the crowd and told them my sad story and that they were proud of me for finally owning up to the consequences of my actions and getting help?”
NOT ONE SINGLE
SO NOW WE HAVE TO
STEP OVER A TRAIL
OF COLD BODIES
“But I’ll never be good enough to be paraded about as the face of this company. No, stupid, I’m not talking about my skill in hand to hand combat or on a microphone. I’m good and you suck, get over it already. I am talking about being tried, convicted and hidden away in some musky piss soaked hole in the ground by those up above who use stamped signatures to sign those payroll checks you’ll soon find yourself running to cash. Everything is decided upon and executed with my reactions, intentions, and mood carefully monitored. They created fake money and auctions for championship matches to keep one of the only real homegrown stars they have wherever it is that they want him to be and away from the spotlight where he is SUPPOSED to be; knowing that he will only earn said money when he is booked and paid to. Even then I only truly show up when my opponent tickles my fancy to give it a go for a round or two.”
NO CHRIS.. I DON’T MEAN YOU
but I’m willing to see what that mouth can do
i bet it’s the same as what everyone else does too
COPY AND PASTE
talking about that he said, she said bullshit
God damnit Page, now he’s quoting Limp Bizkit
JUST LIKE YOU
me? but that was you!
“Seriously, can someone help me? There’s a bad man on the loose and he isn’t afraid to pull out his Gandalf (keep your hands off) and shoot wizardry for the kids who are sitting at home in misery that just want to be set completely free. Every word is his masterpiece sung loudly over the symphony from which his loving and eternally devoted cult-like following teach to their children at night. My poster is on the wall and the reason why is that they couldn’t sleep very tight. Something wasn’t feeling right. Because, wouldn’t you know it? ‘The boogeyman is hiding in my closet!’ little Christopher always whined to the doped out nanny. ‘He was in there with a gold mask and horns for hair!’ Ha, ha, Stupid kid! I was actually hiding under the bed and you didn’t know it. Now little Christopher has a knife through his head and is unresponsive in a pool of his own blood that’s leaking over the edge of the bed..”
OH MY GOD…
SOMEBODY IS DEAD!
“Have you been listening closely at all to every last word I have given as a reward? Did the warning reach you in time before you fucked around and found out the truth about me? I hope you brought protection, because you don’t have a clue about where I get it in at nightly. You must cover yourself up and shield your very life from the overbearing gift of guilt that descends before your eyes. Remember the moment, and wipe away the tears so you can see clearly now that the rain is gone. And everything has fallen to the chaos of quiet blissful peace.”
“..’But Brandon’, you miserable cunts interrupt. ‘You never gave us the scoop about the trending Twitter tag of CCP!’ Well excuse the fuck outta me for getting long winded and forgetting what the entire point even is. So here is what you do. Are you listening carefully? Get you a good wide ruled, we gotta be professional after all, and a number two pencil. Yes, it has to be a pencil so your dumb ass can fix your mistakes. And start jotting down these notes. Grab a drink and a snack, just don’t make a mess and spill your shit all over the floor of class. Ahem.”
“CCP? COULD CHRIS PAGE…”
“BEAT THAT FREAK?”
“SURVIVE THIS WEEK?”
“HAVE ANOTHER TASTE?”
“OF MY DICK AFTER IT PENETRATES?”
NOW WE’RE TALKING!
“ESCAPE AND HIDE BEHIND A FLUKE BIG HEAD?”
HE’S FINALLY GETTING ON TO SOMETHING
“COULD CHRIS PAGE DIE ON HIS FEET?”
STOP! HE WAS GONNA RETREAT!
“COULD CHRIS PAGE BLEED NICE AND NEAT?”
BUT WHAT ABOUT MY NEW RUG!?
DUB FUCKING DUB
“WITH HIS BODY PARTS JUST THROWN WILLY NILLY ALL OVER THE STREET!?”
HIS NECK WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH HIS BACK WITH THE EVERBLACK!
somebody call the cops! a psychopath is on the loose and there is nothing anybody can do!
“COULD CHRIS PAGE LOSE IT ALL AND GO GET SOME MORE WHILE HE TAKES THE FALL OR DISAPPEAR AND STILL BE THE ONE WHO THEY FEAR!?”
THE BAD MAN IS HURTING EVERYBODY’S FEELINGS AND HE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT!
“COULD CHRIS PAGE JUST UP AND FUCKING DISAPPEAR WITHOUT A TRACE?”
FUCK… I’M OUTTA HERE!
“COULD CHRIS PAGE…“
NOT ANOTHER RHYME!
I’LL DO ANYTHING!
CAN I AT LEAST PRETEND?
“You whispered a little wish and flipped the coin, but you didn’t heed the warning to be careful about what you wished for. Now you’re stuck in a position to meet an extremely brutal end. Your story may have already spanned an entirety of a lifetime, but your story has now truly only just begun. Strand by strand you will be a condemned and convicted man after a trial by fire. The brimstone and flames will engulf you like the dragon swallowing you whole. You may have had eyes on me but did you ever really see what it was that you should have seen? Or are you just another to be smothered in my game of hide and seek?”
COME ON LITTLE DOGGY
“So now I am coming for your neck. It’s just stuck out there begging for me to wrap it in my filthy hands and choke and wrench until you gasp for your final breath. Eyes bulged and veins popping, you dropping to your knees. This is the moment where I am hoping your mother has taught you how to please. You will have been beaten black and blue through an onslaught that you failed to prepare for properly. There is only one goal in mind once we stand on opposite sides of the ring. And that goal my friend, when you boil it down to it’s basic root, it is violence. The outcome is far off out there in the left of the field or among the drifting rocks floating in a blank page. You win, I win, it doesn’t matter very much in the end. To me anyway. But what transpires inbetween the rings of the bell is where true magic and importance happens. The real questions that I demand answers for are the ones I take great pride in finding out for myself. Taking them by force is preferred. Questions like, ‘What happens to Page’s head when you bash it over and over on the turnbuckle?’ or like, ‘How much blood can Page lose before he loses consciousness?” Those are my questions. Even more, those are my journey.”
WE ALL BLEED
“Chris Page, it is nigh time for you to find the answers you seek. So come on and get your wisdom from the wise. Turn your sight inward and take a long look at your own heart before I rip it out from your chest at the start. Holding that beating mother fucker in hand and ask you if you’re still the man. Without your heart, are you still every single last miniscule detail that could be used to describe you? Everything truly means absolutely nothing when the details are torn away and the bones laid bare. In the sacred place surrounded by the ropes we are given to hang ourselves with, meaning becomes a microscopic understanding. Flesh for flesh, and pound for pound. We are nothing more than whores pimped out for profit to appease an audience who demand a sacrifice. Too stupid to see the dangled worm is attached to a hook. Or maybe it is our arrogance, collectively, that keeps us in the hunt for materialistic bullshit and clout. So welcome to this circus of fools. And that is all I have to say about you. That is all I have to say about anything. Fuck it. I’m done.”
“Brandon!” Michelle’s sweet voice tries to be tough while trying to wake me up from a deep sleep. But come on, we know she ain’t tough when she’s around daddy. Being around me was her cone of comfort, one where she ain’t gotta give a fuck about the world outside of ours. It’s amazing how people act once you get them healed and assured that they are in the comfort of sincerity.
Her voice echoes into my waking dream, where I am walking a deserted highway in a wasteland. I suddenly have a bloody giant buck knife in my hand. Mutated creatures born of the radiation that destroyed these lands began to creep out from any and all unsealed crevices. They form a large pack, like wolves, but these weren’t canines. These were only till now fabled creatures of science fiction. The sky started to turn dark with a storm approaching. Powerful flashes of lightning illuminate the now midnight hour, revealing silhouettes of a perfect circle made by these villainous mutants; all of whom were hungry and Brandon Moore is a five star restaurant’s main dish.
“Sigh.” My head is hanging low, and my body knelt down atop one knee with my hands flat on the earth.
I could see them slowly begin to enclose me in their pit of candle lit dinner. As their faces become clearer, they cycle like the pages of a book between the faces of all of my enemies. From my original nemesis’, the seraph Stratford, Killjoy, Jerome, and Falcon May to my latest, Shane Sparx, Malk Al-Haq, Dane Preston and Shawn Warstein. Only four of those beasts have claims to having put me down for the count when it mattered most.
Mono e mono.
The circle of beasts draws closer, the face of Warstein with a smirk mocking me. Suddenly, they all change to my present adversary. A man whose reputation has preceded him before he ever stepped a foot within one single inch of my playground. The monsters of Chris Page slowly start proceeding towards their next meal licking their chops. They were frothing at the mouth for the opportunity to dine on my wonderful flesh. Each step of the Page’s added another rhythmic event in my hard charging fluttered heart. It was not terror or horror masquerading as emotions that had been causing the irregular palpitations of my blood mechanisms.
These gnarly beasts sure were taking their time claiming what their instincts were telling them was an easy breeze type of prey. Perhaps I had become such a thing. A once respectable and respected feared big dog had fallen on hard spiritual times. Yet my life, as a whole, had become what I had only been blessed to be able to view in dreams long since forgotten. The snarls of these killers were raising in decibels as they slowly taunted me with their light and graceful steps. The pack’s alpha’s arrogance was contagious like a virus and had spread among the wicked circle coming ever steady in unison on their stalk.
No thoughts were making their rounds in my clouded head. The survival instinct had taken it’s hold on me, so my humanity had become stripped all the way down to its most primitive state. A process that evolved over a few of the hundreds of thousands of years of human evolution, where some were cursed with the affliction known as the fight or flight response. But an animal higher on the food chain such as myself was able to conquer this illness and able to always act. This allowed me to just watch and act in such a way that my perception of time distorts to slow down the world around me, giving me a slight advantage at many aspects in this life I never wanted, nor did I ask for it. But after being dumped into a life of madness and sadness, I had become it’s very avatar. I was it’s champion. It’s herald. Violence was my God.
The Page Beast’s low growl was visibly blowing waves through my cheek it now had its snout on. I open my eyes and raise my head while my eyes begin to open, and I can’t help but stare directly into the fourth wall as the smile of a deceiver slowly starts to creep about my face. .
“BRANDON ALEXANDER MOORE!” Whoa, the conviction in her voice was able to pull me out from my sleep all the way.
My eyes were slow to open, and the ability for adjustment to even normal daylight was still hindered by my ongoing recovery from a deep spell of heroin abuse. Some days were better than others, and I have come a long way from the initial period of when I said to myself, “Enough. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Those first three weeks were a brutal endeavor. It is a testament to just how much strength it takes to survive that type of hell, and not get caught in the lure of desperation. I’ll take a bow as I know you are all clapping, cheering for the good man behind this mask.
Nah, y’all are disappointed and cursing my name.
Ezra’s wonderous voice catch my attention as I look over at my wife and child. Ezra was snuggled in right against his momma’s chest in her loving arms. Their eyes were lost in the twilight of the others eyes, smiles and love just painted all over their amazing faces. In her hand was one of my old and favorite Dr. Seuss books written by P.D. Eastman, Are You My Mother? It was a special story to me, having been neglected by my mother before being outright abandoned. But before I was discarded like trash. from the ages of 7 to 10, Momma Moore would always disappear for days at a time. I would look for her for hours after school but then have to be responsible and go to sleep for school the next morning. Let’s just say I could connect with the baby bird on the level, and lose myself in the fantasy of a happy reunion.
“Look Ezra, Daddys awake!” Michelle excitedly tells our son. “Go get him!”
She giggles while handing my son to me, who I gladly took after sitting up against the backboard to our bed. He was wearing nothing but a diaper with cute three striped tube socks and a black stocking cap.
“Who’s my greatest baby boy?” I say giggling while I blow raspberries into his chubby little belly a couple of times. “Who’s my greatest baby boy?”
Ezra is chuckling, a wide smile and bright eyes consuming his face. Michelle is just in awe, as she usually is. The love in this bed, room, house, was a rare commodity in this world. But it was the little moments like just looking at your worlds and seeing nothing but happiness that made it a one of a kind love. A one in a billion home. This day was already on its way to being one of the best we have experienced yet as a family. But as Michelle sets the book on her night table, and the ring tone she has on her phone for Poptart, TLC’s “Scrubs”, and Michelle verbally groans before going to answer it. Over here, the book doesn’t let go of my attention.
Before Michelle can answer the phone, our bedroom door swings open and hits the wall hard as Poptart has burst through the door, causing Ezra to start screaming. Michelle flips out, and I just can’t seem to take my attention away from the book.
“WHAT THE FUCK PASTRY!?” She throws her arms up out of frustration.
“B..” Poptart speaks, but his voice is breaking from nervousness, or fear. Thinking back now, he was probably worried. I should probably respond and see what he wanted. But this damn book.
“What is it, dumb ass?” Michelle crosses her arms as she stands in front of him.
Poptart leans down and whispers into her ear. As be pulls back he looks at Michelle who is looking back and mouthing something back to Poptart with a concerned look on her face. They both look at me while trying to figure something out. I could feel negative energy radiating off the both of them.
“Tell me.” It wasn’t a question and it wasn’t a demand or command or whatever. As it is spoken so shall it come to pass. Her reading our son that book and the sudden convenience of a problem being kept from me was too much of a coincidence.
Welcome to my life’s cruel joke.
“You grab Corny and Uncle Vlad and GET YOUR ASSES OUT THERE AND FIND…THEM!” She really is so damn sexy when she takes command like that. I know, wrong time to be getting my dick hard, but I knew what had happened.
“Momma?” I ask as I look over to my wife.
“Don’t worry baby, the boys are going to find her.” She comes over and began to seat next to me but I got up to my feet, bringing Ezra close as I kissed him on top of his head.
“Tell them not to bother. I will find her myself.” I carefully hand over our son to his momma, doing my best to keep it together in front of them.
It was hard stopping the flood that was dying to break the levee. Though everything was different now, I still turn into that little boy every time she just wanders off and leaves me worried and searching. So much for just one good day.
We cut to a special live edition of The Jim Cornette Experience podcast already underway.
Jim Cornette: And wouldn’t you know who won the Pony? It was more garbage wrestling from a whole bunch of cosplay garbage wrestlers.
Brian Last: I liked parts of it, but yeah, you’re mostly right. But Jim, don’t we have a guest to get to?
Cornette: You’re absolutely right Brian. We do. Cult members, please join me in welcoming a very special friend of mine, and now yours, the disgusting, immoral, irredeemable, Despised One, Brandon Moore. Hey boss, it’s been awhile. Please don’t ever leave me alone with that Poptart fella again. Jesus Christ.
Brandon Moore: Ha ha, what up Corny. Why you gotta hate on the preppy like that? It isn’t his fault that in his head it’s 1994. I figured your out of touch eighties ass would appreciate that.
Cornette: Very funny sir, very funny. But seriously, don’t ever leave me alone with that creepy fuck again.
Moore: Seriously though bubba, thank you for attending to my matters while I was indisposed. Michelle tells me our little Ezra just loves the shit outta Uncle Corny.
Cornette: Well boss, somebody has to make sure the Prince doesn’t grow up to be a garbage outlaw wrestler like his daddy.
Moore: Ahhhh, shut the fuck up Corny. You of all people know that in an industry full of phonies, liars and little dick maggots where Momma Moore’s Special Boy stands.
Cornette: Little dick maggots?
Moore: You’re God damn right Corny.
Cornette: You still managed to procreate with that ever majestic wife of yours, and we know she isn’t with you for fame or fortune.
Moore: You damn savage piece of fuck. Cutting me deep here, pal. Hey, how is Synn?
Cornette: The queen of Castle Cornette is doing just fine. Along with the most adorable little doggo in the world, Ms. Harley Quinn. But boss, let’s cut to the chase. The last we saw of you in the ring, excluding that ridiculous gang fight on Night Two of Ascension where the odds were ever stacked against you, was in a defeat to one Shawn Warstein. Brandon brother, what the hell happened?
Moore: Well Corny.. I got beat. Plain and simple. It’s like you say, every now and then, even a blind squirrel finds a nut. It’s no secret that my life has been a.. let’s say.. complex endeavor. But it’s no excuse to lose to that piece of trash Warstein. That is one I will get back eventually. But right now I have my sights set on other ventures and venues.
Cornette: Elaborate on what it is that you are going to be doing. Are you going to continue on with Fight?
Moore: Oh, absolutely. Fight is hands down the greatest promotion in the entire world.
Moore: What I mean is, I am going to be focused on grander ideas than any one single person. I feel like I am going to have to start back over and climb back up the Tower, so to speak.
Cornette: And just let the supposed New Status Quo flash their dicks and cunts all over the place?
Moore: Correct. I will just be doing my thing and am confident that they will come to chop my legs back out from under me. And not just the NSQ Corny, but all the rest of the roster too. In my time away I had the chance to kind of, like, take a step back and purvey the entire landscape. Do you know what I realized bubba?
Cornette: Where would I even start boss?
Moore: What I noticed was a trend. And it was alarming Corny. Alarming. The majority of this business, not just Fight, the entire business, is full of a bunch of assholes. A large clump of miserable little maggots that think it is cool to be the bad guy. And as a true villain, it makes me sick. Just fucking disgusted.
Cornette: I had noticed that trend too boss. What happened to the simple days of Cowboys and Indians? Cops and robbers? Baby faces and heels! I’ve been saying this shit for years now. The death of the wrestling business is by the hands of these miscreants that are too cool for school.
Moore: Right, and since it’s so damn cool to be a dickhead, why don’t I try.. yano, not being one myself? This company, and this business, is in dire need of a real hero that the fans and whoever else can get behind. I have no delusion of being that hero. I’m not fluffing my own jock here. But what I can say for myself is that I won’t back down from a fight. I’ll even take the fight wherever it is needed. Wherever I am needed.
Cornette: That’s very noble of you Brandon, but let’s move on to one more topic before you go as I know you’re currently busy trying to track someone down. Do you have anything to say about your upcoming match with another pretty darn good talent in Chris Page?
Moore: Well Corny, cult members, Last, this coming Monday on FIGHTS! Venom #14 you will be able to catch Brandon Moore versus Chris Page in my first match in over a month. And it is guaranteed to be a show stealing fist fight pro wrestling match. You don’t want to miss this and will regret it if you do. And for Chris Page, good luck and enjoy your last few nights of peace. Because I am gonna hurt ya. I am gonna hurt ya real bad.
For some reason. I knew exactly the first place to go where she would be. It was the closest bar where the ferry from the island drops off at. I would have to remind the ferryman to never do this again. or you know what. I walked up to the front entrance of the place. There was no use in trying to remember the name. I opened the door and stepped inside. My eyes surveyed the room partially jam packed with patrons, and they come across to Momma Moore at the bar with three younger men all around her. The three boys were flirting with my mother, and I got the feeling they were taking advantage of my drunk, old mother.
“MA!” I shout as I start to push my way through the bodies in between her and I.
“Fuck for a moment there I thought I heard my cunt blocking punk ass son.” Momma looks around as if she could see before taking another four finger shot of vodka. The three chumps laugh.
I finally reached them and took hold of my momma by her arm. “Let’s go. You’re going home with me.”
“Hey pal. the lady doesn’t wanna leave.” One of the douches said as he put his hand on my wrist. The other two stepped up behind him staring at me.
“I’ll give you three seconds to take your filthy fucking hand off me!” I snapped, looking at this punk like I would kill em without a blink or a tear.
He looked at me for a moment and must have realized that the eyes don’t lie and he didn’t want him or his buddies to die. Not tonight.
“Whatever. Fuck this old hag anyway.” He said as he threw away my arm and he and his buddies turn to walk away.
Momma Moore grabbed a beer bottle and her blind ass jumped from her stool and whacked the dude over the head with it. Glass shatters and she causes him to get some juice. As he dropped, his two buddies stepped up but then so did Momma Moore’s Special Boy. And I made quite worth of both of em. Punk ass bitches. I pulled out my wallet and threw six hundred dollars on the counter and apologized to the bartender. I went to my mother who smiled at me.
“Momma sure can swing a mean bottle for an old blind bitch can’t she?” She smiled with her rhetoric question. And for a moment there, I caught myself with a smile too as we exited out onto the sidewalk and soaked in the moment of laughing happily with my mom until we reached the street and I hailed a cab. As the cab pulled up my demeanor instantly went from happy to pissed off and I looked at Momma Moore after she got into the back of the cab and held the door open.
“I know you don’t give a fuck about me, but could you at least try not to be a fucked up grandmother to Ezra too? Don’t come around until you get better, or I’ll kill you.” And I slammed the door shut.
I took off walking in the opposite direction. I had to go find someone to take this out on. Find someone to feel my pain
Who knows where I can find Chris Page?