The Tattered Cape, The Final Thread
Featuring: Clyde Fox   Date: 07/13/12   Event: None
DING!

Goosebumps.

The elevator doors slid open. No, it wasn’t the resonating sound of the ringside bell indicating the end of another grueling wrestling match. At least, it wasn’t this time. Regardless, it still gave Clyde Fox, the hoppity happy hero, goose bumps. He was the first to exit the elevator half filled with people. He had arrived on the tenth floor of the hotel where him and almost every other GCW star was stationed for the legendary, iconic, and monumental event known as NC-17 IX. With his wheel bag in tow, Fox strolled down the hallway in search of his room.

Ding. Dat sound. It weawy has nothing to do with the unique sound the bell at ringside makes, but it still makes me cwinge.

Room 101.

Click!

The latch unlocked after Fox swiped his card through the reader. He entered.

The crisp smell of a clean room wafted over and smacked Fox in the face. The linens were folded and arranged perfectly. The abundance of towels even made Fox’s member giddy with joy. This room was more than just a room. This room symbolized where Fox had come to put to rest his long tenure as a GCW competitor. This room also symbolized the Fox headquarters of what and where he had come from, and where exactly his future was heading. This was not just a stop by happenstance.

Clink!

Fox tossed his keys and some loose change on the lamp side table. The door slowly pinned shut behind him. Captivated by the ambiance, Clyde departed from his bag, leaving it in the front foyer. His feet gracefully scuffed the carpet en route to the window. The dirty orange afternoon sun blazed through the drapes vertical crack. Clyde gently pushed them to the side. He couldn’t help but park his rear end on the side of the bed to look out towards the city ahead of him.

Dis... dis is it, man. This is it. I guess you never think about something wike this because you think it’ll never happen. Dis bed is certainly comfy though.

That’s Clyde Fox in a nutshell for you. He could be in the most serious train of thought and yet, seemingly on a whim, the most insignificant factor could and would distract him. Fox ran his fingers along the seams of the bed top, indulging in every moment. He stopped. Paused. Continued to look out the window. He raised his hand and delicately caressed his left cheek. He bit his lower lip as he could feel tiny, yet prevalent ripples along his skin.

I wemember...

February 22, 2011
NC-17 VIII
Madison Square Garden
New York, New York
8:25 pm

Everything is fuzzy and muffled. Nothing is truly defined. After all, the view from the mat, towards the rafters can do that to someone.

*Bryan: No! Dammit! This isn’t right!*

The sharp and piercing sound of James Bryan’s voice echoed throughout the arena.

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

Those are some nice shiny black boots pacing around the mat.

Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug...

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

The sound of liquid being poured and the sizzling of corrosive acid contacting skin overtook every other sound in the arena.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

*Bryan: Unbelievable! Triumph Frost pulls out an outstanding win...*

FLASH!

Voice: ...burns... ...victim... I need that scan done...

Ruffling of papers, people talking, flashing lights, ambulance sirens.

Voice: This is bad... ...clear surgery...

Dimness... blackness... nothingness...


Fox’s body jerked forward out of his half slumber. There he was. In the exact same spot he was just a brief moment ago. Sitting there, reflecting, looking out of his hotel room window from his bed. It was all just a dream. Or rather, it was all just a vision.

Rewax, Kyde. Dat was a wong time ago. I’m better now.

It was fitting that Clyde was about fight at the same event that he last fought at; that he was last seen at. The anger boiled inside of him. Fox’s hand scrunched the blanket under him as the orange sun faded over the horizon and a much angrier red emerged.

"People booed me then... dey booed. It’s not der fault though. Dey had no idea what was going on..." A fabled Fox muttered.

February 22, 2011
NC-17 VIII
Madison Square Garden Trainer’s Room
New York, New York
11:17 pm

Voice: CLEAR!

Snipping, cutting, and flooding sounds were all that could be heard. It was like being unconscious and unable to move; yet aware of everything that was happening to you.

Voice: This is really terrible... did anyone find out how Frost got a hold of those chemicals?

Mmmm mmm hmmm...

The smacking of lips couldn’t exactly form a coherent sentence.

Voice: I need to give him a higher dose! He’s waking up!

SLAM!


This time it felt like the door was slammed shut in Clyde’s face. His eyes lifted open. He glanced over to the clock and noticed that a few hours had passed. Fox laid jet straight on the bed, wondering just when these visions would stop. The fabric beneath him was soaked with sweat. The perfect hotel room had now been transformed into a hall of horrors.

Dey only booed me because I was misguided. I wasn’t compwete yet. I hadn’t weceived the final ascension. Oh Kyde, you put way too much pwessure on yourself... still.

The one time "Prince of Emo" shuffled his sweaty body to the other end of the bed. He pulled his traveling suitcase over with his trademark long and lanky arms. Upon rising back up to a seated position, Clyde unzipped the main compartment and stared directly at

The.

Black.

Tattered.

Cape.

The cape sat all bundled up conspicuously in the confines of the suitcase, if a cape can even do such a thing. The metallic black threading glimmered in the daylight. Each thread had been hand woven by the ancient legendary hero, Captain Skip Vignette. It was to be worn with distinguishable pride, until darkness overcame the cape and its wearer. The cape seethed with malevolence as it spoke to Clyde, who just sat there, spell bounded by its presence.

Da cape. The tattered cape. My tattered cape. It seems fitting dat I bwought you here. Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to fall back in wove with you. You cweated too many superficial wounds on my life. Now it’s time to put thee in exile. Once and for all... BIG TIME!

Everything remained still. Suddenly, Fox broke the silence as if he broke out of ice and lunged forward in attack against the cape. He snatched the cape from the clutches of the suitcase and stood tall. As if absorbing its thoughts, the cape projected its memories into Clyde’s skull.

February 25, 2011
Somewhere in the New York General Hospital
New York, New York
7:30 pm

Voice: Scalpel...

Sitch..... ZING!

The sound of a final cut was made. Bandages wound tightly suffocate the head of the man. It’s a dark room with a dank undertone.

Voice: Okay... I think we can remove the bandages now.

Click, clack, click, clack...

The sound of a nurses dainty footsteps gain volume. A slight tugging of the material followed.


Fox held the cape up high, allowing it to unfold itself. The bottom of the cape was and had always been tattered. Some said it was unfinished due to Vignette’s disappearance, others said the darkness consumed him and compelled him to leave the end tattered.

I’m done being contwolled. I wealized that I was a different pewson when dose bandages came off my face and I will never... NEVER wet darkness have me ever again! BE GONE TATTERED CAPE!

Just as Clyde finished his thought, his hands took over and began to tear down the middle seam of the cape.

February 25, 2011
Somewhere in the New York General Hospital
New York, New York
7:31 pm

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiipppppppppp...

The wounds were still fresh as they stuck to the bandages.

?: *Muffled, muffled, muffled...*

The voice from under the white tapered bandages muttered softly.


Fox continued to tear into the cape with each gash stronger and more violent that the last. As Clyde picked up the intensity, he too noticed the fast and frantic flashbacks back to his ultimate revelation.

It was as if the cape, his bandages, and his mind were being torn all at the same time.

February 25, 2011
Somewhere in the New York General Hospital
New York, New York
7:32 pm

Three bandages had come off and yet somehow only an eyebrow could be seen. Tiny blood splotches stained both the facial skin and the strips of bandage. With each tug of the next bandage, the voice from under the mummy-like wrapping got exceedingly louder.

?: *MUFFLED, MUFFLED, MUFFLED! RRRROOOOO RRRR OOOORRR*

Voice: Hurry up, he’s waking up!

CRASH!

The nurse was pushed back by a flagrant hand of the wrapped one.

Voice: NO! He’s awake! I’LL HAVE TO FINISH THIS MYSELF!


Fox completed another brutal tear through the tough material. His lungs gasped for air as his body took a break. He sunk to his knees and noticed how he was surrounded by shredded black fabric. The very fabric of a cape he once believed in and looked to guidance for.

It all came down to this. There was still a good-sized square of material left. It was not going to outlast Clyde though. Suddenly Fox’s breaths turned shorter and shorter. It was if the cape itself was attacking back and had grasped its wearer by the throat.

February 25, 2011
Somewhere in the New York General Hospital
New York, New York
7:33 pm

The doctor sauntered into the light and placed one hand on the wrapped head and another around the throat.

Voice: You... will... be... free... one way or another.

Half chocking, half unwrapping, the doctor fumbled around with the man.

?: You’re hurting me... YOU’RE... HURTING... ME!

The man in bandages opened his eyes. The textured cloth blocked everything. He proceeded to launch a few haymakers into the darkness before a...

THUD!

Echoed throughout the room.

Everything became still again.


The cape relinquished its hold.

Clyde eyed down the final patch.

February 25, 2011
Somewhere in the New York General Hospital
New York, New York
7:34 pm

Knowing he was alone, the remaining bandages were taken off one by one. Finally, the cool air tickled his bare facial skin. His eyes were free to explore. He opened them once more but saw nothing. Was he blind? No. The room was engulfed in pure darkness.

?: Mirror... m-m-m-m... MIRROR!

With no one around to satisfy the man in the chairs request, he sat in darkness and silence and slowly raised his hand up.

His fingers inched towards his face as the anticipation began to kill him. Finally, contact. The oils on his fingers fused with that of his face. He gently palmed his face, feeling a few small rigid bumps along his cheek.

?: They... they fixed me.

The man immediately dove that same hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He proceeded to turn the camera lens towards himself.

Flash..... CLICK!

The camera shutter flickered as the man was quick to reverse the phone screen towards himself.

Clyde Fox stared directly at a picture of himself. His face looked virtually perfect as if he was never burned by the likes of Triumph Frost three days earlier at NC-17.

Fox: My... Pokemon Master! I’m not... burned. I’m... otay!


And with one final triumphant swipe, the final piece of tattered cape was destroyed, symbolically releasing Clyde from the clutches of emo and darkness forever. He rose from his knees and was witness to the millions of pieces of torn cape around him.

I wealize you hafta wite your own paff. You can’t wet someone else’s ideals and views impose on your own. Chasing after dis cape did nothing but bwing me further away fwom being the Kyde Fox I thought it would make me. I wealize now that my destiny is not tied to a cape. My destiny was not to get burned by sulfuric acid and to go away and never be heard fwom again. My destiny was to experweience and endure all dese accowades and wealize that I am actuwy a hero. A hero for good. A hero of wight... erhm... A HERO OF LIGHT.

Squeaky voice and all, I, Kyde Evan Fox, am a hero. No cape required. Not now. Not in the future. Not ever never. And whoever helped me back a year and a half ago must’ve known all this. I’m fwee now. Truly fwee...

...Tee hee!


View Clyde Fox's Biography