Malak gasped for air as he sprinted out of the Cheyenne Regional Airport. The sun and December air smacked him in the face, but he didn’t have time to stop and bask in the rural backdrop of the flat Wyoming plains because he knew his time back home was extremely limited.

“Gotta get home! GASP! Gotta get home! GASP!” The Keyboard King exclaimed as he shoved his way through a crowd of travelers just moments after his plane touched asphalt.

He weaved between parking lot traffic to finally arrive at his rental car. With haste, he threw his luggage into the trunk and motored off. He drove like a person possessed as he knew his return flight to New Orleans was the next day and he was burning daylight by the second.

“Just too much pressure. It’s all just too much,” He muttered to himself after hanging a left.

Malak pulled up to a large property with a vintage ‘GARLAND FARMS’ sign off to the side. It felt like he didn’t really drive anywhere as the same flat, sparse, mundane Wyoming background lingered. He stopped the car midway up the long gravel driveway. A tiny house sat perched close to the barn, all with eclectic shrubbery and vast open fields acting as accents.

“DEF Awards. What were they thinking!?” His panic-stricken voice floundered as he removed the keys from the ignition.

Malak promptly grabbed his stuff and bolted towards the buildings.

“Do I go to the house and have to converse with everyone or go straight to the barn, away from people?” He contemplated en route, “Of course, I’m an idiot for even entertaining that idea. I hate people. To the barn, DUH!”

Malak marched into the barn and it looked just how he left it. It was unorganized chaos. There were countless piles of straw and hay abound, a broken-down tractor in the corner and a set of dimly lit stairs leading down into a dungeon of who-knows-what.

“Perfect,” Malak snarked as he descended the stairs to a pad-locked door.

He pulled the key from under the floor mat and entered his musty underground cave. He quickly gathered several dusty and moldy plush dolls strewn about the floor and positioned them in a circle. Malak took center stage.

“Errrrr-hrrrrm,” He cleared his throat,” Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending the first ever Magnum Awards! The 2020 Magnum Awards are presented to you by LEGO. Get your brand new two thousand piece galaxy battle set online or in store now! LEGO, endless possibilities.”

He paused for an applause only he heard in his head.

“Thank you, thank you. Now, I’m sure all of you are wondering just what exactly is going on?” Garland’s voice fluxed as he pointed to each of his presumed forsaken childhood toys.

The room was illuminated by a single corded bulb that hung from the ceiling. It felt less like an awards show and more like an interrogation was taking place.

“Well, let me tell you. DEFIANCE, the company I work for, the company I wrestle for, the company that I am a draw for has decided to hold their very own year-end awards show. While that’s all dandelions and rose petals, I simply just can’t take the pressure of thinking about if I have been nominated, let alone the winner of a category,” He lectured.

Malak took a breath, not for his sake but for his stuffed audience to absorb all this rapid information.

“So... there’s definitely a lot to unpack here,” He gloated, “In response to this, I have decided to hold my very own exclusive and private awards show from the comfort of my family crawl space. Introducing...” His voice trailed off.

The Source of Envy reached down, opened his carry-on and held up a palm sized ceramic letter M, poorly wrapped in gold foil.

“THE 2020 MAGNUM AWARDS! Again, presented to you by LEGO,” He shouted.

Music played in his head. He could hear the scream of trumpets and imagined banners unfurled with confetti that was shot into the air.

“Thank you, thank you! Now, I know I don’t have much time so let’s get right into the show!” Malak said.

However, before he could pull out whatever else he rummaged through his bag for, the Tag Team Champion stopped in his tracks and turned his attention to his Arty The Aaardvark plush doll.

“What’s that Arty? Did you say something?” Garland questioned in a crazed way.

Silence befell the room.

“Ummmmm, you need a little bit of comedy to ease into the show, Arty? Because that is how all award show master of ceremonies conduct things? Oh, ummm, okay,” Garland conversed.

Malak rose from his travel bag and entered roast mode.

“So, folks, how we doing tonight? Good, I hope. I mean, it’s the perfect night for a drink at a bar, am I right? Maybe we can all head to Ballyhoo after the show and have a shot of gin and lime juice or whatever the popular drink is these days? Heaven only knows Pat Cassidy and Brock Newbludd are already DEEP into their alcoholism right about now,” Chuckled Malak.

Obviously, there was no response from the crowd of inanimate plush dolls.

“Wh-what’s the matter, Arty!? THAT WASN’T FUNNY?”

Arty The Aardvark didn’t dare move a muscle.

“So what you’re saying is that I can’t make fun of alcoholism because it’s a real problem and it’s serious? But those guys are one-dimensional losers. Okay, okay, Arty, try this one on for size,” Malak adjusted his posture and tried again, “So an awards show, huh? Neat, yes? Awards, as defined by my brain, is an item given to recognize merit. If that’s the case, then Oscar Burns won’t be appearing tonight! Am I right, or am I right?”

Arty was not impressed with that one either. Through the magic of imagination, Arty told Malak just to get on with the show so Malak did just that. He retrieved three golden M’s and began his actual show.

“Tonight, we hand out Magnum Awards for three categories. The categories of Most Dashingly Handsome Person, Best Commenter of The Year and the Most Resilient Award will all be decided in mere moments! Drumroll please!” Malak demands.

Nothing.

“ARTY! I SAID MOTHERF*CKING DRUMROLL PLEASE!” He screamed.

There were still no sounds but, in his head, Malak finally heard a drumroll.

“And the winner... of all three Magnums is... none other than... ME! MALAK JONAS GARLAND! WHAT A WATERSHED MOMENT!” The tearful mouthpiece of a man sniffled.

Acting in utter shock, Malak hugged the three M awards he already held. He shed a fake tear before addressing his adoring fans.

“Th-thank you! FIRST, I’d like to make mention that these awards WILL be listed on my DEFIANCE bio page shortly. Also, I’d like to thank whichever nondenominational spiritual being you believe in, or not. Ummm, let’s see... wow, this is just happening so fast. Lots to unpack here for sure,” Malak stumbled over his words.

Arty and the rest of Garland’s plush dolls sat there and listened to the verbose acceptance speech.

“Really, I mean, if you think about it, I think my meteoric ascension to winning the handsome award started in 2009. I mean, that was when I got my best school pictures done, so that makes sense. This is truly a culmination of everything,” His lip quivered.

The acceptance speech kept going for what felt like an eternity, which in fairness to the plush dolls, didn’t feel as long as they had been held up in purgatory for.

“Then I want to thank myself for being so resilient over the last year. I’ve overcome so much and come so far. Challenge after challenge, I persist and I show why my way is the only way and anyone that falls outside that scope is someone with no life who deserves to be bashed online,” He smirked, “No one knows what I’ve been through and it’s been a lot, so I definitely deserve this. No one knows the real me.”

He just kept talking and talking and talking. The lightbulb in the room even began to run out of juice, which created a flicker.

“Lastly, I’d like to thank...” Malak gulped hard, “My parents... I guess.”

Just then, a commotion came from the stairwell. Malak’s eyes shot over like a deer in the headlights. He stared at a young girl who stared back at him.

“Mallory!” Malak exclaimed, “What are you doing here? Go back to the house! This is a private show! Have you no respect!? Little sisters aren’t allowed into big brother award shows.”

Suddenly, another person entered. This time, it was a much larger man.

“...Dad?” Malak meekly spoke.

“Son,” The larger farmhand replied.

“Gotta go,” Malak whimpered.

Without hesitation, Malak tossed his self given awards into his carry on before leaving the property without saying another word to his family members. He had to get back to New Orleans after all.

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