''One's'' B- Positive

[Level-Two]

''One's'' B- Positive

You think you have the world all figured sorted out; until it's time to take the fragile pieces and put them back together again. My jagged edges are sharp, it cuts deep into fragile skin and scares them off with a reminder of a scar; it explains why I am the way I am. It explains why you, the watchful observer are not actually apart of my story but don't worry—your much safer that way, I can assure you.

The cold hard truth is that while I know I'm a piece; I do not know the larger picture in which I come from. I'm unaware of the beauty in which the space I fit into. I'm unaware as to how this picture comes together; what it means, or how it looks like. I'm ignorant to it's colours, it's transparency, blinded by shades of black and white, and reminded that this picture is nothing more then just a metaphor. An original empty thought which has progressed with complication, which in a twisted sense of humour, peeks the interest of simplicity.

I know that I am not the only one whom is interested in seeing this picture come together as one. Where every question we ever had hanging in the back of our heads, plaguing our sanity with each soft poke is finally answered. Where every problem, every equation, every social stand point is explained no longer as an opinion; but as fact, as the truth, as the only way. And I know that once this picture comes to fruition; all the blood, all the pain and all the scars of those who tried to help me, would be nothing more then a distant memories that would heal overtime.

If at the end the paint has created a picture that stands against everything that I have become; then I'll own up to my mistakes. If my cheating ways aren't welcome, then let my record burn. If beating in skulls, hurting mothers children and dubbing it as nothing more then entertainment is truly wrong, then I'll hand over any world title I ever won, and you could melt it into the gold it is truly worth.

As much as I want to see this picture come together; I know it'll be years from now, and even that much is wishful thinking. At the same time; the last thing I want to see is this picture. Perhaps, it's why my sharp edges are so sharp. Perhaps that's why, they cut skin deep, excited by the flow of pure blood line. Maybe, being the lone piece of the picture is what makes the picture itself so glorious.

And maybe the picture itself; isn't worth a damn thing at all.

''Lester, this place is beautiful''

I had never been to an Art Museum before, but with all the other places in town, I figured I'd give it a shot. The bars never worked for me. Sleazy women with the mixture of alcohol and semen on their breath could be smelt if you got close enough. Restaurants were frequent but the novelty quickly wore off; and five star simply wasn't good enough. Surely, I owed her more than that.

I hadn't called her since Shockwave back in my hometown of Toronto, Ontario. I wish I could blame it on being home sick, but I realized once I got there it wasn't home, at least not anymore. It was business as usual. At the time she needed me most; I wasn't there. Fearing, having to explain why her life was in danger, having to explain the fight club, my friend ship of a former friend in Brian Mc Phee; and of course, the arson that disfigured an innocent man.

I was doing it for her own good, right?

There I go; I'm at it again. Justifying my actions rather then allowing them to speak for themselves.

While Patrica Lewis peered further into the entrance lobby, I figured it would be the best time to shake my head clear and forget about it all. In a weird way, it's as if she had done the same thing. There wasn't a wrinkle on her pretty young face that showed disdain. The glimmer in her eye was language of forgiveness something in which her English tongue, did not speak. And so, I drew a deep breath of the cherry fragmented air, until my lungs refused, and exhaled every last bit of it without shame, regret or guilt and signalled not too far behind her.

''Yeah, it isn't to shabby'' I said with less then impressed tone, walking up beside her. I glanced around at the people inside of the Art Museum. Upper class, articulately dressed and more often or not, they wore glasses to emphasize their brilliance. I wonder how they felt, if they knew some guy, who sells out sweaty buildings for a living, with eyes that have seen more blood then sun, can see right through.

''Lester, look at piece'' Patrica said pointing at a display, across the room. I didn't catch her initial call, but when I had the second time, it was too late. I felt her index finger touch the side of my chin which drew my attention to her face. ''What is it?'' Patricia enquired, looking off in the direction of where a young couple, man and women stood eyeing at a piece of water colour art.

''I don't know'' I replied shaking my eye-sight off the couple and back to Patricia. ''Look, I just see things normal people wouldn't'' I blurted out recklessly. I could see Patricia's face transform and I ducked slightly in preparation for her volley of questions; but not a single one came, as she tugged on my hand.

''Then let's see what you think about that Abstract piece then!''

Her heels clicked along the clean sea like-white floor; dragging me along, without any show of resistance. If I had one weakness it would be that a woman's touch. It's bad for me, unhealthy, I forgot who I am sometimes around them, but I guess that's about one of the only thing that makes me human these days.

However her touch quickly wore off as we coincidentally pass the couple. My head snapped around and my eyes locked onto them, as if they were my opposition in a wrestling ring, waiting for the bell to toll because the thought of tearing each-other apart simply has grown way too strong. The man quickly broke his eye contact with me, wiping away at his greased hair nervously, but the women didn't take her eyes off of me, until Patricia tugged on my arm and directed me to the piece of art work.

''So what do you see?'' Patricia asked me with a tone of excitement harping throughout her voice box. As if by knowing what I saw within the picture, would give away something about me she otherwise would not find out.

''Uh...'' I muttered.

The piece of abstract art hung on the wall staring at me right in the face. It was an interesting piece in the sense it looked as if a two year old with a spastic pain brush drew it. Lines of colour flying all over the page, in discriminate directions. I could only see it for what it was; nothing.

''I see colours'' I said squinting at the piece of art work as Patrica rolled her eyes. ''Oh, I see something else. I see lines, they interconnect, and the mesh colours at some point'' I said shrugging my shoulders.

''You're kidding me right?'' Patricia asked. Reading her body language it was clear to me she wasn't impressed in the slightest; almost as impressed as I had been with this abstract piece of work.

''Well, what do you see?'' I enquired in return. With her eyes glared over with a layer of frustration she turned her attention back the abstract piece on the wall. Examining for a minute, she gave her head a solid shake, seemingly impressed with her conclusion inside her head.

''An elephant'' Patricia stated emphatically. Fighting back a smirk; I looked at the piece of work once more and just like I had expected, I saw lines of colour.

''You're serious?''

Patricia nodded her head, she had been fairly certain. ''A baby elephant'' She added.

''Okay, now your just being ridiculous''

''Look, can you hold my purse for a moment? I need to use the bathroom'' Patricia said and before I could even nod my head yes, the purse was in my arms, as she stormed off around the corner and down a hall way. I looked at the bag, which read ''Loui Vuitton'' followed my a subsequent eye roll. So left alone, I stared at the piece, trying to see things from her perspective. Trying to piece together, this foolish baby elephant in which she spoke of; but each as I followed the lines, they brought me to the same conclusion, nothing was there.

''Hey, look at that! A baby alligator!'' A small boy says pointing at the abstract piece as his mother flashes me a look of embarrassment, shuttling off her son in the direction of the bathroom. I examined some of the other pieces of art; most of their names were upscale, french artists whom learnt their work to the Museum at a hefty price. It was amazing, what a simple paint brush and some cheap paper could go for, these days. But I knew from first hand experience; with all the amount of money I have amassed during my career, that sometimes you feel obligated to get rid of it all, even if it means spending it on non-sense, like this.

Still, why I couldn't see the abstract pieces of art for something else, escaped my mind. I tried to find faces, shapes, anything, but all lead me to no luck. And before I knew it; the young couple earlier stood right beside me, staring at the same piece of work I did. They focused on the painting, but you could tell by look in their eyes, they were looking for something else.

A feeling radiated through my body, my senses heightened, a closeness to these people I had never felt before. It was as if I could see right through them. As if I could look into their minds and see what they were thinking, and it's as if they knew. The glare they returned to me as they walked off and towards the door, left me with a feeling of unease, that only came to warmth as I felt the touch of Patrica's arm against my own.

''You know, I was in the bathroom and I was thinking... what is art?''

I turned to Patricia and then back to the piece the mysterious couple had been observing closely.

''Art to me is up to one's perception, I guess'' I said, raising my eyebrow. ''I guess it's the only way I explain why you see things, I don't''

Patricia wrapped her arm around mind and smiled up at me, motioning her head towards the couple walking throughout the door. ''Any reason why, you've been glaring at those two since we got here or something?''

''Not really'' I lied. ''I just, you know, thought something was odd with those two; that's all''

---

I reached my penthouse after the get together with my close friend Patrica Lewis. Perhaps these days, she's become something a bit closer then just a friend; but not close enough. I haven't sat down thinking about walking away from all four corners of the wrestling ring, nor settling into the quarrels of a normal life where every where you go, you aren't recognized, you aren't picked out of a crowd, and you are no different from the man or women beside you—but perhaps I'll never live such a normal life after all.

You know, they say opposites attract; but I say alikes, have a tendency to understand a bit better. I'd be lying, if I said that mysterious couple at the Museum wasn't a thought on my mind, hell it was virtually about the only thing I could think about. It's as if; I knew them. It's as if, they were apart of my blood; closer then my crippled bother had ever been to me. And the power; the power standing beside those mysterious two, was a new high. I've never been a people person; but I've never seen so deep into someone's mind, until now.

Apart of me makes me feel guilty, I hadn't said anything sooner. Grabbing a remote that sat on a small table, I hit the power button on the remote control.

BREAKING NEWS: TROUBLE A NATIONAL MUSEUM

My heart skipped a beat; knowing that Patricia Lewis had a thing or two for fires. She did stop to use the bathroom; and did see the burn mark on her thumb on our way back....

''I didn't start another fire; I promise. Besides, don't you remember how much trouble we both got in for starting fires?''

''You know what they say about playing with fires, right?''

''Better then anyone'' Patricia laughed.

No, it wasn't her; but for some odd reason, I wished it was.

''The national art Museum was a subject of a heist, in which two masked robbers made away with 202 million dollars worth of merchandise; making it the largest armed robber heist in the states history...''

I tossed the remote beside me and took a seat. My mind, swivelling with a thousands of wild thoughts; questioning the ability within me. Questioning my ability to see through the heart of others, and questioning if each men and women I have ever come across, has been exploited, hurt, and damaged because of it.

This wasn't some abstract revelation that you'd have to look at carefully to see; I attracted evil, it's the only thing I truly understand, comprehend and can see and it's what I have become.

And it's what, you, him, nor Pence Weatherlight can come to defeat. If there was a larger picture in sight, it was burning for everything it's worth and flames refuse to die.

---

I'm a genius, aren't I?

I'm a puppet master, yanking the strings and watching sheeple dance with each pull. The harder I tug, the more they dance, the more I make them make a fool out of themselves, with such a ridiculous routine. I control the way they think and the way the react. I can determined whether they have a bad day or a great day, or a day in which starts off good but quickly turns horrible, because it's all the more fun watching smiles turn into frowns.

Don't believe me? How do you think this huge shindig came about? How do you think this super-main event match, came into fruition? Do you think this was planned by President Jeff and his monkeys who couldn't tell their asses from their own pile of shit? Do you really think I aligned myself with the Axis of Awesome, knowing that Shadow and the guy who follows close behind him at all times (who I swear has a name) wouldn't want to stick their noses in my business? I was prepared of it all, and it all fell into place. The fans should THANK me that I went so far out of my way, to bring them pure entertainment at the expense of my time.

Sure; Shadow and his butt buddies schtick is sorta played out. I mean, the only thing Shadow had going for him was his win streak and now that has been ended, it seems his big selling point flew straight out the window. But perhaps with such a big match on hand, we can get the very BEST out of Shadow and whatever that's still left out of tag-along. You know, like the typical pre-match interview with some nameless reporter, maybe a meeting between him and his partner in crime, trading lines of dialogue that are so awkward you may even question if it's a real encounter or if it's a scrapped script of a fucking amateur porn video.

However considering that the Axis of Awesome did me a favour; I figured I'd repay them, by wrestling alongside them this Wednesday Night. Fuck, I'm pretty much doing us all a favour aren't we? I mean, you two have stated publicly that the initial reason you've signed with the APW; was to be matched up against me. You and your friend, Shadow knew that you didn't have what it took to work your way through the experts ladder; where some of the best talent in the world awaits. In fact you thought that you'd merely by-pass all that hard work by signing with the APW, hoping to be booked against me in some singles match where you'd bank on the idea of narrowly escaping with some fluke of a win, which you'd ride for the rest of your career like a porn star, does dick.

Well, your buddy got fucked right off the bat and immediately his hype turned into a pile of useless shit. Shadow, you've been lucky enough to avoid me. As far as I'm concerned however; you are no longer in my league. Hell, the illusion of your self worth have worn dim on us all and even you know you've been left out in the dark. With all due respect to both Biggs and Chris Cyrus, they are worthy of exposing you. They are the henchmen to remove your dirt and scum from the APW; not me.

See the reason Biggs and Chris Cyrus are remotely successful in the APW; is because they understand their capabilities. Chris Cyrus became the best Xtreme Champion when he realized that the title was degraded with trash wrestling, spot fests, and inclusion of useless weapons. Biggs became the Overdrive champion, after I showed him that it wasn't the main-event where he belongs.

He became the success he is when he copped with his failure, accepted it, and cherished his incapability of being as good as me. That doesn't make them weak, that doesn't make them second rate; it gives them hope for a successful future. It gives them a chance to learn, harness and truly enjoy the fruits of their labour; and one day, when Level-One grows bigger then the APW; they'll be the first men to step up, and take my torch and re-light that flame in a show of honour.

This is something that the AKA will never come to understand. And so, much like their teammates the best they'll ever score, is second place. The motto they'll come to live by is a simplistic one; ''close, but no cigar. Better luck next time. You gave it all your best, be proud of yourself!''. Words that turn my stomach. Words the demean every bit of the competitive spirit that pushes this industry further. Failure is failure; at every cost and until your willing to look failure in it's eye, slap it across the face and OWN IT; you'll never see success.

Jesse Nunez, it's a shame you've found yourself fighting alongside Pence Weatherlight and the AKA. How quickly have we forgotten that it was Pence Weatherlight whom screwed us both out of a match. And sure, while we both know who was going to win with or without the inclusion of that spoilt punk; he decided to add the exclamation mark to such an outcome. He decided to play god, to play the deciding factor; because deep down, he enjoys the power. Deep down, he loves the fact that I pulled his string, and he decided to smile whilst he move.

Well, let's see if Pence is still laughing, when I severe is string and call this game of ours, finished. I can guarantee he won't be. But for now, he laughs. He laughs at both me and you Nunez. While I still walked out the world champion; I did so in part because of him. However, it feels wrong of me to solely direct my anger to him. Because if it's ANYONE who should be boiling with rage, boiling with passion, and boiling with pot full of revenge, it's you. And to be quite honest, Jesse; I don't see it. It appears as to me, you accepted being screwed over. You accepted the fact that you are no longer worthy of the top-spot of this promotion and that Pence was right in doing what he did; that it is not you, who deserves to be the APW world champion, but him.

Jesse Nunez; your dead, aren't you? I know girlfriend is gone; and that knowing Victor Hades, she probably isn't ever going to come back—but it's but time, you start screaming for yourself. It's about time, you start drawing up some tears as your career has been seemingly dead and gone for years now; and that it isn't coming back, no matter how hard you look. Forget about the dumb slut, Nunez. Forget about Victor Hades and his lust for blood; and start thinking about your future and there isn't one, then quit, walk away, and please...

Do not turn back.

See if you don't want to be here; then go home. If you aren't ready to fight, bleed, hell DIE for success in that ring, than you don't belong. I have a long laundry list of sacrifices I have made to continue on in this business, and while I may even regret them sometimes, when the bell rings? I know I still have a rush for this business. I know that winning is not only on my mind, but necessary to hold the very foundations of my sanity, upright. It's what separates me from pieces of shit like Shadow, and his friend whom plays second string, with no ambition of being any brighter then the shadow he stalks every day. It's what separates me from Jesse Nunez; because I know what I'm looking for; even if I haven't found it yet. Winning is what separates me from you...

Pence Weatherlight.

A piece of unmotivated shit leaching off the success of another man's work. Your reminders about the ONE time I allowed you to beat me; are starting to grow old. Your screams of being inferior to you are replicated in the form of laughs of whom hears it. Your words have grown bland, your words have grown tired, and your words have turned into Grade -F shit; that nobody wishes to hear, anymore Pence.

You can cry, you can reap about what you can't change; but the facts will still remain. I'll still be a global star; while your still trying to prove to everyone you can hang on the bars, like a top notch monkey. You can talk about the time in which you reigned world champion, and I'll remind you about how quickly that time expired. You can rant, you can rave; and you can repeat the same bullshit you spoke last week, just make sure after your done? You keep tabs on who is actually listening, and if so, if they take a fucking word of yours seriously.

If you think your just stepping into hell for one night, you're out of your mind. I'm going to wipe you off the fucking radar, demean you to the point where you aren't EVER mentioned in the same fucking sentence as me again. I'm going to hit you so hard, you cough up your lung, shit out your kidney, and shake the hand of death, in hopes you can cut a deal where you're still allowed to breath my air, you little shit-stain.

Until then; enjoy your spot in the sunshine—because it's going to be a long time, until you see that sun again. Dark, dark, dark times await you Pence; I can assure you that much.

And I don't break fucking promises; but your neck, is fair game upon impact.