'’One’s’’ Flames of the inferno (V)

[Level-Two]

‘’One’s’’ Flames of the inferno (V)

Eye lining sky scrapers

I could see the entire city from up here.

Its cliché, it’s worn out, and you’ve seen me here looking out this stain-less glass window time and time again. So you flip through your thoughts; and you ask yourself, what’s different this time around? What is he going to see or even say, that he didn’t the last time he looked through his window, and gazed his eyes over top the heads of the inhabitants that crawled beneath him? Well, I could take the easy way out, after-all the door is wide open, on old rusted hinges tempting me to walk through it with the rest of them. Fuck, I’ve already seen man after man walk through that door…

This business is repetitive. This business is repetitive. Fuck, this business is repetitive. If there was one thing I could ever count on in this business it would be the predictability of my victims. Hell, I could run down the list and pretty much pin point what exactly is going to happen; before it occurs. You just can’t wait to call me out on my fucking bluff, can you?

Well, Shadow is more than likely to display some shit pre-match interview, which includes the backstage tramp Cindy. Pence is guaranteed to sit down in-front of the camera and break any format of a written transcript, as soon as people with a quarter of their brain function realize paragraphs aren’t really supposed to go on for that long. And Jesse Nunez, well he’s guaranteed to include at least one shit pop-culture reference in his pre-match promo, because the corporate sponsorships are raping him for all his worth, or lack of. At least one of these guys upon hearing me uncovering their lackadaisical bullshit; will attempt to switch it up for two weeks; just to prove me wrong.

This city is like the rest of the world. Feeble minded, weak, and reality diluted. People wonder why I cut the world off from me when I did but the answer is simple. I’m above these people; their ants crawling under my feet; leeches the attempt to leak your blood from your veins to fuel their own self motivation. And if you want to talk about fan support, well that can be drawn up as simple as two lines in a short-story, such a similarity can only be created to explain why fans froth from the mouth when Pence graces them with his shit stirring presence. Fuck, I’m willing to bet a limb that they cheer on Jesse Nunez too—but I don’t have much to lose when I’m confined to this wheel chair.

If you’re still interested in knowing what I can see from this penthouse; let’s just say I can’t see as much as I used too. Perhaps it’s the dash of blood that fills my eyes; after Crazy man knocked a vein loose a mere few two weeks ago. Maybe it’s because with-out the world heavyweight title strapped around my waist; I’m tucked underneath the invisible glass ceiling that for me is impossible to reach, because I know zero boundaries and height need never to apply. But then, reality sets in. It’s not something you are familiar with, but it’s understandable.

I’m in a wheel chair; and my vision barely spans over the tallest sky scraper in the city; but I smile knowing that I will rise again. This wheel chair is temporary, that sky scraper stands the highest within the city for now. I can hear planes roaring through the skies at afar distance.

I’ll stand tall and Pence Weatherlight will crumble.

I turned away from the window; a shadow withheld in the pane white glass had risen from a seated position; and the planes roared a little louder and felt just that much closer…
--

Supermarket staredowns

‘’You can’t say that! You can’t do that! You can’t make fun of that, that’s off limits. That is what they said, and I told them to fuck off; before reminding them just who the hell I am. I laugh in the face of death, and French kiss this politically correct bullshit you call…controversy’’ –Level-One

I fucking hate you people.

Fake smiles, superficial walks, and the shit loads of self pity passed on down by these pathetic people makes me wants me to throw up a kidney all over isle five. I haven’t been in a grocery market for quite sometime; never less cradling a bag of over priced carrot sticks as if the shit tasted good. Well, it’s what the doctor recommended. She figured if I ate like a rabbit, I’d heal faster. I don’t know where she got her PHD, but it was worth a try.

Upon scooting my way around American built obstacle courses; smelling what they ate for breakfast along the way, I finally managed to work my way up to the counter. A line up snaked well past the aisle, but apparently standing in line doesn’t apply when you’re a cripple. A man in a black jacket, sporting a set of grey hair, with flimsy reading glasses turned around and looked down at me.

‘’Oh, sorry’’ The middle aged man says bowing his head nervously, before stepping aside. ‘’Go right ahead’’ he moved out my path, I glared at him through the corner of my eyes. If it wasn’t for him making this process go that much faster, I probably would’ve hated him even more. These people had the gull to look upon me, as if I was weak, broken, and helpless. I am not weak. I am not helpless, I am fucking Level…

‘’Sir, would you like me to get someone to assist you to your vehicle?’’ The cashier says, peering her head out through the shopping market window, while children walked in just behind her, staring at me with blank bold eyes until their parents tapped them softly on their shoulders; reminding them not to stare at ‘’different’’ people.

‘’No, I don’t need assistance’’ I said, my vision shifting out to the back parking lot. A big square block of cripple had been covered up by a mini-van. Kids poured out of it; while their parents walked ahead of them, as the kids ran amuck in the parking lot. The cashier saw this too, and turned to me with a look of guilt on her face. Yeah, she took up a handicap spot too on her nights out.

‘’I can’t believe some people these days, taking up a spot like that’’ The cashier says, as I shrug my shoulders.

‘’They got there first’’ I said; as she through my purchase into a plastic bag, and looked at me precariously. I can tell she wants to say something, but can’t, after all, I was the one being strolled around in a wheel chair.

‘’That’s going to be 52.45’’ The cashier reminds me; though I only came equipped with forty-five bucks. If there was anything good about being the cripple; it was that pity often translated to discounts. I told her I didn’t have enough, and she bought into what I was selling. Who’s the consumer now?

‘’You have a nice day sir’’ The cashier says reaching over to hand me my bags of purchase.

‘’Oh, I will. Nothing better than strolling around in a wheel chair all day’’ I utter softly under my breath; as I begin to wheel towards the exit door. Not too far away, the load of kids, and their parents that argued with each-other as they surpassed me with little regard. Hell, they didn’t even hold the door open for me.

It’s understandable.

I could open my own door; and for once on the day, sympathy wasn’t handed down upon me in such a chastising form. Outside the store; a young women with her child walked towards me. She held his small palm in hers, but even that wasn’t enough to stop him from breaking free from this mother and running up to me.

‘’Hey, I know you!’’ The boy shouts out in excitement; he examined my face a little closer, perhaps the entire situation was surreal to him. Before he could say anymore his mother came up behind him tugging on his shoulder. ‘’Mom, this is Level-One! He’s my favorite wrestler, look at him!’’ He says, as she looks down at me, a nervous look crosses her face, and she tries to fight back her nervous smile.

‘’Sorry about this…’’ She states.

‘’Sorry about what?’’ I ask. Despite the annoyance, there wasn’t anything horribly wrong with what the kid had done. In fact, I respected him for having the gull to charge at me like that.

‘’Well, you know. The mistaken identity’’ She says nervously, shaking her head back and forth, as she grabs her son’s hand. ‘’I am truly sorry’’ she apologies again while she drags her son past me. She knew it was impossible for a cripple to wrestle. They couldn’t stand. They couldn’t walk; they were as mobile as an untouched rock. I wasn’t a wrestler; it was impossible... ‘’Justin, your in big trouble young man’’ She reminds him concealing her anger underneath the whisper of her breath. I watched as she tugged her son down the street; watched as he twisted his neck to see me staring back at him.

Fuck your sympathy.
--

‘’So uh…how long are you going to be in that ridiculous wheel chair?’’

Patrica Lewis a blunt young lady to say the least. She wouldn’t hesitate to tell you how she felt, even if you wouldn’t like it, and she’d critique something even when she knew she couldn’t be effective. For the first time in her life; Patrica had sat down to watch one of my wrestling tapes. Despite her little to zero knowledge, she managed to point out that my stance was all wrong on the opening draw. With a look of twisted insanity flashed back at her; she stood by her story.

Patricia was right.

There was very little room to improve on my game though; and so she was drawn to my injury, which she was comfortable picking that apart too. While she didn’t try to stop me from wrestling, nor dare to hazard the recommendation; she did think I had taken it too far.

‘’You really should’ve stopped after the first 15 foot drop, Lester…’’

Patricia Lewis was a smart girl; but she knew very little about the emotional side of the business. I couldn’t imagine ever moving on with my life; if I didn’t beat Joel Bryant one last time. I couldn’t retire, nor walk away; I’d perhaps die inside of that ring, because I simply did not live up to my expectations. But now after beating Joel, I stood a slim margin of a chance of finally dropping the career on its highest perch, and for the first time in my life live, normal. You know, that American dream they speak about—but the cynic tells me, it simply doesn’t exist.

‘’Are you even listening to me?’’ Patricia tested; her eyebrow raised his frustration, she held a cup of tea her hand as she waited for my delayed reply.

‘’Yeah, of course’’ I responded. I wasn’t lying, I just wasn’t necessarily telling the truth. You probably do it all the time. ‘’It’s just that this match was something special, you know? It was more about the win, it was even more about the pride…’’ I said drifting off through a window; with the sunlight battling through reflecting of my eyes. ‘’…It was about freedom’’

‘’This is America’’ Patricia said mainly as a sarcastic jab. Though she was an American patriot of sorts, but still paid enough taxes to the point where she knew the infrastructure had been built to enslave her. ‘’Now that your fight with this Crazyman character is over and done with do you plan on taking it easy?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m in a wheel chair after-all’’ I said, my voice guilty with half truth. I was going to take it easy, but that’s only because I really had no other choice and deep down Patricia knew this. Patricia sipped on her hot tea placing the mug back down on the oak table.

‘’Lester, it’s going to come down to two things. Either you wrestle all your life; and have no life. Or you have a life; and die living it’’

I nodded my head. ‘’So your living up your life, huh?’’ I ask, a smile slowly being drawn upon my face.

‘’I’m a risk taker, Lester’’ Patricia hums. ‘’I live my life; because I don’t fear death’’ Grinned Patricia; before our conversation dwindled to silence. She looked the window; the hot burning sun stared back at her; it was a close cousin to her…

I looked away; I didn’t fear death either.

I’m already dead.
--

It’s a long story, they wouldn’t understand; hell I don’t even think they care. They want to see me in the ring, they want to see me in competition, fighting, bleeding my heart and soul in the middle of the ring—and when I’m done for the night; they expect me back next week to do it all over again. Nothing more than their pet guinea pigs; they put the moneys into the promotion; they are the life blood of what keeps us wrestling, perhaps they are the biggest attributers to all this mess by keeping the spirits of this avenue alive.

The longer I wrestle; the deeper fall my life takes upon itself to engage in. It wasn’t too long ago that I had met my father for the first time in my life; at the age of 25. He was convicted of murder; but innocent of it in my mind. Joel Bryant had mocked my father for being a cold blooded murderer in his own words; but his smile would fade when he found out through a twist of fate my father killed his. My father has since escaped jail serving true justice; but the bitter twist had brought me here today…

My brother wore a twisted look on his face and his eyes glowed red. It wasn’t the same shade of red that could be seen in my own eyes during a fit of rage; but a softer shade of red, his once bloodshot eyes had slowly began to fade. I didn’t move any closer; our knees were almost touching as we sat vertical from each-other in our ridiculously sized wheel chairs. I could tell my brother hated me; pitied me, and I couldn’t imagine just how hard he tried to draw his own blood out of his body; just to run from our biological brotherly relation. The roomed remained silent; our eyes examined each-others, until once of us was brave enough to speak.

‘’Little brother…’’ My brother started off; he always had more guts than I had. ‘’I don’t know why you’re here, but Joel Bryant has paid for my medical bills—and I don’t need anything from you, Lester. I never did and never will’’

‘’I’m…’’ I begin but I don’t get the chance to end.

‘’Sorry?’’ he asks; leaning his torso forward. ‘’Sorry doesn’t help me. Sorry doesn’t heal my wounds. Sorry doesn’t put dad back in jail where he belongs. Sorry, Lester? Sorry doesn’t give me my fucking legs back!’’ My brother screams; and for a second, I can feel his pain. ‘’…The doctors don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk again’’

..and for a minute I had been paralyzed too.

‘’It wasn’t meant to be this way…’’ I tell him; he curses under his breath. He doesn’t feel like going through this; he’s done with me. Done with his little brother that has never brought him nothing but misfortune; despite his little brother’s constant attempts for help. ‘’This should be you. Here in the wrestling ring, winning championships, kicking ass. Game, if it wasn’t for you—I would’ve never fell in love with this sport’’

‘’And if it wasn’t for you, Lester, I would’ve never despised it’’ My brother shoots back; his stone as cold as my heart. The two clashed; and his words won. I could feel myself shaking; I couldn’t tell the difference between fear, rage—perhaps it was both. ‘’But don’t worry, Lester. You still have your legs, and your dad, and your championships, your stupid title trinkets—and here I am held hostage to you, just like you had always wanted’’

‘’You shut your mouth!’’ I snapped. My brother clenched his teeth. ‘’Even with those two legs of yours you haven’t done shit with your life!’’ I dropped the gauntlet; and my brother reacted. A palm to the face; which thrusts my head back with a furious force.

‘’You have no respect, no fucking respect you son of a bitch!’’

I gritted my teeth; and went right for his jugular. ‘’We are both sons of bitches; our mom is a fucking dead beat slut’’ I knew how strong my brothers connection with my mother was. I never understood it; and perhaps that’s exactly why I attacked it. We are animals and we always attack our opponent’s weak spots, even when the weak spot is in the heart of your own brother.

This only made matters worst. I was dazed, I was confused and for quite sometime, I couldn’t even see the distorted face in-front of me. I saw circles of enflamed red; I saw a contortion; I saw my brother staring right at me, his eyes barely open wide enough to see me staring back at him. I can feel a trickle of blood run down my face—but it’s more of an abnormality then anything to seriously worry about, I had came accustomed to feeling like this physically—it came with the job description.

Our emotions had worn out with our punches. Blood encrusted in each of our knuckles and it wasn’t blood of our own. We were bounded by blood; but the blood often ran like water. I didn’t say anything to him; god knows he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t show it in his face that I have hurt him, he refuses to allow his spirits die in my presence; and I refuse to be the one to kill it.

‘’We’ll walk together one day one day brother, I promise’’

---

Fuck Jesse Nunez.

You want to know what’s wrong with the wrestling industry, look no further than this piece of art work over here. I don’t know what you have done to earn me wasting my time, nor energy on you, but obviously we have shit for brains bookers running rampant around here. Rather then looking out for their wrestlers and letting them rest; they rather toss out an underpaid camera crew to ask the ‘former’’ champion what he thinks about an up and rising APW superstar in Jesse Nunez. This way, they kill two birds with one stone. They make money off my face; and they make money of Jesse Nunez’s half-ass-response as he sat back cradling his fucking thumbs in an attempt to twist my own words against me. Of course this all isn’t before mentioning he has a new CD out in stores or a new T-shirt on APW.com in the merchandise section of our home website!

Jesse me and you we go way back. Hell, at one point I even called you an ally of sorts. While you were fetching buckets of ball-sweat from underneath the sack Shadow Man, and I was plotting to take FORCE and drive it straight into the ground to break free from its chains, we had crossed paths at times. Though I was always sure to say hi to one of your 30 managers on the way by, I never really thought much about you and like to think you felt the same way about me.

While we worked under the same stable, while we stood under the ‘’family’’ marquee; understand that we were never friends. I never thought highly of you and I was never thinking long term for either you, or FORCE. The one thing I did invest hope in was that you would see FORCE for the fraud it had been built to be; and eventually you did. You left. You walked away—even before I did.

Yet here we are again, faced with the same exact scenario. Except, it’s me who has walked away, and you whom refuses too. How long are you going to put on this front, Nunez? How long are you going to prolong the death of the Extreme Wrestling Corporation, by attributing it with your presence? Guys like you, Pence, and Mr. Strange, you all are lost in a delusion complex. You show up week after week; and you watch the crowds shrink from the thousands—to the couple of hundreds, while you pretend to march down that ramp day after day, as if you’re loyal. As if you’re doing a SERVICE to The Extreme Wrestling Corporation.

When are you going to let the EWC die, you cunt? Everytime it’s eyes slowly begins to close, you stick your hands in it’s face, and pull its eyes open once again. The EWC has breathed its last breath, yet you bend over and breathe your air into its mouth to keep it suffering just that much more. You really think the EWC needs to go on like this? Do you really want to see it continue in the poor, devastated, weakened state is has been in since President Mac left it? Your refusal to let it die; shits on all ten years of its existence.

The longer it lives; the more satisfaction President Mac gains. The EWC doesn’t give a fuck about you, it never did and it never will. All that history has been tarnished. And rather then turning our eyes away from what it has become, you continue to shove it into our faces. How many times are you going to talk about what you’ve done in the EWC Nunez? How long is BDC going to fucking rant just how great the promotion was, on low grade web-blogs with prebuscent little shits cooing at every time the self proclaimed fire breathing dragon uses the words ‘’bitch’’? How many more of you EWC ‘’loyalists’’ are going to contradict themselves by moving to the APW, before you realize that the EWC is OVER.

Jesse Nunez, your glory days have come and gone. I don’t know why your thick skull can’t comprehend such a thin, simple, plain statement. You haven’t done shit in years; and every single week you can be found spitting out useless archives about it, like anyone cares—never less remembers. You won the EWC championship, you beat Moses Lake, and you burnt BDC’S brother alive. There, your career is fucking summed up. Explain to me why any of this is relevant as to what you’re going to do in the APW? You’re in your twenties and already past your prime. You’ve blown your load; now swallow it. While you’re at it, remind BDC that he is no longer relevant either; he is either stupid or has a selective memory.

Furthermore, while your rolling head first down memory lane—I’ve been actually making history, and I’ve been molding the future. Talk about your title reins, you twit. I’m bigger than just a promotional champion; I’m an empire champion. But who are we kidding, Nunez? You don’t even understand what this means. You can’t even comprehend the stock I have outside of the APW; and so you’ll step up on that microphone and vow to beat me in the middle of the ring one day, maybe you’ll call me overrated? Guarantee a victory? Or maybe, you’ll forget about me—because your too busy reading off wikipedia articles of yourself dated back to 2007. You’re a joke.

You Jesse Nunez are the blue print for everything wrong with the industry; you stand for everything I hate about the business. You shoot movies, you act like a superstar; you make rap music—it’s all the same bullshit. You’re here as some publicity stunt; you’re here to wear a sponsorship clothing for an extra cut of cash, with their logos stuck on each one of your pale white ass cheeks, you branded bitch. You talk like an illiterate curb side pimp ‘’yo’’ who knows nothing but slang and text message talk ‘’dawg’’ before dropping one hundred pop culture references nobody gives a shit about, nor understands.

You’re a walking gimmick. You raise your middle fingers; I see the Gatorade wrist brands. I see you pump up your sneakers; I see the nike logo. Fuck, god knows you rather walk up a red carpet then down a wrestling ring. When are you going to take this seriously, Jesse? When are you going to stop living like a delusional superstar; and BECOME a superstar. You’re a long way from an APW world championship; and I don’t see you running that lap, even if you just bought a new pair of Jordan’s. For the love of god…

You want to take a look in regards to what you’ve done in the APW thus far? You protected the pussy of Max Carter, whom still coos at the sight of one of your 50 managers like a twelve year old boy. You beat up Hurricane Jeff and Streets Wilson. If my hands weren’t tied in your complete and utter awesomeness; I would give you around of applause right now. You have taken part in what was possible the worst heated feud ever, congratulations. You have President Jeff; whom wears capes and flies around his backyard with a bungee cord wrapped around his waist; and you have Max Carter whom has the charisma of a wet cloth. Add you and Streets Wilson to the equation; and you figure out that calculus sounds like a much better option than having to sift through such non-sense.

You know, when I heard you signed with the APW I was actually quite excited. Finally, it looked as if Jesse Nunez was going to change the direction of his declining career for the better, but all you have done is push your credibility further into dept. While people are loosing their houses by foreclosure, and mothers have to resort to prostitution to put food on their tables; you continue to take up a roster spot of some who could be just that much more efficient and continue to SPEND time BUYING into your OWN hype. If what you’ve done in the past month is any indication for what you have in store for the APW; then you’ll be feuding with Jason Royce over a burnt piece of chicken; or even who receives the next blow job from Cindy Shannon at a discount. Come on, you shit for brains bookers, get on it!

But I know you Jesse. You’re a sneaky one. I know what you have planned. You’ll remind me that I lost my world championship to Pence, won’t you? You’ll claim that I didn’t LET him win, but he BEAT me, right? Well, I don’t think that revelation you drilled into your head is going to help you much, when your laying with your back to the mat, and the eyes located in the back of your head, is it? The truth is; while I gave my world championship away, I’m starting to miss it. I can feel the wounds slowly closing; my lead intake has risen, but my blood is as cold as the iron shards I had been graced with a few weeks ago and will forever remain a piece of me, the doctors say. While my body slowly heals; my passion for this sport does too—I’m letting Pence know that I want back my title; and if you step in my way, I’m going to tell you to. I’m going to lean down, spit in your face and use you as my messenger…

‘’I’m coming…’’ I’ll whisper.

Click. Click. Click

... I’ll spare the life of the messenger.

Jesse Nunez, I don’t think you quite understand nor comprehend my true motivations here. The Level-One you thought you knew in the EWC isn’t the same Level-One; you’ll come to know now. Unless, you always saw me as a cold, hearted, son of a bitch—and while I don’t think of myself that way, you have an entire world filled of shit eating people to back you up on such bold statements. I am forewarning you, stay out of my way. Do not get mixed up in the main-event. Shut your fucking mouth; and learn your place—far below me. If you do all the above; I think you’ll find yourself flipping through the dull motions of your career a few years longer.

Let’s not do anything stupid; Jesse Nunez. This is real life; you only have the opportunity to live once.