‘’One’s’’ Flames of the Inferno (VI)

[Level-Two]

‘’One’s’’ Flames of the Inferno (VI)

Email sent to: [e-mail]

Note: I am a victim. The entire world is against me. Entire empires have been fostered, individual communities have been built up, and entire mentalities are built around the foundation of destroying me where I stand. You may think I’m over exaggerating, you may think I’m paranoid; god knows you think I’m damn well out of my mind. But this is yet another way to attack me. To make my feelings abnormal and stand out from the rest of them.

‘’Plead your case, crybaby’’

‘’Last week I had found myself strolling by the back hall ways of the arena in my wheel chair; in which our first issue emerged. Why the hell was I forced to come to the arena in a wheel chair? I wasn’t fit to wrestle; they knew I couldn’t even walk. Furthermore they tossed me into the wrestling ring; helpless to the attacks I had been bombarded with. My heart had raced as Jesse Nunez picked me up onto his shoulders; and threatened to end my career for absolutely no reason; other than he was carrying out what the WORLD had wanted. He tried to assassinate me and they all cheered! I don’t know what came over me; but I fought the evils; and emerged with my Iron fist still intact.’’

‘’You’re losing it…’’

‘’They are all working for President Jeff and his cronies. I know as well as anyone that Pence Weatherlight has been clinging to the underwear that ‘’good grace’’ has been wearing for a month straight! They gave him everything. Open ended contracts, main-event spots, and questionable booking practices to keep him ‘’on-top’’

‘’Well…’’

‘’And you know what!? In addition to all that President Jeff even sponsored Crazyman before my match with him! Secretly, he supported Crazyman! He knew what he was capable of; and encouraged me to take him out at the expensive of my own stable condition all so his ‘’chosen one’’ could rein supreme. President Jeff used my passion for the APW against me. I was looking out for the promotion and this is how he repays me?’’

‘’Well you do have a title…’’

‘’A title rematch? I never should have lost the title to begin with. President Jeff purposely booked his stupid pay-per-view on the experts spectacle just in attempt to draw attention to his pathetic card line up. He used me and then tossed me away like a broken condom. That’s it. I’m leaving, and you won’t hear from me until I get my world championship title shot and I win back I never should've lost...and after that? The APW is officially dead to me! I am bigger than you all.’’

‘’…Not so fast. You have a match this week. You’ll be teaming up with Mr. Strange taking on Shadow and Pence Weatherlight’’

This is EXACTLY what he said to me. This against the law, against moral and ethnic code, is it not? I am sending you this email in hopes that you can help me out; this is physical torture and they are FORCING me to compete against my will. I think I may die just contemplating the physical anguish this promotion has been putting me through for corporate profits and resources.

Please help me…

Sincerely,

Level-One
--

It had been the dullest week of my life.

I wasn’t watching a Pence Weatherlight promo; nor was I tuning into see who had been interviewing Shadow this week and my guess was as bad as any. Sitting in my wheel chair like a useless vegetable is what had really done on my head in. I sat out into the sun for some fresh air; and got a lung full of poison in return, and so I spent the rest of the day in doors. Patricia Lewis had been kind enough to keep me company for a few hours; rolling me around whenever I needed her.

‘’Patricia…’’ I called, and it wasn’t long before she had been summoned almost against her will.

‘’What the heck is it this time, Lester?’’ Patricia asked her voice shaking with sass, her hands placed strategically on her hour glass hips.

‘’Can you grab me the remote?’’ I asked. It was only a short distance ahead of me, but I couldn’t walk over to it, and to physically exhausted, mentally strained, and systematically abused by the hands of evil to stroll along myself.

‘’Are you kidding me?’’ Patricia shot off as she reached over and picked up the remote which enslaved the television. ‘’Over the past thirty minutes you’ve called me five times!’’

‘’Well, I needed you for six…’’ I countered; causing Patricia to raise a single eyebrow. ‘’I managed to hold it in, but I don’t think I can manage any longer…’’

Patricia sighed with a disgusted look drawn upon her pretty young face. ‘’When the hell are you going to start walking again? You seem pretty fine to me…’’ She said sarcastically.

‘’I’ll be good to go…soon’’ I teased.

‘’And let me guess the minute your good to go, you’ll be limping back into the wrestling ring with-out a second thought?’’ Patricia said as she carelessly tossed the remote towards me, it bounced of my chest and fell into my lap.

‘’Damn right’’ I answered. ‘’I don’t think anyone understands just how much I want to get back into the ring, and get back into my regular schedule of kicking ass, breaking bones and taking names’’ I said before looking up to Patricia in confusion. ‘’I don’t know what is wrong with these darn fans, but it seems like they think I’m taking it easy; that I am avoiding competition, as if this entire wheel chair thing was nothing more than a pathetic ploy to avoid ring action for the past few weeks’’

‘’Really?’’ Patricia inquired. I sighed and merely slung back into my wheel chair before flipping through the channels on television. ‘’Sounds like a crazy thought’’ She chimed in over the volume of a laughing crowd. ‘’You know, before this whole accident, the entire wheel chair thing…I really thought had had gotten through to you’’

My eyes drifted away from the television; it was some lame talk-show I had never seen before. Patricia took a seat on the side of her couch with her eyes pointed down at me. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Well; before you lost the championship…’’ Patricia started off, but instincts had cut in.

‘’Correction, I didn’t loose a damn thing’’ I interrupted with little regard, before clearing my throat. ‘’I allowed him to hold onto my belt for the good of the promotion. Oh, do I regret it’’ I said. It was quite clear that sometimes honorability wasn’t respected in all areas of the business. After all, Pence Weatherlight hadn’t dared to thank me yet and President Jeff continued to treat me more of a royalty bonus then an actual human being, the piece of shit.

‘’That isn’t the point’’ Patricia huffed. ‘’Before this all happened; I thought you were going to sit down and rethink this career? I mean at what point is it all enough? At what point does it no longer become worth it?’’ Patricia quizzed.

I sat in silence. The scuffle from the tube; only resonated to me as white noise. It was as if Patricia had been awaking the very same demons I had tried to lay to rest. The truth is I knew I had a breaking point, but I didn’t know what it was. Hell, I sat in a wheel chair—plotting a scenario in which I could take back my championship belt before I had even been cleared to wrestle. It took a lot of me to reply; and even when I did; it didn’t get Patricia or me any closer to the answer we had both been looking for.

‘’I don’t know’’

The room dipped back into silence. Patricia eyes drifted away from me and focused towards the television screen. I could see her engaging in deep state of thought; but she was too strong of a woman to read; and I was left illiterate to her true emotions. She focused on the television talk show; before throwing out what could only be described as a crazy idea.

‘’Well, how about instead of sitting in that wheel chair like a vegetable you go out and do something?’’ Patricia whined. I rolled my eyes and firmed a fake laugh.

‘’There’s nothing to do when you’re a cripple’’ I shot back. Patricia slapped me across the back of the head, it was meant to be playful but I had taken a few bumps on the cranium and I knew it was sure to kick start a nasty headache.

‘’I know of a community centre just up the road. How about you give them a good motivational speech, you know someone to look up too...’’

Oh, hell no.

‘’Aw, thank you’’ Patricia aggressively added on; giving me no time to retort her proposition. Patricia stepped behind my wheel chair and began to push me out towards the front door. ‘’Plus, I need to run a few errands’’ Patricia asked before padding her back pockets; matches—check.

‘’You’re lucky I’m a nice guy…’’ I mumbled, as she pushed me towards the dreaded exit of her home.
--

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

I sat in my wheel chair, upon a small wooden stage with a microphone in hand with the intent of delivering a message to children; a majority of them cripples. Their wheel chairs aligned the gymnasium with their parents standing idly by with proud smiles on their faces. It was quite obvious that these people had been pushing their children like shopping carts so often that they never had a chance to sit down and see me in action; because if they did, they simply wouldn’t be smiling.

I tried to stomach the fact I had to talk to a bunch of geeks, losers; and half bred human beings that would quit possibly never be laid in their life’s. Is it even possible? Does one have to worry about being crushed by an oversized wheel, or you know loss of bed space? I didn’t say any of this of course; the media would’ve had the field day pitching their weekly dosage of politically correct bullshit to a nation of inbred morons who would follow every line they spewed. The truth is; these people were below me. Even if they could walk, dance, and do summersaults; I was still better then them and they like the rest, simply weren’t good enough.

Though, since Patricia had drug me here; I figured I’d suck it up and roll with the punches even if they left me with a set of broken ribs and matching set of black eyes. I don’t know how I put it together; I had zero game plan, and by the time I had reached the stage I realized I was going to have to pull words out of my ass; and have them walk with those who couldn’t. No pun, intended.

‘’Hello ladies and gentlemen; boys and girls’’ I started off directed to the sea of oversized seat with oversized children. ‘’Today, I’m here to discuss how it is like to live life as a paraplegic with you all from my perspective. Hopefully, this gives you young kids the encouragement to get up off…get up off the old age assumptions that you can’t do what you want to do!’’ That was close. Nearly blew my cover.

‘’I understand what each of one of you are going through. I know how it feels to be entrapped, barred to the chair, as if it has become apart of you. Each day each and everyone of you suffered hard times, trust me, I have suffered them too—and quite frankly, I think I have it even worse off’’

The parents resting up against the brick walls listened carefully. They were caught off guard with the aggressiveness of my speech, but nothing too over board. I didn’t hear any gaps of horror; and so I took it in stride. Obviously, I had been doing something right.

‘’It happened three weeks ago. I fought Joel Bryant, an evil man—similar to any bully you may have ever countered. He was mean; he was tough, and he showed no respect to others, I say he was only out for himself. And so, I took it upon myself to put the big bully in his place’’

My words had garnished some support. A connection of some sort had been made with the crowd; I felt dirty at that very moment. The last thing I wanted to do was be associated with these pathetic people.

‘’The big bully however; well he did this to me’’ I stated; pointing down at the wheel chair. ‘’For the past week I have had to sit in this thing, and be ushered around like some helpless drone! I have only been in here for a few weeks; but let me tell you, it feels like a lifetime’’

The gasps emerged from the crowd. Clearly, I had counted my eggs before they hatched. I tried to wheel back on what I had said, but it seemed like the signals were mixed; and it only ended up propelling me closer to the whole I had dug for myself.

‘’Before this; I could walk, and deep down I know that’s what you ALL want. I was a professional wrestler, living it up, kicking ass and taking names; and now I’m strapped in here. While I will one day stand; knowing that I have to sit here bored out of my mind; the entire thing is simply a moot point. If you know me, you understand that I am BETTER than this!’’

The community supervisors quickly had enough and began to snake their way down the isle towards the stage. Once up on-top they walked over to me and began to wrestle the microphone from my grips; inaudible screams of mine had managed to get through, while kids in the crowd looked on nervous and a few parents found themselves quickly aiding their kid in typical fashion.

So I was kicked out of the cripple bar mitzvah; oh well. To me it made little sense on why people came in to lecture these kids anyways. To sugar coat the truth, cut it into little pieces; and the push it into the big black gaping whole through their face was far from commendable. The truth was; I had been sitting in here for a week, and each day had been miserable. Those who don’t understand peddle such garbage; those do understand strive off the garbage they have been peddled from the rest of the world. Some written rule that says someone has to open up a door for me; some age old rule about respect your elders—it was all wishful bullshit. Assholes are assholes; and I respect no one.

It had been a few minutes; and there was no sign of Patricia, which wasn’t the greatest news. She was the one that had brought me here, wooing me in hook, line, and sink—and she wasn’t even here to cope with my side effects. It was a long way to her house; and it would take forever before I wheeled my sorry ass back; and so I waited a little longer. It was anyone’s guess to where she had been, or what she had encountered…what did she encounter?

<<<>>>

A squad car rolled its way down the street; its eye catching and familiar colors caused other drivers on the crowded road to slow down in fear of receiving a citation of any kind. The squad car patrolled this particular stretch of street, at least once a day. It was the rougher end of the city; but nothing straight of Compton. The police force had been on alert to keep their eyes open for any suspicious behavior, because it could be their next break in a major investigation.

The side walks were particularly crowded by teens and their skateboards; especially as the sky got brighter and school exams drew to an end. While the officers would usually keep their eyes locked in on these types of troublemakers; their focus was drawn to the most beautiful figure on the stretch of gum splattered side walk. She had been a person of interest—in more way then one.

Her blonde vibrant hair lay slung on the side of her shoulders; a black purse that contained her favorite items that weren’t necessarily as innocent as hand bag with make-up, or eyeliner. The two officers has heard about her; she had been a person of interest in regards to two cases of arson around the city, but they had nothing to stick her with, and she had left them with a bright smile.

‘’Look at that, Patricia Lewis’’ The driver of the patrol car states; his eyes following her every stride.

‘’Yeah, she’s quite the looker’’ The partner in-training responds casually.

‘’I’m going to keep my distance, you make sure you don’t take a single eye off her…’’ The officer of six years demands.

‘’You don’t have to worry about me’’ His partner joked; with a light hearted smile. He tried not to lick his lips seductively. While these two men where officers—they weren’t above the law, nor were they below it. They watched as Patricia Lewis stopped just outside a store front; standing on the side walk her back was turned to the ever ending traffic.

Patricia Lewis was a smart young lady. Out spoken, wise beyond her years, and had the experiences of life handed upon her; before most people her age. But like any smart woman, she didn’t want you to know this, she wouldn’t flat out say she was smarter than you, or even then she knew about your steps before you even made them and picked a destination. If you knew this; well…she wouldn’t be too smart now, would she?

She reached into her purse; which had the two officers leaning over in their seats in anticipation of what would come out of it; but the item she pulled out was so small, they couldn’t get a bite on the metallic object they assumed the saw. And so they pulled closer; right into her view. She fixed the make-up on her face, before closing her hand mirror shut. Tossing the hand held mirror she reached into her bag, pulling out a match.

‘’Ah, we got something’’

…And then a cigarette which she secured behind her ear. Patricia Lewis lit up the cigarette; and turned her attention into the street; where she waved at the squad car that slowly rolled on by. She blew smoke from her face; god knows she couldn’t stand it; when Level-One had rolled around the corner.

‘’Where the heck have you been?’’ He inquired, as Patricia glanced at him with surprise drawn on her face with telling colors of red. ‘’I’ve been waiting for you for quite sometime, and if I didn’t see you here I would’ve hitched a bus’’

‘’Sorry, I got held up’’ Patricia Lewis said; her muscles ached from the big red bottles she had left behind the store front. Level-One looked up at her; the glow of the end of her cigarette catching his eye.

‘’Hey, and I thought you said you didn’t smoke?’’

Patricia Lewis looked at the cigarette before throwing it to the ground, stomping it out. ‘’Yeah, but I also told you I’d try anything once’’

Patricia Lewis; some say, she’s a firecracker.
--

To: [e-mail]
From: [e-mail]

Dear, Level-One.

We at the wrestling sports commission and our fine workers on our board have done everything in our power to revoke the decisions made by President Jeff owner of the Action Packed wrestling federation, unfortunately President Jeff has paid for any fines we can possibly give him and his promotion. Understand that you hold the decision on weather you choose to perform or not…

‘’There is no choice…’’

CLICK TO START PROMO

…LOADING…

…LOADING…

…LOADING…

Fade the fuck in.


Tonight, I’ll be talking about Shadow and Pence Weatherlight. Pass me some alcohol and a tranquilizer dart; this one is going to be a fucking doozey. Maybe Mr. Strange may do something surprising this week—like not getting us disqualified by attacking the referee; a rowdy fan, or chewing on the ring rope out of sheer boredom—or we can deal with the ladder. Pence Weatherlight blabbering on to the point where nobody notices he has said the EXACT same shit he had the last week; and Shadow featuring yet another awkward interview in his shit-filled production, throwing a fancy title over it—and counting it as a promotional piece.

You know, I could legitimately been bent out of shape having to deal with you both; or I can hold my nose and fern a sly grin. Because here I am facing two of the APW’S new golden boys with yet ANOTHER deck stacked in their favor. It’s no surprise I am booked in yet another match despite requesting time off which is not only illegal; but low, and throwing a useless Mr. Strange on my corner for support just incase I stood a chance on my two bad legs. Hell, they could’ve given me Jason Royce and called it a fucking night—but of course, that would’ve been too blatant.

It’s quite obvious the APW has been taken over by Pseudo-business men whose main goal is to sell t-shirts, and create frivolous storylines week in and week out. It’s as if everyone has the Jesse Nunez mentality around here as of late. Run your mouth; get paid. Smile; sell t-shirts. More importantly, look your best—because you never know when President Jeff is going to throw your ass on the back of a milk carton to pull in some extra side profits. What they even do with the money, I don’t know. You would think Pence Weatherlight, was Jesus god-dad didn’t want, and tossed back onto earth with the amount of pyro this guy gets; are we all supposed to bow down to our king now?

Bitch please. This shit is getting old now. The entire APW has rolled over for the both of you, and you’ve barely pet its belly in return. It’s pretty pathetic; when President Jeff can’t even sell you as people, so he does his best to build pre-emptive definitions of what you’ve done. Pence Weatherlight, aren’t you that guy who main-evented every event since signing with the APW? OH MY GOSH! And Shadow…that’s the guy with the current longest winning streak, right? These business pricks are looking out for their selling points and target markets; and they’ll do anything to keep you guys up there…anything.

Shadow the overdrive champion. Quite the accomplishment, isn’t it? It’s a shame you aren’t in the main-event picture, and held back by the weight of that tin can that couldn’t even float in the same water John Green has been drowning in the past what…year? Apparently exceptions can be made for a guy like you, you know like barely if ever defending the overdrive championship? Or how about throwing together useless matches with under tier talent in which we KNOW cannot defeat you? I’d say you’d be the chosen one, if it wasn’t for Pence Weatherlight shoving his baby face up the APW money maker.

The overdrive championship means very little, it’s just another aspect the promoters use to get you ‘’over’’ in this little sport of ours. Championships around here are used for lame marketing tactics. You really think Jeff cares about the championships prestige? If he carried about the championships he would spend the same amount of energy trying to build contenders, rather than molding his hand picked favored champions to be greater than what their resume entails. I know your riding high on your god-given ‘’success’’ but this is an industry, and you never know when they’ll turn their back on you in order to gain loss profits.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not crazy enough to claim you are in direct co-hoots with President Jeff; but he’s using your ignorance to his advantage, you fight for his cause, and you don’t even realize it. Not only do you run around with the overdrive championship to the point where we almost forget you actually own it; but you’re here alongside Pence Weatherlight in attempts to prove your superiority complex over me and Mr. Strange, but under the crazy assumption that you do win—where does it exactly bring you?

The truth is; you’re a pawn in a much bigger game. Everything President Jeff has booked in the past two months has been in Pence Weatherlight’s favor. He’s given him free main-event slots week after week; before he was championship bound. There has NEVER been ANYONE who has signed with the APW who was tossed upon the main-event in their first match. Pence Weatherlight can flaunt his championship all he wants, because the fact remains he wasn’t a BLIMP on anyone’s radar before winning it; thus his main-event hand out cannot be justified. Thus we find ourselves here dealing with this week.

So it’s Pence Weatherlight and Shadow vs. Mr. Strange and an INJURED Level-One, a mere week before a pay-per-view? Yeah, defiantly nothing fishy about that. What the heck is there to possibly gain with Pence Weatherlight defending his championship a week from now? It wasn’t as if President Jeff hadn’t lured me in with a FATAL FOUR title defense to begin with; on the SAME night as my match with Joel Bryant, which drew more excitement then the Mayhem pay-per-view, I might add.

Yeah, Pence that’s right—I head headline global events, something that you should take comfort in knowing you’ll NEVER be able to accomplish such a feat. Instead, you rather watch me tire myself up and pick up the scraps like a scavenger, and claim as if you had actually beaten me at my best. Pence, I let you win. I gave you that championship. And while this may all sound crazy and colorful; your front as a credible champion will be destroyed when you lose the world title and rightfully hand back what I never should’ve lost.

Pence, I am still unbeaten in singles competition. President Jeff can pull any underhanded tactic he wants in swaying the victory in your favor; but I’m coming out with all guns blazing. I am bringing everything I have and more; even if I limp and stubble around like a gimp doing so. Don’t you realize? You cannot beat Level-One; only Level-One can beat Level-One. And I’m done with wounds of self infliction.

Still, I hope you are enjoying the thrills of reining supreme even if it lasts a mere 15 seconds. I hope you enjoy the glow of the championship, I hope you harness the weight of the championship with your own hype and glory, and I hope you take the advantage of banging the loose women in bunches as they will come; because while I would like my world championship back; I can’t help but smile like a proud dad watching his only son that made it.

Face it, I made you something. For the three seconds it took for you to pin me; and me deciding I wasn’t going to lift my shoulder off the mat; suddenly people knew your name. You toppled the unstoppable giant, you had done what so many people failed too in masses; you beat Level-One. However, just as quickly your success came, it also had left you. Because rather than rolling over and thanking me for what I had given you, you decided to flaunt it. You decided to blow it out of proportion and claim credit for it—thus stealing what I had already given to you for free. You ungrateful son of a bitch. It wasn’t long before until everyone learnt just how a big of a fraud you were. It wasn’t long before until everyone looked the face of reality in its eyes, and realized what had been staring back at them all along, Pence Weatherlight.

Not a true warrior and world champion, not a main-eventer, not even a force to be reckoned with. You became the one that slipped by. The snot faced punk that slipped through the cracks and managed to avoid his inevitable fate. You then followed this up by doing exactly what? You bring nothing entertaining to the fans, god knows why they even dare to cheer you; you merely waltz around with the world title belt, call yourself the main man, and fail to prove it night in and night out. It was no surprise our ‘’world champion’’ was pinned nearly out of the gate when representing us in the major leagues.

President Jeff can’t continue to peddle whatever bullshit he wants to keep you fresh and relevant anywhere, you can main-event an APW show all you want. You can edit cheers in from the PA system; and pay decoys to play crowd members and have them faint, when you grace this stage with your oh-so amazing presence; but you will NOT continue to use the APW world championship to keep your stock up, and to paint a face over something I had built from the ground up.

Pence, I understand you want to keep that belt around your waist—and I understand President Jeff wants too to. See, I’m unpredictable. While he knows that you will go out to the ring night after night; rant on with your manager peddling your ‘’bad boy balls’’—he has no idea what I will do. I mix it up; I shed my colors like a chameleon. I’ll blend in when I need to; and stand out when I’m ready to attack. President Jeff rather play a game with a ‘’safe champion’’ that one who rather walk over a pothole in the road, rather then rolling down his sleeves and getting down into it. Then again, I can’t blame Jeff. You holding that belt might have devalued it so much, to the point where I cannot repair it—and that’s when the flames come into play. I’ll burn the bitch if I have too.

I’m sure right now; it’s all smiles and egg nog’s for you. I can barely stand; yet I’m forced into a match with guy who doesn’t know if he’s the bad ass or the good-guy (apparently that changes depending on what venue he’s in—but now we are in Mexico, its hard not to hate Mexicans…) and I’m teaming up with Mr. Strange, a guy who likely will not comprehend that attack your own tag-partners is detrimental to the cause you are should be fighting for. So now that the odds are stacked so high against me; I might as well turn away, back down, and tell you guys to all come back next week when I’m ready…

…Change of heart. Injured or not; I will be there. See, I may loose this battle—I have not much ammo left in my guns. You may win this battle—I only have knifes, spoons and forks to fend you off with. But you will NOT win this war. Wars are won because of endurance; not how many people you kill, wound, or savagely beat along the way. So, whatever happens tonight happens. I’m looking past overdrive—and straight to my title match, even if I’m not in one piece to push myself there.

I will regain my loss wages; a gain you simply can’t afford.