Post by Michael Callahan on May 20, 2013 10:54:20 GMT -4
Sometimes, knowing you tried your best and failed is good enough to put you at ease when life doesn't go your way. For Michael Callahan however, having put every screed of energy into becoming a champion only to fall at the first hurdle makes the impact that much more shattering. Sore all over with bruises the size of baseballs and nicks and cuts adorning his battle worn body, the strain of championship defeat is proving too much for the young megastar. Michael shuts the locker room door behind him and breathes a sigh of relief, taking the little comfort he can in the end of the match and knowing that his body will no longer suffer.
Michael Callahan: I worked so hard to get to this spot.... and at the first opportunity to prove myself, it was snatched away from me.
Michael pulls the steel folding chair out from underneath the shelf of the make-up mirror and takes a well earned sit down, letting the chair take the heavy weight off his chest. Weary with desperation, his head heavy with regret, his eyes sink to the floor as he stares into the nothingness of the dull grey carpet beneath his feet.
Michael Callahan: But... I can't quit. I can't let Level One get away with this. I'll come back, I'll regroup, stronger than ever and I'll right the wrongs. I-
Michael looks up, physically and mentally but when he catches his own reflection in the mirror his morale slumps back down again.
Michael Callahan: Look at me, I'm a mess. Wearing this stab vest? When was the last time I got any sleep?
Deep round darkness encircles two blood-shot, vine green eyes. The streaks of red surrounding emanating from the iris are as deep, jagged and haphazard as his thoughts. Barely able to look at himself, he slumps his shoulders back against the chair and stares up at the ceiling. Maybe now he can finally put his mind at ease.
Michael Callahan: I'm just... so tired... so tired. I need, I need sleep.
Michael shakes his head of the cobwebs, trying his best to wake himself up. He unzips his stab vest and slowly slides off the chair and to the floor below, using the heavy duty combat gear as a pillow for his aching head.
Michael Callahan: I can... I can rest here. I'm safe now. They won't hurt me any more.
Michael's eyes slowly roll shut, the darkness of his eyelids a comfort to him in that maybe he'll get a decent nights sleep. Quietly snoring, Michael is all but ready to fall into a blissful sleep when there's a knock at the locker room door. Michael ignores it at first, rolling over and turning his bare back to the door as if that would make then go away, but when there's another knock on the door Callahan knows there's no ignoring it. He sits up, rubs his eyes and calls the knocker in.
Michael Callahan: Is that-... Come in!
When the door opens, Callahan has to pinch himself. He expected Shane West at best for an interview, Level One or Delikado to rub salt in the wounds at worst. Instead, he sees Steve Fukuyama, his former personal assistant and closest confidante.
Michael Callahan: Steve...? I thought you never wanted to speak to me again.
Steve steps forward and offers his hand to Michael to help him up. Michael declines, but pushes himself up off his elbows and to his feet to greet his old friend.
Steve Fukuyama: It's okay Michael, it's over now.
Michael sighs and nods his head, knowing that Steve is totally correct.
Michael Callahan: I know. Maybe I should take some time off... go see Dr. Gray.
Dr. Alexander Gray: See me? I'm sure I can pen you in for some R&R. You deserve the time off.
Callahan whirls around to see the doctor himself sitting on the make up mirror ledge, kicking his legs idly over the edge as he takes down some notes. Callahan can barely believe his eyes.
Michael Callahan: Dr. Gray... how did you get in here?
Vikki Lahm: Before you figure that out, maybe you can figure out why you were such a monumental let down.
Callahan twists back around to see his former lover and PA standing next to Steve Fukuyama, her arms folded and a frustrated look on her heart shaped face.
Michael Callahan: Vikki! How's Baltimore?
Reaching out to embrace her, Vikki and Steve step aside to make way for another face from the past, one that Callahan would never thought he'd see again.
?: My son the wrestler, the politician, Kelso's favourite son. I am so proud of you.
Now, Callahan has to pinch himself. Standing before him is a slender woman in her late fifties, cheeks stained red from years of drinking and with ragged grey hair tied back with a banana print headband.
Michael Callahan: Mom?!
Sylvia Callahan: Hello Michael.
Callahan shakes his head in disbelief, unable to comprehend what's going on. Sylvia Callahan died less than a year ago as a result of liver failure due to excessive alcoholism. She shouldn't be here.
Michael Callahan: But... no, this isn't real. You're dead.
?: Am I dead, Michael?
Michael spins around 180, dizzy from U-turns but knocked for six by the sight in front of him. Bethany Monroe, Michael's first love, the woman who died because Michael wouldn't authorise the insurance payments out of selfish pride. Last time he saw Bethany, she was bulimic, dirty, caked in mud and blood and a myriad of deep cuts and scars from her ultimately fatal car accident. Now, she looked as beautiful and as radiant as the day he proposed to her.
Michael Callahan: Bethany...
Bethany Monroe: Come to me Michael. I've missed you so much.
Callahan reaches for Bethany but the closer he gets, the further away she seems as the locker room begins to stretch.
Michael Callahan: I've missed you too... but, you died in my arms! How is this possible?
A gruff, gloved hand clamps onto Callahan's shoulder. Callahan peers back to see the smirking face of The GI, Private Zzyzx, but with colour and beaming pride in his face.
The GI: I dunno about you Mike, but I've seen a whole buncha' dead pinko scum in my time and they don't walk and talk. They ain't dead.
Another hand, the frail and liver spot speckled appendage of Sylvia rests on his other shoulder.
Sylvia Callahan: Come on Michael. Come give your old mother a kiss. Or is my baby boy too grown up for that?
Michael Callahan: Okay but-
Bethany puts her hands on Callahan's neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
Bethany Monroe: No, come to me Michael. I've waited so long for this moment.
Callahan pulls his head back and turns away, shrugging off GI, Sylvia and Bethany and trying to make his way out the door.
Michael Callahan: Get off! This isn't the time for-
Steve tries to get in his way but Michael shoves past him, slamming him against the door.
Steve Fukuyama: Come on Mike, let's go play golf![/B]
Callahan carries on walking but his old college friend, Chris Lawson steps into the way.
Chris Lawson: Buddy's outside in the truck! Let's go hit the bars! Like in college!
Michael tries to step past but finds his left leg weighs more with his latest lover, Ellen Bishop coiled up around it refusing to let him go.
Ellen Bishop: Michael, what about me? You said you loved me.
Michael tries to pull his leg free but Ellen won't budge. Unable to move, the others advance upon him with clawing hands, all wanting Michael to themselves.
All: Michael, Michael please, Michael, please!
Grabbing at whatever they can, Michael struggles against the tidal wave but he's outnumbered. He reaches for something to grab a hold of but the army of hands pulling him back into this sea of people is too strong to bear. He tries to scream but he can't find the air as he drowns underneath the pressure, unable to fight back.
Michael Callahan: ARRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
And so ends the story of Michael Callahan, to quote an age old axiom, not with a bang but a whimper. After his title loss at Mayhem, Michael Callahan suffered a cataclysmic meltdown and was sectioned in the Western State Hospital in his home state of Washington under the diligent watch of Dr. Alexander Gray. Medical reports say that he frequently hears the voices of former inmates talking to him and that he constantly mutters about “waking up from The American Dream”. Avoiding all human interaction he can, the only people he will speak to in the hospital is Dr. Gray and an orderly named Hannah Willet.
Dr. Gray says that there is no permanent damage to his psyche and that Callahan may yet be able to return to normality but whether he'll ever be the same as a human being, a wrestler or a politician remains to be seen. For now though, the once brightest star in APW fades away into the shadows of his crumbling mind, never to be seen again.
Michael Callahan: I worked so hard to get to this spot.... and at the first opportunity to prove myself, it was snatched away from me.
Michael pulls the steel folding chair out from underneath the shelf of the make-up mirror and takes a well earned sit down, letting the chair take the heavy weight off his chest. Weary with desperation, his head heavy with regret, his eyes sink to the floor as he stares into the nothingness of the dull grey carpet beneath his feet.
Michael Callahan: But... I can't quit. I can't let Level One get away with this. I'll come back, I'll regroup, stronger than ever and I'll right the wrongs. I-
Michael looks up, physically and mentally but when he catches his own reflection in the mirror his morale slumps back down again.
Michael Callahan: Look at me, I'm a mess. Wearing this stab vest? When was the last time I got any sleep?
Deep round darkness encircles two blood-shot, vine green eyes. The streaks of red surrounding emanating from the iris are as deep, jagged and haphazard as his thoughts. Barely able to look at himself, he slumps his shoulders back against the chair and stares up at the ceiling. Maybe now he can finally put his mind at ease.
Michael Callahan: I'm just... so tired... so tired. I need, I need sleep.
Michael shakes his head of the cobwebs, trying his best to wake himself up. He unzips his stab vest and slowly slides off the chair and to the floor below, using the heavy duty combat gear as a pillow for his aching head.
Michael Callahan: I can... I can rest here. I'm safe now. They won't hurt me any more.
Michael's eyes slowly roll shut, the darkness of his eyelids a comfort to him in that maybe he'll get a decent nights sleep. Quietly snoring, Michael is all but ready to fall into a blissful sleep when there's a knock at the locker room door. Michael ignores it at first, rolling over and turning his bare back to the door as if that would make then go away, but when there's another knock on the door Callahan knows there's no ignoring it. He sits up, rubs his eyes and calls the knocker in.
Michael Callahan: Is that-... Come in!
When the door opens, Callahan has to pinch himself. He expected Shane West at best for an interview, Level One or Delikado to rub salt in the wounds at worst. Instead, he sees Steve Fukuyama, his former personal assistant and closest confidante.
Michael Callahan: Steve...? I thought you never wanted to speak to me again.
Steve steps forward and offers his hand to Michael to help him up. Michael declines, but pushes himself up off his elbows and to his feet to greet his old friend.
Steve Fukuyama: It's okay Michael, it's over now.
Michael sighs and nods his head, knowing that Steve is totally correct.
Michael Callahan: I know. Maybe I should take some time off... go see Dr. Gray.
Dr. Alexander Gray: See me? I'm sure I can pen you in for some R&R. You deserve the time off.
Callahan whirls around to see the doctor himself sitting on the make up mirror ledge, kicking his legs idly over the edge as he takes down some notes. Callahan can barely believe his eyes.
Michael Callahan: Dr. Gray... how did you get in here?
Vikki Lahm: Before you figure that out, maybe you can figure out why you were such a monumental let down.
Callahan twists back around to see his former lover and PA standing next to Steve Fukuyama, her arms folded and a frustrated look on her heart shaped face.
Michael Callahan: Vikki! How's Baltimore?
Reaching out to embrace her, Vikki and Steve step aside to make way for another face from the past, one that Callahan would never thought he'd see again.
?: My son the wrestler, the politician, Kelso's favourite son. I am so proud of you.
Now, Callahan has to pinch himself. Standing before him is a slender woman in her late fifties, cheeks stained red from years of drinking and with ragged grey hair tied back with a banana print headband.
Michael Callahan: Mom?!
Sylvia Callahan: Hello Michael.
Callahan shakes his head in disbelief, unable to comprehend what's going on. Sylvia Callahan died less than a year ago as a result of liver failure due to excessive alcoholism. She shouldn't be here.
Michael Callahan: But... no, this isn't real. You're dead.
?: Am I dead, Michael?
Michael spins around 180, dizzy from U-turns but knocked for six by the sight in front of him. Bethany Monroe, Michael's first love, the woman who died because Michael wouldn't authorise the insurance payments out of selfish pride. Last time he saw Bethany, she was bulimic, dirty, caked in mud and blood and a myriad of deep cuts and scars from her ultimately fatal car accident. Now, she looked as beautiful and as radiant as the day he proposed to her.
Michael Callahan: Bethany...
Bethany Monroe: Come to me Michael. I've missed you so much.
Callahan reaches for Bethany but the closer he gets, the further away she seems as the locker room begins to stretch.
Michael Callahan: I've missed you too... but, you died in my arms! How is this possible?
A gruff, gloved hand clamps onto Callahan's shoulder. Callahan peers back to see the smirking face of The GI, Private Zzyzx, but with colour and beaming pride in his face.
The GI: I dunno about you Mike, but I've seen a whole buncha' dead pinko scum in my time and they don't walk and talk. They ain't dead.
Another hand, the frail and liver spot speckled appendage of Sylvia rests on his other shoulder.
Sylvia Callahan: Come on Michael. Come give your old mother a kiss. Or is my baby boy too grown up for that?
Michael Callahan: Okay but-
Bethany puts her hands on Callahan's neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
Bethany Monroe: No, come to me Michael. I've waited so long for this moment.
Callahan pulls his head back and turns away, shrugging off GI, Sylvia and Bethany and trying to make his way out the door.
Michael Callahan: Get off! This isn't the time for-
Steve tries to get in his way but Michael shoves past him, slamming him against the door.
Steve Fukuyama: Come on Mike, let's go play golf![/B]
Callahan carries on walking but his old college friend, Chris Lawson steps into the way.
Chris Lawson: Buddy's outside in the truck! Let's go hit the bars! Like in college!
Michael tries to step past but finds his left leg weighs more with his latest lover, Ellen Bishop coiled up around it refusing to let him go.
Ellen Bishop: Michael, what about me? You said you loved me.
Michael tries to pull his leg free but Ellen won't budge. Unable to move, the others advance upon him with clawing hands, all wanting Michael to themselves.
All: Michael, Michael please, Michael, please!
Grabbing at whatever they can, Michael struggles against the tidal wave but he's outnumbered. He reaches for something to grab a hold of but the army of hands pulling him back into this sea of people is too strong to bear. He tries to scream but he can't find the air as he drowns underneath the pressure, unable to fight back.
Michael Callahan: ARRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
And so ends the story of Michael Callahan, to quote an age old axiom, not with a bang but a whimper. After his title loss at Mayhem, Michael Callahan suffered a cataclysmic meltdown and was sectioned in the Western State Hospital in his home state of Washington under the diligent watch of Dr. Alexander Gray. Medical reports say that he frequently hears the voices of former inmates talking to him and that he constantly mutters about “waking up from The American Dream”. Avoiding all human interaction he can, the only people he will speak to in the hospital is Dr. Gray and an orderly named Hannah Willet.
Dr. Gray says that there is no permanent damage to his psyche and that Callahan may yet be able to return to normality but whether he'll ever be the same as a human being, a wrestler or a politician remains to be seen. For now though, the once brightest star in APW fades away into the shadows of his crumbling mind, never to be seen again.
