Post by Level-Two on Dec 22, 2008 22:57:21 GMT -4
‘’APW offices, how may I help you?’’
‘’Uh, hi. I’m here to set up a meeting with President Jeff?’’
‘’…Uh, sorry. But we are not accepting applications until after the winter break, can we slip you in sometime after?’’
‘’No, it’s urgent. I’m an employee; and I need the meeting to announce…announce my resignation’’
‘’One’s’’ The Acceptance
If you were too look at this scene; how would you describe it? No faces, no colors, just a black blank picture staring back at you revealing not even the slightest hint to as what it is. And then; like an intro out of a movie. A high quality voice recording plays, leaving the viewers at home to determine and make out the voices. A transcript appears across the black view, each letter painted with a fresh coat of color.
‘’…If we want to live. If we want to fight another day, we have no choice but kill. You know this, the world knows this. Nobody wants to listen!’’
‘’Your right; and neither am I. Do you think you know it all? Do you think you have the entire world figured out? You do, don’t you?’’
‘’Correct’’
‘’Wrong! Damn it, Jace! You think killing him is going to get the job done? You think pumping a bullet into his head will restore the damage he’s caused us?’’
‘’Yes. I can’t stand to see him living another day…’’
‘’Well sit down watch!’’
‘’Continue…’’
‘’Killing him, that only fulfills his goal. Do you really think he fears death? Do you really think he values his own life?’’
‘’Every man values his life; it’s why he continues to live’’
‘’That maybe true, Jace. But the dead don’t suffer. The dead sleep, the dead rest in piece. We’ll still be here, being miserable. The way we kill him is if we keep him alive longer…’’
The image slowly fades into a room where Dr. Chan’s younger protégé is sitting; it’s small tight and condensed. Lighting up a cigarette; he takes a long exhale the smoke bellowing up in-front of him. He sits staring into a mans face; but the lighting only casts a shadow. A shadow of doubt to who the man maybe.
‘’…and then when he’s dead inside. An empty shell of a man…’’
The image fades out again, back to a black screen and fancy coloring.
‘’…Then we kill him’’
‘’I kill him’’
--
‘’The quickest way to make a man starve is simple; don’t let him eat’’
-Level-One
Dear Santa,
I’m a big fan of the APW. I buy all the t-shirts, especially one’s with the cows face on them. He’s a great world champion. Every week on Monday’s I finish my homework and then I sit down to watch APW’s overdrive to watch my favorite wrestling stars in action. Twister is so cool! Dr. Matt is funny! And Sabur is so strong, I think it will be hard for anyone to beat him!
Recently though; a new guy Level-One came to the APW! He’s awesome too. But my parents usually don’t let me watch when he’s on, they say he’s a bad in-flu…influ something, on me. So my parents usually send me up stairs until he’s off the TV. But my friend Jacob’s dad records the show every Monday night, and we watch it at his house. The next day. Please don’t punish me for it, Santa.
Santa, I’m writing this to you because the head owner of the APW is a fucking moron. I’m sure my mother would be angry for this language, but I don’t care! Why must Level-One waste his time with such a useless piece of turd that is Link? Level-One should be fighting Sabur! I want to see Level-One and Sabur!
But just like last Christmas Santa, I sent you a letter. A letter where I asked for cool things. Like an APW wrestling ring, a punching bag, and a magnified glass so I can burn any bugs I see. But it seems my mail didn’t meet the north pole. Because come Christmas, I got shit all. Fuck your post office! That’s not an excuse. Your Santa clause, why the FUCK do I have to write you a letter to let you know what I want? Aren’t you special? Instead I got a pair of socks; to match the other 35 I have already in my dresser dour. And hell if you’re cheap now, America is in shit. Can I expect one sock this year, or maybe two different one’s that don’t match, nor fit? Thanks you fuck up!
Like Level-One says though; you have a chance to redeem yourself. Stop being such a lazy fat fuck, and get up of your ass and make this match happen! My dad says he isn’t ordering the pay-per-view this weekend, because he doesn’t care to see Dr. Matt and Trevor Blackwell lose to Sabur! Now I can’t watch because Daddy says he rather spend his money on beer, and prostitutes. And Santa; if you tell my mother, I’ll put cyanide in your cookies. Level-One taught me that one…
Santa, also please send Mr. President Jeff this message. I know he’s nothing like George W. Bush, because he’s a bit smarter than Jeff—but I’m sure that after this pay-per-view, he can stop wasting Level-One’s time with this useless turd, Link. If this match does go through, and is not changed by your special powers Santa; I’m going to fuck you up the ass; and go straight to mouth on each one those reindeers of yours. More importantly if this match does follow through; it would be no different from the let down of those shitty socks you gave me last Christmas.
Level-One Vs. Sabur! Make it happen, you fat fuck!
Sincerely,
-APW hopeful.
Imagine…
Imagine staring the mirror, and not understanding the man who’s looking back at you? I don’t have a personality disorder. I’m not a teen upset with my body size, nor do I have anything wrong with my face. I know I’m here. I know my reflection is what’s staring back at me; but when I look at myself, and ask what do I see? I can’t come to a conclusion, what do I see?
Imagine having the world under your thumb. Your career brighter than ever, being one of the most professional craftsmen in his job today. Imagine getting the money, the girls any girl you wanted. Imagine being famous, and then still looking at yourself in the mirror knowing you still aren’t satisfied with what life has given you?
Imagine knowing all this; that something is genuinely wrong with you, the terms in which they describe my problems are no more than a second hand joke? A work-a-holic, they call me. It isn’t even a fucking diagnoses. They see it as a good thing; like some fucking joke. Only, I’m the only one not smiling. It isn’t good. I swear; I’ll work myself to death.
Imagine reaching over for a pill bottle, downing two to rid the pain. Can’t complain about the pain. The naysayers, the co workers around me would sing something ‘’you don’t want to get burnt, stay out the fucking kitchen’’ well, I don’t mind getting burnt—and that’s the fucking problem. Imagine knowing people are out to kill you; yet you know death from their hands you aren’t bound for, instead? You waiting to the day someone kills you live on television; their screams of excitement providing you with no empathy.
Imagine staring the mirror; knowing that everyone around you is out to get you. Well, almost. Imagine having only one person, who ever remotely cared about you left on this earth, walk away leaving you with nothing? Imagine having no life, but a fame and a wrestling career.
Imagine that being a blessing…
I don’t need to fucking imagine. Because I know it isn’t. This isn’t the greatest thing in the world. I know at the end of the day, no matter how good I am at my craft—I need to walk back into a world of reality with people I feel nothing for. People with different ways of thinking than yours, because theirs developed by a media outlet controlled by higher powers. My critical thinking? My motivations? My ‘’controversy’’ They can’t understand it. You don’t understand it.
If you asked me to imagine myself in a tie and suite on this night; I’d say you were almost as crazy as me. Here I was dumbing myself down to be socially expected. And if it wasn’t for Kayla, I wouldn’t be doing this. I had to suck it up. I had to move on. Imagine losing something you cared about, and not realizing how much you cared about it until it was gone? For me, imagery and quotations because reality. Harsh reality, and it felt like shit.
Imagine me making the same mistake. Giving up something I loved so much away for nothing? I couldn’t let Kayla go again; not how much I missed her. So I called the APW offices, and told them to report to Jeff that I was leaving wrestling behind. Everything.
I can’t imagine making the same mistake…twice?
Can you?
Once again; back on the streets I was. This time though I was given directions, I had a destination as opposed to just stumbling around the neighborhood finding a kid to torment; or flashing a few teenagers dirty looks. At one point in time; I’d be stop and asked to sign and autograph or too but as time went on I made it clear to nearly every wrestling fan around of any age, that if they were to approach me they could’ve very well run into me on a bad day…
I walked quickly; my tie flying loosely with the blast of the winter wind. Too my surprise I actually knew how to put on a tie. I never went to church, so I knew nothing about Michael Lively, nor did I have to wear any ties or suites. And once I grew up I simply refused to confirm to the publics perception of what they identified as class. If this didn’t showed a testament to how much I loved this girl, well there would be no other way to express how much I did.
Still; I kept my head down. All the while dodging through a wave of people walking up and down the side walk. In this city; that amount of awareness wasn’t rare, in fact it could’ve been a sport. I weaved and dodged until I reached the sky light café, and for the first time I raised my head to look into the window.
The café was quite the sight. It was usually lighted with soft coats of purple and light blue; but tonight it was lighted with Christmas colors giving the entire facility a big bold appearance. After adjusting my eyes to all the colors, and looking past all the fancy Christmas decorations; I spotted Kayla.
My heart skipped a beat; as I reached over and whipped the door open. It’s been months since I’ve seen her back at the hospital where she awoke from a coma. A coma I was just as responsible for putting her into in the first place. I try not to think about it; can’t. Not now. I ran over a few opening lines in my head; but I knew they’d be no use once I finally got up to her…
‘’Hey…’’ I stated as I approached her from behind. She looked up at me almost hesitant, as I returned a stare. ‘’How’s it going?’’ I asked hesitantly as she took a long pause.
‘’Feel free to have a seat’’ Kayla returned. I looked at her with confusion; as she glanced down at a newspaper in-front of her. I nodded my head and took a seat in-front of her; she sure wasn’t as excited as I thought she was to see me.
‘’So…’’ I uttered as she looked up at me. The same soft, beautiful face, the erotic look that drove me damn near insane. She looked better than she did in months; to my biggest surprise considering her condition. Swollen face, cut underneath the eyes…fuck. I promised I wouldn’t think about it. ‘’What made you invite me here?’’ I asked. Kayla looked up at me caught off guard.
‘’Called you here?’’ She uttered softly, before nodding her head. ‘’No, sorry Level but I didn’t, what exactly are you talking about?’’
I laughed to myself; unsure of it all. ‘’The flowers, the notes?’’ I said, almost as if I was asking her a question. I was. She reached out at touched my hand shaking her head disputably.
‘’I’m sorry, someone must be playing games’’ Kayla said calmly. ‘’I’m happy to see you and all, but I never sent those flowers…’’
‘’You didn’t?’’ I asked before leaning back in my chair. ‘’So you didn’t want to see me?’’
‘’No!’’ She blurted out, almost as if to show me mercy. I didn’t need it. ‘’Don’ take it like that, I’m happy to see you. I just didn’t…ask you to come here, that’s all’’ I shrugged my shoulders and leaned back over my chest pressing up against the table.
‘’Well can we hang out here anyways?’’ I asked as she bit her lip and nodded her head.
‘’Sorry, hun’’ She said before glancing away. My heart dropped yet another beat; the rage I could feel stirring in the pits of my stomach. ‘’But I’m expecting someone else…’’
And then, it stopped. Everything.
‘’That’s all I really needed to hear’’ I said before sitting up out of my chair leaning over to her, whispering in her ear. ‘’…Merry Christmas’’
‘’…Level, level. Level???’’
I shook my head and looked up; there he was. Hurricane Jeff seated in his chair with his hands folded out in-front of him.
‘’…What did you want to see me about?’’ Hurricane Jeff pondered as I glanced off towards the ground. ‘’…Do I have this correct that you want to leave the APW? Let me tell you that that’s a big loss for us…’’
I looked back up at Jeff; it all hit me at once. ‘’No, no I don’t. What I wanted to see you about was…no see this? This is all just a big misunderstanding’’ Hurricane Jeff stared at me perplexed, as I slammed my hands against the table in anger.
‘’I want a title shot!’’
The scene opens to Level-One holding a camera up towards his face. In the background snow flakes fall the odd one pelting his face and melting in real time. Slowly he walks down a snow pass; on his way home for a world of disappointment.
I’m not going to sugar coat this shit; I can’t be bothered. How many times am I going to have to stand in-front of this camera and TELL link that isn’t good enough? How many times must I tell, Link that he’s out of his league? How many fucking times do I have to beat him to prove my point? This has been a mismatch since day one, yet I’m left to deal with him night, after night.
Maybe if this was Link a year ago? Maybe, he’d stand a chance. But this isn’t Link from a year ago. That Link is dead and gone; the new Link is the one we see here in the APW. Tired, lazy, an unmotivated piece of shit that has done nothing but make this federation look like a joke. Don’t get me wrong. Link fits the perfect mold of a over hyped mid-carder, but that doesn’t explain why he’s dancing in the ring with me? I don’t get the logic behind any of this.
I don’t give a shit about the story behind this thing between us. I’ve proved my point to Link when I beat him at November Rein, and pinned him flat on the mat on overdrive. And if someone wasn’t behind the scene’s, stuffing there pie holes with cup cakes and brownies—they would’ve took notice of this and booked me against someone worthy and capable of providing me with a fight.
Link, this thing between us? It will end. It’s not up to you. I’m not looking for a kill in which I will then wear your head in my living room like a mantle. No. Link what I’m going to do is real simple; beat you. That’s all. Nothing fancy. Nothing vicious. Nothing to cement and end in this feud.
The way I prove you, and everyone else wrong is actually real simple. I beat you, and then move on to bigger and better things. And when I accomplish that? Each fucking fan that attended Christmas Chaos will look back on every last word you spoke; and then learn, your word means nothing.
And let’s face it, Link. While you may not be as long winded, and as boring as Julian Bale; you certainly love to talk. What do you have left when your word means nothing, Link? Sure you’ll have a bottle of beer to comfort your wounds, and you’ll be able to numb the pain for as long as you remain a drunken mess; but what happens when your bottle runs empty? What happens when the fans look back and realize just how much of a flop you are? Your words will come back to haunt you; my words? My words will ring true.
Level-One stops, and then looks down. Reaching over he picks something out of the snow; a neck less with a key chain. Blood in crested on the out-side of the heart, he holds it lifeless in his hands, before releasing a tiny latch—a picture inside. Level-One doesn’t say a word, he just looks back at the camera.
And now? The entire world will listen. Link, are you sure you’re going to like what you will hear?
Level-One looks back at the picture. His girlfriend Kayla; beside her? Brian Mc Phee. Level-One’s hands close; as the necklace falls back into the snow.
…no, link. You won’t.
