Post by Level-Two on Mar 29, 2009 10:21:07 GMT -4
‘’One’s’’ Final Passage (2)
Kill the plague before it spreads…
A cancerous tumor. Leeching, sucking, depriving it’s victim from it’s regular dosage of blood. Michael Lively is no more that a blood sucking vulture. A man who needs to leech off success, to create his own. Michael Lively maybe world champion, but sometimes you look beyond the belt, and take a good long look at the champion.
Unbeaten. Ask Michael Lively, he only is a simple name in such a bigger cause. How do you believe this world champion will fair? Losing to challenges, I already deemed pathetic multiple times before. Michael Lively feels back into a corner, and now he’s vows to scratch is way out; not fight like a man.
Rasslemania five; nothing needs to be said, that hasn’t been said before.
Everything burns.
A war zone.
Sirens shot off from nearly every direction. I breathed heavily, trying to suck up any air my lungs would allow. A crowd had surrounded a curb outside on the street, they all stood and watched. Their feet planted onto the earth, as they didn’t dare to move.
The flames shot up in the air, spilling through the windows, which already were cracked by the extreme heat. The flames roared, swaying back and forth; it was a criminal of the night. The belly of the flames, only seemed to grow, as it consumed more and more of the house. The firefighters pulled out, with their enormous hoses, attacking the flames willing to destroy everything in it’s path.
I knew what was in the house. It wasn’t even twenty four hours, since I had last been there. It was Christy’s fathers home; and it was being burnt to the ground, and I could ask myself is why? I remember the memorial her father had set up for her in the living room of his home, the remaining pictures, jewelry, anything that she had left behind was in the house, and it was burning.
‘’You can’t go in there’’
I looked down at the firefighter, who held me back. I pushed my way past him, as I inched closer to burning house. Those flames tempted me, vowing to swallow me whole, and cough me out in the form of an cremation.
‘’I said you can’t go in there!’’ The fire fighter stepped in-front of me once more, two others coming over to the scene to help hold me at bay. I put up a fight; I argued, I told him how much I NEEDED to go in there; I had my life to owe to her. Her father, tugging on my arm from behind.
‘’Don’t do this’’ He pleaded. His eyes red, his face worn; it was clear the entire situation took a toll on him. He slumped his arm around my neck, and placed his hand over my chest. ‘’Everything is going to be alright…’’
I nodded my head; I looked back up to the house, there was no saving it. The constant shooting of the water by the firefighters, was just for special effects and to make their efforts seem relevant, after all the television crews are here.
‘’...everything burns’’
--
No more. The house was barely left standing, a big part of it consumed by the pit of the flames. Most of what was in the house was nothing more than dust and ash. The furniture no longer remaining, just thick straps of leather that the fire decided to spare. It hurt. Although, as for who done it, I pretty much I had an answer…
Or so I thought.
Two investigators taking a look at the scene of the crime; approached me, with a metal box in hand. They look at each-other uncomfortably, as one man obviously the lead detector pulls me to the side, treating me as some type of victim, I shrugged away his arm.
‘’What’s the problem?’’ I shot off. I had become quite irritable. I knew it was Brian and his goons that was behind the incident, it had to be. The man was going to do anything and everything he could to take me off my game, heading into the biggest wrestling match of my career…fuck the match. This wasn’t worth it.
‘’In this box contains a tape. It was left here in the house’’ The box was built out of fire resisting material, quite obviously planted in the house before the entire incident. The person wanting it’s remains to be found. ‘’…It’s a tape, with an unidentified voice, we want you to take a listen to it, and tell us what you think’’’
They handed me over the box, the second investigator summoned me over with a simple motion of the hand. To the police station we went.
--
-Click-
‘’My name isn’t important. For you’ll know who I am very soon. You see, you’ll recognize this face when you see it. It isn’t pretty, but fucking cute was never what you were aiming for. What exactly were you aiming for, Lester?’’
The man on the tape was someone I wasn’t aware of. The man’s voice shook with anger. It was as if I had done something. As if I had burnt HIS house down, closer to my ear I brought the tape.
‘’Do you remember the night? That night where you trespassed onto private property, to cause nothing but sheer chaos and destruction? You are probably sitting there, as if you don’t remember. Failing to take responsibility for the hell you have put me through; well, I’m certainly not shedding any tears for what I’m about to do here’’
His foot steps trailed along the floor, as he walked around the house as if he had owned it. The foot steps trailed, until it found it’s destination; and than silence fell over the tape. That was until he decided to speak again.
‘’See; I’m sure your goal wasn’t meant to fuck up my life, nor was it to hurt my brothers. However; I look into the mirror, and I know that someone out there is responsible. And each time my conclusions end with you. You dumped the kerosene all over that building, and you dropped that match’’
The events were all coming back to me.
I still remember ‘’Timmy’s’’ blue ball, which was found in the wreckage of the burnt down fight club, I responsible for. However, this man wasn’t Timmy—he was a full grown adult, one whom wouldn’t be playing with a child’s ball, nor did I know that a single person was left in that building when I set it on fire.
‘’Who the fuck is this…’’ I utter to myself.
‘’Lester, I was in that building. And you damn well near burnt me alive. See, you have taken my face. The right to look myself in the mirror, and be proud on what is staring back at me. My girlfriend, that superficial slut…she left me when she saw what I had become. I can’t show my face in public; they say the next time I beat a man half way to death again, I’ll be locked up and they’ll throw away the key, but I think it’s worth it’’
The shifting of pictures are heard, a laugh follows.
‘’And so I’m here. You have had a pretty friend, and it’s a shame she’s gone, but at least…at least you still have memories. An entire wall dedicated to her time spent on this earth. However, the innocent must pay. See, I’m just trying to get to you—she is simply misplaced in the house. She is no different from I’’
The anger built up inside of me. I looked up to the investigator, who could only return an uncomfortable stare. I lowered my head, bracing myself for what had came next. I could hear the liquids splashing against the floors, pictures being tossed to the floor; and a hideous laugh to match.
‘’…well, maybe she is different from I’’ The man taunted. ‘’…I was just an innocent victim…’’ flames could be now heard roaring in the back round, the man watched as the flames began to quickly spread around the house, as he delivered his final message.
‘’…And that bitch probably deserved it’’
-Static-
''Get the boys ready; we're going to Rasslemania five. Kill this fucker tonight!''
A ring promo, like its 1999!
He found himself in the middle of the ring; the bounce on its surface as shallow as ever. The door slams shut, as the Janitor has called it a night after he had swept the arena floors in preparation for the showcase of epic proportions. However, back in the ring, it was clear that Level-One wasn’t too excited about the event, not nearly as much as he should’ve, could’ve, probably would’ve been should he had been given an actual viable champion, with the talent to back up his dull words. He sighed.
This business is sacred. It’s something unique. It’s an entity that is special, and will always remain that way. There are many men who walk through that curtain, that come from broken homes, dark places, and others have been fed with the proverbial golden spoon, and their acts of dishonor, stupidity, and disloyalty is quite apparent.
These guys have it cut out from the gecko, because as soon as you’ve made it ‘’big’’ you suddenly have lasting power. There’s always some place that will let their doors open, and welcome the cancer in, with open arms, because they are desperate for the ratings. They are desperate for this thing they call ‘’talent’’ and they’re doing anything to keep their little promotions above water. Little do they know, with each piece of cancer they let in, it will slowly kill them. They’ll never grow. They’ll never be a damn thing; because no matter how you candy coat cancer? It still kills.
Slowly, Level-One approaches the far ropes facing the crowd. Leaning over the ropes, he simply gazes into an empty crowd, he’ll know they’ll be watching in just a day; and they’ll expect a wrestling match up for the ages, but they have been fooled. Fooled by what they once saw as their own ‘’god’’
Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively, was this cancer. Born and bred, by a mother who forgot to teach her son how to conduct himself as an adult. Too many times she let her son go unscathed, and didn’t take the back of her wood spoon to the head, of what would be a stupid, naïve little boy. Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively’s, only goal in life was to be controversial. To kick up a storm in a mud pit, just so people would pay attention to the mess he made. So people would talk about it, and remember his name.
Well, you’ve made it big. I remember your name.
Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively, the man who takes a world championship he’s carried for months on end, just to deface it, with his bodily fluids. Word through the grape vine had it that you were proud of what you done. Hell, you even invited a few APW rejects, who wouldn’t have been shit if I was in the APW kicking ass. However, Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively being an immature, half talented, envious little bitch, decided to once again take his ball home and leave, but yet…the game still goes on.
See, Michael did absolutely nothing but piss and shit all over his own accomplishments. It didn’t deface the history, nor did it deface the championships worth, just what he’s done in a span of a year. Taking a big dump on a championship, doesn’t make everyone forget that time two warriors went at it, and bled multiple pints of blood to walk out the champion. Pissing on the championship, doesn’t wash off the accomplishments of all those who had held it, just yours.
So if Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively wasn’t even a decent champion, what the fuck was he? I’ll tell you. A second rate; paper champion. I mean, all he had to do was beat Trevor Blackwell. In other words, all he really had to do was show up to the arena for his match; the rest came afterwards. Furthermore, the wrestling ‘’Jesus’’ himself, won’t even make it past his first title defense. The man claims he’ll ‘’lay’’ down for me, but I don’t need a fucking short cut. I’ll put him down, before he has an option to hit the deck himself. A chain of unfortunate events have left the APW calling Michael Lively himself their ‘’world champion’’, but clearly he simply did not fit the bill of what makes a champion.
Level-One leans off of the ropes, slipping out of the ring. He grabs a steel chair sliding it under the bottom rope, before following the weapon in. He plans not to swing with it, instead he opens up the chair and places it in the middle of the ring, before taking a seat on it, the microphone loosely in his grips. It was clear the ‘’Jesus’’ simply didn’t read his own bible, it was stomach turning.
I don’t need to be in this industry for ten years to understand what it’s about. I don’t need to be in the APW from day one to speak about it’s past. And I don’t need to hold the APW world championship, to know how that feeling felt. You call yourself a champion, but you’re the furthest thing from one. You aren’t a leader, nor are you even really that good. That championship was just an ego boost for you. The only glass ceiling you broke, was the roof of your glass house. The world around you, everything about you, would and could be smashed with a single thrown stone, and will be.
It’s more than just carrying that championship for photo-ops. It’s more than just getting on the microphone, and calling yourself a champion. It’s about backing it up with action. It’s about having everyone in the locker room looking up to you in one way or another, knowing that you are one of the best, while they believe they are the better. And then? As champion? You are to defend your championship, your honor, and put it all on the line on that big night. All you did, Lively was walk away with a championship. A mere symbol. You were NEVER a champion.
You may call yourself the I-W-C champion, but what exactly does that mean? When things don’t go your way are you going to piss on that championship too? Give your head a shake, and understand that you’ll never be shit. You’ll never ever be ready. You can walk into two-bit championships, and bleed your damn heart out, but none of it will matter, because your ‘’controversy’’ will always out shine your talent (or there lack of) for as long as you decide to wrestle for your career.
Sure, you’ll always have somewhere to turn, but no matter how many times you win? No matter what the hell you end up doing? You’ll always be that guy who took a shit on his own accomplishments. Who disrespected himself in the worst way possible, with the whole world shaking their head. How do you plan to take that moment back, Lively? How the fuck can you now see you’ve destroyed your own reflection? It was your face that stared back at you when you lifted the APW world championship in-front of your face…
…So why don’t you give yourself a little kiss?
He cracks a sly smile. The images of what would happen in just a mere few hours, only had the electricity pumping. Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively was going to learn that he chose to play with fire, he was going to get burnt. Level-One could only hope that his friends would be there to lick his wounds for him.
See, Michael ‘’Judas’’ Lively. You may be-able to fool the feeble minded, you may be able to frustrate the weak, but I will remain cool and collected. The minute you let someone get into your head, is the minute you end up losing. I’m going to rack your skull, and mind-fuck you mentally, before I put you out of your misery, physically. You want to flirt with a devil, motherfucker? You want to test my demons, that won’t think twice about raping your soul, like you did an entire wrestling franchise? Test me, you’ll fail.
You are playing a fucking game you cannot win, Michael.
Carl Cage’s piss is the closest thing he’ll see to a world championship, Trevor still can’t find his own, and Arcadia wished she had one. Kristina Blackwell? I think she was a stage hand. So how about this. You take Kristina Blackwell, you take Trevor Blackwell, you take Arcadia, tell Carl Cage I said hi to that motherfucker, and you all stay in your dark corner; and let the real fucking stars handle basking in the spotlight.
He stands back up, with one hand he reaches over grabbing the steel chair, before launching it over the top rope, onto the floor beside him. With the microphone in his hand, he closes his eyes.
Keep close to your favorite federation. For you know outside your walls? You aren’t fucking shit. See, you maybe ‘’The man’’ in between a federation that’s between a rock and a hard place, but on the grandeur scale of things? I am above you. I will ALWAYS be above you. And you? You’ll be nothing more that a guy that won that belt that time…
On my night Michael? This is the last time will you be remembered in the minds of people who matter. Rasslemania five, is the day an entire federation breaks free of this ridiculous religion, for these fans that will fill these seats have been praying for the wrong ‘’god’’ for quite sometime; there is no god.
See, Lively if there was a god he wouldn’t make this night happen. He’d strike me down with thunder, and he’ll send me to hell, where I could dine within the flames of the inferno. However, I’m still here. Our match will happen, and this ‘’savoir’’ you speak of simply does not exist.
Rasslemania five, it belongs to the under-card. Michael Lively already through away the main-event. There will be no tearing the house down. This won’t be a match for the ages. It’s going to be ugly. It’s going to be simplistic. With my flames; I will cleanse this plague spread by our ‘’world’’ champion.
Fuck making an impact; you can call THIS whatever you want.
