Post by Level-Two on Apr 26, 2009 23:24:33 GMT -4
ooc: As some of you know, I participate in may tournaments and special events outside the APW. In turn, I will just post them here if anyone is intrested in reading them. Because I format them on this board, I may as well just post them here too as it's just a click away. 
‘’One’s’’ Hero: A disguise of many faces
‘’Nothing left’’
Sandbags hang under my eyelashes which leaves my eyes hanging half open. Shirtless, torn, and rugged it’s clear I have fought a war and by the reflection staring back at me, it’s clear I’ve lost. I ask myself where exactly I went wrong, what Jason Violent had that I simply didn’t; and yet I still couldn’t stir up a answer; although, I’m sure my opponent in Stevie Swing had all the answers. Not only would she, but the entire world. Everyone who wanted the shining star of Level-One swatted out of the air for outshining their ‘’sun’’ this defining moment would’ve put a smile across their face, and their words would rang true..
The word ‘’Overrated’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
‘’Level-One doesn’t have it anymore’’ The observer articles print out reminded me. The wrestling analysts always sure to place me under a microscope, before testing my emotions and slowly picking me apart just as quick as I’ve been built. The man who remained on top for so long, has now been on the decline, and suddenly isn’t so great anymore. ‘’Sandy Makel’’ the waves washed in his direction as of late. The man responsible for taking the one defining thing about me, and removing it from my shoulders. It’s clear these people didn’t need me anymore.
The word ‘’Replaceable’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
And when I lost the True Experts championship, I didn’t sit down and tear myself up about it. I didn’t mark down each day until I received my next title shot, in fact as time went on I began to get over it. Forget about it. Move on, like the world and their filthy hands pushed me to do. You’ll get your second shot, and you’ll fail the first time, is what they said. I didn’t even bother to ask why, things get too complicated when you ask questions.
The word ‘’Unmotivated’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
It’s not like I had some ‘’god’’ to look for enlightenment either. I never look deep into my eyes, because they remind me of the live I had lived, and still do to this very day. Did you know I wished death on a fellow wrestler’s child because I despised him so much? Did you know that when his child actually died, and I replied with laughter? And do you know that to this day, I still can’t bring myself to apologizing for it all? I guess deep down, I am a sick son of a bitch and you’re better of killing me soon before I do something, even I regret.
The word ‘’Sinner’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m dangerous in this element. I have the whole world dancing on my finger tips; I can hear people talking, spitting, and laughing at me. They’re getting too big for their britches, they are becoming a viable threat. Dangerous to my existence. Stevie Swing, is rising quick—swooping in after coming from virtually nowhere, and yet I can’t bring myself to stopping it where she stands. I can’t seem to close my fist and crush the world that dances in my finger tip treating them to a humble crunch.
The word ‘’Weak’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
I don’t know what I will become. The man of a thousand faces stares me in the eye, each face bribes me with something different. Power, greed, respect and honor just many of their promotional selling points to wheel my mind in, hook, line and sink. I’m treading the fine line between good and evil; I’m afraid falling to deep into either side.
The word ‘’Coward’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
I am not a coward! I am not weak! I am not a sinner! I am not unmotivated! I am not replaceable, and I am not fucking overrated! What am I doing standing here anyways? I’m too good for this shit. I’m the expert, the top dog, the head honcho. Re-evaluating my position, when I haven’t even been knocked off? I’m taking this thing way too seriously. I’ll get them next time. I have Sandy Makel where I want him. Stevie Swing, is a cannon fodder; you’ll do away with her like you will the rest of them. You can’t fall, you won’t fail, and walk away, walk away while you still can.
The word ‘’Denial’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
A fraud, a phony, a fake. I can see the titles coming my away, any day now. If I can’t hold up against some butch lesbian bitch, how exactly can I then claim I have a future of any sort of this business? They’ll forget about time I beat Black Death, they’ll forget about the time I won the True Experts title, and all my successes will be drained out by the sound of the bell and the final announcement. ‘’And the NEW and FIRST EVER…Unum champion of the world! Stevie Swing!’’ and then where does that put me? A runner up, in a tournament I once claimed didn’t have the talent to stack up to me, never less beat me?
The word ‘’Fraud’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
I have the whole world riding on this one match, this one moment. With it; I can remerge the top of the wrestling world, by cashing in the Unum championship for a shot at something much greater, and if I fail? Well, I go home with nothing. I take the loss, and fuel this recent habit. I’ll return to my home federation, flaunting my win/loss streak to my home crowd, but they won’t give a fuck. Why? Because they watched me lose right here.
The word ‘’Choke-artist’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
Finally, I focus on the mirror in front of me, scanning its print ever so carefully.
These words; what exactly are they? Where do they come from? Why are they here? Are there here to provide me the truth, or block me from seeing reality? Still, before these words take over my reflection; take a deeper look into the world beyond me, hopefully finding something…anything…that can save me from my self destruction.
The words ‘’Self infliction’’ appear on them mirror in-front of me…
…perhaps it’s already too late for me to be saved.
---Flash-Back---
‘’Dave, I have something to tell you’’
Andrew Meltzer sat in his cousin’s office with his head in his hands. Dave Meltzer along with a co-worker sits at a table adjacent to his cousin. Dave Meltzer looks to his co-worker before rolling his eyes, as if he was put in an awkward situation like this had happened before. Dave Meltzer looks at his watch, he had to be at a local indie promotion show in order to leak its internet broadcast in advance and was itching to get this over with before it even started.
‘’Alright, Andrew. What is it? Spill’’ Dave Meltzer said to his brother; who slowly picked his head up off the table.
‘’Alright’’ Andrew said his voice portraying a man with little confidence. ‘’Remember that one time when I spilt Apple juice on my moms carpet?’’
Dave Meltzer casually nods his head. ‘’Yeah, she smacked you with your wooden spoon and to this day still hasn’t forgotten about it’’ Dave says, after a short pause he continues. ‘’…Man, auntie can sure hold one heck of a grudge’’ Dave ponders.
‘’Well let’s just say I have done something wrong, and it’s ten times as worst as that’’ Andrew confesses to Dave’s intrigue.
‘’You killed someone haven’t you?’’ Dave blurts out. Andrew looks up at Dave in confusion. Dave has it all figured out in his head, as he stands up and shouts. ‘’You are a murder, aren’t you? Who have you killed, and where is the body?’’ Andrew Meltzer folds back into his seat.
‘’Damn it, Dave’’ Andrew responds before taking a long sigh. ‘’I snuck into your office; wrote a few articles, and then published them to the eyes of your readers, okay?’’ Dave eyes expand in shock.
‘’You did WHAT!?’’
‘’Look, I needed to motivate Level-One. I’m his biggest fan, and he really needed the pick me up. And your articles, they weren’t helping his sprits’’
‘’WHAT!?’’ Dave exclaims the blood rushing to his face creating an internal crimson mask.
‘’I said look, I needed to motivate Level-One. I’m his biggest…’’
‘’I heard that you moron!’’ Dave exclaims reaching across the table grabbing Andrew by his collar. ‘’Do you know what you’ve done to me you little punk? You’ve embarrassed me, and you’ve destroyed the credibility of my publication!’’
‘’You guys had creditability? When did this occur?’’ Andrew replies with a little smirk, which his older cousin quickly shakes out of him. ‘’Look, this isn’t the biggest problem here…’’ Andrew drops another bomb shell.
‘’What are you fucking my girlfriend too!?’’ Dave Meltzer shouts. His co-worker steps in and laughs.
‘’What? That’s crazy Dave!...’’ The co-worker says out of turn, the look on his face tells the world that he is feeling awfully uncomfortable about the entire situation. Dave turns around facing his co-worker still gripping the collar of Andrew’s shirt.
‘’I wasn’t even talking to you…’’ Dave says, shrugging off the co-workers spontaneous comment…and than the light bulb goes off. ‘’Hey wait a minute…’’ Dave says, but Andrew not wanting to miss the point cuts back in.
‘’Look, I wrote an article it’s being printed right now…and it entails someone calling Level-One out for a fight'' Andrew announces. Dave Meltzer lets go of his cousin, long enough to let him regroup and elaborate further. ‘’This challenger has vowed to take Level-One out once and for all’’
Dave looks to his co-worker. ‘’Hey, get on this story you hear me?’’ The co-worker nods his head and shuffles off, as Dave directs his attention back to his cousin. ‘’You mean you’ve banked on getting Sandy Makel to really show up and fight Level-One in a non-sanctioned match?’’
Andrew flashes a nervous smile, before scratching at his head. ‘’Not quite’’ Andrew announces, before stumbling on. ‘’You see…things didn’t work out with Sandy Makel, and he isn’t going to give Level-One the fight he wants. And I’m afraid he isn’t going to get it from Stevie Swing either. I mean, she’s a girl’’
Dave Meltzer giggles and then looks up to Andrew flashing a professional serious face at Andrew. Andrew let’s out a nervous sigh. ’Dave’’ Andrew says, his voice piping up in octaves.
‘’…I’ve challenged Level-One to a fight’’
--
To Level-One,
You think you’re big? You think your tough, and all around a big bad ass? Well, how about you test your strength against me? How about you show up to the underground warehouse located on 54th trapid avenue and we settle this little dispute once and for all? You don’t impress me. You thought Sandy Makel was a tough challenge, when he BEAT you for the True Experts championship in that pathetic gauntlet? Well, then your in for quite the surprise with me. Be there.
I held the note in my hands; my eyes scanning the piece of paper in confusion. It was clear my challenger had did his homework to a certain extent; and considering I had spent over two months in the tournament and still didn’t get the challenge that Andrew Meltzer had promised I’d encounter, I’d figure I’d test my luck and at the very least I would smash some young guns face in before making him swallow his own words, while he wore a sour face.
I reached into my pockets pulling out a hand full of change along with a single white die with six sides to it. Placing the useless coins back into my pocket I kept in my possession a replica of Sandy Makel’s single die. Tossing it across my hall way, it clashed and bounced along the hardware floors; all the while in my head I picture the number one.
The writer of the note had made one fatal underestimation…
Sandy Makel was never a ‘’tough’’ challenger; with a scan of the little dice and what side it had landed on, it was clear he was just a lucky…
One.
--
Andrew stood in the darkened warehouse clasping his hands together in attempts to keep him warm, it was freezing cold down here. If anything though, he wore the grey sweat shirt to look much larger than he really was. A crowd had gathered; especially after his cousin took the chance to capitalize on the incident as some type of ‘’repayment’’ from Andrew for the trouble he had caused. They cheered him on, it didn’t help.
Andrew was a huge fan of Level-One and had studied his repertoire almost religiously and was well aware of his capabilities. Why exactly was he going through with this he didn’t quite know, but he was taking a huge gamble ultimately flirting with the deadly lips of death. If somehow though, if somehow he could give Level-One the fight he was looking for, he could save him. Reignite the spark Level-One had said he lost; he was doing this to help his friend. Perhaps, it was an ignorant estimation put forth by Andrew and his illusions of grandeur, but maybe he was a martyr for something greater than himself? The entire thing was crazy, it really was.
A large door creaked open; the crowd around them cooed for the entrant. Andrew ducked his head low, as he took in a deep breath, amongst the thoughts of running away and giving up, he knew he needed his inhaler. You would think that after years of running away from the high school bully, he would have kicked this bad breath heaving, air sucking habit, but Level-One? The man was something scary. His footsteps marked the same pace as Andrew’s heart beat. Slow but loud, he felt as if he was going to cough up a kidney, and that was before Level-One unleashed his first blow.
‘’Fight fight fight’’ The crowd chanted as Level-One pushed his way through the crowd, locking on Andrew Meltzer with his eyes. Andrew Meltzer kept his head hung low, as Level-One stood across from him with clenched fist ready to swing. The bell rung. A surge of energy shot through the veins of Andrew as he snapped his head up, and charged Level-One with a barrage of open fists. Level-One merely tucking a single shoulder, absorbs the weak fragile blows, as Andrew immediately gasses himself.
‘’…You’re kidding me right?’’ Level-One asks, as Andrew hits a single knee. Andrew looks up at Level-One; this time Level-One catching a glance and Andrew, finding out his true identity. ‘’Andrew? What the fuck are you doing here, are you crazy!?’’ Level-One shouts out loud, as the crowd grows ever so more eager to see a real fight.
‘’Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just forget this all happened and discuss this over coffee or something..’’ Andrew says, snapping up to his feet. Level-One scans the crowd, all of them baying for blood. He knew he was left with very little choice; and would probably regret this decision…
‘’Sorry, I’ll go easy on you but…’’
FADE TO BLACK
…
Andrew Meltzer slowly opened his eyes; to see me standing above him in his hospital bed. Andrew slowly turns his head to the side; two blackened eyes and a broken nose. I looked at the kid before nodding my head back and forth in disappointment. The kid had to see things from my point of view; you never walk away from a fight. It wasn’t law, nor was there a beholder of the rule, it was just a simple unwritten code that everyone stepping in on the fight scene learnt to abide by. Nonetheless, I pulled up a seat beside Andrew, who mumbled incoherently.
‘’I sorry’’ Andrew manages to say through cracked teeth and oversized swollen lips. ‘’I just try to help’’ Andrew continues; A smile crosses my face. Shoot me, this shit was pretty funny.
‘’By fighting me?’’ I quiz Andrew, before leaning back in the chair. ‘’Now tell me, in that mind of yours how exactly you put that shit together?’’ Andrew closed his eyes; it eased his pain.
‘’You say you want fight…so I gave you fight’’ Andrew speaks slowly, and carefully before continuing on. ‘’I know you think you have no fans, but I am you number one fan’’ Andrew confesses. ‘’The last thing I want to see is you go down like the rest of them’’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘’You mean guys like Black Death? You sure sound like him’’ Andrew manages to shrug his shoulders, and then nods his head. ‘’It was more about receiving a challenge. Do you really think I joined the EPU tournament based on the hops that I’d find a challenge from a second party, no named competitor?''
Andrew nodded his head.
‘’Well, you’re wrong’’ I told him. ‘’See, all along the challenge I had been looking for is within myself, Andrew. The challenge wasn’t about finding someone else who could match up pound for pound with me, it was about going out there and outdoing myself. Proving to myself that not only do I still have it, but that I have more than what they had claimed I had’’
‘’What is that?’’ Andrew asks. I glanced over to Andrew, before standing up patting the kid on his shoulder.
‘’Well, that’s for us to find out now, isn’t it?’’
Andrew slowly reached over grabbing the remote. ‘’Stevie Swing don’t have anything on you’’ Andrew assured me, in return I offered up a sharp smirk.
‘’No, no…’’ I said scratching my head. ‘’See, that’s the greatest way to lose a match. Really, I think you should review the tapes’’ I winked, before heading towards the hospital door, before leaving however, I stop and turn around.
‘’Oh, and you hit like a bitch…’’
Swing stevie…swing.
---Ending Flashback---
‘’…I’ve already been saved’’
I stared into the mirror; my reflection was now consumed by funny looking font, insulting phrases trigging a cycle of deep seeded thoughts. It was clear that to the outsiders of the industry, I had been sending out wrong vibes. The truth was, I did lack motivation. I did lose beat in my heart. This wrestling thing, it really did become the same old shit, but only because I allowed it too.
Stevie Swing isn’t going to make this match. Stevie Swing, will not push me past my limits, she will not motivate me to be the best I can be; after all that isn’t her job. All along, I’ve been waiting for this frivolous dance partner, someone who could truly stack up to my talents while I am at the very best of my game, and the truth is they simply don’t exist.
There is only one fucking man on this planet, breathing this toxic air, which can push me to my limits. Myself. I am going to go out there not to beat Stevie Swing, but to beat myself. To prove to MYSELF that not a single word staring back at me on this mirror reflects me. While doing so, I may not be able to sway a single feeble mind, but understand that only ‘’One’’ matters.
Weak
Listen carefully, listen to the way she talks. Undermining everything. Every accomplishment a wrestler could ever imagine, everyone she comes in contact with, ultimately even undermining her own accomplishments in the process. Here, Stevie Swing stands in the final round an unknown, a sleeper pick; yet she stands with rage, venom, and ignorance on the backdoor of her breath. See, you can’t undermine me as you aren’t in the position too. While you may rein supreme or have made yourself a household name in the comfort of your own federation, I have been the saving face of entire empires where you’re useless promotions are pact under the umbrella. Yet, you quarrel in the rain with your hands raised in victory. But who do you think stands above it all, you silly bitch? Hold on… let me zip up my zipper.
Furthermore, the fact that you’ve claimed that not even a single competitor thus far has given you a challenge in even the slightest, perhaps can be an testament to how you, the unknown, the sleeper pick, has made it to the final round. The difference with me, is that I was expected to be here. They look at me and they know they’re inferior. The only accomplishment, the only thing that is expected of me is to win the tournament, not to make it to the finals. You though? You’re accomplishment was making it this far, and you’ve taken a big shit on it, more so than you’ve taken on any of the competitors you’ve encountered. This simply is a weakness. You can’t run me down in order to make yourself look good; after all it didn’t work for the republicans. Lastly, when you’re sent home packing it in with the runner up spot; you can sit back and think that you’ve collectively did nothing in the tournament, since you know…the whole thing just fell into your fucking lap.
The word ‘’Weak’’ disappears from the mirror.
Overrated
Seriously, I know this shit is coming. The minute you found out you had to face me, you immediately began to do your ‘’research’’. Hell, you probably over heard the world speaking, weather it be wishing you the best of luck, or sharing their past stories of those who have had encounters with me thus far. You’ve seen the polls, the internet forums predictions, and you despise it. Sure, you use it to fuel your tank, and sure it may even play to your advantage; but no doubt does it increase that venom circulating through your blood. No doubt does it clout your judgment. It gives you a reason to hate me, look at me, and than hands you the scalpel to slowly rip me apart. Suddenly, by the time you’ve spewed all your hate, by the time you’ve assured yourself that I’m just another overrated, over inflated star; suddenly Level-One isn’t so great anymore. You like many opponents before me will stand atop an Ivory tower with a microphone in hand; in attempts to speak out against my success.
Fuck that shit. How dare the people over look Stevie Swing! You’re out to prove us wrong, huh? You’re out overthrow the big dog off his perch of fame and stardom, aren’t you? Well, I’m sorry to tease the wake up call, but those polls are there for a reason. That word of mouth seeps into your ears, and pisses you off to no end exist for a fucking reason. See, people tend to back themselves behind FACTS. Stevie Swing, you sitting behind your camera spewing out football fields worth of shit, isn’t fact, its distorted opinion. When I go out there and win world championships, tournaments alike, and rule wrestling empires, it is all well documented. It is all fact.
The word ‘’Overrated’’ disappears from the mirror.
Unmotivated
See, winning this match is much bigger than I believe you understand, Stevie. The collective was doomed from the day it had sloppily pieced itself together. I don’t know what quite drew me to this tournament but I do know that I have made the right decisions. Stevie, if I beat you on our special night I will get a shot at regaining my True Experts championship, something I feel as if I hadn’t really lost. Hell, if I couldn’t pick my sprits up to win this match, I’d have no fucking business continuing to wrestle in this industry, and if this match means little to you; then so be it. While you’re parading around Sin wrestling, feuding over the same useless championships, and fighting the same people nearly every week; I’ll be on a global stage defending my championship amongst the best in the world—my element awaits me.
As for you? It’s quite clear we have two different agendas. While I am fighting for myself; you are simply trying to fight to prove others wrong. You’re swinging with cracked knuckles, and you aren’t hitting a damn thing. You’re out to prove something to a world that no longer really cares. I have learnt this by the lack of respect I have gotten. I step into these tournaments, fuck even a wrestling match from my own federation, and you know what? I hear them claiming they’re going to beat me, destroy me, sometimes you’ll get the odd nut vowing to even kill, yet here I stand. You beat them, you send them off; and they’re saying the same shit they’ve said last week to the next person they run face first into. Stevie, I beat you—you go back to your world and nothing changes. You don’t note it, you don’t even drop a single reference to it anymore, and the fans forget about it as if it was nothing. When you fight for yourself? You remember it, you feel it along with the wounds you’ve encountered, THAT is something to fight for.
The word ‘’Unmotivated’’ disappears from the mirror.
Sinner
Fuck count me in. I’ve done some fucked up shit and I still don’t regret them. See, while I may not suck cock, steal, or maim and kill—I’m almost sure I have a seat reserved for me in hell; right beside Stevie Swing. I’m not proud of any of it, but I’m certainly not ashamed for it either. Stevie however, she embraces it. Weather she’s hanging out with low life hookers, ripping off drug dealers; or hanging out with the scummiest of scummy people in between wrestling matches; it’s clear the bitch has problems and by the grin on her face, you can tell she enjoys every bit of it too. If god does exist; he better use his slight of hand to strangle this bitch before I do. You know, the holocaust wouldn’t have been so bad if they would’ve taken this carpet munching Jew along with its family gene pool with them. Since we missed out on the opportunity however; I’m ashamed the entire thing happened, really.
Okay, so now I’m really going to hell…I’m fucking over it.
The word ‘’Sinner’’ disappears from the mirror.
Fraud
Honestly, Stevie Swing is your typical carpet munching lesbian whether she wants to admit it, or not. This bitch uses every card she could pull out of her sleeve in order to draw some type of sympathy; but I see through her dull pen. Through the course of the tournament she has mentioned she is a woman, she has mentioned she is a lesbian, and a Jew. This bitch is running on a full fledge deck, and it’s clear to see this is nothing more than another…boring…gimmick. Save me from the high-school crying, the bitching and moaning about equality and equal rights. With-out black pioneers such as Martin Luther King, and those alike, I would be lynched from my neck, held by a tree branch, with a fork stuck up my ass—but I would’ve also had a smile across my face, and my middle finger up in the air, laughing in the face of death.
You draw zero sympathy from me. In fact; it was you who opened the can of worms in the first place. It was YOU by your own paranoia who decided to dress as a man because she thought nobody would accept her as a credible competitor if she didn’t have a dick. So while you dressed up as a man; women were all around this business winning championships and becoming big parts of their respective promotions. Instead you took the short cut. You adopted virtually the same principles of every ‘’Chauvinistic’’ pig still walking around in this business. YOU stevie are the biggest hypocritical, delusional and FAKE piece of shit I have come across in a long time.
The word ‘’Fraud’’ disappears from the mirror.
Coward
Hide under your disguises, rip off your masks, there isn’t another thing besides a discarded bloodied tampon you can pull out of that cunt of yours that will surprise any of us. You’re the typical bitch that hides behind endless stereo types and then fights behind them too. Paint me as the typical chauvinistic pig, beat me to prove all the men in the world that females are just as equal in this industry as males are, just don’t forget the three years you’ve preached quite the opposite. The truth is, you are only going to prove what most of the world has went onto acknowledge thus far; we are all equal.
Although, I’m not quite sure this will benefit you in many ways. For one, the next time a bitch steps out of line, I’m going to offer up a backhand to put her back into place. The next time one of my challengers walk in equipped with a pair of breasts; I’m not going to think twice before dropping them on the back of their heads through a wooden table. As a result of this, I know what you are capable of, Stevie and in turn I’m bringing my absolute best. Those cards in which you’ve held, and played in your advantage for so long, will prove to mean absolutely nothing when sitting across the table from me. See; I may hump your body for the three count, but I do still plan on winning. Bitch, moan claim that you still remain repressed behind those barriers despite stepping in the ring with probably the most decorated men in this industry for quite sometime, we’ll feast on the oxymoron within you.
The word ‘’Coward’’ disappears from the mirror.
Replaceable
Stevie, it’s time for a wake up call. This notion in which you are above everyone else, is simply stomach turning. You fail to realize this is a business. You fail to realize that tickets need to be sold. You fail to realize that this business doesn’t need you. And when they don’t need you any longer, you are discarded and replaced. It’s vicious cycle. What happens when the world champion seemingly runs his course? It’s quite simple, he’s replaced. The earth does not shake; the foundations do not crumble, and the world surprisingly moves on.
You can argue that depending on the world champion an influx of ticket sales increase ultimately being better for the business, but the business itself will always live on. I mean, do you honestly think anyone gives a shit about Sandy Makel winning the True Expert championship? Although, he has virtually drained the excitement from the experts empire it doesn’t change the fact that for now; I am number two and I must wait my turn to win back what I should’ve never lost. You have done this tournament no favors; you’ve made it to the finals simply because someone had too. This isn’t destiny, or some other fair tale story out from those Disney fucks that pushed Miley Cyrus, or those annoying Jonas brothers…
The word ‘’Replaceable’’ disappears from the mirror.
Choke-Artist
Stevie, I’ve been here before. See, while you were booted from the first round of the Roughkut tournament in the first round; I had made it to the finals. I understand that runner up isn’t good enough and it’s a tough pill to swallow, although you pretty much overdosed on yours with an underwhelming performance you had thrown on. The truth is, stevie when the big one is on the line; you tend to blow it. I mean, roughkut showcased some of the best talent I had seen in quite sometime. Talent in which Legion would die for; because clearly the promotions he had aligned himself with was doing him no favors.
Sure, you can point to your title reins nobody honestly gives two shits about. And sure, you can point to the main-event status you hold in Sin Wrestling, and also the time where you feel from your favorite scaffold proving you to be one tough ass dyke! At the end of the day though, nobody is watching Sin Wrestling. Nobody, is standing on their toes giving a shit about the latest show they put on, or the new and hottest feud that had been set off, making your accomplishments very useless when it comes to inter promotion and proving yourself the cream of the crop. Chance after chance, how do you plan on blowing this one too?
The word ‘’Choke-Artist’’ disappears from the mirror.
Self infliction
As for me? I’m not going to beat you, Stevie. I don’t need too. With your previous showing of ignorance and the lack of respect for yourself has already proved to be your greatest downfall. The truth is, I can’t beat Stevie Swing. It’s impossible. See, you’ve convinced yourself that you are the start, end, and be all of professional wrestling. You have already convinced yourself that I am the typical, over hyped superstar, and that you will walk in and shock the entire world when you overthrow the former true expert, himself. In your own mind, you’ve already won.
See, I may even have my hands raised at the end of the night, yet you’ll walk away knowing that you’ve made me bleed, that you’ve proven that you can injure and maim me in your element. Hell, you may even take solace in the fact you made me question myself a few times, as you hook my leg for a close three count. Stevie, even if I walk away the winner of the Unum tournament, along with the hardware to prove it, you will still find away to conjure up some type of victory in which you can be proud of.
You can’t be saved
The word ‘’Self infliction’’ disappears from the mirror.
Denial
This is where our story ends, Stevie. While your looking up at the lights; trying to shake my impact from every corner of your skull, you would’ve claimed you had destroyed me. While you picked your broken, bloodied body up of the mat. You would’ve claimed you’d have beaten me. When you open your eyes long enough to see past the blood and into the lights that hang above us, you’ll tell yourself that you are a fucking legend. And when that bell rings, and the winner is announced…
‘’And the NEW Unum champion of the world…LEVEL-ONE!!!’’ You will look to me, shake your head, and tell yourself…
‘’That should’ve been me’’
The word ‘’Denial’’ disappears from the mirror.
Nothing. There I stand in-front of the glass mirror on that had been filled with phrases that too many people would mean nothing, but to me? They meant everything. Deep down these questions had haunted me. Every match I had walked out to compete in; whether I had won, or I had lost, these questions hung in the back of my head only proving to be dead weight.
I smiled at my reflection and my reflection smiled back.
‘’Tonight; I do away with this disguise’’ I tell myself still staring at my rugged reflection.
Slowly, I back away never removing my eyes as they remain transfixed on the mirror in front of me. The words that had once disappeared now slowly reform all over again, painting a new scene. It was then, through the words scrambled across the mirror indiscriminately, a face appeared. That face belonged too…
Stevie Swing.
‘’One’s’’ Hero: A disguise of many faces
‘’Nothing left’’
Sandbags hang under my eyelashes which leaves my eyes hanging half open. Shirtless, torn, and rugged it’s clear I have fought a war and by the reflection staring back at me, it’s clear I’ve lost. I ask myself where exactly I went wrong, what Jason Violent had that I simply didn’t; and yet I still couldn’t stir up a answer; although, I’m sure my opponent in Stevie Swing had all the answers. Not only would she, but the entire world. Everyone who wanted the shining star of Level-One swatted out of the air for outshining their ‘’sun’’ this defining moment would’ve put a smile across their face, and their words would rang true..
The word ‘’Overrated’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
‘’Level-One doesn’t have it anymore’’ The observer articles print out reminded me. The wrestling analysts always sure to place me under a microscope, before testing my emotions and slowly picking me apart just as quick as I’ve been built. The man who remained on top for so long, has now been on the decline, and suddenly isn’t so great anymore. ‘’Sandy Makel’’ the waves washed in his direction as of late. The man responsible for taking the one defining thing about me, and removing it from my shoulders. It’s clear these people didn’t need me anymore.
The word ‘’Replaceable’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
And when I lost the True Experts championship, I didn’t sit down and tear myself up about it. I didn’t mark down each day until I received my next title shot, in fact as time went on I began to get over it. Forget about it. Move on, like the world and their filthy hands pushed me to do. You’ll get your second shot, and you’ll fail the first time, is what they said. I didn’t even bother to ask why, things get too complicated when you ask questions.
The word ‘’Unmotivated’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
It’s not like I had some ‘’god’’ to look for enlightenment either. I never look deep into my eyes, because they remind me of the live I had lived, and still do to this very day. Did you know I wished death on a fellow wrestler’s child because I despised him so much? Did you know that when his child actually died, and I replied with laughter? And do you know that to this day, I still can’t bring myself to apologizing for it all? I guess deep down, I am a sick son of a bitch and you’re better of killing me soon before I do something, even I regret.
The word ‘’Sinner’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m dangerous in this element. I have the whole world dancing on my finger tips; I can hear people talking, spitting, and laughing at me. They’re getting too big for their britches, they are becoming a viable threat. Dangerous to my existence. Stevie Swing, is rising quick—swooping in after coming from virtually nowhere, and yet I can’t bring myself to stopping it where she stands. I can’t seem to close my fist and crush the world that dances in my finger tip treating them to a humble crunch.
The word ‘’Weak’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
I don’t know what I will become. The man of a thousand faces stares me in the eye, each face bribes me with something different. Power, greed, respect and honor just many of their promotional selling points to wheel my mind in, hook, line and sink. I’m treading the fine line between good and evil; I’m afraid falling to deep into either side.
The word ‘’Coward’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
I am not a coward! I am not weak! I am not a sinner! I am not unmotivated! I am not replaceable, and I am not fucking overrated! What am I doing standing here anyways? I’m too good for this shit. I’m the expert, the top dog, the head honcho. Re-evaluating my position, when I haven’t even been knocked off? I’m taking this thing way too seriously. I’ll get them next time. I have Sandy Makel where I want him. Stevie Swing, is a cannon fodder; you’ll do away with her like you will the rest of them. You can’t fall, you won’t fail, and walk away, walk away while you still can.
The word ‘’Denial’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
A fraud, a phony, a fake. I can see the titles coming my away, any day now. If I can’t hold up against some butch lesbian bitch, how exactly can I then claim I have a future of any sort of this business? They’ll forget about time I beat Black Death, they’ll forget about the time I won the True Experts title, and all my successes will be drained out by the sound of the bell and the final announcement. ‘’And the NEW and FIRST EVER…Unum champion of the world! Stevie Swing!’’ and then where does that put me? A runner up, in a tournament I once claimed didn’t have the talent to stack up to me, never less beat me?
The word ‘’Fraud’’ appear on the mirror in front of me.
I have the whole world riding on this one match, this one moment. With it; I can remerge the top of the wrestling world, by cashing in the Unum championship for a shot at something much greater, and if I fail? Well, I go home with nothing. I take the loss, and fuel this recent habit. I’ll return to my home federation, flaunting my win/loss streak to my home crowd, but they won’t give a fuck. Why? Because they watched me lose right here.
The word ‘’Choke-artist’’ appear on the mirror in-front of me.
Finally, I focus on the mirror in front of me, scanning its print ever so carefully.
These words; what exactly are they? Where do they come from? Why are they here? Are there here to provide me the truth, or block me from seeing reality? Still, before these words take over my reflection; take a deeper look into the world beyond me, hopefully finding something…anything…that can save me from my self destruction.
The words ‘’Self infliction’’ appear on them mirror in-front of me…
…perhaps it’s already too late for me to be saved.
---Flash-Back---
‘’Dave, I have something to tell you’’
Andrew Meltzer sat in his cousin’s office with his head in his hands. Dave Meltzer along with a co-worker sits at a table adjacent to his cousin. Dave Meltzer looks to his co-worker before rolling his eyes, as if he was put in an awkward situation like this had happened before. Dave Meltzer looks at his watch, he had to be at a local indie promotion show in order to leak its internet broadcast in advance and was itching to get this over with before it even started.
‘’Alright, Andrew. What is it? Spill’’ Dave Meltzer said to his brother; who slowly picked his head up off the table.
‘’Alright’’ Andrew said his voice portraying a man with little confidence. ‘’Remember that one time when I spilt Apple juice on my moms carpet?’’
Dave Meltzer casually nods his head. ‘’Yeah, she smacked you with your wooden spoon and to this day still hasn’t forgotten about it’’ Dave says, after a short pause he continues. ‘’…Man, auntie can sure hold one heck of a grudge’’ Dave ponders.
‘’Well let’s just say I have done something wrong, and it’s ten times as worst as that’’ Andrew confesses to Dave’s intrigue.
‘’You killed someone haven’t you?’’ Dave blurts out. Andrew looks up at Dave in confusion. Dave has it all figured out in his head, as he stands up and shouts. ‘’You are a murder, aren’t you? Who have you killed, and where is the body?’’ Andrew Meltzer folds back into his seat.
‘’Damn it, Dave’’ Andrew responds before taking a long sigh. ‘’I snuck into your office; wrote a few articles, and then published them to the eyes of your readers, okay?’’ Dave eyes expand in shock.
‘’You did WHAT!?’’
‘’Look, I needed to motivate Level-One. I’m his biggest fan, and he really needed the pick me up. And your articles, they weren’t helping his sprits’’
‘’WHAT!?’’ Dave exclaims the blood rushing to his face creating an internal crimson mask.
‘’I said look, I needed to motivate Level-One. I’m his biggest…’’
‘’I heard that you moron!’’ Dave exclaims reaching across the table grabbing Andrew by his collar. ‘’Do you know what you’ve done to me you little punk? You’ve embarrassed me, and you’ve destroyed the credibility of my publication!’’
‘’You guys had creditability? When did this occur?’’ Andrew replies with a little smirk, which his older cousin quickly shakes out of him. ‘’Look, this isn’t the biggest problem here…’’ Andrew drops another bomb shell.
‘’What are you fucking my girlfriend too!?’’ Dave Meltzer shouts. His co-worker steps in and laughs.
‘’What? That’s crazy Dave!...’’ The co-worker says out of turn, the look on his face tells the world that he is feeling awfully uncomfortable about the entire situation. Dave turns around facing his co-worker still gripping the collar of Andrew’s shirt.
‘’I wasn’t even talking to you…’’ Dave says, shrugging off the co-workers spontaneous comment…and than the light bulb goes off. ‘’Hey wait a minute…’’ Dave says, but Andrew not wanting to miss the point cuts back in.
‘’Look, I wrote an article it’s being printed right now…and it entails someone calling Level-One out for a fight'' Andrew announces. Dave Meltzer lets go of his cousin, long enough to let him regroup and elaborate further. ‘’This challenger has vowed to take Level-One out once and for all’’
Dave looks to his co-worker. ‘’Hey, get on this story you hear me?’’ The co-worker nods his head and shuffles off, as Dave directs his attention back to his cousin. ‘’You mean you’ve banked on getting Sandy Makel to really show up and fight Level-One in a non-sanctioned match?’’
Andrew flashes a nervous smile, before scratching at his head. ‘’Not quite’’ Andrew announces, before stumbling on. ‘’You see…things didn’t work out with Sandy Makel, and he isn’t going to give Level-One the fight he wants. And I’m afraid he isn’t going to get it from Stevie Swing either. I mean, she’s a girl’’
Dave Meltzer giggles and then looks up to Andrew flashing a professional serious face at Andrew. Andrew let’s out a nervous sigh. ’Dave’’ Andrew says, his voice piping up in octaves.
‘’…I’ve challenged Level-One to a fight’’
--
To Level-One,
You think you’re big? You think your tough, and all around a big bad ass? Well, how about you test your strength against me? How about you show up to the underground warehouse located on 54th trapid avenue and we settle this little dispute once and for all? You don’t impress me. You thought Sandy Makel was a tough challenge, when he BEAT you for the True Experts championship in that pathetic gauntlet? Well, then your in for quite the surprise with me. Be there.
I held the note in my hands; my eyes scanning the piece of paper in confusion. It was clear my challenger had did his homework to a certain extent; and considering I had spent over two months in the tournament and still didn’t get the challenge that Andrew Meltzer had promised I’d encounter, I’d figure I’d test my luck and at the very least I would smash some young guns face in before making him swallow his own words, while he wore a sour face.
I reached into my pockets pulling out a hand full of change along with a single white die with six sides to it. Placing the useless coins back into my pocket I kept in my possession a replica of Sandy Makel’s single die. Tossing it across my hall way, it clashed and bounced along the hardware floors; all the while in my head I picture the number one.
The writer of the note had made one fatal underestimation…
Sandy Makel was never a ‘’tough’’ challenger; with a scan of the little dice and what side it had landed on, it was clear he was just a lucky…
One.
--
Andrew stood in the darkened warehouse clasping his hands together in attempts to keep him warm, it was freezing cold down here. If anything though, he wore the grey sweat shirt to look much larger than he really was. A crowd had gathered; especially after his cousin took the chance to capitalize on the incident as some type of ‘’repayment’’ from Andrew for the trouble he had caused. They cheered him on, it didn’t help.
Andrew was a huge fan of Level-One and had studied his repertoire almost religiously and was well aware of his capabilities. Why exactly was he going through with this he didn’t quite know, but he was taking a huge gamble ultimately flirting with the deadly lips of death. If somehow though, if somehow he could give Level-One the fight he was looking for, he could save him. Reignite the spark Level-One had said he lost; he was doing this to help his friend. Perhaps, it was an ignorant estimation put forth by Andrew and his illusions of grandeur, but maybe he was a martyr for something greater than himself? The entire thing was crazy, it really was.
A large door creaked open; the crowd around them cooed for the entrant. Andrew ducked his head low, as he took in a deep breath, amongst the thoughts of running away and giving up, he knew he needed his inhaler. You would think that after years of running away from the high school bully, he would have kicked this bad breath heaving, air sucking habit, but Level-One? The man was something scary. His footsteps marked the same pace as Andrew’s heart beat. Slow but loud, he felt as if he was going to cough up a kidney, and that was before Level-One unleashed his first blow.
‘’Fight fight fight’’ The crowd chanted as Level-One pushed his way through the crowd, locking on Andrew Meltzer with his eyes. Andrew Meltzer kept his head hung low, as Level-One stood across from him with clenched fist ready to swing. The bell rung. A surge of energy shot through the veins of Andrew as he snapped his head up, and charged Level-One with a barrage of open fists. Level-One merely tucking a single shoulder, absorbs the weak fragile blows, as Andrew immediately gasses himself.
‘’…You’re kidding me right?’’ Level-One asks, as Andrew hits a single knee. Andrew looks up at Level-One; this time Level-One catching a glance and Andrew, finding out his true identity. ‘’Andrew? What the fuck are you doing here, are you crazy!?’’ Level-One shouts out loud, as the crowd grows ever so more eager to see a real fight.
‘’Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just forget this all happened and discuss this over coffee or something..’’ Andrew says, snapping up to his feet. Level-One scans the crowd, all of them baying for blood. He knew he was left with very little choice; and would probably regret this decision…
‘’Sorry, I’ll go easy on you but…’’
FADE TO BLACK
…
Andrew Meltzer slowly opened his eyes; to see me standing above him in his hospital bed. Andrew slowly turns his head to the side; two blackened eyes and a broken nose. I looked at the kid before nodding my head back and forth in disappointment. The kid had to see things from my point of view; you never walk away from a fight. It wasn’t law, nor was there a beholder of the rule, it was just a simple unwritten code that everyone stepping in on the fight scene learnt to abide by. Nonetheless, I pulled up a seat beside Andrew, who mumbled incoherently.
‘’I sorry’’ Andrew manages to say through cracked teeth and oversized swollen lips. ‘’I just try to help’’ Andrew continues; A smile crosses my face. Shoot me, this shit was pretty funny.
‘’By fighting me?’’ I quiz Andrew, before leaning back in the chair. ‘’Now tell me, in that mind of yours how exactly you put that shit together?’’ Andrew closed his eyes; it eased his pain.
‘’You say you want fight…so I gave you fight’’ Andrew speaks slowly, and carefully before continuing on. ‘’I know you think you have no fans, but I am you number one fan’’ Andrew confesses. ‘’The last thing I want to see is you go down like the rest of them’’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘’You mean guys like Black Death? You sure sound like him’’ Andrew manages to shrug his shoulders, and then nods his head. ‘’It was more about receiving a challenge. Do you really think I joined the EPU tournament based on the hops that I’d find a challenge from a second party, no named competitor?''
Andrew nodded his head.
‘’Well, you’re wrong’’ I told him. ‘’See, all along the challenge I had been looking for is within myself, Andrew. The challenge wasn’t about finding someone else who could match up pound for pound with me, it was about going out there and outdoing myself. Proving to myself that not only do I still have it, but that I have more than what they had claimed I had’’
‘’What is that?’’ Andrew asks. I glanced over to Andrew, before standing up patting the kid on his shoulder.
‘’Well, that’s for us to find out now, isn’t it?’’
Andrew slowly reached over grabbing the remote. ‘’Stevie Swing don’t have anything on you’’ Andrew assured me, in return I offered up a sharp smirk.
‘’No, no…’’ I said scratching my head. ‘’See, that’s the greatest way to lose a match. Really, I think you should review the tapes’’ I winked, before heading towards the hospital door, before leaving however, I stop and turn around.
‘’Oh, and you hit like a bitch…’’
Swing stevie…swing.
---Ending Flashback---
‘’…I’ve already been saved’’
I stared into the mirror; my reflection was now consumed by funny looking font, insulting phrases trigging a cycle of deep seeded thoughts. It was clear that to the outsiders of the industry, I had been sending out wrong vibes. The truth was, I did lack motivation. I did lose beat in my heart. This wrestling thing, it really did become the same old shit, but only because I allowed it too.
Stevie Swing isn’t going to make this match. Stevie Swing, will not push me past my limits, she will not motivate me to be the best I can be; after all that isn’t her job. All along, I’ve been waiting for this frivolous dance partner, someone who could truly stack up to my talents while I am at the very best of my game, and the truth is they simply don’t exist.
There is only one fucking man on this planet, breathing this toxic air, which can push me to my limits. Myself. I am going to go out there not to beat Stevie Swing, but to beat myself. To prove to MYSELF that not a single word staring back at me on this mirror reflects me. While doing so, I may not be able to sway a single feeble mind, but understand that only ‘’One’’ matters.
Weak
Listen carefully, listen to the way she talks. Undermining everything. Every accomplishment a wrestler could ever imagine, everyone she comes in contact with, ultimately even undermining her own accomplishments in the process. Here, Stevie Swing stands in the final round an unknown, a sleeper pick; yet she stands with rage, venom, and ignorance on the backdoor of her breath. See, you can’t undermine me as you aren’t in the position too. While you may rein supreme or have made yourself a household name in the comfort of your own federation, I have been the saving face of entire empires where you’re useless promotions are pact under the umbrella. Yet, you quarrel in the rain with your hands raised in victory. But who do you think stands above it all, you silly bitch? Hold on… let me zip up my zipper.
Furthermore, the fact that you’ve claimed that not even a single competitor thus far has given you a challenge in even the slightest, perhaps can be an testament to how you, the unknown, the sleeper pick, has made it to the final round. The difference with me, is that I was expected to be here. They look at me and they know they’re inferior. The only accomplishment, the only thing that is expected of me is to win the tournament, not to make it to the finals. You though? You’re accomplishment was making it this far, and you’ve taken a big shit on it, more so than you’ve taken on any of the competitors you’ve encountered. This simply is a weakness. You can’t run me down in order to make yourself look good; after all it didn’t work for the republicans. Lastly, when you’re sent home packing it in with the runner up spot; you can sit back and think that you’ve collectively did nothing in the tournament, since you know…the whole thing just fell into your fucking lap.
The word ‘’Weak’’ disappears from the mirror.
Overrated
Seriously, I know this shit is coming. The minute you found out you had to face me, you immediately began to do your ‘’research’’. Hell, you probably over heard the world speaking, weather it be wishing you the best of luck, or sharing their past stories of those who have had encounters with me thus far. You’ve seen the polls, the internet forums predictions, and you despise it. Sure, you use it to fuel your tank, and sure it may even play to your advantage; but no doubt does it increase that venom circulating through your blood. No doubt does it clout your judgment. It gives you a reason to hate me, look at me, and than hands you the scalpel to slowly rip me apart. Suddenly, by the time you’ve spewed all your hate, by the time you’ve assured yourself that I’m just another overrated, over inflated star; suddenly Level-One isn’t so great anymore. You like many opponents before me will stand atop an Ivory tower with a microphone in hand; in attempts to speak out against my success.
Fuck that shit. How dare the people over look Stevie Swing! You’re out to prove us wrong, huh? You’re out overthrow the big dog off his perch of fame and stardom, aren’t you? Well, I’m sorry to tease the wake up call, but those polls are there for a reason. That word of mouth seeps into your ears, and pisses you off to no end exist for a fucking reason. See, people tend to back themselves behind FACTS. Stevie Swing, you sitting behind your camera spewing out football fields worth of shit, isn’t fact, its distorted opinion. When I go out there and win world championships, tournaments alike, and rule wrestling empires, it is all well documented. It is all fact.
The word ‘’Overrated’’ disappears from the mirror.
Unmotivated
See, winning this match is much bigger than I believe you understand, Stevie. The collective was doomed from the day it had sloppily pieced itself together. I don’t know what quite drew me to this tournament but I do know that I have made the right decisions. Stevie, if I beat you on our special night I will get a shot at regaining my True Experts championship, something I feel as if I hadn’t really lost. Hell, if I couldn’t pick my sprits up to win this match, I’d have no fucking business continuing to wrestle in this industry, and if this match means little to you; then so be it. While you’re parading around Sin wrestling, feuding over the same useless championships, and fighting the same people nearly every week; I’ll be on a global stage defending my championship amongst the best in the world—my element awaits me.
As for you? It’s quite clear we have two different agendas. While I am fighting for myself; you are simply trying to fight to prove others wrong. You’re swinging with cracked knuckles, and you aren’t hitting a damn thing. You’re out to prove something to a world that no longer really cares. I have learnt this by the lack of respect I have gotten. I step into these tournaments, fuck even a wrestling match from my own federation, and you know what? I hear them claiming they’re going to beat me, destroy me, sometimes you’ll get the odd nut vowing to even kill, yet here I stand. You beat them, you send them off; and they’re saying the same shit they’ve said last week to the next person they run face first into. Stevie, I beat you—you go back to your world and nothing changes. You don’t note it, you don’t even drop a single reference to it anymore, and the fans forget about it as if it was nothing. When you fight for yourself? You remember it, you feel it along with the wounds you’ve encountered, THAT is something to fight for.
The word ‘’Unmotivated’’ disappears from the mirror.
Sinner
Fuck count me in. I’ve done some fucked up shit and I still don’t regret them. See, while I may not suck cock, steal, or maim and kill—I’m almost sure I have a seat reserved for me in hell; right beside Stevie Swing. I’m not proud of any of it, but I’m certainly not ashamed for it either. Stevie however, she embraces it. Weather she’s hanging out with low life hookers, ripping off drug dealers; or hanging out with the scummiest of scummy people in between wrestling matches; it’s clear the bitch has problems and by the grin on her face, you can tell she enjoys every bit of it too. If god does exist; he better use his slight of hand to strangle this bitch before I do. You know, the holocaust wouldn’t have been so bad if they would’ve taken this carpet munching Jew along with its family gene pool with them. Since we missed out on the opportunity however; I’m ashamed the entire thing happened, really.
Okay, so now I’m really going to hell…I’m fucking over it.
The word ‘’Sinner’’ disappears from the mirror.
Fraud
Honestly, Stevie Swing is your typical carpet munching lesbian whether she wants to admit it, or not. This bitch uses every card she could pull out of her sleeve in order to draw some type of sympathy; but I see through her dull pen. Through the course of the tournament she has mentioned she is a woman, she has mentioned she is a lesbian, and a Jew. This bitch is running on a full fledge deck, and it’s clear to see this is nothing more than another…boring…gimmick. Save me from the high-school crying, the bitching and moaning about equality and equal rights. With-out black pioneers such as Martin Luther King, and those alike, I would be lynched from my neck, held by a tree branch, with a fork stuck up my ass—but I would’ve also had a smile across my face, and my middle finger up in the air, laughing in the face of death.
You draw zero sympathy from me. In fact; it was you who opened the can of worms in the first place. It was YOU by your own paranoia who decided to dress as a man because she thought nobody would accept her as a credible competitor if she didn’t have a dick. So while you dressed up as a man; women were all around this business winning championships and becoming big parts of their respective promotions. Instead you took the short cut. You adopted virtually the same principles of every ‘’Chauvinistic’’ pig still walking around in this business. YOU stevie are the biggest hypocritical, delusional and FAKE piece of shit I have come across in a long time.
The word ‘’Fraud’’ disappears from the mirror.
Coward
Hide under your disguises, rip off your masks, there isn’t another thing besides a discarded bloodied tampon you can pull out of that cunt of yours that will surprise any of us. You’re the typical bitch that hides behind endless stereo types and then fights behind them too. Paint me as the typical chauvinistic pig, beat me to prove all the men in the world that females are just as equal in this industry as males are, just don’t forget the three years you’ve preached quite the opposite. The truth is, you are only going to prove what most of the world has went onto acknowledge thus far; we are all equal.
Although, I’m not quite sure this will benefit you in many ways. For one, the next time a bitch steps out of line, I’m going to offer up a backhand to put her back into place. The next time one of my challengers walk in equipped with a pair of breasts; I’m not going to think twice before dropping them on the back of their heads through a wooden table. As a result of this, I know what you are capable of, Stevie and in turn I’m bringing my absolute best. Those cards in which you’ve held, and played in your advantage for so long, will prove to mean absolutely nothing when sitting across the table from me. See; I may hump your body for the three count, but I do still plan on winning. Bitch, moan claim that you still remain repressed behind those barriers despite stepping in the ring with probably the most decorated men in this industry for quite sometime, we’ll feast on the oxymoron within you.
The word ‘’Coward’’ disappears from the mirror.
Replaceable
Stevie, it’s time for a wake up call. This notion in which you are above everyone else, is simply stomach turning. You fail to realize this is a business. You fail to realize that tickets need to be sold. You fail to realize that this business doesn’t need you. And when they don’t need you any longer, you are discarded and replaced. It’s vicious cycle. What happens when the world champion seemingly runs his course? It’s quite simple, he’s replaced. The earth does not shake; the foundations do not crumble, and the world surprisingly moves on.
You can argue that depending on the world champion an influx of ticket sales increase ultimately being better for the business, but the business itself will always live on. I mean, do you honestly think anyone gives a shit about Sandy Makel winning the True Expert championship? Although, he has virtually drained the excitement from the experts empire it doesn’t change the fact that for now; I am number two and I must wait my turn to win back what I should’ve never lost. You have done this tournament no favors; you’ve made it to the finals simply because someone had too. This isn’t destiny, or some other fair tale story out from those Disney fucks that pushed Miley Cyrus, or those annoying Jonas brothers…
The word ‘’Replaceable’’ disappears from the mirror.
Choke-Artist
Stevie, I’ve been here before. See, while you were booted from the first round of the Roughkut tournament in the first round; I had made it to the finals. I understand that runner up isn’t good enough and it’s a tough pill to swallow, although you pretty much overdosed on yours with an underwhelming performance you had thrown on. The truth is, stevie when the big one is on the line; you tend to blow it. I mean, roughkut showcased some of the best talent I had seen in quite sometime. Talent in which Legion would die for; because clearly the promotions he had aligned himself with was doing him no favors.
Sure, you can point to your title reins nobody honestly gives two shits about. And sure, you can point to the main-event status you hold in Sin Wrestling, and also the time where you feel from your favorite scaffold proving you to be one tough ass dyke! At the end of the day though, nobody is watching Sin Wrestling. Nobody, is standing on their toes giving a shit about the latest show they put on, or the new and hottest feud that had been set off, making your accomplishments very useless when it comes to inter promotion and proving yourself the cream of the crop. Chance after chance, how do you plan on blowing this one too?
The word ‘’Choke-Artist’’ disappears from the mirror.
Self infliction
As for me? I’m not going to beat you, Stevie. I don’t need too. With your previous showing of ignorance and the lack of respect for yourself has already proved to be your greatest downfall. The truth is, I can’t beat Stevie Swing. It’s impossible. See, you’ve convinced yourself that you are the start, end, and be all of professional wrestling. You have already convinced yourself that I am the typical, over hyped superstar, and that you will walk in and shock the entire world when you overthrow the former true expert, himself. In your own mind, you’ve already won.
See, I may even have my hands raised at the end of the night, yet you’ll walk away knowing that you’ve made me bleed, that you’ve proven that you can injure and maim me in your element. Hell, you may even take solace in the fact you made me question myself a few times, as you hook my leg for a close three count. Stevie, even if I walk away the winner of the Unum tournament, along with the hardware to prove it, you will still find away to conjure up some type of victory in which you can be proud of.
You can’t be saved
The word ‘’Self infliction’’ disappears from the mirror.
Denial
This is where our story ends, Stevie. While your looking up at the lights; trying to shake my impact from every corner of your skull, you would’ve claimed you had destroyed me. While you picked your broken, bloodied body up of the mat. You would’ve claimed you’d have beaten me. When you open your eyes long enough to see past the blood and into the lights that hang above us, you’ll tell yourself that you are a fucking legend. And when that bell rings, and the winner is announced…
‘’And the NEW Unum champion of the world…LEVEL-ONE!!!’’ You will look to me, shake your head, and tell yourself…
‘’That should’ve been me’’
The word ‘’Denial’’ disappears from the mirror.
Nothing. There I stand in-front of the glass mirror on that had been filled with phrases that too many people would mean nothing, but to me? They meant everything. Deep down these questions had haunted me. Every match I had walked out to compete in; whether I had won, or I had lost, these questions hung in the back of my head only proving to be dead weight.
I smiled at my reflection and my reflection smiled back.
‘’Tonight; I do away with this disguise’’ I tell myself still staring at my rugged reflection.
Slowly, I back away never removing my eyes as they remain transfixed on the mirror in front of me. The words that had once disappeared now slowly reform all over again, painting a new scene. It was then, through the words scrambled across the mirror indiscriminately, a face appeared. That face belonged too…
Stevie Swing.
