Post by Level-Two on Jun 1, 2009 20:58:59 GMT -4
‘’One’s’’ Flames of the inferno (IV)
No one to lead the motivational bus…
Have you ever sat back and took the time to appreciate what you have? Have you ever sat down and took the one thing you care about the most to heart and articulately thought about not having it there anymore? No of course you haven’t and neither did Level-One. We as humans; we are greedy. We strive towards great measures, most times impossible measure; and even when we fight against our odds; we realize it isn’t far enough. We vow to push ourselves further; we test our insanity, we play evil games against our body, which can’t handle such rigorous strain. Our pride pushes us too far sometimes; and sometimes, you are forced to get your ego into check.
Back to the mat; eyes illuminated by the bright lights; the announcer calls for a name that isn’t his. Yeah, even Level-One has been here before.
We as humans don’t realize what we have until it’s all gone. You take what you have for granted and you flaunt with such ignorance, but when you lose it, you break down, go into a shell, you start to lose your mind, your head, where is it? You are dealing with a man whom has come to learn this full swing, and while it may grant you with a few extra hours of sleep; Level-One has been down and out before. He has been broken down by the machine, he found himself trying to out-wit. This is why this is a tough battle for him; the machine knows his weakness, and the machine never thinks twice about going for his throat.
However; no longer is he easy disposal like he once was early into his career. Not in the APW at least. He knew that he was the biggest draw for the company; and he knew that once he made his talent known to the APW fans, management, and President Jeff; he knew that the only story they could sell anymore was the story of the underdog. See, the machine craved ratings, dire ratings. Imagine the best wrestler being overthrown by one of three dark horses, virtually nobody really has heard, or care about on a world wide scale? The promotion would gain more ratings than Level-One could provide them with, even as the reining world champion. It was short term measure; but they’d do anything to keep the APW above their rival competition.
The true question however wasn’t if they would think twice before selling out their go to guy for the better part of the entire year, it was in regards to weather or not the APW could survive with-out Level-One. The future looked dim with-out him, face it; there was nobody more reliable then Level-One. You could count on him to come through and put a show on, no matter what under talented competitor you had tossed in the ring with him. He can turn piss into water, water into whine—and he could make stars out of John Green. Pence Weatherlight and Jason Royce, at the same time!
APW with-out, Level-One?
Pence continues to shoot boring, long, nonsensical promos, which makes El Chumpacabra’s promos look short, underwhelming, and coherent.
John Green assumes continues his role as the APW number 1 contender only to get shut down by Pence Weatherlight, over and over again…
Jason Royce continues to do nothing…
Pence is STILL talking…
And the crowds have shrunken in size. They’re bored, they’re tired; because they know that the one man whom they could look forward to tuning the television on to listen to; has left the building. Why? Because nobody else appreciated him, nobody had it in their hearts to show respect for them. They failed to acknowledge that he was better than them; and had nothing more to prove. Superstars, whom would rather run off major competitors, then beat them. It was a joke. The whole title picture had to be wiped away, the slate set clean, credibility re-injected back into the veins of the APW. So, doing so he left a call. He reached out to the promotion deep down in which he loves; giving them an ultimatum.
‘’You find me some real challengers; some real born competitors that aren’t here to play games, or peddle around in their own shit; or I will go out and find some goddamn talent myself, even if it’s above and beyond the APW’’ he said.
He was done motivating the roster; he was done showing the new kids around his block, especially when they plot, lie, and cheat behind his back. Fuck them, forget them. They all could’ve been something; and now that they’ve lost out on their chance, they see where they went wrong. When their backs are lying against the mat, their eyes illuminated by the bright lights; and the announcer calls out the name ‘’Level-One’’ only then will they be systematically destroyed. Only then can they can grab their balls; shut their mouths, and own up to their mistakes in the eyes of their world champion, in which he will reply:
‘’I forgive you’’
Fuck mayhem. The test for the best had begun tonight.
--
‘’I say face your demons. If you don’t, it means you’ve exposed your back to them, and that’s when they’re really dangerous’’- Level-One
The call back
Time: Past
He finds himself staring out the window. It’s a breezy night; the wind sending the trees crackling under its blast. Level-One can see the stars; glowing in his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to count how many they are; simply put, there isn’t enough, not enough to lighten his darkened soul at the very least. He can feel himself slowly returning to his old self; especially after what had occurred in the APW. It was the first time in a long time he had reached out to anyone to give them a hand…
And they all tried to pull him down with them.
Quickly, and ever so swiftly however; he diverted the thoughts of his career that had plagued him often. For example, when he looked up at those stars; well those became faces. Objects shape shifted it was as if everything he had ever seen somehow related to his career. This was something he tried to escape, especially at the recommendation of his new friend Patricia; he had been consumed with wrestling whether he wanted to admit it or not.
She was beautiful; and he began to like her. Nothing serious, nothing over the top—after all; the last thing he wanted to do is get into an emotional with yet another female; they all seemed to bring him bad luck, even if they didn’t mean too. He called her a few times; she giggled, she laughed and she joked ‘’you’re getting a little too attached now, chill out!’’ so he didn’t call her for two hours; surely that would be giving her enough space.
Yet—his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, sending a shiver down his thigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone flipping it open. She called him back. Surely that met something right? ‘’Hey, Patricia’’ he greeted her like a gentlemen.
‘’Hey Lester, uh, sorry but I need your help right now’’ Patricia stated with panic stricken vocal chords.
Patricia Lewis had visited a late night coffee shop, to study on some school work; when a man with a weird masked had walked in. The white material clung to his disfigured face, doing his best to cover up his scars. The man was big in size; he walked in a slow, calculated pace; as his heavy boots dragged along the floor—intrigued she had asked him a question earlier on…
‘’What’s up with your face dude, seriously?’’
Despite only knowing Patricia for a few weeks now; Lester had understood that she wasn’t shy, or soft spoken. She said things as she thought it; and it had gotten her in some squabbles in the past—she was stubborn, the similarities to his personality traits were endless. The only difference was; Patricia didn’t stand over six feet all, nor was she a trained fighter; she couldn’t defend herself the way he could; he could sense trouble on her end of the phone.
‘’I’m here at the coffee shop; a man with what swear to you is a burn victim of some sort is watching me very carefully…’’ Patricia states; looking at the mysterious man seated at a small table for two behind her.
‘’How can you see his eyes through the cloth?’’ Level-One had countered.
‘’Do you think this is a joke Lester!?’’ Patricia whispers sharply, quickly losing her patience.
‘’I’ll be right there’’ I had said before hanging up the phone. The coffee shop was only a few blocks from his house; still with Patricia in a panic—a taxi driver was going to get lucky today, it’s not everyday they have the pleasure of driving what is seen as the greatest wrester and born bred entertainer alive to day, but under these circumstances, it would be more of a headache to a taxi driver than an honor. If not for having to drop his sight seeing for the night; the fact that another girl he’s mildly interested in is already being harassed. The only thing that rested his heart easy was knowing that Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown likely didn’t have much to do with it, if anything.
<><><>
Patricia Lewis retook her seat; where her note book laid. She did her best to ignore the man sitting by her; but she noticed her notebook is gone. She turned her head to the mysterious masked man; she can see him holding the book in his hands. Patricia Lewis knows that she just has to wait for Lester to get here, she could take her book back then, for now she was too ignore it, but he followed her.
The mysterious masked man pulled up a seat right beside Patricia; and placed the book down softly on the table. She looked at him nervously, as he leaned over taking a long sniff of her scent. She tried to pull away, but he has his hand wrapped around her petite arm.
‘’So, I came into the shop right? Just wanting some coffee, to wake me the fuck up from this nightmare I’m living, but then; I smell you’’ he says, his tone tough, sharp, it commands fear. He takes along sniff of the air once again. ‘’You smell like fire and gasoline, where exactly have you been tonight?’’
Patricia Lewis stared at the masked men. She was petrified of the man. And how would he know how she smelt like? Especially with the dissembled nose that remained held up on his burnt face. ‘’I haven’t been anywhere, who are you?’’
He tightens his grip. ‘’Now that’s for me to tell, and you to listen very carefully, okay you dumb blonde?’’ he attacked with an old cliché. ‘’Don’t avoid my questions. I know how fire and gasoline smells like; in fact I can smell it a mile away. They say you shouldn’t play with fires; I guess I forgot to listen’’ he jokes to himself, she’s feeling uneasy.
‘’What happened?’’ Patricia asked; through the corner of the eye she watched through the window, just waiting for Lester to show up, and get her out of this mess.
‘’I lost my face’’ the masked man replies dryly. ‘’But don’t feel sorry for me, I know a pretty women like yourself doesn’t care. Your nothing more than a pretty face, what if I was to say…take it from you?’’ he asked.
Patricia began to shake; her stomach began to stir, she wanted to scream but she wasn’t sure if that was in her best interest. ‘’Why would you do that?’’ Patricia quizzed him.
‘’I know what you’ve been up to pretty lady, I know what you’ve done, and I can smell the guilt all over you’’ the masked man stated aggressively.
She closed her eyes; she hoped that he’d be there when she opened them up; the sound of the front door rings, as Level-One enters the coffee shop. The masked man immediately turns around and locks eyes with Level-One, as he marches towards the commotion. The masked man clenches his fist, his teeth; he’s boiling inside; as Level-One grabs Patricia’s hand. Level-One stares at the masked man, whom stalks his movements closely with his eyes. With Patricia pulling Level-One to the door; he turned to the man and uttered…
‘’You fucking freak’’ he said with anger through his voice; he was close to rocking the man with a right hand, but it would be detrimental to his best interests. Lester only and Patricia Lewis quickly left the bar; leaving the masked man on his own. A piece of paper had fallen out of her note book; it entailed the location of an apartment; one he would be sure to visit himself.
The mysterious masked man sat in the café shop alone; the words ‘’You freak’’ coming from Level-One pounded his skull, giving him a new world of motivation to kill the man, whom re-enters a yellow taxi, and chaffered away. The mysterious man turns the paper over; picking up a discarded pencil, and begins to mark the sheet.
There the man draws a large abandoning building; a small boy standing not too far away from it, with tears streaming down his eyes. The hand then crosses over the building; as he draws flames attacking the roof tops; and flames seeping through the open windows, as it consumes the building whole. He draws a man walking away from the building, with a can of gasoline in his hand; and the man looked awfully familiar to Level-One himself. He knew who it was; but now wasn’t the time. The masked man would get him back, he’d kill him.
The masked man looks at the sketch; before slipping it into his pocket, and exiting the café.
--
Inflames
Patricia Lewis saw Level-One as her hero, but he knew better. He was no hero. He was the villain; an Anti-hero at the very least. Still, she had clutched his arm, as they drove down the silent road, she was going to head home now; and wouldn’t forget to lock her doors, especially after what had occurred tonight. They didn’t say much to each-other on the way back; especially as Level-One’s attention spanned out the window, aligning with the many trees that had stood amongst the small ravine.
Lately, he’s been seeing flames. He has been seeing flames everywhere; they come and go and feel nothing for the hands of time. The fires always stalk; their orange lit bellies eating away at his mind internally just for spite, they don’t even appear to be hungry. But then, when their done doing damage, when they have stopped pouring fire on him from the sky, everything is normal. The flames disappear as if they had never existed; everything was an illusion.
…but then they stalked him for real. Patricia pointed it out to him; across the bridge a large building was set on fire; the flames eating everything, sirens can be heard below, shooting up through the night, radiating off the taxi’s window. She tugged on my arm tighter.
‘’Jesus, I hope those people are okay’’Patricia states with concern in her voice. Level-One watched on as the flames continue to circle the building, eating it alive; eating away at himself.
He turned to Patricia; who’s lit up by the scene of the fire. He looked at her then back at the flames, then back at her.
That’s when he smelt an interesting sent.
‘’You smell like fire and gasoline…’’
Patricia looked up at him, nervously as she doesn’t dare to reply. Her eyes trail off; and she sees a window of opportunity to offering up a response.
‘’Oh, that’s probably just because the driver has his window open’’ Patricia swiftly diverts the brewing situation. ‘’Those flames are something horrible’’ she said; as Patricia Lewis and Lester only, stared out the taxi window together, until the flames could be seen no more.
--
A email to the CANADIATES,
Recepatants:
jANSon_Ryice@homail.cam
John_Green@generic.com
I_am_pence_weatherlight_and_you_can’t_beat_me_why_don’t_you_ask_my_manager_he_will_tell_ you_too@uncessarylongtextsavyemailadress.com
Dear, Championship hopefuls. I am sorry that I must take my revolution against you; I am sorry that I cannot be there in person. I am sorry that I will not be there to shoot a promo and continue the vicious cycle of making the powers that be happy. I am NOT however sorry, for what I must do to you three; in order to make my statement stick. While you children may get off on making promises you can’t afford to keep; I find my creditability that much more expensive.
I would like to start the address with Jason Royce. Why? Well, all three are equally un entertaining, all three are equally oblivious to the real world, and all three of them are in one way shape or forum, a sheep of a system; in which I must brand my blade in preparation for their slaughter. While I cannot honestly say, I am saving the best for last; I will be dealing with the worst of them first. Now you can take my words how ever you may like; in fact, you may not even take them at all…
Though, you then have to ask yourself, would I care? No. You Jason Royce mean very little to me. I tried to make something out of you; Jason I COULD’VE made something out of you. I turn shit into Pence Weatherlight promos. I can turn jobbers into stars, and stars into legends. Fuck, I may not be able to turn a John Green production into wall-paper; but that’s only because it is equally boring. Jason, I could’ve really made something out of you. I could’ve really carried you to that next rung on that ladder; you like ladders don’t you?
You no good spot-fest, monkey.
What have you ever been good at doing with-out me anyways? Before I picked your back up off the mat, you were challenging men to ‘’1 GAZZILION THUMB TACK MATCHES’’ as if you booked the damn show. You dumb fuck, what don’t you realize? They don’t care about you, Jason Royce. Your demands are not met, because they cannot be taken seriously. Why would a sports commission grant you some retarded requests anyways? So they can see some no good jobber; be punctuated in more holes than a low grade porn-star? You pathetic little man.
This is a business, no matter how you want to take it. You are in a world class federations; where the lights are bright, and the system tries to manipulate your every move. Unless you are above that machine, you aren’t going to get what you want. Face it, kid. Your like those 10 year old kids whom cheer on Pence Weatherlight; you have no voice; just an annoying squeal. Like an animal, a big fat pig. Keep squealing, you vile human being; we are done listening to your shit.
Do you even listen to the shit that is coming out of your mouth? You infer yourself as some type of mastermind. Obviously, you were just joking; nobody is legitimately that stupid. Okay, scratch that—but Fyre Angel left the building along time ago (and still didn’t job as much as you did). The point being, Royce, you aren’t smart enough to outsmart me. You couldn’t find your way out of a card board box with four exit doors; and two windows to boot. You couldn’t get your brain cells moving, if you put a hot iron to your scalp, yet your standing in-front of the entire world—claiming that YOU out smarted, Level-One.
I’m not laughing. I feel sorry for you. I am asking myself why you went to the IWC to get paid with peanuts and eat steel chairs to the face. Given, the promotion lasted like—two fucking weeks, so perhaps it was their horrible cluster-fuck bookings that knocked that last screw in your brain loose; nonetheless, I think it’s time to just shut your damn mouth, and watch as I kick your ass from the main-event, straight back into the show openers, where your boring the fans the minute they walk in after you promised the world a…
‘’ SINGLE SPIKE’S OF THOUSANDS DEATH TABLE, LADDER, TRIPLE THREAT, RUMBLE MATCH’’ Jason Royce, please. Stop it. Every time you speak; Einstein looses a brain cell AND he’s already dead…
John Green;
You self conceited; un-appreciative, piece of shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m an asshole, but I am an asshole within reason. If I slap you in the face; it’s because you deserve it. If I kick you when you’re down, it’s because I told you not to get back up, and you defied me. And I ever back stab anyone, it’s because I saw them brandishing their knifes and fine tuning their fake smiles. But you John Green? What had I done to you? Hell, I was helping you. You accepted my help; you used my help, and it worked out for you.
John, at point in time did you figure that I wasn’t good enough? At what point in time did you deem me not worth your time? I’ll tell you; when you stood beside me and you saw my APW world heavyweight championship shining in your face, you squinted your eyes in pure jealousy. When I told you to sit back and watch me in my old film; you noticed you could never mimic my style and that you would never ever be better than me. I showed you the world; and all you did was stare at me. Waiting for your time to strike and take advantage of my kindness.
You are the biggest piece of shit of them all. See, while Jason Royce and Pence unleashed their cheap attacks; at least they had their balls to do it, and own up to it. You though? You sat back and watched, making you the biggest attacker of them all. Bruises heal; John. But betrayal? That hurts. However, you don’t own a pair of breasts; nor do you have a nice ass; so it’s more like ‘’Now I have an EXCUSE to beat the fuck out of John Green’’ and I’m already over your betrayal. This will be displayed come, mayhem. I assure you.
John Green, I have sent a notice to President Jeff and the management that is beneath him in more ways that one. That being, that I no longer want to have to come across you every title defense. You have been a world contender month after month; and you are never able to finish the job. Thus, you should be forgotten and removed from this picture. John Green, I’m thinking long term. And long term tells me that I’ll be holding this world title through the thick and thin; and these fans aren’t going to pay to see me kick your ass any longer, their tired of it. They’re tired of you seemingly forgetting our past; and ignoring that I am the future. And quite frankly, I am tired of breaking my knuckles across your empty skull.
All along John, my purpose was to find the TRUE number 1 contender. A star hidden behind the rebel; like the system; I was ready to give you a filth chance. I was ready to give you one last shot to prove yourself, and you ruined it. You pointed at my world title; and your common sense left you. I am done helping you, or anyone else out. I am done trying to find the next ‘’star’’ hidden underneath the APW banner; because obviously there seems to be nothing there.
Pence Weatherlight?
Pence, when are you finally going to realize that you have done absolutely nothing to warrant a title shot here in the APW? The entire thing is a sham. You merely stuck your nose in MY business, and you’ve been given the world. Can you honestly claim along with the other two stooges; that your association with myself, didn’t get you this title shot? Pence, if you really cared about the fans, you would earn your shots the right way. Not leech off my back, and expect me to carry you through the motions.
If you cared about the fans Pence, you would SHOW them why you deserve a title shot. You haven’t done so. Instead; you rather take advantage of situations and muscle your way in-front of everyone else’s line straight to the top. Tell me—why a guy like Shadow is sitting back defending his overdrive title, when he has an unbeaten streak, yet Pence—signs a contract, and immediately is throw in the main-event with the world champion?
Is it because you’re a big star, Pence? Is it because you’re a world wide network champion? How many championship have you won? How many world championships lie on your resume? What memorable feuds have you been in lately? You haven’t done shit! You couldn’t kick it past mid card in the EWC; so historically speaking, you have done NOTHING to deserve what you have gotten in the EWC.
I gave you the fucking world kid; and I didn’t even charge you a little.
You talk about fighting for the fans; but the fans don’t care about you. The fans are wondering why, a washed up piece of Extreme Corporate garbage is on APW television, shoved down their throats in a main-event match. They want to know what happened to the days of paying your dues, bleeding your heart out, and earning your shots. Pence, they want to know what makes you so good—to cut in the line of people whom had worked twice as hard as you have; and proven that they’re just not a hit and run superstars who would vanish from their television a week later.
Pence, you are the perfect example of corporate scum. You walk in, do nothing, and you are received by the management as some king. As a chizzled vet; who had been in this business on years on end. In fact, I don’t think there has ever been a superstar in the history of the APW who had just been handed the world like you have. I opened up my motivational tour; to extract the best out of everyone. I told Jason Royce and John Green to give me all they have. To prove themselves worthy; because after Michael Lively raised the ranks, it was clear the title was losing prestige.
And so I used a famous statement at Rasslemania five. I told the fans; the roster, and the management, that it would take effort. It would take patience, and it would take blood, sweat, and tears to get a world title shot; and that things didn’t come easy. Only for you to come in and undermine it all; you to turn two young prospects against me, and ruin their entire careers, as they’ve wasted a shot of a life time.
It’s very rare I help anyone. And tonight, I carry out my last duties. The motivational tour stops at Mayhem; I am going to rid all three of you of my title picture; and then? I’m going to let management clean up this mess. I am going to give the management a chance to build their own star; even if it means being controlled by corporate sponsors and led to the slaughter like feeble minded sheep. I hope, for the sake of the APW; they find me a worthy challenger, because the lot of you can’t fucking cut it.
The test for the best will emerge. And finally, this championship will get the challenger it deserves.
Well guys, thanks for running. Better luck in four years?
‘MESSAGE SENT’’
No one to lead the motivational bus…
Have you ever sat back and took the time to appreciate what you have? Have you ever sat down and took the one thing you care about the most to heart and articulately thought about not having it there anymore? No of course you haven’t and neither did Level-One. We as humans; we are greedy. We strive towards great measures, most times impossible measure; and even when we fight against our odds; we realize it isn’t far enough. We vow to push ourselves further; we test our insanity, we play evil games against our body, which can’t handle such rigorous strain. Our pride pushes us too far sometimes; and sometimes, you are forced to get your ego into check.
Back to the mat; eyes illuminated by the bright lights; the announcer calls for a name that isn’t his. Yeah, even Level-One has been here before.
We as humans don’t realize what we have until it’s all gone. You take what you have for granted and you flaunt with such ignorance, but when you lose it, you break down, go into a shell, you start to lose your mind, your head, where is it? You are dealing with a man whom has come to learn this full swing, and while it may grant you with a few extra hours of sleep; Level-One has been down and out before. He has been broken down by the machine, he found himself trying to out-wit. This is why this is a tough battle for him; the machine knows his weakness, and the machine never thinks twice about going for his throat.
However; no longer is he easy disposal like he once was early into his career. Not in the APW at least. He knew that he was the biggest draw for the company; and he knew that once he made his talent known to the APW fans, management, and President Jeff; he knew that the only story they could sell anymore was the story of the underdog. See, the machine craved ratings, dire ratings. Imagine the best wrestler being overthrown by one of three dark horses, virtually nobody really has heard, or care about on a world wide scale? The promotion would gain more ratings than Level-One could provide them with, even as the reining world champion. It was short term measure; but they’d do anything to keep the APW above their rival competition.
The true question however wasn’t if they would think twice before selling out their go to guy for the better part of the entire year, it was in regards to weather or not the APW could survive with-out Level-One. The future looked dim with-out him, face it; there was nobody more reliable then Level-One. You could count on him to come through and put a show on, no matter what under talented competitor you had tossed in the ring with him. He can turn piss into water, water into whine—and he could make stars out of John Green. Pence Weatherlight and Jason Royce, at the same time!
APW with-out, Level-One?
Pence continues to shoot boring, long, nonsensical promos, which makes El Chumpacabra’s promos look short, underwhelming, and coherent.
John Green assumes continues his role as the APW number 1 contender only to get shut down by Pence Weatherlight, over and over again…
Jason Royce continues to do nothing…
Pence is STILL talking…
And the crowds have shrunken in size. They’re bored, they’re tired; because they know that the one man whom they could look forward to tuning the television on to listen to; has left the building. Why? Because nobody else appreciated him, nobody had it in their hearts to show respect for them. They failed to acknowledge that he was better than them; and had nothing more to prove. Superstars, whom would rather run off major competitors, then beat them. It was a joke. The whole title picture had to be wiped away, the slate set clean, credibility re-injected back into the veins of the APW. So, doing so he left a call. He reached out to the promotion deep down in which he loves; giving them an ultimatum.
‘’You find me some real challengers; some real born competitors that aren’t here to play games, or peddle around in their own shit; or I will go out and find some goddamn talent myself, even if it’s above and beyond the APW’’ he said.
He was done motivating the roster; he was done showing the new kids around his block, especially when they plot, lie, and cheat behind his back. Fuck them, forget them. They all could’ve been something; and now that they’ve lost out on their chance, they see where they went wrong. When their backs are lying against the mat, their eyes illuminated by the bright lights; and the announcer calls out the name ‘’Level-One’’ only then will they be systematically destroyed. Only then can they can grab their balls; shut their mouths, and own up to their mistakes in the eyes of their world champion, in which he will reply:
‘’I forgive you’’
Fuck mayhem. The test for the best had begun tonight.
--
‘’I say face your demons. If you don’t, it means you’ve exposed your back to them, and that’s when they’re really dangerous’’- Level-One
The call back
Time: Past
He finds himself staring out the window. It’s a breezy night; the wind sending the trees crackling under its blast. Level-One can see the stars; glowing in his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to count how many they are; simply put, there isn’t enough, not enough to lighten his darkened soul at the very least. He can feel himself slowly returning to his old self; especially after what had occurred in the APW. It was the first time in a long time he had reached out to anyone to give them a hand…
And they all tried to pull him down with them.
Quickly, and ever so swiftly however; he diverted the thoughts of his career that had plagued him often. For example, when he looked up at those stars; well those became faces. Objects shape shifted it was as if everything he had ever seen somehow related to his career. This was something he tried to escape, especially at the recommendation of his new friend Patricia; he had been consumed with wrestling whether he wanted to admit it or not.
She was beautiful; and he began to like her. Nothing serious, nothing over the top—after all; the last thing he wanted to do is get into an emotional with yet another female; they all seemed to bring him bad luck, even if they didn’t mean too. He called her a few times; she giggled, she laughed and she joked ‘’you’re getting a little too attached now, chill out!’’ so he didn’t call her for two hours; surely that would be giving her enough space.
Yet—his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, sending a shiver down his thigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone flipping it open. She called him back. Surely that met something right? ‘’Hey, Patricia’’ he greeted her like a gentlemen.
‘’Hey Lester, uh, sorry but I need your help right now’’ Patricia stated with panic stricken vocal chords.
Patricia Lewis had visited a late night coffee shop, to study on some school work; when a man with a weird masked had walked in. The white material clung to his disfigured face, doing his best to cover up his scars. The man was big in size; he walked in a slow, calculated pace; as his heavy boots dragged along the floor—intrigued she had asked him a question earlier on…
‘’What’s up with your face dude, seriously?’’
Despite only knowing Patricia for a few weeks now; Lester had understood that she wasn’t shy, or soft spoken. She said things as she thought it; and it had gotten her in some squabbles in the past—she was stubborn, the similarities to his personality traits were endless. The only difference was; Patricia didn’t stand over six feet all, nor was she a trained fighter; she couldn’t defend herself the way he could; he could sense trouble on her end of the phone.
‘’I’m here at the coffee shop; a man with what swear to you is a burn victim of some sort is watching me very carefully…’’ Patricia states; looking at the mysterious man seated at a small table for two behind her.
‘’How can you see his eyes through the cloth?’’ Level-One had countered.
‘’Do you think this is a joke Lester!?’’ Patricia whispers sharply, quickly losing her patience.
‘’I’ll be right there’’ I had said before hanging up the phone. The coffee shop was only a few blocks from his house; still with Patricia in a panic—a taxi driver was going to get lucky today, it’s not everyday they have the pleasure of driving what is seen as the greatest wrester and born bred entertainer alive to day, but under these circumstances, it would be more of a headache to a taxi driver than an honor. If not for having to drop his sight seeing for the night; the fact that another girl he’s mildly interested in is already being harassed. The only thing that rested his heart easy was knowing that Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown likely didn’t have much to do with it, if anything.
<><><>
Patricia Lewis retook her seat; where her note book laid. She did her best to ignore the man sitting by her; but she noticed her notebook is gone. She turned her head to the mysterious masked man; she can see him holding the book in his hands. Patricia Lewis knows that she just has to wait for Lester to get here, she could take her book back then, for now she was too ignore it, but he followed her.
The mysterious masked man pulled up a seat right beside Patricia; and placed the book down softly on the table. She looked at him nervously, as he leaned over taking a long sniff of her scent. She tried to pull away, but he has his hand wrapped around her petite arm.
‘’So, I came into the shop right? Just wanting some coffee, to wake me the fuck up from this nightmare I’m living, but then; I smell you’’ he says, his tone tough, sharp, it commands fear. He takes along sniff of the air once again. ‘’You smell like fire and gasoline, where exactly have you been tonight?’’
Patricia Lewis stared at the masked men. She was petrified of the man. And how would he know how she smelt like? Especially with the dissembled nose that remained held up on his burnt face. ‘’I haven’t been anywhere, who are you?’’
He tightens his grip. ‘’Now that’s for me to tell, and you to listen very carefully, okay you dumb blonde?’’ he attacked with an old cliché. ‘’Don’t avoid my questions. I know how fire and gasoline smells like; in fact I can smell it a mile away. They say you shouldn’t play with fires; I guess I forgot to listen’’ he jokes to himself, she’s feeling uneasy.
‘’What happened?’’ Patricia asked; through the corner of the eye she watched through the window, just waiting for Lester to show up, and get her out of this mess.
‘’I lost my face’’ the masked man replies dryly. ‘’But don’t feel sorry for me, I know a pretty women like yourself doesn’t care. Your nothing more than a pretty face, what if I was to say…take it from you?’’ he asked.
Patricia began to shake; her stomach began to stir, she wanted to scream but she wasn’t sure if that was in her best interest. ‘’Why would you do that?’’ Patricia quizzed him.
‘’I know what you’ve been up to pretty lady, I know what you’ve done, and I can smell the guilt all over you’’ the masked man stated aggressively.
She closed her eyes; she hoped that he’d be there when she opened them up; the sound of the front door rings, as Level-One enters the coffee shop. The masked man immediately turns around and locks eyes with Level-One, as he marches towards the commotion. The masked man clenches his fist, his teeth; he’s boiling inside; as Level-One grabs Patricia’s hand. Level-One stares at the masked man, whom stalks his movements closely with his eyes. With Patricia pulling Level-One to the door; he turned to the man and uttered…
‘’You fucking freak’’ he said with anger through his voice; he was close to rocking the man with a right hand, but it would be detrimental to his best interests. Lester only and Patricia Lewis quickly left the bar; leaving the masked man on his own. A piece of paper had fallen out of her note book; it entailed the location of an apartment; one he would be sure to visit himself.
The mysterious masked man sat in the café shop alone; the words ‘’You freak’’ coming from Level-One pounded his skull, giving him a new world of motivation to kill the man, whom re-enters a yellow taxi, and chaffered away. The mysterious man turns the paper over; picking up a discarded pencil, and begins to mark the sheet.
There the man draws a large abandoning building; a small boy standing not too far away from it, with tears streaming down his eyes. The hand then crosses over the building; as he draws flames attacking the roof tops; and flames seeping through the open windows, as it consumes the building whole. He draws a man walking away from the building, with a can of gasoline in his hand; and the man looked awfully familiar to Level-One himself. He knew who it was; but now wasn’t the time. The masked man would get him back, he’d kill him.
The masked man looks at the sketch; before slipping it into his pocket, and exiting the café.
--
Inflames
Patricia Lewis saw Level-One as her hero, but he knew better. He was no hero. He was the villain; an Anti-hero at the very least. Still, she had clutched his arm, as they drove down the silent road, she was going to head home now; and wouldn’t forget to lock her doors, especially after what had occurred tonight. They didn’t say much to each-other on the way back; especially as Level-One’s attention spanned out the window, aligning with the many trees that had stood amongst the small ravine.
Lately, he’s been seeing flames. He has been seeing flames everywhere; they come and go and feel nothing for the hands of time. The fires always stalk; their orange lit bellies eating away at his mind internally just for spite, they don’t even appear to be hungry. But then, when their done doing damage, when they have stopped pouring fire on him from the sky, everything is normal. The flames disappear as if they had never existed; everything was an illusion.
…but then they stalked him for real. Patricia pointed it out to him; across the bridge a large building was set on fire; the flames eating everything, sirens can be heard below, shooting up through the night, radiating off the taxi’s window. She tugged on my arm tighter.
‘’Jesus, I hope those people are okay’’Patricia states with concern in her voice. Level-One watched on as the flames continue to circle the building, eating it alive; eating away at himself.
He turned to Patricia; who’s lit up by the scene of the fire. He looked at her then back at the flames, then back at her.
That’s when he smelt an interesting sent.
‘’You smell like fire and gasoline…’’
Patricia looked up at him, nervously as she doesn’t dare to reply. Her eyes trail off; and she sees a window of opportunity to offering up a response.
‘’Oh, that’s probably just because the driver has his window open’’ Patricia swiftly diverts the brewing situation. ‘’Those flames are something horrible’’ she said; as Patricia Lewis and Lester only, stared out the taxi window together, until the flames could be seen no more.
--
A email to the CANADIATES,
Recepatants:
jANSon_Ryice@homail.cam
John_Green@generic.com
I_am_pence_weatherlight_and_you_can’t_beat_me_why_don’t_you_ask_my_manager_he_will_tell_ you_too@uncessarylongtextsavyemailadress.com
Dear, Championship hopefuls. I am sorry that I must take my revolution against you; I am sorry that I cannot be there in person. I am sorry that I will not be there to shoot a promo and continue the vicious cycle of making the powers that be happy. I am NOT however sorry, for what I must do to you three; in order to make my statement stick. While you children may get off on making promises you can’t afford to keep; I find my creditability that much more expensive.
I would like to start the address with Jason Royce. Why? Well, all three are equally un entertaining, all three are equally oblivious to the real world, and all three of them are in one way shape or forum, a sheep of a system; in which I must brand my blade in preparation for their slaughter. While I cannot honestly say, I am saving the best for last; I will be dealing with the worst of them first. Now you can take my words how ever you may like; in fact, you may not even take them at all…
Though, you then have to ask yourself, would I care? No. You Jason Royce mean very little to me. I tried to make something out of you; Jason I COULD’VE made something out of you. I turn shit into Pence Weatherlight promos. I can turn jobbers into stars, and stars into legends. Fuck, I may not be able to turn a John Green production into wall-paper; but that’s only because it is equally boring. Jason, I could’ve really made something out of you. I could’ve really carried you to that next rung on that ladder; you like ladders don’t you?
You no good spot-fest, monkey.
What have you ever been good at doing with-out me anyways? Before I picked your back up off the mat, you were challenging men to ‘’1 GAZZILION THUMB TACK MATCHES’’ as if you booked the damn show. You dumb fuck, what don’t you realize? They don’t care about you, Jason Royce. Your demands are not met, because they cannot be taken seriously. Why would a sports commission grant you some retarded requests anyways? So they can see some no good jobber; be punctuated in more holes than a low grade porn-star? You pathetic little man.
This is a business, no matter how you want to take it. You are in a world class federations; where the lights are bright, and the system tries to manipulate your every move. Unless you are above that machine, you aren’t going to get what you want. Face it, kid. Your like those 10 year old kids whom cheer on Pence Weatherlight; you have no voice; just an annoying squeal. Like an animal, a big fat pig. Keep squealing, you vile human being; we are done listening to your shit.
Do you even listen to the shit that is coming out of your mouth? You infer yourself as some type of mastermind. Obviously, you were just joking; nobody is legitimately that stupid. Okay, scratch that—but Fyre Angel left the building along time ago (and still didn’t job as much as you did). The point being, Royce, you aren’t smart enough to outsmart me. You couldn’t find your way out of a card board box with four exit doors; and two windows to boot. You couldn’t get your brain cells moving, if you put a hot iron to your scalp, yet your standing in-front of the entire world—claiming that YOU out smarted, Level-One.
I’m not laughing. I feel sorry for you. I am asking myself why you went to the IWC to get paid with peanuts and eat steel chairs to the face. Given, the promotion lasted like—two fucking weeks, so perhaps it was their horrible cluster-fuck bookings that knocked that last screw in your brain loose; nonetheless, I think it’s time to just shut your damn mouth, and watch as I kick your ass from the main-event, straight back into the show openers, where your boring the fans the minute they walk in after you promised the world a…
‘’ SINGLE SPIKE’S OF THOUSANDS DEATH TABLE, LADDER, TRIPLE THREAT, RUMBLE MATCH’’ Jason Royce, please. Stop it. Every time you speak; Einstein looses a brain cell AND he’s already dead…
John Green;
You self conceited; un-appreciative, piece of shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m an asshole, but I am an asshole within reason. If I slap you in the face; it’s because you deserve it. If I kick you when you’re down, it’s because I told you not to get back up, and you defied me. And I ever back stab anyone, it’s because I saw them brandishing their knifes and fine tuning their fake smiles. But you John Green? What had I done to you? Hell, I was helping you. You accepted my help; you used my help, and it worked out for you.
John, at point in time did you figure that I wasn’t good enough? At what point in time did you deem me not worth your time? I’ll tell you; when you stood beside me and you saw my APW world heavyweight championship shining in your face, you squinted your eyes in pure jealousy. When I told you to sit back and watch me in my old film; you noticed you could never mimic my style and that you would never ever be better than me. I showed you the world; and all you did was stare at me. Waiting for your time to strike and take advantage of my kindness.
You are the biggest piece of shit of them all. See, while Jason Royce and Pence unleashed their cheap attacks; at least they had their balls to do it, and own up to it. You though? You sat back and watched, making you the biggest attacker of them all. Bruises heal; John. But betrayal? That hurts. However, you don’t own a pair of breasts; nor do you have a nice ass; so it’s more like ‘’Now I have an EXCUSE to beat the fuck out of John Green’’ and I’m already over your betrayal. This will be displayed come, mayhem. I assure you.
John Green, I have sent a notice to President Jeff and the management that is beneath him in more ways that one. That being, that I no longer want to have to come across you every title defense. You have been a world contender month after month; and you are never able to finish the job. Thus, you should be forgotten and removed from this picture. John Green, I’m thinking long term. And long term tells me that I’ll be holding this world title through the thick and thin; and these fans aren’t going to pay to see me kick your ass any longer, their tired of it. They’re tired of you seemingly forgetting our past; and ignoring that I am the future. And quite frankly, I am tired of breaking my knuckles across your empty skull.
All along John, my purpose was to find the TRUE number 1 contender. A star hidden behind the rebel; like the system; I was ready to give you a filth chance. I was ready to give you one last shot to prove yourself, and you ruined it. You pointed at my world title; and your common sense left you. I am done helping you, or anyone else out. I am done trying to find the next ‘’star’’ hidden underneath the APW banner; because obviously there seems to be nothing there.
Pence Weatherlight?
Pence, when are you finally going to realize that you have done absolutely nothing to warrant a title shot here in the APW? The entire thing is a sham. You merely stuck your nose in MY business, and you’ve been given the world. Can you honestly claim along with the other two stooges; that your association with myself, didn’t get you this title shot? Pence, if you really cared about the fans, you would earn your shots the right way. Not leech off my back, and expect me to carry you through the motions.
If you cared about the fans Pence, you would SHOW them why you deserve a title shot. You haven’t done so. Instead; you rather take advantage of situations and muscle your way in-front of everyone else’s line straight to the top. Tell me—why a guy like Shadow is sitting back defending his overdrive title, when he has an unbeaten streak, yet Pence—signs a contract, and immediately is throw in the main-event with the world champion?
Is it because you’re a big star, Pence? Is it because you’re a world wide network champion? How many championship have you won? How many world championships lie on your resume? What memorable feuds have you been in lately? You haven’t done shit! You couldn’t kick it past mid card in the EWC; so historically speaking, you have done NOTHING to deserve what you have gotten in the EWC.
I gave you the fucking world kid; and I didn’t even charge you a little.
You talk about fighting for the fans; but the fans don’t care about you. The fans are wondering why, a washed up piece of Extreme Corporate garbage is on APW television, shoved down their throats in a main-event match. They want to know what happened to the days of paying your dues, bleeding your heart out, and earning your shots. Pence, they want to know what makes you so good—to cut in the line of people whom had worked twice as hard as you have; and proven that they’re just not a hit and run superstars who would vanish from their television a week later.
Pence, you are the perfect example of corporate scum. You walk in, do nothing, and you are received by the management as some king. As a chizzled vet; who had been in this business on years on end. In fact, I don’t think there has ever been a superstar in the history of the APW who had just been handed the world like you have. I opened up my motivational tour; to extract the best out of everyone. I told Jason Royce and John Green to give me all they have. To prove themselves worthy; because after Michael Lively raised the ranks, it was clear the title was losing prestige.
And so I used a famous statement at Rasslemania five. I told the fans; the roster, and the management, that it would take effort. It would take patience, and it would take blood, sweat, and tears to get a world title shot; and that things didn’t come easy. Only for you to come in and undermine it all; you to turn two young prospects against me, and ruin their entire careers, as they’ve wasted a shot of a life time.
It’s very rare I help anyone. And tonight, I carry out my last duties. The motivational tour stops at Mayhem; I am going to rid all three of you of my title picture; and then? I’m going to let management clean up this mess. I am going to give the management a chance to build their own star; even if it means being controlled by corporate sponsors and led to the slaughter like feeble minded sheep. I hope, for the sake of the APW; they find me a worthy challenger, because the lot of you can’t fucking cut it.
The test for the best will emerge. And finally, this championship will get the challenger it deserves.
Well guys, thanks for running. Better luck in four years?
‘MESSAGE SENT’’
