Post by Level-Two on Aug 30, 2009 21:54:24 GMT -4
''One's'' Victimless Face (FINALE)
It’s been a long time since I have been home…
The large penthouse wasn’t home nor was the hotels located city to city, country to country; chasing around competition full circle around the world and back again. No, home is where I had grown up. Home is where I fought my struggles as a young kid; trying to find my way around city with no directions and nobody willing to take you under their wing, to show you the way.
Home wasn’t in the form of green grass and happy memories, but was in the form of broken lawn gnomes and cracks in the roof tops. My father was locked up, held prisoner by the system--my mother a low life alcoholic. Through her drunk eyes my distorted face was something that she simply couldn’t love. Despite the pain home brought me; many years later, something good came out of it.
I remember winning my first world title here two years ago; under the sky dome where the screams of thousands viberated the ring I stood in with the belt raised above my head in show of pride. That night showed me that despite all your dark troubles in your past; you future still holds a light. Now, returning here; it was all about keeping that light, bright and vibrant and not allowing the ever so intruging concept of darkness take it away from me.
I stood from afar watching a private plane sit patiently in it’s run way with two men in black suits awaiting for stair case to be unravled for their departure. The private plane was telling. Not because it was expensive nor because it told the story of my success in the middle of the ring, hell it wasn’t even because I couldn’t be bothered to sit beside a fat guy, sneezing his brains out through his nose while he sites that he has the common cold--but because I had spent the past few days, looking for Patrica Lewis.
There wasn’t an alley way that went unchecked. I remember myself muscling my way through bum after bum investigating without a warrant, trying to desperately get the answers I seeked; but she was gone. And now the plane was here; and Toronto, Ontario awaited my rival. I doubt they’d be welcoming nor accepting of me, but one thing was for sure--I bled the same blue Canadian blood they bled, and they at very least respect me for what I have done.
‘’We are ready for departure anytime, Sir’’ A man in black uniform with a pair of big black glasses says, stepping to the side casually, as I wave him off. I took a deep breath, I knew leaving here--I’d be away from Patrica Lewis yet another week. And although she’s been gone for some time now, I felt like shit for leaving her in the hands of her capture any longer.
‘’The things we wrestlers do for a main-event a world title…’’ I mummble to myself. Before I can even take a step forward however; my phone rings. Reaching my hand into my right pocket, I removed my phone flipping the top to receive the call.
‘’Hello?’’ I answer. Heavy breathing is heard on the other end, accompanied by a muffled cry.
‘’Now I want you to listen to me and don’t you dare interupt’’ The voice says on the other end of the phone, peeking my intrest to great heights. ‘’I have a mutual friend with me and I think she would love to talk to you, don’t you think?’’
A shooting pain crashed into my chest and my knees went feeble and weak, as if I had been standing in a big bowl of jello. I lost my compsure.
‘’I swear to you, you piece of fucking shit--you hurt her I won’t hestitate to kill you!’’ I yell into the phone, which the man on the other end has passed off. Sobbing now fills the other end of the phone, it was Patrica--but I didn’t need to hear her to confirm this.
‘’Lester, please help me’’ She begged. One step ahead of me, she told me what exactly I had to do to accomplish just that. ‘’Lester, I need you to come to this warehouse. It’s located 10 blocks away from the local coffee shop, in West-goga park. I’m in the woods’’
‘’Patricia I…‘’ Stumbling with my words I look up at the plane, as one of the men stick his head through the door of the plane and points at his watch. Patricia continues to sob; reminding me that I didn’t have much time left on the clock.
‘’Look, I’m going to do my best find…’’
‘’Is that so?’’ The voice returns, cutting out Patricias cries. A loud sigh is heard on the other end; I could feel his bad intentions through his end of the phone and it made me sick to my stomach. ‘’You are well aware that this could take all night, aren’t you? And considering you have a big, big matching coming up--you wouldn’t want to miss it to hang out with me and my new best friend, would you?’’
‘’You listen to…’’ The voice cut me out; shouting over my own.
‘’No, no, no!’’ The man shouts into my ear. ‘’See, this fire has burnt long enough--and now it’s time for one of us to put it out. If you choose not to come and face my…face…like a man, than your friend here is going to die. I am dead serious’’ The man says, laughing into the phone.
‘’You piece of shit. I will find you, and I will kill you if you’ve done anything to her. You piece of shit, she has done NOTHING to you’’
The man stops laughing on other end and replies with ‘’wrong’’ followed up a short pause. ‘’She may have done nothing to me, but you have. See, in your quest for salavation…freedome…or some crazy cliché you love to spit out of your mouth--you’ve carelessly doused your path with foot steps that can be described as kerosene foot prints. And while you may have made it far going down this path, you have shown little care for what you destroy along the way’’
‘’You don’t know what your fucking talking about’’
The voice sighs. ‘’Ah, see that’s where you are wrong. You cannot hide your path to salvation by burning, Lester Only; in fact, it only makes matters worse, as you will soon find out’’
‘’I can’t wait to face you face to face’’
‘’Me either!’’ The voice shoots back, happily. ‘’I mean that’s all a guy like me could ask for. Is for a low life like you to finally face the damage he has caused. Good bye for now’’
Dialing fills my ears; leaving me defensless to the opposition that threatens all I have left. My life, my career; and a girl, who’s future with me currently remains unknown. What I do know is that all these things hang in the balance with me walking the thin red line; I know this is a call that cannot be left unanswered.
Looking at the plane; I knew it would have to leave me behind. Fly above my head and watch over me, as I walk through the flames of the inferno--dead or alive. And if I was lucky enough; I’d walk down that ramp again and hoist a title, I never ever really lost…
One’s coming home; but not without the girl.
Location: Warehouse
The uneasing sounds of Patricia Lewis groans are heard as she remains confined to a small wooden chair. While the upper tier of the wearhouse was large, it was filthy. Below Patricia’s feet rested old magazines contraining details on how to disfigure a human body and tips on how to pro long tourcher; the pop cans Patrica Lewis had been forced to fill her empty stomach on rests by her feet as well. Her face is cut, her lip is bruised and her hair is a mess; in the eyes of a 8 year old it isn’t the prettiest thing one could see.
Young Timmy held his worn out blue ball in his hands as he watched the girl struggle in her chair. Across from her with her, a man crouched in-front of her, pulling her head up trying to make the women face her. Staring at the back of a familiar head; little Timmy clinched his ball tightly with all his might. He tried not to make any noise, nor any sound--but after his brother went through detail after detail about how he was going to torcher the one who did him wrong, Timmy couldn’t help but come here and watch it all play out.
‘’Level-One is running out of time. Young lady, you don’t think hes…you know…wrestling another godamn match now do you?’’
Timmy hears his brother asks the pretty, yet bruised female in the chair.
Timmy knew whom Level-One was. In fact, Timmy saw Level-One on television every night he walked down the ramp and entered the ring. Timmy, would close his eyes before he sat down to watch; hoping that Level-One would lose and face defeat for every time he did not; his brother would throw, scream, and run rampant around the house everything he was awarded with the way of victory. All Timmy wanted was for his brother to be happy, his brother to be nice again--he missed his old brother, the brother whom had a full face.
And so Timmy grew to hate Level-One; the image of Level-One alone, only made the young boy squeeze his ball that much harder; the tighting of the grip, causing the ball to slip out of his grip, and reveal his position within the warehouse. The ball hit the ground, quietly--but not quiet enough. Patrica Lewis lifted her head hoping that the sound had been that of her dark knight and the masked man turned around hoping that the battle he had waited for would play out this very second; for he couldn’t bare to wait any longer…
‘’TIMMY!’’ The masked man exclaims, rising to his feet, marching over to his little brother in a fit rage. ‘’Timmy, what the fuck are you doing here, you little twerp!’’
Timmy simply stares at his older brother; with big bold black empty eyes.
‘’You stupid shit; you know what’s happining today--why in the world would you come here? Better yet, how the hell did you find me?’’ The masked man shouts as Timmy leans over to pick up his blue ball.
‘’I followed you’’ Timmy replies softly.
‘’You no good little shit!’’ The masked man says with fustration blaring in his voice. Reaching over he grabs his little brother by the ear. ‘’I’m bringing you outside and I want you to run home. Don’t you stop for anyone, not even if you see Level-One--do you understand this?’’
Little timmy nods, as The Masked man eagerly jerks his brother towards the stairs and then down them--as Patricia Lewis watches them leave. Immediately, trying to give hint to her position in the house, Patricia begins to scream for help. She screams as loud as her voice will allow her--she screams, until it hurts, until it becomes painful and scratches away at her vocal chords.
‘’Lester…’’ She cries out, no longer able to scream.
‘’I’m here’’ I said, falling through the window onto the ground. Patricia looks at me, her eyes blotchy red--with her mind going through so many motions, she couldn’t seem to conjure up a response to my sudden appearance. Crawling over to her; I untie her from her grips hands first and then her feet, freeing her from captivity.
‘’Thank you so much’’ Patricia finally is able to process her words, as she leans over and hugs me. Her girp so tight, her body so warm--I felt like I wanted to never let her go, but like all things I’d have no choice.
‘’I don’t know where this freak is but I need you to climb down that ladder and run as far away from this place as you possibly can’’ I demand of her, as I break the hug. Patricia in a weakned state, slowly makes her way to the door--she hasn’t had a proper meal in ages, who knows the long term effect this entire thing would have on her. She stopped at the window and shook her head violently.
‘’’What if he’s down there?’’ I shake my head, in guilt.
‘’It’s not you he wants Patricia …it’s me’’ I say, before pointing to the window nodding my head up and down. ‘’You need to go. I can handle myself here’’
Patricia nods her head as she puts a foot out of the window, fixing her grip on the ladder beneath her. Putting her other leg over the edge, she begins to decend her way down the ladder--until she is out of my view…
Only this time I hoped it wouldn’t be forever.
Turning away from the window a man stood in the entrance of the door. He wore a white nylon fitted face covering, that covered his entire face, bar his eyes, nose and mouth. The figure grinned at me upon sight--a figure that I had seen in a cofee shop, not too long ago. Underneath is mask however is what told his story…
‘’Are you ready to…burn?’’ He asks slowly, lifting his hands up to his face, removing his face covering. One side his face was burnt to the bone; well beyond repair. It was red, the veins were exposed; he was far from being on the cover of GQ. However, his appearance taunted my curiosity…
‘’I did that to you? You must have the wrong person’’ I tell him, which doesn’t make him happy in the least bit. Jumping in the air he extends his hand ripping a piece of 2 by 4 wood out of the ceiling, weidling it as a weapon.
‘’I’ll make you remember and then never forget’’ The unmasked man rushes towards me swinging the 2 by four for the fenses which I avoid fairly casually, he swings again, and duck it once more.
‘’Play baseball? You fucking prick!’’ Charging forward, I caught him with a quick right hand causing him to stumble backwards, but before I knew it I find myself on my knees, after eating the butt of the 2 by 4 straight into my gut.
The unmasked man kneels beside me grabbing hold of the back of my head.
‘’To be honest, I would’ve done this months ago. But those morons decided to keep you alive longer then they should’ve…I knew I should’ve never broke a deal with your former friend and crooked cop’’
Putting two and two together; the unmasked man had worker for Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown at one point; it’s the only way, he could’ve ever known so much about me, my career and Patrica Lewis. I felt outsmarted, outplayed---defeated. The unmasked man reaches into his back pocket, exposing a match, lighting it up, he holds it above his head.
‘’The kerosene has soaked into the bottom of these floor boards, Lester. Just incase your wondering…’’ The figure attempts a half of smile--the reminder of his lips, have burnt off. Leaning over towards the lit flame, I blow it out.
‘’In my business that call that…playing possum’’ I smile, quickly stumbling to my knees and quickly mounting the unmasked man with the two by four, now in my poession. Lifting up, I bring the large piece of wood atop his head, causing him to curse under his breath.
‘’How do you like me now you son of a bitch!’’ I berate him. Standing up, I lean over his body. With his eyes squinted, he looks up at me.
‘’It all happened on a chilly Friday Night…’’ The unmasked man responds, causing me to suddenly go tense. ‘’You carried your can of gasoline up to the old fight club, with a burning sense of revenge present in your heart…’’
I loosen my grips on the 2 by 4; remembering the day, with full clarity.
‘’I poured gasoline all over the place. It needed to burn…’’ I say, as he continued.
‘’Me and my brother Timmy, were playing outside in the night. Where I had overthrown the same blue ball I have done on so many more occasions before that night…’’
I stood straight up, shaking my head back and forth.
‘’I pulled out a match, I lit it up…and I tossed it to the floor setting the place ablaze…’’ I say, while the unmasked man talks over me.
‘’I sent Timmy into that building that night…’’
‘’I heard scream’’ I say, dropping the 2 by 4.
‘’It was mine’’
‘’It was yours’’ we say, at the same time. Looking up at him, he places his head against the floor lifting the package of matches in the air.
‘’Do what you came to do on that night…’’ The unmasked man asks of me. As I take poessesion of the package of matches. Looking at them, I shake my head.
‘’I wasn’t there to burn you or kill anyone’’ I protest.
The unmasked man turned his head to the side; only allowing me to examine the burnt half of his face.
‘’Maybe not, but you did burn me’’ He says, as his voice turns into a mere whisper. ‘’…and I’ve already been dead’’
Looking down at the unmasked man, he simply nods his head up and down. Reaching into the package of matches, I pull out one--lighting it up.
''Just tell my brother I love him if you see him'' The unmasked man says, pausing for what had been the longest second of my life.
''...I think he might've forgotton''
‘’These flames are going to eat me alive, forever…’ ‘ I say…
The rest; is embedded within the eyes of the flames. It isn’t for me to tell nor you to repeat. One thing was for sure…
I’d never forget it.
Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Place: Hotel room
I find myself staring over the same city, I grew up in. The APW championship strapped tightly around my waist; too admires the beauty of my home town. A angelic voice, spawns in the back drop, calling my name, without expecting an answer. She too makes it’s way onto the balcony, standing beside me, as I glare out into the city, where fire works shoot out of the stadium below…
‘’It looks like you’re a few minutes late for the show…’’ Patrica Lewis says softly, still shaken up by the events that had taken place earlier in the day. Still, keeping my eyes transfixed on the bright, exploding, seizure like lights; I smiled.
‘’Well, at the very least we were here just in time for the fireworks’’
I’m home; and I’m with the girl.
…and now my duty calls from stadium below…
‘’APW, APW, APW’’
So here it is. The big match up everyone and their filthy mothers have been waiting for! Level-One Vs. Jesse Nunez! A Shockwave exclusive that President Jeff has been coaxing his ass cheeks on for a month now. Truth is, despite what these million dollar office crooks promote to the masses--despite their guarantees that this Shockwave is going to be the best yet--I do recommend that NOBODY orders this pay-per-view, especially when the American economy is in the shape it is today.
I am sure that shocks you all; but the truth is, I really DO care about the well being of the people. I mean, why would anyone want to spend their money on an event where talent of my calibre--must be degraded, disrespected, and forced to take ten steps back just so Jesse Nunez can have his fun in the sun and bright lights? Why should YOU the bred earner, working your eight hour job cleaning up shit, or having to deal with people dumber than then you in costumer service--all to come home and have to turn on the soapbox, already knowing in advance what will play out on the television screen? I am really not a bad guy.
Jesse Nunez knows that I protested, I begged--I ran from hell and back just to make sure this match didn’t happen. I wanted the fans to actually test their leap of faith; something that one cannot do without ignorantly counting on Jesse Nunez to pull out all the stops. Hell, as much as I hate Pence Weatherlight, the idea that he must stand by and ref this match must shake him inside until he is red in the face, knowing he could’ve done a much better job.
The truth is, no matter what I had done--the promoters that are doing a great job on running the APW into the ground knew that despite Jesse Nunez’s lack of skill that he could still rake in large amounts of cash. Jesse Nunez isn’t a fucking wrestler; he’s an entertainer. He’s a celebrity in his own mind. He doesn’t want to walk down the ramp, he wants to prance down the red carpet. He doesn’t want to bleed blood, he want’s to sip on his paid for bottle of whine. In his spare time, he rather prance around with celebrities or coax back and spend his days playing video games--he could give a fuck about the APW championship, just like the people whom run the APW!
Oh, come Jesse Nunez; you know I am only speaking the truth.
For the past two weeks; all I have been hearing about is your new CD and how ‘’dope’’ your rhymes are. It wasn’t about how much you want the title nor what you were going to do to win it! Shit, I was expecting our match to be defended over a rap battle! It’s all fucking joke. For the past two years, you’ve shown yourself to be a marketing genius more then an actual wrestler who gives a shit about the sport; you’ve exploited a weak spot in this business and you’ve fed the promoters greed, by allowing them to whore you out to the masses JUST so you can get a little bit further in this business and in case; a main event slot.
You may think your earned this title shot through some pathetic strewn together tournament that spawned a fucking nightmare in Doctor Phate last year; but despite this, your actions after stumbling through that tournament have proven that you were far from the ‘’BEST’’ and more ‘’LUCKY’’ than anything else. We have all watched your for a month being one upped by not only me, but the likes of Biggs and Jason Royce--furthermore proving that you are undeserving from the coveted position you hold within the APW.
Don’t get me wrong, Nunez. Despite the fact that you’ve proven yourself to be a hack, you would defiantly LOVE to win the APW world championship. Not only would it replace that useless whore on the right side of your bed at night, it’ll also look good when your passing your albums and trying to hook a new movie deal with some sleaze ball porno producer, as well as the countless red carpets you love to strut your ass up, while TMZ whores out your photos for a few extra website hits. You must be SO proud of yourself!
I guess one could argue that now leeching off publicity, was whole lot better then leaching off your hack of a cousin and the faction of both FORCE and FEAR back in the EWC, huh? I’m sure when you burnt the corpse of Chris Dafoe’s brother, Karl Dafoe--that you weren’t using the prestige of the Dafoe name to further your own standings within the company, no? Jesse, your entire career can be summed up to one thing--blood sucking the worth out of others.
Now we find ourselves in a predicament where there’s no more victims you can leech off of, Nunez. We are at the point; where you now have to shoot ridiculous promos, while we watch you hang out with D-list celebrities nobody has heard or gives a fuck about; because you believe if you can stick a thousand different personalities in one production; we’ll forget about the personality, you DON’T have.
And please, could we cut out the action movie scenes? Those are starting to REALLY grow anti-climatic. I’m still trying to shake the old memories of Pence Weatherlight pretending to be a hit-man; the kid wouldn’t even slaughter a fly, if it camped out and took a microscopic shit on his forehead.
Jesse it makes me sick to even look at you in the position you are in today. It makes me question if hard work and ethic went right out the window the moment President Mac decided to turn his back on the EWC and leave it face down in the mud starving it from Oxygen. However what I do know Jesse is that I am better then you are today, and today--I am better then your yesterdays. I’m well aware of accomplishments Jesse and hell, despite how you may have accomplished them, nobody can take them away from you, however it is important to understand that two years is a long time ago in this business Jesse. People change, people grow up and grow strong--and suddenly the best, just aren’t good enough any more.
Don’t believe? Have you seen BDC lately, Jesse? The man is losing it. Chris sits back, toying with the dentures in the gaping black whole he calls a mouth day after day, throwing his sowing kit at the television screen every time I walk down that ramp, and further increase the prestige of my good name. Day after day, Chris tells himself that he still has it--that guys like me are in a different era where everything is easy, and the world is just placed in our palms. But when he tries to stand up and do something about it, his knees give out--he crashes back into his couch, and cries himself to sleep.
BDC was superstar at one point in time; but has been surpassed. Jesse, you may not be worn out--and you still might be just as young, vibrant and as fresh as I am; but your spotlight is gone. Sure, you can all remind us about it, you can tell your stories--you know? The story about you being the longest reining EWC X-division champion and your fabulous eight month winning streaks? It’s a great history lesson to learn Nunez, but we are in present time now. Where your streak is a cold one, where your championships--do NOT come in the form of one that actually matters, and instead of beating rookies? They’re showing you that maybe taking them lightly, isn’t the wisest decision to make.
Jesse you may have had a higher standing then me in our young days of the EWC; but I have surpassed you, even while you were wildly considered at your prime. You like me, were brain washed into believing that the EWC was end all and be all of wrestling, and once I broke free of their cuffs; I became something, that not even one person in the EWC could ever imagine. While I maybe falling short of a hall of fame induction which is solely reserved for President Mac and his BBF’S; I am the reason why Shadow Man tucked his tail and disappeared quietly, and President Mac took the first jet out of this country, and out of our lives--they couldn’t stand seeing someone bigger then them under the banner that they raised solely for their egos.
Basically what this means, Jesse---your nothing more then one trick pony. You’ve made your name in EWC exclusively, and you’ll never experience the same success anywhere else that is noteworthy. You know what’s really sad? Is that the old Jesse Nunez won’t even get the respect he deserves. Your washed up now, pathetic in our time; and the Nunez that we used to know has been buried by the likes of Shadow Man and President Mac; two men who built a company from the ground up, and dedicated every bit of it to themselves.
All that blood you’ve spilt; all those tears you’ve cried, all those fucking championships you won--now, none of it matters. I on the other hand; I have made my name beyond some frivolous promotion. My name sake, doesn’t die--even if APW does. My name is synonymous with the wrestling industry as a whole, and NOTHING can take that away from me…
Well you can try.
Jesse Nunez just remember before you go waving your word life fingers and spouting off your stupid catch phrases; remember that YOU are the chosen one. Remember that it isn’t you whom has the decked stacked against him, it is me--whom has to pin your for six seconds rather then three and that this pin must be counted by a man who cannot stand my guts; the feeling is mutual.
Despite the fact that battle appears to be SO one sided for you on paper; is only laughable. Those stipulations will prove to deem themselves worthless. Those stipulations do NOT fool anyone but Jesse Nunez, himself. Those stipulations change this match from being a 1 minute squash, to a five minute aerobic exercise--neither in which gives me a challenge that can be deemed useful.
Last year, I rose above the ashes--and made my status as a main-eventer known, this time around I return to my home town with the coveted prize in my hand, with my blood matching the color of the Canadian flag, which rises half mass to respect Jesse Nunez, as the Phoenix flies high, is then shot out of the air, only to crash and burn, telling the greatest story that can possibly be told.
Level-One…
Has come home!
It’s been a long time since I have been home…
The large penthouse wasn’t home nor was the hotels located city to city, country to country; chasing around competition full circle around the world and back again. No, home is where I had grown up. Home is where I fought my struggles as a young kid; trying to find my way around city with no directions and nobody willing to take you under their wing, to show you the way.
Home wasn’t in the form of green grass and happy memories, but was in the form of broken lawn gnomes and cracks in the roof tops. My father was locked up, held prisoner by the system--my mother a low life alcoholic. Through her drunk eyes my distorted face was something that she simply couldn’t love. Despite the pain home brought me; many years later, something good came out of it.
I remember winning my first world title here two years ago; under the sky dome where the screams of thousands viberated the ring I stood in with the belt raised above my head in show of pride. That night showed me that despite all your dark troubles in your past; you future still holds a light. Now, returning here; it was all about keeping that light, bright and vibrant and not allowing the ever so intruging concept of darkness take it away from me.
I stood from afar watching a private plane sit patiently in it’s run way with two men in black suits awaiting for stair case to be unravled for their departure. The private plane was telling. Not because it was expensive nor because it told the story of my success in the middle of the ring, hell it wasn’t even because I couldn’t be bothered to sit beside a fat guy, sneezing his brains out through his nose while he sites that he has the common cold--but because I had spent the past few days, looking for Patrica Lewis.
There wasn’t an alley way that went unchecked. I remember myself muscling my way through bum after bum investigating without a warrant, trying to desperately get the answers I seeked; but she was gone. And now the plane was here; and Toronto, Ontario awaited my rival. I doubt they’d be welcoming nor accepting of me, but one thing was for sure--I bled the same blue Canadian blood they bled, and they at very least respect me for what I have done.
‘’We are ready for departure anytime, Sir’’ A man in black uniform with a pair of big black glasses says, stepping to the side casually, as I wave him off. I took a deep breath, I knew leaving here--I’d be away from Patrica Lewis yet another week. And although she’s been gone for some time now, I felt like shit for leaving her in the hands of her capture any longer.
‘’The things we wrestlers do for a main-event a world title…’’ I mummble to myself. Before I can even take a step forward however; my phone rings. Reaching my hand into my right pocket, I removed my phone flipping the top to receive the call.
‘’Hello?’’ I answer. Heavy breathing is heard on the other end, accompanied by a muffled cry.
‘’Now I want you to listen to me and don’t you dare interupt’’ The voice says on the other end of the phone, peeking my intrest to great heights. ‘’I have a mutual friend with me and I think she would love to talk to you, don’t you think?’’
A shooting pain crashed into my chest and my knees went feeble and weak, as if I had been standing in a big bowl of jello. I lost my compsure.
‘’I swear to you, you piece of fucking shit--you hurt her I won’t hestitate to kill you!’’ I yell into the phone, which the man on the other end has passed off. Sobbing now fills the other end of the phone, it was Patrica--but I didn’t need to hear her to confirm this.
‘’Lester, please help me’’ She begged. One step ahead of me, she told me what exactly I had to do to accomplish just that. ‘’Lester, I need you to come to this warehouse. It’s located 10 blocks away from the local coffee shop, in West-goga park. I’m in the woods’’
‘’Patricia I…‘’ Stumbling with my words I look up at the plane, as one of the men stick his head through the door of the plane and points at his watch. Patricia continues to sob; reminding me that I didn’t have much time left on the clock.
‘’Look, I’m going to do my best find…’’
‘’Is that so?’’ The voice returns, cutting out Patricias cries. A loud sigh is heard on the other end; I could feel his bad intentions through his end of the phone and it made me sick to my stomach. ‘’You are well aware that this could take all night, aren’t you? And considering you have a big, big matching coming up--you wouldn’t want to miss it to hang out with me and my new best friend, would you?’’
‘’You listen to…’’ The voice cut me out; shouting over my own.
‘’No, no, no!’’ The man shouts into my ear. ‘’See, this fire has burnt long enough--and now it’s time for one of us to put it out. If you choose not to come and face my…face…like a man, than your friend here is going to die. I am dead serious’’ The man says, laughing into the phone.
‘’You piece of shit. I will find you, and I will kill you if you’ve done anything to her. You piece of shit, she has done NOTHING to you’’
The man stops laughing on other end and replies with ‘’wrong’’ followed up a short pause. ‘’She may have done nothing to me, but you have. See, in your quest for salavation…freedome…or some crazy cliché you love to spit out of your mouth--you’ve carelessly doused your path with foot steps that can be described as kerosene foot prints. And while you may have made it far going down this path, you have shown little care for what you destroy along the way’’
‘’You don’t know what your fucking talking about’’
The voice sighs. ‘’Ah, see that’s where you are wrong. You cannot hide your path to salvation by burning, Lester Only; in fact, it only makes matters worse, as you will soon find out’’
‘’I can’t wait to face you face to face’’
‘’Me either!’’ The voice shoots back, happily. ‘’I mean that’s all a guy like me could ask for. Is for a low life like you to finally face the damage he has caused. Good bye for now’’
Dialing fills my ears; leaving me defensless to the opposition that threatens all I have left. My life, my career; and a girl, who’s future with me currently remains unknown. What I do know is that all these things hang in the balance with me walking the thin red line; I know this is a call that cannot be left unanswered.
Looking at the plane; I knew it would have to leave me behind. Fly above my head and watch over me, as I walk through the flames of the inferno--dead or alive. And if I was lucky enough; I’d walk down that ramp again and hoist a title, I never ever really lost…
One’s coming home; but not without the girl.
Location: Warehouse
The uneasing sounds of Patricia Lewis groans are heard as she remains confined to a small wooden chair. While the upper tier of the wearhouse was large, it was filthy. Below Patricia’s feet rested old magazines contraining details on how to disfigure a human body and tips on how to pro long tourcher; the pop cans Patrica Lewis had been forced to fill her empty stomach on rests by her feet as well. Her face is cut, her lip is bruised and her hair is a mess; in the eyes of a 8 year old it isn’t the prettiest thing one could see.
Young Timmy held his worn out blue ball in his hands as he watched the girl struggle in her chair. Across from her with her, a man crouched in-front of her, pulling her head up trying to make the women face her. Staring at the back of a familiar head; little Timmy clinched his ball tightly with all his might. He tried not to make any noise, nor any sound--but after his brother went through detail after detail about how he was going to torcher the one who did him wrong, Timmy couldn’t help but come here and watch it all play out.
‘’Level-One is running out of time. Young lady, you don’t think hes…you know…wrestling another godamn match now do you?’’
Timmy hears his brother asks the pretty, yet bruised female in the chair.
Timmy knew whom Level-One was. In fact, Timmy saw Level-One on television every night he walked down the ramp and entered the ring. Timmy, would close his eyes before he sat down to watch; hoping that Level-One would lose and face defeat for every time he did not; his brother would throw, scream, and run rampant around the house everything he was awarded with the way of victory. All Timmy wanted was for his brother to be happy, his brother to be nice again--he missed his old brother, the brother whom had a full face.
And so Timmy grew to hate Level-One; the image of Level-One alone, only made the young boy squeeze his ball that much harder; the tighting of the grip, causing the ball to slip out of his grip, and reveal his position within the warehouse. The ball hit the ground, quietly--but not quiet enough. Patrica Lewis lifted her head hoping that the sound had been that of her dark knight and the masked man turned around hoping that the battle he had waited for would play out this very second; for he couldn’t bare to wait any longer…
‘’TIMMY!’’ The masked man exclaims, rising to his feet, marching over to his little brother in a fit rage. ‘’Timmy, what the fuck are you doing here, you little twerp!’’
Timmy simply stares at his older brother; with big bold black empty eyes.
‘’You stupid shit; you know what’s happining today--why in the world would you come here? Better yet, how the hell did you find me?’’ The masked man shouts as Timmy leans over to pick up his blue ball.
‘’I followed you’’ Timmy replies softly.
‘’You no good little shit!’’ The masked man says with fustration blaring in his voice. Reaching over he grabs his little brother by the ear. ‘’I’m bringing you outside and I want you to run home. Don’t you stop for anyone, not even if you see Level-One--do you understand this?’’
Little timmy nods, as The Masked man eagerly jerks his brother towards the stairs and then down them--as Patricia Lewis watches them leave. Immediately, trying to give hint to her position in the house, Patricia begins to scream for help. She screams as loud as her voice will allow her--she screams, until it hurts, until it becomes painful and scratches away at her vocal chords.
‘’Lester…’’ She cries out, no longer able to scream.
‘’I’m here’’ I said, falling through the window onto the ground. Patricia looks at me, her eyes blotchy red--with her mind going through so many motions, she couldn’t seem to conjure up a response to my sudden appearance. Crawling over to her; I untie her from her grips hands first and then her feet, freeing her from captivity.
‘’Thank you so much’’ Patricia finally is able to process her words, as she leans over and hugs me. Her girp so tight, her body so warm--I felt like I wanted to never let her go, but like all things I’d have no choice.
‘’I don’t know where this freak is but I need you to climb down that ladder and run as far away from this place as you possibly can’’ I demand of her, as I break the hug. Patricia in a weakned state, slowly makes her way to the door--she hasn’t had a proper meal in ages, who knows the long term effect this entire thing would have on her. She stopped at the window and shook her head violently.
‘’’What if he’s down there?’’ I shake my head, in guilt.
‘’It’s not you he wants Patricia …it’s me’’ I say, before pointing to the window nodding my head up and down. ‘’You need to go. I can handle myself here’’
Patricia nods her head as she puts a foot out of the window, fixing her grip on the ladder beneath her. Putting her other leg over the edge, she begins to decend her way down the ladder--until she is out of my view…
Only this time I hoped it wouldn’t be forever.
Turning away from the window a man stood in the entrance of the door. He wore a white nylon fitted face covering, that covered his entire face, bar his eyes, nose and mouth. The figure grinned at me upon sight--a figure that I had seen in a cofee shop, not too long ago. Underneath is mask however is what told his story…
‘’Are you ready to…burn?’’ He asks slowly, lifting his hands up to his face, removing his face covering. One side his face was burnt to the bone; well beyond repair. It was red, the veins were exposed; he was far from being on the cover of GQ. However, his appearance taunted my curiosity…
‘’I did that to you? You must have the wrong person’’ I tell him, which doesn’t make him happy in the least bit. Jumping in the air he extends his hand ripping a piece of 2 by 4 wood out of the ceiling, weidling it as a weapon.
‘’I’ll make you remember and then never forget’’ The unmasked man rushes towards me swinging the 2 by four for the fenses which I avoid fairly casually, he swings again, and duck it once more.
‘’Play baseball? You fucking prick!’’ Charging forward, I caught him with a quick right hand causing him to stumble backwards, but before I knew it I find myself on my knees, after eating the butt of the 2 by 4 straight into my gut.
The unmasked man kneels beside me grabbing hold of the back of my head.
‘’To be honest, I would’ve done this months ago. But those morons decided to keep you alive longer then they should’ve…I knew I should’ve never broke a deal with your former friend and crooked cop’’
Putting two and two together; the unmasked man had worker for Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown at one point; it’s the only way, he could’ve ever known so much about me, my career and Patrica Lewis. I felt outsmarted, outplayed---defeated. The unmasked man reaches into his back pocket, exposing a match, lighting it up, he holds it above his head.
‘’The kerosene has soaked into the bottom of these floor boards, Lester. Just incase your wondering…’’ The figure attempts a half of smile--the reminder of his lips, have burnt off. Leaning over towards the lit flame, I blow it out.
‘’In my business that call that…playing possum’’ I smile, quickly stumbling to my knees and quickly mounting the unmasked man with the two by four, now in my poession. Lifting up, I bring the large piece of wood atop his head, causing him to curse under his breath.
‘’How do you like me now you son of a bitch!’’ I berate him. Standing up, I lean over his body. With his eyes squinted, he looks up at me.
‘’It all happened on a chilly Friday Night…’’ The unmasked man responds, causing me to suddenly go tense. ‘’You carried your can of gasoline up to the old fight club, with a burning sense of revenge present in your heart…’’
I loosen my grips on the 2 by 4; remembering the day, with full clarity.
‘’I poured gasoline all over the place. It needed to burn…’’ I say, as he continued.
‘’Me and my brother Timmy, were playing outside in the night. Where I had overthrown the same blue ball I have done on so many more occasions before that night…’’
I stood straight up, shaking my head back and forth.
‘’I pulled out a match, I lit it up…and I tossed it to the floor setting the place ablaze…’’ I say, while the unmasked man talks over me.
‘’I sent Timmy into that building that night…’’
‘’I heard scream’’ I say, dropping the 2 by 4.
‘’It was mine’’
‘’It was yours’’ we say, at the same time. Looking up at him, he places his head against the floor lifting the package of matches in the air.
‘’Do what you came to do on that night…’’ The unmasked man asks of me. As I take poessesion of the package of matches. Looking at them, I shake my head.
‘’I wasn’t there to burn you or kill anyone’’ I protest.
The unmasked man turned his head to the side; only allowing me to examine the burnt half of his face.
‘’Maybe not, but you did burn me’’ He says, as his voice turns into a mere whisper. ‘’…and I’ve already been dead’’
Looking down at the unmasked man, he simply nods his head up and down. Reaching into the package of matches, I pull out one--lighting it up.
''Just tell my brother I love him if you see him'' The unmasked man says, pausing for what had been the longest second of my life.
''...I think he might've forgotton''
‘’These flames are going to eat me alive, forever…’ ‘ I say…
The rest; is embedded within the eyes of the flames. It isn’t for me to tell nor you to repeat. One thing was for sure…
I’d never forget it.
Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Place: Hotel room
I find myself staring over the same city, I grew up in. The APW championship strapped tightly around my waist; too admires the beauty of my home town. A angelic voice, spawns in the back drop, calling my name, without expecting an answer. She too makes it’s way onto the balcony, standing beside me, as I glare out into the city, where fire works shoot out of the stadium below…
‘’It looks like you’re a few minutes late for the show…’’ Patrica Lewis says softly, still shaken up by the events that had taken place earlier in the day. Still, keeping my eyes transfixed on the bright, exploding, seizure like lights; I smiled.
‘’Well, at the very least we were here just in time for the fireworks’’
I’m home; and I’m with the girl.
…and now my duty calls from stadium below…
‘’APW, APW, APW’’
So here it is. The big match up everyone and their filthy mothers have been waiting for! Level-One Vs. Jesse Nunez! A Shockwave exclusive that President Jeff has been coaxing his ass cheeks on for a month now. Truth is, despite what these million dollar office crooks promote to the masses--despite their guarantees that this Shockwave is going to be the best yet--I do recommend that NOBODY orders this pay-per-view, especially when the American economy is in the shape it is today.
I am sure that shocks you all; but the truth is, I really DO care about the well being of the people. I mean, why would anyone want to spend their money on an event where talent of my calibre--must be degraded, disrespected, and forced to take ten steps back just so Jesse Nunez can have his fun in the sun and bright lights? Why should YOU the bred earner, working your eight hour job cleaning up shit, or having to deal with people dumber than then you in costumer service--all to come home and have to turn on the soapbox, already knowing in advance what will play out on the television screen? I am really not a bad guy.
Jesse Nunez knows that I protested, I begged--I ran from hell and back just to make sure this match didn’t happen. I wanted the fans to actually test their leap of faith; something that one cannot do without ignorantly counting on Jesse Nunez to pull out all the stops. Hell, as much as I hate Pence Weatherlight, the idea that he must stand by and ref this match must shake him inside until he is red in the face, knowing he could’ve done a much better job.
The truth is, no matter what I had done--the promoters that are doing a great job on running the APW into the ground knew that despite Jesse Nunez’s lack of skill that he could still rake in large amounts of cash. Jesse Nunez isn’t a fucking wrestler; he’s an entertainer. He’s a celebrity in his own mind. He doesn’t want to walk down the ramp, he wants to prance down the red carpet. He doesn’t want to bleed blood, he want’s to sip on his paid for bottle of whine. In his spare time, he rather prance around with celebrities or coax back and spend his days playing video games--he could give a fuck about the APW championship, just like the people whom run the APW!
Oh, come Jesse Nunez; you know I am only speaking the truth.
For the past two weeks; all I have been hearing about is your new CD and how ‘’dope’’ your rhymes are. It wasn’t about how much you want the title nor what you were going to do to win it! Shit, I was expecting our match to be defended over a rap battle! It’s all fucking joke. For the past two years, you’ve shown yourself to be a marketing genius more then an actual wrestler who gives a shit about the sport; you’ve exploited a weak spot in this business and you’ve fed the promoters greed, by allowing them to whore you out to the masses JUST so you can get a little bit further in this business and in case; a main event slot.
You may think your earned this title shot through some pathetic strewn together tournament that spawned a fucking nightmare in Doctor Phate last year; but despite this, your actions after stumbling through that tournament have proven that you were far from the ‘’BEST’’ and more ‘’LUCKY’’ than anything else. We have all watched your for a month being one upped by not only me, but the likes of Biggs and Jason Royce--furthermore proving that you are undeserving from the coveted position you hold within the APW.
Don’t get me wrong, Nunez. Despite the fact that you’ve proven yourself to be a hack, you would defiantly LOVE to win the APW world championship. Not only would it replace that useless whore on the right side of your bed at night, it’ll also look good when your passing your albums and trying to hook a new movie deal with some sleaze ball porno producer, as well as the countless red carpets you love to strut your ass up, while TMZ whores out your photos for a few extra website hits. You must be SO proud of yourself!
I guess one could argue that now leeching off publicity, was whole lot better then leaching off your hack of a cousin and the faction of both FORCE and FEAR back in the EWC, huh? I’m sure when you burnt the corpse of Chris Dafoe’s brother, Karl Dafoe--that you weren’t using the prestige of the Dafoe name to further your own standings within the company, no? Jesse, your entire career can be summed up to one thing--blood sucking the worth out of others.
Now we find ourselves in a predicament where there’s no more victims you can leech off of, Nunez. We are at the point; where you now have to shoot ridiculous promos, while we watch you hang out with D-list celebrities nobody has heard or gives a fuck about; because you believe if you can stick a thousand different personalities in one production; we’ll forget about the personality, you DON’T have.
And please, could we cut out the action movie scenes? Those are starting to REALLY grow anti-climatic. I’m still trying to shake the old memories of Pence Weatherlight pretending to be a hit-man; the kid wouldn’t even slaughter a fly, if it camped out and took a microscopic shit on his forehead.
Jesse it makes me sick to even look at you in the position you are in today. It makes me question if hard work and ethic went right out the window the moment President Mac decided to turn his back on the EWC and leave it face down in the mud starving it from Oxygen. However what I do know Jesse is that I am better then you are today, and today--I am better then your yesterdays. I’m well aware of accomplishments Jesse and hell, despite how you may have accomplished them, nobody can take them away from you, however it is important to understand that two years is a long time ago in this business Jesse. People change, people grow up and grow strong--and suddenly the best, just aren’t good enough any more.
Don’t believe? Have you seen BDC lately, Jesse? The man is losing it. Chris sits back, toying with the dentures in the gaping black whole he calls a mouth day after day, throwing his sowing kit at the television screen every time I walk down that ramp, and further increase the prestige of my good name. Day after day, Chris tells himself that he still has it--that guys like me are in a different era where everything is easy, and the world is just placed in our palms. But when he tries to stand up and do something about it, his knees give out--he crashes back into his couch, and cries himself to sleep.
BDC was superstar at one point in time; but has been surpassed. Jesse, you may not be worn out--and you still might be just as young, vibrant and as fresh as I am; but your spotlight is gone. Sure, you can all remind us about it, you can tell your stories--you know? The story about you being the longest reining EWC X-division champion and your fabulous eight month winning streaks? It’s a great history lesson to learn Nunez, but we are in present time now. Where your streak is a cold one, where your championships--do NOT come in the form of one that actually matters, and instead of beating rookies? They’re showing you that maybe taking them lightly, isn’t the wisest decision to make.
Jesse you may have had a higher standing then me in our young days of the EWC; but I have surpassed you, even while you were wildly considered at your prime. You like me, were brain washed into believing that the EWC was end all and be all of wrestling, and once I broke free of their cuffs; I became something, that not even one person in the EWC could ever imagine. While I maybe falling short of a hall of fame induction which is solely reserved for President Mac and his BBF’S; I am the reason why Shadow Man tucked his tail and disappeared quietly, and President Mac took the first jet out of this country, and out of our lives--they couldn’t stand seeing someone bigger then them under the banner that they raised solely for their egos.
Basically what this means, Jesse---your nothing more then one trick pony. You’ve made your name in EWC exclusively, and you’ll never experience the same success anywhere else that is noteworthy. You know what’s really sad? Is that the old Jesse Nunez won’t even get the respect he deserves. Your washed up now, pathetic in our time; and the Nunez that we used to know has been buried by the likes of Shadow Man and President Mac; two men who built a company from the ground up, and dedicated every bit of it to themselves.
All that blood you’ve spilt; all those tears you’ve cried, all those fucking championships you won--now, none of it matters. I on the other hand; I have made my name beyond some frivolous promotion. My name sake, doesn’t die--even if APW does. My name is synonymous with the wrestling industry as a whole, and NOTHING can take that away from me…
Well you can try.
Jesse Nunez just remember before you go waving your word life fingers and spouting off your stupid catch phrases; remember that YOU are the chosen one. Remember that it isn’t you whom has the decked stacked against him, it is me--whom has to pin your for six seconds rather then three and that this pin must be counted by a man who cannot stand my guts; the feeling is mutual.
Despite the fact that battle appears to be SO one sided for you on paper; is only laughable. Those stipulations will prove to deem themselves worthless. Those stipulations do NOT fool anyone but Jesse Nunez, himself. Those stipulations change this match from being a 1 minute squash, to a five minute aerobic exercise--neither in which gives me a challenge that can be deemed useful.
Last year, I rose above the ashes--and made my status as a main-eventer known, this time around I return to my home town with the coveted prize in my hand, with my blood matching the color of the Canadian flag, which rises half mass to respect Jesse Nunez, as the Phoenix flies high, is then shot out of the air, only to crash and burn, telling the greatest story that can possibly be told.
Level-One…
Has come home!
