Post by Level-Two on Oct 25, 2009 20:57:12 GMT -4
''Ones'' Inner demon
Date: October, 24th, 09
Blood is thicker then water; and there isn't anything thicker then our skin.
From the same womb we inherited a few similar traits that we share between the two of us. A seed of violence planted in our blood lines that only fuelled our passion to fight as time grew old. Two warriors whom stood together even if our philosophies had spread us apart—he was the only family that I had left.
Our relationship was as cracked as his spine was. I could never live down the incident that had taken his legs out from underneath him. For the past few months; I have crawled towards his forgiveness—but at every turn he merely, rotates the wheels to his chair in the opposite direction. While my desire to get what I want and my greed as gotten me where I am today in a wrestling ring, outside of the ring ropes it was clear it had done me no favours.
He learnt to cope with his injury, better then I imagined. The fact that he should enough restraint to even let me through his front door was a surprise to me. I figured it must have been a therapy exercise I didn't know about. The best way to deal with your problems where to face them and the way he looked up at me and into my eye—I knew he was in need of a repair, or perhaps my eyes are fooling me again and I'm just looking at my own reflection.
''I never expected you here little brother...'' Game said quietly under his breath as he wheels himself towards his crowded living room. Standing up in-front of a couch I looked down at him as he motioned his hand to the side ''Feel free to take a seat'' He stated drawing a long sigh. ''...it'll feel a bit more like home to me''
I bit my tongue. I didn't want to upset my brother; especially after all he had been through. I could take the ribbing, my ego could withstand his pot-shots, but under no circumstance could I lose my cool—I came here to heal myself as well as our relationship and blowing up now could be the last explosion between us two. In a sick sense; it probably isn't the worst thing that could happen between us two.
''So hows the wrestling thing going...'' My brother asked me, immediately striking me off guard—it was a good thing I had been sitting down. Wrestling had been a shaky subject between us two and every time I had mentioned it; he flipped his cool. Deep down he was jealous of me, it was he who feel in love with the sport and me being the impressionable young kid, I followed his footsteps—and that he can no longer walk, it seems every step I take in the business is a step further away from own brother.
''It's going alright...'' I said looking at my brother peculiarly to which simply nodded his head up and down softly. Almost cherishing the rare moment I couldn't help but continue on further. ''I got a match this weekend against some guy named Pence Weatherlight...''
''How are you feeling about it?'' My brother enquired before reaching up and grabbing a coffee mug that sat on a old antique table. He picked up and held it in both of his hands while the steam snaked it's way above the cup and into the air.
''I can't imagine your too worried about the man. You got all the tools you need to continue on being the success you've already been''
''Really?'' I said with hope blaring through my voice. It was a good feeling, knowing that my brother potentially had began to support me in my career—but apart of me held me back, apart of me told me not to get too excited, maybe he had been hopped up on subscriptions—or perhaps my ears had been lying to me.
''Yeah, I mean with your urge, desire and passion to do whatever it takes to get where you need to be—well, it's no surprise looking back now that you are where you are today'' My brother says drawing a long sip of his hot coffee. I leaned forward and stared at him trying to read his true intentions here. It was something that I knew he had been doing to me as well. Deep down, I think we both knew what the other was up too.
''Now what is that supposed to mean?'' I asked my brother whom didn't hesitate giving me an answer; I don't even think he thought about it.
''All it means is that you are you and I am me. What I can I say, little brother? You are the success. You are the golden nugget beneath the ruins of our DNA—I should've been more like you and less like myself''
''Don't go there game...'' I urged. My brother merely, placed the mug to the side and lowered his head before shaking his head back and forth. He felt he was wrong all along. He felt as if it had all been his fault, it had been eating away at him and finally it was here, in front of my face as authentic as real can get and it was hard to look at it.
''Face it, bro. This world is a fucked up place. It sends shiver down it's core and we all feel it. I? I tried to be the good guy. I tried to be the hero; I tried to be something someone would look up to one day, and admire''
''Game...'' I tried to interrupt, but he didn't listen.
''Good guys don't win in real life, Level'' My brother said; a layer of water filling his eyes. He reached for his cup of coffee; but I grabbed his hand in attempt to grab his full attention.
''Look, I'm sure you know I was here for something'' I said before I lowered my head in guilt. ''And the truth is I am. I'm here because I know your the only person that can help me'' I said to my brother whom shook his head, helplessly. I tugged on his arm trying to get him to break out of his current state; but it was clear he had been embedded within it for months. No change could be so sudden.
''You were the guy everybody loved, cheered, and looked up to when you stepped in between the ropes. And Game—I want to be that person. I know I've claimed that I never needed those fans nor did I ever want them on my side—but there's something missing, Game. There is something missing to my whole career and perhaps I have been going about it all wrong''
My brother pulled his arm away, violently.
''This is the only thing you got, kid!'' My brother shouted at me. Lifting his hand he extended his index finger. ''Don't throw it away. Don't make the same mistake I have. This is a cold world Lester and you know it...you fucking know it! And if you aren't as cold as it is—you aren't going to last. You are going to come out of that ring, a nobody like me, you got that?''
I looked at my brother in dismay by the 360 degree turn he had taken. He sounded more like me, then I did myself.
''You got into that match against Pence Weatherlight and you give the world what they expect from you—because if you don't Lester; I may die along with you''
''I'm the same fucking guy I was yesterday, Game!'' I shouted back clearly, losing my cool. My brother simply nodded his head up in down in agreement, picking up his mug of hot coffee drawing a loud sip. He clicked his lips and leaned over towards me.
''In that case; good on you''
I quickly had risen to my feet and left the apartment; with more questions then answers. Questions that drove me damn near insane, like...
How did I lose my own brother?
Date: October, 25th, 09
Time: Show night; day-time.
I thought about what my brother said; until my brain hurt. The good guy, is what the fans wanted me to be. The good guy, is how a champion is looked up too—and while my heart wasn't in self-censorship and playing by the rules, it was something I felt I needed to do. Sure, I won tons of championships staying true to myself; but I had always been looking to take myself to the next level. To be the best I could possibly be and perhaps the one thing that had been holding me down—is the one thing that made me stand out from the rest.
I thought about ''her'' and I remembered the power that she brought me. It's been a while since I felt it after finally ridding her voice from my head and for most part, my life has become a bit more simplistic. Without her, I could sleep a full night and I could dream again and while I was from perfect image people all around the world had looked for; I knew I still had hope.
I don't know why the sudden change. Perhaps it's because I can feel apart of me losing it. Perhaps, because stepping in the ring, no matter if it is Pence Weatherlight or Jesse Nunez the old spark simply isn't there. Unable to conjure up the strength or man power to simply walk away, I felt I had no choice but to change---besides, it couldn't hurt anybody right?
Well, maybe it could. Perhaps my brother was right and that going back on the one thing that brought me here is far more destructive to my career then feeling a little down on one of the biggest matches of my career. Patricia Lewis tried to convince me I had just been over-thinking this entire match with Pence; and all I had to do was walk out there and win—but it was too good to be true. Too simplistic for such a complicated element of a match. If I wasn't at the top of my game, not only could Pence take advantage of it—but I could find myself dead. While it wasn't something, I feared—it was something I sat down to think about.
''You're still worried about Pence, tonight?'' Patricia said as she jotted something down on a piece of paper; for a college assignment due Monday. I never understood why she spent so much time studying, but then again, I never went to college.
''I'm worried about, Pence. I'm worried about myself, Patricia'' I said taking a long pause. She continued to hand write on a piece of paper, undeterred by my mid-life crisis. ''I don't know what it is; but it feels as if Pence has something over me''
Patricia lifted her head up from under her books; with a look of dismay, which quickly turned into a smile. I looked up at her and sighed. She was going to have a field day with this one, it wasn't something she was used to hearing.
''Humble are we?'' Patricia joked, quickly moving her books to the side as she folded her hands together and leaned in my direction, clearly taking interest in what I had been saying. ''What do you think he has over you?''
''Motivation'' I said leaning back in my chair, beating the table with my fist. ''The whole world wants him to win; and I don't even feel like proving them wrong. It's as if, I've been more concerned with keeping my stature at the top, rather then setting that bar even higher to heights I haven't had the privilege of seeing before'' I said while I lifted my hands in the air to illustrate my point.
''Motivated? You spent the last week punching the heavy bag, until you couldn't lift your arms! For the past week, all you've been thinking about this match'' Patricia says, almost taking offence to what I had to say.
''You think I can do it?'' I asked Patricia whom rolled her eyes.
''I know you can do it'' Patricia said calmly, before reaching over the table and grasping my hands. I looked down at her hands and then back up to her face; she smiled. ''All you have to do is reach deep inside your chest and find that heart of yours. The entire world knows what you are capable of, when you set your mind-straight, get focused, and leave yourself in the ring'' Patricia assured me, as I stood up from the table.
''You're right. This isn't a hell in a cell match for no reason—that cage is where I belong, and I'm going to remind Pence Weatherlight and every last one of his moronic fans that I am the business and they'll never, ever forget it!''
Patricia simply nodded her head in agreement.
''Sorry, huge essay'' She whispered. I nodded my head and walked off, as she pulled her note book in-front of her.
''I may regret this...'' I said turning back to Patricia, whom buried her head into her notebook. I tried to shake the thoughts of; I tried to ignore the consequences—but I knew that once this devil awoke inside of me once again...
I may never sleep another night the same way ever, again.
Date: October, 25th, 09
Time: Showtime
Location: One Night In Hell
Sweating, nervous and unprepared; is what had filed out as the diagnosis for my stomach turning sickness on this night. I did everything I could to purge ''her'' right out of me; and here I was at the show, feeling worse then I did the night before. Up and down the arena halls I walked; pacing back and forth, like a vicious animal let out of his cage.
There was no way, I could defeat Pence Weatherlight; not in this mindset. I counted on what was inside of me to pull through. I felt weak, I felt helpless—until I felt a tap on my shoulder to which I turned around and answered too. Biggs stood in-front of me; having shown up the arena early, he couldn't help but wander around in hopes of creating a bit of trouble.
''Hey, champ. How's it going?'' Biggs asked as I swatted his hand off my shoulder. Biggs slightly taken a back watches on with caution while I began to pace back and forth, right in-front of his eyes. ''What's wrong with you? You don't look too well...''
I looked up at Biggs; gritting my teeth. ''Damn right about that. I'm four hours away from losing it ALL...''
''You mean your APW world championship?'' Biggs quipped up.
I nodded my head up and down, slapping myself in the face, trying to beat whatever was deep inside of me, out of my body.
''That too; along with everything else! My main-event status, my marquee as the greatest wrestler alive breathing this musty air; and everything else I had come to earn during my entire career; that's all on the line tonight''
''Losing to Pence is really that bad, huh?'' Biggs asks, shaking his head back and forth as if he knew his answer to his own question. It was right then and there; did an idea pop into mind...
''I remember what triggered it...'' I said as Biggs looked on confused. Raising his hand towards my chest; he stopped me mid-pace. Biggs raised his eye brows, as lowered my head in frustration. ''It happened in a car accident. The car crashed—and I hit my head; that's when the voices came...''
''Right?'' Biggs shoots back confused out of his wrestling boots.
''See that chair?'' I said pointing over to a far wall down the hall way, Biggs turned his head to look and before he could even answer yes, I ask for his assistance. ''...Can you go get me that chair?'' I ask Biggs whom simply shrugged his shoulders not thinking much of it. Biggs picks up the chair taking his time to fold it up, carrying it over, he tosses it over to me.
''I don't need it. You need it'' I said tossing it back to him; which Biggs catches easily. Biggs lowers the chair in confusion.
''Why do I need it?'' Biggs inquired.
''Your going to hit me with it...'' I say, and a mischeivous smile crossed the face of Biggs.
''You aren't serious?'' Biggs asked to which I nodded my head too. I was dead serious; and quickly, he realized this.
''Now on the count of three; I want you to hit me in the face with that steel chair, alright?'' I said to Biggs, whom took a deep breath, almost as if he was going to regret what he had to do. Biggs pulled back on the chair swinging forward, smoking me across the face, sending me back a few steps, holding my mouth.
''Fuck, hit me again!'' I screamed out loud as I trickle of blood fled from my nostrils, dripping onto the floor. I raised my head as Biggs once again swung the steel chair, this time rattling my skull to the point where I feel to my knees and closed my eyes as tight as I could to hide the pain.
''Agh'' I grunted gripping the top of my skull. ''Again!'' I screamed as Biggs whined up, hitting me once again in the face. ''Again!'' another whack this time planting my face against the cold hard concrete. I kicked the tips of my toes against the concrete floor and beat my fist against the ground, shouting once more... ''AGAIN!''
Biggs lifted the chair high above his head driving the chair against the back of my hea and into the cold hard unforgiving concrete floor. That was the last thing I felt...
Fade to black?
Place: Devils playground
''It's been a long time'' A voice teased. Slowly, I opened my eyes and found myself laying on a large red bed. Sitting up, I looked behind me, only to realize that I had been floating mid air. Peering, my head over the edge, a large pit of flames, stirred beneath me. The heat had risen up, making the bed I layed on gulity of being way too comfortable. I tried to shake my head free; to pinch myself, and awake from the odd nightmare—but to no avail.
''I made mistake; I want to go back right now!'' I screamed; pulling myself up to my feet, standing a a top the large bed. Startling me, a figure emerged from underneath the covers—an old familiar face and even more noticble raspy, voice. It was her. She attractive; she pulled you in with her dark eyes and never let you go, take my word for it.
''If you want you can choose to ignore me; jump off this bed and burn in internal hell for all enternity'' She teased before sitting up in the bed. Her long black hair fell below her shoulders; her breasts exposed, fearing no shame. ''...or you can listen to me and you can wrestle Pence Weatherlight, later tonight. It seems like a pretty clear cut, deal...don't it?'' She asked, running her hands through her long black hair.
I looked down at the flames; where faces, appeared. She looked up at me, realizing what I had been looking at. She rolled her eyes and leant over the bed, admiring her work. She pointed a familar face in the flames, and laughed.
''Remember him?'' She asked me, as I nodded my head.
''Yeah, that's Shadow Man'' I said shaking my head free. ''Shadow Man is burning in hell?''
''...as all frauds do'' She confirms with a solid nod. ''I'm not surprised you came calling'' She stated carelessly, looking down at her long nails. ''Truth is; you haven't been the same without me. You need me. I'm the one thing, seperating you—from a life time full of sucess, championships, and world wide reconition. You can't fool yourself into believing you are looking for anything less''
I looked at her and nodded my head in agreement, sitting down on the bed beside her.
''Your right. I need you. I want that fire back within me. I want the power; the strength... I need it and I beg of you to give it all back'' I pleaded with her. This tickled her ego, as she placed her hand on the side of my face, kissing me on the lips.
''I'll willing to help you out; if you are willing to help me out. Let it be known that if you choose to bring me back; you'll owe me something''
''Owe you what?'' I inquired which peeked her pleasure. She leaned over towards me and whispered in my ear...
''You'll soon find out, hun''
...Fade the fuck in!
I found myself being wheeled down the hall away, by four shouting paradmedics. There heads spun around my own; and their lips moved faster then I could comprehend.
''I don't think he'll be able to compete tonight...'' one paramedic radioed into the management office.
''We need to get him help, ASAP'' another paramedic announced triumphiently.
With my loose arm I reached over unstrapping my legs ultimately freeing myself. I fell off the stretcher and stumbled around disoriently trying to hold a verticle base while the paramedics watched with disbelif in their eyes. I feel to my knees, but pulled myself back up again. I was warrior. A champion; and wasn't going to be denied. I could feel a surge of energy, spreading through my viens; triggering the right frame of mind.
I was ready for war.
I was ready for hell.
I was ready... for anything.
You thought that's the best I had? In a form a former champion in Jesse Nunez whom has lost his touch, years ago? How about Chris Cyrus and Biggs, two men who have a year or two separating themselves from a main-event or anything remotely worthy of note? Pence; I was just getting started. What you have encountered for the past few weeks has only been a taste test, a small teaser of what's to come. Whether you like it or not; I've been one step ahead of you. I've been stringing you along and you've become laid back and comfortable. I mean, your still standing in one piece. Besides a few scrapes and bruises, your coming into the match in mint condition—and that's exactly the condition that I want you in.
See Pence; with my clinched fist I've been teasing you with the oncoming impact for quite awhile now. And each time, you've flinched. You squinted your eyes and took a step back; for when I mentioned your demons, you nearly wet your tights. And so I drew my fist to your face and pulled back, short of delivering the blow. And the more I did this; the less you flinched. You kept your eyes open and you didn't take a step in either direction. This is because you were no longer worried about being hit with my fist nor feeling my impact; you didn't fear what had been coming towards you.
I conditioned you.
And now that you've lowered your defences; my fist will run into your face and crush every bone that held up ugly. You think you have my number? You think you've asked all the question and have got all the answers? Pence; this isn't the same man you've fought before. Sure, I have my distractions—but I'm looking past them. And sure some nights I don't feel like pulling myself out of bed and being your world champion; but I can't even sleep if I don't return home with the championship I walked in with. Pence, this entire thing is in my hands—do I hold onto it tightly or do I let it slip through my fingers?
Don't you realize there hasn't been a match I have ever lost? Pence, there has never been a time where I have been beaten by another man or women. There has never been a time where winning or losing was in the hands of my opposition; there has never been a time, where me winning, was a mere chance in the wind, an unlikely event. No, Pence. Whether I had fallen victim to a three count or tapped out in the middle of the ring, I had been in control every step of the way. Each time I weighed what had been before me and whether or not winning was worth it; and sometimes I made the wrong decision. Sometimes, I gave up—I refuse to lift my shoulder up the mat to keep fighting, not because another mortal man beat me; but because I had beaten myself.
Pence, you cannot beat me. Not unless I walk into that ring, and give it anything less then 100%. Not unless I turn a blind eye to the very little ability still left in you. Pence, it can't happen because I refuse to let it happen. You on the other hand? I control you. I dedicate your mood; I dedicate the tone of your responses and I am the antagonist in YOUR own story.
See there was time in which you were preachy of my talent. Pence, you respected me. Don't you deny it! Those very words came out that black, gaping, cock-sucking mouth of yours—and whole world heard it. However, you quickly found out our feelings weren't mutual. Suddenly, the pedestal you held me on in your own mind rightfully so, had been knocked down a few notches. This is because everything you do is fuelled off your own emotion. Your words have grown tired, inconsistent; trashed around the waves, as I lash you down with your own tongue, time and time again—because it is I whom controls how you feel.
Pence you cannot be taken seriously, because you have lost all sense of reality. You've allowed the hate for me to build up so deep within yourself—that you've ignored the very foundations of why the hate you have for me even exists. You hate me; simply because with me in the APW—you are nothing more then second best. You hate me because if I don't lie down for you for three seconds—a world championship will never hang high on your shoulder for as long as I am here. You could less about the venom I spit or even all the terrible things I have done during my rein in APW. You Pence Weatherlight, you follow the path of the spotlight, you take your title shot because you earned the chance too—you aren't here to save a damn soul but your own.
When I was beating up Nunez like a high school bully collecting his lunch money, where were you? When I was protesting his title shot—where did you stand? The truth is Pence, you could care less about how I treat the fans. You could care less about my morale standards or whether or not I stand on the side of the people—or I stand on the top of the hill on my own and the only time you have an objection to any of it, is when you have something to win or lose. It's only when you need the cheers and approval of the screaming screeching sheeple looking to you as their last resort—do you ever do what's right for those people.
Pence, if you had any shred of dignity you would've never allowed me to stand APW world champion as long as I have. If you had any real allegiance to the people you would've used the emotion, the energy, and any other shit you could conjure up from their blind hearts to pull through the tough times and retain your APW championship like a real man. Pence, you failed them and all those tears they've spilled for months now has built up and sunk you—and it's shame you don't have the fucking balls to admit you aren't the answer but in fact just a small question that already has it's answer.
Can Pence Weatherlight beat Level-One, one more time? No, no he can't.
Furthermore you don't hesitate to take credit for my successful title defence when you chose to play god and decide the fate of MY opponent. So not only did you stand by as I took back my APW championship, but you also took it into your own hands when you ''helped'' me keep it in my possession—further fuelling the same evil you love to preach against and pretend your saving the industry from. The truth is, you've got the fans on your side—and in order to channel their ignorance it something positive for you it is your duty to make a devil out of me. It's your duty to make me the bad guy, the evil one—because you are the anti-villain. You are nothing more then a hero-wannabe whom in which is a few dollars short of the spandex and cape. I can see through you kid and you make me fucking sick to my stomach.
Pence; tonight is going to be our night. Tonight the accumulation of all our words, all our previous battles, and all the stories that we have told—comes clashing together. After all the time you spent chasing my tail; it seems as if not even this match is worth it. The truth is; you lose here, and it's the end of the road for you. While you may have been overrated and pampered up by management; they can only give you some many shots until they realize you're useless sack of shit that can't hit his target. Pence, I'm tired of hearing about next time. I'm tired of hearing you run your mouth week after week, hitting the same fucking talk points—tonight is the night you put your words into action, can you do that?
I have, Pence. Everything, I said I was going to do I have done it. I told you that I gave you that championship, and you proved me right when I took it back the minute I had the chance too. Furthermore proving, your nothing more then just a flash in the pan.
Pence, I don't believe you understand the velocity of grounds in which you are so eager to stand on. Pence, you don't know what hell is. You haven't spent a day in hell; never mind a lifetime. To you? Hell is a fancy metaphor; it's a cool word you morons like to throw around with little meaning—but I know what hell is. I looked it's gate keeper in it's eye, it offered me a deal, and I shook it's hand and I have had a lifetime membership to the club, every day since.
Honour isn't going to help you out tonight, Pence. Honour isn't going to stop me from ramming your face off the steel mesh nor dumping you off the top of the cage in hopes that you'd crack your spine, neck, or any major bone that would prevent you from wrestling in my goddamn ring, ever again. The fans aren't going to help you when your bleeding, crawling, and dying—they'll chew popcorn and boo me as they stimulate their eyes, like barbarians they are.
You may WANT this APW world championship, Pence—and I can honestly respect that. Unfortunately, I want it too. I feel as if now have what it takes to evaluate this championship to a level the APW hasn't yet seen. I feel as if I could take this belt; and make it worthy, of my possession, Pence. And for the sake of it's worthy, prestige and beauty—I'm going to keep it around my waist and keep it in good hands. Pence, the entire world saw your title rein despite popular belief—rumor has it if they blinked, they would've fucking missed it!
Truth is Pence; the APW doesn't need you anymore. In fact, they got Micheal Lively all shined up, ready to be thrown in my ring, and fed to the wolves next. You're heading back to the line and I'll hold not a single regret for putting you back there. You've ran your mouth for too long, not to pay the price now. You have got in my way for too long, for me to simply ignore you. This thing between me and you? It fucking ends tonight!
You want to beat me? You better get on your knees and start praying. If you asked me a day ago, I figured God might show you some mercy, but things have changed very quickly. An old familiar part of me is back for what can only be described as a fitting occasion. God is going to look to save you, Pence. God is going to come up behind you and wrap his arm around your throat—and slit your fucking neck, do you understand that? God is going to look down at you and smile as he watches everything you prayed for fade in vein...
I'm your GOD.
I made you Pence, and don't you fucking forget it! You were NOTHING until I threw a world title on your resume. You were NOTHING before I mentioned your name and you sure are NOTHING now. So rather then ranting and raving about how your going to beat me; how about you issue a thank you statement? Why don't you grab your balls and own your man-hood and show praise to the only person that has given you a damn thing, since stepping foot through the APW doors?
I'm not the bad guy here.
Pence, your going to walk in the cell a contender—and I'm going to leave a champion. I don't know in what shape or form, I'll emerge from the depths of hell, but I will stand above it. I will hoist my title in celebration and I will look down upon you...
and shake my head...
You'll feel the IMPACT but you won't survive.
Date: October, 24th, 09
Blood is thicker then water; and there isn't anything thicker then our skin.
From the same womb we inherited a few similar traits that we share between the two of us. A seed of violence planted in our blood lines that only fuelled our passion to fight as time grew old. Two warriors whom stood together even if our philosophies had spread us apart—he was the only family that I had left.
Our relationship was as cracked as his spine was. I could never live down the incident that had taken his legs out from underneath him. For the past few months; I have crawled towards his forgiveness—but at every turn he merely, rotates the wheels to his chair in the opposite direction. While my desire to get what I want and my greed as gotten me where I am today in a wrestling ring, outside of the ring ropes it was clear it had done me no favours.
He learnt to cope with his injury, better then I imagined. The fact that he should enough restraint to even let me through his front door was a surprise to me. I figured it must have been a therapy exercise I didn't know about. The best way to deal with your problems where to face them and the way he looked up at me and into my eye—I knew he was in need of a repair, or perhaps my eyes are fooling me again and I'm just looking at my own reflection.
''I never expected you here little brother...'' Game said quietly under his breath as he wheels himself towards his crowded living room. Standing up in-front of a couch I looked down at him as he motioned his hand to the side ''Feel free to take a seat'' He stated drawing a long sigh. ''...it'll feel a bit more like home to me''
I bit my tongue. I didn't want to upset my brother; especially after all he had been through. I could take the ribbing, my ego could withstand his pot-shots, but under no circumstance could I lose my cool—I came here to heal myself as well as our relationship and blowing up now could be the last explosion between us two. In a sick sense; it probably isn't the worst thing that could happen between us two.
''So hows the wrestling thing going...'' My brother asked me, immediately striking me off guard—it was a good thing I had been sitting down. Wrestling had been a shaky subject between us two and every time I had mentioned it; he flipped his cool. Deep down he was jealous of me, it was he who feel in love with the sport and me being the impressionable young kid, I followed his footsteps—and that he can no longer walk, it seems every step I take in the business is a step further away from own brother.
''It's going alright...'' I said looking at my brother peculiarly to which simply nodded his head up and down softly. Almost cherishing the rare moment I couldn't help but continue on further. ''I got a match this weekend against some guy named Pence Weatherlight...''
''How are you feeling about it?'' My brother enquired before reaching up and grabbing a coffee mug that sat on a old antique table. He picked up and held it in both of his hands while the steam snaked it's way above the cup and into the air.
''I can't imagine your too worried about the man. You got all the tools you need to continue on being the success you've already been''
''Really?'' I said with hope blaring through my voice. It was a good feeling, knowing that my brother potentially had began to support me in my career—but apart of me held me back, apart of me told me not to get too excited, maybe he had been hopped up on subscriptions—or perhaps my ears had been lying to me.
''Yeah, I mean with your urge, desire and passion to do whatever it takes to get where you need to be—well, it's no surprise looking back now that you are where you are today'' My brother says drawing a long sip of his hot coffee. I leaned forward and stared at him trying to read his true intentions here. It was something that I knew he had been doing to me as well. Deep down, I think we both knew what the other was up too.
''Now what is that supposed to mean?'' I asked my brother whom didn't hesitate giving me an answer; I don't even think he thought about it.
''All it means is that you are you and I am me. What I can I say, little brother? You are the success. You are the golden nugget beneath the ruins of our DNA—I should've been more like you and less like myself''
''Don't go there game...'' I urged. My brother merely, placed the mug to the side and lowered his head before shaking his head back and forth. He felt he was wrong all along. He felt as if it had all been his fault, it had been eating away at him and finally it was here, in front of my face as authentic as real can get and it was hard to look at it.
''Face it, bro. This world is a fucked up place. It sends shiver down it's core and we all feel it. I? I tried to be the good guy. I tried to be the hero; I tried to be something someone would look up to one day, and admire''
''Game...'' I tried to interrupt, but he didn't listen.
''Good guys don't win in real life, Level'' My brother said; a layer of water filling his eyes. He reached for his cup of coffee; but I grabbed his hand in attempt to grab his full attention.
''Look, I'm sure you know I was here for something'' I said before I lowered my head in guilt. ''And the truth is I am. I'm here because I know your the only person that can help me'' I said to my brother whom shook his head, helplessly. I tugged on his arm trying to get him to break out of his current state; but it was clear he had been embedded within it for months. No change could be so sudden.
''You were the guy everybody loved, cheered, and looked up to when you stepped in between the ropes. And Game—I want to be that person. I know I've claimed that I never needed those fans nor did I ever want them on my side—but there's something missing, Game. There is something missing to my whole career and perhaps I have been going about it all wrong''
My brother pulled his arm away, violently.
''This is the only thing you got, kid!'' My brother shouted at me. Lifting his hand he extended his index finger. ''Don't throw it away. Don't make the same mistake I have. This is a cold world Lester and you know it...you fucking know it! And if you aren't as cold as it is—you aren't going to last. You are going to come out of that ring, a nobody like me, you got that?''
I looked at my brother in dismay by the 360 degree turn he had taken. He sounded more like me, then I did myself.
''You got into that match against Pence Weatherlight and you give the world what they expect from you—because if you don't Lester; I may die along with you''
''I'm the same fucking guy I was yesterday, Game!'' I shouted back clearly, losing my cool. My brother simply nodded his head up in down in agreement, picking up his mug of hot coffee drawing a loud sip. He clicked his lips and leaned over towards me.
''In that case; good on you''
I quickly had risen to my feet and left the apartment; with more questions then answers. Questions that drove me damn near insane, like...
How did I lose my own brother?
Date: October, 25th, 09
Time: Show night; day-time.
I thought about what my brother said; until my brain hurt. The good guy, is what the fans wanted me to be. The good guy, is how a champion is looked up too—and while my heart wasn't in self-censorship and playing by the rules, it was something I felt I needed to do. Sure, I won tons of championships staying true to myself; but I had always been looking to take myself to the next level. To be the best I could possibly be and perhaps the one thing that had been holding me down—is the one thing that made me stand out from the rest.
I thought about ''her'' and I remembered the power that she brought me. It's been a while since I felt it after finally ridding her voice from my head and for most part, my life has become a bit more simplistic. Without her, I could sleep a full night and I could dream again and while I was from perfect image people all around the world had looked for; I knew I still had hope.
I don't know why the sudden change. Perhaps it's because I can feel apart of me losing it. Perhaps, because stepping in the ring, no matter if it is Pence Weatherlight or Jesse Nunez the old spark simply isn't there. Unable to conjure up the strength or man power to simply walk away, I felt I had no choice but to change---besides, it couldn't hurt anybody right?
Well, maybe it could. Perhaps my brother was right and that going back on the one thing that brought me here is far more destructive to my career then feeling a little down on one of the biggest matches of my career. Patricia Lewis tried to convince me I had just been over-thinking this entire match with Pence; and all I had to do was walk out there and win—but it was too good to be true. Too simplistic for such a complicated element of a match. If I wasn't at the top of my game, not only could Pence take advantage of it—but I could find myself dead. While it wasn't something, I feared—it was something I sat down to think about.
''You're still worried about Pence, tonight?'' Patricia said as she jotted something down on a piece of paper; for a college assignment due Monday. I never understood why she spent so much time studying, but then again, I never went to college.
''I'm worried about, Pence. I'm worried about myself, Patricia'' I said taking a long pause. She continued to hand write on a piece of paper, undeterred by my mid-life crisis. ''I don't know what it is; but it feels as if Pence has something over me''
Patricia lifted her head up from under her books; with a look of dismay, which quickly turned into a smile. I looked up at her and sighed. She was going to have a field day with this one, it wasn't something she was used to hearing.
''Humble are we?'' Patricia joked, quickly moving her books to the side as she folded her hands together and leaned in my direction, clearly taking interest in what I had been saying. ''What do you think he has over you?''
''Motivation'' I said leaning back in my chair, beating the table with my fist. ''The whole world wants him to win; and I don't even feel like proving them wrong. It's as if, I've been more concerned with keeping my stature at the top, rather then setting that bar even higher to heights I haven't had the privilege of seeing before'' I said while I lifted my hands in the air to illustrate my point.
''Motivated? You spent the last week punching the heavy bag, until you couldn't lift your arms! For the past week, all you've been thinking about this match'' Patricia says, almost taking offence to what I had to say.
''You think I can do it?'' I asked Patricia whom rolled her eyes.
''I know you can do it'' Patricia said calmly, before reaching over the table and grasping my hands. I looked down at her hands and then back up to her face; she smiled. ''All you have to do is reach deep inside your chest and find that heart of yours. The entire world knows what you are capable of, when you set your mind-straight, get focused, and leave yourself in the ring'' Patricia assured me, as I stood up from the table.
''You're right. This isn't a hell in a cell match for no reason—that cage is where I belong, and I'm going to remind Pence Weatherlight and every last one of his moronic fans that I am the business and they'll never, ever forget it!''
Patricia simply nodded her head in agreement.
''Sorry, huge essay'' She whispered. I nodded my head and walked off, as she pulled her note book in-front of her.
''I may regret this...'' I said turning back to Patricia, whom buried her head into her notebook. I tried to shake the thoughts of; I tried to ignore the consequences—but I knew that once this devil awoke inside of me once again...
I may never sleep another night the same way ever, again.
Date: October, 25th, 09
Time: Showtime
Location: One Night In Hell
Sweating, nervous and unprepared; is what had filed out as the diagnosis for my stomach turning sickness on this night. I did everything I could to purge ''her'' right out of me; and here I was at the show, feeling worse then I did the night before. Up and down the arena halls I walked; pacing back and forth, like a vicious animal let out of his cage.
There was no way, I could defeat Pence Weatherlight; not in this mindset. I counted on what was inside of me to pull through. I felt weak, I felt helpless—until I felt a tap on my shoulder to which I turned around and answered too. Biggs stood in-front of me; having shown up the arena early, he couldn't help but wander around in hopes of creating a bit of trouble.
''Hey, champ. How's it going?'' Biggs asked as I swatted his hand off my shoulder. Biggs slightly taken a back watches on with caution while I began to pace back and forth, right in-front of his eyes. ''What's wrong with you? You don't look too well...''
I looked up at Biggs; gritting my teeth. ''Damn right about that. I'm four hours away from losing it ALL...''
''You mean your APW world championship?'' Biggs quipped up.
I nodded my head up and down, slapping myself in the face, trying to beat whatever was deep inside of me, out of my body.
''That too; along with everything else! My main-event status, my marquee as the greatest wrestler alive breathing this musty air; and everything else I had come to earn during my entire career; that's all on the line tonight''
''Losing to Pence is really that bad, huh?'' Biggs asks, shaking his head back and forth as if he knew his answer to his own question. It was right then and there; did an idea pop into mind...
''I remember what triggered it...'' I said as Biggs looked on confused. Raising his hand towards my chest; he stopped me mid-pace. Biggs raised his eye brows, as lowered my head in frustration. ''It happened in a car accident. The car crashed—and I hit my head; that's when the voices came...''
''Right?'' Biggs shoots back confused out of his wrestling boots.
''See that chair?'' I said pointing over to a far wall down the hall way, Biggs turned his head to look and before he could even answer yes, I ask for his assistance. ''...Can you go get me that chair?'' I ask Biggs whom simply shrugged his shoulders not thinking much of it. Biggs picks up the chair taking his time to fold it up, carrying it over, he tosses it over to me.
''I don't need it. You need it'' I said tossing it back to him; which Biggs catches easily. Biggs lowers the chair in confusion.
''Why do I need it?'' Biggs inquired.
''Your going to hit me with it...'' I say, and a mischeivous smile crossed the face of Biggs.
''You aren't serious?'' Biggs asked to which I nodded my head too. I was dead serious; and quickly, he realized this.
''Now on the count of three; I want you to hit me in the face with that steel chair, alright?'' I said to Biggs, whom took a deep breath, almost as if he was going to regret what he had to do. Biggs pulled back on the chair swinging forward, smoking me across the face, sending me back a few steps, holding my mouth.
''Fuck, hit me again!'' I screamed out loud as I trickle of blood fled from my nostrils, dripping onto the floor. I raised my head as Biggs once again swung the steel chair, this time rattling my skull to the point where I feel to my knees and closed my eyes as tight as I could to hide the pain.
''Agh'' I grunted gripping the top of my skull. ''Again!'' I screamed as Biggs whined up, hitting me once again in the face. ''Again!'' another whack this time planting my face against the cold hard concrete. I kicked the tips of my toes against the concrete floor and beat my fist against the ground, shouting once more... ''AGAIN!''
Biggs lifted the chair high above his head driving the chair against the back of my hea and into the cold hard unforgiving concrete floor. That was the last thing I felt...
Fade to black?
Place: Devils playground
''It's been a long time'' A voice teased. Slowly, I opened my eyes and found myself laying on a large red bed. Sitting up, I looked behind me, only to realize that I had been floating mid air. Peering, my head over the edge, a large pit of flames, stirred beneath me. The heat had risen up, making the bed I layed on gulity of being way too comfortable. I tried to shake my head free; to pinch myself, and awake from the odd nightmare—but to no avail.
''I made mistake; I want to go back right now!'' I screamed; pulling myself up to my feet, standing a a top the large bed. Startling me, a figure emerged from underneath the covers—an old familiar face and even more noticble raspy, voice. It was her. She attractive; she pulled you in with her dark eyes and never let you go, take my word for it.
''If you want you can choose to ignore me; jump off this bed and burn in internal hell for all enternity'' She teased before sitting up in the bed. Her long black hair fell below her shoulders; her breasts exposed, fearing no shame. ''...or you can listen to me and you can wrestle Pence Weatherlight, later tonight. It seems like a pretty clear cut, deal...don't it?'' She asked, running her hands through her long black hair.
I looked down at the flames; where faces, appeared. She looked up at me, realizing what I had been looking at. She rolled her eyes and leant over the bed, admiring her work. She pointed a familar face in the flames, and laughed.
''Remember him?'' She asked me, as I nodded my head.
''Yeah, that's Shadow Man'' I said shaking my head free. ''Shadow Man is burning in hell?''
''...as all frauds do'' She confirms with a solid nod. ''I'm not surprised you came calling'' She stated carelessly, looking down at her long nails. ''Truth is; you haven't been the same without me. You need me. I'm the one thing, seperating you—from a life time full of sucess, championships, and world wide reconition. You can't fool yourself into believing you are looking for anything less''
I looked at her and nodded my head in agreement, sitting down on the bed beside her.
''Your right. I need you. I want that fire back within me. I want the power; the strength... I need it and I beg of you to give it all back'' I pleaded with her. This tickled her ego, as she placed her hand on the side of my face, kissing me on the lips.
''I'll willing to help you out; if you are willing to help me out. Let it be known that if you choose to bring me back; you'll owe me something''
''Owe you what?'' I inquired which peeked her pleasure. She leaned over towards me and whispered in my ear...
''You'll soon find out, hun''
...Fade the fuck in!
I found myself being wheeled down the hall away, by four shouting paradmedics. There heads spun around my own; and their lips moved faster then I could comprehend.
''I don't think he'll be able to compete tonight...'' one paramedic radioed into the management office.
''We need to get him help, ASAP'' another paramedic announced triumphiently.
With my loose arm I reached over unstrapping my legs ultimately freeing myself. I fell off the stretcher and stumbled around disoriently trying to hold a verticle base while the paramedics watched with disbelif in their eyes. I feel to my knees, but pulled myself back up again. I was warrior. A champion; and wasn't going to be denied. I could feel a surge of energy, spreading through my viens; triggering the right frame of mind.
I was ready for war.
I was ready for hell.
I was ready... for anything.
You thought that's the best I had? In a form a former champion in Jesse Nunez whom has lost his touch, years ago? How about Chris Cyrus and Biggs, two men who have a year or two separating themselves from a main-event or anything remotely worthy of note? Pence; I was just getting started. What you have encountered for the past few weeks has only been a taste test, a small teaser of what's to come. Whether you like it or not; I've been one step ahead of you. I've been stringing you along and you've become laid back and comfortable. I mean, your still standing in one piece. Besides a few scrapes and bruises, your coming into the match in mint condition—and that's exactly the condition that I want you in.
See Pence; with my clinched fist I've been teasing you with the oncoming impact for quite awhile now. And each time, you've flinched. You squinted your eyes and took a step back; for when I mentioned your demons, you nearly wet your tights. And so I drew my fist to your face and pulled back, short of delivering the blow. And the more I did this; the less you flinched. You kept your eyes open and you didn't take a step in either direction. This is because you were no longer worried about being hit with my fist nor feeling my impact; you didn't fear what had been coming towards you.
I conditioned you.
And now that you've lowered your defences; my fist will run into your face and crush every bone that held up ugly. You think you have my number? You think you've asked all the question and have got all the answers? Pence; this isn't the same man you've fought before. Sure, I have my distractions—but I'm looking past them. And sure some nights I don't feel like pulling myself out of bed and being your world champion; but I can't even sleep if I don't return home with the championship I walked in with. Pence, this entire thing is in my hands—do I hold onto it tightly or do I let it slip through my fingers?
Don't you realize there hasn't been a match I have ever lost? Pence, there has never been a time where I have been beaten by another man or women. There has never been a time where winning or losing was in the hands of my opposition; there has never been a time, where me winning, was a mere chance in the wind, an unlikely event. No, Pence. Whether I had fallen victim to a three count or tapped out in the middle of the ring, I had been in control every step of the way. Each time I weighed what had been before me and whether or not winning was worth it; and sometimes I made the wrong decision. Sometimes, I gave up—I refuse to lift my shoulder up the mat to keep fighting, not because another mortal man beat me; but because I had beaten myself.
Pence, you cannot beat me. Not unless I walk into that ring, and give it anything less then 100%. Not unless I turn a blind eye to the very little ability still left in you. Pence, it can't happen because I refuse to let it happen. You on the other hand? I control you. I dedicate your mood; I dedicate the tone of your responses and I am the antagonist in YOUR own story.
See there was time in which you were preachy of my talent. Pence, you respected me. Don't you deny it! Those very words came out that black, gaping, cock-sucking mouth of yours—and whole world heard it. However, you quickly found out our feelings weren't mutual. Suddenly, the pedestal you held me on in your own mind rightfully so, had been knocked down a few notches. This is because everything you do is fuelled off your own emotion. Your words have grown tired, inconsistent; trashed around the waves, as I lash you down with your own tongue, time and time again—because it is I whom controls how you feel.
Pence you cannot be taken seriously, because you have lost all sense of reality. You've allowed the hate for me to build up so deep within yourself—that you've ignored the very foundations of why the hate you have for me even exists. You hate me; simply because with me in the APW—you are nothing more then second best. You hate me because if I don't lie down for you for three seconds—a world championship will never hang high on your shoulder for as long as I am here. You could less about the venom I spit or even all the terrible things I have done during my rein in APW. You Pence Weatherlight, you follow the path of the spotlight, you take your title shot because you earned the chance too—you aren't here to save a damn soul but your own.
When I was beating up Nunez like a high school bully collecting his lunch money, where were you? When I was protesting his title shot—where did you stand? The truth is Pence, you could care less about how I treat the fans. You could care less about my morale standards or whether or not I stand on the side of the people—or I stand on the top of the hill on my own and the only time you have an objection to any of it, is when you have something to win or lose. It's only when you need the cheers and approval of the screaming screeching sheeple looking to you as their last resort—do you ever do what's right for those people.
Pence, if you had any shred of dignity you would've never allowed me to stand APW world champion as long as I have. If you had any real allegiance to the people you would've used the emotion, the energy, and any other shit you could conjure up from their blind hearts to pull through the tough times and retain your APW championship like a real man. Pence, you failed them and all those tears they've spilled for months now has built up and sunk you—and it's shame you don't have the fucking balls to admit you aren't the answer but in fact just a small question that already has it's answer.
Can Pence Weatherlight beat Level-One, one more time? No, no he can't.
Furthermore you don't hesitate to take credit for my successful title defence when you chose to play god and decide the fate of MY opponent. So not only did you stand by as I took back my APW championship, but you also took it into your own hands when you ''helped'' me keep it in my possession—further fuelling the same evil you love to preach against and pretend your saving the industry from. The truth is, you've got the fans on your side—and in order to channel their ignorance it something positive for you it is your duty to make a devil out of me. It's your duty to make me the bad guy, the evil one—because you are the anti-villain. You are nothing more then a hero-wannabe whom in which is a few dollars short of the spandex and cape. I can see through you kid and you make me fucking sick to my stomach.
Pence; tonight is going to be our night. Tonight the accumulation of all our words, all our previous battles, and all the stories that we have told—comes clashing together. After all the time you spent chasing my tail; it seems as if not even this match is worth it. The truth is; you lose here, and it's the end of the road for you. While you may have been overrated and pampered up by management; they can only give you some many shots until they realize you're useless sack of shit that can't hit his target. Pence, I'm tired of hearing about next time. I'm tired of hearing you run your mouth week after week, hitting the same fucking talk points—tonight is the night you put your words into action, can you do that?
I have, Pence. Everything, I said I was going to do I have done it. I told you that I gave you that championship, and you proved me right when I took it back the minute I had the chance too. Furthermore proving, your nothing more then just a flash in the pan.
Pence, I don't believe you understand the velocity of grounds in which you are so eager to stand on. Pence, you don't know what hell is. You haven't spent a day in hell; never mind a lifetime. To you? Hell is a fancy metaphor; it's a cool word you morons like to throw around with little meaning—but I know what hell is. I looked it's gate keeper in it's eye, it offered me a deal, and I shook it's hand and I have had a lifetime membership to the club, every day since.
Honour isn't going to help you out tonight, Pence. Honour isn't going to stop me from ramming your face off the steel mesh nor dumping you off the top of the cage in hopes that you'd crack your spine, neck, or any major bone that would prevent you from wrestling in my goddamn ring, ever again. The fans aren't going to help you when your bleeding, crawling, and dying—they'll chew popcorn and boo me as they stimulate their eyes, like barbarians they are.
You may WANT this APW world championship, Pence—and I can honestly respect that. Unfortunately, I want it too. I feel as if now have what it takes to evaluate this championship to a level the APW hasn't yet seen. I feel as if I could take this belt; and make it worthy, of my possession, Pence. And for the sake of it's worthy, prestige and beauty—I'm going to keep it around my waist and keep it in good hands. Pence, the entire world saw your title rein despite popular belief—rumor has it if they blinked, they would've fucking missed it!
Truth is Pence; the APW doesn't need you anymore. In fact, they got Micheal Lively all shined up, ready to be thrown in my ring, and fed to the wolves next. You're heading back to the line and I'll hold not a single regret for putting you back there. You've ran your mouth for too long, not to pay the price now. You have got in my way for too long, for me to simply ignore you. This thing between me and you? It fucking ends tonight!
You want to beat me? You better get on your knees and start praying. If you asked me a day ago, I figured God might show you some mercy, but things have changed very quickly. An old familiar part of me is back for what can only be described as a fitting occasion. God is going to look to save you, Pence. God is going to come up behind you and wrap his arm around your throat—and slit your fucking neck, do you understand that? God is going to look down at you and smile as he watches everything you prayed for fade in vein...
I'm your GOD.
I made you Pence, and don't you fucking forget it! You were NOTHING until I threw a world title on your resume. You were NOTHING before I mentioned your name and you sure are NOTHING now. So rather then ranting and raving about how your going to beat me; how about you issue a thank you statement? Why don't you grab your balls and own your man-hood and show praise to the only person that has given you a damn thing, since stepping foot through the APW doors?
I'm not the bad guy here.
Pence, your going to walk in the cell a contender—and I'm going to leave a champion. I don't know in what shape or form, I'll emerge from the depths of hell, but I will stand above it. I will hoist my title in celebration and I will look down upon you...
and shake my head...
You'll feel the IMPACT but you won't survive.
