Post by Level-Two on Nov 28, 2009 19:00:06 GMT -4
''One's'' The Rewind
I closed my eyes.
It felt as if a weight of the world was tied onto my eye-lashes, trying to hold them shut; but to no avail. I could see distorted faces, twisted with frustration but I am unable to hear their screams. Not with a unbearable ringing in my ears beating against my ear drums. It waspain striking blow each time which strikes hitting harder then the last. While my body had been subjected to be destroyed; my heart had been repaired, as I knelt to the floor with my cure in my possession.
I looked towards the announcer; whom wore three or four faces on his shoulders. He lifted the microphone back up to his mouth as he called out the dreaded announcement; my ear drums popped like the building had been struck with a few hundred sticks of dynamite, allowing me to catch the last bit of his dreaded sentence...
''...is the NEW True Expert champion!''
I had done it. I knew deep down I had it in me, I knew that deep down I had not only what it took to beat Georgie Nickles, but to beat her so definitively that nobody would ever dare question who was the best in the business. It was hell fighting through this struggle, it was hell looking the mirror asking yourself if you still got it; breaking yourself down to the point where some young lady, who has fell head over heels in love with her own lime light actually has more to offer within herself, then you do. Any questions I ever had had been put to sleep in one swift moment that I'd knew forever I'd hold onto.
The referee grabbed me by the arm as I struggled to pull myself back up to my feet. The referee reached over, taking back the world championship from out of my grasp as he leaned through the ropes passing the prized possession back to the ring keepers. I could feel myself drifting back, watching in a daze as Georgie Nickles pull her body back up off the mat showing, a sign of resilience that I hadn't seen in anyone, but myself.
My heart quickened in pace as the window of opportunity slowly began to open, with the sunlight shining through saving me from the blinds that concealed darkness. Before I knew it; Georgie Nickles was atop my shoulders and there was only two things, I had thought about. The true experts championship, and planting her poor soul against the canvas before she ends up doing something, I regret.
With my back against the canvas I have a world of thoughts swirling through my head. ''Get up! Get up, and roll her leg over for the three count and seal the deal! Get up, before she decides to first! This is your chance, you've been waiting for it for too long to let it slip away. Do you really think you can just rewind everything, and fix your mistakes? '' Life doesn't work that way, and I know it.
It's as if the hands of time had countered the clock. Each second peeling back in reverse, the crowd on their feet, their hands shaking in anticipation. All I know is; these next three seconds would be the longest three seconds of my entire life.
''It's one thing to fast forward to the part of the movie you love; but it's another thing to rewind it in order to examine why exactly you hold that part so closely to your heart'' – Level-One
As I stepped back into the backseat of the car; I pondered just why the hell this event had to be so far away from the rest of civilization. Though, I knew—despite the issue of the old wear house and the hundreds of rats that accompanied it; one of the biggest matches in my entire career stood right in-front of me. It wore a face of rage and it's hair dangled danger; it's eyes burnt the pages of history, written by the both of us. It didn't scare me or even worry me the least bit, hell, I can't help but return a smile.
''I hope your ready tonight, kid. I'd hate to drive you out here all away out here for nothing'' The driver snarls. It was the second time he spoke, during the entire ride. I'd let him get away with it.
The driver pulled out of a parking lot located not too far away from the warehouse. The competitors would have to engage on a small walk to the vicinity, depending on which route you had taken. The experience would surely be somewhat humbling, but well worth it every step of the way. It wasn't long before we were back on the road, weaving in and out through traffic. Staring out through the window and into the sky, the sun slowly began to peak and the gloomy evening-like-skies, slowly begun to fade.
On the way to the warehouse where the event had been nestled under it's cracked roof top; I thought about the journey that brought me here. What a journey it was. A story of manipulation, threats—something, I'd write and something you'd surely read. If there anything I was going to regret it would be now in a moment of peace and tranquillity. See, it was one thing to look out the window and observe the world you live in and admire it—but it was another to actually step through this window, find yourself lost in the world and grow to quickly hate it. I probably wouldn't have done anything I have done in the past few months; if this night never stood at the end of the road.
If there was one feeling I could describe to you it would be that of anticipation. I knew what this long drive was heading towards—and if I could do it again, I'd face my fears and drive this car backwards.
The bald headed driver leaned over and turned on the radio. A song fading out, quickly takes us to it's chorus. The lyrics picking up in volume with each rotation of the car wheel. With all that had been weighed on my mind; I simply couldn't image the lyrics, or even understand them. Hell, the song could have been played in reverse and I wouldn't be able to tell the slightest difference.
''This is my favourite song'' The driver whispered to himself mimicking the lyrics.
This was going to be a long ride; I reminded myself. And I knew the only way I could make everything worth it and justify everything I have done—was to win the title of True Experts championship. To find a piece of gold that has been since lost and to exact justice in the hearts of the faithless.
They think I am done; they believe I am finished. And for a second they managed to fool me too. For now, I can't change their mind—or even debate it by the tip of my tongue. All I can do is cherish the moment this car stops and my belt is unbuckled...
Then they shall be reminded.
''Don't you come back without that True Experts title'' I remembered her voice...
''As the sun sets; the night rises. As the night sets; the sun rises. But can darkness rise while the light does?'' -Level-One
Every day of my life has been a fight. The only thing about today, that makes it any different from yesterday, is how hard I must hit to win. The fight begins the second the sun peeks and I step out of bed. I may wear enemies inflictions like a badge upon my chest—but the skin never quite heals the same. I guess it's just a small price I have to pay.
My fists are cracked, swollen and bruised. Slowly, I re-wind the white tape off my fist just as quickly as I taped them up, exposing you to this reality. I stretch my hand and a jolt of shooting pain rumbles through my bones. I shadowbox with myself, trying to distract myself from the pain—wounds of self infliction tends to be the easiest of pain to swallow...
You can control that.
Isn't that what we all are looking for? In a world so big, with so many individuals with their own intentions, most of them which infringe on your own—control seems to be the only sane solution. I've controlled Georgie Nickles emotions; torquing the pressure up, with her uncle in between the guillotine begging at my mercy. I created the cause and then like a puppet master yanking her strings I offered Georgie Nickles the simple solution.
Yet, I can't seem control myself.
I sigh placing the white tape back on the counter top. I'd be leaving to catch my ride anytime soon and figured it would be best to suite up before hand. I removed my black shirt, exposing my tattered chest. I ran my hand in the shape of a ''C'' that had been engraved into my chest with a sharp piece of glass as it's pencil. While the scar manages to fool the typical eye, I can feel it there.
''Thanks Crazy Man'' I murmur to myself.
In the midst of taking two swift steps back; I knew going forward that I was in for the fight of my life—and had to weigh the possibility of never returning the same, once again. Battles like these, where the stakes are so high. Battles like these where failure threatens to rear it's ugly head, extend it's dead cold hands, and promises to take you to a place so low, you may never rise again. Some say, I had taken this particular battle too far; but I can't be sure if I took it far enough. With such doubt, I can feel myself being taken aback, until a soft arm makes it way across my neck and a tight embrace takes hold of me.
''Don't you come back without that True Experts title'' Patricia Lewis says.
The scent she carried quickly became an addiction. Not all addictions are healthy, and I doubt this one was any different. If I wasn't in the ring, or sitting down mentally piecing together the outcome of my next match with stark accuracy—I was thinking about her. Still, I can't describe my emotions in relation to her. I know what hate feels like. Hate. I know it better then anyone. Yet, I don't know what love is. Perhaps, I'm showing a few symptoms but there is no diagnosis...
See, this a battle—but a battle on many fronts. An enemy that multiplies and attacks you with everything in every direction. You either get hit and absorb the impact—or you get hit, cover up, and withdraw yourself from mounting an offence of your own. It's a domino effect. A two headed beast. Everything has been put it all on the line—not because Georgie Nickles has what it takes to kill me, but because I have what it takes to kill myself just to live up to my own expectations. This might be the last hug, I ever hold onto.
''Tonight is the big night'' I tell Patricia Lewis who's strands of long blonde hair stick to my face. The warmth between us had felt like the safest place on the planet. The expensive tiles on the bathroom floor, the expensive roof top dangling above us, the large walls that held up the foundation of my temporary home—that could all be gone, stripped down, and we could be standing in an open field with bullets ricocheting off our greatest fears, and I'd still feel just as safe.
''To you it's probably it's probably just another silly championship—but for me, it's a bit more then that''
''Well...Isn't just a silly championship?'' Patricia couldn't help but tease. In theory, maybe it was just a silly championship. In theory, it wasn't much different from the APW championship upon my shoulder—but the reality was that it didn't have to be. The True Experts title could be made out of a tin can, strung by a ripped strap and spray painted gold—the history behind the title is what made it special.
''The True Experts championship is something special. It takes the best men and women scattered across the world to a common ground. Despite all our differences, our attitudes, our cultures and our beliefs—we all want the same thing''
''Look at you...'' Patricia said softly, as her hands slowly untangled themselves around my neck and our warm embrace had became undone. ''You really want this don't you? I can see it in your eyes, Lester...''
''I'm sorry'' I apologize. Patricia Lewis nodded her head up and down softly, slipping her hands into her tight fitting blue jeans. She was beautiful. Even her black tank top complimented her flawless body, and the sun light bouncing off the side of her face truly emphasized her natural beauty. How can someone so mean, vicious, and ugly—even befriend a girl like that? Maybe, just maybe I'm not a bad guy after all.
''It's okay, really. My father has been in his coma for awhile now—all the crying, praying, the whole ten yards I have done already. To me, he's been dead for a long time'' Patricia Lewis said before we found ourselves both taking steps backwards. ''I understand if you can't make it, Lester. I wish you were there but I know how long you've been waiting for this match. As a matter of fact, you wouldn't shut up about it''
''I wish I could be there. I never really knew your father; but he was fighter. He put his life on the line when his country came calling. Seems like a much more noble cause then beating a few faces in for money and recognition and dubbing it all as entertainment. A sick entertainment—one the manages to appeal to me, regardless''
A moment of silence followed. The only sounds that can be heard are the shuffling of our feet. I knew I had a dilemma in front of me—or well, at least what should be a dilemma. The truth was I wasn't going to miss this match for anything and the truth hurt. Through the hall way, we went, until we found ourselves in the living room suite, seated side by side on a sofa I rarely sat on myself.
''It's almost as if I owe you this sacrifice. It's been awhile since I have given a damn thing back to anyone. I take. I take. And I take from this world until my hands are full, and I can't carry anymore...'' I tell her nodding off in a display of disappointment with myself.
Perhaps, my perception on life—is all wrong. Maybe this career, this entire wrestling thing, I've taken too seriously. I've devoted too much time, too much effort, and too much of my own soul, all to feel glory of success. I hadn't won a damn thing, before I won my first match.
''I don't want to push anything on you...'' Patricia Lewis says as she sips on a cup of tea. ''Thanks'' Patricia Lewis smiles. I don't know if it was her smile or the steam from her cup of tea—but something had warmed my cold heart. Afraid of falling, the lower rung of the ladder I claim to ascend.
''I just wish I had the power to go back and re-wind the hands of time, you know?'' Patricia Lewis explains while her eyes are painted over in colours of sorrow. ''The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago, and you were with me''
''You know as well as I do Patricia there is no going back. There is no pause button; no restarts, no second tries—it's life'' I explain. Patricia Lewis was a strong young lady. No surprise that she took the death of her father as well as she did. Although it was a moot point, I couldn't imagine doing anything but celebrating the death of my mother. I couldn't feel the pain, Patricia had been feeling—nor could I feel the pain, I have inflicted on the families of my rivals. Am I still human?
Patricia slowly got up from the sofa and waved her goodbye (or perhaps a hello) as her feet carried her behind herself. I watched her every step of the way, with each step—I bring myself closer to a self admission that I may just be in love. Though, by the time she sits beside me and I am forced to choose between her and the title of the True Expert in a grand battle that awaits me...
I've already accepted my fate; no going back now.
The door closed.
''It's one thing to tell a story; it's another to know the story so well you can close your eyes, and tell it all backwards''-Level-One
Writers block. With so much on my mind, you'd think that it wouldn't be a problem airing my thoughts out on a piece of blank paper; waiting to get the first scoop on the insights of my mind. Writing had been the most effective escape for me—I could express my thoughts without being judged, laughed at or called a dubbed a crazy man who belongs in a straight jacket.
Well, this paper wasn't empty and my writers block had been overcome hours ago. I can't help but stare at the scribblings on the once blank piece of paper, thinking about what I had just wrote. It felt good. It felt like liberation. It felt like I had got the weight of the entire world off my shoulders. I remembered; that's why I write.
Flipping the page backwards; I read the following:
Please, Georgie. If the words you speak are the least bit true; and I fail on our special night—I beg of you, not to show me the same mercy, I've shown your uncle. I beg of you; not to just beat me, but to kill. That rage, that anger, that frustration? That's there for a reason. Two reasons. Pick your poison. Drink it if it'll kill either of us, any faster.
Though, I beg of you not to take this important revelation out of context. My ability to see this not as an opportunity, but what is owed to me—gives me the strength I need to win. No longer am I Lester Only, the hopeful wannabe world class superstar. I am Level-One and I AM a world class superstar—and if I can't live up to my own ability and self set goals—then my life is no longer worth living.
You know, I can't say if I had the choice; I'd be myself again. For I don't know how it is to be you. Perhaps, being miserable isn't as bad as the definition makes it out to be. Perhaps, feigning jealousy is exactly what I need to conjure up a smile everyday, and pretend that everything is OK in my own flawed life. Perhaps, living the normal life—is the only life that is actually worth living.
The truth is; wrestling, has become apart of me. The only part of me I understand. The only part of me I can control. The only part of me—that makes me the man the entire world knows me as. No longer is it special. No longer is it a privilege or a grand opportunity of mine. A fighter, it's who I am. What I've become. And the only thing, I'll ever be to you.
I'll never feel the nerves of heading down the ramp, towards the big ring, with a crowd of blood thirsty fans again. I'll never fail to express my words wielding a microphone, ever again. I'll never know how it feels to be broken, how it feels to not just lose—but not even come close. And winning a match, will never feel as good as winning my first match, first main-event, and first world championship...
This is what makes it special.
If I could; I probably wouldn't do this all over again.
Slowly, I dropped the paper onto the table and simply stared up at the clock. I knew I had a long day ahead of me when I tilted my head and looked up at the clock perched up onto of the living room wall. The clock slowly turned it's hands back; to my eyes, it was nothing more then an optical illusion. Nine-eight-seven...
I found myself in my bed with the alarm clock playing an obnoxious chorus in my ear drums. The time on the clock flashes, with urgency. It was seven in the morning. I sighed, closed my eyes, and hit the snooze button.
''Two more minutes'' I muttered, just before the phone rang in which I had already, dozed off too.
''It's all nothing, tonight. You make sure your ready. You want that True Experts championship? Then go out and get it, playboy! You know deep down within yourself, you aren't going to accept anything less then success. Ask yourself, how much do you want it? Because if you don't; they'll be someone else in line who does. There's no going back. No seconds chances. Get it right!'' A voice shouted on the other end before promptly coming to an end.
''This is Lester Only; leave your message after the beep''
BEEP.
I opened my eyes.
''My words are true so true... You could listen to them backwards; and still hear the SAME thing'' Level-One
Tonight, everyone will learn a lesson. Tonight, everyone will learn to cherish the moments they still have to hold onto. For this is not a movie. You cannot pause. You cannot fast forward your way through life, nor can you rewind the tape back...
Rewind the tape back...
And you, Georgie Nickles? You'll realize that your time as the queen of all experts, has expired. You'll realize that you never should have got comfortable with my true experts championship. You'll realize that you never should have looked down upon me—and questioned every last fucking bit of my history, blood, sweat, and tears!
In a weird way...we both will have something to gain. I'll realize from this day forward; that every opponent standing in front of me has the potential to pull an upset. Every opponent standing in front of me on the experts stage has the ability to shock the world, to bring out a fight within them, that they themselves never knew they had.
I know this isn't going to be easy; for either of us. When I'm standing in the ring, seeing you walk in the champion, with my title strapped around your shoulder—the glow reminding me of what I once had; I'll have to truly face my past failure. But when the bell rings and you are left empty handed, covered neck deep in the shit you spoke; you'll realize that you have lost, too.
It's one thing to win the title; and it's another thing to successfully defend it. Last year, I showed the entire world the heart that I wear as name tag. I pulled double duty, nearly killing myself in the process and successfully retained the title of the True Expert with the defeat of Scorpio only to go on and lead my heritage and pride to victory, moments later in a double main-event. Never in my life can I re call a moment, so climatic.
See, I feel like I have been ripped off. That I have had something stolen from me. Keaton Saint, served nothing more then a self-sacrificing scape goat, whom nearly killed himself despite walking away with the victory. It makes me sick to see you come in only to pick up the scraps, and take what's mine. Make no mistake about it; your victory was earned. At the end of the day, you walked out the winner—but between me and you? You haven't won a damn thing.
Georgie; I beg of you just to open your eyes long enough to see just how much I want this. It's clear to me, you don't. Instead of embracing the pain I extracted out of your uncle; you bare hard feelings towards me. Well, I am NOT sorry. And while I can't simply become you, in fear of cutting myself—I simply do not know how much that True Experts title means to you. I'm sure, it looks good on you, that it's a nice accessory to accompany an outfit of yours—but I can't imagine you want it more then me.
Facts; one so damning, you would think you'd back off the claims of dominance a bit more. I have been in the ring with you before; Georgie, and I've beaten you. I wouldn't have had a second true expert title rein—if you managed to stop me. And sure, it's been and awhile and as time passes, things change; but I know what it took to keep you down, I know what makes you tick, and I know how to walk away with victory held high above my head. Trust me, I've been here before...
How about the fact that lately, Georgie Nickles hasn't been very, True Expert worthy as of late? I mean if it wasn't any clearer that your entire win was a combustible momentum based outcome—then take a trip back to SCCW and follow that gem. For a True Expert, you'd think you could handle two competitors on your own. But, you took the fall. You lost. Your current rein as True Expert champion, still really hasn't kicked off the ground it rests upon, quite yet—but considering you have just a few hours left to do ANYTHING at all, it is certainly sure to be short lived.
You've forgotten what I capable of; you chalked Level-One up, as just a big product of a hype machine. The seed of doubt had been planted in everyone's mind—and as you paraded around The True Expert you helped the seed in everyone's mind including your own grow as you spit upon my memory, with disrespect. Now? Now I'm the underdog. Now it's me that has something to prove. It's me, who has everything to gain—and nothing you can take from me, but an opportunity to redeem myself again.
Bitch please. If it wasn't for the glow of the true experts championship, blinding your vision to see reality, you'd tits would be shaking in your favourite tank top, knowing that you'd be matching up with me. Before, you spoke of me highly. Before, you truly did value the danger in stepping in the ring with me. Either, your a better actress then I originally thought—or you truly have conquered such fears in the process of winning the big one. I know what it was though. You watched me get beat. You watched a snot nosed punk in Keaton Saint, keep me down longer then three seconds. Suddenly, those stories of me being unstoppable—quickly escaped you. Suddenly, you looked at me and thought you could probably do it too. You all fucking did.
Scary. You want to call me out on my bluff, do you? Georgie; if you expected me to run your name through shit, you were sadly mistaken. That's been done already. These facts surround you, they plague your sanity at every turn. Subtly, you seem to avoid them. In fact, you seem to avoid every, last one of them. You know little facts like... you are the better being?
I do not need to heed your words to stake claims of my own. I do not need to hear your opinion to form my own. I'm above the playground tactics, silly girl. I provide you with facts. Truth. Reality. And despite the lies you have been told; you can't debate fact. You can't respond to truth. You can accept it, you can cherish it—or you can live your life a filthy liar, but there is STILL no debating facts.
See, Georgie it's more then just rhetoric. This is bigger then empty promises and dull threats. For the past few months, I have been displaying my desire for that championship—I've shown how far I am willing to go, even if it's reaching into grey areas, 20 feet deep, below the graves of the lawyers and the greasy haired cars salesman, straight into the depths of hell. That's what you call action. You can look down upon it, you can judge it with your dirty tongue, and you can label it anyway you like—it doesn't change the truth.
You want to steal the show? You can have it. You want to blow the roof off the building? I'll let you take the shot. You want impress the world? Hang in as long as you can. However, if keeping the True Experts title around your waist is what you really want, then I'm sorry—because I will NOT let you have it.
You can claim you want this, Georgie—but the truth is after what I've done to your uncle, it's going to be very, very, hard not to go out there with a chip on your shoulder in attempts to exact a bit of justice or even revenge in his name, before your own. Where as I? I only have one goal in mind; walking away with the True Experts championship.
The cooler heads; tend to prevail, Georgie. This isn't the TFWF or the APW; it isn't a weekly match on a weekday, with a quarter of the world watching us. This is the experts; the head honcho of the wrestling industry, where everyone worth a shit is watching. At our skill level? It becomes more then just a game of fancy wrestling moves, weather it be technically sound or an acrobatic showing. With our refusal for failure—it'll take more then just a finisher or two with a fancy name to hold us the fuck down! This is the experts; skill is 99.9% of the battle—but a 100% of the outcomes come from that .1% who dare to want it more.
I bare no crystal ball, but I know how to win. How easily has it escaped the mind of Georgie Nickles that someone could do what I have done? Why is it beyond Georgie Nickles that I was willing to go after important people in her own life? It seems to the feeble minded that I have done myself a disservice. I now have a women with a deathly scorn setting her black eyes upon my burning portrait—but the rage, anger, and frustration was quite what I had been aiming for.
See, hate constitutes emotion. And if the bitch is squinting long enough, she'd realize that I have zero emotion towards her. No hate. No empathy. No love. Nothing. Simply put, Georgie Nickles can't comprehend never mind play the same games, I play. I can't help but watch her like a proud dad watching his daughter make it. Her eyes are slanted with focus; her body picking up the pace, in preparation for this night, and her hopes set sky high—but she doesn't realize this is a battle on which she's already lost.
This match has been a long time coming with the world sitting on the edge of their seat waiting for their final applause. This match has been dubbed a grudge match, a match between to bitter rivals that I can't stand to look at each-other—but please, do not let the fancy promoters clout truth and reality with their fancy marketing tricks. While I doubt me and Georgie Nickles will be proclaiming love for each-other over a candle lit dinner, I certainly do not hate her as much as the world would love me too.
Level-One Versus Georgie Nickles; it's bound to be something, special.
I closed my eyes.
It felt as if a weight of the world was tied onto my eye-lashes, trying to hold them shut; but to no avail. I could see distorted faces, twisted with frustration but I am unable to hear their screams. Not with a unbearable ringing in my ears beating against my ear drums. It waspain striking blow each time which strikes hitting harder then the last. While my body had been subjected to be destroyed; my heart had been repaired, as I knelt to the floor with my cure in my possession.
I looked towards the announcer; whom wore three or four faces on his shoulders. He lifted the microphone back up to his mouth as he called out the dreaded announcement; my ear drums popped like the building had been struck with a few hundred sticks of dynamite, allowing me to catch the last bit of his dreaded sentence...
''...is the NEW True Expert champion!''
I had done it. I knew deep down I had it in me, I knew that deep down I had not only what it took to beat Georgie Nickles, but to beat her so definitively that nobody would ever dare question who was the best in the business. It was hell fighting through this struggle, it was hell looking the mirror asking yourself if you still got it; breaking yourself down to the point where some young lady, who has fell head over heels in love with her own lime light actually has more to offer within herself, then you do. Any questions I ever had had been put to sleep in one swift moment that I'd knew forever I'd hold onto.
The referee grabbed me by the arm as I struggled to pull myself back up to my feet. The referee reached over, taking back the world championship from out of my grasp as he leaned through the ropes passing the prized possession back to the ring keepers. I could feel myself drifting back, watching in a daze as Georgie Nickles pull her body back up off the mat showing, a sign of resilience that I hadn't seen in anyone, but myself.
My heart quickened in pace as the window of opportunity slowly began to open, with the sunlight shining through saving me from the blinds that concealed darkness. Before I knew it; Georgie Nickles was atop my shoulders and there was only two things, I had thought about. The true experts championship, and planting her poor soul against the canvas before she ends up doing something, I regret.
With my back against the canvas I have a world of thoughts swirling through my head. ''Get up! Get up, and roll her leg over for the three count and seal the deal! Get up, before she decides to first! This is your chance, you've been waiting for it for too long to let it slip away. Do you really think you can just rewind everything, and fix your mistakes? '' Life doesn't work that way, and I know it.
It's as if the hands of time had countered the clock. Each second peeling back in reverse, the crowd on their feet, their hands shaking in anticipation. All I know is; these next three seconds would be the longest three seconds of my entire life.
''It's one thing to fast forward to the part of the movie you love; but it's another thing to rewind it in order to examine why exactly you hold that part so closely to your heart'' – Level-One
As I stepped back into the backseat of the car; I pondered just why the hell this event had to be so far away from the rest of civilization. Though, I knew—despite the issue of the old wear house and the hundreds of rats that accompanied it; one of the biggest matches in my entire career stood right in-front of me. It wore a face of rage and it's hair dangled danger; it's eyes burnt the pages of history, written by the both of us. It didn't scare me or even worry me the least bit, hell, I can't help but return a smile.
''I hope your ready tonight, kid. I'd hate to drive you out here all away out here for nothing'' The driver snarls. It was the second time he spoke, during the entire ride. I'd let him get away with it.
The driver pulled out of a parking lot located not too far away from the warehouse. The competitors would have to engage on a small walk to the vicinity, depending on which route you had taken. The experience would surely be somewhat humbling, but well worth it every step of the way. It wasn't long before we were back on the road, weaving in and out through traffic. Staring out through the window and into the sky, the sun slowly began to peak and the gloomy evening-like-skies, slowly begun to fade.
On the way to the warehouse where the event had been nestled under it's cracked roof top; I thought about the journey that brought me here. What a journey it was. A story of manipulation, threats—something, I'd write and something you'd surely read. If there anything I was going to regret it would be now in a moment of peace and tranquillity. See, it was one thing to look out the window and observe the world you live in and admire it—but it was another to actually step through this window, find yourself lost in the world and grow to quickly hate it. I probably wouldn't have done anything I have done in the past few months; if this night never stood at the end of the road.
If there was one feeling I could describe to you it would be that of anticipation. I knew what this long drive was heading towards—and if I could do it again, I'd face my fears and drive this car backwards.
The bald headed driver leaned over and turned on the radio. A song fading out, quickly takes us to it's chorus. The lyrics picking up in volume with each rotation of the car wheel. With all that had been weighed on my mind; I simply couldn't image the lyrics, or even understand them. Hell, the song could have been played in reverse and I wouldn't be able to tell the slightest difference.
''This is my favourite song'' The driver whispered to himself mimicking the lyrics.
This was going to be a long ride; I reminded myself. And I knew the only way I could make everything worth it and justify everything I have done—was to win the title of True Experts championship. To find a piece of gold that has been since lost and to exact justice in the hearts of the faithless.
They think I am done; they believe I am finished. And for a second they managed to fool me too. For now, I can't change their mind—or even debate it by the tip of my tongue. All I can do is cherish the moment this car stops and my belt is unbuckled...
Then they shall be reminded.
''Don't you come back without that True Experts title'' I remembered her voice...
''As the sun sets; the night rises. As the night sets; the sun rises. But can darkness rise while the light does?'' -Level-One
Every day of my life has been a fight. The only thing about today, that makes it any different from yesterday, is how hard I must hit to win. The fight begins the second the sun peeks and I step out of bed. I may wear enemies inflictions like a badge upon my chest—but the skin never quite heals the same. I guess it's just a small price I have to pay.
My fists are cracked, swollen and bruised. Slowly, I re-wind the white tape off my fist just as quickly as I taped them up, exposing you to this reality. I stretch my hand and a jolt of shooting pain rumbles through my bones. I shadowbox with myself, trying to distract myself from the pain—wounds of self infliction tends to be the easiest of pain to swallow...
You can control that.
Isn't that what we all are looking for? In a world so big, with so many individuals with their own intentions, most of them which infringe on your own—control seems to be the only sane solution. I've controlled Georgie Nickles emotions; torquing the pressure up, with her uncle in between the guillotine begging at my mercy. I created the cause and then like a puppet master yanking her strings I offered Georgie Nickles the simple solution.
Yet, I can't seem control myself.
I sigh placing the white tape back on the counter top. I'd be leaving to catch my ride anytime soon and figured it would be best to suite up before hand. I removed my black shirt, exposing my tattered chest. I ran my hand in the shape of a ''C'' that had been engraved into my chest with a sharp piece of glass as it's pencil. While the scar manages to fool the typical eye, I can feel it there.
''Thanks Crazy Man'' I murmur to myself.
In the midst of taking two swift steps back; I knew going forward that I was in for the fight of my life—and had to weigh the possibility of never returning the same, once again. Battles like these, where the stakes are so high. Battles like these where failure threatens to rear it's ugly head, extend it's dead cold hands, and promises to take you to a place so low, you may never rise again. Some say, I had taken this particular battle too far; but I can't be sure if I took it far enough. With such doubt, I can feel myself being taken aback, until a soft arm makes it way across my neck and a tight embrace takes hold of me.
''Don't you come back without that True Experts title'' Patricia Lewis says.
The scent she carried quickly became an addiction. Not all addictions are healthy, and I doubt this one was any different. If I wasn't in the ring, or sitting down mentally piecing together the outcome of my next match with stark accuracy—I was thinking about her. Still, I can't describe my emotions in relation to her. I know what hate feels like. Hate. I know it better then anyone. Yet, I don't know what love is. Perhaps, I'm showing a few symptoms but there is no diagnosis...
See, this a battle—but a battle on many fronts. An enemy that multiplies and attacks you with everything in every direction. You either get hit and absorb the impact—or you get hit, cover up, and withdraw yourself from mounting an offence of your own. It's a domino effect. A two headed beast. Everything has been put it all on the line—not because Georgie Nickles has what it takes to kill me, but because I have what it takes to kill myself just to live up to my own expectations. This might be the last hug, I ever hold onto.
''Tonight is the big night'' I tell Patricia Lewis who's strands of long blonde hair stick to my face. The warmth between us had felt like the safest place on the planet. The expensive tiles on the bathroom floor, the expensive roof top dangling above us, the large walls that held up the foundation of my temporary home—that could all be gone, stripped down, and we could be standing in an open field with bullets ricocheting off our greatest fears, and I'd still feel just as safe.
''To you it's probably it's probably just another silly championship—but for me, it's a bit more then that''
''Well...Isn't just a silly championship?'' Patricia couldn't help but tease. In theory, maybe it was just a silly championship. In theory, it wasn't much different from the APW championship upon my shoulder—but the reality was that it didn't have to be. The True Experts title could be made out of a tin can, strung by a ripped strap and spray painted gold—the history behind the title is what made it special.
''The True Experts championship is something special. It takes the best men and women scattered across the world to a common ground. Despite all our differences, our attitudes, our cultures and our beliefs—we all want the same thing''
''Look at you...'' Patricia said softly, as her hands slowly untangled themselves around my neck and our warm embrace had became undone. ''You really want this don't you? I can see it in your eyes, Lester...''
''I'm sorry'' I apologize. Patricia Lewis nodded her head up and down softly, slipping her hands into her tight fitting blue jeans. She was beautiful. Even her black tank top complimented her flawless body, and the sun light bouncing off the side of her face truly emphasized her natural beauty. How can someone so mean, vicious, and ugly—even befriend a girl like that? Maybe, just maybe I'm not a bad guy after all.
''It's okay, really. My father has been in his coma for awhile now—all the crying, praying, the whole ten yards I have done already. To me, he's been dead for a long time'' Patricia Lewis said before we found ourselves both taking steps backwards. ''I understand if you can't make it, Lester. I wish you were there but I know how long you've been waiting for this match. As a matter of fact, you wouldn't shut up about it''
''I wish I could be there. I never really knew your father; but he was fighter. He put his life on the line when his country came calling. Seems like a much more noble cause then beating a few faces in for money and recognition and dubbing it all as entertainment. A sick entertainment—one the manages to appeal to me, regardless''
A moment of silence followed. The only sounds that can be heard are the shuffling of our feet. I knew I had a dilemma in front of me—or well, at least what should be a dilemma. The truth was I wasn't going to miss this match for anything and the truth hurt. Through the hall way, we went, until we found ourselves in the living room suite, seated side by side on a sofa I rarely sat on myself.
''It's almost as if I owe you this sacrifice. It's been awhile since I have given a damn thing back to anyone. I take. I take. And I take from this world until my hands are full, and I can't carry anymore...'' I tell her nodding off in a display of disappointment with myself.
Perhaps, my perception on life—is all wrong. Maybe this career, this entire wrestling thing, I've taken too seriously. I've devoted too much time, too much effort, and too much of my own soul, all to feel glory of success. I hadn't won a damn thing, before I won my first match.
''I don't want to push anything on you...'' Patricia Lewis says as she sips on a cup of tea. ''Thanks'' Patricia Lewis smiles. I don't know if it was her smile or the steam from her cup of tea—but something had warmed my cold heart. Afraid of falling, the lower rung of the ladder I claim to ascend.
''I just wish I had the power to go back and re-wind the hands of time, you know?'' Patricia Lewis explains while her eyes are painted over in colours of sorrow. ''The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago, and you were with me''
''You know as well as I do Patricia there is no going back. There is no pause button; no restarts, no second tries—it's life'' I explain. Patricia Lewis was a strong young lady. No surprise that she took the death of her father as well as she did. Although it was a moot point, I couldn't imagine doing anything but celebrating the death of my mother. I couldn't feel the pain, Patricia had been feeling—nor could I feel the pain, I have inflicted on the families of my rivals. Am I still human?
Patricia slowly got up from the sofa and waved her goodbye (or perhaps a hello) as her feet carried her behind herself. I watched her every step of the way, with each step—I bring myself closer to a self admission that I may just be in love. Though, by the time she sits beside me and I am forced to choose between her and the title of the True Expert in a grand battle that awaits me...
I've already accepted my fate; no going back now.
The door closed.
''It's one thing to tell a story; it's another to know the story so well you can close your eyes, and tell it all backwards''-Level-One
Writers block. With so much on my mind, you'd think that it wouldn't be a problem airing my thoughts out on a piece of blank paper; waiting to get the first scoop on the insights of my mind. Writing had been the most effective escape for me—I could express my thoughts without being judged, laughed at or called a dubbed a crazy man who belongs in a straight jacket.
Well, this paper wasn't empty and my writers block had been overcome hours ago. I can't help but stare at the scribblings on the once blank piece of paper, thinking about what I had just wrote. It felt good. It felt like liberation. It felt like I had got the weight of the entire world off my shoulders. I remembered; that's why I write.
Flipping the page backwards; I read the following:
Please, Georgie. If the words you speak are the least bit true; and I fail on our special night—I beg of you, not to show me the same mercy, I've shown your uncle. I beg of you; not to just beat me, but to kill. That rage, that anger, that frustration? That's there for a reason. Two reasons. Pick your poison. Drink it if it'll kill either of us, any faster.
Though, I beg of you not to take this important revelation out of context. My ability to see this not as an opportunity, but what is owed to me—gives me the strength I need to win. No longer am I Lester Only, the hopeful wannabe world class superstar. I am Level-One and I AM a world class superstar—and if I can't live up to my own ability and self set goals—then my life is no longer worth living.
You know, I can't say if I had the choice; I'd be myself again. For I don't know how it is to be you. Perhaps, being miserable isn't as bad as the definition makes it out to be. Perhaps, feigning jealousy is exactly what I need to conjure up a smile everyday, and pretend that everything is OK in my own flawed life. Perhaps, living the normal life—is the only life that is actually worth living.
The truth is; wrestling, has become apart of me. The only part of me I understand. The only part of me I can control. The only part of me—that makes me the man the entire world knows me as. No longer is it special. No longer is it a privilege or a grand opportunity of mine. A fighter, it's who I am. What I've become. And the only thing, I'll ever be to you.
I'll never feel the nerves of heading down the ramp, towards the big ring, with a crowd of blood thirsty fans again. I'll never fail to express my words wielding a microphone, ever again. I'll never know how it feels to be broken, how it feels to not just lose—but not even come close. And winning a match, will never feel as good as winning my first match, first main-event, and first world championship...
This is what makes it special.
If I could; I probably wouldn't do this all over again.
Slowly, I dropped the paper onto the table and simply stared up at the clock. I knew I had a long day ahead of me when I tilted my head and looked up at the clock perched up onto of the living room wall. The clock slowly turned it's hands back; to my eyes, it was nothing more then an optical illusion. Nine-eight-seven...
I found myself in my bed with the alarm clock playing an obnoxious chorus in my ear drums. The time on the clock flashes, with urgency. It was seven in the morning. I sighed, closed my eyes, and hit the snooze button.
''Two more minutes'' I muttered, just before the phone rang in which I had already, dozed off too.
''It's all nothing, tonight. You make sure your ready. You want that True Experts championship? Then go out and get it, playboy! You know deep down within yourself, you aren't going to accept anything less then success. Ask yourself, how much do you want it? Because if you don't; they'll be someone else in line who does. There's no going back. No seconds chances. Get it right!'' A voice shouted on the other end before promptly coming to an end.
''This is Lester Only; leave your message after the beep''
BEEP.
I opened my eyes.
''My words are true so true... You could listen to them backwards; and still hear the SAME thing'' Level-One
Tonight, everyone will learn a lesson. Tonight, everyone will learn to cherish the moments they still have to hold onto. For this is not a movie. You cannot pause. You cannot fast forward your way through life, nor can you rewind the tape back...
Rewind the tape back...
And you, Georgie Nickles? You'll realize that your time as the queen of all experts, has expired. You'll realize that you never should have got comfortable with my true experts championship. You'll realize that you never should have looked down upon me—and questioned every last fucking bit of my history, blood, sweat, and tears!
In a weird way...we both will have something to gain. I'll realize from this day forward; that every opponent standing in front of me has the potential to pull an upset. Every opponent standing in front of me on the experts stage has the ability to shock the world, to bring out a fight within them, that they themselves never knew they had.
I know this isn't going to be easy; for either of us. When I'm standing in the ring, seeing you walk in the champion, with my title strapped around your shoulder—the glow reminding me of what I once had; I'll have to truly face my past failure. But when the bell rings and you are left empty handed, covered neck deep in the shit you spoke; you'll realize that you have lost, too.
It's one thing to win the title; and it's another thing to successfully defend it. Last year, I showed the entire world the heart that I wear as name tag. I pulled double duty, nearly killing myself in the process and successfully retained the title of the True Expert with the defeat of Scorpio only to go on and lead my heritage and pride to victory, moments later in a double main-event. Never in my life can I re call a moment, so climatic.
See, I feel like I have been ripped off. That I have had something stolen from me. Keaton Saint, served nothing more then a self-sacrificing scape goat, whom nearly killed himself despite walking away with the victory. It makes me sick to see you come in only to pick up the scraps, and take what's mine. Make no mistake about it; your victory was earned. At the end of the day, you walked out the winner—but between me and you? You haven't won a damn thing.
Georgie; I beg of you just to open your eyes long enough to see just how much I want this. It's clear to me, you don't. Instead of embracing the pain I extracted out of your uncle; you bare hard feelings towards me. Well, I am NOT sorry. And while I can't simply become you, in fear of cutting myself—I simply do not know how much that True Experts title means to you. I'm sure, it looks good on you, that it's a nice accessory to accompany an outfit of yours—but I can't imagine you want it more then me.
Facts; one so damning, you would think you'd back off the claims of dominance a bit more. I have been in the ring with you before; Georgie, and I've beaten you. I wouldn't have had a second true expert title rein—if you managed to stop me. And sure, it's been and awhile and as time passes, things change; but I know what it took to keep you down, I know what makes you tick, and I know how to walk away with victory held high above my head. Trust me, I've been here before...
How about the fact that lately, Georgie Nickles hasn't been very, True Expert worthy as of late? I mean if it wasn't any clearer that your entire win was a combustible momentum based outcome—then take a trip back to SCCW and follow that gem. For a True Expert, you'd think you could handle two competitors on your own. But, you took the fall. You lost. Your current rein as True Expert champion, still really hasn't kicked off the ground it rests upon, quite yet—but considering you have just a few hours left to do ANYTHING at all, it is certainly sure to be short lived.
You've forgotten what I capable of; you chalked Level-One up, as just a big product of a hype machine. The seed of doubt had been planted in everyone's mind—and as you paraded around The True Expert you helped the seed in everyone's mind including your own grow as you spit upon my memory, with disrespect. Now? Now I'm the underdog. Now it's me that has something to prove. It's me, who has everything to gain—and nothing you can take from me, but an opportunity to redeem myself again.
Bitch please. If it wasn't for the glow of the true experts championship, blinding your vision to see reality, you'd tits would be shaking in your favourite tank top, knowing that you'd be matching up with me. Before, you spoke of me highly. Before, you truly did value the danger in stepping in the ring with me. Either, your a better actress then I originally thought—or you truly have conquered such fears in the process of winning the big one. I know what it was though. You watched me get beat. You watched a snot nosed punk in Keaton Saint, keep me down longer then three seconds. Suddenly, those stories of me being unstoppable—quickly escaped you. Suddenly, you looked at me and thought you could probably do it too. You all fucking did.
Scary. You want to call me out on my bluff, do you? Georgie; if you expected me to run your name through shit, you were sadly mistaken. That's been done already. These facts surround you, they plague your sanity at every turn. Subtly, you seem to avoid them. In fact, you seem to avoid every, last one of them. You know little facts like... you are the better being?
I do not need to heed your words to stake claims of my own. I do not need to hear your opinion to form my own. I'm above the playground tactics, silly girl. I provide you with facts. Truth. Reality. And despite the lies you have been told; you can't debate fact. You can't respond to truth. You can accept it, you can cherish it—or you can live your life a filthy liar, but there is STILL no debating facts.
See, Georgie it's more then just rhetoric. This is bigger then empty promises and dull threats. For the past few months, I have been displaying my desire for that championship—I've shown how far I am willing to go, even if it's reaching into grey areas, 20 feet deep, below the graves of the lawyers and the greasy haired cars salesman, straight into the depths of hell. That's what you call action. You can look down upon it, you can judge it with your dirty tongue, and you can label it anyway you like—it doesn't change the truth.
You want to steal the show? You can have it. You want to blow the roof off the building? I'll let you take the shot. You want impress the world? Hang in as long as you can. However, if keeping the True Experts title around your waist is what you really want, then I'm sorry—because I will NOT let you have it.
You can claim you want this, Georgie—but the truth is after what I've done to your uncle, it's going to be very, very, hard not to go out there with a chip on your shoulder in attempts to exact a bit of justice or even revenge in his name, before your own. Where as I? I only have one goal in mind; walking away with the True Experts championship.
The cooler heads; tend to prevail, Georgie. This isn't the TFWF or the APW; it isn't a weekly match on a weekday, with a quarter of the world watching us. This is the experts; the head honcho of the wrestling industry, where everyone worth a shit is watching. At our skill level? It becomes more then just a game of fancy wrestling moves, weather it be technically sound or an acrobatic showing. With our refusal for failure—it'll take more then just a finisher or two with a fancy name to hold us the fuck down! This is the experts; skill is 99.9% of the battle—but a 100% of the outcomes come from that .1% who dare to want it more.
I bare no crystal ball, but I know how to win. How easily has it escaped the mind of Georgie Nickles that someone could do what I have done? Why is it beyond Georgie Nickles that I was willing to go after important people in her own life? It seems to the feeble minded that I have done myself a disservice. I now have a women with a deathly scorn setting her black eyes upon my burning portrait—but the rage, anger, and frustration was quite what I had been aiming for.
See, hate constitutes emotion. And if the bitch is squinting long enough, she'd realize that I have zero emotion towards her. No hate. No empathy. No love. Nothing. Simply put, Georgie Nickles can't comprehend never mind play the same games, I play. I can't help but watch her like a proud dad watching his daughter make it. Her eyes are slanted with focus; her body picking up the pace, in preparation for this night, and her hopes set sky high—but she doesn't realize this is a battle on which she's already lost.
This match has been a long time coming with the world sitting on the edge of their seat waiting for their final applause. This match has been dubbed a grudge match, a match between to bitter rivals that I can't stand to look at each-other—but please, do not let the fancy promoters clout truth and reality with their fancy marketing tricks. While I doubt me and Georgie Nickles will be proclaiming love for each-other over a candle lit dinner, I certainly do not hate her as much as the world would love me too.
Level-One Versus Georgie Nickles; it's bound to be something, special.
