Post by Level-Two on May 21, 2010 21:49:12 GMT -4
''One's'' Family Bloodlines (4)
''So what are you going to do about it?'' She asks.
The weight of the world was sitting in the grips of my hands under the guise, of a thin, grey, old age newspaper. I scanned over the front page, once, then twice. And by the third time, I convinced myself I hadn't seen what I knew I saw—despite, formulating the title in big, black, bold Arial font which read;
APW STAR; LESTER ONLY'S MOTHER TO GIVE TWO HOUR LONG INTERVIEW
To a blind eye such a thing would be merely, harmless. To a second eye, perhaps even juvenile. To my eyes? A fucking nightmare. A can of worms, sealed away, buried twelve foot deep into the earth's soil meshing where the lawyers lay, made it's way back to the surface with the lid no where to be found. The only conclusion was simple; those worms will escape.
I can't allow that to happen. No, not now. The media, like vultures, have been looking to tear me down ever since I lost my APW world championship, to Pence Weatherlight and more ammunition will surely, have me out gunned. My mother was an opportunist. She showed her face at the right time, long enough to serve as the distraction to which I'd take my eyes off my game. It gave her the opportunity to throw a monkey wrench in my plans for world domination... or rather, the domination of a wrestling empire which I had under my finger tips.
Still, it wasn't a surprise. Most would call something like this, betrayal—but she's never, ever stood by my side and if she had ever had my back, it was wielding a 3 inched blade waiting for the right time to strike. It's amazing, she hadn't tried it any sooner; I almost wished she would have. I can't handle the suspense...
I can't allow her to do this. To sit on television and spew her lies about how horrible of a son I was with no reputation of my own voice. They have already painted me as the bad guy. The one in the wrong, my word against hers—means nothing. And even if she should tell the truth about my child hood and the scars she has inflicted upon me, nobody else can see or feel... it'll only give the world full of vultures more to feast, on.
Men, like Pence Weatherlight more talking points to add onto the ones he already replays on loop, each time he opens up his filthy mouth to speak about me. It'll give cowards like Bryan Payne, something to smirk, point, and laugh about. Lastly, it'll give some, psychiatrist stooge the golden ticket to deem me mentally unfit and lock me away in the Mental Asylum, once and for all...
I may talk to myself, but I'm not crazy.
''Maybe she's changed...'' I said wanting to believe my own lie to myself. Though, the voice in my head was a piece of me and she could tell when I was bluffing, there was no fooling her—not now, not ever.
''There's a tough road ahead for you...'' She replied with a sense of satisfaction in her tone. At the very least, she was being honest.
''I thought you said everything was going to get easier with you around?'' I responded, annoyed. I already, had enough on my plate. Bryan Payne? Remember? She obviously, didn't see him a big as a threat as I did... which isn't saying, much.
''Oh, make no mistake about it... it is much easier with me around. You couldn't do this without my help, but you don't expect me to do everything for you do you?'' She teased.
''Nope...'' I flipped the page of the newspaper and shook my head, side to side. ''Apparently, nothings for free...''
''Except Canadian Health Care...'' Sarcastically, she replied. ''Are you sure Bryan Payne, doesn't apply?''
''Yeah, he's from Japan. It's a shame because he'll need it after I'm through with him...'' I said, flipping back to the front page.
''And before you get to Bryan Payne, you need to deal with her...'' The voice in my head reminds me as I clinched my teeth scanning the headline once again. There was no more time for denial and she was, right.
''You know my life was so much better when I thought she was dead. A whore addicted to liquor, sliced and diced placed in a black garbage bag, and thrown into a dumpster or a deep river. How she managed to survive out here all this time, amazes me...''
''Tell me how you really feel...''
''...and all I hear from my brother is that she's, okay. She's rehabilitated. Fucking, bullshit! There is no such thing, no... not when you're as fucked up as us...''
''That's right...'' The voice in my head responded with a clear bias of approval. Dare I say it, she sounded actually proud of me. It would be a first.
''Hell, even if I could change, I wouldn't. You don't change especially when your an, Only. When you are an Only, you only have two options in life. You fall and you stand down, or you fall and pretend your standing, while your on your ass. When you are an Only, there is no such thing as good luck. No such thing, as good will. It's curses. It's pain. It's misery. And you can either let it consume you, whole... or you can make something, of it.''
A short pause.
''I'm the Only, who made something of it. My brother is a fucking cripple. My mother is a whore. And my father is a criminal, wearing an orange jump suit in quite possibly, the coldest and most rural part of this entire planet, removed from the rest of us filthy creatures living in a cage labelled ''freedom''. And me? I'm a fighter. I'm worth, something. Maybe, not worth much... maybe, I'm only something special in the eyes of millions of blood sucking vultures and human like creatures; but I am still something, amongst this filth...''
''Wonderful...'' She cheers on.
''And that's what that championship, means to me. It separates me from the rest of them. Right now, there is nothing but flesh and bones that separates me from, Bryan Payne while me and Pence Weatherlight stand worlds apart. And I'm going to be damned if I let anyone, ANYONE!, at all get in my way and stop me from living out my potential and ultimately, being the best I can be. Not even my own, mother...''
''You know what this means, right?'' Excitement builds in her voice as she led towards the anticipated conclusion...
''You must kill her...''
The critics say my life is more like a dramatized television show, then anything else and I find it hard to disagree with such an assessment. Though, to me... this was as real as it gets. My actions had consequences. And while death wasn't something, you wouldn't hesitate to put over me—it was the last resort.
''I can't do that...'' I responded, showing my hand. I'm bluffing. I'm really, crazy enough to do it. After all, a gun rack with a clerk was only steps away from me and the last resort, seemed to be the easy way out.
''What about the blood on my hands?'' I asked her trying to make an excuse for myself and for all the right reasons. I couldn't be a APW world champion, in jail. ''I mean think about it, I would easily be the first suspect if anything happened to her—especially, at such a rather convenient time. President Bigg's won't hesitate to suspend me if it means keeping the image of the APW, squeaky clean. I can't take that risk...''
She sighed; ''Who said you had to do the dirty work?''
''You mean, like, call a hit man or something?'' I said, whispering as the gun-clerk looked at me fairly suspiciously as I lowered my head down towards floor.
''No, I mean set someone up'' She laughs her devilish laugh; obviously pleased by her pre-game strategy.
''Don't you remember what happened last week? You cut Bryan Payne, wide open. He's a walking DNA clinic. All you need to do is ''accidentally'' plant a trace of Bryan Payne's blood at the scene and you get away with murder. Mr. Payne? Not so lucky...''
''I don't know about that...''
''Well, you better figure this out. That bitch is going to have to bite the dirt, regardless or she will catch up to you and have the final laugh. I say, why not kill two birds with one bullet...''
The smell of gun powder now was stronger then ever; it's as if, I had already pulled the trigger—and maybe in a sense, I did.
''It's just that... I want to beat, Bryan Payne. He in custody, is just going to have our match called off. I have something to prove to him and everyone else. And that's I'm the baddest...''
She cut me off.
''...motherfucker in the alley, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, wake up. A wrestling grudge match is one thing, setting up your rival to take a fall and potentially spend the rest of his life in jail is absolutely golden. You can't let up this opportunity. Besides, even you said it yourself... it's personal now. You do this and you let the whole fucking world know what you are about. Ruthlessness...''
''Only, nobody will actually know it's me?''
''Not quite'' She admitted casually. ''The fans, the roster....they'll know, because they understand what you're about. The law? That runs on facts. And that's facts are... Bryan Payne's blood was found at the scene of your dead mother!''
''Seems open to shut to me...'' I said, taking the time to think about it. ''Wait. Why, would Bryan Payne want to do something in the first place? I'm no lawyer but surely, motive is a big piece of the puzzle when it comes to things like this.''
''Do I have to do everything for you?'' She asked in annoyance.
''Your mother mysteriously dying, just days before your match with Bryan Payne with Bryan Payne's DNA on the scene? It's quite obvious to anyone with a brain, Bryan Payne just took things too far and decided to get even in a way, he couldn't imagine inside a wrestling ring...''
''Your good...''
''I'm fucking great!'' She's quick to correct. ''So, let's do this?''
I nodded my head up and down and proceeded to take two big steps forward towards the gun clerk at the counter. The man had a thick orange beard which matched his thick orange eyebrows. He was fairly, slender and wore an odd straw head a top of his ragged, tangled hair. One could imagine he was a ladies man... within the trailer park community.
''Aye, you done with that phone conversation?'' The clerk asked me with a thick, southern accent.
''Phone? What do you mean?'' I asked out loud as he looked at me confused. I closed my eyes and ran my hand over the back of my head; knowing, exactly what he was referring too. ''...Oh, right. Yes, I was just talking to my friend about a story, she's writing. Crazy imagination she has...''
''Uh-huh...''
''Yeah, uh... it's amazing how small they make those phone ear pieces! I'm surprised you caught a glimpse of mine...''
''I ain't see no such thing. I just figured you were on the phone with someone, unless you is one of those crazies runnin' around town the locals be talkin' about...''
''Ha! You mean, like... talking to myself? Yeah, right!'' I said, awkwardly shaking my head back and forth. Eager to change the subject, I pointed up at the gun rack with price tags, tied around the triggers.
''I'm looking for a gun''
''Well, ain't you at the right place...'' The clerk said turning to his gun supply, in pride. ''What type of gun is you lookin' for today, son?''
''I don't know. Um, something... small''
''You like huntin'?'' He asked me holding up, a large hunting rifle.
''No... Something, smaller... you know, pocket size''
''Pocket size? You ain't them thugs packin' heat around here, are you?'' The clerk says slowly lifting the gun in position and towards my face. ''Cause' good ol' grampa Joe just got his operation shut down when some wetback came rolling up over the border and fooled him into selling him, a little somethin somethin, under the table...''
The clerk said as I stared down the nose of the barrel, slowly holding raising my hands up in the air to show him I wasn't a threat—but the gun clerk didn't let up for a second.
''Ain't nobody takin' my guns! Nu-uh! Not over my dead body! And you can take that straight to the president!''
I took a gulp of my own, Silvia which was enough to clear my cracking throat.
''Well, before you blow my head off—if it's any constellation, I am actually a Canadian and we have priministers not presidents...'' The clerk stared at me blankly for a few seconds, before a smile crept across his face, eventually breaking into a fit of laughter resulting in the remove of the gun from my face.
''A Canadian!? I haven't seen one of those in, years!'' The clerk says as he tilts his head back and continues his loud obnoxious laugh, only stopping to rub salt into the wound. ''A Canadian in a gun shop!? I betcha almost wet your pants, you silly canuck!''
''Look man, I'm not fucking around. Get me that gun...'' I said, pointing a a small black hand gun only further embarrassing myself, by not knowing the model. Maybe, he was onto something. He grabbed the gun off the shelve and slammed it on the table in-front of me.
''Now this maybe over-kill considering down in Canada about the only thing you have to kill, is a fly...'' The clerk says doubling over the counter in laughter as I regretfully, scour my wallet for cash handing it over to him.
''Yeah, I'm about to kill a real bugger...'' I said as he took hold of the cash, counting it out and then dumping it into his safe. Still, laughing he lifted up the gun and showed it to me.
''Now listen up, canuck... what you are gonna want to do is pull this trigger right here. And that's going to fire off the shot, okay?'' The clerk says, tauntingly, having the time of his life. I grabbed the gun out of his hand, put it to his face and squeezed the trigger...
He laughed even harder.
''You are gonna have to get those bullets at walmart...'' He barely manages to get his words out through his constant cackling.
''Fuck you!'' I replied as I headed towards the door; gun in hand.
It was only going to get worse from here on out. Though, it wouldn't be so funny.
With only a few days away from a big match up, at Mayhem it was important to be prepared both mentally and physically for the battle that lies ahead. Logically, I should be training. Pushing myself through a rather generic work out, running laps and jumping jacks for the whole world to see how much I wanted it; but I didn't have such a luxury, not now.
So, while Bryan Payne was sweating bullets; I was preparing to shoot them. I spent the entire day at the range, perfecting my aim for the kill shot. The two extremes was a sharp contrast. Perhaps the training regiment Bryan Payne's on as we speak shows the world that he wants it a little bit more then me but I knew that wasn't the case. I had my eyes set on the prize. The APW world championship. Win or lose, Bryan Payne wasn't going to give me back my prized possession. Win or lose, Bryan Payne wasn't going to open up a can of worms filled with dark secrets of my past I had hoped to take to my grave.
I, unlike, Bryan Payne—is thinking long term.
Some say, it's a fatal mistake. Never, ever should you look past your opponent. Well, I am. Legitimately, I knew I was better then Bryan Payne and didn't need a wrestling match to prove it. Sure, it would have been nice... but Bryan Payne, doesn't deserve it. Bryan Payne, is no less of a criminal then Pence Weatherlight. And so, if Bryan Payne needs to spend the rest of his life in Siberia wrestling for a chicken sandwich for the murder of my mother... then so be it.
I'm going to get at Bryan Payne in the worst way, possible and I won't have a single regret about it. I've learnt a long time ago that there is no such thing as innocence and we are all guilty. Life isn't fair and it certainly, isn't nice. Nothing at all ever comes to you instead you must go out and grab it by the throat; even if it means hurting everyone in your path to do so. Bryan Payne simply is my pawn, in a much larger game that isn't so black and white.
Bryan Payne's training regiment will never show him anything, he can use in the real world. Outside, the wrestling ring, where 90% of the battles are really won. Bryan Payne, is a fool playing a fools game. This nonsense about Morales, respect and ethics is nothing more then a illusion. I have done nothing different then Bryan Payne, in the last several weeks other then beating him to the punch, in doing it all.
There is no such thing as self defence; just a preemptive attack. I am getting the vulture; before the vulture finds a way to get me.
Bryan, I win.
''Are you nervous?'' The voice in my head asks me, tauntingly.
''On a night like this? No, of course not...'' I replied. I was telling the truth. It really, was an amazing night. A soft, chilly breeze, flew through the fairly empty, city streets. The tone of the night was softly lit up, by the various shops on the city block.
''Is there any method to your madness at all?'' She asked as I took a slow, cautious approach down the city side walk, keeping my eyes and ears open all the while. It was important to stay alert. I knew she was somewhere close.
''Yeah. Every two weeks today, my brother receives a check for his accident. Ever since, she's returned they've been close, again. If I know my mother as the scum bag whore she is—she'll be picking up, his cheque personally to deliver it back to him...''
''Heh. Seems like a nice gesture...''
''On the surface. It's obvious when he cashes it; she gets a piece of the pie as small as it is. She's always been a leech. I'm just surprised she never tried to come after my money...''
''Like you need something so trivial anyways...''
''I don't; but regardless, I wouldn't give her a red cent. Nothing. Anything, she's for, I'm against. My mother makes Pence Weatherlight seem like a half decent bitch, even when he's PMS'ing...''
''Lovely...'' The voice in my head responded with disgust. ''Now please, for the hate of god find this women and get this over with...''
I searched. Street corner to corner and back-to-back alley ways. It was harder then I thought. And on more then one occasion, I even confronted the wrong person.
''Oh, my bad...'' I remember saying to the startled women as I slipped my pistol back into the inside of my jacket pocket. Minutes became hours, upon hours. Until, I realized... I was wrong. Maybe, she didn't come for that cheque. Maybe, my brother realized how much a horrible women she was and cut her off once and for all. Maybe, for the first time in my life everything worked itself out for the best without a need for my intervention...
''Who are you trying to, kid?'' The voice in my head snaps me back into reality. For a second, I forgot this is real life. Nothing's that easy.
''Fuck this. It all seems much easier to just shoot, Bryan Payne and get this thing over with once and for all. I mean, he's the one I need to face in a few days, not my mother...''
''Your right...'' She says, in a defeated tone.
''We should just give it up, right now. We should roll over and die in a cesspool of our failure and call it, life. Because, you know... not having to face Bryan Payne in a few days, is a far better alternative to facing that, hideous mother of yours for the rest of your goddamn life on this disgraceful planet along with all the harm she has caused you! FORGET ABOUT BRYAN PAYNE!''
''Well, it's hard to when you put it like that...''
''I don't think you have a choice, Level-One...'' The voice in my head concludes, as I lay my eyes on my mother.
There she was; walking right past me. She didn't notice me... and it wasn't a surprise. She only ever cared about herself, herself and booze.
Like, a lion I sprung into action following her into a back alley way. She looked back, once or twice, but I ducked my head and focused on the ground, before taking to big steps and placing the gun to the back of her head, my finger snaking around it's trigger finding it's home.
I had her, beat. All there was left was to pull the trigger... it's amazing, I hadn't already given the years worth of history, behind this one moment in time. And before I did, I found myself back tracking, to a week ago—where everything, made so much more sense.
~Flash back~
Siberia was a world away from home. The trip was always guaranteed to be a miserable ride—assuming, you were lucky enough to even survive it. Visiting, the prison camp always came with it's own consequences, including the very real possibility, of death. The prison camp had some of the most hardened criminals in the world. The unique position of the camp, made it hard for the savvy criminals to escape and even harder for an outsider to break in. Anyone, daring to escape the traditional way, Hollywood movies depict would freeze to death and perhaps never be found.
Very little few criminals held at Siberia's prison camp, have managed to escape. My father, being one of them. It's no secret that Siberia officials have heard the rumours through the grape vine—the ones, detailing my assistance in Rashid Only, my fathers—escape from Siberia prison in late May, 2009... almost a year from today. After being locked up in Siberia's prison for over two decades. So, whenever I had been granted access to the prison, surveillance was increased on both myself and my father. If it wasn't for my notoriety, chances are I would've never received the nod from the Warden to gain access to the prison camp in the first place.
It would be nearly impossible for me to repeat what I did a year ago; and now that my father has returned to his cold, empty, cell in Siberia—chances are he'll never see the light a day, again—especially, as his inevitable death penalty, looms over his head like a dark cloud on a rainy day. While I initially brought my father freedom, I can't help but feel I'm also the reason he's back here, locked up behind bars.
Don't I deserve to be here too?
Regardless, I returned to Siberia to visit my father once again—a week away, from my match with Bryan Payne. In reality, I should be back home—in the gym or at the very least, mediating in a yoga class mentally preparing myself, like I would before any big match... but I have never been one to take the traditional route. Besides, it's not everyday you get the opportunity, to see your father locked up, millions of miles away, in quite possibility the most notorious prison grounds in the world. What separated Siberia's prison from any other old, labour ground is it's gladiatorial like battles held on it's arenas. It's champion called himself, Hannibal Cage for god sakes. Not sure, if he actually devours brain matter but that's besides the point...
Take what you want from it; but every time you set foot on these grounds—it reminds you about being a fighter. I'm no different from these guys, other then... I still have my illusion of freedom. I sleep, eat, drink, shit and piss when I want too—and my personal cage, is bigger then a two by four room. I, like these prisoners had a duty to fight. It was a source a pride; and if they didn't, they'd be absolutely nothing around here. No, different from how things went in the APW. And even if you weren't fighting for pride, you were contractually bound to fight for something, even if it was nothing at all...
I saw the look these warriors face as I walked past their dirty, cells. Grilling me, as if I was a piece of stake to be swallowed whole. The look in their eyes told me that this was their territory, and if I had any thoughts of all in making it mine, I'd have to kill them for it. Lucky, for us all, I don't desire their territory, and they can keep their life's. After all, I'm only here for one thing...
To see the counter part of my flesh and blood.
''I thought I told you not to come back here until you had the title of the True Expert in your possession...''
I was never one to keep promises; but he was right. Though, regaining the title of the True Expert could perhaps be impossible without the wisdom of my old man. Sure, he knew nothing about me—but the more I knew about him, perhaps the more I could learn about myself. It was always about becoming a better man for me, in a non-traditional fashion. Quicker, stronger, and even more ruthless... really, harnessing every fibre of my being and living up to my potential; above and beyond all I have and imagined I could accomplish.
The True Expert championship, was well out of my sights now. Without, regaining the APW world championship such possibilities could present themselves to me, even if I wanted too. And the old man wasn't getting any younger. Time has never been on my side and I wasn't going to wait for it to finally change it's mind.
''Yeah, dad... but sometimes you need to defy order to restore it''
I said holding the phone to my ear as I took a seat in the metal chair; my dad was staring right at me. His face, ragged and worn—it's only been a few months since I saw and he looks much older then he ever had. Re-adjusting to the prison life after being a free man for several months, obviously took a toll on him.
''So, how have you been holding up since your return here?''
''I'm doing well...A few jailhouse scrambles here and there, nothing out of the norm...'' My father lied.
''Really? At your age, you never seemed like a scrapper'' I replied with a heightened sense of intrigue as I repositioned myself in the uncomfortable chair.
''The secret has been out, son. These people know who you are and what you've done. They figure, getting back at your old man, elevates them around here and maybe even get them a spot in the weekly bouts held around here...''
''Sorry...''
''Hell, you don't have anything to worry about. If anything positive came out of it is that the crazies are running around here are chasing the True Expert's title around here and not too invested in your old man, here...'' He said as he ran his hand up his arm and to a tattoo he had engraved on his shoulder of a skull.
''And I may be old, but young enough to still handle them''
''You're an, Only'' I pointed out to his annoyance.
''And that's nothing to be proud, of son. We're a rare breed and for a good reason. If there was any more of us, we might just set the earth up in flames... it ain't big enough for us'' He makes clear as I nodded my head up and down.
''Well, on the positive side; I don't expect to ever have any kids...'' I said, sighing into the phone. ''They would deserve something more the what you gave me growing up, and the deserve less, if nothing at all of whatever I have to offer them...''
''How's the lady?'' He asked me, seemingly ignoring my last statement but I didn't dread on it. After all, it was the truth.
''Things are going good... for now''
''If I know anything about a women is that you better make that for now, into a forever—because neither she or you will ever live that down'' He said, with a solid respectful nod. ''And hows my old women doing?''
I turned away from him and shook my head back and forth, before slowly, giving him the attention he deserves.
''I don't know...''
I really didn't and most of the time, she didn't even cross my mind. Things were easier that way. Besides, I had more important things to hate—like Pence Weatherlight and his number one fan Bryan Payne that of course, not including newly crowned President Biggs and his new regime of terror. It was if there wasn't enough hate to go around...
Though, I knew someday I'd have to confront this once and for all... and I couldn't imagine it ever being pretty, even when I tried. My father raised an eyebrow in suspicion as if he expected a different response from me.
''You know, you can't hate your mother forever, kid...''
''I can damn well try!'' I shot back, sharply—my father simply, nodded his head up and down modestly.
''Dad... I'm tired of the world acting like I owe something to that bitch. I'm tired of hearing, my brother tell me I should forgive my mother. I am tired of people who have never lived a day in my shoes—tell me how to react and behave. Fuck them all, dad! To hell with every last one of them!'' I said, pausing momentarily...
''...are you one of them?''
My father sighed deeply.
''Son, you know what hate has done for me, don't you? It's gotten me here and I'll die here...'' I cut my father off.
''You didn't answer my question...'' I said, impatiently, dying to know the answer.
''All I am saying, is that you need to come to terms with the past and move on into the future—you can't ignore it all and pretend it doesn't bother you. For at some point in your life, the moment will present itself... and you won't be able to hold it in any longer. You'll be in the same situation as I am; defining his entire life in a single moment...''
Silence followed. We both knew what the moment came down too.
''...when you stabbed Joel Bryant's father to death...'' I stated the obvious. My father nodded his head up and down as if I really need the conformation.
''I don't want to see you end up here, on my side of the glass, son. You are better then that...''
''I'm an Only?''
''That's right. You aren't perfect; but unlike me, your mother and brother, you've managed to do something with your life. You managed to do something, we couldn't. Dare I say it son, you have the potential to finally take this family name somewhere beyond the obituary...'' My father said his voice sharp and to the point.
I couldn't tell if he was telling the truth, I sure as hell didn't believe it.
''Level-One is the success story, dad. Lester Only, is dead... and he has been for sometime now and he isn't ever coming back'' I told my father who didn't seem to understand, I understood. If I was in his shoes, shackled by chain, I probably wouldn't either.
''Two minutes!'' shouted the warden.
''Well, it looks like it's about time...'' My father said grilling the warden, unhappy by the last minute call out.
''Yeah, seems like time flew by, huh?'' I said, mourning the announcement. I spent a whole lot more time coming down here then actually, spending time with my father... but beggars can't be choosers. I'd be lying though if I said, I didn't ask myself if the trip was worth it; though, it probably still was.
''Look, kid. I know you're stubborn as hell and nothing I can say or have said here today, will change your mind one bit—but I want you to promise me one thing''
''Old man, you should know I am no good with promises...'' I said leaning forward tapping the bullet proof glass.
''I cant seem to keep them''
I sighed deeply, for whatever reason, he ignored the simple fact. As if, he expected me to come through for him one day. Surely, he's in for a world of disappointment—as if, I didn't already bring him enough.
''I want you to promise me no matter what when you know you're about to do something stupid, something I know you'll do and something that will get you in here with me... you think twice about it and you remember what I have said here today...''
''Times up!'' the warden announces as he nods his head, signalling for prison security. He waited for an answer but got none. Two large security guards picked up my father from his chair and pulled him up to his feet. Failing to remove his eyes from the class wall separating the two of us; the guards tugged on his arms but he refused to go. He struggled with the guards, until they physically pulled him from the room, as his eyes told a story of desperation...
He wanted to hear those words from his son; but not even I could give him that. Too selfish. Too greedy. Too stupid...
''I promise...''
I whispered myself; knowing, that I would never break my own promise and let myself down. Greed, appealed to both me and her, this way.
''...I'll think about it...''
~Flash back end~
How true that was; because there my mother was walking down that empty, sidewalk with no one around here in the ear shot, well, nobody except me. There she was with a bag of groceries in her hand walking, as if she granted innocence... without a care in the world. As if, she forgot about the years of abuse, the torture and all the lonely nights I had spent, becoming the man I am today...
The man standing behind his own mother with the cold barrel of a gun being pressed up against her skull. Everything, had come full circle now. And this was the defining moment my dad had been talking about, just a week ago. Perhaps, he sensed something like this coming on... but never would he anticipate that I would actually do it. Actually, pull the trigger...
It was then; thinking about pulling the trigger her groceries hit the concrete. Fuck. What did I do? Wait, false alarm... she's still standing here, shaking so much, I could feel her moving the gun and in turn my hand. I wasn't shaking. No nerves. In fact, I can't feel a thing physically, though, my mind is moving in double time. So, fast I find it hard to keep up with my thoughts...
I can't say, I didn't keep my own promise. I did think about it. I thought about what my dad had to say... and I really did take it to heart—but as time goes on, I feel the circumstances building up and getting to me, as if there really is no way out. I can't run back. I've came too far. I've searched for so long... and I have her right where I want her. In my, mental asylum... I have already pulled the trigger. She's already, dead dancing in hells fire with the devil.
''Please don't do it!'' She whined.
Did she know it was me? Doubt it. Chances are she thinks this is a stick up... should she see my face? A split second before she dies, it would really set in—but could I do that? This seemed hard enough and killing someone while staring into their eyes, allows them a glimpse into your soul. I couldn't let her in there...
Nobody goes there.
In my free hand I held a t-shirt with my name on it. An obvious calling card at first site. Though, what was on the t-shirt was far more important, Bryan Payne's dried blood. Surely, it would chip like paint and leave a trace at the scene... but what if they found her body, quick? Blood doesn't dry up, that quick.
I'm thinking too much. Goddamn it. I needed to get this over with before anyone stumbled upon the murder scene. If I was going to let her off; I would have to do so now, sooner then later... her cries are getting louder and will begin to alert someone, at some point.
''I'm going to shoot you...''
The warning only made her scream even louder... fuck, why would I tell her that?
''Pull the trigger, now!'' The voice my head tells me.
''Okay...'' I tell myself.
''On the count of three...
...one...
...two..''
''PULL IT NOW!'' the voice in my head screams, even louder to couple my mothers. For a split second I froze...
and then I pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
Three times. And for once in my life; things haven't been quieter. As if, everything had stopped. As if, life paused, took a break and was never going to resume, again. I wouldn't mind. It had been the best feeling in my life...
I watched her; she crawled, stumbled, and made her way out of the alleyway, and into the main road, avoiding screeching traffic.
The gun didn't go off.
I tucked the gun in my pocket and calmly, walked away from the scene.
''She lived...'' the voice in my head reminds me.
''And now things, only get messier from here on out...''
How right I was? Time will tell.
Level-One vs. Bryan Payne... the real match everyone has been waiting for. Seriously. If you ask anyone with an iota of goddamn common sense (anyone NOT wearing a Pence Weatherlight t-shirt) you'll realize that they bought tickets or are ordering this pay-per-view from the comfort of their homes for this match rather then buying it for the cannon fodder main-event; where Pence Weatherlight retains his title because John Green has been and always will be, a one hit—one win wonder who never fails to run out of steam when he needs it the most.
Still, at the very least John Green is a has been where Bryan Payne is a never been. I, like everyone else bought into the hype from the experts circle only to realize just how big of a flop, Bryan Payne has turned out to be. One would then ask, why would I decide to waste my time with Bryan Payne? Well, it's simple... I'm giving him an opportunity to prove himself. To prove to the entire world HE wasn't all hype and no bite and he really can do half of the shit he has claimed he could do—despite on two separate occasions falling short and proving to the APW audience that his word means very little...
Now if my response seems a little late to Bryan Payne's most recent, empty claims—it's because I have just gotten done listening to them. Apparently, the same people who produce Pence Weatherlights 2 hour babble on about nothing, marathon also handles Bryan Payne's dirty work too. It's hard not to associate both Bryan Payne and Pence Weatherlight when it comes to such aesthetics and even harder to ignore their tendencies of man-on-man love. Fuck sakes. You all saw what happened when Pence Weatherlight tea-bagged Bryan Payne for a three count, effectively killing all hype into Bryan Payne's APW rein, weeks in. They shook hands and nearly sealed the deal on the lips...
No respectable fighter ''shakes'' a hand of a man who just beat him, cleanly in the middle of the ring. No fucking pride. On the other hand (no pun intended) if Bryan Payne wants to shake my hand and lick his blood off my boots after I stomp a mile wide hole in his ass; that's fine with me. It isn't me who is going to come out looking like the big, fat bitch, wearing a short skirt with semen seeping out of her ass crack. It'll be you, cunt. Though, I'm sure you wouldn't mind. You have zero standards.
See, today, I'm going to do things a little different. Hell, I might just pay homage to Pence Weatherlight with this one. I am not going to sit here and come up with brand, new talking points nor waste my time out witting you and being original. Fuck that. You talked a lot of shit. You spewed a whole lot of garbage... and usually, I ignore it. I dust it off my shoulder and I avoid the hour long debate... but not this time.
I'm going to bitch slap the fuck out of you with your own words. Your own empty, retarded statements you simply expect me to ignore and allow them to go unchecked. The last thing, I want—is for some idiot on a social networking website, associating with a bunch of losers in his internet posse—to think that you got one over on me.
''LULZ, BRYAN PAYNE OWNED LEVEL-ONE11!!111!!''
First off; your show sucks. Shockingly, the first time I have actually heard about it—is right after Pence Weatherlight introduced his shitty talk show with John Green as his ''special'' (emphasis on special) guest. What a crock of shit that was, huh? All it was missing, was a DNA test and the words ''You are not the father'' because it was quite possibly the trashiest thing on television since Jerry springer. Yes, it's as bad hybrid of shit talk shows upon shit talk shows and even then some. Sadly, enough... it actually has an audience for it. I call it; the APW fan base.
The basic concept of your stupid ass show with horrible ratings is to go over twitter comments and face book pages, skimming a bunch of idiots comments—half of them which are trolling you when they claim their a fan? Brilliant. But hey, I'm not one to talk. I had to resort to USTREAM just last week to shoot a promo... the only thing was, I wasn't actually proud about it and to this day, I won't be able to live it down... but you? You roll in shit and hail the stench. Disgraceful.
So, after a lengthy introduction and fast forwarding past all the garbage we finally find out you again, have no standards for not setting your sights on APW championship. Uh, hello, numb nuts? If you aren't here for an APW world championship, then what the fuck are you here for? Wait. You don't think I am planning to stomp your teeth in—because I would feel honoured to do so, do you? Beating you, is just another piece to match my already, extensive and colourful portfolio titled; Why Level-One deserves a title shot... nothing more.
I'm sick and tired of guys like you, who waltz in here with one thumb in their mouth with the other inserted in the ass-hole, expecting everything to just fall out of sky and fall in their laps—where THEN they decide to run with it. And to be fair, John Green didn't set any good examples when he pinned a limp-dicked Micheal Lively, for three seconds and got handed the word. However; the whole: I'll do what I can do and it's up to Biggs to HAND OVER my opportunity, schtick is a bunch of stomach turning bullshit.
You either want it or you don't. If you want it? You go out and you get it.
Not everyone is as complacent as you and your little friends, Bryan. And to be quite honest; it's no surprise they've made yet another cameo. Considering, neither of them are relevant to the APW—I assume it's them leeching off your name for a bit of the spotlight. What? AC Thunder no longer can campaign on those one-on-one epics we had back in the day? Has the dark horse Georgie Nickles, finally ran out of horsepower? Well, fuck... if they are running around next to you playing second fiddle delivering the punchlines to your horrible joke-set ups, they must be.
The next portion of this hour long, babble on... is predictions with Bryan Payne! Who the fuck did you pay, to ask such a question? Shit, I know I'm an egotistical bastard... but what you did here was just self-indulgent. I can imagine Micheal Lively crying as we speak because you finally one upped him in this department and that ass hole as spent enough tears already, after his horrific losing streak—but I'm sure all that makes your ego, even larger. This world is filled with a lot of board, lonely, people...
...but honestly, there is absolutely nobody on this planet gives a fuck about what you think—never mind about Jimmy fucking Jazz and Crazy Joe and how much of a bore fest something so horrible will come to fruition. I don't care if you can bend spoons, read cards, and can tell the future from a crystal ball... NOBODY GIVES A FLYING FUCK, BRYAN. The only damn thing, anyone is making a prediction on anyways, is how long it's going to take me to bash your skull in and put you out of your misery, everything else is a footnote.
Still, I absolutely love the fact that you conveniently, decided to leave our match out of the betting pool. See, it's safe to bet twelve Twinkies, a beer, and some loose change on John Green coming up short against Pence Weatherlight; yet, you won't put down your house, ten grand, and your own mother on the line when it comes dealing with me. You wouldn't hesitate to stake the claim that you are the better man; but you won't back it up. Insert, Mayhem.
It's a good thing, I decided to hold you accountable for your words—because the sheeple hanging onto every last one of them, obviously are incapable of doing so. Apparently, not even YOU know what you are here to do in the APW... because it certainly, had jack shit to do with me. When you decided to waltz into the APW; you were immediately, tossed into the pool of mediocrity—getting your rocks off on three men at once. No homo? Nonetheless, it was clear—you coming here to ''expose'' me wasn't a priority...
Until I bashed your skill in. Maybe, I hit you so hard you conveniently have forgotten your initial mission statement but that's understandable. But it's clear to those who actually back check facts—that I wasn't your target until I painted myself in red and white. Unless, you and your 70% prediction rate... knew I was going to attack you before I even decided too? Hey, whatever floats your boat... or sinks it for that matter. At the end of the day, it makes me wonder what exactly DID you come to the APW for? It certainly had zero to do with me... and more to do with your butt buddy, Pence Weatherlight.
Still, not everything you said was made up, off the top of your head and under false pretences! If you were right about anything, it's that I am desperate. I'll do anything to get a title shot—beating you, isn't the quick fix but it certainly is a step up that ladder. I've shown how desperate I am for a shot at regaining whats my, time and time again... and if you're looking to fill more space, you can go over it again, next time. I'm desperate and your complacent. I'll do whatever it takes to win, where-as you are invested in a bid to show the world how much of a nice guy you are and how you play fair... let's see where that gets you, Bryan—because if where you stand is any indication of anything, it's obvious it hasn't gotten you very far.
I don't need to ''beat'' you to receive a title shot... which IS owed to me. If Pence Weatherlight and Slade Craven can receive, damn near immediate re match clauses, then I am entitled to one too. Sorry, if I'm too logical and reasonable for you. This schtick where you pretend to be more important then you really are to me, is starting to get annoying. Perhaps, your strategy is working. You put me half to sleep and you have me agitated. Bravo...
As annoying as you are however; your words speak for themselves. I mean, here you are spending five minutes channelling the thoughts and emotions of my former competitors—emotions that include fear, intimidation and thoughts of self-dissatisfaction, yet coincidentally, Bryan Payne is heading into the match one on one with Level-One for the first time? Let me guess; you interviewed my last few opponents and now is suddenly, a scholar on in-ring psychology? I mean, seriously... you can't make these things up.
Now call me koo-koo for coca puffs all you want, Bryan... but is there just a CHANCE... a slim chance that you know how my opponents felt because YOU too are actually feeling the fear, the intimidation and self dissatisfaction before our big match up? Are you venting, because you can't get past the fact that history, doesn't back up your claims when you, like a hundred men before you have said...
''I will beat you''
...only to come up short?
You're scared shit-less, boy. I can hear it in your voice. I watch you paint these grand ol' pictures about defeating, Level-One... and it's straight out of dream street. You look to your friends, AC Thunder and Georgie Nickles and you ask them if you of all people, can overthrow the big bad giant in Level-One... they assure you can, despite not believing it themselves. You don't even believe you can beat me; yet you expect ME to believe otherwise?
I've been doing this longer then you. I've been here before. Unstoppable has been wiped off my forehead. The words True Expert, removed from my back. Hell, maybe even the title of being the best goddamn wrestler to have ever lived, is growing a little dull on the front of my chest... but my flesh and bones is still in tact with no signs of slowing down. I'm still here. And I'm still standing...
You either prove me otherwise or shut the fuck up.
You're looking for the easy way out. A quick one-two-three with a handful of tights where you would then proceed to ride your win over me, above and beyond the clouds made out of cotton candy... well, sorry to break it to you. Win, lose, draw... the arena could fucking cave in on us and we both could die under the rebel... shit, you could be the sole survivor, it doesn't fucking matter, Bryan.
I'll always be better then you.
You'll never become the True Expert. You'll never grace the hall of fame. You'll never accomplish half of what I have accomplished and there is nothing you can do, or say at Mayhem to change that.
Beating me though? It's possible. I mean... we've both seen it happen before. But YOU defeating ME?
Don't count on it.
After all; I've felt the Payne before...
it tickled.
''So what are you going to do about it?'' She asks.
The weight of the world was sitting in the grips of my hands under the guise, of a thin, grey, old age newspaper. I scanned over the front page, once, then twice. And by the third time, I convinced myself I hadn't seen what I knew I saw—despite, formulating the title in big, black, bold Arial font which read;
APW STAR; LESTER ONLY'S MOTHER TO GIVE TWO HOUR LONG INTERVIEW
To a blind eye such a thing would be merely, harmless. To a second eye, perhaps even juvenile. To my eyes? A fucking nightmare. A can of worms, sealed away, buried twelve foot deep into the earth's soil meshing where the lawyers lay, made it's way back to the surface with the lid no where to be found. The only conclusion was simple; those worms will escape.
I can't allow that to happen. No, not now. The media, like vultures, have been looking to tear me down ever since I lost my APW world championship, to Pence Weatherlight and more ammunition will surely, have me out gunned. My mother was an opportunist. She showed her face at the right time, long enough to serve as the distraction to which I'd take my eyes off my game. It gave her the opportunity to throw a monkey wrench in my plans for world domination... or rather, the domination of a wrestling empire which I had under my finger tips.
Still, it wasn't a surprise. Most would call something like this, betrayal—but she's never, ever stood by my side and if she had ever had my back, it was wielding a 3 inched blade waiting for the right time to strike. It's amazing, she hadn't tried it any sooner; I almost wished she would have. I can't handle the suspense...
I can't allow her to do this. To sit on television and spew her lies about how horrible of a son I was with no reputation of my own voice. They have already painted me as the bad guy. The one in the wrong, my word against hers—means nothing. And even if she should tell the truth about my child hood and the scars she has inflicted upon me, nobody else can see or feel... it'll only give the world full of vultures more to feast, on.
Men, like Pence Weatherlight more talking points to add onto the ones he already replays on loop, each time he opens up his filthy mouth to speak about me. It'll give cowards like Bryan Payne, something to smirk, point, and laugh about. Lastly, it'll give some, psychiatrist stooge the golden ticket to deem me mentally unfit and lock me away in the Mental Asylum, once and for all...
I may talk to myself, but I'm not crazy.
''Maybe she's changed...'' I said wanting to believe my own lie to myself. Though, the voice in my head was a piece of me and she could tell when I was bluffing, there was no fooling her—not now, not ever.
''There's a tough road ahead for you...'' She replied with a sense of satisfaction in her tone. At the very least, she was being honest.
''I thought you said everything was going to get easier with you around?'' I responded, annoyed. I already, had enough on my plate. Bryan Payne? Remember? She obviously, didn't see him a big as a threat as I did... which isn't saying, much.
''Oh, make no mistake about it... it is much easier with me around. You couldn't do this without my help, but you don't expect me to do everything for you do you?'' She teased.
''Nope...'' I flipped the page of the newspaper and shook my head, side to side. ''Apparently, nothings for free...''
''Except Canadian Health Care...'' Sarcastically, she replied. ''Are you sure Bryan Payne, doesn't apply?''
''Yeah, he's from Japan. It's a shame because he'll need it after I'm through with him...'' I said, flipping back to the front page.
''And before you get to Bryan Payne, you need to deal with her...'' The voice in my head reminds me as I clinched my teeth scanning the headline once again. There was no more time for denial and she was, right.
''You know my life was so much better when I thought she was dead. A whore addicted to liquor, sliced and diced placed in a black garbage bag, and thrown into a dumpster or a deep river. How she managed to survive out here all this time, amazes me...''
''Tell me how you really feel...''
''...and all I hear from my brother is that she's, okay. She's rehabilitated. Fucking, bullshit! There is no such thing, no... not when you're as fucked up as us...''
''That's right...'' The voice in my head responded with a clear bias of approval. Dare I say it, she sounded actually proud of me. It would be a first.
''Hell, even if I could change, I wouldn't. You don't change especially when your an, Only. When you are an Only, you only have two options in life. You fall and you stand down, or you fall and pretend your standing, while your on your ass. When you are an Only, there is no such thing as good luck. No such thing, as good will. It's curses. It's pain. It's misery. And you can either let it consume you, whole... or you can make something, of it.''
A short pause.
''I'm the Only, who made something of it. My brother is a fucking cripple. My mother is a whore. And my father is a criminal, wearing an orange jump suit in quite possibly, the coldest and most rural part of this entire planet, removed from the rest of us filthy creatures living in a cage labelled ''freedom''. And me? I'm a fighter. I'm worth, something. Maybe, not worth much... maybe, I'm only something special in the eyes of millions of blood sucking vultures and human like creatures; but I am still something, amongst this filth...''
''Wonderful...'' She cheers on.
''And that's what that championship, means to me. It separates me from the rest of them. Right now, there is nothing but flesh and bones that separates me from, Bryan Payne while me and Pence Weatherlight stand worlds apart. And I'm going to be damned if I let anyone, ANYONE!, at all get in my way and stop me from living out my potential and ultimately, being the best I can be. Not even my own, mother...''
''You know what this means, right?'' Excitement builds in her voice as she led towards the anticipated conclusion...
''You must kill her...''
The critics say my life is more like a dramatized television show, then anything else and I find it hard to disagree with such an assessment. Though, to me... this was as real as it gets. My actions had consequences. And while death wasn't something, you wouldn't hesitate to put over me—it was the last resort.
''I can't do that...'' I responded, showing my hand. I'm bluffing. I'm really, crazy enough to do it. After all, a gun rack with a clerk was only steps away from me and the last resort, seemed to be the easy way out.
''What about the blood on my hands?'' I asked her trying to make an excuse for myself and for all the right reasons. I couldn't be a APW world champion, in jail. ''I mean think about it, I would easily be the first suspect if anything happened to her—especially, at such a rather convenient time. President Bigg's won't hesitate to suspend me if it means keeping the image of the APW, squeaky clean. I can't take that risk...''
She sighed; ''Who said you had to do the dirty work?''
''You mean, like, call a hit man or something?'' I said, whispering as the gun-clerk looked at me fairly suspiciously as I lowered my head down towards floor.
''No, I mean set someone up'' She laughs her devilish laugh; obviously pleased by her pre-game strategy.
''Don't you remember what happened last week? You cut Bryan Payne, wide open. He's a walking DNA clinic. All you need to do is ''accidentally'' plant a trace of Bryan Payne's blood at the scene and you get away with murder. Mr. Payne? Not so lucky...''
''I don't know about that...''
''Well, you better figure this out. That bitch is going to have to bite the dirt, regardless or she will catch up to you and have the final laugh. I say, why not kill two birds with one bullet...''
The smell of gun powder now was stronger then ever; it's as if, I had already pulled the trigger—and maybe in a sense, I did.
''It's just that... I want to beat, Bryan Payne. He in custody, is just going to have our match called off. I have something to prove to him and everyone else. And that's I'm the baddest...''
She cut me off.
''...motherfucker in the alley, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, wake up. A wrestling grudge match is one thing, setting up your rival to take a fall and potentially spend the rest of his life in jail is absolutely golden. You can't let up this opportunity. Besides, even you said it yourself... it's personal now. You do this and you let the whole fucking world know what you are about. Ruthlessness...''
''Only, nobody will actually know it's me?''
''Not quite'' She admitted casually. ''The fans, the roster....they'll know, because they understand what you're about. The law? That runs on facts. And that's facts are... Bryan Payne's blood was found at the scene of your dead mother!''
''Seems open to shut to me...'' I said, taking the time to think about it. ''Wait. Why, would Bryan Payne want to do something in the first place? I'm no lawyer but surely, motive is a big piece of the puzzle when it comes to things like this.''
''Do I have to do everything for you?'' She asked in annoyance.
''Your mother mysteriously dying, just days before your match with Bryan Payne with Bryan Payne's DNA on the scene? It's quite obvious to anyone with a brain, Bryan Payne just took things too far and decided to get even in a way, he couldn't imagine inside a wrestling ring...''
''Your good...''
''I'm fucking great!'' She's quick to correct. ''So, let's do this?''
I nodded my head up and down and proceeded to take two big steps forward towards the gun clerk at the counter. The man had a thick orange beard which matched his thick orange eyebrows. He was fairly, slender and wore an odd straw head a top of his ragged, tangled hair. One could imagine he was a ladies man... within the trailer park community.
''Aye, you done with that phone conversation?'' The clerk asked me with a thick, southern accent.
''Phone? What do you mean?'' I asked out loud as he looked at me confused. I closed my eyes and ran my hand over the back of my head; knowing, exactly what he was referring too. ''...Oh, right. Yes, I was just talking to my friend about a story, she's writing. Crazy imagination she has...''
''Uh-huh...''
''Yeah, uh... it's amazing how small they make those phone ear pieces! I'm surprised you caught a glimpse of mine...''
''I ain't see no such thing. I just figured you were on the phone with someone, unless you is one of those crazies runnin' around town the locals be talkin' about...''
''Ha! You mean, like... talking to myself? Yeah, right!'' I said, awkwardly shaking my head back and forth. Eager to change the subject, I pointed up at the gun rack with price tags, tied around the triggers.
''I'm looking for a gun''
''Well, ain't you at the right place...'' The clerk said turning to his gun supply, in pride. ''What type of gun is you lookin' for today, son?''
''I don't know. Um, something... small''
''You like huntin'?'' He asked me holding up, a large hunting rifle.
''No... Something, smaller... you know, pocket size''
''Pocket size? You ain't them thugs packin' heat around here, are you?'' The clerk says slowly lifting the gun in position and towards my face. ''Cause' good ol' grampa Joe just got his operation shut down when some wetback came rolling up over the border and fooled him into selling him, a little somethin somethin, under the table...''
The clerk said as I stared down the nose of the barrel, slowly holding raising my hands up in the air to show him I wasn't a threat—but the gun clerk didn't let up for a second.
''Ain't nobody takin' my guns! Nu-uh! Not over my dead body! And you can take that straight to the president!''
I took a gulp of my own, Silvia which was enough to clear my cracking throat.
''Well, before you blow my head off—if it's any constellation, I am actually a Canadian and we have priministers not presidents...'' The clerk stared at me blankly for a few seconds, before a smile crept across his face, eventually breaking into a fit of laughter resulting in the remove of the gun from my face.
''A Canadian!? I haven't seen one of those in, years!'' The clerk says as he tilts his head back and continues his loud obnoxious laugh, only stopping to rub salt into the wound. ''A Canadian in a gun shop!? I betcha almost wet your pants, you silly canuck!''
''Look man, I'm not fucking around. Get me that gun...'' I said, pointing a a small black hand gun only further embarrassing myself, by not knowing the model. Maybe, he was onto something. He grabbed the gun off the shelve and slammed it on the table in-front of me.
''Now this maybe over-kill considering down in Canada about the only thing you have to kill, is a fly...'' The clerk says doubling over the counter in laughter as I regretfully, scour my wallet for cash handing it over to him.
''Yeah, I'm about to kill a real bugger...'' I said as he took hold of the cash, counting it out and then dumping it into his safe. Still, laughing he lifted up the gun and showed it to me.
''Now listen up, canuck... what you are gonna want to do is pull this trigger right here. And that's going to fire off the shot, okay?'' The clerk says, tauntingly, having the time of his life. I grabbed the gun out of his hand, put it to his face and squeezed the trigger...
He laughed even harder.
''You are gonna have to get those bullets at walmart...'' He barely manages to get his words out through his constant cackling.
''Fuck you!'' I replied as I headed towards the door; gun in hand.
It was only going to get worse from here on out. Though, it wouldn't be so funny.
With only a few days away from a big match up, at Mayhem it was important to be prepared both mentally and physically for the battle that lies ahead. Logically, I should be training. Pushing myself through a rather generic work out, running laps and jumping jacks for the whole world to see how much I wanted it; but I didn't have such a luxury, not now.
So, while Bryan Payne was sweating bullets; I was preparing to shoot them. I spent the entire day at the range, perfecting my aim for the kill shot. The two extremes was a sharp contrast. Perhaps the training regiment Bryan Payne's on as we speak shows the world that he wants it a little bit more then me but I knew that wasn't the case. I had my eyes set on the prize. The APW world championship. Win or lose, Bryan Payne wasn't going to give me back my prized possession. Win or lose, Bryan Payne wasn't going to open up a can of worms filled with dark secrets of my past I had hoped to take to my grave.
I, unlike, Bryan Payne—is thinking long term.
Some say, it's a fatal mistake. Never, ever should you look past your opponent. Well, I am. Legitimately, I knew I was better then Bryan Payne and didn't need a wrestling match to prove it. Sure, it would have been nice... but Bryan Payne, doesn't deserve it. Bryan Payne, is no less of a criminal then Pence Weatherlight. And so, if Bryan Payne needs to spend the rest of his life in Siberia wrestling for a chicken sandwich for the murder of my mother... then so be it.
I'm going to get at Bryan Payne in the worst way, possible and I won't have a single regret about it. I've learnt a long time ago that there is no such thing as innocence and we are all guilty. Life isn't fair and it certainly, isn't nice. Nothing at all ever comes to you instead you must go out and grab it by the throat; even if it means hurting everyone in your path to do so. Bryan Payne simply is my pawn, in a much larger game that isn't so black and white.
Bryan Payne's training regiment will never show him anything, he can use in the real world. Outside, the wrestling ring, where 90% of the battles are really won. Bryan Payne, is a fool playing a fools game. This nonsense about Morales, respect and ethics is nothing more then a illusion. I have done nothing different then Bryan Payne, in the last several weeks other then beating him to the punch, in doing it all.
There is no such thing as self defence; just a preemptive attack. I am getting the vulture; before the vulture finds a way to get me.
Bryan, I win.
''Are you nervous?'' The voice in my head asks me, tauntingly.
''On a night like this? No, of course not...'' I replied. I was telling the truth. It really, was an amazing night. A soft, chilly breeze, flew through the fairly empty, city streets. The tone of the night was softly lit up, by the various shops on the city block.
''Is there any method to your madness at all?'' She asked as I took a slow, cautious approach down the city side walk, keeping my eyes and ears open all the while. It was important to stay alert. I knew she was somewhere close.
''Yeah. Every two weeks today, my brother receives a check for his accident. Ever since, she's returned they've been close, again. If I know my mother as the scum bag whore she is—she'll be picking up, his cheque personally to deliver it back to him...''
''Heh. Seems like a nice gesture...''
''On the surface. It's obvious when he cashes it; she gets a piece of the pie as small as it is. She's always been a leech. I'm just surprised she never tried to come after my money...''
''Like you need something so trivial anyways...''
''I don't; but regardless, I wouldn't give her a red cent. Nothing. Anything, she's for, I'm against. My mother makes Pence Weatherlight seem like a half decent bitch, even when he's PMS'ing...''
''Lovely...'' The voice in my head responded with disgust. ''Now please, for the hate of god find this women and get this over with...''
I searched. Street corner to corner and back-to-back alley ways. It was harder then I thought. And on more then one occasion, I even confronted the wrong person.
''Oh, my bad...'' I remember saying to the startled women as I slipped my pistol back into the inside of my jacket pocket. Minutes became hours, upon hours. Until, I realized... I was wrong. Maybe, she didn't come for that cheque. Maybe, my brother realized how much a horrible women she was and cut her off once and for all. Maybe, for the first time in my life everything worked itself out for the best without a need for my intervention...
''Who are you trying to, kid?'' The voice in my head snaps me back into reality. For a second, I forgot this is real life. Nothing's that easy.
''Fuck this. It all seems much easier to just shoot, Bryan Payne and get this thing over with once and for all. I mean, he's the one I need to face in a few days, not my mother...''
''Your right...'' She says, in a defeated tone.
''We should just give it up, right now. We should roll over and die in a cesspool of our failure and call it, life. Because, you know... not having to face Bryan Payne in a few days, is a far better alternative to facing that, hideous mother of yours for the rest of your goddamn life on this disgraceful planet along with all the harm she has caused you! FORGET ABOUT BRYAN PAYNE!''
''Well, it's hard to when you put it like that...''
''I don't think you have a choice, Level-One...'' The voice in my head concludes, as I lay my eyes on my mother.
There she was; walking right past me. She didn't notice me... and it wasn't a surprise. She only ever cared about herself, herself and booze.
Like, a lion I sprung into action following her into a back alley way. She looked back, once or twice, but I ducked my head and focused on the ground, before taking to big steps and placing the gun to the back of her head, my finger snaking around it's trigger finding it's home.
I had her, beat. All there was left was to pull the trigger... it's amazing, I hadn't already given the years worth of history, behind this one moment in time. And before I did, I found myself back tracking, to a week ago—where everything, made so much more sense.
~Flash back~
Siberia was a world away from home. The trip was always guaranteed to be a miserable ride—assuming, you were lucky enough to even survive it. Visiting, the prison camp always came with it's own consequences, including the very real possibility, of death. The prison camp had some of the most hardened criminals in the world. The unique position of the camp, made it hard for the savvy criminals to escape and even harder for an outsider to break in. Anyone, daring to escape the traditional way, Hollywood movies depict would freeze to death and perhaps never be found.
Very little few criminals held at Siberia's prison camp, have managed to escape. My father, being one of them. It's no secret that Siberia officials have heard the rumours through the grape vine—the ones, detailing my assistance in Rashid Only, my fathers—escape from Siberia prison in late May, 2009... almost a year from today. After being locked up in Siberia's prison for over two decades. So, whenever I had been granted access to the prison, surveillance was increased on both myself and my father. If it wasn't for my notoriety, chances are I would've never received the nod from the Warden to gain access to the prison camp in the first place.
It would be nearly impossible for me to repeat what I did a year ago; and now that my father has returned to his cold, empty, cell in Siberia—chances are he'll never see the light a day, again—especially, as his inevitable death penalty, looms over his head like a dark cloud on a rainy day. While I initially brought my father freedom, I can't help but feel I'm also the reason he's back here, locked up behind bars.
Don't I deserve to be here too?
Regardless, I returned to Siberia to visit my father once again—a week away, from my match with Bryan Payne. In reality, I should be back home—in the gym or at the very least, mediating in a yoga class mentally preparing myself, like I would before any big match... but I have never been one to take the traditional route. Besides, it's not everyday you get the opportunity, to see your father locked up, millions of miles away, in quite possibility the most notorious prison grounds in the world. What separated Siberia's prison from any other old, labour ground is it's gladiatorial like battles held on it's arenas. It's champion called himself, Hannibal Cage for god sakes. Not sure, if he actually devours brain matter but that's besides the point...
Take what you want from it; but every time you set foot on these grounds—it reminds you about being a fighter. I'm no different from these guys, other then... I still have my illusion of freedom. I sleep, eat, drink, shit and piss when I want too—and my personal cage, is bigger then a two by four room. I, like these prisoners had a duty to fight. It was a source a pride; and if they didn't, they'd be absolutely nothing around here. No, different from how things went in the APW. And even if you weren't fighting for pride, you were contractually bound to fight for something, even if it was nothing at all...
I saw the look these warriors face as I walked past their dirty, cells. Grilling me, as if I was a piece of stake to be swallowed whole. The look in their eyes told me that this was their territory, and if I had any thoughts of all in making it mine, I'd have to kill them for it. Lucky, for us all, I don't desire their territory, and they can keep their life's. After all, I'm only here for one thing...
To see the counter part of my flesh and blood.
''I thought I told you not to come back here until you had the title of the True Expert in your possession...''
I was never one to keep promises; but he was right. Though, regaining the title of the True Expert could perhaps be impossible without the wisdom of my old man. Sure, he knew nothing about me—but the more I knew about him, perhaps the more I could learn about myself. It was always about becoming a better man for me, in a non-traditional fashion. Quicker, stronger, and even more ruthless... really, harnessing every fibre of my being and living up to my potential; above and beyond all I have and imagined I could accomplish.
The True Expert championship, was well out of my sights now. Without, regaining the APW world championship such possibilities could present themselves to me, even if I wanted too. And the old man wasn't getting any younger. Time has never been on my side and I wasn't going to wait for it to finally change it's mind.
''Yeah, dad... but sometimes you need to defy order to restore it''
I said holding the phone to my ear as I took a seat in the metal chair; my dad was staring right at me. His face, ragged and worn—it's only been a few months since I saw and he looks much older then he ever had. Re-adjusting to the prison life after being a free man for several months, obviously took a toll on him.
''So, how have you been holding up since your return here?''
''I'm doing well...A few jailhouse scrambles here and there, nothing out of the norm...'' My father lied.
''Really? At your age, you never seemed like a scrapper'' I replied with a heightened sense of intrigue as I repositioned myself in the uncomfortable chair.
''The secret has been out, son. These people know who you are and what you've done. They figure, getting back at your old man, elevates them around here and maybe even get them a spot in the weekly bouts held around here...''
''Sorry...''
''Hell, you don't have anything to worry about. If anything positive came out of it is that the crazies are running around here are chasing the True Expert's title around here and not too invested in your old man, here...'' He said as he ran his hand up his arm and to a tattoo he had engraved on his shoulder of a skull.
''And I may be old, but young enough to still handle them''
''You're an, Only'' I pointed out to his annoyance.
''And that's nothing to be proud, of son. We're a rare breed and for a good reason. If there was any more of us, we might just set the earth up in flames... it ain't big enough for us'' He makes clear as I nodded my head up and down.
''Well, on the positive side; I don't expect to ever have any kids...'' I said, sighing into the phone. ''They would deserve something more the what you gave me growing up, and the deserve less, if nothing at all of whatever I have to offer them...''
''How's the lady?'' He asked me, seemingly ignoring my last statement but I didn't dread on it. After all, it was the truth.
''Things are going good... for now''
''If I know anything about a women is that you better make that for now, into a forever—because neither she or you will ever live that down'' He said, with a solid respectful nod. ''And hows my old women doing?''
I turned away from him and shook my head back and forth, before slowly, giving him the attention he deserves.
''I don't know...''
I really didn't and most of the time, she didn't even cross my mind. Things were easier that way. Besides, I had more important things to hate—like Pence Weatherlight and his number one fan Bryan Payne that of course, not including newly crowned President Biggs and his new regime of terror. It was if there wasn't enough hate to go around...
Though, I knew someday I'd have to confront this once and for all... and I couldn't imagine it ever being pretty, even when I tried. My father raised an eyebrow in suspicion as if he expected a different response from me.
''You know, you can't hate your mother forever, kid...''
''I can damn well try!'' I shot back, sharply—my father simply, nodded his head up and down modestly.
''Dad... I'm tired of the world acting like I owe something to that bitch. I'm tired of hearing, my brother tell me I should forgive my mother. I am tired of people who have never lived a day in my shoes—tell me how to react and behave. Fuck them all, dad! To hell with every last one of them!'' I said, pausing momentarily...
''...are you one of them?''
My father sighed deeply.
''Son, you know what hate has done for me, don't you? It's gotten me here and I'll die here...'' I cut my father off.
''You didn't answer my question...'' I said, impatiently, dying to know the answer.
''All I am saying, is that you need to come to terms with the past and move on into the future—you can't ignore it all and pretend it doesn't bother you. For at some point in your life, the moment will present itself... and you won't be able to hold it in any longer. You'll be in the same situation as I am; defining his entire life in a single moment...''
Silence followed. We both knew what the moment came down too.
''...when you stabbed Joel Bryant's father to death...'' I stated the obvious. My father nodded his head up and down as if I really need the conformation.
''I don't want to see you end up here, on my side of the glass, son. You are better then that...''
''I'm an Only?''
''That's right. You aren't perfect; but unlike me, your mother and brother, you've managed to do something with your life. You managed to do something, we couldn't. Dare I say it son, you have the potential to finally take this family name somewhere beyond the obituary...'' My father said his voice sharp and to the point.
I couldn't tell if he was telling the truth, I sure as hell didn't believe it.
''Level-One is the success story, dad. Lester Only, is dead... and he has been for sometime now and he isn't ever coming back'' I told my father who didn't seem to understand, I understood. If I was in his shoes, shackled by chain, I probably wouldn't either.
''Two minutes!'' shouted the warden.
''Well, it looks like it's about time...'' My father said grilling the warden, unhappy by the last minute call out.
''Yeah, seems like time flew by, huh?'' I said, mourning the announcement. I spent a whole lot more time coming down here then actually, spending time with my father... but beggars can't be choosers. I'd be lying though if I said, I didn't ask myself if the trip was worth it; though, it probably still was.
''Look, kid. I know you're stubborn as hell and nothing I can say or have said here today, will change your mind one bit—but I want you to promise me one thing''
''Old man, you should know I am no good with promises...'' I said leaning forward tapping the bullet proof glass.
''I cant seem to keep them''
I sighed deeply, for whatever reason, he ignored the simple fact. As if, he expected me to come through for him one day. Surely, he's in for a world of disappointment—as if, I didn't already bring him enough.
''I want you to promise me no matter what when you know you're about to do something stupid, something I know you'll do and something that will get you in here with me... you think twice about it and you remember what I have said here today...''
''Times up!'' the warden announces as he nods his head, signalling for prison security. He waited for an answer but got none. Two large security guards picked up my father from his chair and pulled him up to his feet. Failing to remove his eyes from the class wall separating the two of us; the guards tugged on his arms but he refused to go. He struggled with the guards, until they physically pulled him from the room, as his eyes told a story of desperation...
He wanted to hear those words from his son; but not even I could give him that. Too selfish. Too greedy. Too stupid...
''I promise...''
I whispered myself; knowing, that I would never break my own promise and let myself down. Greed, appealed to both me and her, this way.
''...I'll think about it...''
~Flash back end~
How true that was; because there my mother was walking down that empty, sidewalk with no one around here in the ear shot, well, nobody except me. There she was with a bag of groceries in her hand walking, as if she granted innocence... without a care in the world. As if, she forgot about the years of abuse, the torture and all the lonely nights I had spent, becoming the man I am today...
The man standing behind his own mother with the cold barrel of a gun being pressed up against her skull. Everything, had come full circle now. And this was the defining moment my dad had been talking about, just a week ago. Perhaps, he sensed something like this coming on... but never would he anticipate that I would actually do it. Actually, pull the trigger...
It was then; thinking about pulling the trigger her groceries hit the concrete. Fuck. What did I do? Wait, false alarm... she's still standing here, shaking so much, I could feel her moving the gun and in turn my hand. I wasn't shaking. No nerves. In fact, I can't feel a thing physically, though, my mind is moving in double time. So, fast I find it hard to keep up with my thoughts...
I can't say, I didn't keep my own promise. I did think about it. I thought about what my dad had to say... and I really did take it to heart—but as time goes on, I feel the circumstances building up and getting to me, as if there really is no way out. I can't run back. I've came too far. I've searched for so long... and I have her right where I want her. In my, mental asylum... I have already pulled the trigger. She's already, dead dancing in hells fire with the devil.
''Please don't do it!'' She whined.
Did she know it was me? Doubt it. Chances are she thinks this is a stick up... should she see my face? A split second before she dies, it would really set in—but could I do that? This seemed hard enough and killing someone while staring into their eyes, allows them a glimpse into your soul. I couldn't let her in there...
Nobody goes there.
In my free hand I held a t-shirt with my name on it. An obvious calling card at first site. Though, what was on the t-shirt was far more important, Bryan Payne's dried blood. Surely, it would chip like paint and leave a trace at the scene... but what if they found her body, quick? Blood doesn't dry up, that quick.
I'm thinking too much. Goddamn it. I needed to get this over with before anyone stumbled upon the murder scene. If I was going to let her off; I would have to do so now, sooner then later... her cries are getting louder and will begin to alert someone, at some point.
''I'm going to shoot you...''
The warning only made her scream even louder... fuck, why would I tell her that?
''Pull the trigger, now!'' The voice my head tells me.
''Okay...'' I tell myself.
''On the count of three...
...one...
...two..''
''PULL IT NOW!'' the voice in my head screams, even louder to couple my mothers. For a split second I froze...
and then I pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
Three times. And for once in my life; things haven't been quieter. As if, everything had stopped. As if, life paused, took a break and was never going to resume, again. I wouldn't mind. It had been the best feeling in my life...
I watched her; she crawled, stumbled, and made her way out of the alleyway, and into the main road, avoiding screeching traffic.
The gun didn't go off.
I tucked the gun in my pocket and calmly, walked away from the scene.
''She lived...'' the voice in my head reminds me.
''And now things, only get messier from here on out...''
How right I was? Time will tell.
Level-One vs. Bryan Payne... the real match everyone has been waiting for. Seriously. If you ask anyone with an iota of goddamn common sense (anyone NOT wearing a Pence Weatherlight t-shirt) you'll realize that they bought tickets or are ordering this pay-per-view from the comfort of their homes for this match rather then buying it for the cannon fodder main-event; where Pence Weatherlight retains his title because John Green has been and always will be, a one hit—one win wonder who never fails to run out of steam when he needs it the most.
Still, at the very least John Green is a has been where Bryan Payne is a never been. I, like everyone else bought into the hype from the experts circle only to realize just how big of a flop, Bryan Payne has turned out to be. One would then ask, why would I decide to waste my time with Bryan Payne? Well, it's simple... I'm giving him an opportunity to prove himself. To prove to the entire world HE wasn't all hype and no bite and he really can do half of the shit he has claimed he could do—despite on two separate occasions falling short and proving to the APW audience that his word means very little...
Now if my response seems a little late to Bryan Payne's most recent, empty claims—it's because I have just gotten done listening to them. Apparently, the same people who produce Pence Weatherlights 2 hour babble on about nothing, marathon also handles Bryan Payne's dirty work too. It's hard not to associate both Bryan Payne and Pence Weatherlight when it comes to such aesthetics and even harder to ignore their tendencies of man-on-man love. Fuck sakes. You all saw what happened when Pence Weatherlight tea-bagged Bryan Payne for a three count, effectively killing all hype into Bryan Payne's APW rein, weeks in. They shook hands and nearly sealed the deal on the lips...
No respectable fighter ''shakes'' a hand of a man who just beat him, cleanly in the middle of the ring. No fucking pride. On the other hand (no pun intended) if Bryan Payne wants to shake my hand and lick his blood off my boots after I stomp a mile wide hole in his ass; that's fine with me. It isn't me who is going to come out looking like the big, fat bitch, wearing a short skirt with semen seeping out of her ass crack. It'll be you, cunt. Though, I'm sure you wouldn't mind. You have zero standards.
See, today, I'm going to do things a little different. Hell, I might just pay homage to Pence Weatherlight with this one. I am not going to sit here and come up with brand, new talking points nor waste my time out witting you and being original. Fuck that. You talked a lot of shit. You spewed a whole lot of garbage... and usually, I ignore it. I dust it off my shoulder and I avoid the hour long debate... but not this time.
I'm going to bitch slap the fuck out of you with your own words. Your own empty, retarded statements you simply expect me to ignore and allow them to go unchecked. The last thing, I want—is for some idiot on a social networking website, associating with a bunch of losers in his internet posse—to think that you got one over on me.
''LULZ, BRYAN PAYNE OWNED LEVEL-ONE11!!111!!''
First off; your show sucks. Shockingly, the first time I have actually heard about it—is right after Pence Weatherlight introduced his shitty talk show with John Green as his ''special'' (emphasis on special) guest. What a crock of shit that was, huh? All it was missing, was a DNA test and the words ''You are not the father'' because it was quite possibly the trashiest thing on television since Jerry springer. Yes, it's as bad hybrid of shit talk shows upon shit talk shows and even then some. Sadly, enough... it actually has an audience for it. I call it; the APW fan base.
The basic concept of your stupid ass show with horrible ratings is to go over twitter comments and face book pages, skimming a bunch of idiots comments—half of them which are trolling you when they claim their a fan? Brilliant. But hey, I'm not one to talk. I had to resort to USTREAM just last week to shoot a promo... the only thing was, I wasn't actually proud about it and to this day, I won't be able to live it down... but you? You roll in shit and hail the stench. Disgraceful.
So, after a lengthy introduction and fast forwarding past all the garbage we finally find out you again, have no standards for not setting your sights on APW championship. Uh, hello, numb nuts? If you aren't here for an APW world championship, then what the fuck are you here for? Wait. You don't think I am planning to stomp your teeth in—because I would feel honoured to do so, do you? Beating you, is just another piece to match my already, extensive and colourful portfolio titled; Why Level-One deserves a title shot... nothing more.
I'm sick and tired of guys like you, who waltz in here with one thumb in their mouth with the other inserted in the ass-hole, expecting everything to just fall out of sky and fall in their laps—where THEN they decide to run with it. And to be fair, John Green didn't set any good examples when he pinned a limp-dicked Micheal Lively, for three seconds and got handed the word. However; the whole: I'll do what I can do and it's up to Biggs to HAND OVER my opportunity, schtick is a bunch of stomach turning bullshit.
You either want it or you don't. If you want it? You go out and you get it.
Not everyone is as complacent as you and your little friends, Bryan. And to be quite honest; it's no surprise they've made yet another cameo. Considering, neither of them are relevant to the APW—I assume it's them leeching off your name for a bit of the spotlight. What? AC Thunder no longer can campaign on those one-on-one epics we had back in the day? Has the dark horse Georgie Nickles, finally ran out of horsepower? Well, fuck... if they are running around next to you playing second fiddle delivering the punchlines to your horrible joke-set ups, they must be.
The next portion of this hour long, babble on... is predictions with Bryan Payne! Who the fuck did you pay, to ask such a question? Shit, I know I'm an egotistical bastard... but what you did here was just self-indulgent. I can imagine Micheal Lively crying as we speak because you finally one upped him in this department and that ass hole as spent enough tears already, after his horrific losing streak—but I'm sure all that makes your ego, even larger. This world is filled with a lot of board, lonely, people...
...but honestly, there is absolutely nobody on this planet gives a fuck about what you think—never mind about Jimmy fucking Jazz and Crazy Joe and how much of a bore fest something so horrible will come to fruition. I don't care if you can bend spoons, read cards, and can tell the future from a crystal ball... NOBODY GIVES A FLYING FUCK, BRYAN. The only damn thing, anyone is making a prediction on anyways, is how long it's going to take me to bash your skull in and put you out of your misery, everything else is a footnote.
Still, I absolutely love the fact that you conveniently, decided to leave our match out of the betting pool. See, it's safe to bet twelve Twinkies, a beer, and some loose change on John Green coming up short against Pence Weatherlight; yet, you won't put down your house, ten grand, and your own mother on the line when it comes dealing with me. You wouldn't hesitate to stake the claim that you are the better man; but you won't back it up. Insert, Mayhem.
It's a good thing, I decided to hold you accountable for your words—because the sheeple hanging onto every last one of them, obviously are incapable of doing so. Apparently, not even YOU know what you are here to do in the APW... because it certainly, had jack shit to do with me. When you decided to waltz into the APW; you were immediately, tossed into the pool of mediocrity—getting your rocks off on three men at once. No homo? Nonetheless, it was clear—you coming here to ''expose'' me wasn't a priority...
Until I bashed your skill in. Maybe, I hit you so hard you conveniently have forgotten your initial mission statement but that's understandable. But it's clear to those who actually back check facts—that I wasn't your target until I painted myself in red and white. Unless, you and your 70% prediction rate... knew I was going to attack you before I even decided too? Hey, whatever floats your boat... or sinks it for that matter. At the end of the day, it makes me wonder what exactly DID you come to the APW for? It certainly had zero to do with me... and more to do with your butt buddy, Pence Weatherlight.
Still, not everything you said was made up, off the top of your head and under false pretences! If you were right about anything, it's that I am desperate. I'll do anything to get a title shot—beating you, isn't the quick fix but it certainly is a step up that ladder. I've shown how desperate I am for a shot at regaining whats my, time and time again... and if you're looking to fill more space, you can go over it again, next time. I'm desperate and your complacent. I'll do whatever it takes to win, where-as you are invested in a bid to show the world how much of a nice guy you are and how you play fair... let's see where that gets you, Bryan—because if where you stand is any indication of anything, it's obvious it hasn't gotten you very far.
I don't need to ''beat'' you to receive a title shot... which IS owed to me. If Pence Weatherlight and Slade Craven can receive, damn near immediate re match clauses, then I am entitled to one too. Sorry, if I'm too logical and reasonable for you. This schtick where you pretend to be more important then you really are to me, is starting to get annoying. Perhaps, your strategy is working. You put me half to sleep and you have me agitated. Bravo...
As annoying as you are however; your words speak for themselves. I mean, here you are spending five minutes channelling the thoughts and emotions of my former competitors—emotions that include fear, intimidation and thoughts of self-dissatisfaction, yet coincidentally, Bryan Payne is heading into the match one on one with Level-One for the first time? Let me guess; you interviewed my last few opponents and now is suddenly, a scholar on in-ring psychology? I mean, seriously... you can't make these things up.
Now call me koo-koo for coca puffs all you want, Bryan... but is there just a CHANCE... a slim chance that you know how my opponents felt because YOU too are actually feeling the fear, the intimidation and self dissatisfaction before our big match up? Are you venting, because you can't get past the fact that history, doesn't back up your claims when you, like a hundred men before you have said...
''I will beat you''
...only to come up short?
You're scared shit-less, boy. I can hear it in your voice. I watch you paint these grand ol' pictures about defeating, Level-One... and it's straight out of dream street. You look to your friends, AC Thunder and Georgie Nickles and you ask them if you of all people, can overthrow the big bad giant in Level-One... they assure you can, despite not believing it themselves. You don't even believe you can beat me; yet you expect ME to believe otherwise?
I've been doing this longer then you. I've been here before. Unstoppable has been wiped off my forehead. The words True Expert, removed from my back. Hell, maybe even the title of being the best goddamn wrestler to have ever lived, is growing a little dull on the front of my chest... but my flesh and bones is still in tact with no signs of slowing down. I'm still here. And I'm still standing...
You either prove me otherwise or shut the fuck up.
You're looking for the easy way out. A quick one-two-three with a handful of tights where you would then proceed to ride your win over me, above and beyond the clouds made out of cotton candy... well, sorry to break it to you. Win, lose, draw... the arena could fucking cave in on us and we both could die under the rebel... shit, you could be the sole survivor, it doesn't fucking matter, Bryan.
I'll always be better then you.
You'll never become the True Expert. You'll never grace the hall of fame. You'll never accomplish half of what I have accomplished and there is nothing you can do, or say at Mayhem to change that.
Beating me though? It's possible. I mean... we've both seen it happen before. But YOU defeating ME?
Don't count on it.
After all; I've felt the Payne before...
it tickled.
