Post by BDC on Dec 20, 2010 10:26:16 GMT -4
(I wrote this gem years ago, but seeing as it's christmas, here you go)
He was feeling down, there was no denying it. He hadn’t been back five bloody minutes, and he had already been thrown into the proverbial lion’s den, complete with pieces of raw steak tied to his neck and a massive “EAT ME” sign stapled to his chest. Yep, things were shit, and BDC knew that they could only get worse. Merry fuckin’ Christmas EWC!
For those who didn’t know the full story, the self confessed Big Bad of Sports Entertainment – namely our hero BDC, had fallen out with EWC management over some of the Roster member’s comments regarding disabled children, and the under privileged people of the World roughly 6 months ago. In fact, he had taken such offence at the sick and disturbing comments that both Phillip Rocca (THE single most arrogant prick on the planet) - and Deathcore Superstar had made that it had caused him to leave the company. He had felt that the punishment that was dished out to the above mentioned men, and that the apology received was almost laughable. EWC management had declared to the press and news that there had been an incident regarding said matters, but that they had dealt with it in a responsible manner and that is would never happen again.
So that was it. There were no suspensions, no fines, and no mention of it on any of the EWC shows. It was swept under the carpet and forgotten about, just like that. One click of the fingers, and puff! That was it, nice to meet you, sorry for the inconvenience, have a nice day, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.
BDC didn’t take to this very kindly, oh no! He quickly got hold of his solicitors and legal team, and began putting together a case against the EWC itself. He moved back to Wales, told MNB GM Max Carter where he could stick his job, and rode out into the sunset like a man on a mission. The first month was insane. He had been interviewed by the press, been on chat shows, visited Members of Parliament, liaised with Rock stars to try and put on a charity event to raise money and awareness for disabled people and their families so that the so called “normal” folk of this world would actually have a tiny inkling of what it was like to have to give up the rest of your adult life to look after a loved one, and to do it without worrying about any of the consequences.
The original response was unbelievable, and there seemed to be support coming in from all over the place. Letters of praise here, donations there, pledges to be more aware and understanding and other things of that nature. It had seemed that things were going great, and his legal team had explained to BDC that there was a strong possibility that he would win the case.
3 months in and all of that had changed. The donations had stopped coming in, and the commitment and drive that had been offered from his so-called colleagues and peers had quickly dwindled, and unfortunately had eventually diminished completely. He couldn’t blame them really. Bob Geldoff had planned on doing another “Live Aid” kind of thing, and the public had seemed more interested in helping starving children in a land far, far away that had nothing whatsoever to do with them, and had seemed to completely forget about the problems that were on their very doorsteps. As long as the people thought that their money was going to help those poor, starving bastards abroad then they were happy. The fact that there was an abundance of child abuse and physical abuse against disabled people in their own country didn’t matter. The fact that there was a complete and utter lack of support amongst the social services in regard to helping families that had to put up with not sleeping for two or three weeks in a row didn’t seem to matter, just so long as the public were seen to give their share to the starving millions in Africa. The public didn’t seem to care about the fact that if they gave their money to disabled charities then it would actually make a difference to people that they probably knew and talked to day in and day out, as opposed to funding the African Crime Lords – the people who actually ended up getting all of their donated money through violence, rape and terror. His eyes had been opened to the truth, and he just didn’t want to know anymore. BDC had decided to sit at home and shut himself off from the rest of the World. He felt sorry for the starving millions of course, but he was a firm believer that charity began at home and that there were more pressing matters in the UK and America, such as starvation, homelessness etc. If they didn’t give a f**k then why should he?
He had become a hermit. He didn’t need to wash anymore, or shave, or do anything. He had bought a small semi detached house in a small valley outside of Swansea, and he kept himself to himself. His brother and friends had tried to get him out of the rut, but nothing seemed to work. All of this had changed roughly a month ago when his brother Karl had paid him a visit telling him that the EWC had declared that he was in breach of contract due to no shows over the last six months, and that they were contemplating suing him if he didn’t return to active duty. BDC didn’t care of course, but his brother had informed him that they had spent an awful amount of money on the court case that never happened, and that they couldn’t really afford to be sued. Four days of constant begging later, his brother had finally convinced him to move back to Canada and to get his ass back into a training routine.
An EWC representative arrived at the mansion roughly two weeks ago and had told him that he had been signed to the Underground to prove that he still had what it took to be regarded as an EWC Superstar. BDC had tried to argue with him, but it was quickly pointed out that he didn’t really have a leg to stand on considering the fact that he obviously hadn’t washed for about a month and that he looked liked Grizzly Adams on a bad day. He didn’t look like an EWC Superstar and he didn’t feel like an EWC Superstar. He fucking hated the place, and he couldn’t think of anything worse than being forced to go back to the shit tip again. He sort of trained for the next two weeks….. well, between the 14 hour sleeping pulls and junk food eating marathons, and had even managed to throw together a crappy old promo to try and scare his opponent, a Mr. Gabriel Martin. He had been convinced that he was going to win, but he ended up having his face smashed in. He had been outclassed, out wrestled and outshone on the biggest stage of all, and he had felt like a fool after.
He was convinced that the EWC had set him up as punishment, and this only managed to fuel his hate and anger for them even more. He had told his friends that he was still as good as he had always been, been dodgy officials and lack of management had caused him the match. He told them that he’d show them all next time, and he had written a stinking email to the Underground manager telling him exactly what he thought of him and his lame a$$ show. He told them that he didn’t care who they threw at him, cause he was BDC and he could do what he wanted, when he wanted, and that there was piss all they could do to prove him otherwise.
The response was nothing short of the end of the World for our hero. He had been placed in the Main event against Shadow Man and Jackal – two of THE most dominant forces in EWC history, and his partner was a man that he absolutely loathed and hated, the Madman Ebon. This was nothing more than a glorified handicap match as far as BDC was concerned, and the shocking news had sent him into a deep depression, one that his family and friends didn’t think that he could get out of.
The lead up to Christmas was an absolute nightmare, and he had started drinking heavily. He had sent the entire staff home – without a Christmas bonus, and had shut himself off from the entire World. He wouldn’t even talk to his brother Karl, the man that he had looked after since they were young. It wasn’t looking good for the Big Bad of Sports Entertainment on Christmas Eve 2206, and this is where we meet up with our the man himself.
It was 4.30pm. The mansion was empty and dull, and not one single Christmas decoration adorned any of the fine walls. There was no tree, no tinsel, no lights – not even a single Christmas card. It plain sucked ass, and BDC was happy with it like that, thank you very much! Well, happy maybe wasn’t the correct word to use, seeing as how he was smashed off of his face on Cider and Aftershock. He was pissed, grumpy, and didn’t give a flying fuck about the rest of the world! No body wanted him, and he didn’t want them.
BDC: Burn in hell world, Merry fucking Christmas!
He was dressed in a, ahem white pair of dirty, disgusting, smelly, shitty boxer shorts and a pair of slippers that were supposed to look like Animal from the Muppets. Well it would have done, were it not for the random stains that covered it.
BDC: Bah humbug! They don’t care so why should I?
With that, he downed the last few swigs of his can of Strongbow, crunched it up and threw it against the wall. He reached down to the side of his chair to grab another one, but to his utter dismay he realised that there were no cans left.
BDC: Oh for Christ’s (hic) sake! Thank you God for giving me yet another reason to (hic) hate you, you fuc…..
Well, you could imagine the rest. After his religious rant he walked towards the kitchen to fetch some more cans. He opened up the fridge, went to grab another 12 pack when he was horrified to hear the phone ring. He left the fridge door wide open and answered.
BDC: Hello? Who the fuckk is this?
Voice: Oh hello sir, may I interest you in a Timeshare Holiday in a Villa that resides in the North of France?
BDC: You what?
Voice: A villa, in France. May I interest you?
BDC pulled the phone from his mouth, stared down the receiver as if staring the person on the other end straight in the eye, and then put it back to his ear.
BDC: Are you having a (hic) laugh love?
Voice: I beg your pardon sir?
BDC: I said (shouts) ARE YOU HAVING A (HIC) fucking LAUGH – LUV?
With that, he slammed the phone back on the receiver and ripped out the wire from the bottom.
BDC: Bloody woman on my phone, stupid bitch. Let’s see her (hic) phone me now innit!
He stumbled back toward the fridge to close the door, got to it, was about to slam the door shut when the phone rung again.
BDC: The hell?
He stumbled back to the phone, looked at the ripped out wire, then back to the receiver, and then picked it up – utterly and totally confused, which was a feat in itself considering the state of him. He put it to his ear.
BDC: Um, hello?
Voice: Oh hello sir, may I interest you in a once in a lifetime opportunity to pull your finger out of your overweight, pissed as a newt pathetic asshole, and actually make something of yourself again?
BDC dropped the phone in horror. It was the same woman that had spoken to him just moments ago, he was sure of it, but how? He had ripped the bloody phone line out, and it was just, just impossible.
BDC: What the hell is going on here?
He dropped the crate of lager that he was still somehow still carrying, and a few of the cans exploded, sending pieces of tin and sweet smelling cider all over the place. He punched the phone over, and over and over again, cutting his hand to shreds and destroying the thing completely. With that, another phone started to ring from the other side of the room, followed by the sound of dozens of other phones ringing throughout the house. Kitchen appliances began turning themselves on and off, and the cupboard doors began slamming open and shut, open and shut.
BDC: For the love of God, what the hell is happening!!!
With that, the answer machines on all of the phones began to kick in, and was quickly followed by a message from what seemed to be the same lady that had phoned him earlier.
Voice: For to long now Chris, you have been a moody, no-good piece of crap that has lost his way in life. I am but one of a few people that love you and that want you to get your life back on track.
BDC: What? The hell are you on about? Who are you?
Voice: Who I am is unimportant, but what I have to tell you is far from unimportant. You have reached a low point in your highly eventful life, and I have come to help you get your life back together. You have managed to go from a caring, loving man who had a major and positive part to play in so many millions of lives, to a lowly dog who will end up drinking himself to death, and ending a dream that has held this family together since the beginning.
BDC: Yeah, and what do you know, you stupid invisible phone thingy? What makes you the expert in my oh so wondrous life? If I was so fucking important, (hic) then why the hell does no one care whether I live or die ey? You know nothing bitch! You don’t know what I’ve done, or how many people have been hurt, or even ended up dead cause of me! I’m not worth saving, so just leave me the fuck alone!
Voice: I thought you’d say something like that, but it doesn’t quite work like that sorry. I’m going to take you on a little journey, along with some help from a few friends. You will be shown things regarding your past, present and your future.
BDC: Oh yeah, sure I will! Ok Mrs. Charles Dickens Phone lady person, I ain’t (hic) going nowhere, and you can’t make me right! So screw you, and as they say in Landow (a place in Wales) – fuckin see yaw!
Voice: As you wish.
With that ,the cupboards stopped banging and the phones stopped ringing. The mansion went quiet, and only noise that could be heard was the sound of blood dripping onto the floor from BDC’s hand. He looked around, spun in a full circle, then started laughing and began walking toward the fridge to close the door.
BDC: See! No one tells ME what to do, stupid ghost known it all phone bitchh …..
He stepped forward and tripped over the cans on the floor. He tried putting his hands out in front of him, but was to late. His head hit the open fridge door and he hit the floor with a thunderous crash, completely unconscious. The voice echoed from the phone again.
Voice: Sorry Chris. It doesn’t quite work like that. I’ve been sent to help you, and help you I will.
He woke up with a horrible, banging headache. It felt like there were a million Oompa Loompas from that Wonka film having a good old song and dance on the inside of his skull, and the party was in full swing.
He somehow managed to get himself to his feet, and his vision, although blurry at first, began to focus on his surroundings.
BDC: What the hell? Where am I?
He looked around in utter dismay. He had expected to wake up in his kitchen, pissed as a newt with a banging headache, but he had instead found himself in some large, old warehouse. There were crudely constructed bunk beds all around the room - complete with blankets that looked like they were made out of sandpaper. The walls were grey and dull, the only evidence of any inhabitants being that of a few photos and drawings attached to the lifeless environment.
BDC: It, it can’t be. Not here. It’s – it’s impossible!
Voice: After what you’ve been through mate, I’d imagine that you’d work out that nothing is impossible.
That voice! It couldn’t be could it? He turned around slowly. He was shaking and afraid – two feelings that he hated.
BDC: Stay back! Look, what happened, happened. What the hell am I saying? I’m talking to a bloody dead person!
Voice: Well mate, like you said, what happened, happened so get over it will you, I’ve got lots of things to show and hardly any time to do it.
BDC backed himself up to the nearest wall. This was impossible! The man – or whatever it was – that stood in front of him now was the man that BDC had killed in a Street Fight many years ago. His name was Zadra, a Scottish football hooligan that always wore a kilt, big black combat boots, a Celtic football jersey, and had long spiky blonde hair – complete with nose, ear and multiple other body piercings. His accent was still as plain and as thick as ever, and he was here, now, in this place.
BDC: What the hell is happening? You can’t be real. This can’t be real!
Zadra: Aye lad, I understand how this must seem all weird to you and all, but I’m afraid that it’s all real mate. Well, I say real. Think of it more like a shadow of your memories all thrown together in a mish mash of random events, brought together by cosmic energies drawn from time and space throughout the galaxy.
BDC: What – the – fuckk – are – you – talking – about – you – dead – spooky – bastard?
Zadra: Dunno really, just thought it would sound good.
BDC: Great, just great. I’m going insane and I’m stuck here with a psychopathic Scottish joker. Excellent!
Zadra walked toward one of the beds and jumped up onto the top bunk. He rolled onto his side, leant in his wrist and began trying to explain things.
Zadra: Ok matey, here goes. As that lovely lady told you on the phone, we have been sent to try to get your head sorted. My job in this little adventure is to show you the things that have moulded you into the man that you are supposed to be, you know, the all round good guy, as opposed to this pathetic shower of shit I’m looking at due to things going all tits up.
BDC slid down the wall onto his a$$. He tucked his knees up to his chest and began rocking back and forth.
BDC: Ok. So I suppose that I could just carry on pretending that none of this shit is happening, or I could just go with the flow until this nightmare ends and then I can go back to my room and get pissed and forget it ever happened.
Zadra: Whatever floats your boat big guy.
He jumped off the top bunk and grabbed BDC’s hand, pulling him to his feet.
Zadra: Right oh then, let’s get this party started then shall we. First off, do ya know where we are?
BDC stood up, stretched a little and clicked his neck. There was a loud crack, and then silence for a few moments.
BDC: Yeah I know where we are. This is where Karl and me were sent when our mother died.
Zadra: Aye lad, you be right.
BDC: Ok, so I know where I am, so now why don’t you go ahead and spout your mystic bullshit and tell me why I’m actually here, and while your at it, tell me why you’ve been, ahem “sent” here to sort out my troubled little mind. I must be hated even in cosmic land if you were the only one willing to come and help, seeing as I killed you and all.
Zadra: Ah, still a sarcastic little toe rag I see. Well, for the first part of your question, you’re here to see how bad things actually were for you when you were younger and for me to try to get it through your thick skull how you managed to turn things around for yourself. For the second part, well, I don’t really know to tell you the truth. I used to hate you my friend, but when I crossed over to the other side I was shown the error of my ways. I was taken by my Guardian Angel and was shown the pain and grief I caused so many people. I was told that it was all just a lesson in life, and that I was to learn from it. Well, I learned and I forgave. Happy?
BDC: But I killed you. I powerbombed you off the top of scaffolding. I crushed your spine and neck and you died instantly. How the hell can you forgive something like that? How can you forgive a man that has never ever forgiven …
Zadra: A man that has never forgiven himself?
BDC: Um, well yeah.
BDC looked away and walked toward the bed that he used to sleep on. He got to the bed, picked up the pillow, and saw the photo that he had always kept there. It was a picture of his mother, the only one he ever had.
BDC: It’s still – it’s still here. I, I lost this many years ago. Isn’t she beautiful?
Tears were streaming down his face as he showed the photo to Zadra.
Zadra: Yeah mate, she’s a real cracker, and she was a lovely woman I’ll bet.
BDC sat on his old bed and held the photo in front of his eyes. There was his mother, the angel that had given birth to him and his brother. She had passed away while giving birth to Karl, and they had been sent to this orphanage. As he thought of the past, ghostly images began appearing all around him. Zadra sat on the bed next to him and remained silent, content on watching the going on. The images began becoming more real, and the two men watched scenes where BDC and his brother got into mischief, and watched them curling into bed. BDC used to sit up all night watching that no one tried hurting his brother – an unfortunate down side of living in a home ran by men, and there were scenes of BDC fighting them off, and eventually beating one of the so called “carers” to a bloody pulp. Violence, fear and heartache were all evident, and BDC found it hard to watch, yet he found that he couldn’t take his eyes off the surroundings. The scene began to change slowly, and the next thing they were watching was BDC Street fighting, thus beginning his career in violence. It continued through the meeting of his friends, and up to the eventful day that changed his life. The day he ended up killing a man to save a friend’s life. They watched BDC’s friends save Kerry Shield – his brother’s fiancé in the “real world” as he lifted Zadra high into the air, then throw him to his death. There was uncomfortable silence for a good ten minutes, then Zadra spoke.
Zadra: You were a lump of a man even back then mate. How old were you when you fought me?
BDC: Um, 17 – 18 maybe?
Zadra: Hm, fair play mate, impressive stuff.
BDC: How can you say “impressive stuff”? I killed you for Christ’s sake, how can you be so nice to me?
Zadra: Chris, you were young and you lived a life full of pain and suffering. You raised your brother by yourself, and you protected him in the only way you knew how. You met up with friends that you were obviously destined to meet, and you looked after them to. I came into your life, and through no fault of your own, you had to do what you had to do to save your family. All your life you’ve had to make impossible decisions, and for such a young man you always made the right ones. At that time in my life, if you had let me live, I would have hunted you down and killed you all. I would have taken my time with the woman, and you really don’t wanna know what my plans were gonna be for her.
I was an animal, a man that had experienced a similar upbringing to you, except for the fact that I had no willpower or support. I took the easy way out and I found myself travelling down a road to hell. You changed my life for the better mate. You didn’t kill me as such, and it’s because of you that I have been able to join the choir of Angels up in Heaven. I have forgiven everyone that I have encountered, and I need them to forgive me.
BDC: You’ve, you’ve forgiven me?
Zadra: Yep, hand on heart. You did what you had to do, and now I need you to forgive yourself.
BDC: Well, I don’t know about that …
Zadra: Listen Chris, this isn’t really an option. For you to move on to your next “experience”, you’ve got to finally let go of your past.
BDC: But I ..
Zadra: But nothing mate, that’s just the way it goes. They are the rules, plain and simple. Take as much time as need.
BDC sat there motionless. Time seemed to have lost all meaning in this strange place, but what seemed like hours had gone by. Zadra sat next to him patiently, yet silent.
BDC: Look, I had a shit upbringing, but who hasn’t. I did some terrible things myself, but it’s just something I had to do to survive. I hated you for so long, and blamed you for a lot that went wrong in my life. I hated everyone, but the man I hated the most was myself. I was born into heartache and pain, but boo hoo. I’m sorry about what I did to you, I truly am. I was put into a fucked up situation and I was protecting my friends. If I was put into the same situation again then I’d probably do exactly the same thing. I’m glad you’ve found salvation and that you’ve found a purpose on the other side. Whether this whole experience is just a fucked up dream or not, I’m glad we got to do this. So there you go, I’m sorry. We done now?
BDC looked around only to find that Zadra had disappeared. He was sitting on the floor in his kitchen in the mansion, and the mess had been cleared up. He stood up as if nothing had happened. He was a bit surprised at this, but then again he was used to fucked up things happening in his life.
He went to the fridge, opened it up went to reach for a can of cider. He stopped for a moment, thought better of it and grabbed a bottle of water instead. He grabbed a stool and sat on one of the breakfast bars that was in the kitchen. He opened the water, drank half the bottle, looked down on the breakfast bar and saw what looked like a piece of paper. He put the bottle down and turned the paper around. To his utter shock, it was the picture of his mother that he had seen in that weird incident. He picked it up, looked at it again, and began sobbing like a baby.
BDC: Thanks buddy. Rest in peace.
With that the broken phone rang again. He got up and ran toward it.
BDC: Zadra, that you?
Voice: Well done Chris. One down, two to go. You ready?
BDC: Um, I guess so.
Voice: Ok, hold on.
BDC: I’m definitely going insane.
With that the lights went out and he felt like he was being sucked through the phone. The lights came back on as suddenly as they went off, and the kitchen was once again empty.
A Wrestler’s Christmas Carol
He was feeling down, there was no denying it. He hadn’t been back five bloody minutes, and he had already been thrown into the proverbial lion’s den, complete with pieces of raw steak tied to his neck and a massive “EAT ME” sign stapled to his chest. Yep, things were shit, and BDC knew that they could only get worse. Merry fuckin’ Christmas EWC!
For those who didn’t know the full story, the self confessed Big Bad of Sports Entertainment – namely our hero BDC, had fallen out with EWC management over some of the Roster member’s comments regarding disabled children, and the under privileged people of the World roughly 6 months ago. In fact, he had taken such offence at the sick and disturbing comments that both Phillip Rocca (THE single most arrogant prick on the planet) - and Deathcore Superstar had made that it had caused him to leave the company. He had felt that the punishment that was dished out to the above mentioned men, and that the apology received was almost laughable. EWC management had declared to the press and news that there had been an incident regarding said matters, but that they had dealt with it in a responsible manner and that is would never happen again.
So that was it. There were no suspensions, no fines, and no mention of it on any of the EWC shows. It was swept under the carpet and forgotten about, just like that. One click of the fingers, and puff! That was it, nice to meet you, sorry for the inconvenience, have a nice day, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.
BDC didn’t take to this very kindly, oh no! He quickly got hold of his solicitors and legal team, and began putting together a case against the EWC itself. He moved back to Wales, told MNB GM Max Carter where he could stick his job, and rode out into the sunset like a man on a mission. The first month was insane. He had been interviewed by the press, been on chat shows, visited Members of Parliament, liaised with Rock stars to try and put on a charity event to raise money and awareness for disabled people and their families so that the so called “normal” folk of this world would actually have a tiny inkling of what it was like to have to give up the rest of your adult life to look after a loved one, and to do it without worrying about any of the consequences.
The original response was unbelievable, and there seemed to be support coming in from all over the place. Letters of praise here, donations there, pledges to be more aware and understanding and other things of that nature. It had seemed that things were going great, and his legal team had explained to BDC that there was a strong possibility that he would win the case.
3 months in and all of that had changed. The donations had stopped coming in, and the commitment and drive that had been offered from his so-called colleagues and peers had quickly dwindled, and unfortunately had eventually diminished completely. He couldn’t blame them really. Bob Geldoff had planned on doing another “Live Aid” kind of thing, and the public had seemed more interested in helping starving children in a land far, far away that had nothing whatsoever to do with them, and had seemed to completely forget about the problems that were on their very doorsteps. As long as the people thought that their money was going to help those poor, starving bastards abroad then they were happy. The fact that there was an abundance of child abuse and physical abuse against disabled people in their own country didn’t matter. The fact that there was a complete and utter lack of support amongst the social services in regard to helping families that had to put up with not sleeping for two or three weeks in a row didn’t seem to matter, just so long as the public were seen to give their share to the starving millions in Africa. The public didn’t seem to care about the fact that if they gave their money to disabled charities then it would actually make a difference to people that they probably knew and talked to day in and day out, as opposed to funding the African Crime Lords – the people who actually ended up getting all of their donated money through violence, rape and terror. His eyes had been opened to the truth, and he just didn’t want to know anymore. BDC had decided to sit at home and shut himself off from the rest of the World. He felt sorry for the starving millions of course, but he was a firm believer that charity began at home and that there were more pressing matters in the UK and America, such as starvation, homelessness etc. If they didn’t give a f**k then why should he?
He had become a hermit. He didn’t need to wash anymore, or shave, or do anything. He had bought a small semi detached house in a small valley outside of Swansea, and he kept himself to himself. His brother and friends had tried to get him out of the rut, but nothing seemed to work. All of this had changed roughly a month ago when his brother Karl had paid him a visit telling him that the EWC had declared that he was in breach of contract due to no shows over the last six months, and that they were contemplating suing him if he didn’t return to active duty. BDC didn’t care of course, but his brother had informed him that they had spent an awful amount of money on the court case that never happened, and that they couldn’t really afford to be sued. Four days of constant begging later, his brother had finally convinced him to move back to Canada and to get his ass back into a training routine.
An EWC representative arrived at the mansion roughly two weeks ago and had told him that he had been signed to the Underground to prove that he still had what it took to be regarded as an EWC Superstar. BDC had tried to argue with him, but it was quickly pointed out that he didn’t really have a leg to stand on considering the fact that he obviously hadn’t washed for about a month and that he looked liked Grizzly Adams on a bad day. He didn’t look like an EWC Superstar and he didn’t feel like an EWC Superstar. He fucking hated the place, and he couldn’t think of anything worse than being forced to go back to the shit tip again. He sort of trained for the next two weeks….. well, between the 14 hour sleeping pulls and junk food eating marathons, and had even managed to throw together a crappy old promo to try and scare his opponent, a Mr. Gabriel Martin. He had been convinced that he was going to win, but he ended up having his face smashed in. He had been outclassed, out wrestled and outshone on the biggest stage of all, and he had felt like a fool after.
He was convinced that the EWC had set him up as punishment, and this only managed to fuel his hate and anger for them even more. He had told his friends that he was still as good as he had always been, been dodgy officials and lack of management had caused him the match. He told them that he’d show them all next time, and he had written a stinking email to the Underground manager telling him exactly what he thought of him and his lame a$$ show. He told them that he didn’t care who they threw at him, cause he was BDC and he could do what he wanted, when he wanted, and that there was piss all they could do to prove him otherwise.
The response was nothing short of the end of the World for our hero. He had been placed in the Main event against Shadow Man and Jackal – two of THE most dominant forces in EWC history, and his partner was a man that he absolutely loathed and hated, the Madman Ebon. This was nothing more than a glorified handicap match as far as BDC was concerned, and the shocking news had sent him into a deep depression, one that his family and friends didn’t think that he could get out of.
The lead up to Christmas was an absolute nightmare, and he had started drinking heavily. He had sent the entire staff home – without a Christmas bonus, and had shut himself off from the entire World. He wouldn’t even talk to his brother Karl, the man that he had looked after since they were young. It wasn’t looking good for the Big Bad of Sports Entertainment on Christmas Eve 2206, and this is where we meet up with our the man himself.
…………………………………………………………………………………
It was 4.30pm. The mansion was empty and dull, and not one single Christmas decoration adorned any of the fine walls. There was no tree, no tinsel, no lights – not even a single Christmas card. It plain sucked ass, and BDC was happy with it like that, thank you very much! Well, happy maybe wasn’t the correct word to use, seeing as how he was smashed off of his face on Cider and Aftershock. He was pissed, grumpy, and didn’t give a flying fuck about the rest of the world! No body wanted him, and he didn’t want them.
BDC: Burn in hell world, Merry fucking Christmas!
He was dressed in a, ahem white pair of dirty, disgusting, smelly, shitty boxer shorts and a pair of slippers that were supposed to look like Animal from the Muppets. Well it would have done, were it not for the random stains that covered it.
BDC: Bah humbug! They don’t care so why should I?
With that, he downed the last few swigs of his can of Strongbow, crunched it up and threw it against the wall. He reached down to the side of his chair to grab another one, but to his utter dismay he realised that there were no cans left.
BDC: Oh for Christ’s (hic) sake! Thank you God for giving me yet another reason to (hic) hate you, you fuc…..
Well, you could imagine the rest. After his religious rant he walked towards the kitchen to fetch some more cans. He opened up the fridge, went to grab another 12 pack when he was horrified to hear the phone ring. He left the fridge door wide open and answered.
BDC: Hello? Who the fuckk is this?
Voice: Oh hello sir, may I interest you in a Timeshare Holiday in a Villa that resides in the North of France?
BDC: You what?
Voice: A villa, in France. May I interest you?
BDC pulled the phone from his mouth, stared down the receiver as if staring the person on the other end straight in the eye, and then put it back to his ear.
BDC: Are you having a (hic) laugh love?
Voice: I beg your pardon sir?
BDC: I said (shouts) ARE YOU HAVING A (HIC) fucking LAUGH – LUV?
With that, he slammed the phone back on the receiver and ripped out the wire from the bottom.
BDC: Bloody woman on my phone, stupid bitch. Let’s see her (hic) phone me now innit!
He stumbled back toward the fridge to close the door, got to it, was about to slam the door shut when the phone rung again.
BDC: The hell?
He stumbled back to the phone, looked at the ripped out wire, then back to the receiver, and then picked it up – utterly and totally confused, which was a feat in itself considering the state of him. He put it to his ear.
BDC: Um, hello?
Voice: Oh hello sir, may I interest you in a once in a lifetime opportunity to pull your finger out of your overweight, pissed as a newt pathetic asshole, and actually make something of yourself again?
BDC dropped the phone in horror. It was the same woman that had spoken to him just moments ago, he was sure of it, but how? He had ripped the bloody phone line out, and it was just, just impossible.
BDC: What the hell is going on here?
He dropped the crate of lager that he was still somehow still carrying, and a few of the cans exploded, sending pieces of tin and sweet smelling cider all over the place. He punched the phone over, and over and over again, cutting his hand to shreds and destroying the thing completely. With that, another phone started to ring from the other side of the room, followed by the sound of dozens of other phones ringing throughout the house. Kitchen appliances began turning themselves on and off, and the cupboard doors began slamming open and shut, open and shut.
BDC: For the love of God, what the hell is happening!!!
With that, the answer machines on all of the phones began to kick in, and was quickly followed by a message from what seemed to be the same lady that had phoned him earlier.
Voice: For to long now Chris, you have been a moody, no-good piece of crap that has lost his way in life. I am but one of a few people that love you and that want you to get your life back on track.
BDC: What? The hell are you on about? Who are you?
Voice: Who I am is unimportant, but what I have to tell you is far from unimportant. You have reached a low point in your highly eventful life, and I have come to help you get your life back together. You have managed to go from a caring, loving man who had a major and positive part to play in so many millions of lives, to a lowly dog who will end up drinking himself to death, and ending a dream that has held this family together since the beginning.
BDC: Yeah, and what do you know, you stupid invisible phone thingy? What makes you the expert in my oh so wondrous life? If I was so fucking important, (hic) then why the hell does no one care whether I live or die ey? You know nothing bitch! You don’t know what I’ve done, or how many people have been hurt, or even ended up dead cause of me! I’m not worth saving, so just leave me the fuck alone!
Voice: I thought you’d say something like that, but it doesn’t quite work like that sorry. I’m going to take you on a little journey, along with some help from a few friends. You will be shown things regarding your past, present and your future.
BDC: Oh yeah, sure I will! Ok Mrs. Charles Dickens Phone lady person, I ain’t (hic) going nowhere, and you can’t make me right! So screw you, and as they say in Landow (a place in Wales) – fuckin see yaw!
Voice: As you wish.
With that ,the cupboards stopped banging and the phones stopped ringing. The mansion went quiet, and only noise that could be heard was the sound of blood dripping onto the floor from BDC’s hand. He looked around, spun in a full circle, then started laughing and began walking toward the fridge to close the door.
BDC: See! No one tells ME what to do, stupid ghost known it all phone bitchh …..
He stepped forward and tripped over the cans on the floor. He tried putting his hands out in front of him, but was to late. His head hit the open fridge door and he hit the floor with a thunderous crash, completely unconscious. The voice echoed from the phone again.
Voice: Sorry Chris. It doesn’t quite work like that. I’ve been sent to help you, and help you I will.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
He woke up with a horrible, banging headache. It felt like there were a million Oompa Loompas from that Wonka film having a good old song and dance on the inside of his skull, and the party was in full swing.
He somehow managed to get himself to his feet, and his vision, although blurry at first, began to focus on his surroundings.
BDC: What the hell? Where am I?
He looked around in utter dismay. He had expected to wake up in his kitchen, pissed as a newt with a banging headache, but he had instead found himself in some large, old warehouse. There were crudely constructed bunk beds all around the room - complete with blankets that looked like they were made out of sandpaper. The walls were grey and dull, the only evidence of any inhabitants being that of a few photos and drawings attached to the lifeless environment.
BDC: It, it can’t be. Not here. It’s – it’s impossible!
Voice: After what you’ve been through mate, I’d imagine that you’d work out that nothing is impossible.
That voice! It couldn’t be could it? He turned around slowly. He was shaking and afraid – two feelings that he hated.
BDC: Stay back! Look, what happened, happened. What the hell am I saying? I’m talking to a bloody dead person!
Voice: Well mate, like you said, what happened, happened so get over it will you, I’ve got lots of things to show and hardly any time to do it.
BDC backed himself up to the nearest wall. This was impossible! The man – or whatever it was – that stood in front of him now was the man that BDC had killed in a Street Fight many years ago. His name was Zadra, a Scottish football hooligan that always wore a kilt, big black combat boots, a Celtic football jersey, and had long spiky blonde hair – complete with nose, ear and multiple other body piercings. His accent was still as plain and as thick as ever, and he was here, now, in this place.
BDC: What the hell is happening? You can’t be real. This can’t be real!
Zadra: Aye lad, I understand how this must seem all weird to you and all, but I’m afraid that it’s all real mate. Well, I say real. Think of it more like a shadow of your memories all thrown together in a mish mash of random events, brought together by cosmic energies drawn from time and space throughout the galaxy.
BDC: What – the – fuckk – are – you – talking – about – you – dead – spooky – bastard?
Zadra: Dunno really, just thought it would sound good.
BDC: Great, just great. I’m going insane and I’m stuck here with a psychopathic Scottish joker. Excellent!
Zadra walked toward one of the beds and jumped up onto the top bunk. He rolled onto his side, leant in his wrist and began trying to explain things.
Zadra: Ok matey, here goes. As that lovely lady told you on the phone, we have been sent to try to get your head sorted. My job in this little adventure is to show you the things that have moulded you into the man that you are supposed to be, you know, the all round good guy, as opposed to this pathetic shower of shit I’m looking at due to things going all tits up.
BDC slid down the wall onto his a$$. He tucked his knees up to his chest and began rocking back and forth.
BDC: Ok. So I suppose that I could just carry on pretending that none of this shit is happening, or I could just go with the flow until this nightmare ends and then I can go back to my room and get pissed and forget it ever happened.
Zadra: Whatever floats your boat big guy.
He jumped off the top bunk and grabbed BDC’s hand, pulling him to his feet.
Zadra: Right oh then, let’s get this party started then shall we. First off, do ya know where we are?
BDC stood up, stretched a little and clicked his neck. There was a loud crack, and then silence for a few moments.
BDC: Yeah I know where we are. This is where Karl and me were sent when our mother died.
Zadra: Aye lad, you be right.
BDC: Ok, so I know where I am, so now why don’t you go ahead and spout your mystic bullshit and tell me why I’m actually here, and while your at it, tell me why you’ve been, ahem “sent” here to sort out my troubled little mind. I must be hated even in cosmic land if you were the only one willing to come and help, seeing as I killed you and all.
Zadra: Ah, still a sarcastic little toe rag I see. Well, for the first part of your question, you’re here to see how bad things actually were for you when you were younger and for me to try to get it through your thick skull how you managed to turn things around for yourself. For the second part, well, I don’t really know to tell you the truth. I used to hate you my friend, but when I crossed over to the other side I was shown the error of my ways. I was taken by my Guardian Angel and was shown the pain and grief I caused so many people. I was told that it was all just a lesson in life, and that I was to learn from it. Well, I learned and I forgave. Happy?
BDC: But I killed you. I powerbombed you off the top of scaffolding. I crushed your spine and neck and you died instantly. How the hell can you forgive something like that? How can you forgive a man that has never ever forgiven …
Zadra: A man that has never forgiven himself?
BDC: Um, well yeah.
BDC looked away and walked toward the bed that he used to sleep on. He got to the bed, picked up the pillow, and saw the photo that he had always kept there. It was a picture of his mother, the only one he ever had.
BDC: It’s still – it’s still here. I, I lost this many years ago. Isn’t she beautiful?
Tears were streaming down his face as he showed the photo to Zadra.
Zadra: Yeah mate, she’s a real cracker, and she was a lovely woman I’ll bet.
BDC sat on his old bed and held the photo in front of his eyes. There was his mother, the angel that had given birth to him and his brother. She had passed away while giving birth to Karl, and they had been sent to this orphanage. As he thought of the past, ghostly images began appearing all around him. Zadra sat on the bed next to him and remained silent, content on watching the going on. The images began becoming more real, and the two men watched scenes where BDC and his brother got into mischief, and watched them curling into bed. BDC used to sit up all night watching that no one tried hurting his brother – an unfortunate down side of living in a home ran by men, and there were scenes of BDC fighting them off, and eventually beating one of the so called “carers” to a bloody pulp. Violence, fear and heartache were all evident, and BDC found it hard to watch, yet he found that he couldn’t take his eyes off the surroundings. The scene began to change slowly, and the next thing they were watching was BDC Street fighting, thus beginning his career in violence. It continued through the meeting of his friends, and up to the eventful day that changed his life. The day he ended up killing a man to save a friend’s life. They watched BDC’s friends save Kerry Shield – his brother’s fiancé in the “real world” as he lifted Zadra high into the air, then throw him to his death. There was uncomfortable silence for a good ten minutes, then Zadra spoke.
Zadra: You were a lump of a man even back then mate. How old were you when you fought me?
BDC: Um, 17 – 18 maybe?
Zadra: Hm, fair play mate, impressive stuff.
BDC: How can you say “impressive stuff”? I killed you for Christ’s sake, how can you be so nice to me?
Zadra: Chris, you were young and you lived a life full of pain and suffering. You raised your brother by yourself, and you protected him in the only way you knew how. You met up with friends that you were obviously destined to meet, and you looked after them to. I came into your life, and through no fault of your own, you had to do what you had to do to save your family. All your life you’ve had to make impossible decisions, and for such a young man you always made the right ones. At that time in my life, if you had let me live, I would have hunted you down and killed you all. I would have taken my time with the woman, and you really don’t wanna know what my plans were gonna be for her.
I was an animal, a man that had experienced a similar upbringing to you, except for the fact that I had no willpower or support. I took the easy way out and I found myself travelling down a road to hell. You changed my life for the better mate. You didn’t kill me as such, and it’s because of you that I have been able to join the choir of Angels up in Heaven. I have forgiven everyone that I have encountered, and I need them to forgive me.
BDC: You’ve, you’ve forgiven me?
Zadra: Yep, hand on heart. You did what you had to do, and now I need you to forgive yourself.
BDC: Well, I don’t know about that …
Zadra: Listen Chris, this isn’t really an option. For you to move on to your next “experience”, you’ve got to finally let go of your past.
BDC: But I ..
Zadra: But nothing mate, that’s just the way it goes. They are the rules, plain and simple. Take as much time as need.
BDC sat there motionless. Time seemed to have lost all meaning in this strange place, but what seemed like hours had gone by. Zadra sat next to him patiently, yet silent.
BDC: Look, I had a shit upbringing, but who hasn’t. I did some terrible things myself, but it’s just something I had to do to survive. I hated you for so long, and blamed you for a lot that went wrong in my life. I hated everyone, but the man I hated the most was myself. I was born into heartache and pain, but boo hoo. I’m sorry about what I did to you, I truly am. I was put into a fucked up situation and I was protecting my friends. If I was put into the same situation again then I’d probably do exactly the same thing. I’m glad you’ve found salvation and that you’ve found a purpose on the other side. Whether this whole experience is just a fucked up dream or not, I’m glad we got to do this. So there you go, I’m sorry. We done now?
BDC looked around only to find that Zadra had disappeared. He was sitting on the floor in his kitchen in the mansion, and the mess had been cleared up. He stood up as if nothing had happened. He was a bit surprised at this, but then again he was used to fucked up things happening in his life.
He went to the fridge, opened it up went to reach for a can of cider. He stopped for a moment, thought better of it and grabbed a bottle of water instead. He grabbed a stool and sat on one of the breakfast bars that was in the kitchen. He opened the water, drank half the bottle, looked down on the breakfast bar and saw what looked like a piece of paper. He put the bottle down and turned the paper around. To his utter shock, it was the picture of his mother that he had seen in that weird incident. He picked it up, looked at it again, and began sobbing like a baby.
BDC: Thanks buddy. Rest in peace.
With that the broken phone rang again. He got up and ran toward it.
BDC: Zadra, that you?
Voice: Well done Chris. One down, two to go. You ready?
BDC: Um, I guess so.
Voice: Ok, hold on.
BDC: I’m definitely going insane.
With that the lights went out and he felt like he was being sucked through the phone. The lights came back on as suddenly as they went off, and the kitchen was once again empty.
