The King Is Dead [Jason Bronco/Bond vs. Ze Germans - #1]
Aug 11, 2015 18:07:17 GMT -5
Post by Vinny on Aug 11, 2015 18:07:17 GMT -5
Gibsonville, North Carolina.
Backstage at the New Mid-Atlantic Sportatorium, Jason Bronco paces the fluorescent-lit, beige hallways before bursting through a heavy metal exit door into the parking lot and the sticky-humid North Carolina evening. Amidst the yellow-orange glow of the parking lamps' light, Bronco starts to quell his frantic energy; running his hands through the black hair of his undercut and tossing the sweat off into the air. His exuberance is the only thing that can cut through heavy haze of the summer air.
He paces back and forth, his Chuck Taylors gliding across the asphalt, as sweat begins to accumulate along his brow and face.
“Two months,” the words burst from his lips in a half-roar, “Two months! That's how long it has been since I last had the chance to compete. Two months since my naïve dream of ascending to top of Frontier Grappling Arts was shattered by Whiskey Dex. Two months since I watched all my sacrifices and years of training and preparation go up in smoke. Two months I've spent dwelling on the three seconds that cost me so many years.”
Bronco's cadence matches his pacing; frenzied and just barely under his control.
“I came to FGA – to the Dynamic Duos tournament – thinking I was confident and prepared. I was an arrogant little shit. See, for my whole life I kept hearing about how my old man was a 'King' in this business; hearing about how he ruled the roost with an iron fist. I heard his friends talking about him like a god-king... and I heard them talk about how I could follow in his footsteps. I heard them say that I was 'Wrestling Royalty,' and that once the king, my father, abdicated his throne all that was left was for me to adopt his mantle and rule in his stead.”
“Naïve little fool that I am, I believed them. I believed those empty words and hollow metaphors. The 'King' abandoned his throne almost two decades ago. Whatever there was of a kingdom is long drowned under the waters of time. THE KING IS DEAD... figuratively speaking. So I showed up, ready to take my 'rightful place.' But here's the fucking thing... no one wanted my ascension. No one cared for my coronation. There was no place for me in FGA. That's what they told me. Two months ago that little fairy tale I'd been telling myself was real... it ended.”
A chuckle slips through his lips, half-pitiful and followed by a sneer.
“You know what that fairy tale cost me? It cost me my family, it cost me friends, it cost me my home. It cost my everything I had. The 'prince' turned to a pauper. For two months I've been living on couches and in parked cars. For two months I've been working at a fucking Applebee's so that could get a shift meal, just so I can fucking eat. Do you know how two months of eating one shitty meal a day has left me?”
A smirk breaks through Bronco's sneer.
“Hungry.”
“Somewhere along the years of training and fairy tales I lost this hunger and replaced it with a sense of entitlement for something that doesn't even exist. Well, it's back, and it's back in spades. I'm trading in my silver spoon for a broadsword and bloodlust. That kingdom I sought to rule? I'm trading that in... for nothing. And from nothing... that's where I'm going to build my OWN empire. Brick by brick, out of nothing but blood, sweat, and hunger. And if I have to tear through the Lion's Den like a twister through a trailer park then so be it. That's exactly what I'll do.”
Bronco's pacing slowly ceases, his shoulders moving up and down as he pants, his face covered in dripping beads of sweat. His eyes narrow and focus.
“For two months I waited for my opportunity and tonight, I took it. Not out of some nationalistic sentiment, not because Bond asked me to watch his back, and not even because I owe him. I took my chance, because two months is long enough to wait. And I don't care if I have to go through Ze Germans – I don't care if I have to go through a damned Panzer tank division – I will make my mark. I refuse to be a footnote in someone else's history. Reality may have set in, but the future remains unwritten. And my future... is just getting started.”
Word Count: 747
Backstage at the New Mid-Atlantic Sportatorium, Jason Bronco paces the fluorescent-lit, beige hallways before bursting through a heavy metal exit door into the parking lot and the sticky-humid North Carolina evening. Amidst the yellow-orange glow of the parking lamps' light, Bronco starts to quell his frantic energy; running his hands through the black hair of his undercut and tossing the sweat off into the air. His exuberance is the only thing that can cut through heavy haze of the summer air.
He paces back and forth, his Chuck Taylors gliding across the asphalt, as sweat begins to accumulate along his brow and face.
“Two months,” the words burst from his lips in a half-roar, “Two months! That's how long it has been since I last had the chance to compete. Two months since my naïve dream of ascending to top of Frontier Grappling Arts was shattered by Whiskey Dex. Two months since I watched all my sacrifices and years of training and preparation go up in smoke. Two months I've spent dwelling on the three seconds that cost me so many years.”
Bronco's cadence matches his pacing; frenzied and just barely under his control.
“I came to FGA – to the Dynamic Duos tournament – thinking I was confident and prepared. I was an arrogant little shit. See, for my whole life I kept hearing about how my old man was a 'King' in this business; hearing about how he ruled the roost with an iron fist. I heard his friends talking about him like a god-king... and I heard them talk about how I could follow in his footsteps. I heard them say that I was 'Wrestling Royalty,' and that once the king, my father, abdicated his throne all that was left was for me to adopt his mantle and rule in his stead.”
“Naïve little fool that I am, I believed them. I believed those empty words and hollow metaphors. The 'King' abandoned his throne almost two decades ago. Whatever there was of a kingdom is long drowned under the waters of time. THE KING IS DEAD... figuratively speaking. So I showed up, ready to take my 'rightful place.' But here's the fucking thing... no one wanted my ascension. No one cared for my coronation. There was no place for me in FGA. That's what they told me. Two months ago that little fairy tale I'd been telling myself was real... it ended.”
A chuckle slips through his lips, half-pitiful and followed by a sneer.
“You know what that fairy tale cost me? It cost me my family, it cost me friends, it cost me my home. It cost my everything I had. The 'prince' turned to a pauper. For two months I've been living on couches and in parked cars. For two months I've been working at a fucking Applebee's so that could get a shift meal, just so I can fucking eat. Do you know how two months of eating one shitty meal a day has left me?”
A smirk breaks through Bronco's sneer.
“Hungry.”
“Somewhere along the years of training and fairy tales I lost this hunger and replaced it with a sense of entitlement for something that doesn't even exist. Well, it's back, and it's back in spades. I'm trading in my silver spoon for a broadsword and bloodlust. That kingdom I sought to rule? I'm trading that in... for nothing. And from nothing... that's where I'm going to build my OWN empire. Brick by brick, out of nothing but blood, sweat, and hunger. And if I have to tear through the Lion's Den like a twister through a trailer park then so be it. That's exactly what I'll do.”
Bronco's pacing slowly ceases, his shoulders moving up and down as he pants, his face covered in dripping beads of sweat. His eyes narrow and focus.
“For two months I waited for my opportunity and tonight, I took it. Not out of some nationalistic sentiment, not because Bond asked me to watch his back, and not even because I owe him. I took my chance, because two months is long enough to wait. And I don't care if I have to go through Ze Germans – I don't care if I have to go through a damned Panzer tank division – I will make my mark. I refuse to be a footnote in someone else's history. Reality may have set in, but the future remains unwritten. And my future... is just getting started.”
Word Count: 747