Josh #2: Blue
Mar 3, 2016 19:42:59 GMT -5
Post by pete on Mar 3, 2016 19:42:59 GMT -5
Josh Mitchell is lying on his back, staring off into the distance; one hand under his head, the other on his stomach. As he talks, he throws glances off behind his shoulder.
It just brought it all crashing back. Literally. I was sat there, checking bits on my phone whilst I was eating dinner… and then I was there again, you know? For a minute, for a lifetime… both and neither. I could smell the smoke from the engine… the acrid stench of gasoline as it hit the asphalt. How everything just felt cold… How the groans were deafening. I could see… I stretched out. Trying to reach… to hold… to help… but I couldn’t.
Again… I couldn’t do anything, but watch… watch as…
He stops talking, choking back a sob, pawing the tears away from his eyes.
And now I hear he was drunk or drugged up or whatever… And it makes me question why? Why am I bothering? These people are meant to be better, to be idols, inspirations, role models. It makes me wonder… worry, really… if I carry on down this path… will I end up like that? Will I stop caring? Just.. tune out the world, and fall into the abyss? … I don’t want that.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes.
You know I almost quit? Straight up dropped out? Annie and Emily… they’re great, they convinced me to carry on, for… well, you know.
A shake of the head.
And just when I’ve an even bigger match too. I want to do well, to win… but it’s like I’ve lost all motivation. And there’s so much pressure. I’m already in the middle of the card, that’s huge! And I’m facing Robbie Black, “the Pimpin’ Master”. I thought last show was a big deal, but this… he’s been doing this for years. And he’s wrestled all over the world! The only time I’ve ever even been out of state was to go to my cousin’s wedding in Danville… this is all going so fast. Too fast…
He sighs.
I’ve seen his tapes… I mean, from back before he took his break. He’s quick, really skilled with the technical stuff. And here’s me fluking way past Brett, getting lucky. Surely my only hope is that he’s got rusty, right? Else what chance do I have?
Stopping a moment, he slightly cocks his head, as if listening to a far off voice.
Yeah, sure, Candy-sensei has been helping me learn how to slow an opponent down to my pace, and how to use what I’ve got. She’s been great, actually. Real patient. You’d like her. She says that I just need to be more confident in what I’m doing. She’s probably right. But it’s hard. All of these other guys and girls, even the ones who signed up when I did, they’ve been doing this for ages. I’m barely at a month since my very first training session. And now this whole Mentez thing hits and just made it harder, you know? It’s like… a constant distraction… like the car behind you has it’s full beams on, and you just can’t ignore it...
He stops again. He nods his head, seemingly making a decision.
You’re right. You’re always right. After everything I’ve survived so far… to let this end me would be a waste. I need to learn from my last match. I didn’t think I could beat Brett… yet I did. I need to think… no. I need to know I can beat the Pimpin’ Master. I need to listen to Candy-sensei. And Annie. And Emily. I need to try and actually do what I’ve been taught, and stop worrying about how much longer other people have been doing this. I need to… I need to...
Sitting up on the grass, he looks over his shoulder at the memorial stone.
Struggling upright, he uses a crutch to right himself, and balance himself.
I need to remind myself why I’m doing this.
He looks down at the ground.
I miss you. I miss you more every day. Don’t worry, Scott. I’ll get it done. We’ll do it together. Your dream, my life… that’s how it works, yeah?
Half chuckling, more tears roll down his face.
We’ll be the best tag team ever…
He picks up a backpack. Opening it, he pulls out two cans of RC Cola, opening both, before awkwardly leaning over to rest one in front of the memorial. He gently bumps the one in his hand against the other.
Skol.
He leans on his crutch, as he juggles the can and backpack, getting the bag slung over his shoulder before bringing the drink to his lips.
You always were the better listener.
Word Count: 798
It just brought it all crashing back. Literally. I was sat there, checking bits on my phone whilst I was eating dinner… and then I was there again, you know? For a minute, for a lifetime… both and neither. I could smell the smoke from the engine… the acrid stench of gasoline as it hit the asphalt. How everything just felt cold… How the groans were deafening. I could see… I stretched out. Trying to reach… to hold… to help… but I couldn’t.
Again… I couldn’t do anything, but watch… watch as…
He stops talking, choking back a sob, pawing the tears away from his eyes.
And now I hear he was drunk or drugged up or whatever… And it makes me question why? Why am I bothering? These people are meant to be better, to be idols, inspirations, role models. It makes me wonder… worry, really… if I carry on down this path… will I end up like that? Will I stop caring? Just.. tune out the world, and fall into the abyss? … I don’t want that.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes.
You know I almost quit? Straight up dropped out? Annie and Emily… they’re great, they convinced me to carry on, for… well, you know.
A shake of the head.
And just when I’ve an even bigger match too. I want to do well, to win… but it’s like I’ve lost all motivation. And there’s so much pressure. I’m already in the middle of the card, that’s huge! And I’m facing Robbie Black, “the Pimpin’ Master”. I thought last show was a big deal, but this… he’s been doing this for years. And he’s wrestled all over the world! The only time I’ve ever even been out of state was to go to my cousin’s wedding in Danville… this is all going so fast. Too fast…
He sighs.
I’ve seen his tapes… I mean, from back before he took his break. He’s quick, really skilled with the technical stuff. And here’s me fluking way past Brett, getting lucky. Surely my only hope is that he’s got rusty, right? Else what chance do I have?
Stopping a moment, he slightly cocks his head, as if listening to a far off voice.
Yeah, sure, Candy-sensei has been helping me learn how to slow an opponent down to my pace, and how to use what I’ve got. She’s been great, actually. Real patient. You’d like her. She says that I just need to be more confident in what I’m doing. She’s probably right. But it’s hard. All of these other guys and girls, even the ones who signed up when I did, they’ve been doing this for ages. I’m barely at a month since my very first training session. And now this whole Mentez thing hits and just made it harder, you know? It’s like… a constant distraction… like the car behind you has it’s full beams on, and you just can’t ignore it...
He stops again. He nods his head, seemingly making a decision.
You’re right. You’re always right. After everything I’ve survived so far… to let this end me would be a waste. I need to learn from my last match. I didn’t think I could beat Brett… yet I did. I need to think… no. I need to know I can beat the Pimpin’ Master. I need to listen to Candy-sensei. And Annie. And Emily. I need to try and actually do what I’ve been taught, and stop worrying about how much longer other people have been doing this. I need to… I need to...
Sitting up on the grass, he looks over his shoulder at the memorial stone.
Scott Dougherty
Son, Brother, Friend
Son, Brother, Friend
Struggling upright, he uses a crutch to right himself, and balance himself.
I need to remind myself why I’m doing this.
He looks down at the ground.
I miss you. I miss you more every day. Don’t worry, Scott. I’ll get it done. We’ll do it together. Your dream, my life… that’s how it works, yeah?
Half chuckling, more tears roll down his face.
We’ll be the best tag team ever…
He picks up a backpack. Opening it, he pulls out two cans of RC Cola, opening both, before awkwardly leaning over to rest one in front of the memorial. He gently bumps the one in his hand against the other.
Skol.
He leans on his crutch, as he juggles the can and backpack, getting the bag slung over his shoulder before bringing the drink to his lips.
You always were the better listener.
Word Count: 798