Graveyard Shift
Mar 31, 2016 18:06:43 GMT -5
Post by Lou on Mar 31, 2016 18:06:43 GMT -5
Prince George Hotel
Halifax, NS, Canada
March 16, 2016
2:37 a.m.
A man is jolted up in a panic from a deep sleep. Silhouetted in the dark of night, he sits up in bed short of breath. His eyes glisten slightly in the dim light coming from outside the bedroom of this Halifax hotel suite. He lets out a loud sigh and runs his left hand through his hair. He looks to his side where a mess of what looks to be blonde hair hides a female face buried deep into the pillow beneath her head. Her body is covered by a blanket, with the exception of a bare foot peeking out near the end of the bed.
The man swipes the blanket aside and climbs out of bed. His well-defined, athletic body is covered only by a pair of boxer briefs as he stands at the side of the bed for a moment, stretching. He grunts as he stumbles across the floor and exits the bedroom.
Still drowsy, he plops down on the chocolate leather couch in the living room and lets out a deep sigh. He lays his head back against the couch and shuts his eyes for an instant, just trying to assess everything that has been weighing on him in his personal life for quite some time now.
“What are you doing, Ricky?” An unknown female voice scares the bejeezus out of him and causes him to collapse off the couch and to the floor in the least manly way possible. He turns to look for the individual, only to be stunned by what he sees.
“Ro...Rochelle?” To his surprise, before him sits his ex-wife. His dead ex-wife. Her beautiful brown hair lays straight and just past her shoulders, encompassing her face and perfectly accessorizing her pleasant smile. Ricky is still in disbelief. “Is that you?”
“Alive and in the flesh. Well...that’s not true. I’m definitely dead,” she replies with a smirk.
Ricky, curled up in a ball on the floor, doesn’t know how to react. Was he still drunk? Did his date slip him something? How was Rochelle sitting on the couch right now in front of him?
“A-Are you...Are you a ghost?” he asked with his voice trailing off. Hesitantly, he starts to reach his hand toward her, but she swiftly slaps it away.
“No, you idiot. This is a dream!”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “But I just got up out of bed…”
“Sure you did,” she shot back, still with that smirk on her face.
“What are you doing here, Ro?” He asked with a quizzical look on his face.
“I think the better question is what are YOU doing here, Ricky?”
He didn’t answer but did shuffle himself back onto the couch across from her.
“Silence. Really? You’d think by now you would’ve learned how to express what the heck you’re going through to the people who care about you so they could HELP you.”
“You know I don’t need anyone’s help, Ro.” He was suddenly angered by her badgering.
“Ricky, sweetheart, we may not have worked, but I knew you better than I knew myself. And you know I’m right...I’ve been watching you. You’re a mess.”
“You’ve been watching me?” Somehow, Ricky still found a way to flash a devilish grin amidst the bizarre nature of this entire conversation.
“Stay focused, Ricky!”
He can’t help but snicker.
“You’re a mess,” she continues. “You’re on a downward spiral into oblivion again, and I’m scared you won’t be able to dig your way out this time. You’re teering on the edge, Ricky. You have this thing going on with Melody. Whoever that skank is in your bed over there. You destroyed what you had with Mayu and left her in shambles. Is there still something with Jessica Sears too? Honestly...what the hell are you doing, Ricky?! Don’t you realize how good you had it? How could you have done this to Mayu? And OUR SON...where is his father when he needs him? In bed with Skankalicious McSwizzleTits?! Priorities, Ricky...priorities!”
In a rare moment, Ricky is speechless. 11 months. It’s been 11 months since Rochelle was murdered in cold blood inside her Washington apartment, and Ricky has done everything he could to stuff down how much that reality haunted him. She was the one that got away..or so he thought..and he couldn’t stop beating himself up for the way things panned out. Trying to fill her shoes and be a good parent to his son was only placing more pressure on him, and as clutch as he was between those ropes when the pressure set in, he was equally atrocious outside of them.
His inadequacies were something that drew him away from great relationships throughout his life. He didn’t know HOW to be in a good relationship, and so whenever he was in one, he found a way to ruin it. He did it with Rochelle and he had done it a little over a month ago now with Mayu. All he ever wanted was a loyal companion, but at the first sign of trouble, he was always the one to seek comfort in the arms of another woman.
“I miss you, Ro,” he finally responds. “I wish I could’ve been a better husband to you.”
“Don’t,” she fires back. His eyes go wide, surprised. “Don’t say things like that. You have us up on this pedestal like we were this magical couple, Ricky, but we weren’t. We were horrible for each other.”
“No we weren’t.”
“Yes, we were. We may have loved each other, but we didn’t LOVE each other. We tried to make it work for Little Richie, and it NEVER worked. All we did was fight, and cheat, and fight, and cheat. If I had a dollar for every window or potted plant we broke in the Kentucky house, I’d have been a billionaire. We were mean to each other, Ricky. Oh my God, were we verbally abusive to one another--”
“Physically abusive too…” he says, his voice trailing off as he looked at her with a smug grin.
“It was one time!”
“You hit me with a beer bottle,” he snided.
“Yea, but don’t act like you didn’t deserve it!” She responds with a genuine smile for the first time since the beginning of this intervention. She gets up from her seat and walks over to sit next to him. She takes his right hand in her left. Her hazel eyes look fondly upon her ex-husband. “We were bad people who were toxic for one another. We brought each other down and there was nothing we could do to ever change that. You need to stop looking back at the past with rose-colored glasses remembering everything like it was all peachy keen. You have an opportunity to be a good person in this world, Ricky. Don’t blow it.
“Be a good friend. A good brother. A good lover. And most importantly, a good father to our baby boy. Enough is enough, Ricky. He needs you. Step up and deliver! Let go of the grudges you hold. Surrender to the goodness in your heart and I promise you, you will thrive far more than you ever have before in EVERY facet of your life!”
Ricky cocks a skeptical eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that! You know I’m right. Get your shit straight and just let it go!” She smirks. “There’s this animosity between you and Luke that is just drawn out and desperate to end. You’ve both moved on from Jessica. She’s a great girl. I adore her, but it’s time to suck it up and be men. Squash the beef and do right for once, Ricky...do the RIGHT THING. Please. I shudder to think what will become of you if you continue on this path you’re currently on, because it doesn’t look good...”
Ricky is suddenly jolted from his sleep once more and finds himself seated in the living room of his hotel suite. He runs his right hand through his hair, then places it on his chest as he struggles to regain his breath. He remains there, seated on the couch trying to gain some clarity following that rather vivid dream and shakes his head.
“What the hell was that all about…”
We fade…
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(rec)
We fade in on the confident, glowing face of FGA World Tag Team Champion Ricky Valero. It’s night time, probably around 8:30 p.m., and he sits with his back pressed against the concrete exterior of the 2300 Arena in Philadelphia. It’s drizzling out and the wind has picked up a bit, but he hides his head under the hood of his black FGA hooded sweatshirt. His championship belt sits in his lap, and his arms rest firmly on his knees with a water bottle held in his left hand.
“The target is square on our backs now. That could not have been more evident than at the last episode of Vertigo, when my tag partner Luke Jackson was brutally assaulted following his match by Aries Reed and Grundle.”
A cough off-camera steals Ricky’s attention.
“What?”
Incomprehensible mutters, again off-camera.
“Really?”
Ricky chuckles, nodding his head and shrugging his shoulders. He places the water bottle down on the sidewalk beside himself.
“Oh...excuse me, apparently it’s Grendel. You know, like the monster in Beowulf. You know, the monster that promptly died at Beowulf’s hand, and then Beowulf wiped the whole damn family tree out by slaying his mother as well? Consider Grendel’s mistake at Vertigo 11 his death wish. Toll the bell, call me Beowulf, Grendel nor his comrade Aries will go unpunished for what they pulled, I promise you that. Death awaits them, and I am their Grim Reaper. Luke might be my Nick Young, and the son of a bitch probably deserved what he got, but I linked up in this team with him knowing we had to have each other’s backs every step of the way. I dropped the ball, we lost a step, and Luke paid the price. It’s now my job to deliver the heads of those two mooks on a stake.”
Ricky’s confident demeanor suddenly morphs into a more serious, business tone.
“We knew these World Tag Titles would draw contenders. People coming out of the woodworks thinking their worthy, thinking they stand a chance of actually presenting us a challenge. We knew the games our foes would try to play, how they would try to tear us down and turn us against one another. I speak only for myself, but I guaran-damn-tee you, what Aries and Grendel pulled has only made us stronger. It’s made us smarter, wiser, more aware of the risks we’re taking just by stepping foot inside an arena. Every tag team, honestly every individual with an axe to grind is gunning for us now, and we will not allow one more person to gain the upperhand on us, unseat us, and leave us for dead.
We fought too hard for this gold. We fought too hard to remain unified, overcome our issues and thrive despite them. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, is going to sideswipe the progress we’ve made, knock us off the road and send us headfirst into the barricade. We’re taking on every challenge head on, I just hope those who step up to the plate realize the risk they’re taking just by standing inside the ring across from us. We came here, separately, determined to make our mark. We’ve delivered on everything thus far, and we don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”
He pauses for a moment, adjusting himself in his seat as he shifts focus to the upcoming matter at hand.
“My opponent at Vertigo is a man who proclaims himself to be the last real man in professional wrestling. Yet this very man lacks every quality he claims himself to be and NO ONE other than himself would ever mistake him to be. Facts only?”
He smirks.
“The only thing real about Johnny Cannon are the sunspots on his ugly, wrinkled face and those bingo wings his ancient ass calls arms. The reality is, Johnny Cannon is a fraud. He’s a coward and a sellout who couldn’t cut it on his own here in FGA, so he linked up with Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine and Danny Diamond with the intent of riding their coattails to some semblance of mediocrity. Because let’s be honest, Johnny Cannon is a distant third compared to his counterparts. Carmine’s never going to allow him to enjoy any kind of spotlight and you just know Diamond’s hogging all the girls at the strip club.
And now he has the misfortune of facing me, one half of the World Tag Team Champions and a man who individually has been a roll since stepping foot in FGA. Every opponent they have put in my path, I’ve knocked them down and kept moving forward. It hasn’t been easy. I have faced some serious challenges. Hell, winning this gold took everything I had.”
He says as he scoops the leather belt from his lap and flashes his half of the FGA World Tag Team Championships for all to see.
“But Luke and myself, we won. We overcame each adversary and were rewarded for it. This gold is only the beginning, however. Winning was merely the first step toward a long line of accomplishments we both seek to achieve here in the FGA. Apparently, defeating Johnny Cannon is another step in that direction. I’m ready. Ready to fight. Ready to do whatever it takes to continue my climb up the ladder here in FGA. Cannon’s master isn’t the only one with his eyes on the top prize in this company, and he’s not the only one who believes he’s done everything he could thus far to position himself for a shot. The Gold Rush Rumble is drawing near, and I MUST keep the momentum rolling if I’m going to earn MY shot at the FGA World Championship.”
He takes a deep breath, settling on the idea of achieving such a feat.
“And that’s why I stand before all of you watching right now confident I will walk out of Vertigo victorious. There is no other option. There is no other direction I can move but forward. I came here looking to prove myself as one of the best the world has ever laid eyes on inside a squared circle, and every win solidifies what I know is an indisputable fact. What I know and what everyone else knows are two different beasts, however, and that’s why I do everything in my power every time I step into an arena, every time I step into a ring to leave no doubt in everyone’s minds: I am that damn good. I am better than advertised. I am stronger, faster, smarter and quite frankly, the MOST entertaining individual in professional wrestling today. I was built to succeed in this sport, and that’s why I have thrived everywhere I have ever stepped foot. NONE of those places were ever FGA, however. NONE of those places ever boasted the talent on this roster. NONE of those places boasted the type of history this promotion has built in its near five years of existence.
Every talented competitor wrestles here. And if she doesn’t today, she did yesterday or she will tomorrow. I don’t care what anyone says about this place, if you’re going to claim you’ve made it in this sport, your claims will hold substantially more weight if you were able to cut it here in FGA. That’s what I’ve learned in my few short months here. That’s what I’ve learned competing with some of the very best in the world today. You can’t be a half-witted hack and rise to the top here. You can’t scheme your way to the top on the shoulders of your associates. You damn sure can’t whine your way to the top stomping your feet about every single thing you feel was an injustice to you. You have to have talent and you have to be GREAT to succeed here in FGA, and I absolutely love that I’m apart of it. I love what this promotion demands of me to be successful, and I’m going to love being the FGA World Champion someday soon.
Dammit, Johnny Cannon is one talented son of a bitch, but there is no chance in hell I’m going to lose to a guy who has gleefully chosen to play third fiddle to Tony Carmine. I realize everyone has to start somewhere, but I’m not someone who has ever been willing to be anyone else’s patsy. To each his own sure, but I’ll make this nice and blunt: Johnny Cannon, you’re a bitch. You lack heart. You lack the determination it takes to truly succeed here, and you just don’t have it in you. Your presence in FGA was already as a doormat. You couldn’t compete. Now you’re Carmine’s errand boy.”
He scoffs.
“Talk about rock bottom. You’re the last of a dying breed, Johnny? You could not be more right. You’re already digging your own grave, and I’ve shown up at just the perfect time to put your sorry ass to rest and drive the final nail into your coffin. You have talent and there was potential for you to be something special. You pissed that all away when you decided to take the easy route...the safe route. To be successful in this industry, you have to take risks. You have to go beyond expectations and exceed what the common Joe Schmo would do in your position...you failed to do that, and now, it’s going to be my pleasure to keep you descending on this neverending path to nothing. You don’t want any part of this, Johnny…”
“...You’re not ready for this.”
With a wink and a kiss blown to the camera...we fade to black.
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Journal Entry #800
Strive to Survive
March 31, 2016
Survival. That’s all my life has ever been about. Taking hits, learning to roll with them, and finding the way to overcome and survive. For 800 days, that’s what I have been doing. In the ring, at home, in my heart...every day is a battle.
I’m not exactly proud of that. I realize that a lot of the issues I deal with today were self-inflicted. My drug habits, my sexual encounters...my relationship, or lack thereof, with Mayu...those are things I ruined all on my own. I’ve never pretended to be someone anyone should trust. Hell, I warned Luke about that when we first met. The fact he had a gorgeous little blonde girlfriend only made our impending hatred for one another a 100% certainty from the start.
I have a hard time letting go of grudges. I still hate him for the shit he pulled in Pride. I’m still pissed at him for the shit he pulled telling Mayu I had slept with his sister like some little pre-school bitch who has no business sharing a ring with me, much less the same state.
But I realize this isn’t healthy. For me, for my son, for brother, Angelina, Abi...I have a lot of responsibilities now, and I realize it’s about time I grow the hell up and take control of myself, my thoughts, my actions. Maybe it’s time I start forgiving people...moving on...resisting the urge to be an asshole and actually try to be a good person.
This last year has been hard. Losing Rochelle, trying to fill her shoes and be a good parent to Little Richie...I’ve been a tragic failure. But I’m still fighting. I’m still trying to do right by him. By her. Sometimes I want to take the easy way out. Often times, I feel like it’d be so much easier to give up, pop a couple pills, snort a line and go wild.
But I don’t think I can be that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person anymore. 800 days..it’s amazing how that stuff still haunts you 2 ½ years later. It’s more amazing the willpower I’ve gained since kicking it. The internal struggle between good and evil is the basis for every good movie, book and life itself...for a long time I thought evil won by a landslide. But times...I think times, they are a-changin!
Halifax, NS, Canada
March 16, 2016
2:37 a.m.
A man is jolted up in a panic from a deep sleep. Silhouetted in the dark of night, he sits up in bed short of breath. His eyes glisten slightly in the dim light coming from outside the bedroom of this Halifax hotel suite. He lets out a loud sigh and runs his left hand through his hair. He looks to his side where a mess of what looks to be blonde hair hides a female face buried deep into the pillow beneath her head. Her body is covered by a blanket, with the exception of a bare foot peeking out near the end of the bed.
The man swipes the blanket aside and climbs out of bed. His well-defined, athletic body is covered only by a pair of boxer briefs as he stands at the side of the bed for a moment, stretching. He grunts as he stumbles across the floor and exits the bedroom.
Still drowsy, he plops down on the chocolate leather couch in the living room and lets out a deep sigh. He lays his head back against the couch and shuts his eyes for an instant, just trying to assess everything that has been weighing on him in his personal life for quite some time now.
“What are you doing, Ricky?” An unknown female voice scares the bejeezus out of him and causes him to collapse off the couch and to the floor in the least manly way possible. He turns to look for the individual, only to be stunned by what he sees.
“Ro...Rochelle?” To his surprise, before him sits his ex-wife. His dead ex-wife. Her beautiful brown hair lays straight and just past her shoulders, encompassing her face and perfectly accessorizing her pleasant smile. Ricky is still in disbelief. “Is that you?”
“Alive and in the flesh. Well...that’s not true. I’m definitely dead,” she replies with a smirk.
Ricky, curled up in a ball on the floor, doesn’t know how to react. Was he still drunk? Did his date slip him something? How was Rochelle sitting on the couch right now in front of him?
“A-Are you...Are you a ghost?” he asked with his voice trailing off. Hesitantly, he starts to reach his hand toward her, but she swiftly slaps it away.
“No, you idiot. This is a dream!”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “But I just got up out of bed…”
“Sure you did,” she shot back, still with that smirk on her face.
“What are you doing here, Ro?” He asked with a quizzical look on his face.
“I think the better question is what are YOU doing here, Ricky?”
He didn’t answer but did shuffle himself back onto the couch across from her.
“Silence. Really? You’d think by now you would’ve learned how to express what the heck you’re going through to the people who care about you so they could HELP you.”
“You know I don’t need anyone’s help, Ro.” He was suddenly angered by her badgering.
“Ricky, sweetheart, we may not have worked, but I knew you better than I knew myself. And you know I’m right...I’ve been watching you. You’re a mess.”
“You’ve been watching me?” Somehow, Ricky still found a way to flash a devilish grin amidst the bizarre nature of this entire conversation.
“Stay focused, Ricky!”
He can’t help but snicker.
“You’re a mess,” she continues. “You’re on a downward spiral into oblivion again, and I’m scared you won’t be able to dig your way out this time. You’re teering on the edge, Ricky. You have this thing going on with Melody. Whoever that skank is in your bed over there. You destroyed what you had with Mayu and left her in shambles. Is there still something with Jessica Sears too? Honestly...what the hell are you doing, Ricky?! Don’t you realize how good you had it? How could you have done this to Mayu? And OUR SON...where is his father when he needs him? In bed with Skankalicious McSwizzleTits?! Priorities, Ricky...priorities!”
In a rare moment, Ricky is speechless. 11 months. It’s been 11 months since Rochelle was murdered in cold blood inside her Washington apartment, and Ricky has done everything he could to stuff down how much that reality haunted him. She was the one that got away..or so he thought..and he couldn’t stop beating himself up for the way things panned out. Trying to fill her shoes and be a good parent to his son was only placing more pressure on him, and as clutch as he was between those ropes when the pressure set in, he was equally atrocious outside of them.
His inadequacies were something that drew him away from great relationships throughout his life. He didn’t know HOW to be in a good relationship, and so whenever he was in one, he found a way to ruin it. He did it with Rochelle and he had done it a little over a month ago now with Mayu. All he ever wanted was a loyal companion, but at the first sign of trouble, he was always the one to seek comfort in the arms of another woman.
“I miss you, Ro,” he finally responds. “I wish I could’ve been a better husband to you.”
“Don’t,” she fires back. His eyes go wide, surprised. “Don’t say things like that. You have us up on this pedestal like we were this magical couple, Ricky, but we weren’t. We were horrible for each other.”
“No we weren’t.”
“Yes, we were. We may have loved each other, but we didn’t LOVE each other. We tried to make it work for Little Richie, and it NEVER worked. All we did was fight, and cheat, and fight, and cheat. If I had a dollar for every window or potted plant we broke in the Kentucky house, I’d have been a billionaire. We were mean to each other, Ricky. Oh my God, were we verbally abusive to one another--”
“Physically abusive too…” he says, his voice trailing off as he looked at her with a smug grin.
“It was one time!”
“You hit me with a beer bottle,” he snided.
“Yea, but don’t act like you didn’t deserve it!” She responds with a genuine smile for the first time since the beginning of this intervention. She gets up from her seat and walks over to sit next to him. She takes his right hand in her left. Her hazel eyes look fondly upon her ex-husband. “We were bad people who were toxic for one another. We brought each other down and there was nothing we could do to ever change that. You need to stop looking back at the past with rose-colored glasses remembering everything like it was all peachy keen. You have an opportunity to be a good person in this world, Ricky. Don’t blow it.
“Be a good friend. A good brother. A good lover. And most importantly, a good father to our baby boy. Enough is enough, Ricky. He needs you. Step up and deliver! Let go of the grudges you hold. Surrender to the goodness in your heart and I promise you, you will thrive far more than you ever have before in EVERY facet of your life!”
Ricky cocks a skeptical eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that! You know I’m right. Get your shit straight and just let it go!” She smirks. “There’s this animosity between you and Luke that is just drawn out and desperate to end. You’ve both moved on from Jessica. She’s a great girl. I adore her, but it’s time to suck it up and be men. Squash the beef and do right for once, Ricky...do the RIGHT THING. Please. I shudder to think what will become of you if you continue on this path you’re currently on, because it doesn’t look good...”
Ricky is suddenly jolted from his sleep once more and finds himself seated in the living room of his hotel suite. He runs his right hand through his hair, then places it on his chest as he struggles to regain his breath. He remains there, seated on the couch trying to gain some clarity following that rather vivid dream and shakes his head.
“What the hell was that all about…”
We fade…
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“Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.”
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
(rec)
We fade in on the confident, glowing face of FGA World Tag Team Champion Ricky Valero. It’s night time, probably around 8:30 p.m., and he sits with his back pressed against the concrete exterior of the 2300 Arena in Philadelphia. It’s drizzling out and the wind has picked up a bit, but he hides his head under the hood of his black FGA hooded sweatshirt. His championship belt sits in his lap, and his arms rest firmly on his knees with a water bottle held in his left hand.
“The target is square on our backs now. That could not have been more evident than at the last episode of Vertigo, when my tag partner Luke Jackson was brutally assaulted following his match by Aries Reed and Grundle.”
A cough off-camera steals Ricky’s attention.
“What?”
Incomprehensible mutters, again off-camera.
“Really?”
Ricky chuckles, nodding his head and shrugging his shoulders. He places the water bottle down on the sidewalk beside himself.
“Oh...excuse me, apparently it’s Grendel. You know, like the monster in Beowulf. You know, the monster that promptly died at Beowulf’s hand, and then Beowulf wiped the whole damn family tree out by slaying his mother as well? Consider Grendel’s mistake at Vertigo 11 his death wish. Toll the bell, call me Beowulf, Grendel nor his comrade Aries will go unpunished for what they pulled, I promise you that. Death awaits them, and I am their Grim Reaper. Luke might be my Nick Young, and the son of a bitch probably deserved what he got, but I linked up in this team with him knowing we had to have each other’s backs every step of the way. I dropped the ball, we lost a step, and Luke paid the price. It’s now my job to deliver the heads of those two mooks on a stake.”
Ricky’s confident demeanor suddenly morphs into a more serious, business tone.
“We knew these World Tag Titles would draw contenders. People coming out of the woodworks thinking their worthy, thinking they stand a chance of actually presenting us a challenge. We knew the games our foes would try to play, how they would try to tear us down and turn us against one another. I speak only for myself, but I guaran-damn-tee you, what Aries and Grendel pulled has only made us stronger. It’s made us smarter, wiser, more aware of the risks we’re taking just by stepping foot inside an arena. Every tag team, honestly every individual with an axe to grind is gunning for us now, and we will not allow one more person to gain the upperhand on us, unseat us, and leave us for dead.
We fought too hard for this gold. We fought too hard to remain unified, overcome our issues and thrive despite them. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, is going to sideswipe the progress we’ve made, knock us off the road and send us headfirst into the barricade. We’re taking on every challenge head on, I just hope those who step up to the plate realize the risk they’re taking just by standing inside the ring across from us. We came here, separately, determined to make our mark. We’ve delivered on everything thus far, and we don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”
He pauses for a moment, adjusting himself in his seat as he shifts focus to the upcoming matter at hand.
“My opponent at Vertigo is a man who proclaims himself to be the last real man in professional wrestling. Yet this very man lacks every quality he claims himself to be and NO ONE other than himself would ever mistake him to be. Facts only?”
He smirks.
“The only thing real about Johnny Cannon are the sunspots on his ugly, wrinkled face and those bingo wings his ancient ass calls arms. The reality is, Johnny Cannon is a fraud. He’s a coward and a sellout who couldn’t cut it on his own here in FGA, so he linked up with Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine and Danny Diamond with the intent of riding their coattails to some semblance of mediocrity. Because let’s be honest, Johnny Cannon is a distant third compared to his counterparts. Carmine’s never going to allow him to enjoy any kind of spotlight and you just know Diamond’s hogging all the girls at the strip club.
And now he has the misfortune of facing me, one half of the World Tag Team Champions and a man who individually has been a roll since stepping foot in FGA. Every opponent they have put in my path, I’ve knocked them down and kept moving forward. It hasn’t been easy. I have faced some serious challenges. Hell, winning this gold took everything I had.”
He says as he scoops the leather belt from his lap and flashes his half of the FGA World Tag Team Championships for all to see.
“But Luke and myself, we won. We overcame each adversary and were rewarded for it. This gold is only the beginning, however. Winning was merely the first step toward a long line of accomplishments we both seek to achieve here in the FGA. Apparently, defeating Johnny Cannon is another step in that direction. I’m ready. Ready to fight. Ready to do whatever it takes to continue my climb up the ladder here in FGA. Cannon’s master isn’t the only one with his eyes on the top prize in this company, and he’s not the only one who believes he’s done everything he could thus far to position himself for a shot. The Gold Rush Rumble is drawing near, and I MUST keep the momentum rolling if I’m going to earn MY shot at the FGA World Championship.”
He takes a deep breath, settling on the idea of achieving such a feat.
“And that’s why I stand before all of you watching right now confident I will walk out of Vertigo victorious. There is no other option. There is no other direction I can move but forward. I came here looking to prove myself as one of the best the world has ever laid eyes on inside a squared circle, and every win solidifies what I know is an indisputable fact. What I know and what everyone else knows are two different beasts, however, and that’s why I do everything in my power every time I step into an arena, every time I step into a ring to leave no doubt in everyone’s minds: I am that damn good. I am better than advertised. I am stronger, faster, smarter and quite frankly, the MOST entertaining individual in professional wrestling today. I was built to succeed in this sport, and that’s why I have thrived everywhere I have ever stepped foot. NONE of those places were ever FGA, however. NONE of those places ever boasted the talent on this roster. NONE of those places boasted the type of history this promotion has built in its near five years of existence.
Every talented competitor wrestles here. And if she doesn’t today, she did yesterday or she will tomorrow. I don’t care what anyone says about this place, if you’re going to claim you’ve made it in this sport, your claims will hold substantially more weight if you were able to cut it here in FGA. That’s what I’ve learned in my few short months here. That’s what I’ve learned competing with some of the very best in the world today. You can’t be a half-witted hack and rise to the top here. You can’t scheme your way to the top on the shoulders of your associates. You damn sure can’t whine your way to the top stomping your feet about every single thing you feel was an injustice to you. You have to have talent and you have to be GREAT to succeed here in FGA, and I absolutely love that I’m apart of it. I love what this promotion demands of me to be successful, and I’m going to love being the FGA World Champion someday soon.
Dammit, Johnny Cannon is one talented son of a bitch, but there is no chance in hell I’m going to lose to a guy who has gleefully chosen to play third fiddle to Tony Carmine. I realize everyone has to start somewhere, but I’m not someone who has ever been willing to be anyone else’s patsy. To each his own sure, but I’ll make this nice and blunt: Johnny Cannon, you’re a bitch. You lack heart. You lack the determination it takes to truly succeed here, and you just don’t have it in you. Your presence in FGA was already as a doormat. You couldn’t compete. Now you’re Carmine’s errand boy.”
He scoffs.
“Talk about rock bottom. You’re the last of a dying breed, Johnny? You could not be more right. You’re already digging your own grave, and I’ve shown up at just the perfect time to put your sorry ass to rest and drive the final nail into your coffin. You have talent and there was potential for you to be something special. You pissed that all away when you decided to take the easy route...the safe route. To be successful in this industry, you have to take risks. You have to go beyond expectations and exceed what the common Joe Schmo would do in your position...you failed to do that, and now, it’s going to be my pleasure to keep you descending on this neverending path to nothing. You don’t want any part of this, Johnny…”
IT’S GAME TIME BABY!
“...You’re not ready for this.”
With a wink and a kiss blown to the camera...we fade to black.
.
.
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Journal Entry #800
Strive to Survive
March 31, 2016
Survival. That’s all my life has ever been about. Taking hits, learning to roll with them, and finding the way to overcome and survive. For 800 days, that’s what I have been doing. In the ring, at home, in my heart...every day is a battle.
I’m not exactly proud of that. I realize that a lot of the issues I deal with today were self-inflicted. My drug habits, my sexual encounters...my relationship, or lack thereof, with Mayu...those are things I ruined all on my own. I’ve never pretended to be someone anyone should trust. Hell, I warned Luke about that when we first met. The fact he had a gorgeous little blonde girlfriend only made our impending hatred for one another a 100% certainty from the start.
I have a hard time letting go of grudges. I still hate him for the shit he pulled in Pride. I’m still pissed at him for the shit he pulled telling Mayu I had slept with his sister like some little pre-school bitch who has no business sharing a ring with me, much less the same state.
But I realize this isn’t healthy. For me, for my son, for brother, Angelina, Abi...I have a lot of responsibilities now, and I realize it’s about time I grow the hell up and take control of myself, my thoughts, my actions. Maybe it’s time I start forgiving people...moving on...resisting the urge to be an asshole and actually try to be a good person.
This last year has been hard. Losing Rochelle, trying to fill her shoes and be a good parent to Little Richie...I’ve been a tragic failure. But I’m still fighting. I’m still trying to do right by him. By her. Sometimes I want to take the easy way out. Often times, I feel like it’d be so much easier to give up, pop a couple pills, snort a line and go wild.
But I don’t think I can be that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person anymore. 800 days..it’s amazing how that stuff still haunts you 2 ½ years later. It’s more amazing the willpower I’ve gained since kicking it. The internal struggle between good and evil is the basis for every good movie, book and life itself...for a long time I thought evil won by a landslide. But times...I think times, they are a-changin!