Could Be Wrong. Could Be Right.
Aug 15, 2016 11:19:59 GMT -5
Post by Anna on Aug 15, 2016 11:19:59 GMT -5
Inside the Lion’s Den Training Facility, Pedro Gonzales sits. Alone.
It’s still open, yet it’s empty. This was a new feeling. Usually, you could hear something going on. The pain and torment of a class, the shifting of weights, the whipping of a jump rope, the gossip that tends to run. But there’s none of that. The FGA people had yet to come around and all the Lion’s Den people—his friends—had other things to do. Tournaments, hanging out with family, questioning their own paths just in case… He’d been doing that last bit. All day. All night. And he didn’t have an answer.
Things change in a blink of an eye. The future was bright, but who knows if there is a future for the Den, for anyone. They can all make assumptions and promises and look up at those FGA contracts until the cows come home. But if there’s one thing Mexico City Fave—
No, fuck that. He inherited the nickname. I’m fucking using it.
If there’s one thing the Pride of Mexico knew about professional wrestling and life in general is that when the future’s uncertain, the end is always near. And he should really stop listening to the Doors.
Which is why he came here. Here is where the heart of the matter lies: the sweat and grime and heat of battle, the suffering of knowledge. It might not be here tomorrow. It might not feel right tomorrow. As creepy as it is now, silent as a tomb, this was as proper a time as any. The lights are on. No crowd in sight. The ring right there calling to him…
He walks towards the ring and feels the canvas. Like the skin of an old friend.
I don’t need a teacher.
I don’t need a class.
I’ve got work to do.
With this mindset, he goes through the ropes.
___________________
Writer's Note: It's a small thing. Perhaps I shouldn't be doing this. I had an urge and I went with it.
It’s still open, yet it’s empty. This was a new feeling. Usually, you could hear something going on. The pain and torment of a class, the shifting of weights, the whipping of a jump rope, the gossip that tends to run. But there’s none of that. The FGA people had yet to come around and all the Lion’s Den people—his friends—had other things to do. Tournaments, hanging out with family, questioning their own paths just in case… He’d been doing that last bit. All day. All night. And he didn’t have an answer.
Things change in a blink of an eye. The future was bright, but who knows if there is a future for the Den, for anyone. They can all make assumptions and promises and look up at those FGA contracts until the cows come home. But if there’s one thing Mexico City Fave—
No, fuck that. He inherited the nickname. I’m fucking using it.
If there’s one thing the Pride of Mexico knew about professional wrestling and life in general is that when the future’s uncertain, the end is always near. And he should really stop listening to the Doors.
Which is why he came here. Here is where the heart of the matter lies: the sweat and grime and heat of battle, the suffering of knowledge. It might not be here tomorrow. It might not feel right tomorrow. As creepy as it is now, silent as a tomb, this was as proper a time as any. The lights are on. No crowd in sight. The ring right there calling to him…
He walks towards the ring and feels the canvas. Like the skin of an old friend.
I don’t need a teacher.
I don’t need a class.
I’ve got work to do.
With this mindset, he goes through the ropes.
___________________
Writer's Note: It's a small thing. Perhaps I shouldn't be doing this. I had an urge and I went with it.