Nothing less.
Jan 7, 2017 10:39:16 GMT -5
Post by Anna on Jan 7, 2017 10:39:16 GMT -5
Pedro Gonzales burns a hole into the ceiling of the room with a stare.
The invitation to escape for a spell was a welcome one when he first got it. The cold chilled him to the bone, but there remains good friends, good food, and good memories. It'd been some time since he had spared with Josh Mitchell or really anybody other than his own shadow. And Maritza Diaz...that girl's truly a fireball. Whether it be in the ring or outside of it, she expels a warmth that depending on your relationship with the woman can either keep your warm with one of her smiles or burn you to a crisp with her physicality. From the brisket dinners in North Carolina to meeting assorted relatives of families in Florida, every moment of it brought a peace he’d never felt in a long time.
Yet even with the comfort of old stomping grounds, the ghosts of failure still managed to haunt him in the middle of the night. They force him awake even now as his eyelids droop. He keeps going through the multitudes; what happened and why. Helping Malo come to his senses, Pedro swore he could see something at the corner of his eye. He didn't have a chance to react as the kick thumped along his skull. All this comes back over and over. The very memory of those tag team titles being so close only to be yanked away taunted him, much like the Gold Star Connection did.
Stay Gold.
Bang.
And for most of the nights as he stared at the ceiling, Pedro agonized. He suffered. He felt like after everything he tried to do, it didn't really seem to make much of a difference. All that time keeping in seclusion, working, training, trying to be the best he could be...it was all dust in the wind. It didn't matter. He kept thinking what else can I possibly do? How else can I compete? What more do I have to do?
Stay Gold.
Bang.
All hours. And he heard "You did great, papi. You'll get 'em next time, amigo." But next time would seem more like a consolation prize. There and then was the correct time and place. There and then was the time it mattered because it would've made a statement even if nobody else could understand. Now Bueno Club was back to to square one and he was back at the place of his failure, back in Los Angeles, and moment the call came in, Pedro knew he would have to go back to Center Stage. There was no choice in the matter.
But to come back as what? He never claimed to be the greatest in the world. But one cannot stay the same very long. The world changes rapidly now and so should its warriors. Styles separate men and are wildly predictable after a time. And the mindset! Maybe, just maybe…
Finally as the dark slowly starts to segway into light, sleep becomes him.
He dreams of serpents.
The invitation to escape for a spell was a welcome one when he first got it. The cold chilled him to the bone, but there remains good friends, good food, and good memories. It'd been some time since he had spared with Josh Mitchell or really anybody other than his own shadow. And Maritza Diaz...that girl's truly a fireball. Whether it be in the ring or outside of it, she expels a warmth that depending on your relationship with the woman can either keep your warm with one of her smiles or burn you to a crisp with her physicality. From the brisket dinners in North Carolina to meeting assorted relatives of families in Florida, every moment of it brought a peace he’d never felt in a long time.
Yet even with the comfort of old stomping grounds, the ghosts of failure still managed to haunt him in the middle of the night. They force him awake even now as his eyelids droop. He keeps going through the multitudes; what happened and why. Helping Malo come to his senses, Pedro swore he could see something at the corner of his eye. He didn't have a chance to react as the kick thumped along his skull. All this comes back over and over. The very memory of those tag team titles being so close only to be yanked away taunted him, much like the Gold Star Connection did.
Stay Gold.
Bang.
And for most of the nights as he stared at the ceiling, Pedro agonized. He suffered. He felt like after everything he tried to do, it didn't really seem to make much of a difference. All that time keeping in seclusion, working, training, trying to be the best he could be...it was all dust in the wind. It didn't matter. He kept thinking what else can I possibly do? How else can I compete? What more do I have to do?
Stay Gold.
Bang.
All hours. And he heard "You did great, papi. You'll get 'em next time, amigo." But next time would seem more like a consolation prize. There and then was the correct time and place. There and then was the time it mattered because it would've made a statement even if nobody else could understand. Now Bueno Club was back to to square one and he was back at the place of his failure, back in Los Angeles, and moment the call came in, Pedro knew he would have to go back to Center Stage. There was no choice in the matter.
But to come back as what? He never claimed to be the greatest in the world. But one cannot stay the same very long. The world changes rapidly now and so should its warriors. Styles separate men and are wildly predictable after a time. And the mindset! Maybe, just maybe…
Finally as the dark slowly starts to segway into light, sleep becomes him.
He dreams of serpents.