Post by - The Hardcore Hero on Sept 24, 2015 17:44:46 GMT -6
Lost & Found
Lights. So many lights.
*Have you ever been so far deep in thought that you forget where you are or what you’re doing? Have you ever gotten back on the right track after years of failure just to find yourself at another dead end? Have you ever been so ignorant to the truth that you’ve always shoved it away, forcing it to stay locked in the shadows to which you cannot see?
Because, I have.
My entire life has been based on keeping the truth away from me as paying attention will only bring me negative emotions.*
Guilt. Depression. Like an empty shell of what I could have been.
*I usually push the truth so far away that others around me can’t even see it, it stays sitting in that little idle part of my brain that I choose not to use, the part where I store those memories I don’t ever want to think about.
I hear their names echo through my mind, bouncing around inside my head getting louder with each rebound.*
Kincaid. Slick Williams. Duncan McAlistair.
*Despite my success against McAlistair in my debut, I couldn’t help myself from thinking that I may not have what it takes anymore, that perhaps my final success story lay in the arms of the World Turmoil Federation, or its remnants at the very least. Though I was on top of things for the majority of the match, the pressure from each of his attacks still hadn’t completely left my body. I can handle all sorts of pain and though this was one of them, what say one day I land on my head the wrong way or get locked in the wrong kind of submission? There were too many possible outcomes and for once, I found myself looking at all of them.
The could-be truth is that maybe Heath Williams days are over, maybe my time at the top of the food chain was done with, maybe I’m not the wrestler or the man I once was.
I feel myself leaning forward, the lights getting closer. An air current pushes past me as the adrenaline kicks in, vertigo coming into play as I no longer feel a surface beneath my feet.*
Is my demise upon me?
Thunder Bay International Airport: September 24th
*Everything’s very noisy today in Thunder Bay, immigrants flooding into its airports from all over the world to get a taste of the next VoW PPV, Armed and Dangerous. Myself and Tyron Bickerton have just gotten off our own plane and are walking around customs, looking at all the different knick knacks we could take as souvenirs. Tyron picks up a little butterfly necklace from the shelves, examining it carefully.*
“This’d look nice around Jos’s neck.” He says with his girlfriend in mind, holding it up towards me.
“It’d look nice around a hookers neck too.” I respond, looking in the direction of the booze shelves. “How about a nice bottle of rum?”
“I don’t drink, Heath. You know that.”
“You my friend, disgust me. TO THE BOOZE!”[/b] I point towards the hot bottles, running over, Tyron in tow.
*I pick up the biggest bottle of rum I can see and turn it around, scanning the ingredients. I see Tyron shaking his head in my peripheral vision, looking a tad impatient with my alcoholic obsession.*
“Come on dude, just get a bottle so we can get to the hotel, I’m jetlagged.”
*I nod and we walk over to the counter, I put the bottle down infront of me and the cashier takes it, waving its barcode infront of the scanner. The price appears on the digital register, sixty bucks for this big ol’ glass bottle of straight rum wasn’t too bad and I was happy to pass over a few crispy twenty dollar bills. I thank the cashier and she wishes a good day upon me, I turn and leave the little store before realizing I had left Tyron behind. I wait for a moment before he walks out happily holding the necklace he was looking at earlier.*
“She’s gonna love me.” He smiles dumbly.
“Yeah, you gon’ puts ya dick in.”
“It’s that kind of vulgarity that only gets you cheap whores and old ladies looking to relive their college days, Heath. It’s actually rather nice to settle down, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Wake me up when September ends and all that shit. Let’s gap anyway, the Hardcore Hero wants to get Hardcore wasted.”
Valhalla Inn
*After climbing over half a dozen flights of stairs without realizing the hotel has an elevator we reach our room, #84 in a lavish silver font attached to the door. Tyron unlocks it and we both go in hauling our luggage along, the room’s quite fancy, I couldn’t complain and I don’t think Tyron could either as he parks his bags next to a recliner that faces a flatscreen TV. We stand there for a second, admiring the architectural work that had been done on the room.*
“Not bad.” Tyron nods with approval.
“So, who’s calling the strippers?” I ask, closing the door.
“We’re not getting strippers, we’re getting a decent night’s sleep and first thing tomorrow we’re getting up and going for a run to prep ourselves for the PPV.”
A chuckle escapes my lips as I go over and make myself comfortable on the sofa, rum in hand. “You run?” I reply with the utmost cheekiness.
“Of course I do, does it matter that I carry a bucket of fried chicken with me as I do so? Not at all. Why? Because food’s my fuel, my source of energy, it doesn’t matter what it is because my body will process it into sweat as I run. Very scientific, huh?” Tyron sits on the recliner, stretching back, sighing with pleasure as the seat does wonders on his back.
“Okay. Maybe I’ll just sit here and eat the chicken.”
*I twist the lid off of the rum, taking in the aroma of the strong sterile liquid with a flare of the nostrils. I follow it up with tipping my head back, allowing the bottled liquified demons to enter my drenched cave of a mouth, its strong almost overwhelming flavour dancing on my taste buds before I gulp it down. It doesn’t satisfy my thirst, not in the slightest as I skull back as much as my mouth will contain. Tyron glares at me, seemingly shocked about how much alcohol I can consume without taking a breath.*
“You should slow down, the drink’s a real problem in your family remember man.”
“Fuck it, if I’m gonna die due to liver failure then I’m gonna do it properly!”
“You wouldn’t even have to worry about liver failure if you didn’t drink so much.”
*I reply with another glug, looking Tyron dead in the eyes as I do so. The expression on his face tells the story of him realizing and understanding that Heath Williams only does what he wants, not what he’s told. He reaches over to the wooden oblong coffee table and picks up a TV remote, extending a finger towards the red ‘on’ button. The flatscreen lights up as the outline of a figure comes into view, before long the entire picture becomes visible as a movie plays.*
“The fuck is this?” I ask, beer blanket covering my body.
“Act of Valor.” Tyron replies looking at the guide. “Seen it before, ain’t too bad.”
*Right before I go to take another swig and turn my ears off because it looks like a shitty movie, the main character starts to say something that hits me in the face like a knockout punch from Mike Tyson. I can feel it soaking in, wrapping its way around my subconscious.*
“That last night at home, you think about how you could of been a better dad, a better husband, that bedtime story you should of read, or that anniversary you forgot. You don't expect your family to understand what you're doing. You just hope they understand you're doing it for them, and when you get home you hope you can pick-up right where you left off.”
*I began to reminisce, reminding myself of the days I actually did wrestle for my family, to bring home the bacon and to make sure my son had a belly full of food and enough warm clothes to get him through the winter but that didn’t change the fact that even when I was around, I wasn’t. Always on the road, going from arena to arena making my fans happy when I could’ve just gotten a normal job, one where I would have been able to spend more time with my loved ones. Despite loving the squared circle, I was starting to find my return rather fruitless, before I was spending my pay on a good cause but now it was just going on expensive bottles of spirits and cartons of lung cancer in a stick.
What was even worse was that my little girl, Melancholia was growing up without a father figure, just as my son had earlier on in his life. She was at least three now and I hadn’t seen her since she was an early stage infant, her mother’s a deadbeat but can I really say that when I’m probably almost as bad?
There was only one way I could truly earn back my childrens love, earn back my sons mother Karens love and earn back my own self worth. That was to walk into Armed and Dangerous, look Kincaid in the eyes and plant him with Frozen Over, to watch Slick Williams cower from the bottom corner of the ring as I descend with Heaven to Hell, to hear Duncan McAlistairs plea of mercy as I take him down with Hueco Mundo, to reign above my opponents in victory and to go home and tell my family that I did it all for them.*
But am I still capable of such things?
*I stand up and walk down a short hallway that leads me to several different rooms, including a bathroom. I notice that just outside of one room resides a balcony, the perfect place to stand and think. I climb up on its edge, holding my arms out for balance, staring down at the busy Thunder Bay evening.*
Lights. So many lights.
*I spend some time thinking about my ability in question and the possible truth that they’re nowhere near on par with what they used to be. So much doubt, it was doing my head in, a mix of straight alcohol and a mind full of thought was a terrible mix. I feel myself getting light-headed, body slowly tipping forwards as the street and traffic lights below draw closer. Before long I find myself almost ready to begin free falling to a potential pavement manslaughter, my feet leaving the balcony ledge in the dust.
A hand grasps onto my ankle causing me to look up from my hanging state, a confused Tyron stands with his right arm leaning over the ledge and his left hand scratching the back of his head.*
“Uh..are you trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, we seriously need to have some kind of intervention.” He states, my wellbeing in mind.
“No attempted suicide. I’m just a bit stupid, really. Pull me up why don’t ya?”
*Tyron complies and levels me up inch by inch until we’re in arms reach of eachother, he grabs me by my wrist and pulls me into safety. We each lean up against the ledge, catching our breath. Tyron gives me a light shove, knocking me sideways slightly.*
“Dumbass.” He laughs for a second before I join in with my own chorus. “How much have you even had to drink?”
“Not enough, my friend. However, I do think I’m going to pace myself from now on. Life’s too short to waste it on being sozzled all the time. I’ve done a bit of soul searching in the last fifteen minutes and I know what I have to do now.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Tyron asks inquisitively.
“I used to look in the mirror at myself and believe I was destined for great things, nowadays all I see is a stranger wearing my clothes, my skin, my super soft moisturising cream that makes this babyface so silky smooth and I leave myself thinking if I’m actually content with the way I am or if I’m just fooling myself. I think it’s safe to say, I’ve just been fooling myself. I need to change, not just for myself but for my friends, family and fanbase too. I’ll always be your classic, wisecracking Heath but I need to grow up and re-discover my road to success. Starting with this PPV and coming out of it with my arms raised. It’ll be a bit strange though, don’t think I’ve ever been a pre-show attraction before.”
“First time for everything.”
A smirk comes over my face. “Heh. I guess you’re right.”
Fort Williams Gardens: September 28th
*After days of extensive training and extensive fried chicken eating, Tyron and I were pumped and ready for Armed and Dangerous, where he would claim a well deserved golden strap in the name of the Zero Gravity Championship, and myself? Well I’d be trying to reach the road to that very same title. The cabby pulls up infront of the PPVs scheduled arena, Tyron and I look at eachother somewhat worriedly as we notice a huge cluster of people lined up ready to enter, the media standing at the head.*
“There should be a back entrance around here somewhere.” I lean forward, telling the driver.
“Yeah well, I can’t be fucked finding it so jump out here.” He replies.
“Come on dude, there’s a bunch of cameras out there, me and Ty just wanna get straight to lockeroom. Do us a solid.”
“Get out right fucking now, pal.”
“Come on Heath, we’ll be alright.” Tyron tries to persuade me, noticing the spark of anger starting to engulf my eyes.
“Nah-uh. Fuck that.” I lean forward further. “Take us around to the fucking back right now you lazy bastard.”
*The driver looks at me and smirks and within seconds I’m being dragged out of the taxi kicking and screaming. I go to throw a hook but it becomes evident that the driver knows some sort of martial arts as he blocks and twists my arm around causing an uncomfortable sounding click. Tyron gets out willingly and hands him the cash we owe before looking down at me with a chuckle, driver getting back in his cab and speeding off.*
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you manhandled like that man, he kicked your ass! He was all like-” I silence Tyron’s excitement by waving him off, making it obvious that I had heard enough. He complies understandingly and helps me up to my feet.
“Son of a bitch just caught me off guard. That’s all.”
“Just be glad that the fans or media over there didn’t see, that would’ve been front page material for sure.”
*I roll my eyes and turn, gesturing for Tyron to follow. We begin our little journey to the front entrance, nearing the crowd of people screaming and chanting the names of their favourite Visionaries. I lean into Ty, ready to whisper in his ear.*
“Try to walk by really casually, maybe they won’t notice us.” My plans are foiled almost immediately as a young girl shouts at the top of her lungs. It takes mere seconds for the entire crowd to circle around us, the media at the very front shoving their cameras and microphones in our faces.
“Tyron Bickerton! Heath Williams!” One of the reporters says excitedly as he extends his mic. “What’s going through your heads before each of your big matches tonight?”
*I shoot Tyron a look of confidence, basically telling him that we’ve totally got this. I rip the mic off him, my aviator covered eyes looking dead in the camera lens.*
“What a good fuckin’ day eh? You see, there’s one reason the two of us are here in Ontario today-” One of the reporters cut me off.
“Because the event’s being held here?” She looks up with an eyebrow raised.
*I’m left completely dumbfounded, I was completely sassed out by some snotty up-nosed reporter that could’ve just kept her jaw nailed shut but no, she had to go and be a total bitch, making the Hardcore Hero look like a Hardcore Jackass.*
“Well...two reasons we’re here...fuck, technically there’s three...you know what, how about you tell ‘em Ty?” I toss the mic overhead with it landing firmly in Tyrons hands.
He glares at me then at the cameras, then back at me, then back at the cameras before taking the stage and somewhat pushing me out of the way. “Tonight’s gonna be freakin’ monumental! You guys wanna know why? Because firstly, a new Zero Gravity Champion in the name of Tyron Bickerton will be crowned where I’ll finally solidify my spot in this company after weeks and weeks of being underestimated and put down by some of my Visionary peers, this one’s for you guys - Ace Watson and Ryder Blade. And Heath over here?” He gives me a slap on the back. “He’s gonna rock the pre-show and pick up a well deserved win that’ll set the pace for the rest of the PPV and put himself on the track to the title that I’m taking later on in the night. We’re the ones you have to look out for because even when it seems like all hope is lost and we’re done for, we kip back up and rise to the occasion and when the dust settles, we’ll be atop this industry where even guys like English, Valquist and Tyler Storm will fear our names!” The fans cheer and applaude before I take the mic and bring it back up to my own lips.
“Couldn’t have fuckin’ said it better myself! Heath Williams & Tyron Bickerton, those two names, will be in the spotlight very soon, starting with Armed and Dangerous.”
“I’m backing Kincaid.” The same female reporter from a few moments earlier states, looking straight at me.
My jaw tightens and locks. “Alright, that’s it, fuckin’ lemme at her!” I shout, staunching towards her, Tyron grabbing me by arms and dragging me away from the scene, entering the building.
“You can’t hit a girl, dude! What the hell were you thinking?!” He snaps at me.
“Bitch would’ve had it coming. Fucking Kincaid. Hmph. Yeah right.”
“Look, just because the chicks in VoW are tough and brute as heck, doesn’t mean all chicks are and with saying that, even some guys aren’t as tough and brute as the chicks here. All I’m saying is, you can’t take everything people say to heart, you know as well I do it’ll be you that wins the match man.” He tells me, being the voice of reason as he always is.
“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll apologize later and woo her over. When I’m done, her little desire for Kincaid will be looooong gone!”
“Uh, sure. Anyway, reckon we nailed that promo?”
“We hammered AND nailed that motherfucker! Now let’s go fuck this bitch in the ass and put on a motherfucking show!”
*We cheer and leap up into the air, performing the coolest Hi-5 I’ve ever participated in, it was the kind of moment where you can’t help but feel like such a cohesive unit with someone but that quickly died down as we both awkwardly stand there scratching our heads afterwards.*
“I kinda expected to hear 90’s sitcom theme music after that.” I proudly admit.
“Tell me about it, I half thought Joey and Chandler were gonna walk in.” Tyron agrees.
“Or Ray Ramano.”
“Heh. Yeah. He’s cool. What about the dudes from ‘That’s 70’s Show’?”
“Oh yeah! I remember that show! Mila Kunis is such a babe!”
*I’ll go ahead and stop there, Tyron and I never were able to stay on one topic for very long so the time before the beginning of the PPV mainly consisted of one subject leading onto another.*
But hey, if that isn’t friendship…
I don’t know what is.
Fin. [/b]
Lights. So many lights.
*Have you ever been so far deep in thought that you forget where you are or what you’re doing? Have you ever gotten back on the right track after years of failure just to find yourself at another dead end? Have you ever been so ignorant to the truth that you’ve always shoved it away, forcing it to stay locked in the shadows to which you cannot see?
Because, I have.
My entire life has been based on keeping the truth away from me as paying attention will only bring me negative emotions.*
Guilt. Depression. Like an empty shell of what I could have been.
*I usually push the truth so far away that others around me can’t even see it, it stays sitting in that little idle part of my brain that I choose not to use, the part where I store those memories I don’t ever want to think about.
I hear their names echo through my mind, bouncing around inside my head getting louder with each rebound.*
Kincaid. Slick Williams. Duncan McAlistair.
*Despite my success against McAlistair in my debut, I couldn’t help myself from thinking that I may not have what it takes anymore, that perhaps my final success story lay in the arms of the World Turmoil Federation, or its remnants at the very least. Though I was on top of things for the majority of the match, the pressure from each of his attacks still hadn’t completely left my body. I can handle all sorts of pain and though this was one of them, what say one day I land on my head the wrong way or get locked in the wrong kind of submission? There were too many possible outcomes and for once, I found myself looking at all of them.
The could-be truth is that maybe Heath Williams days are over, maybe my time at the top of the food chain was done with, maybe I’m not the wrestler or the man I once was.
I feel myself leaning forward, the lights getting closer. An air current pushes past me as the adrenaline kicks in, vertigo coming into play as I no longer feel a surface beneath my feet.*
Is my demise upon me?
Thunder Bay International Airport: September 24th
*Everything’s very noisy today in Thunder Bay, immigrants flooding into its airports from all over the world to get a taste of the next VoW PPV, Armed and Dangerous. Myself and Tyron Bickerton have just gotten off our own plane and are walking around customs, looking at all the different knick knacks we could take as souvenirs. Tyron picks up a little butterfly necklace from the shelves, examining it carefully.*
“This’d look nice around Jos’s neck.” He says with his girlfriend in mind, holding it up towards me.
“It’d look nice around a hookers neck too.” I respond, looking in the direction of the booze shelves. “How about a nice bottle of rum?”
“I don’t drink, Heath. You know that.”
“You my friend, disgust me. TO THE BOOZE!”[/b] I point towards the hot bottles, running over, Tyron in tow.
*I pick up the biggest bottle of rum I can see and turn it around, scanning the ingredients. I see Tyron shaking his head in my peripheral vision, looking a tad impatient with my alcoholic obsession.*
“Come on dude, just get a bottle so we can get to the hotel, I’m jetlagged.”
*I nod and we walk over to the counter, I put the bottle down infront of me and the cashier takes it, waving its barcode infront of the scanner. The price appears on the digital register, sixty bucks for this big ol’ glass bottle of straight rum wasn’t too bad and I was happy to pass over a few crispy twenty dollar bills. I thank the cashier and she wishes a good day upon me, I turn and leave the little store before realizing I had left Tyron behind. I wait for a moment before he walks out happily holding the necklace he was looking at earlier.*
“She’s gonna love me.” He smiles dumbly.
“Yeah, you gon’ puts ya dick in.”
“It’s that kind of vulgarity that only gets you cheap whores and old ladies looking to relive their college days, Heath. It’s actually rather nice to settle down, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Wake me up when September ends and all that shit. Let’s gap anyway, the Hardcore Hero wants to get Hardcore wasted.”
Valhalla Inn
*After climbing over half a dozen flights of stairs without realizing the hotel has an elevator we reach our room, #84 in a lavish silver font attached to the door. Tyron unlocks it and we both go in hauling our luggage along, the room’s quite fancy, I couldn’t complain and I don’t think Tyron could either as he parks his bags next to a recliner that faces a flatscreen TV. We stand there for a second, admiring the architectural work that had been done on the room.*
“Not bad.” Tyron nods with approval.
“So, who’s calling the strippers?” I ask, closing the door.
“We’re not getting strippers, we’re getting a decent night’s sleep and first thing tomorrow we’re getting up and going for a run to prep ourselves for the PPV.”
A chuckle escapes my lips as I go over and make myself comfortable on the sofa, rum in hand. “You run?” I reply with the utmost cheekiness.
“Of course I do, does it matter that I carry a bucket of fried chicken with me as I do so? Not at all. Why? Because food’s my fuel, my source of energy, it doesn’t matter what it is because my body will process it into sweat as I run. Very scientific, huh?” Tyron sits on the recliner, stretching back, sighing with pleasure as the seat does wonders on his back.
“Okay. Maybe I’ll just sit here and eat the chicken.”
*I twist the lid off of the rum, taking in the aroma of the strong sterile liquid with a flare of the nostrils. I follow it up with tipping my head back, allowing the bottled liquified demons to enter my drenched cave of a mouth, its strong almost overwhelming flavour dancing on my taste buds before I gulp it down. It doesn’t satisfy my thirst, not in the slightest as I skull back as much as my mouth will contain. Tyron glares at me, seemingly shocked about how much alcohol I can consume without taking a breath.*
“You should slow down, the drink’s a real problem in your family remember man.”
“Fuck it, if I’m gonna die due to liver failure then I’m gonna do it properly!”
“You wouldn’t even have to worry about liver failure if you didn’t drink so much.”
*I reply with another glug, looking Tyron dead in the eyes as I do so. The expression on his face tells the story of him realizing and understanding that Heath Williams only does what he wants, not what he’s told. He reaches over to the wooden oblong coffee table and picks up a TV remote, extending a finger towards the red ‘on’ button. The flatscreen lights up as the outline of a figure comes into view, before long the entire picture becomes visible as a movie plays.*
“The fuck is this?” I ask, beer blanket covering my body.
“Act of Valor.” Tyron replies looking at the guide. “Seen it before, ain’t too bad.”
*Right before I go to take another swig and turn my ears off because it looks like a shitty movie, the main character starts to say something that hits me in the face like a knockout punch from Mike Tyson. I can feel it soaking in, wrapping its way around my subconscious.*
“That last night at home, you think about how you could of been a better dad, a better husband, that bedtime story you should of read, or that anniversary you forgot. You don't expect your family to understand what you're doing. You just hope they understand you're doing it for them, and when you get home you hope you can pick-up right where you left off.”
*I began to reminisce, reminding myself of the days I actually did wrestle for my family, to bring home the bacon and to make sure my son had a belly full of food and enough warm clothes to get him through the winter but that didn’t change the fact that even when I was around, I wasn’t. Always on the road, going from arena to arena making my fans happy when I could’ve just gotten a normal job, one where I would have been able to spend more time with my loved ones. Despite loving the squared circle, I was starting to find my return rather fruitless, before I was spending my pay on a good cause but now it was just going on expensive bottles of spirits and cartons of lung cancer in a stick.
What was even worse was that my little girl, Melancholia was growing up without a father figure, just as my son had earlier on in his life. She was at least three now and I hadn’t seen her since she was an early stage infant, her mother’s a deadbeat but can I really say that when I’m probably almost as bad?
There was only one way I could truly earn back my childrens love, earn back my sons mother Karens love and earn back my own self worth. That was to walk into Armed and Dangerous, look Kincaid in the eyes and plant him with Frozen Over, to watch Slick Williams cower from the bottom corner of the ring as I descend with Heaven to Hell, to hear Duncan McAlistairs plea of mercy as I take him down with Hueco Mundo, to reign above my opponents in victory and to go home and tell my family that I did it all for them.*
But am I still capable of such things?
*I stand up and walk down a short hallway that leads me to several different rooms, including a bathroom. I notice that just outside of one room resides a balcony, the perfect place to stand and think. I climb up on its edge, holding my arms out for balance, staring down at the busy Thunder Bay evening.*
Lights. So many lights.
*I spend some time thinking about my ability in question and the possible truth that they’re nowhere near on par with what they used to be. So much doubt, it was doing my head in, a mix of straight alcohol and a mind full of thought was a terrible mix. I feel myself getting light-headed, body slowly tipping forwards as the street and traffic lights below draw closer. Before long I find myself almost ready to begin free falling to a potential pavement manslaughter, my feet leaving the balcony ledge in the dust.
A hand grasps onto my ankle causing me to look up from my hanging state, a confused Tyron stands with his right arm leaning over the ledge and his left hand scratching the back of his head.*
“Uh..are you trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, we seriously need to have some kind of intervention.” He states, my wellbeing in mind.
“No attempted suicide. I’m just a bit stupid, really. Pull me up why don’t ya?”
*Tyron complies and levels me up inch by inch until we’re in arms reach of eachother, he grabs me by my wrist and pulls me into safety. We each lean up against the ledge, catching our breath. Tyron gives me a light shove, knocking me sideways slightly.*
“Dumbass.” He laughs for a second before I join in with my own chorus. “How much have you even had to drink?”
“Not enough, my friend. However, I do think I’m going to pace myself from now on. Life’s too short to waste it on being sozzled all the time. I’ve done a bit of soul searching in the last fifteen minutes and I know what I have to do now.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Tyron asks inquisitively.
“I used to look in the mirror at myself and believe I was destined for great things, nowadays all I see is a stranger wearing my clothes, my skin, my super soft moisturising cream that makes this babyface so silky smooth and I leave myself thinking if I’m actually content with the way I am or if I’m just fooling myself. I think it’s safe to say, I’ve just been fooling myself. I need to change, not just for myself but for my friends, family and fanbase too. I’ll always be your classic, wisecracking Heath but I need to grow up and re-discover my road to success. Starting with this PPV and coming out of it with my arms raised. It’ll be a bit strange though, don’t think I’ve ever been a pre-show attraction before.”
“First time for everything.”
A smirk comes over my face. “Heh. I guess you’re right.”
Fort Williams Gardens: September 28th
*After days of extensive training and extensive fried chicken eating, Tyron and I were pumped and ready for Armed and Dangerous, where he would claim a well deserved golden strap in the name of the Zero Gravity Championship, and myself? Well I’d be trying to reach the road to that very same title. The cabby pulls up infront of the PPVs scheduled arena, Tyron and I look at eachother somewhat worriedly as we notice a huge cluster of people lined up ready to enter, the media standing at the head.*
“There should be a back entrance around here somewhere.” I lean forward, telling the driver.
“Yeah well, I can’t be fucked finding it so jump out here.” He replies.
“Come on dude, there’s a bunch of cameras out there, me and Ty just wanna get straight to lockeroom. Do us a solid.”
“Get out right fucking now, pal.”
“Come on Heath, we’ll be alright.” Tyron tries to persuade me, noticing the spark of anger starting to engulf my eyes.
“Nah-uh. Fuck that.” I lean forward further. “Take us around to the fucking back right now you lazy bastard.”
*The driver looks at me and smirks and within seconds I’m being dragged out of the taxi kicking and screaming. I go to throw a hook but it becomes evident that the driver knows some sort of martial arts as he blocks and twists my arm around causing an uncomfortable sounding click. Tyron gets out willingly and hands him the cash we owe before looking down at me with a chuckle, driver getting back in his cab and speeding off.*
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you manhandled like that man, he kicked your ass! He was all like-” I silence Tyron’s excitement by waving him off, making it obvious that I had heard enough. He complies understandingly and helps me up to my feet.
“Son of a bitch just caught me off guard. That’s all.”
“Just be glad that the fans or media over there didn’t see, that would’ve been front page material for sure.”
*I roll my eyes and turn, gesturing for Tyron to follow. We begin our little journey to the front entrance, nearing the crowd of people screaming and chanting the names of their favourite Visionaries. I lean into Ty, ready to whisper in his ear.*
“Try to walk by really casually, maybe they won’t notice us.” My plans are foiled almost immediately as a young girl shouts at the top of her lungs. It takes mere seconds for the entire crowd to circle around us, the media at the very front shoving their cameras and microphones in our faces.
“Tyron Bickerton! Heath Williams!” One of the reporters says excitedly as he extends his mic. “What’s going through your heads before each of your big matches tonight?”
*I shoot Tyron a look of confidence, basically telling him that we’ve totally got this. I rip the mic off him, my aviator covered eyes looking dead in the camera lens.*
“What a good fuckin’ day eh? You see, there’s one reason the two of us are here in Ontario today-” One of the reporters cut me off.
“Because the event’s being held here?” She looks up with an eyebrow raised.
*I’m left completely dumbfounded, I was completely sassed out by some snotty up-nosed reporter that could’ve just kept her jaw nailed shut but no, she had to go and be a total bitch, making the Hardcore Hero look like a Hardcore Jackass.*
“Well...two reasons we’re here...fuck, technically there’s three...you know what, how about you tell ‘em Ty?” I toss the mic overhead with it landing firmly in Tyrons hands.
He glares at me then at the cameras, then back at me, then back at the cameras before taking the stage and somewhat pushing me out of the way. “Tonight’s gonna be freakin’ monumental! You guys wanna know why? Because firstly, a new Zero Gravity Champion in the name of Tyron Bickerton will be crowned where I’ll finally solidify my spot in this company after weeks and weeks of being underestimated and put down by some of my Visionary peers, this one’s for you guys - Ace Watson and Ryder Blade. And Heath over here?” He gives me a slap on the back. “He’s gonna rock the pre-show and pick up a well deserved win that’ll set the pace for the rest of the PPV and put himself on the track to the title that I’m taking later on in the night. We’re the ones you have to look out for because even when it seems like all hope is lost and we’re done for, we kip back up and rise to the occasion and when the dust settles, we’ll be atop this industry where even guys like English, Valquist and Tyler Storm will fear our names!” The fans cheer and applaude before I take the mic and bring it back up to my own lips.
“Couldn’t have fuckin’ said it better myself! Heath Williams & Tyron Bickerton, those two names, will be in the spotlight very soon, starting with Armed and Dangerous.”
“I’m backing Kincaid.” The same female reporter from a few moments earlier states, looking straight at me.
My jaw tightens and locks. “Alright, that’s it, fuckin’ lemme at her!” I shout, staunching towards her, Tyron grabbing me by arms and dragging me away from the scene, entering the building.
“You can’t hit a girl, dude! What the hell were you thinking?!” He snaps at me.
“Bitch would’ve had it coming. Fucking Kincaid. Hmph. Yeah right.”
“Look, just because the chicks in VoW are tough and brute as heck, doesn’t mean all chicks are and with saying that, even some guys aren’t as tough and brute as the chicks here. All I’m saying is, you can’t take everything people say to heart, you know as well I do it’ll be you that wins the match man.” He tells me, being the voice of reason as he always is.
“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll apologize later and woo her over. When I’m done, her little desire for Kincaid will be looooong gone!”
“Uh, sure. Anyway, reckon we nailed that promo?”
“We hammered AND nailed that motherfucker! Now let’s go fuck this bitch in the ass and put on a motherfucking show!”
*We cheer and leap up into the air, performing the coolest Hi-5 I’ve ever participated in, it was the kind of moment where you can’t help but feel like such a cohesive unit with someone but that quickly died down as we both awkwardly stand there scratching our heads afterwards.*
“I kinda expected to hear 90’s sitcom theme music after that.” I proudly admit.
“Tell me about it, I half thought Joey and Chandler were gonna walk in.” Tyron agrees.
“Or Ray Ramano.”
“Heh. Yeah. He’s cool. What about the dudes from ‘That’s 70’s Show’?”
“Oh yeah! I remember that show! Mila Kunis is such a babe!”
*I’ll go ahead and stop there, Tyron and I never were able to stay on one topic for very long so the time before the beginning of the PPV mainly consisted of one subject leading onto another.*
But hey, if that isn’t friendship…
I don’t know what is.
Fin. [/b]