Post by - The Hardcore Hero on Jan 31, 2016 7:42:24 GMT -6
I tilt my neck back, attempting at getting the last few dregs from the bottom of my bottle of Jacks but it’s to no avail - as dry as humping with clothes on it is. Fuck. Anything...anything for one more sip - one more taste from the puddle of alcohol I’ve been drowning my sorrows in. At this point if I was told to slit the throat of a harmless rabbit or to smash a concreting truck into an old woman crossing the black and white lines with the reward being more booze, I’d do it all in a heartbeat.
It’s the one thing that’s been able to save me from getting a woof of this overpowering stench of self-resentment that’s been radiating off of me like a natural aura. I’ve never been able to fathom as to why it’s always me, as to why whenever I’m on the right track I either fall off by tripping over my own feet or by getting shoved by jealous, maniacal twatburgers like Dathyn.
My own son…
My own fucking son…
I know that Ryan has every reason in the world to hate me, I know that Ryan has every reason in the world to despise me, I know that Ryan has every fucking reason in the world to want bad things to happen to me...but for Dathyn to use that to get one step ahead of me? for Dathyn to use that for brainwashing him into becoming his little sidekick? That’s just wrong...sick…demented...
Unforgivable.
So many things I want to do to him...like, chaining him to the railroad and listening to that distinct squashing sound his body would make as a locomotive painted his flesh into the dirt - or dipping his head over and over again in a pool of freezing, ice-cold water just to see him become a human fucking popsicle. Heh, now that’d be a sight.
A small smile brushes over my face as I picture all of this taking place in a classic Itchy & Scratchy sort of fashion, my intoxicated mind sketching it all out and even adding in all the necessary colour and ink. With shaky knees and spaghetti legs, I use the drapes hanging in front of the window to hoist myself up onto my feet - however, it only takes me a split second to lose the feeling in my right ankle causing me to begin falling sideways, so in a desperate attempt to save myself I flail my arms around and wrap my fingers around the centre of the curtains but this only brings them down with me as they tear apart from the railing and cover me like a blanket as I collide with the floor.
I contemplate swearing, cussing and screaming at the top of my lungs but after taking a moment to think about it...
I decide, it’d be best if I just got a little bit of shuteye so that I can start a brand new day with a fresh start...and without straight alcohol in my system.
-
“Heath! Wake up you lazy drunk!”
An irritating, nasally voice enters my left ear as I lay half awake with my eyes closed and right arm folded and pressed under my head as a makeshift pillow. I try to ignore the voice but it doesn’t stop, whoever it is really wants me to respond and to my dismay, I suppose that maybe it’d be best for my own karma to see whatever it is they want.
I force my eyes open, a hazy, blurred out figure kneeling in front of me in a blue woman’s business suit. Oh, that’s who it is. Missy leans forward with a squint to see if I’m awake and when she notices that I am she whips the curtain off of me and begins folding it much how a mother trying to get their child up for school would do it.
“You need to get up. It’s urgent.” She carries on with that exact same tone to her voice.
“You got a fuckin’ cold or something?” I reply without taking note of what she just said.
“Uh, yeah.” She says sounding rather annoyed before putting the curtain down on the side of my bed. “We need to go see Tyron, he’s not picking up any of my calls and we need to discuss Double Jeopardy.”
Shit.
Throughout all of the bullshit with Dathyn and then later on with The Orphanage, I had completely forgotten about the match between The Neon Babes and Chaos Sworn which would ultimately decide the fate of the Number One Contendership to mine and Tyron’s Twin City Championships and who we’d be squaring off against in the Main Event that showcases one of the most revolutionary concepts to ever be inducted into the wrestling world, the ladder match. However, this won’t be your ordinary ladder match...it’s a VoW speciality concocted by management themselves to bring a little more excitement to the tag team division. From a business standpoint, I can see the success something like this would accomplish but from a wrestlers standpoint, all I want to do is climb the steps to title retention so I can get back to the bigger fish I need to fry.
“Heath, did you hear me?” Missy impatiently snaps, flicking me away from my thoughts.
“Yeah, he’s probably still angry about you and Rebecca beating us in Operation.”
[see Tyro’s rp in “Where Eagles Dairy”]
“Uh, you were the sore loser - not Tyron. It’s been like two days since then anyway, so he’s either being extremely anti-social or something’s not right.”
Yada yada yada. Oh my god, just shut up. I swear to god, this bitch's voice is going to be what sends me to my deathbed one day. Even when she isn’t sick I just wanna rip my ears off when she’s blabbing on like some kind of authority figure. She sounds like a cat that just got its paw stuck in a fucking lawnmower. Fucking wookie ass bitch trying to tell me something could be wrong with my best friend, as if I wouldn’t know if something was up - he’s my best fucking friend damn it, he’d tell me if anything was bothering him.
“Come on, get dressed - chop, chop. We’re burning daylight.”
I stand up and peer down at my casual black t-shirt, jeans and holey grey socks before looking back up at her with a scowl and arms half open. “Are you blind? I am dressed damn it.”
Her right eyebrow raises as she looks me up and down before turning with a scoff and walking out of the bedroom with me in tow. She goes towards the front door as I grab my trusty black trench coat that I put each arm through with complete pride - though I had only owned this garment for a few weeks, I feel as if it’s a second home, like a turtle and its shell or a snail and its...shell…
Okay, I need better analogies…
Like a prostitute and her street corner. There, that’s a good ‘un...right?
Missy turns and notices me standing here rubbing up and down the right sleeve with a little smile that marks its sentimentality. She shakes her head before grabbing me by the forearm and pulling me along.
“There’s something wrong with you…” She mutters as we emerge into the hallway of the hotel I’ve been staying at that resides not too far from Tyron’s house, which I suppose...is where we’re going.
-
Yep, I was right.
We pull up in front of Tyron’s nifty little suburban home that sits contently on a quiet little street that would almost put the fictional town ‘Pleasantville’ to shame with just how tidy and amiable it is. I look over at one of the houses across the road - an old man standing out on the lawn wearing a flax sunhat that resembles a fedora as he snips away at a shrub with a big pair of hedgecutters.
He notices me staring and screws up his face - either this road isn’t as nice as I had believed or he’s a wrestling fan and knows all about my Room for Reflection stint. Too many old people just can’t seem to understand the way this world works nowadays, kinda makes me feel like going over and telling him that the 50’s are over and that he can go fuck himself. Missy notices where I’m looking and decides to have a glance for herself and as she turns, the old man’s expression immediately goes from shrivelled up sour prune to pubescent teen boy that just found porn for the first time. He gives her a little wave to which she responds with one of her own before we hop out of her flashy candy red convertible and make way up the driveway towards the front door.
She extends a hand and uses her index finger to push the doorbell, it rings but there’s no sign of life coming from inside. She looks at me, with that complex half ‘I told you so’ half ‘I’m always right’ sort of expression that every woman gets now and again. Rolling my eyes I take a turn at ringing the bell but it’s in vain, there’s still no answer. So...I decide to knock the loudest, most manliest knock I’m able to achieve - still nothing. Well, that’s until…
“What do you want? I am trying to get my beauty sleep.”
“Hey, that you Ticky?” I ask trying to peer through the slice of glass in between the door and the outside wall.
“No. It is another talking cat with a deep voice.” There’s a silence for a moment, a beat if you will. “You are as they say...a stupid mother fucker. Of course it is I, Ticky.”
“Yeah yeah, fucking smart mouthed prick. Can we come in?”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“I’m here too, Tick.” Missy butts in, trying to help towards getting him to let us go in and look around.
His tone changes, he seems a little more sincere now. “Ok but you two will have to come around the side of the house, my bro Tyron has locked the door, there is only one window that is open.”
“Sweet, we’ll be right around.” I answer, turning and walking across the driveway with Missy right behind me.
“I can’t climb into any windows, I’m wearing heels damn it!” She complains as we turn the corner down the little space between Tyron’s house and the fence that keeps him sectioned off from his neighbours.
“Tough fuckin’ titties. You wanted to come and find out where Tyron is so that’s what we’re doing”
She groans as we reach the open window where Ticky’s perched on the sill, waiting for us. I reach underneath the bottom rail and pull the window upwards so that Missy and I can climb in with no trouble as Ticky jumps down and scurries over to the couch so he isn’t in our way. You’d think I’d pull the gentleman's approach and let Missy in first but nah, don’t want her feeling too special you know? She might become accustomed to it.
I stick my head through before my arms follow, grabbing the frame as my left foot pushes against the sill and boosts me into the house. Tuna. That’s the first thing I can smell as I stand and look around - so there’s either a couple of hookers hiding out somewhere or Ticky just had his mid-morning feed.
“A little help here, Heath?” Missy asks with a smile and her left hand out.
“Nuh-uh. I’ll catch wookie fleas.”
She grunts before climbing through the same way I did, only a lot more awkwardly. Now that we’re both inside we peer around - things had been changed since the last time I had been here and I think that’s the case for Missy too as a picasso-like painting seemingly catches her eye. She turns to Ticky, with a frown.
“I wasn’t aware Tyron had a taste for classic art?”
“He does not. Behind that painting is a safe that contains some of his most valuable possessions.” the talking cyborg-cat replies like it’s no big deal.
“What are they?” Missy asks in a nosey tone.
“You are welcome to have a look. The code is 3-4-7-8-3.”
I frown at the two of them as Missy unhooks the painting from the wall, I may not be a man of many morals but I don’t approve of going through other people’s personal belongings unless you’re given the go ahead or if it’s for the greater good. Although Missy would try to claim that it is infact for the greater good, I’m well aware that she’s only doing it so that she can snoop around and play detective. Shaking my head as she begins punching in the code, I decide that won’t be the way to find out where Tyron’s headed so I turn to Ticky with a few questions from the top of my mind at the ready.
“So, what happened exactly? Tyro not here when you woke up?”
“He has not been here since yesterday morning but I did not see him, he spoke with Link for a brief moment.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s he? Link, I mean.”
“In Tyron’s bedroom. He is very depressed.”
I nod, turning and heading down the hallway to find the other talking cat Tyron owns. Infact, now that I think about it...where the fuck does he even get these rare creatures? It’s not like you can just walk into Petco and ask for a talking cat, right? Or maybe you can...fucked if I know, it’s just a little peculiar and I seriously can’t believe I haven’t thought about it until now…No matter, I’ll just go back to pretending it’s completely normal. At least then I don’t have to question the sanity of this world we live in.
Reaching Tyron’s room, I hear quiet little whimpers coming from inside. I peer through the quarter-way opened door and see Link curled up on my teammate’s pillow, a little wet patch beside him that probably consists of his tears. I enter and he looks up, attempting to put a stop to his sobbing but it’s no use however that doesn’t stop him from acknowledging my presence and greeting me like the considerate wee kitty he is.
“Hello ther mistur heef...hav u seen my frend tyron?” He asks with a shaky robotic voice.
My entire demeanor softens, the innocence of this little guy’s just too overwhelmingly cute and I can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I just wanna scoop him up and carry him around in a little blanket like a baby. I sit down beside him with a little scratch behind his ear that he seems to enjoy as he tilts his head back.
“I’m afraid not little guy. What’d he tell you before he left?”
I stop scratching so that Link can speak. “Nufing reely...he sed he love me and he be back soon but soon was long time ago…”
I feel for the little dude, I really do but the last words Tyron uttered to him don’t help whatsoever. How the hell am I meant to find out where he’s gone if he didn’t tell anybody where he was going?
Wait, hold the fucking phone!
I look over at the desk in the corner, there’s bits of paper and pictures spread out across its surface in a messy manner - it looks to me that these may just help to uncover the answers of my partner’s whereabouts. I hurry over, the first picture catching my eye is that of a ladder...shit, how could I be so stupid? He’s had a problem with ladder matches since his loss to James Eriksson where he came so fucking close to becoming the inaugural FBW World Heavyweight Champion. He lost a certain confidence after that bout and has refused to compete in any sort of ladder stipulation since but he’s never gone as far to just bolt up and leave like this...he wouldn’t leave me alone, that’s just not who he is…
That’s when I see the documents at the other side of the desk, the title in big bold writing as “The Man in the West”. Fuck...and just like that...the pieces are put together. Tyron’s gone chasing off after a legend, a myth - something that doesn’t and never did exist. Sure, desperate times call for desperate measures but...isn’t this going a little too far? He’s gone and put all of his faith in something that’ll only let him down…
And now I have no choice other than to find him and bring him home, searching for something that isn’t there will only destroy him mentally - and I can’t allow for that to happen. Not just for his own well being but for The Requiem’s too. If he’s out there pulling up short straws, what would that mean for Double Jeopardy? What would that mean for the Twin City Championships? No, I can’t let this happen. I refuse to let this happen.
I turn back around towards Link and make way for the door, his teary eyes gazing up at me as I pass. I stop just before I exit, slightly cocking my head.
“Don’t worry, pal. I’ll have him back in no time.” And with that, I leave - back out into the living room where Missy stands rummaging through Tyron’s safe. “He’s gone to find some hermit that doesn’t-” something she has in her hand catches my interest. “What’s that?”
She turns around with a smile, holding up a really terribly drawn laminated picture of two young boys with one being taller than the other - both have spiky hair and their faces barely look like faces. They don’t even have proper bodies - just a couple of fuckin’ sticks. One thing I do notice though, is that each of them is holding something that resembles a wrestling championship. I take a few steps over and take it into my own hand - upon closer inspection I can see the words “Tag Tittles” written on both of them. Heh, tittles. Whoever drew this is a fucking idiot.
“Turn it around.” Missy instructs, her smile seemingly incapable of fading.
I flip it over, and there it is - mine and Tyro’s names on the back in red crayon. The memories come flooding back, we drew this together. I can’t even recall when but I do remember the hours it took us to complete despite how simple it is. It’s funny, because way back then this was all just a dream...the two of us capturing Tag Team Championships, the two of us even becoming professional wrestlers. But now...it’s all a reality, we’ve been tag champs a number of four times and something tells me that number will only increase over time. It’s clear that I need to go out there and find him by myself, Missy has no business with this.
“Hey uh...could I see your keychain for a minute?” I ask Missy, passing the picture back to her.
She gives me a sceptical look. “Why?”
“Um...I wanna see that pocket pepperspray you’ve got. It’s really cool.”
She stares at me for a long moment - I can’t keep eye contact but eventually she gives in, pulling the chain out from her pocket.
“If you are planning to spray me with that thing, I will wreck you with my claws bruv.” Ticky pipes up from where he’s sitting, I had almost forgotten he was there. He is being unusually quiet...meh, probably just been ‘purrving’ on Missy. Heh, I crack myself up.
She hands me the chain and I examine the pepper spray for a moment, she’s eyeing me out - must know I’m to something. That’s when I sidestep her and begin sprinting for the window, she shouts as I leap outside and begin running down the side of the house.
“Thief! You fucking thief!” She screams at the top of her lungs as she attempts to follow but has a difficult time getting out.
I continue out onto the driveway, heading towards her car on the side of the road. After jumping over the door and settling into the driver's seat I waste no time shoving the key into ignition and bringing the convertible to life. I give the motor a quick test, keeping my foot on the brake as I revv up the engine. I glance up at the rearview mirror and see Missy with her heels in her hands, coming in at an extremely quick pace so in a panic I set off down the road as fast as I can, leaving a trail of tyre smoke a mile long behind in my former path.
“What are you doing, Heath?” My own voice says from the seat beside me and after taking a quick look, I see the Nomad sitting there shaking his head with a light smile.
“I’m taking shit into my own hands, that’s what.”
“By stealing Missy’s car?”
“Well, no shit. What’s it to ya anyway?”
“Nothing. It’s exactly what I’d do if the situation called for it. Bring Tyro back, alright?”
“That’s the plan stan, that’s the plan.”
His presence fades from beside me and seemingly disappears until I feel the two of us merge - this will be all the help I need.
-
Several days on and still nothing...this dense forestation leads me to believe I’m just walking around in circle after fucking circle. The rations I had bought at a truckstop in the little town over is starting to slim. I still have enough trail mix to get me through another day or two but in hindsight, buying the spicy flavour was a poor idea...I’m going through my water like Hugh Hefner goes through playboy bunnies. The path I’m taking starts to get rather narrow and before long it completely disappears as a hill takes its place but I try to press forward, using the overhead tree branches as leverage.
I look towards the bottom of the hill but I can’t see anything passed the lush greenery - kind of makes me wonder if Tyron caught a glimpse of this exact same sight during his trek throughout this labyrinth of tree and bush but I doubt it, he’s probably too focused on finding this legend of his. The hook of my backpack latches onto a branch and I slip backwards - the skinny branch snapping as it tries to hold my weight - one half of it flying up and cutting my right cheek open, causing me to go rolling over to my left and down the hill, picking up speed with each passing moment until my midsection collides with a tree trunk that causes me to stumble back, my foot getting wrapped up in something.
Taking a quick breath, I gaze down at my ankle to see the slippery long body of a coral snake attempting at making me its prey. I push myself up and try to flick it away but this only makes me fall sideways - finding myself rolling down the hill again, only this time I’m doing backwards summersaults that eventually lands me in the disgusting, murky water of some kind of pond - the ducks that had been residing on its surface immediately lifting off as a huge splash occurs. Throughout all the commotion, my pack falls off of my arms and begins to sink. I reach out to it but it’s no use, the force of the fall has completely pushed the water pressure against it as I watch the remainder of my sustenance go to waste.
After chasing pavement and attempting to get it back, I decide that’s that and rise back up to the surface - gasping for air as I come out. I freestyle over to the river bank and reach up, about to get out until I feel a quick, sharp pain in my right hand and upon looking over, there that same coral snake resides - almost smiling at me as it lets out an ear jarring hiss. Frustratedly, I grab it by the head and throw it as far away as I can before finally climbing up and falling against the mud. Bringing my hand up to my face, I inspect the bite - it doesn’t hurt too much but that’s what it’s like with this particular species of snake, in a few hours I’m going to feel like shit - and that’s putting it lightly.
That’s when I notice the two big fat leeches on my arm, one on the elbow and the other on my forearm. I quickly rip them both off and chuck them back to where they belong before noticing four more on my other arm, doing the same thing with them - red marks in place of where they had previously been. Right when I thought I could take a moment's rest...I feel something down below, a strangely pleasant tickle on my shaft. Uh oh. I can feel my face go as pale as the skin pigmentation of an albino, this is one of the only things that haunt my nightmares, ever since I was a young chap and watched the adventure classic Stand By Me for the first time...a leech to the penis. A LEECH TO THE FUCKING PENIS!
With a gulp, I unbuckle the belt holding my jeans and let them drop around my ankles before pulling forward the waistband on my tighty whities and peering in. Yup. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck do I do?! How does this even happen?! Talk about a series of unfortunate events...fuck me this is bad. I guess...I have to...rip it off...a shiver goes spiralling down my spine from the thought of it. Once again, I pull the waistband forward, dipping a hand in and wrapping my fingers around the leech before yanking it from its grip - a strange butterfly sensation occurring in my stomach before I pull it out and stare at it for a few moments. Looking at this parasitic slug and knowing it was becoming acquainted with my second brain makes me feel sick as fuck so I squash that little bastard with a tightened fist before wiping my hand against a patch of grass.
This whole ordeal has made me feel so light headed so after pulling my pants back up I decide to take a seat - that seat becoming a bed as I plonk my back against the ground. I don’t even care about what other sorts of creatures decide to make this trip that little bit worse, as far as I’m concerned I’ve already dealt with the worst of it but let’s hope that isn’t just naivety talking. I slowly close my eyes, I think I’ve earned myself a nap after all that…
-
I wake up a few hours later feeling even worse than I did beforehand. My eyelids are drooping, my pits are sweating and the area the bite took place is changing colour from the usual sandy white to a horrid swelling greeny blue. I sit up, rolling over to my knees where I straighten my back and take a few deep breaths. I need to find Tyron - and fast, or we might not even make it to Double Jeopardy where The Neon Babes would win by “forfeit”.
Somehow, I shakily make it up to my feet and stumble over to a tree where I grab on for dear life as a sudden pounding in my head occurs, the pain equals that of several chair shots to the skull. I push away from the tree and trudge onwards, keeping my head down and eyes away from the sun beaming in between the leaves overhead.
I manage to go far enough to find a man-made path that I collapse on, almost kissing the ground - with this it may just make it easier towards finding my partner and getting him home safely. I look forwards and force myself back up to my feet, peering into the distance where I can hear a drilling type sound from several different directions - the source obviously being that of wood pecking pigeons. With a proverbial boot up the ass, I push on - one shaky foot after the other. I make it about ten steps before I feel a hard jab to my stomach that causes me to take a knee.
That pain - clearly a result of the snakebite - feels like a punch from that of Matthew Robinson. Stern, impactful and in a place that would no doubt keep an opponent down for a decent period of time - long enough to capitalize anyway. My mouth feels as if it wants to salivate but it refuses itself, I can’t even swallow. My head falls forward before I rise up once more, pushing myself as far as I can go before my eyes float upwards and I find that I’m no longer in the forest.
I’m elsewhere, though the scenery is difficult to make out as an illuminating light blinds my vision. The outlines grow more solid until a wrestling ring dissolves into view as well as a ladder beneath a dangling Twin City Championship - Nicole Evans slowly climbing up, one foot after another. The effects of the snakebite seemingly vanishing as I slide into the ring and make way for the ladder - I begin climbing the other side - Nicole and I making it to the top at the exact same time. She’s quick on the ball, sending a hard right palm against my cheek that almost sends me toppling over but I reach up and latch a left arm through the championship to keep my position. I grab it by the strap and smack it into Nicole’s face before climbing further up the cord that it hangs from and pushing off the ladder to go swaying backwards, using the pendulum effect to buck Nicole off her perch with my heels. As she collides with the canvas, she turns to dust that merges with the air - getting caught by a faint breeze. With a sigh of relief I pull the belt down before leaping off of the ladder, a shimmer in the corner of my eye catching my attention before I turn my head to the right - Gina Neon with a hand on the other half of the titles. Fuck, where’s Tyron?!
I launch myself forwards but as I’m about halfway there, something clasps onto my ankle - looking down I see a hand that resembles Dathyns - trying to pull myself away I jerk backwards and forwards but the grip’s too tight, I can see our Twin City Titles slowly being taken away from us before another hand rises from the mat that resembles Cera’s as it holds the Warhammer The Baddest Bitch had given me on the previous Breakthrough. I reach down and take a hold of it, the hand disappearing before I bring the Warhammer down on top of the other - it too fading to dust just like Nicole.
Turning back to Gina, I see that it could be too late - she’s unhooking it from the cord but it seems as if she’s doing it in slow motion. That’s when I see him, Tyron sprinting down the ramp and rushing to the scene. I point out to him that the title’s nearly gone but he doesn’t seem to care and instead waltzes up to me before ripping the Warhammer from my grip. I watch him lift it and swiftly slam it across my chin, everything going back to normal as I fall to my knees looking around at the tree’s. I look up to where Tyron had been and instead, there stands an old woman with a stick in her hand - gazing over at the ladder I see that the entire time it had been a tree just as the other probably was and The Neon Babes, plus the hands were clearly just figments of my imagination.
The little elderly lady with snow white hair lifts the stick up once more before smacking me again - this time knocking me out cold.
-
During my time of unconsciousness, I’m not sure how much time has passed but I’m awoken to the sound of Tom Jones blaring through an old record player. I look up to see that same old woman dancing around in a pink tu-tu that drapes over her feet, she spins around eccentrically as she notices I’m awake - rushing over to me and grabbing a glass of water before holding it up to my lips as I slurp it back like a Japanese man and a bowl of ramen. She places the glass back down as I clear my throat.
“What the hell happened?” I manage to utter.
“You were running around the forest in a disorientated state, you were bitten by a snake. You’ve been in my care for the last day and a half.”
I cough, almost regurgitating the water I had just inhaled like a vacuum. I was out for an entire day and a half?! I guess being dehydrated, bitten by a snake and having a leech suck the life from your downstairs department really takes it out of you. Instead of dwelling on that, I decide to get back down to business.
“Have you seen my friend, Tyron? Big guy? Heart of gold? Possibly spurting out shit about somebody named ‘The Man in the West’?” I watch a frown flood over her face before letting out a bit of a snicker.
“I haven’t seen your friend but I know all about The Man in the West, good friend of mine. Haven’t seen him in a very long time though.”
No way she knows this guy, he isn’t even real. Fuck it, I’ll play along.
“Why’s that?”
“Because he lives in the West. We’re in the East, young man.”
I sit up, the little white blanket that had been keeping me warm slipping down and revealing my nipples - though I don’t care, I’m too busy going over the fact in my head that I may never have been in the place I had intended to go and that I thought I was already at.
“No...you’re screwing with me...there’s no fucking way I went through all that hell just to wind up in the complete opposite direction of my intended location! No fucking way at all!”
“Next time, you might wanna use a map.” She says with a mocking laugh as she goes back over to the record player with fancy footwork.
“Nuh-uh. I ain’t leaving ‘till you tell me the truth.”
“I already have but being a ballet hermit it’s been awhile since I’ve had some company so if you’d like to be my dance partner - be my guest.”
That offer was all I needed to throw any hospitality she showed me out the window as I escape as fast as I can - even without all of my clothes bar my trusty trench coat.
-
The journey home was a long one as once I made it out of the forest, I had found that Missy’s car was stolen. I had to hitchhike, which ultimately lead to being picked up by some trailer trash. In the end, it turned out the forest I was in was more like a nature reserve and the old ballet hermit hag was the park ranger. How could I have been so stupid? Thanks a lot for the help, Nomad - your sense of direction’s amazing.
However, the journey was nowhere near as bad as the arrival back home. Once I had told Tyron and Missy the story, I was given a hefty amount of shit that made me break the glass coffee table of our hotel room out of spite, knowing that the repairs would be paid from Missy’s pocket. Her response to that was even worse than mine as she phoned up news stations just as she did for Tyron a few days prior, telling them all about my experiences in the East. They’re only a couple of minutes away from showing up, so I quickly down a beer and pop some xanax. There’s a knock of at the door that marks my cue, I go over and open it - a flurry of microphone’s being pushed up into my face. A brunette woman speaks first, her hair in a bun as she speaks with such curiosity.
“Mr. Hardcore Heath, is it true that not only the Man in the West legend has been proven as non-fiction but the Woman in the East has been too?!”
A suited blonde man pipes up from her left, his eyes clearly wearing contacts as they’re a very unnatural shade of blue. How the other half lives eh? Buying stupid accessories they probably don’t even need.
“Is it true you were bitten by a snake?!”
Then, this one’s the worst - a short, stubbled bald man that resembles that of a pug pushes forward.
“Is it true that you had a leech on your man parts?”
That one’s enough to fuck me off, they shouldn’t be asking me senseless crap like this, they should be asking me about Double Jeopardy and the gameplan I may have come up with. I reach out and rip the mic away from his grasp, bringing it up to my mouth.
“Seriously?! Is that all you fuckers give a shit about? Poor ol’ Hardcore Heath taking a wrong turn and winding up probably being molested by an old bitch in a fucking tu-tu? Yeah, ‘course ya do. Why? Because you media fucktards are all the same, you care more about the juicy gossip rather than what truly matters...like the upcoming VoW event, Double Jeopardy where The Requiem puts the Twin City Championships on the line against The Neon Babes.
But is that The Neon Babes? Or The Neon Boobs? Because as far as I’m concerned, that’s all they are come the PPV. Two pairs of tits that I’ll be climbing over like mountains to keep those titles around our waists. I know what you’re saying to yourselves, “don’t underestimate them, Heath! They’re a talented duo!” and yeah, you’re right...they are but by god, if we can take out a team like the Cutthroat Corps and fucking disband them then we can handle an up-nosed brat that believes she’s god’s gift and the girl next door that’s stuck somewhere in between the 70’s and 80’s.
Gina - you’re a nice girl, I’ve seen you backstage, giving your english muffin to a fan, signing all the autographs you can slot in during your free periods and even going as far as taking a picture of yourself giving some poor nerd a kiss on the cheek that’ll probably never get laid in their entire life but that’s the thing, you seem to act as if you’re the star of some kind of ‘Saved by the Bell’ scenario. Gina, this isn’t a cheesy sitcom full of fake laughing machine’s - this is a wrestling federation that performs in front of a live audience that consists of thousands of people. This is a serious business and if you continue to act as bubbly and naive as you have been - then you won’t last long here, especially when going toe to toe with Tyron and I come Double Jeopardy.
Nicole...now, you’re the complete opposite of your partner, aren’t you? You’re the type of girl that walks down the street, expecting every postman, passer-by and schoolboy to stop and gawk astounded - but what’s really all that special about you that makes you stand out from all the other whores that are exactly the same? Sure, you’re a fine piece of ass with the tits and legs to match but...this sense of self-gratification, this attitude of believing you’re better than everybody else without the right proof...it’s more than just off-putting. It just makes you look like a horrible, nasty person that doesn’t truly deserve the shot they’re getting. So, cut it out while you still can princess because that ain’t gonna win you the Twin City Championships.
Now, I’m not sure if you guys are aware...but before we became the leaders of the tag division here, we also did it in numerous other places where we ruled with two iron fists. You wanna know what our secret was and still is, today? Our unbreakable bond of brotherhood that even the most mighty have fallen before. The two of you are just a couple of little girls playing dress-up, the theme of the day being “wrestler” - and as far as I know, the two of you can barely co-exist...so how do you expect to throwdown with best friends that used to beat each other silly against pavement to practice our skills on the road to becoming professional athletes? Thing is, you can’t just expect something like that, especially when pitted against veterans such as ourselves.
The two of you have a long road ahead, this being the first pitstop that sends you on the u-turn you don’t want to have to take.
This is it girls, show me how “wrong” I am. I dare you.”
And with that, I hand the bald guy back his microphone and slam the door in their faces.
Fin.
It’s the one thing that’s been able to save me from getting a woof of this overpowering stench of self-resentment that’s been radiating off of me like a natural aura. I’ve never been able to fathom as to why it’s always me, as to why whenever I’m on the right track I either fall off by tripping over my own feet or by getting shoved by jealous, maniacal twatburgers like Dathyn.
My own son…
My own fucking son…
I know that Ryan has every reason in the world to hate me, I know that Ryan has every reason in the world to despise me, I know that Ryan has every fucking reason in the world to want bad things to happen to me...but for Dathyn to use that to get one step ahead of me? for Dathyn to use that for brainwashing him into becoming his little sidekick? That’s just wrong...sick…demented...
Unforgivable.
So many things I want to do to him...like, chaining him to the railroad and listening to that distinct squashing sound his body would make as a locomotive painted his flesh into the dirt - or dipping his head over and over again in a pool of freezing, ice-cold water just to see him become a human fucking popsicle. Heh, now that’d be a sight.
A small smile brushes over my face as I picture all of this taking place in a classic Itchy & Scratchy sort of fashion, my intoxicated mind sketching it all out and even adding in all the necessary colour and ink. With shaky knees and spaghetti legs, I use the drapes hanging in front of the window to hoist myself up onto my feet - however, it only takes me a split second to lose the feeling in my right ankle causing me to begin falling sideways, so in a desperate attempt to save myself I flail my arms around and wrap my fingers around the centre of the curtains but this only brings them down with me as they tear apart from the railing and cover me like a blanket as I collide with the floor.
I contemplate swearing, cussing and screaming at the top of my lungs but after taking a moment to think about it...
I decide, it’d be best if I just got a little bit of shuteye so that I can start a brand new day with a fresh start...and without straight alcohol in my system.
-
“Heath! Wake up you lazy drunk!”
An irritating, nasally voice enters my left ear as I lay half awake with my eyes closed and right arm folded and pressed under my head as a makeshift pillow. I try to ignore the voice but it doesn’t stop, whoever it is really wants me to respond and to my dismay, I suppose that maybe it’d be best for my own karma to see whatever it is they want.
I force my eyes open, a hazy, blurred out figure kneeling in front of me in a blue woman’s business suit. Oh, that’s who it is. Missy leans forward with a squint to see if I’m awake and when she notices that I am she whips the curtain off of me and begins folding it much how a mother trying to get their child up for school would do it.
“You need to get up. It’s urgent.” She carries on with that exact same tone to her voice.
“You got a fuckin’ cold or something?” I reply without taking note of what she just said.
“Uh, yeah.” She says sounding rather annoyed before putting the curtain down on the side of my bed. “We need to go see Tyron, he’s not picking up any of my calls and we need to discuss Double Jeopardy.”
Shit.
Throughout all of the bullshit with Dathyn and then later on with The Orphanage, I had completely forgotten about the match between The Neon Babes and Chaos Sworn which would ultimately decide the fate of the Number One Contendership to mine and Tyron’s Twin City Championships and who we’d be squaring off against in the Main Event that showcases one of the most revolutionary concepts to ever be inducted into the wrestling world, the ladder match. However, this won’t be your ordinary ladder match...it’s a VoW speciality concocted by management themselves to bring a little more excitement to the tag team division. From a business standpoint, I can see the success something like this would accomplish but from a wrestlers standpoint, all I want to do is climb the steps to title retention so I can get back to the bigger fish I need to fry.
“Heath, did you hear me?” Missy impatiently snaps, flicking me away from my thoughts.
“Yeah, he’s probably still angry about you and Rebecca beating us in Operation.”
[see Tyro’s rp in “Where Eagles Dairy”]
“Uh, you were the sore loser - not Tyron. It’s been like two days since then anyway, so he’s either being extremely anti-social or something’s not right.”
Yada yada yada. Oh my god, just shut up. I swear to god, this bitch's voice is going to be what sends me to my deathbed one day. Even when she isn’t sick I just wanna rip my ears off when she’s blabbing on like some kind of authority figure. She sounds like a cat that just got its paw stuck in a fucking lawnmower. Fucking wookie ass bitch trying to tell me something could be wrong with my best friend, as if I wouldn’t know if something was up - he’s my best fucking friend damn it, he’d tell me if anything was bothering him.
“Come on, get dressed - chop, chop. We’re burning daylight.”
I stand up and peer down at my casual black t-shirt, jeans and holey grey socks before looking back up at her with a scowl and arms half open. “Are you blind? I am dressed damn it.”
Her right eyebrow raises as she looks me up and down before turning with a scoff and walking out of the bedroom with me in tow. She goes towards the front door as I grab my trusty black trench coat that I put each arm through with complete pride - though I had only owned this garment for a few weeks, I feel as if it’s a second home, like a turtle and its shell or a snail and its...shell…
Okay, I need better analogies…
Like a prostitute and her street corner. There, that’s a good ‘un...right?
Missy turns and notices me standing here rubbing up and down the right sleeve with a little smile that marks its sentimentality. She shakes her head before grabbing me by the forearm and pulling me along.
“There’s something wrong with you…” She mutters as we emerge into the hallway of the hotel I’ve been staying at that resides not too far from Tyron’s house, which I suppose...is where we’re going.
-
Yep, I was right.
We pull up in front of Tyron’s nifty little suburban home that sits contently on a quiet little street that would almost put the fictional town ‘Pleasantville’ to shame with just how tidy and amiable it is. I look over at one of the houses across the road - an old man standing out on the lawn wearing a flax sunhat that resembles a fedora as he snips away at a shrub with a big pair of hedgecutters.
He notices me staring and screws up his face - either this road isn’t as nice as I had believed or he’s a wrestling fan and knows all about my Room for Reflection stint. Too many old people just can’t seem to understand the way this world works nowadays, kinda makes me feel like going over and telling him that the 50’s are over and that he can go fuck himself. Missy notices where I’m looking and decides to have a glance for herself and as she turns, the old man’s expression immediately goes from shrivelled up sour prune to pubescent teen boy that just found porn for the first time. He gives her a little wave to which she responds with one of her own before we hop out of her flashy candy red convertible and make way up the driveway towards the front door.
She extends a hand and uses her index finger to push the doorbell, it rings but there’s no sign of life coming from inside. She looks at me, with that complex half ‘I told you so’ half ‘I’m always right’ sort of expression that every woman gets now and again. Rolling my eyes I take a turn at ringing the bell but it’s in vain, there’s still no answer. So...I decide to knock the loudest, most manliest knock I’m able to achieve - still nothing. Well, that’s until…
“What do you want? I am trying to get my beauty sleep.”
“Hey, that you Ticky?” I ask trying to peer through the slice of glass in between the door and the outside wall.
“No. It is another talking cat with a deep voice.” There’s a silence for a moment, a beat if you will. “You are as they say...a stupid mother fucker. Of course it is I, Ticky.”
“Yeah yeah, fucking smart mouthed prick. Can we come in?”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“I’m here too, Tick.” Missy butts in, trying to help towards getting him to let us go in and look around.
His tone changes, he seems a little more sincere now. “Ok but you two will have to come around the side of the house, my bro Tyron has locked the door, there is only one window that is open.”
“Sweet, we’ll be right around.” I answer, turning and walking across the driveway with Missy right behind me.
“I can’t climb into any windows, I’m wearing heels damn it!” She complains as we turn the corner down the little space between Tyron’s house and the fence that keeps him sectioned off from his neighbours.
“Tough fuckin’ titties. You wanted to come and find out where Tyron is so that’s what we’re doing”
She groans as we reach the open window where Ticky’s perched on the sill, waiting for us. I reach underneath the bottom rail and pull the window upwards so that Missy and I can climb in with no trouble as Ticky jumps down and scurries over to the couch so he isn’t in our way. You’d think I’d pull the gentleman's approach and let Missy in first but nah, don’t want her feeling too special you know? She might become accustomed to it.
I stick my head through before my arms follow, grabbing the frame as my left foot pushes against the sill and boosts me into the house. Tuna. That’s the first thing I can smell as I stand and look around - so there’s either a couple of hookers hiding out somewhere or Ticky just had his mid-morning feed.
“A little help here, Heath?” Missy asks with a smile and her left hand out.
“Nuh-uh. I’ll catch wookie fleas.”
She grunts before climbing through the same way I did, only a lot more awkwardly. Now that we’re both inside we peer around - things had been changed since the last time I had been here and I think that’s the case for Missy too as a picasso-like painting seemingly catches her eye. She turns to Ticky, with a frown.
“I wasn’t aware Tyron had a taste for classic art?”
“He does not. Behind that painting is a safe that contains some of his most valuable possessions.” the talking cyborg-cat replies like it’s no big deal.
“What are they?” Missy asks in a nosey tone.
“You are welcome to have a look. The code is 3-4-7-8-3.”
I frown at the two of them as Missy unhooks the painting from the wall, I may not be a man of many morals but I don’t approve of going through other people’s personal belongings unless you’re given the go ahead or if it’s for the greater good. Although Missy would try to claim that it is infact for the greater good, I’m well aware that she’s only doing it so that she can snoop around and play detective. Shaking my head as she begins punching in the code, I decide that won’t be the way to find out where Tyron’s headed so I turn to Ticky with a few questions from the top of my mind at the ready.
“So, what happened exactly? Tyro not here when you woke up?”
“He has not been here since yesterday morning but I did not see him, he spoke with Link for a brief moment.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s he? Link, I mean.”
“In Tyron’s bedroom. He is very depressed.”
I nod, turning and heading down the hallway to find the other talking cat Tyron owns. Infact, now that I think about it...where the fuck does he even get these rare creatures? It’s not like you can just walk into Petco and ask for a talking cat, right? Or maybe you can...fucked if I know, it’s just a little peculiar and I seriously can’t believe I haven’t thought about it until now…No matter, I’ll just go back to pretending it’s completely normal. At least then I don’t have to question the sanity of this world we live in.
Reaching Tyron’s room, I hear quiet little whimpers coming from inside. I peer through the quarter-way opened door and see Link curled up on my teammate’s pillow, a little wet patch beside him that probably consists of his tears. I enter and he looks up, attempting to put a stop to his sobbing but it’s no use however that doesn’t stop him from acknowledging my presence and greeting me like the considerate wee kitty he is.
“Hello ther mistur heef...hav u seen my frend tyron?” He asks with a shaky robotic voice.
My entire demeanor softens, the innocence of this little guy’s just too overwhelmingly cute and I can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I just wanna scoop him up and carry him around in a little blanket like a baby. I sit down beside him with a little scratch behind his ear that he seems to enjoy as he tilts his head back.
“I’m afraid not little guy. What’d he tell you before he left?”
I stop scratching so that Link can speak. “Nufing reely...he sed he love me and he be back soon but soon was long time ago…”
I feel for the little dude, I really do but the last words Tyron uttered to him don’t help whatsoever. How the hell am I meant to find out where he’s gone if he didn’t tell anybody where he was going?
Wait, hold the fucking phone!
I look over at the desk in the corner, there’s bits of paper and pictures spread out across its surface in a messy manner - it looks to me that these may just help to uncover the answers of my partner’s whereabouts. I hurry over, the first picture catching my eye is that of a ladder...shit, how could I be so stupid? He’s had a problem with ladder matches since his loss to James Eriksson where he came so fucking close to becoming the inaugural FBW World Heavyweight Champion. He lost a certain confidence after that bout and has refused to compete in any sort of ladder stipulation since but he’s never gone as far to just bolt up and leave like this...he wouldn’t leave me alone, that’s just not who he is…
That’s when I see the documents at the other side of the desk, the title in big bold writing as “The Man in the West”. Fuck...and just like that...the pieces are put together. Tyron’s gone chasing off after a legend, a myth - something that doesn’t and never did exist. Sure, desperate times call for desperate measures but...isn’t this going a little too far? He’s gone and put all of his faith in something that’ll only let him down…
And now I have no choice other than to find him and bring him home, searching for something that isn’t there will only destroy him mentally - and I can’t allow for that to happen. Not just for his own well being but for The Requiem’s too. If he’s out there pulling up short straws, what would that mean for Double Jeopardy? What would that mean for the Twin City Championships? No, I can’t let this happen. I refuse to let this happen.
I turn back around towards Link and make way for the door, his teary eyes gazing up at me as I pass. I stop just before I exit, slightly cocking my head.
“Don’t worry, pal. I’ll have him back in no time.” And with that, I leave - back out into the living room where Missy stands rummaging through Tyron’s safe. “He’s gone to find some hermit that doesn’t-” something she has in her hand catches my interest. “What’s that?”
She turns around with a smile, holding up a really terribly drawn laminated picture of two young boys with one being taller than the other - both have spiky hair and their faces barely look like faces. They don’t even have proper bodies - just a couple of fuckin’ sticks. One thing I do notice though, is that each of them is holding something that resembles a wrestling championship. I take a few steps over and take it into my own hand - upon closer inspection I can see the words “Tag Tittles” written on both of them. Heh, tittles. Whoever drew this is a fucking idiot.
“Turn it around.” Missy instructs, her smile seemingly incapable of fading.
I flip it over, and there it is - mine and Tyro’s names on the back in red crayon. The memories come flooding back, we drew this together. I can’t even recall when but I do remember the hours it took us to complete despite how simple it is. It’s funny, because way back then this was all just a dream...the two of us capturing Tag Team Championships, the two of us even becoming professional wrestlers. But now...it’s all a reality, we’ve been tag champs a number of four times and something tells me that number will only increase over time. It’s clear that I need to go out there and find him by myself, Missy has no business with this.
“Hey uh...could I see your keychain for a minute?” I ask Missy, passing the picture back to her.
She gives me a sceptical look. “Why?”
“Um...I wanna see that pocket pepperspray you’ve got. It’s really cool.”
She stares at me for a long moment - I can’t keep eye contact but eventually she gives in, pulling the chain out from her pocket.
“If you are planning to spray me with that thing, I will wreck you with my claws bruv.” Ticky pipes up from where he’s sitting, I had almost forgotten he was there. He is being unusually quiet...meh, probably just been ‘purrving’ on Missy. Heh, I crack myself up.
She hands me the chain and I examine the pepper spray for a moment, she’s eyeing me out - must know I’m to something. That’s when I sidestep her and begin sprinting for the window, she shouts as I leap outside and begin running down the side of the house.
“Thief! You fucking thief!” She screams at the top of her lungs as she attempts to follow but has a difficult time getting out.
I continue out onto the driveway, heading towards her car on the side of the road. After jumping over the door and settling into the driver's seat I waste no time shoving the key into ignition and bringing the convertible to life. I give the motor a quick test, keeping my foot on the brake as I revv up the engine. I glance up at the rearview mirror and see Missy with her heels in her hands, coming in at an extremely quick pace so in a panic I set off down the road as fast as I can, leaving a trail of tyre smoke a mile long behind in my former path.
“What are you doing, Heath?” My own voice says from the seat beside me and after taking a quick look, I see the Nomad sitting there shaking his head with a light smile.
“I’m taking shit into my own hands, that’s what.”
“By stealing Missy’s car?”
“Well, no shit. What’s it to ya anyway?”
“Nothing. It’s exactly what I’d do if the situation called for it. Bring Tyro back, alright?”
“That’s the plan stan, that’s the plan.”
His presence fades from beside me and seemingly disappears until I feel the two of us merge - this will be all the help I need.
-
Several days on and still nothing...this dense forestation leads me to believe I’m just walking around in circle after fucking circle. The rations I had bought at a truckstop in the little town over is starting to slim. I still have enough trail mix to get me through another day or two but in hindsight, buying the spicy flavour was a poor idea...I’m going through my water like Hugh Hefner goes through playboy bunnies. The path I’m taking starts to get rather narrow and before long it completely disappears as a hill takes its place but I try to press forward, using the overhead tree branches as leverage.
I look towards the bottom of the hill but I can’t see anything passed the lush greenery - kind of makes me wonder if Tyron caught a glimpse of this exact same sight during his trek throughout this labyrinth of tree and bush but I doubt it, he’s probably too focused on finding this legend of his. The hook of my backpack latches onto a branch and I slip backwards - the skinny branch snapping as it tries to hold my weight - one half of it flying up and cutting my right cheek open, causing me to go rolling over to my left and down the hill, picking up speed with each passing moment until my midsection collides with a tree trunk that causes me to stumble back, my foot getting wrapped up in something.
Taking a quick breath, I gaze down at my ankle to see the slippery long body of a coral snake attempting at making me its prey. I push myself up and try to flick it away but this only makes me fall sideways - finding myself rolling down the hill again, only this time I’m doing backwards summersaults that eventually lands me in the disgusting, murky water of some kind of pond - the ducks that had been residing on its surface immediately lifting off as a huge splash occurs. Throughout all the commotion, my pack falls off of my arms and begins to sink. I reach out to it but it’s no use, the force of the fall has completely pushed the water pressure against it as I watch the remainder of my sustenance go to waste.
After chasing pavement and attempting to get it back, I decide that’s that and rise back up to the surface - gasping for air as I come out. I freestyle over to the river bank and reach up, about to get out until I feel a quick, sharp pain in my right hand and upon looking over, there that same coral snake resides - almost smiling at me as it lets out an ear jarring hiss. Frustratedly, I grab it by the head and throw it as far away as I can before finally climbing up and falling against the mud. Bringing my hand up to my face, I inspect the bite - it doesn’t hurt too much but that’s what it’s like with this particular species of snake, in a few hours I’m going to feel like shit - and that’s putting it lightly.
That’s when I notice the two big fat leeches on my arm, one on the elbow and the other on my forearm. I quickly rip them both off and chuck them back to where they belong before noticing four more on my other arm, doing the same thing with them - red marks in place of where they had previously been. Right when I thought I could take a moment's rest...I feel something down below, a strangely pleasant tickle on my shaft. Uh oh. I can feel my face go as pale as the skin pigmentation of an albino, this is one of the only things that haunt my nightmares, ever since I was a young chap and watched the adventure classic Stand By Me for the first time...a leech to the penis. A LEECH TO THE FUCKING PENIS!
With a gulp, I unbuckle the belt holding my jeans and let them drop around my ankles before pulling forward the waistband on my tighty whities and peering in. Yup. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck do I do?! How does this even happen?! Talk about a series of unfortunate events...fuck me this is bad. I guess...I have to...rip it off...a shiver goes spiralling down my spine from the thought of it. Once again, I pull the waistband forward, dipping a hand in and wrapping my fingers around the leech before yanking it from its grip - a strange butterfly sensation occurring in my stomach before I pull it out and stare at it for a few moments. Looking at this parasitic slug and knowing it was becoming acquainted with my second brain makes me feel sick as fuck so I squash that little bastard with a tightened fist before wiping my hand against a patch of grass.
This whole ordeal has made me feel so light headed so after pulling my pants back up I decide to take a seat - that seat becoming a bed as I plonk my back against the ground. I don’t even care about what other sorts of creatures decide to make this trip that little bit worse, as far as I’m concerned I’ve already dealt with the worst of it but let’s hope that isn’t just naivety talking. I slowly close my eyes, I think I’ve earned myself a nap after all that…
-
I wake up a few hours later feeling even worse than I did beforehand. My eyelids are drooping, my pits are sweating and the area the bite took place is changing colour from the usual sandy white to a horrid swelling greeny blue. I sit up, rolling over to my knees where I straighten my back and take a few deep breaths. I need to find Tyron - and fast, or we might not even make it to Double Jeopardy where The Neon Babes would win by “forfeit”.
Somehow, I shakily make it up to my feet and stumble over to a tree where I grab on for dear life as a sudden pounding in my head occurs, the pain equals that of several chair shots to the skull. I push away from the tree and trudge onwards, keeping my head down and eyes away from the sun beaming in between the leaves overhead.
I manage to go far enough to find a man-made path that I collapse on, almost kissing the ground - with this it may just make it easier towards finding my partner and getting him home safely. I look forwards and force myself back up to my feet, peering into the distance where I can hear a drilling type sound from several different directions - the source obviously being that of wood pecking pigeons. With a proverbial boot up the ass, I push on - one shaky foot after the other. I make it about ten steps before I feel a hard jab to my stomach that causes me to take a knee.
That pain - clearly a result of the snakebite - feels like a punch from that of Matthew Robinson. Stern, impactful and in a place that would no doubt keep an opponent down for a decent period of time - long enough to capitalize anyway. My mouth feels as if it wants to salivate but it refuses itself, I can’t even swallow. My head falls forward before I rise up once more, pushing myself as far as I can go before my eyes float upwards and I find that I’m no longer in the forest.
I’m elsewhere, though the scenery is difficult to make out as an illuminating light blinds my vision. The outlines grow more solid until a wrestling ring dissolves into view as well as a ladder beneath a dangling Twin City Championship - Nicole Evans slowly climbing up, one foot after another. The effects of the snakebite seemingly vanishing as I slide into the ring and make way for the ladder - I begin climbing the other side - Nicole and I making it to the top at the exact same time. She’s quick on the ball, sending a hard right palm against my cheek that almost sends me toppling over but I reach up and latch a left arm through the championship to keep my position. I grab it by the strap and smack it into Nicole’s face before climbing further up the cord that it hangs from and pushing off the ladder to go swaying backwards, using the pendulum effect to buck Nicole off her perch with my heels. As she collides with the canvas, she turns to dust that merges with the air - getting caught by a faint breeze. With a sigh of relief I pull the belt down before leaping off of the ladder, a shimmer in the corner of my eye catching my attention before I turn my head to the right - Gina Neon with a hand on the other half of the titles. Fuck, where’s Tyron?!
I launch myself forwards but as I’m about halfway there, something clasps onto my ankle - looking down I see a hand that resembles Dathyns - trying to pull myself away I jerk backwards and forwards but the grip’s too tight, I can see our Twin City Titles slowly being taken away from us before another hand rises from the mat that resembles Cera’s as it holds the Warhammer The Baddest Bitch had given me on the previous Breakthrough. I reach down and take a hold of it, the hand disappearing before I bring the Warhammer down on top of the other - it too fading to dust just like Nicole.
Turning back to Gina, I see that it could be too late - she’s unhooking it from the cord but it seems as if she’s doing it in slow motion. That’s when I see him, Tyron sprinting down the ramp and rushing to the scene. I point out to him that the title’s nearly gone but he doesn’t seem to care and instead waltzes up to me before ripping the Warhammer from my grip. I watch him lift it and swiftly slam it across my chin, everything going back to normal as I fall to my knees looking around at the tree’s. I look up to where Tyron had been and instead, there stands an old woman with a stick in her hand - gazing over at the ladder I see that the entire time it had been a tree just as the other probably was and The Neon Babes, plus the hands were clearly just figments of my imagination.
The little elderly lady with snow white hair lifts the stick up once more before smacking me again - this time knocking me out cold.
-
During my time of unconsciousness, I’m not sure how much time has passed but I’m awoken to the sound of Tom Jones blaring through an old record player. I look up to see that same old woman dancing around in a pink tu-tu that drapes over her feet, she spins around eccentrically as she notices I’m awake - rushing over to me and grabbing a glass of water before holding it up to my lips as I slurp it back like a Japanese man and a bowl of ramen. She places the glass back down as I clear my throat.
“What the hell happened?” I manage to utter.
“You were running around the forest in a disorientated state, you were bitten by a snake. You’ve been in my care for the last day and a half.”
I cough, almost regurgitating the water I had just inhaled like a vacuum. I was out for an entire day and a half?! I guess being dehydrated, bitten by a snake and having a leech suck the life from your downstairs department really takes it out of you. Instead of dwelling on that, I decide to get back down to business.
“Have you seen my friend, Tyron? Big guy? Heart of gold? Possibly spurting out shit about somebody named ‘The Man in the West’?” I watch a frown flood over her face before letting out a bit of a snicker.
“I haven’t seen your friend but I know all about The Man in the West, good friend of mine. Haven’t seen him in a very long time though.”
No way she knows this guy, he isn’t even real. Fuck it, I’ll play along.
“Why’s that?”
“Because he lives in the West. We’re in the East, young man.”
I sit up, the little white blanket that had been keeping me warm slipping down and revealing my nipples - though I don’t care, I’m too busy going over the fact in my head that I may never have been in the place I had intended to go and that I thought I was already at.
“No...you’re screwing with me...there’s no fucking way I went through all that hell just to wind up in the complete opposite direction of my intended location! No fucking way at all!”
“Next time, you might wanna use a map.” She says with a mocking laugh as she goes back over to the record player with fancy footwork.
“Nuh-uh. I ain’t leaving ‘till you tell me the truth.”
“I already have but being a ballet hermit it’s been awhile since I’ve had some company so if you’d like to be my dance partner - be my guest.”
That offer was all I needed to throw any hospitality she showed me out the window as I escape as fast as I can - even without all of my clothes bar my trusty trench coat.
-
The journey home was a long one as once I made it out of the forest, I had found that Missy’s car was stolen. I had to hitchhike, which ultimately lead to being picked up by some trailer trash. In the end, it turned out the forest I was in was more like a nature reserve and the old ballet hermit hag was the park ranger. How could I have been so stupid? Thanks a lot for the help, Nomad - your sense of direction’s amazing.
However, the journey was nowhere near as bad as the arrival back home. Once I had told Tyron and Missy the story, I was given a hefty amount of shit that made me break the glass coffee table of our hotel room out of spite, knowing that the repairs would be paid from Missy’s pocket. Her response to that was even worse than mine as she phoned up news stations just as she did for Tyron a few days prior, telling them all about my experiences in the East. They’re only a couple of minutes away from showing up, so I quickly down a beer and pop some xanax. There’s a knock of at the door that marks my cue, I go over and open it - a flurry of microphone’s being pushed up into my face. A brunette woman speaks first, her hair in a bun as she speaks with such curiosity.
“Mr. Hardcore Heath, is it true that not only the Man in the West legend has been proven as non-fiction but the Woman in the East has been too?!”
A suited blonde man pipes up from her left, his eyes clearly wearing contacts as they’re a very unnatural shade of blue. How the other half lives eh? Buying stupid accessories they probably don’t even need.
“Is it true you were bitten by a snake?!”
Then, this one’s the worst - a short, stubbled bald man that resembles that of a pug pushes forward.
“Is it true that you had a leech on your man parts?”
That one’s enough to fuck me off, they shouldn’t be asking me senseless crap like this, they should be asking me about Double Jeopardy and the gameplan I may have come up with. I reach out and rip the mic away from his grasp, bringing it up to my mouth.
“Seriously?! Is that all you fuckers give a shit about? Poor ol’ Hardcore Heath taking a wrong turn and winding up probably being molested by an old bitch in a fucking tu-tu? Yeah, ‘course ya do. Why? Because you media fucktards are all the same, you care more about the juicy gossip rather than what truly matters...like the upcoming VoW event, Double Jeopardy where The Requiem puts the Twin City Championships on the line against The Neon Babes.
But is that The Neon Babes? Or The Neon Boobs? Because as far as I’m concerned, that’s all they are come the PPV. Two pairs of tits that I’ll be climbing over like mountains to keep those titles around our waists. I know what you’re saying to yourselves, “don’t underestimate them, Heath! They’re a talented duo!” and yeah, you’re right...they are but by god, if we can take out a team like the Cutthroat Corps and fucking disband them then we can handle an up-nosed brat that believes she’s god’s gift and the girl next door that’s stuck somewhere in between the 70’s and 80’s.
Gina - you’re a nice girl, I’ve seen you backstage, giving your english muffin to a fan, signing all the autographs you can slot in during your free periods and even going as far as taking a picture of yourself giving some poor nerd a kiss on the cheek that’ll probably never get laid in their entire life but that’s the thing, you seem to act as if you’re the star of some kind of ‘Saved by the Bell’ scenario. Gina, this isn’t a cheesy sitcom full of fake laughing machine’s - this is a wrestling federation that performs in front of a live audience that consists of thousands of people. This is a serious business and if you continue to act as bubbly and naive as you have been - then you won’t last long here, especially when going toe to toe with Tyron and I come Double Jeopardy.
Nicole...now, you’re the complete opposite of your partner, aren’t you? You’re the type of girl that walks down the street, expecting every postman, passer-by and schoolboy to stop and gawk astounded - but what’s really all that special about you that makes you stand out from all the other whores that are exactly the same? Sure, you’re a fine piece of ass with the tits and legs to match but...this sense of self-gratification, this attitude of believing you’re better than everybody else without the right proof...it’s more than just off-putting. It just makes you look like a horrible, nasty person that doesn’t truly deserve the shot they’re getting. So, cut it out while you still can princess because that ain’t gonna win you the Twin City Championships.
Now, I’m not sure if you guys are aware...but before we became the leaders of the tag division here, we also did it in numerous other places where we ruled with two iron fists. You wanna know what our secret was and still is, today? Our unbreakable bond of brotherhood that even the most mighty have fallen before. The two of you are just a couple of little girls playing dress-up, the theme of the day being “wrestler” - and as far as I know, the two of you can barely co-exist...so how do you expect to throwdown with best friends that used to beat each other silly against pavement to practice our skills on the road to becoming professional athletes? Thing is, you can’t just expect something like that, especially when pitted against veterans such as ourselves.
The two of you have a long road ahead, this being the first pitstop that sends you on the u-turn you don’t want to have to take.
This is it girls, show me how “wrong” I am. I dare you.”
And with that, I hand the bald guy back his microphone and slam the door in their faces.
Fin.