Post by Matt Slater on Mar 31, 2016 13:41:18 GMT -6
Breaking Point
February 18th 2016
Caguas, Puerto Rico
All the pleadings. All the sacrifices. Every drop of sweat and blood. Conclusively, they had all amounted to nothing.
Professional Wrestling cannot change, even in death. Moments of sympathetic clarity occur, but they eventually get replaced by one irrefutable, inextinguishable constant: egotistical anarchy.
Some remain unconvinced, but the evidence was there. Ten minutes was all it took before the humbling vibes of quietly honouring Cera’s life was followed by a vicious streak of matches, each containing someone who wanted to wreck havoc, either openly or deceitfully. It was the way of the world; survival of the fittest, not becoming weak, standing as the dominant alpha of a generation brainwashed by excessive cruelty.
People certainly needed to move on from tragedy, but it truly exposed the sickening nature of humanity, a population that deemed themselves the epitome of God’s creation; or evolution, whichever they were willing to believe.
For one man, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. A small percentage of his psyche held onto hope, that somehow his words… his performances and actions… could inspire a surge of respectability and goodness. He literally broke himself attempting to inspire others, shedding his flesh and lowering his life expectancy for the sole purpose of being influential; a credible figure that would change the game.
Little did he know, until that particular episode of Breakthrough was over, that he was merely wasting his time.
Now, with hands and teeth clenched, he knew he was insignificant in the grand scheme. He was merely a pawn in a game he could not win.
To his dismay - now acceptance - Joanna Thade had been right. So had Casanova English.
And before her heart-wrenching passing, so had Cera.
Chaos ruled. Ego triumphed. Heroes could only achieve moral victories, ones that invigorated the positive masses one day… until they were broken the next. Even those who claimed they were good people were tempted by the fruits of viciousness, abandoning their principles just to taste the nectar of victory.
That was what it all boiled down to; being superior. Being the one everyone remembered, as controversial and damaging as they were.
Once the television blacked out, initiated by the conveniently-coloured OFF button on the remote control, Slater stared at the emptiness that was, reflecting on what had been.
Then he chuckled. Softly at first… before it became oddly profound.
It was not just twisted, anarchic normalcy being restored in the company he laughed at. It was not just the fans in the arena or on Twitter who endorsed this savage behaviour, people he was beginning to regret fighting for... people he was beginning to despise. He was reacting to what existed within himself… what was beginning to reform and take shape… symbolized by the completely black screen of nothingness he failed to peel his eyes from.
Emotional attachment can become the bane of morality. Preserving what is transforms into repairing what was, painstakingly… selfishly fighting to heal the wounds of change. Everything is subject to alteration; material possessions, career stability, marriages and parental custody. Each are deemed sacred, but each are susceptible to the laws of causality.
Nothing is eternal. Control is never absolute. And from what is lost, desperation and irrationality bloom from the remnants of what had been, ensuring they continue to exist… ensuring they can grow once again.
Love is an abstract concept, yet every physical entity seems to contain this desirable feeling; yearning for acceptance and protection; yearning to love and to be loved. Cut the supply of affection and support long enough, and these entities start to become detached; disillusioned; conditioned to be careless and numb, forming an island unto themselves.
They are all that remains true; existing by necessity, adapting by self-reliance.
Yet the feeling never fades. Not completely, as miniscule as it becomes. Much like anything can be broken, anything can attain personal value. Even with purity barren and darkness abundant, animals and people alike still possess the ability to connect with something… anything… as long as the void of what was can be sufficiently filled by another… no matter how immoral the methods are to gain what they desperately desire.
What he desired most was to fill these voids he contained… these voids he symbolically witnessed in front of him… and he was at his breaking point.
Beyond the threshold, no mental barriers would remain. Coldness would thrive… yet so would his former self. There were traits he had subdued for so long, traits that he could not physically or emotionally remove, because he wanted to be viewed and adored as the very definition of noble; a knight for all to support.
But now... he had officially stopped caring. Now he was going to do whatever he pleased, and he would make sure his objectives came to pass… with no filters or restrictions.
His laughter faded, but his mind did not. Various emotions battled for control, all while he sat motionless on the hotel room’s cushioned futon. He felt different. He felt complete.
For better or worse... he had returned to who he always was, who few people had realistically seen.
Who the whole world would collectively see... when the time was right.