Post by - The Hardcore Hero on Jul 16, 2016 18:34:04 GMT -6
Can’t see reality.
Can’t hear reality.
Can’t feel reality.
Bliss.
Floating, weightless, mind carrying me off to places of its own construction. Segments of the potential future flash before me, Tyron Bickerton, the I4NI Championship, a casket…the curse of brotherhood. Over and over again, the same things appear, one after the other...enough to make a sane man turn - but thankfully I’m not exactly what you’d call a “sane man”.
This marks my fourth time in the tank, though no experiences as vivid as the first. Still, it’s comfortable in here. All there is, is myself left alone with my own thoughts. Sensory deprivation, a natural high I didn’t even know existed until I went to seek out the answers I needed - answers I needed without the blurred consequences of the psychedelics I had once loved.
My entire life I had turned to drugs when times were tough, when I needed some sense of security, when I needed to find the path to the truth. However, all that drugs do is twist the mind...they make things easier for the time being, they give you a false sense of security and they convert you to a truth that is only the truth in the world of your distorted, jumbled up high. You’re given pieces of the truth that you have to put together in order to finish the puzzle but here, in the tank, the truth is handed to you on a silver platter straight from the deepest, most obscure space of your mind that you never expected to hold such knowledge.
Three knocks - the sign to tell me that my time’s up. The hatch opens and light floods in, striking my pupils with an attack of divine luminosity, covering me with a blanket of tender warmth. I push my heels against the steel bottom of the tank and stand, the water that had collected within my trunks finding its escape and fleeing home to its own kind. With a helping hand, I lift a leg over the ledge of the hatch, climbing out into a conservatory connected to Mike’s house that the summer sun has heated due to magnifying windows.
I stare out one of these windows once again lost in thought, replaying the events of the ‘future’ in my head. Mike rests a hand on my shoulder, “Leave your experiences in the tank, Heath. There’s no need to dwell on them out here.”
I turn my neck towards him with a nod as he hands me a pile of dry clothes. He exits through to the house as I stare down at my trousers that lie at the top of the clothes pile. Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood. Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood.
Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood…
---
After three hours in the tank it’s difficult to come to terms with being back in reality, all you can think about is the next experience that awaits, the things you’ll come to discover about yourself that have been lost through time or the things you’ll come to understand in a different light. It’s a process that you can only make sense of when you’ve experienced it, listening to somebody speak about what they’ve encountered in the tank and the visuals you paint for yourself as you listen are not on any sort of level with the actual experience itself.
“So, what’s it like, dad?” Ryan asks me, forearms pressed against the table as he leans in.
“The tank?”
“Yeah, the tank. How do you feel? Is it weird?”
I smirk, “Fuck yeah it’s weird. In a good way, though.”
Missy grunts from beside him with a roll of the eyes, “Don’t give him any ideas, Heath. The tank is no place for a child.”
“Missy’s right.” Karen chimes in from my right, “Ryan’s not allowed in there until he’s at least eighteen.”
“I’m not denying any of that, the boy asked me a question and I answered it. That’s all.”
Mike walks in with a metal tray, roast chicken surrounded in vegetables resting atop its surface. He places it at the centre of the table and immediately, Missy reaches over towards one of the legs with a face full of gluttonous lust. Mike slaps her hand away with a scowl.
“Not until after we say grace.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Missy asks, her expression now representing that of complete horror.
He smiles, “Yeah I’m fuckin’ kidding.” He rips off the leg Missy had doven in for and throws it down on his own plate. “I just wanted that piece for myself!”
Mike sits down at the head of the table as everyone else starts digging in, serving up their own plates. I glare at the once whole chicken, now only a fraction of what it had been a few moments prior, thinking about the days it had spent on some kind of farm, blissfully unaware of what was to come, blissfully unaware that in some strange turn of events, it’d end up sitting in front of us all as dinner.
“You not hungry?” Karen asks with a nudge to my side.
“Oh, no, I am. I’m just thinking.” I answer, taking a large knife from beside the tray and cutting into the meat of the chicken.
“About?”
I dump a few slices down on my plate before going in for the potatoes and giving Karen a shrug, “Just about what this chicken’s life might’ve been like before, you know, like when it still clucked.”
Everybody apart from Missy drops their cutlery, looks of disgust sent my way. “You had to, didn’t you?” Mike says with a stern shake of the head.
“I don’t think I can eat anymore…” Ryan mutters.
“Great! More for me!” Missy declares before picking up Ryan’s plate and putting it beside her own.
“That damn tank’s fucking with you, dude. It’s making you think about the irrelevant shit you wouldn’t normally think about.” Mike states, folding his arms.
“Nothing wrong with a little bit of in depth thinking, is there?” I reply, stabbing a potato with my fork before taking a bite.
“There is when you put me off the wonderful roast chicken I spent hours slaving over a hot fuckin’ oven to cook.”
“Why are we even having this dinner? I’ve lost my best friend, my championship...Karen’s great uncle passed away recently...Mike, your business’s been put on hold due to financial issues...Missy’s over there gaining weight with every fuckin’ mouthful...what do we really have to celebrate?” I stare at each of them, no replies. I stand, pushing in my chair. “Sorry. Excuse me.”
---
Standing outside with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I lift my lighter to its tip and spark it up. After taking a long drag, I exhale with a sigh before leaning up against the railing of Mike’s patio. A couple moments and puffs of my cigarette go by before Mike comes out of the house, pulling out a cancer stick of his own, gesturing for a light. I hand one to him and he too sparks his before handing it back to me and taking a seat.
“Sensory deprivation is a difficult thing to get used to, Heath. Especially with the way you’ve been abusing it. Most people wait months in between their visits, in fact, doing it that way is actually advised by experts.”
“And here it comes...the world’s shittiest intervention.”
Mike laughs, “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just saying, sometimes too much thinking can drive a guy mental.”
“Good. I need to be mental. I need to be crazy. It’s the only way I’m gonna put an end to this god damn curse.”
Mike stands and joins me at the railing, “Look, I get it Heath. You want Tyron back, you want him back more than anything but...when people turn to the dark side, sometimes there’s just nothing you can do. I’m not saying that this whole casket idea of yours won’t work but I’m saying that if it doesn’t it might be time to just call the quits. Let him do him and you do you. Besides, you should be thinking more about this fatal-four-way coming up. I mean, didn’t one of your opponents beat you a while back?”
“Yeah. Kincaid.” I reply, taking the final drag of my cigarette before throwing the butt out onto the lawn. “Alex Kincaid.”
“Not to mention, there’s people in there you haven’t even met inside of a ring before. There’s Winter Pine, there’s that self-proclaimed female version of the Joker…right now you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Other fish. Not bigger. Nothing could be bigger right now, not even a World title match against English.”
Mike frowns, raising his hand and touching my forehead. “No fever...you sure you’re Heath Williams and not some clone with faulty wiring? You’ve been chasing that bastard English since your debut.”
“And now I’m chasing the curse of brotherhood. There’ll be time for taking out English after this is all said and done. After I’ve brought my best friend back into the light.”
With a nod, Mike gives me a pat on the back. “Just don’t let this shit consume you, okay? Whether you can see it or not, there’s a life for you without Tyron.”
He throws away his cigarette butt and goes back inside, leaving me to stare off into the distance, multiple different thoughts passing through my head at the same time. However, it all keeps going back to the same damn thing…
Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood…
---
“Gwendolyn Massey...isn’t that the chick that plays Brienne of Tarth on Game of Thrones?” I ask Ryan as I study the different profiles of my upcoming opponents.
“That’s Gwendoline Christie, dad.” He replies, shaking his head as he pierces the gut of a rival tribe member with a spear on Far Cry Primal.
“Oh, good. I was gonna say, I’d rather not tussle with that chick, she can really throw down.”
“That’s the character she plays, dad. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t actually be like that in real life.”
“I dunno about that, you seen the size of her? Shit, imagine the ruckus she’d make in the bedroom.”
“I’d be down.”
With an eyebrow raised I shake my head, looking back at the computer screen. I hadn’t studied this Gwendolyn Massey woman before, I’m actually ashamed to admit that I’ve never even watched one of her matches before. Guess I’ve just had other things on my mind. She appears to be quite the talent though, I’ll have to be cautious against her, somebody like that could mean trouble. In fact, I’ll need to be cautious of all three of my opponents. You’ve got Massey, somebody who’s completely unpredictable, I can’t even tell if she’s two sandwiches short of a picnic or if she’s got five too many. There’s Winter Pine, who’s just as much of a weasel as her other half Matt Robinson, no doubt he’s taught her a trick or two and then there’s Kincaid, a total fucking tank of a man that doubles as a submission specialist, I’ll need all the strength in the world to escape that clutch of his. I click on a thumbnail of Massey’s bout with Rayne-Draven Omega at Fate of the Gods, sitting forward and glueing my eyes to the screen.
It comes to Massey’s entrance and the second the maniacal laugher that is her intro begins, I’m absorbed. The bells rings and in record time it becomes obvious that both combatants are pure fighters, as is proven with the intense back and forth between the two. Ryan’s attention is caught as he stands from his position on Mike’s sofa and makes way to the table I’m sitting at.
“Is that the Brienne chick?” He asks.
“Yeah, sure is.”
“She’s good. Who’s the other one?”
“Rayne-Draven Omega, or RDO for short.”
“She’s pretty good too but my money’s on Brienne.”
“Think I’m going to agree with you on that one. Even though I already know the result.”
“She wins, doesn’t she?”
I fail to reply, getting caught up in the action. These women are evenly skilled, I’m not disappointed. If anything, this is hyping me up for the fatal-four-way, my mind finally being taken away from my recent mishaps. Eventually, the result comes to a double countout and Ryan lets out a groan.
“Aw, seriously?” He complains.
He’s drawn back in once the contest is restarted, the back and forth picking up pretty much straight where it left off. Some time passes and Massey hits RDO with a spear that the commentary call “The Bitter End”. Fitting name. Just like that, the match’s over. Massey wins.
“Called it.”
I sit back in my chair, going through my head of all the different maneuvers Massey pulled during the match, thinking of the different ways I’d counter them. A one on one match with this woman would be interesting, we’d have quite the encounter, that I’m sure of. However, that’s not the case this week, Winter Pine and Kincaid are in the mix too.
Ironically, the match between Pine and Stacy Jones appears next on the playlist so I allow the timer to count down until it begins. This was one I paid attention to at the actual event...a match of pure emotion, to say the least. I could see a resemblance between this and the match I had with Tyron at the start of the night. It didn’t last as long as ours but watching poor Stacy handled in such devastating ways added to my sleep deprived state that night. Ryan watches in total shock, just as I had at Fate of the Gods. The match ultimately comes to an end, I sit back in my seat.
“She reminds me of you, dad.” Ryan states, turning his head.
“Who? Stacy?”
“Yeah. She just doesn’t stay down. Maybe the two of you are long lost siblings, or something.”
“Nah...we’re just two people that have seen some hectic shit. We’ve been forced to keep fighting our entire lives. Stacy will get her revenge.”
“When you’re facing her this week, Winter Pine, think of Stacy. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Way ahead of you, son.”
I study Stacy’s beaten, bruised and bloodied body, allowing the image to implant itself within my brain, storing it there for when I meet Winter in the ring this coming Breakthrough. I scroll through the list of Fate of the Gods matchups before realizing that Kincaid wasn’t involved in any of the bouts during the show. Perhaps the memory of the last time we met could aid me? If I can recall enough from that far back, maybe I could analyze his moveset and characteristics via that encounter we shared?
No.
Kincaid’s the type of guy that never stops evolving. He’s like myself, in some ways. I need to find a bout where he was at the top of his game. It hits me. Breakthrough #42, Kincaid defeated Casanova English. A feat I’ve had opportunity after opportunity of accomplishing but have fallen flat on every time. I move the computer’s cursor to the search engine, my fingers gliding across the keyboard as I type in the match I’m looking for.
“Kincaid vs. English?” Ryan asks rhetorically, peering over my shoulder. “That was a good one.”
“Fuck yeah it was.”
The video begins and it doesn’t take long for Elskerinne to rear her ugly head, Ryan shudders, I feel him on that one. Though considered a fan favourite, Elskerinne creeps me the fuck out and that’s putting it lightly. She and her entourage wander over to the area beside the announcers table where Elskerinne sits on a steel chair. It’s odd seeing a steel chair being used for what it was originally intended for, as being the hardcore hero I am, I’m used to having them smacked across my cheek or jabbed into my ribs.
Kincaid appears, his wife Alyssa by his side, the only thought currently running through my head being that of “Dayum, wonder where he met her…” but my focus is quickly once again set on the man himself as he closes his eyes, theme music fading. English’s intro replaces it, the opening riff of ‘Real Solution #9’ thundering in through the sound system. He makes way down the ramp, a derogatory blow of cigarette smoke into the direction of a few disgusted fans. After his entrance is over and done with, English gets into the ring and the official wastes no time in calling for the bell.
It’s a slow start but that comes to a rapid closure, as the two begin battling in a test of strength, each with the upperhand in mind. Ryan and I sit in complete silence as we watch the contest play out, eventually coming to the near countout with both men able to make it home before the ten. English scores a close fall after his patented “English Lesson” but to no avail, Kincaid’s sticking around like super adhesive. Pressing on, after another minute or two, Kincaid gets ready for the “Red River Crossing” but the tricky Modern Day Messiah manages to worm his way into a pin attempt - unlucky for him, Kincaid turns the tides and the cover becomes his own. It’s over. Kincaid’s done the thing I’ve never been able to do. With an ooze of frustration, I close the laptop before standing and heading towards the window.
“What’s up, dad?” Ryan asks.
“How the hell do I go up against that? Huh? He’s beaten me before, he’s beaten Casanova English before for crying out. Fuck.”
“So?” I turn my gaze to Ryan, who smiles. “You’re The Hardcore Hero, dad. The odds are stacked against you, so what? That’s when you’re at your best. Brienne, Pine and Kincaid have got nothing on you. Wanna know why? Because you’re a man on a mission, you’re on a journey to end this curse, to bring Uncle Tyron home and your opponents this week, are nothing but stepping stones towards that ultimate goal. Yeah, Kincaid’s beaten you, yeah he’s beaten English but shit’s changed since then. This is your destiny, dad.”
“Shit.” I reply with a smile of my own. “When the fuck did you become such a motivational speaker?”
“Just last week, actually. Got a certificate and everything. It looks quite lovely hanging up on the fridge at home.”
“I’m sure it does, my boy. I’m sure it does.”
---
*REC
A cat, body pushed in against the grass, eyes peeking over the blades as a sparrow minds its own business in the near distance, dancing around in the shade made by the tree towering above it. The cat creeps forward, a jingle of its bell alerting the bird that quickly takes multiple steps back, raising its guard. With swift movement, the grey tabby pounces with lunch in mind but the sparrow has other plans and ascends into the air, chirping madly as it counts its feathers and praises its luck. Several flaps of the wings later, the little bird perches itself on one of the tree branches as the cat stands in front of the trunk, staring up at the sparrow with cruel intent.
“Nature.” my voice comes from behind the camera. “So many ‘what ifs’. What if the cat wasn’t made to wear a bell? What if the sparrow hadn’t yet learned to fly? What if there was no such thing as predator and prey?”
“God damn it Heath! Quit filming my pussy!” Mike shouts from inside, his words leaving me unfazed.
“It’s much like wrestling. There are so many what ifs that each company in this industry has built itself right on top of. What ifs that in some cases have become a reality, what ifs that in other cases have faded into obscurity. What if Casanova English becomes the World Visionary Champion? What if Valquist is the man to officially end that era? What if Sky Sangue gets handed the keys to VoW?” A turn of the camera to settle on my face before resting it on top of Mike’s outdoor picnic table. “Can you guess which is which?”
A sip of the beer that resides beside me before putting it back in place. “But it doesn’t stop there. No. There are what ifs in every single career too, not just with the companies as a whole...for example, what if Katie Moicelle shocked the world and took out the big one? What if Ryder Blade never had such a successful run as Xcel Champion? What if none of us had decided to take up a career in wrestling and instead became plumbers, or construction workers?
Then there are the what ifs of my career. What if Tyron and I were never marked by the curse of brotherhood and he had never betrayed me? What if I was still I4NI Champion? What if I was thrown into a completely different match this week that featured three other opponents?
That’s the thing though, all these ‘what ifs, they don’t matter. We’ve all found the roads we currently walk for a reason. We have to play with the hand we’ve been dealt, until the next round begins and we’re given either a better, or worse hand. The term ‘what if’ is fickle because it establishes a pretend world of make believe. There is only destiny and everything that’s happened to each of us up until this point and beyond, is just that. I was destined to face betrayal, I was destined to lose the I4NI Championship...and I’m destined to end the curse of brotherhood.
But before that, I’m destined to walk out as the victor of this fatal-four-way come Breakthrough #48. I’m not saying that any of my opponents are going to make said destiny easy, nor do I expect them to but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter because as I’ve already said...it’s my destiny. Besides, I’m no stranger to a good brawl and it’s no secret that I enjoy a good brawl, it makes the victory far more worthwhile once it’s all said and done. However, three other things will factor into making my victory worthwhile. Defeating somebody that’s beaten me in the past, defeating a VoW upstart and showing her that you in fact can’t win them all and defeating a woman out of vengeance for a good friend of mine.
Let me address the first. Kincaid...remember Armed and Dangerous? That’s right, you and I...we were the favourites. Leading up to the event, if you had gone out and asked a random wrestling fan on the streets of who was to win the pre show fatal-four-way then without batting an eyelid, either the names ‘Kincaid’ or ‘Heath Williams’ would have been brought up. Slick Williams and Duncan McAlistair...well they weren’t even on the radar and in hindsight, it probably would have made far more sense for us to have met in one on one combat. Maybe it would be here in this situation too? But I suppose killing three birds with one stone is much more ideal. Anyway, Armed and Dangerous, it was you who took the ‘w’ and though disappointed, I surely wasn’t offended. If there was any other man in that match who deserved to win, it was you but this time it’s different. There can be no victor apart from me, right now I have the most to prove, right now I have the most at stake. I’m currently at war and this is one of the battles I must face before my final showdown. I’m sure you of all people will understand this and that you will not call shenanigans the minute my arms are raised.
As for the other two…”
A long awaited second sip of beer before the lighting of a cigarette, cloud of smoke drifting around at all sides to follow.
“Gwendolyn Massey. I have to be completely honest, I barely knew you existed until recently...which, isn’t your fault, it’s mine. You see, when one goes through the things I’ve been put through as of late they tend to forget about the other things that reside on the outside of their own personal bubble. However, I was able to do some research and the history you’ve got behind you is impressive. Very impressive. You were the first female champion not once but twice of two different tiers in two different companies! You go girl! Hashtag feminism, am I right?! Just kidding. I don’t really care, to be frank. Man, woman, it’s all the same. Championship changes are more frequent than chinatown prostitutes getting their vajayjays wet. Now, that’s not to say you don’t have some damn good accolades but it’s to say that come Breakthrough, they don’t matter. The things you’ve accomplished in the past, the people you’ve overcome, none of it matters...because all there is, is me, you and two other people that want the exact same fucking thing. The victory.”
The cigarette reaches its end before being tossed aside, another sip that some would refer to as a glug in tow.
“Winter fucking Pine. The First Lady of Sin...a fitting nickname, considering how many god damn sins you have to atone for. I haven’t forgotten what I watched you do to Stacy at Fate of the Gods...I haven’t forgotten the things I saw you do leading up to the event...in fact, if it wasn’t for my recent problems then I would’ve gotten involved in your little ordeal quite some time ago. Back when you first arrived, holding Robinson’s hand as you still do now, my initial emotion was intrigue. I was intrigued by the mystery surrounding your aura, intrigued that until your debut it was like you had never existed in the outside world. However, as you continued to rear your ugly head, all I felt was pure disgust. How could somebody happily manipulate the children of a mother who loved them with every fibre of her being? You can bathe, shower and scrub all you like but the putrid scent of who you are on the inside will never change. I know you don’t care though, I know you like living in the filth of your own sins and that’s why I’m going to have a jolly old time forcing you to atone for them. Then again, a leopard never changes its spots…”
Standing, I call out to Ryan, who makes his presence known almost immediately.
“You called me, dad?”
“I did. Here, hold this and follow me.”
The camera is passed over to Ryan as I begin my trek over towards Mike’s shed.
“Now I know what you’re probably saying, Winter...in fact, I know what a lot of people are probably saying… “but Heath! You have sins to atone for, too!” and yeah, I sure as hell do but that’s what I’m currently doing, what I have been doing for the last couple of months and what I’ll continue to be doing for the rest of my life. I’m no longer afraid to admit that. I’ve had more than enough time to think about these things...and I’ll have more time to do so on my way to Breakthrough.”
“But dad...the tank isn’t mobile...” Ryan butts in.
“That’s why I’ll be using the next best thing.”
The shed door is pushed open and inside the darkness dwells an old wooden casket, the same one from the video package promoting my return.
“No way...dad, you can’t be serious! That’s the casket you’re meant to be using on Uncle Tyron!”
I take several steps over before opening it and plonking myself comfortably inside. With one final look at the camera, I give a wink.
“See you all at Breakthrough.”
The lid is slammed shut and the recording comes to an end.
Fin.
Can’t hear reality.
Can’t feel reality.
Bliss.
Floating, weightless, mind carrying me off to places of its own construction. Segments of the potential future flash before me, Tyron Bickerton, the I4NI Championship, a casket…the curse of brotherhood. Over and over again, the same things appear, one after the other...enough to make a sane man turn - but thankfully I’m not exactly what you’d call a “sane man”.
This marks my fourth time in the tank, though no experiences as vivid as the first. Still, it’s comfortable in here. All there is, is myself left alone with my own thoughts. Sensory deprivation, a natural high I didn’t even know existed until I went to seek out the answers I needed - answers I needed without the blurred consequences of the psychedelics I had once loved.
My entire life I had turned to drugs when times were tough, when I needed some sense of security, when I needed to find the path to the truth. However, all that drugs do is twist the mind...they make things easier for the time being, they give you a false sense of security and they convert you to a truth that is only the truth in the world of your distorted, jumbled up high. You’re given pieces of the truth that you have to put together in order to finish the puzzle but here, in the tank, the truth is handed to you on a silver platter straight from the deepest, most obscure space of your mind that you never expected to hold such knowledge.
Three knocks - the sign to tell me that my time’s up. The hatch opens and light floods in, striking my pupils with an attack of divine luminosity, covering me with a blanket of tender warmth. I push my heels against the steel bottom of the tank and stand, the water that had collected within my trunks finding its escape and fleeing home to its own kind. With a helping hand, I lift a leg over the ledge of the hatch, climbing out into a conservatory connected to Mike’s house that the summer sun has heated due to magnifying windows.
I stare out one of these windows once again lost in thought, replaying the events of the ‘future’ in my head. Mike rests a hand on my shoulder, “Leave your experiences in the tank, Heath. There’s no need to dwell on them out here.”
I turn my neck towards him with a nod as he hands me a pile of dry clothes. He exits through to the house as I stare down at my trousers that lie at the top of the clothes pile. Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood. Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood.
Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood…
---
After three hours in the tank it’s difficult to come to terms with being back in reality, all you can think about is the next experience that awaits, the things you’ll come to discover about yourself that have been lost through time or the things you’ll come to understand in a different light. It’s a process that you can only make sense of when you’ve experienced it, listening to somebody speak about what they’ve encountered in the tank and the visuals you paint for yourself as you listen are not on any sort of level with the actual experience itself.
“So, what’s it like, dad?” Ryan asks me, forearms pressed against the table as he leans in.
“The tank?”
“Yeah, the tank. How do you feel? Is it weird?”
I smirk, “Fuck yeah it’s weird. In a good way, though.”
Missy grunts from beside him with a roll of the eyes, “Don’t give him any ideas, Heath. The tank is no place for a child.”
“Missy’s right.” Karen chimes in from my right, “Ryan’s not allowed in there until he’s at least eighteen.”
“I’m not denying any of that, the boy asked me a question and I answered it. That’s all.”
Mike walks in with a metal tray, roast chicken surrounded in vegetables resting atop its surface. He places it at the centre of the table and immediately, Missy reaches over towards one of the legs with a face full of gluttonous lust. Mike slaps her hand away with a scowl.
“Not until after we say grace.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Missy asks, her expression now representing that of complete horror.
He smiles, “Yeah I’m fuckin’ kidding.” He rips off the leg Missy had doven in for and throws it down on his own plate. “I just wanted that piece for myself!”
Mike sits down at the head of the table as everyone else starts digging in, serving up their own plates. I glare at the once whole chicken, now only a fraction of what it had been a few moments prior, thinking about the days it had spent on some kind of farm, blissfully unaware of what was to come, blissfully unaware that in some strange turn of events, it’d end up sitting in front of us all as dinner.
“You not hungry?” Karen asks with a nudge to my side.
“Oh, no, I am. I’m just thinking.” I answer, taking a large knife from beside the tray and cutting into the meat of the chicken.
“About?”
I dump a few slices down on my plate before going in for the potatoes and giving Karen a shrug, “Just about what this chicken’s life might’ve been like before, you know, like when it still clucked.”
Everybody apart from Missy drops their cutlery, looks of disgust sent my way. “You had to, didn’t you?” Mike says with a stern shake of the head.
“I don’t think I can eat anymore…” Ryan mutters.
“Great! More for me!” Missy declares before picking up Ryan’s plate and putting it beside her own.
“That damn tank’s fucking with you, dude. It’s making you think about the irrelevant shit you wouldn’t normally think about.” Mike states, folding his arms.
“Nothing wrong with a little bit of in depth thinking, is there?” I reply, stabbing a potato with my fork before taking a bite.
“There is when you put me off the wonderful roast chicken I spent hours slaving over a hot fuckin’ oven to cook.”
“Why are we even having this dinner? I’ve lost my best friend, my championship...Karen’s great uncle passed away recently...Mike, your business’s been put on hold due to financial issues...Missy’s over there gaining weight with every fuckin’ mouthful...what do we really have to celebrate?” I stare at each of them, no replies. I stand, pushing in my chair. “Sorry. Excuse me.”
---
Standing outside with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I lift my lighter to its tip and spark it up. After taking a long drag, I exhale with a sigh before leaning up against the railing of Mike’s patio. A couple moments and puffs of my cigarette go by before Mike comes out of the house, pulling out a cancer stick of his own, gesturing for a light. I hand one to him and he too sparks his before handing it back to me and taking a seat.
“Sensory deprivation is a difficult thing to get used to, Heath. Especially with the way you’ve been abusing it. Most people wait months in between their visits, in fact, doing it that way is actually advised by experts.”
“And here it comes...the world’s shittiest intervention.”
Mike laughs, “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just saying, sometimes too much thinking can drive a guy mental.”
“Good. I need to be mental. I need to be crazy. It’s the only way I’m gonna put an end to this god damn curse.”
Mike stands and joins me at the railing, “Look, I get it Heath. You want Tyron back, you want him back more than anything but...when people turn to the dark side, sometimes there’s just nothing you can do. I’m not saying that this whole casket idea of yours won’t work but I’m saying that if it doesn’t it might be time to just call the quits. Let him do him and you do you. Besides, you should be thinking more about this fatal-four-way coming up. I mean, didn’t one of your opponents beat you a while back?”
“Yeah. Kincaid.” I reply, taking the final drag of my cigarette before throwing the butt out onto the lawn. “Alex Kincaid.”
“Not to mention, there’s people in there you haven’t even met inside of a ring before. There’s Winter Pine, there’s that self-proclaimed female version of the Joker…right now you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Other fish. Not bigger. Nothing could be bigger right now, not even a World title match against English.”
Mike frowns, raising his hand and touching my forehead. “No fever...you sure you’re Heath Williams and not some clone with faulty wiring? You’ve been chasing that bastard English since your debut.”
“And now I’m chasing the curse of brotherhood. There’ll be time for taking out English after this is all said and done. After I’ve brought my best friend back into the light.”
With a nod, Mike gives me a pat on the back. “Just don’t let this shit consume you, okay? Whether you can see it or not, there’s a life for you without Tyron.”
He throws away his cigarette butt and goes back inside, leaving me to stare off into the distance, multiple different thoughts passing through my head at the same time. However, it all keeps going back to the same damn thing…
Tyron, I4NI Championship, casket, the curse of brotherhood…
---
“Gwendolyn Massey...isn’t that the chick that plays Brienne of Tarth on Game of Thrones?” I ask Ryan as I study the different profiles of my upcoming opponents.
“That’s Gwendoline Christie, dad.” He replies, shaking his head as he pierces the gut of a rival tribe member with a spear on Far Cry Primal.
“Oh, good. I was gonna say, I’d rather not tussle with that chick, she can really throw down.”
“That’s the character she plays, dad. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t actually be like that in real life.”
“I dunno about that, you seen the size of her? Shit, imagine the ruckus she’d make in the bedroom.”
“I’d be down.”
With an eyebrow raised I shake my head, looking back at the computer screen. I hadn’t studied this Gwendolyn Massey woman before, I’m actually ashamed to admit that I’ve never even watched one of her matches before. Guess I’ve just had other things on my mind. She appears to be quite the talent though, I’ll have to be cautious against her, somebody like that could mean trouble. In fact, I’ll need to be cautious of all three of my opponents. You’ve got Massey, somebody who’s completely unpredictable, I can’t even tell if she’s two sandwiches short of a picnic or if she’s got five too many. There’s Winter Pine, who’s just as much of a weasel as her other half Matt Robinson, no doubt he’s taught her a trick or two and then there’s Kincaid, a total fucking tank of a man that doubles as a submission specialist, I’ll need all the strength in the world to escape that clutch of his. I click on a thumbnail of Massey’s bout with Rayne-Draven Omega at Fate of the Gods, sitting forward and glueing my eyes to the screen.
It comes to Massey’s entrance and the second the maniacal laugher that is her intro begins, I’m absorbed. The bells rings and in record time it becomes obvious that both combatants are pure fighters, as is proven with the intense back and forth between the two. Ryan’s attention is caught as he stands from his position on Mike’s sofa and makes way to the table I’m sitting at.
“Is that the Brienne chick?” He asks.
“Yeah, sure is.”
“She’s good. Who’s the other one?”
“Rayne-Draven Omega, or RDO for short.”
“She’s pretty good too but my money’s on Brienne.”
“Think I’m going to agree with you on that one. Even though I already know the result.”
“She wins, doesn’t she?”
I fail to reply, getting caught up in the action. These women are evenly skilled, I’m not disappointed. If anything, this is hyping me up for the fatal-four-way, my mind finally being taken away from my recent mishaps. Eventually, the result comes to a double countout and Ryan lets out a groan.
“Aw, seriously?” He complains.
He’s drawn back in once the contest is restarted, the back and forth picking up pretty much straight where it left off. Some time passes and Massey hits RDO with a spear that the commentary call “The Bitter End”. Fitting name. Just like that, the match’s over. Massey wins.
“Called it.”
I sit back in my chair, going through my head of all the different maneuvers Massey pulled during the match, thinking of the different ways I’d counter them. A one on one match with this woman would be interesting, we’d have quite the encounter, that I’m sure of. However, that’s not the case this week, Winter Pine and Kincaid are in the mix too.
Ironically, the match between Pine and Stacy Jones appears next on the playlist so I allow the timer to count down until it begins. This was one I paid attention to at the actual event...a match of pure emotion, to say the least. I could see a resemblance between this and the match I had with Tyron at the start of the night. It didn’t last as long as ours but watching poor Stacy handled in such devastating ways added to my sleep deprived state that night. Ryan watches in total shock, just as I had at Fate of the Gods. The match ultimately comes to an end, I sit back in my seat.
“She reminds me of you, dad.” Ryan states, turning his head.
“Who? Stacy?”
“Yeah. She just doesn’t stay down. Maybe the two of you are long lost siblings, or something.”
“Nah...we’re just two people that have seen some hectic shit. We’ve been forced to keep fighting our entire lives. Stacy will get her revenge.”
“When you’re facing her this week, Winter Pine, think of Stacy. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Way ahead of you, son.”
I study Stacy’s beaten, bruised and bloodied body, allowing the image to implant itself within my brain, storing it there for when I meet Winter in the ring this coming Breakthrough. I scroll through the list of Fate of the Gods matchups before realizing that Kincaid wasn’t involved in any of the bouts during the show. Perhaps the memory of the last time we met could aid me? If I can recall enough from that far back, maybe I could analyze his moveset and characteristics via that encounter we shared?
No.
Kincaid’s the type of guy that never stops evolving. He’s like myself, in some ways. I need to find a bout where he was at the top of his game. It hits me. Breakthrough #42, Kincaid defeated Casanova English. A feat I’ve had opportunity after opportunity of accomplishing but have fallen flat on every time. I move the computer’s cursor to the search engine, my fingers gliding across the keyboard as I type in the match I’m looking for.
“Kincaid vs. English?” Ryan asks rhetorically, peering over my shoulder. “That was a good one.”
“Fuck yeah it was.”
The video begins and it doesn’t take long for Elskerinne to rear her ugly head, Ryan shudders, I feel him on that one. Though considered a fan favourite, Elskerinne creeps me the fuck out and that’s putting it lightly. She and her entourage wander over to the area beside the announcers table where Elskerinne sits on a steel chair. It’s odd seeing a steel chair being used for what it was originally intended for, as being the hardcore hero I am, I’m used to having them smacked across my cheek or jabbed into my ribs.
Kincaid appears, his wife Alyssa by his side, the only thought currently running through my head being that of “Dayum, wonder where he met her…” but my focus is quickly once again set on the man himself as he closes his eyes, theme music fading. English’s intro replaces it, the opening riff of ‘Real Solution #9’ thundering in through the sound system. He makes way down the ramp, a derogatory blow of cigarette smoke into the direction of a few disgusted fans. After his entrance is over and done with, English gets into the ring and the official wastes no time in calling for the bell.
It’s a slow start but that comes to a rapid closure, as the two begin battling in a test of strength, each with the upperhand in mind. Ryan and I sit in complete silence as we watch the contest play out, eventually coming to the near countout with both men able to make it home before the ten. English scores a close fall after his patented “English Lesson” but to no avail, Kincaid’s sticking around like super adhesive. Pressing on, after another minute or two, Kincaid gets ready for the “Red River Crossing” but the tricky Modern Day Messiah manages to worm his way into a pin attempt - unlucky for him, Kincaid turns the tides and the cover becomes his own. It’s over. Kincaid’s done the thing I’ve never been able to do. With an ooze of frustration, I close the laptop before standing and heading towards the window.
“What’s up, dad?” Ryan asks.
“How the hell do I go up against that? Huh? He’s beaten me before, he’s beaten Casanova English before for crying out. Fuck.”
“So?” I turn my gaze to Ryan, who smiles. “You’re The Hardcore Hero, dad. The odds are stacked against you, so what? That’s when you’re at your best. Brienne, Pine and Kincaid have got nothing on you. Wanna know why? Because you’re a man on a mission, you’re on a journey to end this curse, to bring Uncle Tyron home and your opponents this week, are nothing but stepping stones towards that ultimate goal. Yeah, Kincaid’s beaten you, yeah he’s beaten English but shit’s changed since then. This is your destiny, dad.”
“Shit.” I reply with a smile of my own. “When the fuck did you become such a motivational speaker?”
“Just last week, actually. Got a certificate and everything. It looks quite lovely hanging up on the fridge at home.”
“I’m sure it does, my boy. I’m sure it does.”
---
*REC
A cat, body pushed in against the grass, eyes peeking over the blades as a sparrow minds its own business in the near distance, dancing around in the shade made by the tree towering above it. The cat creeps forward, a jingle of its bell alerting the bird that quickly takes multiple steps back, raising its guard. With swift movement, the grey tabby pounces with lunch in mind but the sparrow has other plans and ascends into the air, chirping madly as it counts its feathers and praises its luck. Several flaps of the wings later, the little bird perches itself on one of the tree branches as the cat stands in front of the trunk, staring up at the sparrow with cruel intent.
“Nature.” my voice comes from behind the camera. “So many ‘what ifs’. What if the cat wasn’t made to wear a bell? What if the sparrow hadn’t yet learned to fly? What if there was no such thing as predator and prey?”
“God damn it Heath! Quit filming my pussy!” Mike shouts from inside, his words leaving me unfazed.
“It’s much like wrestling. There are so many what ifs that each company in this industry has built itself right on top of. What ifs that in some cases have become a reality, what ifs that in other cases have faded into obscurity. What if Casanova English becomes the World Visionary Champion? What if Valquist is the man to officially end that era? What if Sky Sangue gets handed the keys to VoW?” A turn of the camera to settle on my face before resting it on top of Mike’s outdoor picnic table. “Can you guess which is which?”
A sip of the beer that resides beside me before putting it back in place. “But it doesn’t stop there. No. There are what ifs in every single career too, not just with the companies as a whole...for example, what if Katie Moicelle shocked the world and took out the big one? What if Ryder Blade never had such a successful run as Xcel Champion? What if none of us had decided to take up a career in wrestling and instead became plumbers, or construction workers?
Then there are the what ifs of my career. What if Tyron and I were never marked by the curse of brotherhood and he had never betrayed me? What if I was still I4NI Champion? What if I was thrown into a completely different match this week that featured three other opponents?
That’s the thing though, all these ‘what ifs, they don’t matter. We’ve all found the roads we currently walk for a reason. We have to play with the hand we’ve been dealt, until the next round begins and we’re given either a better, or worse hand. The term ‘what if’ is fickle because it establishes a pretend world of make believe. There is only destiny and everything that’s happened to each of us up until this point and beyond, is just that. I was destined to face betrayal, I was destined to lose the I4NI Championship...and I’m destined to end the curse of brotherhood.
But before that, I’m destined to walk out as the victor of this fatal-four-way come Breakthrough #48. I’m not saying that any of my opponents are going to make said destiny easy, nor do I expect them to but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter because as I’ve already said...it’s my destiny. Besides, I’m no stranger to a good brawl and it’s no secret that I enjoy a good brawl, it makes the victory far more worthwhile once it’s all said and done. However, three other things will factor into making my victory worthwhile. Defeating somebody that’s beaten me in the past, defeating a VoW upstart and showing her that you in fact can’t win them all and defeating a woman out of vengeance for a good friend of mine.
Let me address the first. Kincaid...remember Armed and Dangerous? That’s right, you and I...we were the favourites. Leading up to the event, if you had gone out and asked a random wrestling fan on the streets of who was to win the pre show fatal-four-way then without batting an eyelid, either the names ‘Kincaid’ or ‘Heath Williams’ would have been brought up. Slick Williams and Duncan McAlistair...well they weren’t even on the radar and in hindsight, it probably would have made far more sense for us to have met in one on one combat. Maybe it would be here in this situation too? But I suppose killing three birds with one stone is much more ideal. Anyway, Armed and Dangerous, it was you who took the ‘w’ and though disappointed, I surely wasn’t offended. If there was any other man in that match who deserved to win, it was you but this time it’s different. There can be no victor apart from me, right now I have the most to prove, right now I have the most at stake. I’m currently at war and this is one of the battles I must face before my final showdown. I’m sure you of all people will understand this and that you will not call shenanigans the minute my arms are raised.
As for the other two…”
A long awaited second sip of beer before the lighting of a cigarette, cloud of smoke drifting around at all sides to follow.
“Gwendolyn Massey. I have to be completely honest, I barely knew you existed until recently...which, isn’t your fault, it’s mine. You see, when one goes through the things I’ve been put through as of late they tend to forget about the other things that reside on the outside of their own personal bubble. However, I was able to do some research and the history you’ve got behind you is impressive. Very impressive. You were the first female champion not once but twice of two different tiers in two different companies! You go girl! Hashtag feminism, am I right?! Just kidding. I don’t really care, to be frank. Man, woman, it’s all the same. Championship changes are more frequent than chinatown prostitutes getting their vajayjays wet. Now, that’s not to say you don’t have some damn good accolades but it’s to say that come Breakthrough, they don’t matter. The things you’ve accomplished in the past, the people you’ve overcome, none of it matters...because all there is, is me, you and two other people that want the exact same fucking thing. The victory.”
The cigarette reaches its end before being tossed aside, another sip that some would refer to as a glug in tow.
“Winter fucking Pine. The First Lady of Sin...a fitting nickname, considering how many god damn sins you have to atone for. I haven’t forgotten what I watched you do to Stacy at Fate of the Gods...I haven’t forgotten the things I saw you do leading up to the event...in fact, if it wasn’t for my recent problems then I would’ve gotten involved in your little ordeal quite some time ago. Back when you first arrived, holding Robinson’s hand as you still do now, my initial emotion was intrigue. I was intrigued by the mystery surrounding your aura, intrigued that until your debut it was like you had never existed in the outside world. However, as you continued to rear your ugly head, all I felt was pure disgust. How could somebody happily manipulate the children of a mother who loved them with every fibre of her being? You can bathe, shower and scrub all you like but the putrid scent of who you are on the inside will never change. I know you don’t care though, I know you like living in the filth of your own sins and that’s why I’m going to have a jolly old time forcing you to atone for them. Then again, a leopard never changes its spots…”
Standing, I call out to Ryan, who makes his presence known almost immediately.
“You called me, dad?”
“I did. Here, hold this and follow me.”
The camera is passed over to Ryan as I begin my trek over towards Mike’s shed.
“Now I know what you’re probably saying, Winter...in fact, I know what a lot of people are probably saying… “but Heath! You have sins to atone for, too!” and yeah, I sure as hell do but that’s what I’m currently doing, what I have been doing for the last couple of months and what I’ll continue to be doing for the rest of my life. I’m no longer afraid to admit that. I’ve had more than enough time to think about these things...and I’ll have more time to do so on my way to Breakthrough.”
“But dad...the tank isn’t mobile...” Ryan butts in.
“That’s why I’ll be using the next best thing.”
The shed door is pushed open and inside the darkness dwells an old wooden casket, the same one from the video package promoting my return.
“No way...dad, you can’t be serious! That’s the casket you’re meant to be using on Uncle Tyron!”
I take several steps over before opening it and plonking myself comfortably inside. With one final look at the camera, I give a wink.
“See you all at Breakthrough.”
The lid is slammed shut and the recording comes to an end.
Fin.
