The Lotus: Part II

VOW Presents

A Casanova English Original

The Lotus

Part II

“The lotus is the most beautiful
flower, whose petals open one by one. But it will only grow in the
mud. In order to grow and gain wisdom, first you must have the mud
--- the obstacles of life and its suffering. ... The mud speaks of
the common ground that humans share, no matter what our stations in
life. ... Whether we have it all or we have nothing, we are all faced
with the same obstacles: sadness, loss, illness, dying and death. If
we are to strive as human beings to gain more wisdom, more kindness
and more compassion, we must have the intention to grow as a lotus
and open each petal one by one. ”

― Goldie Hawn

I honestly believe there are people in
this world that still can't be bought. Some people just won't snap.
There are people in this world that are completely incorruptible.
There are people who no matter what will never crumble to your mind
bending ways, but who the fuck are you kidding baby?

You are already broken.

Shattered, the two parts that made up
Vanessa seem to have fallen out of sink. See this battle was never
with Casanova English, and it never is. I am the projection, the
projection of everything you hate. I am that projection of everything
you think shouldn't exist in the world. . . I am rust. I can't live
without those shinny little pieces of bald metal that gleam out in
the light beckoning me to come and devour them up. Rust is necessary
to make space for something else. It's become my function in this
existential world.

I wish I could be more like Vanessa. I
wish I could tell myself there is a purpose. I wish I could brush a
smile on my face and walk around with a cup of coffee to keep me
peppy and excited about my ongoing mundane fucking useless life.
That's the truth of it all when it comes down to it. To the universe
we are all just ants. Listening to my rants, and my speeches, you
wouldn't think I think that about myself, but I do. We are all
useless disposable specks of nothing in the big scheme of it all. See
I'm not after money. I was not fortunate to be brought up with a
reward system that recognizes cash as the ultimate symbol of power.
No. I wasn't born into wealth. Maybe that's why I think it's so funny
when people claim I have been handed something. I haven't been handed
a thing. I have done more in two years then some of these muscle
bound dummies who have “been around the block” could even dream.
I have this overwhelming pride that I just cannot shut off. It might
sound crazy, but I don't think I would suck a dick for a million
dollars. That's not just physical that's a metaphor. I see people
hanging on to Ryan Omega's balls like they are suspended above a pit
of sharks, and guess what their not far off. I always smell blood.
The social elite like to link crime to the poor. You see it in
studies all the time, the poverty stricken are far more likely to be
criminals. They can't really pinpoint why that is. Well, the thing is
that world. That underworld, the dark gritty bacteria infested vermin
of this world deal in an entirely different currency. It's not gold,
silver, or bronze. No, it's pride, honor, and power.

It's the same in wrestling.

Power, Honor, Pride, Respect that
becomes your currency. Your way of life. You wear your heart on your
sleeves. You live what you represent. I know it sounds so poetic, so
beautiful in a way. It's not. I'm not good, I'm not evil. I'm just a
man. A man that will do whatever it takes to be remembered. That's
what it is all about.

This fucking disease.

How could I expect Corpse to say good
bye to his family when I haven't even said goodbye to this place.
When I barely said goodbye to him. To the man that molded and changed
me into what I am today. I don't know if he would be proud of that
anymore. I'm not sure this is what he intended when I was taking care
of him while he was getting sick. Every memory of everyone he loves
fading away into blackness. Behind his eyes I would sometimes think
he was there. . . I was naive. I blame myself for not letting him
pull the trigger years ago when he wanted to kill himself, but there
is no dignity in death so what did it matter.

Corpse looks at me as he pushes the
rental car into park. Since I made him confront his wife and kids he
has been much more determined, much more dedicated, much more willing
to leave that part of his life behind. He is recognizing that I have
given him the chance to completely change who he is. I am giving him
the opportunity at greatness.

“For ending Ziu Zhong's winning
streak at Breakthrough you seem a little off boss.”

He pauses for a moment lowering his
head, knowing I am still upset about him obtaining a balloon of
heroine. In reality I was just happy he didn't take it, it also gave
me a chance to remind the dog who the master is.

“Is it because of the mess up last
week. I told you English I didn't use. After all you have done for me
how could I do that?”

I shake my head opening the car door
and looking up at the small white church.

“No, it's not that Corpse. It's just.
. .I've got someone to say good bye to.”

I only told my brother that I would be
in town. I;m not certain I will have time to visit him before having
to catch the plane to Winnipeg for the event, and to be honest he
wasn't the person I was here to see. I paid my dues for that boy.
Corpse opens the door to step out into the cold March air.

“No, you stay here.”

I tell him and he closes the door and
nods not even getting a chance to stretch his legs. PEI was getting a
record amount of snow, but luckily the cemetery managed to shelter
it's self somewhat. The snow was still piled about ten feet high on
the edges of the cemetery, but there was a nice pathway down the
center, and some ground heaters that are turning the formally frozen
ground into mush to get a jump on burial season that was currently
being held off by snow storms. The muck is almost half a foot deep,
and I am hoping my boots will hold up in the soupy mess. I trudge
along passing graves that barely peak up in spots of deep
precipitation. My Uncle is buried up on the hill, it will get
progressively drier as I make my way up to the side of the small hill
lined with tombstones. Here I was trudging up that hill to talk to a
dead man. A dead man that I for some reason still seek some form of
approval from. Approval I will never ever get the honor of capturing.
I wish I could of made him proud while he was alive. I wish I could
tell him thank you for fighting for me, from keeping me from being
sucked up in the dark black underworld that was forming in my life,
stemming from my mother like black tentacles that sought to wrap you
in. No, he protected us from that. Salvaged what was left of my
brother, and my own childhood. He fought for what he believed in. He
would of laid his life down for us at any moment, and I had to watch
the strongest man I ever knew deteriorate into the state of a child.
Then the life in his eyes, that rebirth of childhood eventually
glossed over with confusion.

Here it was at my feet. The ground half
way up the small hill. Where my Uncle is buried is still covered in a
small layer of ice. It's hard not to slip, but I find my footing.
There it is, my Uncle's grave spouting out of the ground. A simple
gray stone with his name engraved, his birth date, and the day he
died. This is the first time I have ever seen it. I couch down and
run my hand over his name engraved into the stone in a sad attempt to
feel him again for a moment.

I slide the pack of cigarettes out of
my jacket pocket. I fold the package open slowly and remove two
cigarettes. I place one in my lips and the other one I leave in my
hand for a moment tucking it into my palm as I light the cigarette in
my mouth with the same hand. I take a few puffs off that cigarette,
just to give it life. I take that cigarette and I place it on the top
of the grave stone. It was his one vice too. I didn't start till
after he died, he always insisted I never try one, but once you hit
that realization that your life is limited. . . things like going out
of the way to prevent death just seems useless. Do you know how many
nuclear weapons the United States owns? I digress. Here we where, my
Uncle and I sharing our first cigarette together. I take the other
coffin nail and place it between my lips. I sigh before bringing a
flame to it. I stand upright now looking down at the grave.

“Fuck.”

I say allowed. I still can't believe he
is gone. I can't believe that I don't have him here anymore to help
guide me. In the final years of his life I guided him into the grave.
I watched all the feelings turn to numbness. He didn't remember how
to count. He didn't remember how to take a piss. He didn't remember
my fucking name.

. . .but you all will.

That is what I have dedicated my life
to. That is the silver lining to killing the man that salvaged all
that was human left of me. He gave me a portal to success. He was a
hero to me, a hero that I thought was indestructible. I thought he
was impenetrable, incorruptible. He was metal, but as I said before
you know what happens to metal. It fades, it gets eaten up by rust
and turns to nothing. It disappears without a trace.

His disease taught me it was all a lie.

The things we are taught as kids. Your
ten commandments, right and wrong. . . it's all just bullshit to keep
us distracted from the idea that one day we will die. One day we will
turn to ash. One day you will be standing there looking the doctor in
the eye and he is telling you that you are terminally ill. Your given
a week to live, and then you look back on your life and you realize.
. . you can't take your Ikea couch with you.

I wonder if he is proud of me. At the
things I had to kill to gain control. The parts of myself I had to
starve off. The emotions I refuse to give into. I'm a solider of
change, a revolutionary. I am letting my voice be heard. I won't let
that disease that took his mind take mine, these people will remember
me.

Sadly, I think he is rolling in his
grave.

I think he would be sick with what I
have done. He would see what all these other drones see. He would see
evil. You know those people I was talking about. Those people that
are incorruptible? He was one of them. He couldn't be bought. At
least he thought he was, but the world fucks you someway doesn't it.
He might not like it, but I won't make the same mistake he did.

I run my hand across his name again
taking a long inhale off my cancer stick. I slow smoke onto the grave
gusting the building ash off the top of his cigarette. I place my
hand on top of the grave.

“You might not like it Uncle, but I
won't make the same mistake you did. I will do whatever it takes. If
there is the chance I am going to get the disease you had. That
everyone I ever loved is going to be nothing to me. Than I will make
damn sure these people will remember my name.”

I run my hand over his name once more
closing my eyes, but my mind takes me somewhere else. To me running
my hand over an engraved name, but not his. No this one is on a piece
of gold, it's on The Visionaries World Championship. . . .

Casanova English.

“Cassidy?”

She came. My Uncle wasn't the person I
really have to say good bye to. No, in order to move on. I owe her
something. I think the kids call it “closure”. I don't turn
around I just stay crouched there. She may say my birth name a few
more times, but I don't hear it again until her breath is on my neck.
Something I haven't felt in two years. I missed those lips.

I used to live off the air escaping her
lungs.

“You wanted me to meet you here
Cassidy?”

I rise to my feet and she steps back
from me as I turn and look at her face. There she was her long dyed
dark red hair, her big beautifully shaped lips.

“Yeah, I am just saying good bye. I
want you to come by my hotel tonight.”

I want to reach out and touch her arm,
but I'm scared. I'm scared I will leave my mark of impurity on her
beautiful soul. It's her eyes that got me though. It was her eyes
that always got me. They were big blue saucers that looked at me like
I was pure. Like I was 12 year old Cassidy Jones giving her a handful
of fresh picked flowers.

That's what I had to say goodbye to.

That is why I came home.

I'm glad smoking hotel rooms is still a
thing. It's a sort of freedom I thought would go out the window with
the luxury of smoking in bars. In a way, it's less exciting to light
a cigarette in here now that I can. Now that they tell me it's okay
to smoke in here, it makes me want to do it less. I have anyway been
the type of person that responded a lot better to “you can't”
than “you can”. I just love the satisfaction of proving people
wrong. That's what I am doing now on a larger scale. I am small, I'm
a former journalist, I am an intellectual. I don't belong here with
the gladiators, those people remind me that every single time I walk
through the curtain. That is what fuels me. Forcing these people to
see, that you can do whatever the fuck you want. Then they have no
excuses. Then they are forced to see how media medicated they are.
How they live vicariously through these people, through people like
Vanessa. People just as sick as they are. I lay back on the bed
letting out a sigh, I place a cigarette between my lips laying
against the recycled bed sheets that no doubt are crawling with
microscopic insects.

“Start recording.”

I order Corpse as he gets up from the
chair he was sitting in and unzips the camcorder from it's leather
case. He walks over to the side of the bed and snaps the camera on
letting the bed be my backdrop. I don't light the cigarette, I just
like the way it feels there in my lips. It just feels so natural.

“Last week I ended the winning streak
of Ziu Zhong, by pinning the current and reigning VOW Xcel Champion
Stacy Jones. I put them in their place. It's like someone wrote it in
the stars. Sadly, I don't believe in destiny. I don't believe in
fate. You take what you want, and at Breakthrough I wanted it more.
See I have always wanted it more. Almost a year ago I walked into
this company and I said one thing. . . “Shit Is going to change
around here.” I delivered on that promise. I changed VOW. You can
claim it is Frei's brainchild, a vision Ryan Omega gave eyes, but
this place didn't have a fucking heart beat till I walked into here
and made this place my home. I didn't come here just for myself, for
my cause. No, my arrival brought in new talent from around the world
who claim that they want to join VOW to make a name for themselves. .
. bullshit. They came for me. They came to try and stop the group
that is now forcfully inheriting the wrestling industry. They come
for The Orphange. They come for me. Starrkkdian did it, broke into
this industry like a bright burning star only to get shot back off
into the black hole he spawned from. People have tried to use me
before to reignite their career. Hell, you think Bobby Back Door, or
Vanessa's old friend Matt Slater knew what they were up against. They
had no idea, they underestimated me. They see what all these people
see. Someone who isn't good enough. They see a boy with a big mouth.”

I grin wide pulling the cigarette from
my lips and placing it gently on the table beside me.

“Good! Keep telling me I can't back
up what I say. Keep telling me that I won't ever capture that
championship. Tell me . . . and I will make sure you bleed every lie
you speak. Keep on booing me, and chanting “CASS SUCKS ASS!” it
adds fuel to the fire. It builds up my desire, because it just proves
what I have said all along you people need help. Not me, you
brainwashed fools. It will all get smashed into perspective once and
for all at Nothing Else Matters. What is going to happen when I beat
Vanessa in that 30/20 Vision Match? What is going to happen when you
have no more excuses? What is going to happen when we slug it out,
when we almost kill each other in that ring and I smash that
beautiful face into ground beef? Will you people follow me then, will
you believe me then?”

“Vanessa we have been up and down
this road you and I. From the fascination I took from you dealing me
my first loss of substance here in VOW. You have been my white whale.
Vanessa I know why you came back to active competition. You got tired
of being behind a desk, tired of pushing papers. You got sick and
tired of watching the game pass you by. So you find this place, this
company founded by people who still know your name. Founded by people
who have seen your best work and know exactly what you are capable
of. It makes sense, easy pickings for you when the cards are stacked
isn't it? Innocent little V. The golden child all these idiots try to
protect. From Ryan Omega allowing you to compete in such a fragile
mental state, to Rayne coming and protecting you from my attack.
Hell, even Seth Iser tried to tell me to “be careful.””

I let out a laugh loudly looking up
into the camera as Corpse holds it above me.

“I have exposed what I need to expose
from Vanessa. I have showed these people the dark parts of her, and
now, now she wants to do it herself doesn't she? You don't want this
comeback to be hinged on the aggressiveness of The Queen. What
satisfaction would that give you right? What exactly would that
prove? You know what I think? The Queen is your crutch, it always has
been your crutch. You fuck up, you act crazy. . . you miss your
bi-polar meds and you can blame it all on The Queen. It wasn't poor
little Vanessa. Spare me the fucking pity party little girl. It's
played out by now hasn't it? You came back to the ring to prove to
these people that you still have what it takes, but more importantly
to prove to yourself that you are still a world caliber athlete. Like
I said, I'm sure this company looked like a clean run straight to
headlining, and straight to that Visionary World Championship. Then I
came along. I came along to get rid of the tired old same crew of
people that are too proud to just hand the torch. See people like you
Vanessa will hold on to that torch until it burns your hand. Someone
has to take it from you. Someone needs to rip it from your hands for
your own good. I see your arm getting tired. Getting tired of trying
to maintain that image of the Vanessa these fans once knew. The
Vanessa that could topple any foe in her way even the great Seth
Iser.”

I widen my eyes with excitement as I
laugh to myself. I fold my hands up on my chest as I continue my
rant.

“Vanessa I have heard you refer to
NEW as your home in your career. Well let me make this easy for you.
This isn't NEW. This isn't a place where you have held any kind of
value, and at Nothing Else Matter I am determined to prevent that you
do. I am determined to stop this cycle, to stop filling these fans
head with such lies and obscurity. At Nothing Else Matters I will
send you back home. Better yet I will do what to you what happened to
Ryan Omega. I will do what he allowed to happen to my friend Edward
Myers when he allowed him to participate in a match with that lunatic
Seifer Black. I'll put you in a chair! Maybe not a wheel chair like
Myers, but one like you had before. One like Ryan Omega's. One behind
a desk singing my fucking checks, and watching me pass you bye. This
is a new era of wrestling. A new era that maybe you all didn't
envision when these doors opened. The vision will come into focus
when I raise that Visionaries World Championship over the broken body
of your hero V.

"My voice well be hear."

"I am The Modern Day Messiah"

"Nothing Else Matters"

There is a knock on the door. I raise
my eye brows to the camera winking as Corpse shuts it off. He wanders
over the door and opens it. I can hear Kim let out a small high
pitched scream startled by the large man at the door she was
expecting to me. She was always easy to scare.

“Is Cassidy. . . I mean Casanova
here?”

Corpse steps to the side allowing her
to enter to room. She doesn't at first, she just stands in the open
door way. I sit up in the bed as I here her footsteps finally start
to come into the room.

“Hello Kim.”

There she is looking at me with those
innocent blue eyes utterly stunned by my presence. Corpse leaves the
hotel room shutting the door behind him politely as he exits.

“So Cassidy why did you want me to
come here? I thought you said you couldn't see me. You haven't been
answering my calls. Any attempt I have made to get in touch with you
has been avoided. You even sent that private detective back telling
me to leave you alone.”

I look at her, and can't help but let
that crooked smirk show.

“It's not funny. You said Cassidy
Jones is dead.”

“He is.”

I say standing to my feet walking
towards her. She doesn't budge or blink as I make my way close to her
placing my hand on her hip lightly. It's the first time I haven't
felt someone fear me, someone not worry about what I might do next.
She always trusted me. She still does. Sitting here with tears
welling up in her eyes as we embark on the eulogy of Cassidy Jones.

“I'm not the same person I was when
you loved me Kim. I'm not that man any more. I don't want a wife and
kids and a fucking white picket fence anymore. I can't do that. I
know that is what you need, and what you deserve and I can't be that
man.”

A tear rolls down her cheek as she
looks at me attempting to understand my train of thought.

“Yes you are. You went through a
tough time, you had a tough life. I get that that effects you, but
Cassidy Jones is still there deep down past all that Casanova English
image you put out there. I know the real you. . . I know how you can
love.”

She places her hand on my cheek. It
sends shocks through my entire body, it perks up the hairs on my
neck. Not in a way that makes you feel chilled, but the way that
takes your breath away. That part she was tapping into, that was
love. That was the part that had to die.

“No. No he really isn't.”

I move her arm off my face back down to
her side still holding her wrist.

“That part of me died a long time
ago. It's not what happened to me Kim. I'm not like that. I am not
blaming my past for anything. . . I am blaming my future. What lies
ahead in this degenerative savage world we live in. In some countries
people get their heads cut off for saying the wrong thing. I have the
ability to allow my voice to be heard. North America might be a hole
too, filled with sadist and filth, but at least it gives me a
platform. At least wrestling gives me a platform to be heard, to be
remembered. To live a little past my inevitable expiration date.”

“When did you become so doom and
gloom? That's not the person I remember!”

“THAT'S WHAT I KEEP TELLING YOU!”

I yell in frustration, she steps back a
bit and I have never felt this bad about myself in a long time. She
didn’t deserve to be on the other end of my frustrations. She was
the only thing in this world that saw that glimpse of light in my
soul.

“I'm sorry. You're never going to get
it. You won't understand why I just up and left.”

“No I won't you're right. I'm just
wondering. . .”

She steps closer to me now, she pushes
her hand onto the side of my face forcing me to look at her as she
continues.

“Why didn't you take me with you?”

That is the thing about her. She loved
me so much she would blindly follow me into battle with little to no
expectations. She just trusted me. She was the one that automatically
assumed I could do anything, and like I said that didn't motive me
the way I liked.

“Cassidy died with that man. Cassidy
Jones died with my Uncle. When I pulled that plug on his life, I
plugged in one for myself. I woke up. I realized what this world was
really made of, what I was really made of. I found a strength in my
despair. The man you loved is gone Kim I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

That was the most sincere I have ever
been in 2 years. 2 years when I left for the road with her still
laying in bed excepting to roll over and find me there like she used
to everyday. She thought I wouldn't be at the hospital any more like
I was when he was dying. No she expected me to go back to journalism.
Put on my suit and write about this mundane bullshit mass media
passes off as tragic.

“Maybe I could learn to love Casanova
English.”

I can't help, but crack a smile. It
lightened the mood a bit. Her smile changed me, it always did. When
he lips curved in that moon light shape, it shined a whole new light
on my world. A light that I had no room for now. She kissed me
lightly before pulling away again.

“Take me with you Cass. Take me with
you on the road. I hate it here. I feel like my day is the same
routine over and over again, then I look at you. You are out there
standing up for what you believe in like a modern day gladiator.
Willing to take any shots these people throw at you, and you handle
it your way. People might not see it, but I still do. You're noble.
You still have a good heart.”

She couldn't be more wrong, but I pull
her into me and kiss her hard. I kiss her like it might be my last
kiss ever. It gets more intense as she bites down on my lip hard. I
lift her up in one swift motion and she wraps her legs around me
tight. I hold her up against that disgustingly stained hotel wall and
I run my hands all over her body. Up her shirt, down her back. I peel
her from the wall and slam her down on the bed. Frantically she
unbuttons her pants, and I slowly help her slide out of them
revealing those curves I missed so much.

This is how I say good bye.

My eyes snap open. I reach for the
cigarette I strategically placed on the nightstand and place it
between my lips. I light the end of my cancer stick and blow smoke
straight up into the air, trying not to disturb the angel beside me.
Her body makes the most eloquent silhouette, only comparable to the
setting son. I sit there and smoke that cigarette almost halfway
gone, just looking at Kim before I make it to my feet and slip on my
torn blue jeans. I look down at her letting out a sigh. She was going
to turn around, and expect me to be there like 2 years ago, but this
is the only way. This is the only way she might be able to let me go.
I pull my leather jacket over my shoulders letting out a sigh. She
saw me as a hero still, as someone who could save her. She is the
only one I know I'm not capable of saving. She was as naive as those
fans that cheer V on each week. Too blind to our charm to see what we
really are.

Sick.

But as my opponent would say sanity if
overrated. I couldn't take Kim with me. No, she is that last innocent
piece of myself that is left. I couldn't ever drag her into this war
I am waging. It's all going to be evident at Nothing Else Matters.

Sometimes the battlefield is no place
for a pretty girl.