Post by Seth Iser on Jul 14, 2014 20:38:02 GMT -6
The last few years of my life have been the most challenging and the most fruitful. The reality of no longer having the youth and guile that I once had along with my laundry list of injuries I’ve had to endure thanks to not only this sport but my past history with football has forced me to re-evaluate things slowly. Not just with what I do in the ring…but how I live life outside of it because I won’t lie…I wasn’t always frugal with my finances or overly caring about my own physical being. When I do look back on how I was at a younger age…I’m disgusted at whom I had been the first major portion of my entire life…and infuriated I didn’t completely realize the path I was going down.
The fair few fans…that wondered when ‘Apocalypse’ could ever come back from within needs to realize that this portion of my life is dead…worm food just like my parents. He’s a man spawned just from pure misery…with no real venture or goals other than trying to mutilate someone. I, under that name, had gotten by enough with athletic ability and intensity…but threw it all away with my transgressions interfering with what should’ve been my business. I might as well say to this point…I’ve pissed away the first half of my wrestling career…in that when I should’ve had a mantle filled to the brim with championships…all I had was the taste of fools gold when I held it for one measly week before my greatest rival pried it from my grasp instantly.
Then…I realized what I should do with this industry after I had finally gotten the alcohol and drugs out of my system. I learned every trick in the book in this industry…both inside the ring and outside for business ventures while honing my craft to compensate for what I can just no longer do physically due to the grueling nature of our business…and here I am…in the prime of my wrestling career, regardless of how the younger generation wish to spin things toward me, defeating some of the greats of the past and future generations while finally molding MY name among those greats where it deserves…all the while using the ends of this industry to dissect and destruct those who have tainted the industry in some fashion with their web of lies…like the hypocritical Reya Sera.
Why do I hold so much animosity toward Cera though….Reya’s complete opposite in every way. Unlike the deep seeded issue I have with Reya…I think a toddler could understand why I hold a natural animosity toward the demon. Then again…considering the decay of IQ and human decency that society has undergone the last few generations along with having a congress that repels everything while just letting the problems sit there for their own selfish gain to a fault…it just encourages people not being able to think in the slightest…but if they even put thought to it…they’d understand crystal clear what’s been going on.
Cera is who I used to be in in more ways than one…and this scares me far more than I’d ever wish to admit to anyone.
The woman reeks of alcohol riddled substance to friend and foe alike…even when she growled her disdain through me and the sarcastic needles she sent in while trying to scramble up my brain more than she already has…there is just this vibe that she is more than capable of ending anyone’s career at the snap of her fingers…for no other damn reason other than her own amusement. She’s become a damned good violent brawler and flying oriented wrestler…but time and time again…like I had done so for years…she failed the PROFESSIONAL part of being a professional wrestler.
The fact that even when she’s angered…she pursues any conquest not as her job…not as her operation of living…but as a god damned game unless we’re in the hardcore sphere is revolting on so many levels. The way you live shouldn’t be treated as a game…nor should your line of work considering the vast amounts of money, prestige, and pride that are on the line every time you step into that ring…and as long as she’s under the vice of alcohol and the foolish mind frame that this is a god damned game…pursuing things just for her own sickening amusement…she’ll just be known as a very good…even a great wrestler at her craft…but not the transcendent talent that someone like me has turned himself into.
But even in a regular singles match…considering everything that the two of us have been through due to our philosophical and ideological differences…I’ll need every trick I’ve learned over my decade in this profession in order to survive this particular challenge, pound this lesson of life into her thick skull, and emerge with the ever so important victory…and then and only then will she learn what I’ve known the last few years about life…while also learning…that my time isn’t come and passed at my age of thirty three…and this prideful individual will have to admit to the entire world what has become to be known as the truth.
The truth that is…Seth Iser has become the best professional wrestler in this industry…and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can say or do to state otherwise.
The industrial part of Wheeling, West Virginia reeks of the familiar stench that makes Pittsburgh, P.A. the most putrid city in America. I’d normally already be in Minnesota…preparing in town but I just needed to be closer to home right this moment. Even if it’s not my home in Morgantown…there is a similar feeling of…hopelessness that emanates through here. The feeling that you can only go so far…before whatever hopes you have crash you down and pull you deep into the demonic pits of which there is no escape.
“Too much of my damn life in places like this…” I seethe with that low, menacing rasp of mine, ”To think there was a point before my wrestling career that I thought I’d be stuck in the fucking mines because that’s all this state had to offer when my knee went.”
The city of Wheeling from all the faded steel production has its fair share of abandoned buildings, too. A putrid smell from the pollution of the few steel mills that are working roll through this miserable little town; the smell of pure hopelessness…the story of the lives of the masses here. The more I look at the glass that’s receded and the people scrounging around the trash can, presumably laid off from that job and not able to pick something else up, the more it sets in…how few and far between people who escape this place really are.
“I could have…possibly should have been with these people…or even like that kid in the hospital I met in Minnesota…” I mutter coldly, “But I’m not…too ambitious…too driven…and too good to ever be cast back down into these type of shadows. Too good to ever have to worry about the next meal…and put myself in too good of a position to ever have to worry about that again…”
The darkened, swelling portion of my face not withstanding…even I’ll admit that I look kind of dapper this evening. The black hair is slicked back with a pair of sunglasses to hide a little bit of the marks that are going on in my face and my brown eyes. The black and white suit with a decent watch over my left wrist accommodates what a professional should be no matter their profession yet alone anything as grueling and representative as the sport of wrestling…and I even have a pair of black dress shoes that gleam through like the night.
The choice in attire in this horrific, barren, and disgusting place has earned me a bunch of disgruntled stares from the people sitting here. The jealousy just reams through their eyes…and through their green envy…is the yellow stripe that always runs down their backs because they don’t have the fortitude to try to strive to be out of this situation and then have a successful plan of attack to put them in position for the rest of their lives like I found with professional wrestling.
“Is there any reason why you’re in the slums here?” Moretti’s voice bellows through shocking everyone here but me.
“When you spend a decent portion of your life before you even become an adult out here…fighting for the next meal…you can’t help but to find yourself pulled here in some way, Vincent…” I reply with my eyes shut.
“Maybe so Seth…” Moretti purrs, “But as a respected member of society and someone who represents the elite like yours truly…I don’t like it when these commoners who don’t even know the half of what I’m wearing just stare with their mouths hung down.”
“I wonder why that happens…” I muse before finally turning to face him.
Soon enough I get my answer when Vincent Moretti, the mobster that he is, has the silver hat over the top of his head with a sterling silver suit with a black undershirt and tie and the similar gleam from his black shoes…and the damn diamond ring that he has one…almost asking for it at this point. He does sneer over the homeless with an arrogant smirk etched onto his face before he straightens out his suit with that pep in his step.
“Well…Jennifer could do something that would get us kicked out of the arena to you...again,” I offer with a frown on my face.
“Seth. Can we never speak of that night?” Moretti scowls, “My anus finally recovered from that horrible night.”
“Too much information…” I frown.
“But that’s in the past!” Moretti muses before putting his arm over me with a grin, “How about we get out of here and just board the flight thinking of all the different ways you’re going to beat Cera in the middle of that ring.”
“Personal space,” I reply unemotionally while peeling his arm off of me.
“Seriously…” Moretti shrugs, getting as close as he can with that arrogant grin plastered over his face, “The only thing these people are good for is to give them a quarter to shine my shoes.”
“Personal. Space,” I repeat in a more authoritative and annoyed tone.
“Oh…” Moretti blinks before taking a couple of steps, “Whoopsie…it’s fine.”
“Whatever man…” I shrug before glancing at the end of this street of homeless which leads to that abandoned steel factory, “I have somewhere I need to be right now. Your choice if you want to come with me or slum with these people. Either way…it’s the reality of my own past…but at this point…it could very well be looking into Cera’s future if she doesn’t straighten herself out.”
“Mmm…” Moretti scowls in thought, “Alright. I’ll come with…who knows what’ll happen. Weird shit happens in an abandoned building.”
“I agree with that. Now let’s go…” I command.
“After you Seth.” Moretti replies with a coy smirk before gesturing ahead, “You’re the one from here.”
With a shrug I start the short walk down toward the abandoned building…still feeling the weight of the envious glares around me. I know my Parents always preached about the sixth sin being one of the deadlier ones…but it isn’t really a deadly sin if you feel that way and don’t act upon it. The sin then turns into the fourth one…slothfulness or laziness depending on your preference of word choice. One could say one sin brings on the wrath of another…but every one of us sin…just people like Reya lie about their transgressions and sins or someone like Cera will embellish them. Me? I’d just speak the cold truth about it all. It’s what the truth is…for better or worse.
“Have I mentioned that this place reeks worse than a McDonalds bathroom after thirty fat guys order too many of their burgers in the place?” he growls.
“No…” I frown, “But I could’ve used without that graphic description of the scent even if there’s some truth to it.”
Moretti mock coughs to further prove his point of his dissatisfaction of this area as we finally reach the door of this old place. To think…a decent chunk of the coal went here too from this state to power this old place before they shut things down for good. Morgantown used to have something like this before they focused more on becoming a little more urbanized which…thankfully has made the desirability of living good enough while still having areas where you can live and retreat to in privacy like you would in the rural areas. Wheeling though…represents what it was like more so when I grew up…and even on the door there’s the traces of coal dust.
“You load sixteen tons and what do you get?” I lowly sing, “Another day older and deeper in debt. Saint Peter don’t you call me ‘cause I can’t go. I owe my soul…to the company store…”
“Never heard that song…” Moretti scowls.
“Everyone in this state has more or less. Go deeper in the southern part of the state and you’d almost think it’s the state song. It captures the hopelessness everyone feels…when they’re trapped here.” I frown, “I’ve felt too trapped here for a while…and I’d be you anything Cera’ll be singing that tune before too long if she ain’t careful.”
With a frown on my face, I reach out for the door before I glance at Moretti putting on protective gloves for the coal dust. With a shrug, I just calmly open the door and Moretti follows, using his gloved hands to calmly open and close the doors before discarding the gloves while making gagging noises at the coal dust all over the place. He soon puts his hands in his pockets while I glance around the old check in room with the old, obsolete system with the cards that told you whether someone was in or not. In my head, I can hear the heavy machines running in the other room beginning the process of turning things into steel to be used and produced for various things…or even war equipment if we were in war time as the rumor goes.
“This is where a ton of people have had to work for their money…” I offer up with a frown before pointing at the blood stained floors, “You know where that’s from?”
“Someone not paying for things?” Moretti muses with a smirk.
“Ever had fingers bloodied, crippled or even cut off due to heavy machinery? This was commonplace here…even more so when there were no child labor laws and the bastard companies could hire kids just to do their bidding just to save a few dollars…” I cringe.
“The more you learn…” Vincent lets out a shrug, “But those practices aren’t abolished in other countries like Mexico or China for example.”
“One of the few things I am thankful about living in the States in this particular generation…” I offer up, sneering…”Ain’t much else though…there really isn’t. Now just as much as ever…we’re enslaved to the dollar and enslaved to the idea that we have to have some sort of guidance even as adults when we’re powerless to dig ourselves up from the dirt…refuse these terrible conditions and do something about it…not only for the betterment of others but for yourself. The American flag and the freedom it is supposed to represent is a god damned lie at this point because Abraham Lincoln didn’t truly free the slaves since the people are enslaved to the system of the dollar.”
“Nothing is free.” Moretti muses, “It’s never been free.”
“There’s a difference between being handed something and working for something yes…but too many people are content about working for not a god damned thing once it’s happened enough times.” I scowl, “In a way…people are begging even for this damn thing to be open…where there is a part of me…that’s happy this era…this place is closed…because unlike the people who still plead for the past…past of having less rights for the minorities and their god damned guns while still having ridiculous crime rates…well…just shows they haven’t moved on.”
For the first time though…a smile finally creeps onto my face…because I finally realized something important…something I’ve known all along.
“I haven’t seen that in a while…” Moretti chuckles while looking around at this abandoned room.
“Even when I come back and see where I came from…” I muse, “I’ve moved on from this. Grown up and grown out…and even when I’ve retired…unlike the people who have worked here for so long…I’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor with my kid going to college or pursuing whatever endeavor she wishes to pursue. Meanwhile…someone like Reya or Cera…who are kin indeed, will be stuck to their different vices. This is what this trip…has made me realize…and that’s the truth. Reya’ll be stuck with that bible…looking for a handout while Cera’s going to be stuck…either in a prison or out here on the streets with nothing but her own insanity as that demon eats her whole.”
“Good…” Vincent smirks, “There’s a difference between people like us…and the masses anyhow…now can we get out of here? This place reeks of idiocy.”
“I don’t think I’ll be getting homesick anytime soon…so yes. Let’s get the hell out of here…” I reply with a shrug.
Vincent reaches for a new pair of gloves to handle the coal dust covered doors as we march out of the place…with that realization fully set in. Even those years…that I deem a waste were important in a way…important to find out what I should never fall into…or do ever again when I’m confronted with the various decisions life throws at us while never having to be enslaved to another person or thing thanks to that god damned dollar.
And it continues…when I avenge my previous defeat to the demon…The Baddest Bitch known as Cera.
For a woman…who has a deceased son…and the pains and humility that this event brings to you…she acts like the most pompous, demonic, arrogant jackass I may have ever known…and the differences we’ve had…have been going on for years at this point. It’ll probably be in the DNA of our kids if the demonic one ever spawns children. We’ve spilled each other’s blood…we’ve broken one another’s bones…shreaded tendons and changed one another’s lives with the way we’ve gone after one another.
The sinking reality she faces though…is that despite her talents for the sport itself…the thing I brought to her last week…and the things I’ve been preaching for the better part of almost two years at this point are going to prove true in that she doesn’t realize…or know what the professional end of it all is…and it isn’t about treating this like a game…because then you’ll get paid and respected like those who play it as a game…not a god damned thing. Not only that…you’re going down the path where you go down path where you have to be enslaved by the dollar when your body lets you down…and there’s nothing she can do about it.
She and her sister Reya…both will look on with greed and envy plastered on their faces homeless…while they see me a successful man…in this industry because I’m the best PROFESSIONAL wrestler in the industry. Good things do happen to good people…because I am an honest man…and a damn good man.
…and I’ll be the man…that’ll teach Cera the life lesson she needs in order to survive the next part of her life while humbling her into accepting my greatness as fact.
The fair few fans…that wondered when ‘Apocalypse’ could ever come back from within needs to realize that this portion of my life is dead…worm food just like my parents. He’s a man spawned just from pure misery…with no real venture or goals other than trying to mutilate someone. I, under that name, had gotten by enough with athletic ability and intensity…but threw it all away with my transgressions interfering with what should’ve been my business. I might as well say to this point…I’ve pissed away the first half of my wrestling career…in that when I should’ve had a mantle filled to the brim with championships…all I had was the taste of fools gold when I held it for one measly week before my greatest rival pried it from my grasp instantly.
Then…I realized what I should do with this industry after I had finally gotten the alcohol and drugs out of my system. I learned every trick in the book in this industry…both inside the ring and outside for business ventures while honing my craft to compensate for what I can just no longer do physically due to the grueling nature of our business…and here I am…in the prime of my wrestling career, regardless of how the younger generation wish to spin things toward me, defeating some of the greats of the past and future generations while finally molding MY name among those greats where it deserves…all the while using the ends of this industry to dissect and destruct those who have tainted the industry in some fashion with their web of lies…like the hypocritical Reya Sera.
Why do I hold so much animosity toward Cera though….Reya’s complete opposite in every way. Unlike the deep seeded issue I have with Reya…I think a toddler could understand why I hold a natural animosity toward the demon. Then again…considering the decay of IQ and human decency that society has undergone the last few generations along with having a congress that repels everything while just letting the problems sit there for their own selfish gain to a fault…it just encourages people not being able to think in the slightest…but if they even put thought to it…they’d understand crystal clear what’s been going on.
Cera is who I used to be in in more ways than one…and this scares me far more than I’d ever wish to admit to anyone.
The woman reeks of alcohol riddled substance to friend and foe alike…even when she growled her disdain through me and the sarcastic needles she sent in while trying to scramble up my brain more than she already has…there is just this vibe that she is more than capable of ending anyone’s career at the snap of her fingers…for no other damn reason other than her own amusement. She’s become a damned good violent brawler and flying oriented wrestler…but time and time again…like I had done so for years…she failed the PROFESSIONAL part of being a professional wrestler.
The fact that even when she’s angered…she pursues any conquest not as her job…not as her operation of living…but as a god damned game unless we’re in the hardcore sphere is revolting on so many levels. The way you live shouldn’t be treated as a game…nor should your line of work considering the vast amounts of money, prestige, and pride that are on the line every time you step into that ring…and as long as she’s under the vice of alcohol and the foolish mind frame that this is a god damned game…pursuing things just for her own sickening amusement…she’ll just be known as a very good…even a great wrestler at her craft…but not the transcendent talent that someone like me has turned himself into.
But even in a regular singles match…considering everything that the two of us have been through due to our philosophical and ideological differences…I’ll need every trick I’ve learned over my decade in this profession in order to survive this particular challenge, pound this lesson of life into her thick skull, and emerge with the ever so important victory…and then and only then will she learn what I’ve known the last few years about life…while also learning…that my time isn’t come and passed at my age of thirty three…and this prideful individual will have to admit to the entire world what has become to be known as the truth.
The truth that is…Seth Iser has become the best professional wrestler in this industry…and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can say or do to state otherwise.
The industrial part of Wheeling, West Virginia reeks of the familiar stench that makes Pittsburgh, P.A. the most putrid city in America. I’d normally already be in Minnesota…preparing in town but I just needed to be closer to home right this moment. Even if it’s not my home in Morgantown…there is a similar feeling of…hopelessness that emanates through here. The feeling that you can only go so far…before whatever hopes you have crash you down and pull you deep into the demonic pits of which there is no escape.
“Too much of my damn life in places like this…” I seethe with that low, menacing rasp of mine, ”To think there was a point before my wrestling career that I thought I’d be stuck in the fucking mines because that’s all this state had to offer when my knee went.”
The city of Wheeling from all the faded steel production has its fair share of abandoned buildings, too. A putrid smell from the pollution of the few steel mills that are working roll through this miserable little town; the smell of pure hopelessness…the story of the lives of the masses here. The more I look at the glass that’s receded and the people scrounging around the trash can, presumably laid off from that job and not able to pick something else up, the more it sets in…how few and far between people who escape this place really are.
“I could have…possibly should have been with these people…or even like that kid in the hospital I met in Minnesota…” I mutter coldly, “But I’m not…too ambitious…too driven…and too good to ever be cast back down into these type of shadows. Too good to ever have to worry about the next meal…and put myself in too good of a position to ever have to worry about that again…”
The darkened, swelling portion of my face not withstanding…even I’ll admit that I look kind of dapper this evening. The black hair is slicked back with a pair of sunglasses to hide a little bit of the marks that are going on in my face and my brown eyes. The black and white suit with a decent watch over my left wrist accommodates what a professional should be no matter their profession yet alone anything as grueling and representative as the sport of wrestling…and I even have a pair of black dress shoes that gleam through like the night.
The choice in attire in this horrific, barren, and disgusting place has earned me a bunch of disgruntled stares from the people sitting here. The jealousy just reams through their eyes…and through their green envy…is the yellow stripe that always runs down their backs because they don’t have the fortitude to try to strive to be out of this situation and then have a successful plan of attack to put them in position for the rest of their lives like I found with professional wrestling.
“Is there any reason why you’re in the slums here?” Moretti’s voice bellows through shocking everyone here but me.
“When you spend a decent portion of your life before you even become an adult out here…fighting for the next meal…you can’t help but to find yourself pulled here in some way, Vincent…” I reply with my eyes shut.
“Maybe so Seth…” Moretti purrs, “But as a respected member of society and someone who represents the elite like yours truly…I don’t like it when these commoners who don’t even know the half of what I’m wearing just stare with their mouths hung down.”
“I wonder why that happens…” I muse before finally turning to face him.
Soon enough I get my answer when Vincent Moretti, the mobster that he is, has the silver hat over the top of his head with a sterling silver suit with a black undershirt and tie and the similar gleam from his black shoes…and the damn diamond ring that he has one…almost asking for it at this point. He does sneer over the homeless with an arrogant smirk etched onto his face before he straightens out his suit with that pep in his step.
“Well…Jennifer could do something that would get us kicked out of the arena to you...again,” I offer with a frown on my face.
“Seth. Can we never speak of that night?” Moretti scowls, “My anus finally recovered from that horrible night.”
“Too much information…” I frown.
“But that’s in the past!” Moretti muses before putting his arm over me with a grin, “How about we get out of here and just board the flight thinking of all the different ways you’re going to beat Cera in the middle of that ring.”
“Personal space,” I reply unemotionally while peeling his arm off of me.
“Seriously…” Moretti shrugs, getting as close as he can with that arrogant grin plastered over his face, “The only thing these people are good for is to give them a quarter to shine my shoes.”
“Personal. Space,” I repeat in a more authoritative and annoyed tone.
“Oh…” Moretti blinks before taking a couple of steps, “Whoopsie…it’s fine.”
“Whatever man…” I shrug before glancing at the end of this street of homeless which leads to that abandoned steel factory, “I have somewhere I need to be right now. Your choice if you want to come with me or slum with these people. Either way…it’s the reality of my own past…but at this point…it could very well be looking into Cera’s future if she doesn’t straighten herself out.”
“Mmm…” Moretti scowls in thought, “Alright. I’ll come with…who knows what’ll happen. Weird shit happens in an abandoned building.”
“I agree with that. Now let’s go…” I command.
“After you Seth.” Moretti replies with a coy smirk before gesturing ahead, “You’re the one from here.”
With a shrug I start the short walk down toward the abandoned building…still feeling the weight of the envious glares around me. I know my Parents always preached about the sixth sin being one of the deadlier ones…but it isn’t really a deadly sin if you feel that way and don’t act upon it. The sin then turns into the fourth one…slothfulness or laziness depending on your preference of word choice. One could say one sin brings on the wrath of another…but every one of us sin…just people like Reya lie about their transgressions and sins or someone like Cera will embellish them. Me? I’d just speak the cold truth about it all. It’s what the truth is…for better or worse.
“Have I mentioned that this place reeks worse than a McDonalds bathroom after thirty fat guys order too many of their burgers in the place?” he growls.
“No…” I frown, “But I could’ve used without that graphic description of the scent even if there’s some truth to it.”
Moretti mock coughs to further prove his point of his dissatisfaction of this area as we finally reach the door of this old place. To think…a decent chunk of the coal went here too from this state to power this old place before they shut things down for good. Morgantown used to have something like this before they focused more on becoming a little more urbanized which…thankfully has made the desirability of living good enough while still having areas where you can live and retreat to in privacy like you would in the rural areas. Wheeling though…represents what it was like more so when I grew up…and even on the door there’s the traces of coal dust.
“You load sixteen tons and what do you get?” I lowly sing, “Another day older and deeper in debt. Saint Peter don’t you call me ‘cause I can’t go. I owe my soul…to the company store…”
“Never heard that song…” Moretti scowls.
“Everyone in this state has more or less. Go deeper in the southern part of the state and you’d almost think it’s the state song. It captures the hopelessness everyone feels…when they’re trapped here.” I frown, “I’ve felt too trapped here for a while…and I’d be you anything Cera’ll be singing that tune before too long if she ain’t careful.”
With a frown on my face, I reach out for the door before I glance at Moretti putting on protective gloves for the coal dust. With a shrug, I just calmly open the door and Moretti follows, using his gloved hands to calmly open and close the doors before discarding the gloves while making gagging noises at the coal dust all over the place. He soon puts his hands in his pockets while I glance around the old check in room with the old, obsolete system with the cards that told you whether someone was in or not. In my head, I can hear the heavy machines running in the other room beginning the process of turning things into steel to be used and produced for various things…or even war equipment if we were in war time as the rumor goes.
“This is where a ton of people have had to work for their money…” I offer up with a frown before pointing at the blood stained floors, “You know where that’s from?”
“Someone not paying for things?” Moretti muses with a smirk.
“Ever had fingers bloodied, crippled or even cut off due to heavy machinery? This was commonplace here…even more so when there were no child labor laws and the bastard companies could hire kids just to do their bidding just to save a few dollars…” I cringe.
“The more you learn…” Vincent lets out a shrug, “But those practices aren’t abolished in other countries like Mexico or China for example.”
“One of the few things I am thankful about living in the States in this particular generation…” I offer up, sneering…”Ain’t much else though…there really isn’t. Now just as much as ever…we’re enslaved to the dollar and enslaved to the idea that we have to have some sort of guidance even as adults when we’re powerless to dig ourselves up from the dirt…refuse these terrible conditions and do something about it…not only for the betterment of others but for yourself. The American flag and the freedom it is supposed to represent is a god damned lie at this point because Abraham Lincoln didn’t truly free the slaves since the people are enslaved to the system of the dollar.”
“Nothing is free.” Moretti muses, “It’s never been free.”
“There’s a difference between being handed something and working for something yes…but too many people are content about working for not a god damned thing once it’s happened enough times.” I scowl, “In a way…people are begging even for this damn thing to be open…where there is a part of me…that’s happy this era…this place is closed…because unlike the people who still plead for the past…past of having less rights for the minorities and their god damned guns while still having ridiculous crime rates…well…just shows they haven’t moved on.”
For the first time though…a smile finally creeps onto my face…because I finally realized something important…something I’ve known all along.
“I haven’t seen that in a while…” Moretti chuckles while looking around at this abandoned room.
“Even when I come back and see where I came from…” I muse, “I’ve moved on from this. Grown up and grown out…and even when I’ve retired…unlike the people who have worked here for so long…I’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor with my kid going to college or pursuing whatever endeavor she wishes to pursue. Meanwhile…someone like Reya or Cera…who are kin indeed, will be stuck to their different vices. This is what this trip…has made me realize…and that’s the truth. Reya’ll be stuck with that bible…looking for a handout while Cera’s going to be stuck…either in a prison or out here on the streets with nothing but her own insanity as that demon eats her whole.”
“Good…” Vincent smirks, “There’s a difference between people like us…and the masses anyhow…now can we get out of here? This place reeks of idiocy.”
“I don’t think I’ll be getting homesick anytime soon…so yes. Let’s get the hell out of here…” I reply with a shrug.
Vincent reaches for a new pair of gloves to handle the coal dust covered doors as we march out of the place…with that realization fully set in. Even those years…that I deem a waste were important in a way…important to find out what I should never fall into…or do ever again when I’m confronted with the various decisions life throws at us while never having to be enslaved to another person or thing thanks to that god damned dollar.
And it continues…when I avenge my previous defeat to the demon…The Baddest Bitch known as Cera.
For a woman…who has a deceased son…and the pains and humility that this event brings to you…she acts like the most pompous, demonic, arrogant jackass I may have ever known…and the differences we’ve had…have been going on for years at this point. It’ll probably be in the DNA of our kids if the demonic one ever spawns children. We’ve spilled each other’s blood…we’ve broken one another’s bones…shreaded tendons and changed one another’s lives with the way we’ve gone after one another.
The sinking reality she faces though…is that despite her talents for the sport itself…the thing I brought to her last week…and the things I’ve been preaching for the better part of almost two years at this point are going to prove true in that she doesn’t realize…or know what the professional end of it all is…and it isn’t about treating this like a game…because then you’ll get paid and respected like those who play it as a game…not a god damned thing. Not only that…you’re going down the path where you go down path where you have to be enslaved by the dollar when your body lets you down…and there’s nothing she can do about it.
She and her sister Reya…both will look on with greed and envy plastered on their faces homeless…while they see me a successful man…in this industry because I’m the best PROFESSIONAL wrestler in the industry. Good things do happen to good people…because I am an honest man…and a damn good man.
…and I’ll be the man…that’ll teach Cera the life lesson she needs in order to survive the next part of her life while humbling her into accepting my greatness as fact.