Post by hk on Aug 12, 2007 1:11:10 GMT -6
I was in immediate danger. My head became a pool of confusion and guilt. Addicted to dark. Addicted to blindness. Addicted…to nothing. I was heading on the lost highway. It was mine. The source of direction originated from pre-existing failures and successes. At the time, I didn’t care what headed my way. If it would shape my solid path of life, then I’d be fine with it.
But that was the problem. My path was solid. I couldn’t move it. I couldn’t delete it. I just couldn’t change it. My future, I previously figured, was pre-determined. My entire life seemed scripted by somebody that I’d never shake hands with. But then again, at the time, I didn’t know anything. Another shadow forgotten in the dark.
I felt the cold substance. That little object had taken over my body. I couldn’t talk anymore. I couldn’t see anymore. I couldn’t think anymore. I couldn’t breathe anymore. What was happening? What…?
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
Scott Lanegan: “Just a few more minutes…”
10AM. It felt like a thousand weights were carried on my back. I was exhausted, to say the least. The water substance, as some would call sweat, formed around my lifeless body. I felt the hot air strike inside my room. The source was a bright yellow ball that could have made the Atlantic Ocean form a dry mouth.
It’s no mystery that the sun is there, too. And I knew what I thought wasn’t true. But some days, I promised to myself that it was. The heat was impossible to escape. I couldn’t run from it, so I decided to continue on, being the unofficial slave.
My shirt was glued to my back. I managed to take it off. I sat myself up in a bearable position. The shirt laid on my hands, wet and all. It was as if I just exited a shower of rain and my shirt was the shield that kept me dry. I tossed it aside; I had no use for it. The bed’s springs played a tone of pressure as I lifted myself up.
I found my way into the kitchen. I grabbed the fridge’s handle and pulled it open. A delightful feeling of cool air brushed on me, but it didn’t last long. I found some butchered-up ham and pulled it out. The door closed and I plopped the meat on the counter. At that moment, the phone had rung in the other room. I rushed over, my bare feet scraping on the carpet. I looked at the ID, and picked up the phone.
Scott Lanegan: “Rex, what do you need dude?”
Rex Vinkle: “We ain’t needin nothin nigga! Was juz wonderin if yo busta ass needed a ride to Des Moines, mayne! For da pay-per-view, dat is.”
Scott Lanegan: “Alright…when are you leaving?”
Rex Vinkle: “Maybe on Tuesday, mayne. We got all week. Wurd up, we saw da card too. You be in da ring with 7 other wrestlers, S. You got Eddie Jonezizzle, Kyle Neverwinnin, Gyp, Gravez, Flapping Flan, Nightly and Kaleb Shabitch…all for da AAA thang. We got a match wit da CIA…again. So we’ll see yo ass Tuesday to get there, homie.”
I heard an ear-pinching ‘click’ and he hung up. I had 7 other people to distinguish myself from. Was it a hard task to finish? Probably. At the time, I didn’t care. I had people to push aside. If their handprints were on my path, then I’d have to step over it.
Scott Lanegan: “So…this shit is for the AAA Medallion? I’ve heard about it.”
I talked to myself while making my bed. That’s one thing nobody would catch me doing; cleaning up after myself. Whether it was the dishes or my opponents, I’d never clean it up.
Scott Lanegan: “A chance at any title at any time at any place. I bet the other 7 will all be imagining themselves the winner. They’d be relaxing in the back, thinking which title they want to go after. Pondering and thinking and deciding. Hell, that’s what I’ll be doing as well.”
I finished up and visited the bathroom. I won’t go in detail there, just to spare people time.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
3PM. I felt bored and dull later that day. I had agreed to visit a comedy club with Steven. Some laughter in my life would wash away that gray. But Steven must have got a cheap deal at a shit place. It was packed with people. I couldn’t see their faces, or much less, cared to see. Smoke filled the area, entering the lungs on everyone. We had found a booth of our own at the back of the club.
The lights dimmed and it got dark. A person in a cheesy black suit arrived at the front of the stage. He had this huge smile on his face. I never understood why he was so happy, since nothing had started. He said a few things on the microphone, but it never tuned inside my head. I guess it wasn’t interesting enough to remember.
After he left, another man, with a just-as-bad suit on, arrived on the stage. He said a few things and people chuckled. He said a few more things and they busted out into laughter. I look over at Steven, whom had a confused look on his face.
Steven: “What’s this guy suppose to be, tongue-in-cheek?”
Scott Lanegan: “More like tongue-in-balls if you ask me…”
We stayed for a few more minutes.
Scott Lanegan: “Dude, when we get back, can I use that cheap camera of yours?”
Steven: “Going to cut another promo?”
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah. I don’t think the studio is open today so I should just do a makeshift one.”
He nodded.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
8PM. I propped the cheap camera up inside my living room. It was small, with a steady stand underneath. I turned off the lights to give off a gray effect. I sat down in my chair and took out a can of Vault. The drink easily went down my throat, refreshing coldness inside. I set the can down and looked inside the camera.
Scott Lanegan: “This whole scenario…this whole match…it’s an oil spill. You got 8 wrestlers trying to knock the f**k out of each other. I’ll start with the first guy I heard was in the match, and that was Eddie Jones. If Eddie wins this, he’ll have the medallion…plus a shot at the TV Title anyway.”
I shrugged.
Scott Lanegan: “He doesn’t need that kind of shit. He loses every other match. Sure, he’s cool and all, but POW doesn’t need another slacking champion.”
Scott Lanegan: “Then there’s Kyle Neverwinter, or as my buddy told me earlier, Kyle Neverwinner. He mentioned that he didn’t know me. He didn’t care to know me. He wanted “Fate” to decide things. Is this dude superstitious or something? Will “Fate” make him win? Will “Fate” grab him a title? Will “Fate” suck his dick? I don’t think so.”
Scott Lanegan: “This guy has been here for 2 weeks…and already gets a shot of a lifetime. I want to know how much he paid Nick Pickles to get in this match.”
Scott Lanegan: “I later realized that my recent partner Gypsy is in this match, whom hasn't been here long too. She can become the first woman to hold a title in POW…technically. After seeing how tough she was in our last match when tagging, I’ll have to keep an eye on her the entire time…in a totally non-sexual way.”
I took another gulp from the Vault. I tossed it aside and it clanked onto the ground.
Scott Lanegan: “I suggest that the girl watches who she wrestles with. I won’t back down from a female like her…technically.”
Scott Lanegan: “And up next is Graves. He eats shit and lives alone in a room with a lone light bulb. I want to know how he got in this match. He hasn’t been here in awhile and suddenly pops out of the ground…no pun intended…and gets a shot at the AAA thing. Kind of weird.”
Scott Lanegan: “I don’t care what Graves does. I’ve seen him in matches before, and he’s decent. Decent. That’s right…decent. I’m not afraid to say it, because it’s true.”
Scott Lanegan: “Wait a second, there was also Flap Flanagan. Yeah, Flap keeps getting title shots. Who keeps pushing this guy? I like him and all…but the dude needs to slow down and realize what he’s doing. He’s rushing, that’s what.”
Scott Lanegan: “I won’t turn down Flap. I don’t doubt him. History states he’s done some amazing things with his career. He’s won more titles than his brother and the main eventer, Reck Maverick. That’s something not to overlook. I won’t do that with Flap. Then again, the guy is a nobbler. There’s no question what he might do next. The last time I watched him, he started playing cards at ringside.”
Scott Lanegan: “Of course, the next person is Night. He’s the rightful owner of the AAA Medallion. Yet, he shit on it and decided not to use it. Not my problem, it’s his. Now he has the chance to get it back. If I remember right, him and Daye proclaimed themselves to be the best tag team in the Northeast. They wanted to make an impact, and they wanted to keep the belt to themselves. But, if I remember right again, they lost to…Stoned Raiders.”
I laughed for a second.
Scott Lanegan: “Sure, they’re my friends and all…but once you proclaim you’re the best, and then get your asses kicked by a couple of stoners…isn’t it embarrassing? I’m surprised to see Night crawl back to the Midwest here.”
I looked directly into the camera, obviously talking to someone so-to-speak.
Scott Lanegan: “And finally is the guy that I look forward to meeting again…Kaleb Shadix. Kaleb, I suggest you don’t even speak beforehand. I already know what it’ll be about. First you’ll rant about losing to Rich Morrison. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’. Next you’ll talk about some of your opponents. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’. After that, you’ll moan about being the next champion or whatever. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’ a few hundred times.”
Scott Lanegan: “Kaleb, the highest you’ll ever go in POW is the Television Title. Last time we met, it was for that title. But I’m not going to just walk away after that loss. Nope…that’s because you cheated, and that’s it. But come next time, you can’t cheat. You won’t be able to. Not this time, Kaleb, not this time.”
I grinned as I looked into the menacing camera.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
11PM. Another hard day’s work of waking up, visiting a comedy club, eating stuff and talking in a camera had breezed by. I was in my bedroom with all the lights turned off. I looked outside of my glass window. I slightly saw the reflection of myself. A bruised man. A scarred man. Myself. I had no point of direction, so I created it myself. I created my own future, or at least I thought that’s what I was doing.
A figure had slapped up against the window. I jumped back at an instant, but realized it was nothing but a small moth. The emotions were scattered on the window; blood, sweat and tears. I slowly moved in, but it simply flew off with no problem, like as if it never even touched the glass. That thing had no point of direction as well.
A big match was coming, and it decided my future. It wasn’t “Fate” that was going to decide it, but it was something else called “Scott Lanegan”.
But that was the problem. My path was solid. I couldn’t move it. I couldn’t delete it. I just couldn’t change it. My future, I previously figured, was pre-determined. My entire life seemed scripted by somebody that I’d never shake hands with. But then again, at the time, I didn’t know anything. Another shadow forgotten in the dark.
I felt the cold substance. That little object had taken over my body. I couldn’t talk anymore. I couldn’t see anymore. I couldn’t think anymore. I couldn’t breathe anymore. What was happening? What…?
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
Scott Lanegan: “Just a few more minutes…”
10AM. It felt like a thousand weights were carried on my back. I was exhausted, to say the least. The water substance, as some would call sweat, formed around my lifeless body. I felt the hot air strike inside my room. The source was a bright yellow ball that could have made the Atlantic Ocean form a dry mouth.
It’s no mystery that the sun is there, too. And I knew what I thought wasn’t true. But some days, I promised to myself that it was. The heat was impossible to escape. I couldn’t run from it, so I decided to continue on, being the unofficial slave.
My shirt was glued to my back. I managed to take it off. I sat myself up in a bearable position. The shirt laid on my hands, wet and all. It was as if I just exited a shower of rain and my shirt was the shield that kept me dry. I tossed it aside; I had no use for it. The bed’s springs played a tone of pressure as I lifted myself up.
I found my way into the kitchen. I grabbed the fridge’s handle and pulled it open. A delightful feeling of cool air brushed on me, but it didn’t last long. I found some butchered-up ham and pulled it out. The door closed and I plopped the meat on the counter. At that moment, the phone had rung in the other room. I rushed over, my bare feet scraping on the carpet. I looked at the ID, and picked up the phone.
Scott Lanegan: “Rex, what do you need dude?”
Rex Vinkle: “We ain’t needin nothin nigga! Was juz wonderin if yo busta ass needed a ride to Des Moines, mayne! For da pay-per-view, dat is.”
Scott Lanegan: “Alright…when are you leaving?”
Rex Vinkle: “Maybe on Tuesday, mayne. We got all week. Wurd up, we saw da card too. You be in da ring with 7 other wrestlers, S. You got Eddie Jonezizzle, Kyle Neverwinnin, Gyp, Gravez, Flapping Flan, Nightly and Kaleb Shabitch…all for da AAA thang. We got a match wit da CIA…again. So we’ll see yo ass Tuesday to get there, homie.”
I heard an ear-pinching ‘click’ and he hung up. I had 7 other people to distinguish myself from. Was it a hard task to finish? Probably. At the time, I didn’t care. I had people to push aside. If their handprints were on my path, then I’d have to step over it.
Scott Lanegan: “So…this shit is for the AAA Medallion? I’ve heard about it.”
I talked to myself while making my bed. That’s one thing nobody would catch me doing; cleaning up after myself. Whether it was the dishes or my opponents, I’d never clean it up.
Scott Lanegan: “A chance at any title at any time at any place. I bet the other 7 will all be imagining themselves the winner. They’d be relaxing in the back, thinking which title they want to go after. Pondering and thinking and deciding. Hell, that’s what I’ll be doing as well.”
I finished up and visited the bathroom. I won’t go in detail there, just to spare people time.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
3PM. I felt bored and dull later that day. I had agreed to visit a comedy club with Steven. Some laughter in my life would wash away that gray. But Steven must have got a cheap deal at a shit place. It was packed with people. I couldn’t see their faces, or much less, cared to see. Smoke filled the area, entering the lungs on everyone. We had found a booth of our own at the back of the club.
The lights dimmed and it got dark. A person in a cheesy black suit arrived at the front of the stage. He had this huge smile on his face. I never understood why he was so happy, since nothing had started. He said a few things on the microphone, but it never tuned inside my head. I guess it wasn’t interesting enough to remember.
After he left, another man, with a just-as-bad suit on, arrived on the stage. He said a few things and people chuckled. He said a few more things and they busted out into laughter. I look over at Steven, whom had a confused look on his face.
Steven: “What’s this guy suppose to be, tongue-in-cheek?”
Scott Lanegan: “More like tongue-in-balls if you ask me…”
We stayed for a few more minutes.
Scott Lanegan: “Dude, when we get back, can I use that cheap camera of yours?”
Steven: “Going to cut another promo?”
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah. I don’t think the studio is open today so I should just do a makeshift one.”
He nodded.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
8PM. I propped the cheap camera up inside my living room. It was small, with a steady stand underneath. I turned off the lights to give off a gray effect. I sat down in my chair and took out a can of Vault. The drink easily went down my throat, refreshing coldness inside. I set the can down and looked inside the camera.
Scott Lanegan: “This whole scenario…this whole match…it’s an oil spill. You got 8 wrestlers trying to knock the f**k out of each other. I’ll start with the first guy I heard was in the match, and that was Eddie Jones. If Eddie wins this, he’ll have the medallion…plus a shot at the TV Title anyway.”
I shrugged.
Scott Lanegan: “He doesn’t need that kind of shit. He loses every other match. Sure, he’s cool and all, but POW doesn’t need another slacking champion.”
Scott Lanegan: “Then there’s Kyle Neverwinter, or as my buddy told me earlier, Kyle Neverwinner. He mentioned that he didn’t know me. He didn’t care to know me. He wanted “Fate” to decide things. Is this dude superstitious or something? Will “Fate” make him win? Will “Fate” grab him a title? Will “Fate” suck his dick? I don’t think so.”
Scott Lanegan: “This guy has been here for 2 weeks…and already gets a shot of a lifetime. I want to know how much he paid Nick Pickles to get in this match.”
Scott Lanegan: “I later realized that my recent partner Gypsy is in this match, whom hasn't been here long too. She can become the first woman to hold a title in POW…technically. After seeing how tough she was in our last match when tagging, I’ll have to keep an eye on her the entire time…in a totally non-sexual way.”
I took another gulp from the Vault. I tossed it aside and it clanked onto the ground.
Scott Lanegan: “I suggest that the girl watches who she wrestles with. I won’t back down from a female like her…technically.”
Scott Lanegan: “And up next is Graves. He eats shit and lives alone in a room with a lone light bulb. I want to know how he got in this match. He hasn’t been here in awhile and suddenly pops out of the ground…no pun intended…and gets a shot at the AAA thing. Kind of weird.”
Scott Lanegan: “I don’t care what Graves does. I’ve seen him in matches before, and he’s decent. Decent. That’s right…decent. I’m not afraid to say it, because it’s true.”
Scott Lanegan: “Wait a second, there was also Flap Flanagan. Yeah, Flap keeps getting title shots. Who keeps pushing this guy? I like him and all…but the dude needs to slow down and realize what he’s doing. He’s rushing, that’s what.”
Scott Lanegan: “I won’t turn down Flap. I don’t doubt him. History states he’s done some amazing things with his career. He’s won more titles than his brother and the main eventer, Reck Maverick. That’s something not to overlook. I won’t do that with Flap. Then again, the guy is a nobbler. There’s no question what he might do next. The last time I watched him, he started playing cards at ringside.”
Scott Lanegan: “Of course, the next person is Night. He’s the rightful owner of the AAA Medallion. Yet, he shit on it and decided not to use it. Not my problem, it’s his. Now he has the chance to get it back. If I remember right, him and Daye proclaimed themselves to be the best tag team in the Northeast. They wanted to make an impact, and they wanted to keep the belt to themselves. But, if I remember right again, they lost to…Stoned Raiders.”
I laughed for a second.
Scott Lanegan: “Sure, they’re my friends and all…but once you proclaim you’re the best, and then get your asses kicked by a couple of stoners…isn’t it embarrassing? I’m surprised to see Night crawl back to the Midwest here.”
I looked directly into the camera, obviously talking to someone so-to-speak.
Scott Lanegan: “And finally is the guy that I look forward to meeting again…Kaleb Shadix. Kaleb, I suggest you don’t even speak beforehand. I already know what it’ll be about. First you’ll rant about losing to Rich Morrison. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’. Next you’ll talk about some of your opponents. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’. After that, you’ll moan about being the next champion or whatever. Then you’ll say ‘f**k’ a few hundred times.”
Scott Lanegan: “Kaleb, the highest you’ll ever go in POW is the Television Title. Last time we met, it was for that title. But I’m not going to just walk away after that loss. Nope…that’s because you cheated, and that’s it. But come next time, you can’t cheat. You won’t be able to. Not this time, Kaleb, not this time.”
I grinned as I looked into the menacing camera.
[][][][][][][][][][][][]
11PM. Another hard day’s work of waking up, visiting a comedy club, eating stuff and talking in a camera had breezed by. I was in my bedroom with all the lights turned off. I looked outside of my glass window. I slightly saw the reflection of myself. A bruised man. A scarred man. Myself. I had no point of direction, so I created it myself. I created my own future, or at least I thought that’s what I was doing.
A figure had slapped up against the window. I jumped back at an instant, but realized it was nothing but a small moth. The emotions were scattered on the window; blood, sweat and tears. I slowly moved in, but it simply flew off with no problem, like as if it never even touched the glass. That thing had no point of direction as well.
A big match was coming, and it decided my future. It wasn’t “Fate” that was going to decide it, but it was something else called “Scott Lanegan”.