Revolution: Story Time

Gather round kiddies, it is story time, and I have quite the tale to tell. The tale of a man who loses his way, and finds it in the least expected of places. Great, you have heard stories like this before? Cliché? Well crap… you know what? I am going tell it anyways; sit there, shut up, and listen. Our story begins with a hero far too sober for his surroundings and daily dealings. What could he do, but tolerate the life dealt to him?

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Reverend stumbled in from the bar, but he was far from drunk. The stumbles were pure exhaustion, and the bar was an affirmation of will. He had passed the self-inflicted test, but the truth was, Trist tested him more than any open bottle could.

When he arrived home, and found a vehicle outside the motel room. Shadow was sure that the Ice Cream truck was not anyone he knew, but figured that it probably had something to do with his asinine roommate. Rev. hadn’t seen a day of peace since returning to the ring, and felt like peace was long overdue. A promise he couldn’t keep to himself, and a pain in the ass he couldn’t shake. Short of murder, Trist was a permanent ornament in the poor preacher’s life.

Reverend pressed his key into the lock, and let the door slide open; lucky number four, his favorite room. He walked through the wormhole, and it carried him to Trist, who laid on Shadow’s bed; eating.

“May I inquire as to why exactly there is a rusted popsicle mobile outside our room?”

He asked out of courtesy, but the answer was a ring on Trist’s finger. A key ring that held two keys, and chain with a bulbous clown head. Shadow rolled his eyes and roamed to the fridge, popped it open, and pulled out a drink. He barely steered himself from the beer he kept as a reminder. The soda was wet, but without the brain numbing that he would need for the answers Trist usually concocted.

Shadow swung round, and glared at the glazed eyes of his roomie, “I am guessing it was my money you used to acquire this?”

“Well no crap, I don’t have any ing money.”

The good Reverend rubbed his forehead, but wished her could rub his mind (or possibly rub Trist out of it). He opted not to dwell on the obvious, and let his mouth moved with practicality, “Does it run?”

“You’re not mad?” Trist gave a quizzical gaze, and seemed in awe at the fact he wasn’t being cursed for being a moron. The truth was, Shadow didn’t feel like cursing him, and knew the outcome wouldn’t change.

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You see kiddies, a hero must not fight just great battles, but also many in the minor. The hero must find his way, and decide which of them truly worth his stand. A concept lost on most of life, as we find ourselves standing up to every pressure and push. Sometimes a hero must let the stream find its own way to the river.

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Reverend huffed, “Would you rather me be upset, because I am sure I could conjure that sort of demon if you have enough candles?”

“Whatever, back to your weird talking I see. I swear, every damn day you act a little more ing odd. I miss the guy who got wasted, and wrecked our house every weekend.” Trist’s words were strong, but his tone trembled. His buddy Jason had changed, and continued to evolve. The idea that this man was once the weak knee drunk with a head buried in a toilet, and piss laden pants, was a faded memory. Trist quickened to the question, “Yea, yea it runs good to. Plus I can make us some money.”

“You’re going to sell stuff from that rust bucket; to kids?”

“Well, I mean I know it needs a paint job- Wait, you, at least I am trying to do something. You use to bitch all the damn time about me getting out, and getting a ing job. I am doing just that, and now you are arguing bullcrap like this? you dude, seriously.”

Reverend paid him no mind, and wandered over to the table. He moved a bag, which looked like Laurens, to the ground. Shadow sat, and sipped his soda, without a worry in his mind; tuned out the nature of situation, and his life in general. His upcoming match clawed its way from the depths of his soul, and settled in his throat; a mix of the blind hunger, and mild illness. The choice of who he faced, and what he did to them, was out of his hands; two very different demons. One went by the name Trace, and the other had no name that could be heard by the human ear. Reverend had no control, and felt empty at the thought.

Trist broke the spell, “Dude, what the hell is going on with you? Have a few too many at the bar?”

“I didn’t have any.”

“Well, there is the damn problem, your ass is ing sober. You need to get your crap together and get loaded or something. Jesus er, I can’t tolerate this crap. You’re all ‘broody’ and ‘serious’. “

Shadow said nothing, what could he say; should he say? He tried to file Trist’s words away, but he couldn’t bury them deep enough. With that, curiosity caught his mind, and he picked up Lauren’s bag. Shadow sifted through the contents, while his roommate watched with a wide grin.

“You truly are an bunghole deep down aren’t you, rifling through a lady's things.”

The good Reverend ignored the ploy for attention, and continued his current state. He found a giant folder, with a huge clip latched over a swath of papers. A sizeable quake struck the table as the file crashed down. With a quick wrist, Rev. ran his fingers through the pages. He skimmed, read, and cringed at what he found; a psyche evaluation for patient #4286.

“Well what’s inside? Don’t hold out on me man. If you are going to be a nosy nelly, then at least share some of the good stuff. Oh right, Lauren should be back soon too. I guess she considered the lack of groceries to be a sign that you can’t ing take care of yourself.” Trist gave a great guffaw between every sentence, but Shadow found solace deep in the anonymous file. A good bit of names and dates were blacked out, but all the interesting information could be seen without a single squint.

“Looks to be some sort of homework from her classes at the university. You know, her psychology work.”

“Oh, I ing know, and I ing hate that dumb crap. Always feels like she is psychoing me or some crap like that. If it wasn’t for the fact she brought me here, I wouldn’t have a damn thing to do with her ass.”

“You wouldn’t be worth her time to analyze, unless she wished to study the effects of life on a stunted mind.”

Trist’s face drew smile on his lips, “Now there is the Jason I know, smart ass dick. I knew you were rattling around in that sober shell of yours. I still think you need to get ed up before this dumb crap eats you alive. That reminds me, I heard you were going to get your ass beat by a couple of girls next show; that true?”

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Occasionally the battle that must be won, and must be fought, is one that the Hero would rather not. You don’t get to pick the walls that must crumble, but sometimes you can pick how you tear them down. Do you do it with finesse; a chisel and hammer? Or do you throw your weight behind a sledgehammer, and wreck the brick foundations? That is the true choice of a hero, when faced with a task greater than themselves, and against everything they believe in. The need can consume, or it can be controlled, there is no grey area in the hero’s journey to ascension.
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Shadow’s rage surged, but ebbed down before he spoke, “I have a match against two ladies, yes.”

“Just saying, chances of you keeping up this winning streak is about as slim as your chances with Lauren,” Trist cast a small chuckle, but if it was a joke, then Reverend didn’t get it; had no intention to get it.

The good Reverend’s pupils went red, and the rage wouldn’t be curtailed this time. No, this time it would light the fire in his belly, and burn through any patience in reserve. “I don’t have to prove anything to your pathetic ignorant mouthing. The truth of the matter is, when I step in between those ropes, they know exactly who I am inside, and they cower at the fact that I am back! This idea that I am somehow just putting on a show; façade? Well, I am very sorry to inform you, but it is simply untrue. I will be facing off against whoever is stacked against me, and I will break them mentally, and physically. There is a reason when other wrestlers see me coming, that they move from my presence, or sit in fear of what could come! There is a reason loved ones cry when they see their mates beaten bloody, and look on in disgust as I swim in their tears!

“To put it in the naïve terms that you can comprehend, I WOULD WATCH MY ING MOUTH IF I WERE YOU!”

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The only true battle that the hero faces, is the one that lies in himself. Sometimes it is demons of the past, and sometimes it is premonitions of the future. What must come to pass is twofold; the hero must give up hold over everything, and all the while taking back control. There is no other way to fight off that which is not physical, but is instead buried deep in the psyche; uncertainty, insecurity, or even a lack of faith.

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An Ice-Cream truck; a ing frozen treat on wheels. There is a hell, and Shadow was sure he finally arrived. Of course, the coolers were empty, but that didn’t change how he felt. It was far from luxury, and Rev. loathed the idea of driving such a thing during the day. He liked low-key; this was not low-key, but it actually ran better than the rusty appearance foretold. That and he was happy enough to have it now.

After the all the yelling, the wild-fire, and the fear in Trist; it was nice to pick up some smoke without having to rely on Lauren. She would have lectured him the whole way, and Shadow didn’t need the motherly tongue. No, the only woman he could tolerate was one who probably hated him; Penny. She may have been his opponent, but she carried the best bud. Well that, and the fact that she followed the same tour schedule. Ease of access was not lost on Shadow, and she was always happy to oblige.

The truck came to halt, as he pulled up, at another motel. The truth was, most of the wrestlers to temporary rooms; part of the life. Penny must have heard the train wreck of an engine stop, because she walked out just as he stepped out.

“Really dude?” Penny skipped around looking it over, all while Reverend waited for a joke. He may have been impatient with Trist, but he had all the patience in the world for her wit. “It is not that I am freaked out by it, but come on, this thing screams for attention!” She flailed her arms in the trucks direction, and her eyes flailed with insinuation, “But you know, with those coolers packed with ice pops, and a paint job, this could be really chill.” Penny continued her analysis; this time she popped up over Shadow’s shoulder and peeked into the driver’s side; her toes on the tips, “I am totally stealing this one day.”

“I don’t care, my roommate bought it. Honestly, the thing feels like an eyesore, but it runs.” Shadow slunk to the front of the mobile, leaned back, and looked into the stars. “And yea, I know, the damn thing is like a pedo’s wet dream. Hence why you don’t see the white-collar.”

His words roamed into space, but Penny snatched them up, “Which is why I said with a fresh coat, you could ride this baby into any safe white neighborhood, and snatch you a school boy without all the hassle!” A chorus of cackle belted from her belly, but she saved the day; a jay appeared. Penny pressed it to her lips, and puffed as fire caught the end. Reverend watched with an anticipatory gaze, and she pushed the beauty his way, “Sample?”

Shadow wasted not a single second; he retrieved the rolled green, and took a sincere toke. He let the taste linger leisurely over his taste buds. With the cloud out, and his mind cleared, he could talk without worry lodged in throat. One could have mistaken his eyeballs for blood gems, “Holy crap, that is good stuff,” he passed it back to Penny, “And trust me, I know holy.”

The haze always brought the humor out of Shadow, and it was nearly the only damn thing that did. He could be funny, but it usually was coarse with symbolism. Layered thick with context that would confuse the naïve, and send the intellectual to seizure. No, now he could just been funny, and Penny seemed to enjoy it, “Pretty clean crap, my girl calls it The Atomic Cuddle.”

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There are moments in a hero’s story such as this, where they must find time to let go; time to laugh. It is not so much about forgetting the tribulations past, or the trials to come. But it is about the ability to know that this is not where a true being can dwell all the time, we all have to have our moments of Jest. The hero needs a jester to come, and bring hearty joy to their soul.

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She dropped the ash with precision, and passed the joint. Shadow eased another cloud into his lungs, and released slow; letting the smoke sail with each syllable, “I don’t care what you call it, I just know I need me an ounce.” Then Rev. lowered his eyes to Penny, and empathy laced his them. He hugged her with an air of care, “Are you feeling ok? You know, with what happened last show; Trace didn’t seem to care. I can’t bring myself to the same sentiment.”

The joint turned into a conversation totem, as it passed they took their turn to talk. Penny looked uneasy about being questioned, but the green helped. She let those whimsical gates fall to her feet, and her voice fell with them, “I’m fine, it’s Scarlett I am worried about.” She drew in one more hit, before the torch passed. “Whatever, I’m not gonna let this crap get to me.”

This time, Shadow waved the weed away; he didn’t want anymore. Candor called, and inhibition carried a slightly different tune, “I am glad one of us isn’t, just seems like I have waded through hellfire since my return; uncertain of where or why I even bother.

“Take this match for instance, it is just another ing match. I hate to banter on like this, but I haven’t a damn clue where my puzzles pieces are, let alone where they fit. Part of me wonders why I bothered coming back.”

“Simple, the same reason we all are here,” Penny took a slow drag, “There is nowhere else for us to go. Look at us; a middle-aged priest out in the middle of the night to buy weed off a man hatin’ lesbo. We wouldn’t have lives if not for this…Wrestling!”

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And in the Jester’s jokes, the hero can find truth, and even solace if they look hard enough. It isn’t set in stone, and no fate holds the key to their destiny. Choices; choices rooted deep in reflection, and reinvention of the self.

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Celeste appeared before Penny, but Rev couldn’t comprehend her existence. She fluttered, and then perched on Penny’s shoulder, “Awwww, poor guy.”

Wrestling, wrestling, WRESTLING; Shadow stood at the top of her response, and peered over the valley of his woes, far below. This was how he had to see them, from afar. “You may be right, but I can’t help but feel conflicted about this match. I know that victory is my goal, and I know the steps that must be taken to win, but that isn’t exactly what Trace wants…”

Trace hadn’t told Rev. what he wanted, but one only needed to listen to his blood whisper. He wanted Shadow to sound the seventh trumpet, and bring the apocalypse down to that ring. Trace wanted the four horseman to trot their steeds, and stampede what was left of Penny and Scarlett. The ache in the good Reverend’s heart wanted none of it, but the hunger in the pit of his stomach never wanted anything more.

The pixie, with a flying kiss, promptly placed herself in Penny’s bosom, as she finished Shadow’s sentence for him, “He wants you to hurt us, I know, I have been around Trace long enough to know how he wants this crap to play out. it, I have been a good girl for too long!”

“Just watch yourself, my contract is owed to him, and I know what that means. But that doesn’t mean that this is what I wanted.” Reverend snatched the roach from between Penny’s fingers and took another hit; he needed another hit. This was all too much for him, “So how ‘bout that ounce? Sorry, all this talk is making me ill.”

“Yea, is a bit of downer,” Penny then pulled from her pouch two baggies. One was filled with pre rolled fatties, and other carried two dense buds that sparkled in the low night lights. “The wrapped crap is what you are smoking, and the buds are called Shining Neptune. I swear to God that it is the most insanely pretty high you have ever had.”

“I could probably use pretty right now,” Shadow drew the money from his pocket and tossed it to her; he snagged the bag with the buds. His gut wrenched, and his teeth nearly bit off his tongue in rebellion of what he said next; a warning, “This guy you are smoking with, is not the same man you will meet in the ring at Revolution; remember that. Put me down quick, if you can.”

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All that is left now for the hero, is to face the challenge head on; both internally, and externally. If he can find himself, and if he can find his way to victory. Then, and only then, might he find the peace he seeks.