Post by The Gangsta on Sept 9, 2014 19:12:05 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
Bloodied Eagle
Coming out of a neighborhood full of drugs and crime, I never fully understood what my purpose in life was. I dreamed in my sleep of being a poor demonic soul raised from the depths of hell to seek revenge on those who frowned upon me. I’m sure every teenager at the time had deep, dark, and twisted thoughts about life.
“Stop bullying me.”
“Stop teasing me.”
“Stop yelling at me.”
Psshhtt. These people didn’t know the essence of life if it smacked them across the face. They just played it out carefully to make people feel their “pain”. Well, at 16, I’m sure that they never had twitches in their brain that they just couldn’t control or some ing hick of a father constantly tormenting your every single move. Point is this people; don’t make promises you can’t keep. I made that mistake once and it cost me my entire life.
May 13th, 2005
Friday the 13th
Whitner Household, Yonkers, New York
“Hey Ante, get me a beer while you at it, will ya?”
Like any other teen doing chores, I was washing dishes until my S.O.B father walked in from work.
“Yeah, sure.”
Charlie was out, probably smoking a joint or shooting up. I didn’t see him the entire day. But, as of later, WFWF had gotten the interests of my brother and he started to get into it. He attended a few training camps across the city, but barely committed to it. One night I asked him how it was and he replied:
“Get the outta my face. Roids are the best option in my opinion.”
I entered the den of my vintage household. Same rotted wood floors, same broken mirror glass, same ing smell. I gave my father his Budweiser and I was back in the kitchen. Then, Charlie walked in the door.
“Hey guys…I’ve…been out…fawwwrr..a…little while.”
And just like that he fell to the floor. His mind couldn’t take it anymore, the weed, the heroin, the medications. I came rushing towards him and for once in his life, so did my father.
“Charlie, you ing idiot.”
My dad usually murmured when he was disappointed in one of us. It was rare to see him in such a mellow state of rage.
We carried Charlie to our bedroom, which still had the suffocating smell of smoke. We laid him down and then, WHOOP! My dad smacked me across my face as hard as he can and I fell to the floor.
“WHAT THE IS WRONG WITH YOU ANTE? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE TAKING CARE OF HIM YOU ING BITCH!!!”
I fought back the tears, got up and punched him straight in his face.
“That’s it. Ante has won the match!”
I quickly ran out the door and ran to of course, Frankie’s house. To my surprise, he wasn’t home. I then heard my dad stumbling out of my front door yelling at me to come back and face him like a man.
I kept running down the block, poised never to return again.
-------------------------
My lips are quivering at the sight of Nikki Dean holding the National Title. She holds it as a sign of symbolism, which really kinda is. Top guys like Drakz, Trace Demon, and Reverend Shadow have held this title, but to me, the National Title is just the food to an eagle’s little pack of baby birds. If I’m fed the National Title, no one, and I mean no one will ever get in my way.
Nikki Dean’s little pretty face shows her what a joke she ing is. She shows WFWF fans all around the globe how to be a gold digger. She should write a ing book titled, “How to Marry an A-List Wrestler for his Money for Dummies, by yours truly, Nikki “the joke” Dean.” Ha, now listen to me, the real National Titleholder is finally here. This title has been vacant for some time and now it is open for a sick, twisted, psychopath, like me, to capture it and hold it as my food after weeks of starvation.
-
June 21st, 2014
Boise, Idaho
WFWF Presents, Dream Catcher
My eyes are glaring around the owner’s office. Shawn Malakai is sitting down in his intimidating chair behind his glass desk. He asks me to sit to negotiate a contract to fight in the WFWF. As his eyes met mine, I can see how confused he is. What does he expect? I mean, I’m a certified psycho, it says so on my diagnosis from 2005. I told him in the e-mails I’ve been sending him.
I exit the room after we negotiated the contract deal and the first person I see is this flashy, raunchy chick named Nikki Dean. She was there managing her husband, Josh Dean, who was in a match with Drakz later that night. She was just flaunting her glam around the backstage area. I despised her from the moment I saw her.
I then entered the dark room, full of scratches and markings from other psychopaths in WFWF’s history. It was about damn time I would scratch my name there too.
June 2nd, 2005
Yonkers City Hospital, Yonkers, New York
“Hey, uh, ma’am?”
“Yes young man, who are you looking to visit today?”
“Charles Trevor Whitner, ma’am.”
“Ok, we’ll be right with you in a minute.”
I sat down in the waiting room, eager to see my brother. I was fiddling with my hands, tapping my leg, doing all sorts of ing jittery moves. The elderly man sitting across from me was kind of staring at me a bit.
After about ten minutes, the nurse called me back up to the desk.
“You can go up now. His room is 309.”
“Uh, thank you ma’am.”
I ran up the stairs of the hospital. Three sets of stairs seemed like a stroll in the park for me. It’s not like I’ve run away from home for miles and miles before. I then enter the hallway of the third floor and hear coughs of addicts like my brother, recovering from similar situations.
I then stumbled upon Charlie’s room and entered.
“Hey Ante. You’re the only one who hasn’t seen me yet.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What happened?”
I looked at the door, hoping my father wouldn’t walk in on me.
“After you blacked out a few weeks ago, I punched dad square in the face.”
Charlie was astounded. He has admitted in the past that he would never dare lay his hands on our dad.
“Woah. You’ve got some big balls Ante.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I slouched down in the chair.
“So? Anything else happen afterwards?”
“Yeah, I ran until my legs gave out. I never really looked back.”
He chuckled a bit.
“Then, where have you been these past few weeks?”
I then leaned over to him and whispered in his ear:
“The Ghost’s Den.”
“No ing way dude. No, you can’t go…”
“I did Charlie.”
The Ghosts were the dominating gang in all of Yonkers. Membership was limited, the crimes were violent, and their way of living was way too different than mine. The Ghost’s Den was their hangout area, sometimes, their little apartment. It was an abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of Yonkers. There was nothing, but bullets, ripped-up furniture and cigarette butts in that place. No one, besides the Ghosts, ever dared to enter it.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through Charl…”
I fell out of my chair and started twitching a bit. I don’t remember anything else but that I woke up in the hospital room right next to Charlie’s the very next day.
----------------------
So, Nikki, do you feel yourself lately? Do you smell fear like I do? Were you ever put through constant mental pain like I do? Do you even have a ing clue of what I’ve been through? Hahahaha. Guess not, right?
I strike my opponents when they’re weak or battered down. People I’ve met in the independent circuit have told me that I am an “eagle” in the ring. That’s completely, one-hundred percent, ing right. But, in this National Title match, I am a bloodied eagle.
Dripping the salty blood of my fallen opponents.
Dripping the silent cries for help.
Dripping the future of your career.
At Grudge, Nikki Dean, I will not only take what is rightfully mine, but I will single-handedly, end your wrestling career forever. The bald eagle that I’m so often compared as will rise up, take the nation and pour a bucket of fresh blood over it.
Nikki Dean, you might as well call Grudge as the beginning of the era of the bloodied eagle. Or the era of Ante, or whatever you call it.
Are you with me or not?