Post by Dex on Oct 30, 2016 20:23:55 GMT -5
This Must Be the Place
Dex SuperBrawl RP
~
Everything we are comes down to one moment. One slight second, a misstep of actions or words, and everything we've ever known ceases to exist. We fade into obscurity and become an ancient relic of the past. It's happening all around us, with each second that passes. With every single tick of the clock, the reaper has stricken another soul, and killed an innocent person like a serial killer that crunches on merciless slaying. It's another body to the pit. The pit will never end. There is no light at the end of the pit, no air to grasp, no matter beyond the deteriorating bones.
But with each second that a soul is vanquished, the opening eyes of life are born. A child sees his future for the very first time and witnesses life, seeing the mother he was kept inside and the name that he shall bear. A child has learned to his bicycle alone with no wheels, or no assistance in sight. An old man has learned a new trick, and has been made happy by the inconsequential ramblings of the universe.
Everything can go right - just as everything can go wrong. There will only be seconds and a matter of life or death, and everything we do is judged by the figment of outer powers that choose our steps and shift our moves like pawns on a chess-board. SuperBrawl itself will come down to a trick of the valiant, it will down to the heart of the beings, it will come down to the seconds of chosen and un-chosen, and I assure you that I am the chosen.
Penny will enter the pit and lose her name. She'll become two lines of text at the bottom of the 549th page, in the distant book of fighting history.
It's really only too bad that only one of us will be on the cover of that book.
Penny Shannon knows it.
I know it.
Come SuperBrawl, the entire world will know it.
~
"You just don't have what it takes.""He's nothing, Shawn Malakai gave him everything and he still couldn't win a match until he was pressed against newbies."
"This is going to be the biggest fight of your career."
"If you lose you have nothing left."
"Paper-Champion."
"Paper-Champion."
"Wanna-be."
"Golden-boy."
"Talent-less."
The echo-chamber of doubt spirals around in my head every-time I sleep. SuperBrawl and Penny Shannon's head on a stake only approaches, its the only visual I've trained myself to see.
He puts his hand on Dex's shoulder, as he open hiseyes to the visual of Master Katsu. It's been months since we've had any interaction, besides the one-off moment in Baltimore. I needed an escape from all that had been chasing me, and creeping behind. It was the first time that I had ever traveled to China. It was a far different environment than Japan, and it was even evident in Katsu's formally experienced-self. He was just equally as lost as I had been.
Katsu and Dex walked steadily up a mossy-mountain, Katsu lagging behind with the forced usage of a wooden staff.
"You're startled aren't you?"
Dex took a deep breath, perhaps it was due to the quickened changing of altitudes, but more than likely it was the internal reorganization of all his thoughts running through his head.
"It's hard to really talk about how I feel, you know how that is."
"Of course. You've been troubled ever since I've known you. When you fled your home to train, when you joined the WFWF in the pursuit of your dreams, and when I saw you after years."
"You said I changed."
"You did, only slightly. You became more confident and more sure of yourself."
There was another pause as they continued up the mountain, following the direction of a local on the back of a donkey.
"But that's gone now Dexter."
"Don't think that just because my match is coming up that I can't-.."
He was interrupted.
"To win any battle, you must know yourself before all else. You've never even fought with weapons before. Much less have you fought a woman."
"What the hell are you trying to say?"
"I'm trying to say that you need to relax. Gain the mental fortitude and lose the ego."
The Shaolin are known for their high-discipline. Their daily regiments that they institute as a part of themselves, they are the beliefs that they carry. Strong. Sturdy. Certain. At peace with the world and the dynamic system of life that only changes with the passing of a day. And I'm lying to myself daily. Lying to myself that I'm the greatest to ever live, lying to myself that I believe that I deserve this victory. Deep down inside I know that the end won't be kind to me. That time won't give me all that I need. And I'll be exposed for what I really am at the end of all things.
Selfish.
Deceitful.
Cold.
A lost-cause.
Eternally wearing a mask, that will never shed.
The two walked atop the mountain for what was hours, yet seemed to go by as if they were seconds: of needless comments about the beauty of the mountain, the weather, and the mysterious and jaded Chinese culture. They were deep in the Wudang mountains, and began to walk across the narrowed streets, until they inevitably arrived at the entrance to the Taoist temple that sat atop the mountain.
They bowed their heads as orange laden men walked them into the main court-yard square. The men were dispersed, some were engaged in the rhythmic fighting of air - taichi, while others sat and meditated.
We can never change who or what we are. We can only pretend to be what we think we are. But in the end, illusions run dry, secrets run loose, and endings loom. Maybe it was the incense that crowded the walls, but Dex felt almost intoxicated. Katsu motioned for an orange man. The monk ordered Dex and Katsu to sit atop the ground.
"I just can't f*cking do this anymore man!" Dex dove his head into the palms of his hands and screamed out into the temple. All turned around suddenly.
Katsu placed his hand atop the back of Dex's shoulder blade and moved closer.
"What do you mean?" He tried to be as quiet as he could. But the movement of mice would awaken the temple with blasting roars of sound.
"The match. Penny Shannon. SuperBrawl."
He quickly shook his head and continued to spew. His head falling deeper into his hands, clenching the greasy bangs of his hair.
"The f*ckin' girl.
The pressure.
The dead-beat who never gave a sh*t about me died!
I didn't do a god-d*mn thing to stop it. To help him. To f*ckin' mend the bullsh*t he's put me through. I couldn't be the bigger man! I couldn't be what my mother wanted me to be.
Money..money..too much b*tchin' devil money! What the hell am I supposed to do?! Donate it to the poor or homeless or some sh*t!?
And then I f*cked over my mentor, treated him like a piece of sh*t, and here I am in god-damned dog-eating China! Trying to find myself like some Nicholas Sparks-Walter Mitty early-life crisis!
F*ck it! I want to blast my head and have Penny Shannon pork me on the inside! Donate my brain to science to see a f*cked up specimen!"
Tears began to stream along the cheeks of Dex. They weren't at all manly, the majority of them soaking into the four-day old stubble beard that made Dex look much older than he actually was. More monks and Taoists approached until they entirely encircled Dex and Katsu.
Katsu placed his arm fully around Dex. One of the monks kneeled closer to Dex. Placing his hand on his shoulder, causing Dex to sporadically look up with rage in his eyes.
The man spoke English with a thick accent.
"You must free yourself. You have chains all around you." The man looked deep into Dex's eyes.
"Dexter. Release the negative energy that you have funneling inside. That's the only way to move forward. To enter SuperBrawl, the future of your life with a clear, open, conscious mind. You must do it."
Dex took a deep sigh. Looking around for a moment. There were no cameras. No recordings. Only Master Katsu and the circling array of orange clothed monks.
"I've never fit in. I've always tried to but I never have. There isn't a moment where I'm happy for more than a few seconds before life comes crashing down. I'm always looking for my next thrill, the next thing to give me the happiness that I know wont last. Because it never does."
He paused.
"Everything in life is just me fighting to get what I want and then I realize that I don't even want it anymore. It's not good enough for me. Nothing is good enough. I'm working hard. So f*ckin' hard to be the man everyone back home would be proud of. But they know me. They know that I'm not the hometown hero, the good-guy with a toothy smile; that's the sh*t they sell on TV. I'm violent. Angry. Jealous. I want and want, and all I want is to consume everything around me."
"There's no group of monks, or people that can save me from what I know I am. I'm bloodthirsty for success, I'm the biggest bunghole I know and there's no salvation for guys like me."
The leading man in orange nodded his head.
"It's okay Dexter." Katsu attempted to reassure Dex, but he could not stop the onslaught that he started.
"F*ck Penny Shannon! I wish my life didn't depend on the rush I get from hurting people! Dying second by second the only thing that keeps me standing is the thing that hurts me the most!"
He paused before continuing.
"There's this rage in me that I just can't control and I never could control. I watched my mother die. I did nothing to help my father. I've run away from every problem I've ever had, and I can't stop. I want to run from the WFWF and give up."
"I know that you can still change. There is still time. It isn't over until the clock has run out."
"I don't see me ever getting out alive."
"You're young. You're strong, hardened, and a warrior who fights with all he can. That puts you beyond every man I've ever known."
There was a silence as the monks simultaneously bowed their heads towards Dex. Katsu helped him get up by gripping the collar of his shirt.
"Perhaps you are all of those things. But you cannot deny your talent."
"I can see it in him." One of the monks uttered in a broken accent.
"Remember that you were chosen to be the WFWF Champion, by someone whose dying wish was to help a friend begin to believe in himself. But that isn't all you are. The story is not over. The past is written but the future is yet to come Dexter!" He slapped the back of Dex and grinned.
"Penny Shannon will not beat you. You will get everything that you've put in. I can promise you that." He continued as Dex wiped his face with his sleeve. He nodded his head. The monks walked him to the center of the monastery. He was handed an orange suit, and began to practice taichi.
l we are is all we can ever be. I can never be someone I'm not. For the longest time I've sought to be this perfect, idealized figure that does not exist. There's a reason it's fictitious, because no person can ever be like that. I've often thought that I'd join the twenty-seven club and go my own way - whether that be to heaven or to hell.
But the universe has a strange, yet methodical way of working. I was chosen. Anointed. For whatever unknown reason, I was the one millionth sperm picked in my mother's egg in a true life or death situation and everything else is child's-play. I don't know about the certainty of fate, or the uncertainty of tomorrow. But I'm sure that the mask is fully off and slowly fading away to reveal a face that I never really knew.
The physical one came off at the last SuperBrawl against ZMaster. But the metaphorical one lies in my victory over Penny Shannon at the next one.
~
Sometimes I remember my father in fragments. He appears and then he leaves, only tightening the scars that he left. There are far too many times when I am left to be taken advantage of, and disfigured by anyone who knows anything of me. The inside of me is still the kid from the side of the road, the distanced veteran father and the absent mother, whose only image left is that of her suicide. I can't count how many times I've put on the metaphorical mask and changed everything about me, hoping that I'd forget, hoping that others would forget. But the past creeps on and it never ends. There is never a break, never a resting moment for the deplorable.
The floorboards creak with every step, and every object is passed upon with the glimmer of a bright light held in the hands of Dex. The tape around the home is easily avoided. But the vines and thorn bushes creeping along the front-door and breaking through to the inside of the home, crunches of torn glass around the floor proved to be far more pestilent. They made the mistake of leaving the lock, using the same key he had since he fled to Japan never looking back.
Everything was untouched, and yet, it was decaying. There was a stench that clung to Dex's clothes the minute he walked into the home. The occasional cockroach would hide upon the arrival of light, and the munching of rats upon kitchen crumbs could be heard. Most of all, was the eerie sound that crept behind him. It couldn't have been the wind chimes from outside, as the wind was calm - softer than usual, and it couldn't have been anything else besides from within the figment of the home itself.
"The couch. We used to watch the old fights, that was the only thing me and him had in common." He held the flickering light upon the tattered old couch for several moments.
~
"You see that old motherf*cker Raider never goes down!" Dex's father crashed the bottom of the beer can atop the coffee table as he sat with the arm around a bowl-cutted and crooked teeth Dex.
"He's gonna lose next time!" Dex angrily crossed his arms and slid to the other-side of the couch, cornering himself and sinking into the cushions.
"In your f*cken dreams kid. He's got the grit of a marine. No one can handle that son of a b*tch."
The flashing lights of the box television sprung all throughout the dark room. Raider holding the WFWF Championship in the center of the ring, bruised and battered, with his rival downed in the ring, quenching in pain.
"Raider ain't so tough, dad, don't be so sure of it. I can take him down."
"Don't be so f*ckin' insolent." His father sent his hand crashing against the back of Dex's head, as he sprung forward, nearly falling out of the couch. His father loudly laughed and grabbed the beer again and took another swig. Some of the beer catching itself into the hair follicles of his beard. Dex gripped the back of his head but did not cry. This wasn't the first time, and it was almost as if he'd developed a resistance to pain. If a tear shed, he'd be called a b*tch and be given one much, much, worse.
"What makes him so tough than?"
"He never calls it quits. When someone gives him an ass-kicking, he sure as hell fires it back ten times worse. He doesn't run away from his fears and cry in his locked room like you do. He doesn't give up. Not like you, when the other kids play football and you don't know their names so you come b*tchin' back here to me."
"I wanna fight like you dad." He slid closer to his father, who remained planted, eyes glued to the flashing lights of the television screen. The snores of his mother taking prevalence over the volume of the television.
"You aren't meant for that. You're too damn soft. Let me see who you are.." Dex's father pushed Dex away and glanced at him for several moments, inspected all parts of his face as if he'd never seen him before.
He continued.
"A poet. Loser b*tchin' about a woman leaving him. Leech on social security and unemployment. Coming home begging more from me." Little Dexter brutally shook his head, and his face remained in spite. The clench of his fists growing in tightness.
But the WFWF was all the two had. The bond of pain, the bond of violence. The string of masochism that Dex simply cannot escape.
~
He glanced away from the couch, shaking his head as the glimmer of light sprung all throughout the house, as if he had an intent on finding something unseen.
He left the living room and followed the narrow passage way to his room. The door was cracked open, the race-car bed with scrapbooks and dated books cornering all figments of the walls.
With the darting of his flashlight he only saw the creeping figure of his child-like self fighting another person atop the bed. He had him in a head-lock, pushing him off of the bed, and holding the fictitious belt.
~
All of it was starting to become much clearer.
The moment he blinked and opened his eyes, a child with blue skin sat atop his bed. He was startled, stepped back and crashed himself into the wall to which he heard the ripping of posters behind him. The child gripped his knees and twirled his head at a ninety degree angle with a smile that went from ear to ear and covered the mass of his face.
"It's been years." Dex shook his head as he sat beside the child figure.
"You haven't forgotten my name have you?" The child spoke in a peculiar English accent.
"No Charlie I haven't."
"Good good. Let's cut to the chase. I know why you're here."
"Tell me." Dex chuckled.
"You're looking to find evidence of your father's killer. Before the investigation gets here, that is. Lucky for you this place has been searched all over by the authorities. Don't you see this tape all over here?" Charlie pointed his stubby arms all around the room.
"You f*ckin Junior, you don't know how much I hate you." He shrugged.
"Lucky for you. I've got a gift. Comes with a price though!" He placed his hands within his pamper diaper, just above his nearly absent crotch-bump.
"You got evidence?"
"Of course I do big man. Everything for my little-brother." Soon enough, Charlie somehow removed a gun from his diaper. Pressing it onto the lap of Dex.
"You did it huh? This is the only trail?"
"Yep. That's the only trace of that son of a b*tch. I'm good at what I do. The bestest. You're the bestest brother you know that!"
"You don't have to sugar-coat me Charlie. What do you want?"
"Normally I'd say I want Penny Shannon's head. But I think you've got that bud." A cigar magically popped up in his tiny hands, as he took a long deep puff, that extruded a long breeze of blue smoke - that looked as if a Smurf had shot with their soul ascending to heaven.
"Find him for me Dexter. Take him out. That's my father too." He continued.
"You never got to meet him."
"Maybe when you kill that guy I can get to where I need to go!"
"I will find him and teach him a lesson. I can promise you that. I took your place, I shouldn't be here right now."
"I need to get my little wings going! You need to kick-ass and take some names. Just like you always do!" Charlie's cigar disappeared, as he clutched his little fists, forming a fist bump with Dex. As soon as their fists met, Charlie dispersed. Leaving only the gun in Dex's lap, and the emptied silence of his child-hood room.
~
A small glimpse of a memory played out in his head. It was Dex, bedheaded, fighting his friend Johnny Hinters on the bed. They were play-fighting until inevitably someone got hurt.
Little Dexter threw Johnny off the bed. He landed hard on his back, gasping for air. Little Dexter rolled the pin-count and counted to ten.
As soon as Johnny was almost immobilized, Dex got off from him. He gripped the marker colored paper-title and held it above his head.
"And the new winner of the WFWF belt is 'Dexter The Great!'" His smile was entirely lit as he walked around, completely satisfied, as if nothing in life could ever top that moment.
~
"Dexter Kingsley, do you take Kristina Vukich to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest stated, as he stood in the middle of an altar, at a Catholic church. Fully drenched in a black, devilish tuxedo, with his bride to be in the most immaculate dress imaginable. Kristina looked as if she could have married Louis XIV.
There was this doubt. This cold sweat that permanently fell along the back of Dex.
Does she care about me? Does she only want me for my money? What if it doesn't work out and I end up splitting half of what I own to some b*tch I picked up at a club?
No. No she's not like that at all. She's everything I'd ever want.
I never thought I'd ask her in the first place.
I never thought I'd get here.
I never thought I'd move from disfigured parts of my own body with glass to being moments from marrying a girl who likes me for who I am.
Maybe I'm not the devil after all.
Maybe everything is coming together just right.
Maybe this is just God's plan.
There's a God? And I believe in him now?
I want to live in this hope for the rest of my life and I wish it will never fade away. This is where I want to be.
I do.
"I do."
"Kristina, do you take Dexter to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"
She can always say 'no.'
Maybe one of her drunk uncles showed up to the party today.
Maybe Penny Shannon has a devilish urge to scissor my fiance.
Maybe she was drunk when she said yes.
Ah man. I will miss screwing back-street whores and hitting up the black-listed clubs, and ordering my favorites straight from Vegas. That'll suck the most.
Alexis Texas knows I love her. Too bad Kristina is real.
She's not going to say it.
"I do." Kristina smiled from ear to ear.
"You may now kiss the bride." The priest urged the two together. The two kissed.
Time completely stopped. Joy was felt.
I am complete. And the devil in me is slowly dying.
This must be the place.
This is home.
Penny Shannon you've taken me to hell. You've shown me all of the parts of me that I wished were not possible.
I can't even comprehend now how many times I wished I could have killed you, ended you, and had everything over with. I wanted the easy way out to the world championship. But what you and I have is far greater than the weight of any belt. We are bound by blood. We are infused with two fates that are destined to do nothing but beat the hell out of each other and prove who the better person is. This industry isn't big enough to have Penny and Dex in the same ring.
A hardcore match at SuperBrawl. At the last one, upon hearing this stipulation, I would have b*tched to the brass and fought my way to a simple one on one match with a referee DQ rules and all. We can play in your element. I know that I can face the Devil in his playground and come out guns blazing, John Rambo in Vietnam, and pull off the upset that no one expected me to be able to do. Because guys like us. Guys who knew life without money, success, love, know what it's like to have nothing. I'm not supposed to be here. And every day I fight is proof that I can change what I am and force myself to be a better man.
I used to think that we can never change. God, or some mystical force, picked us out to be a certain way and we were forced to live life under that slavery. But I don't believe that anymore. I don't see myself in a mask. I don't see myself as the man who hid behind every problem that came running behind him. I can face my doubts. I can face my fears. I can try my best and assure the world that I will never go down without a fight.
Because in the end. Dex isn't the guy with a troubled childhood that he could never shake. He wasn't the guy with crippling anxiety, or even the guy who never knew what it was to love.
But Dex is the guy who never gives in. The guy who sees the world spit in his face and he does nothing but move forward and challenge everything that comes against him. I'm not going to give up, Penny Shannon owes me a hell of a match at the biggest stage in history. You pushed me to my limit. Broke me mentally, then physically, then mentally again. You made me stronger, more resilient, and better than I ever was before. And I thank you for that. This will be your last match. I will become 2-0 at SuperBrawl. I have become the legend slayer.
This is a match - not between a man and a woman, but of two men that are willing to do anything to grow their legacy and prove their worth.
Good luck.
SuperBrawl.
The squared circle, is where I'm meant to be.
The ring is the only thing I know that I will love until my heart stops, it'll love me until I'm dead.
The floorboards creak with every step, and every object is passed upon with the glimmer of a bright light held in the hands of Dex. The tape around the home is easily avoided. But the vines and thorn bushes creeping along the front-door and breaking through to the inside of the home, crunches of torn glass around the floor proved to be far more pestilent. They made the mistake of leaving the lock, using the same key he had since he fled to Japan never looking back.
Everything was untouched, and yet, it was decaying. There was a stench that clung to Dex's clothes the minute he walked into the home. The occasional cockroach would hide upon the arrival of light, and the munching of rats upon kitchen crumbs could be heard. Most of all, was the eerie sound that crept behind him. It couldn't have been the wind chimes from outside, as the wind was calm - softer than usual, and it couldn't have been anything else besides from within the figment of the home itself.
"The couch. We used to watch the old fights, that was the only thing me and him had in common." He held the flickering light upon the tattered old couch for several moments.
~
"You see that old motherf*cker Raider never goes down!" Dex's father crashed the bottom of the beer can atop the coffee table as he sat with the arm around a bowl-cutted and crooked teeth Dex.
"He's gonna lose next time!" Dex angrily crossed his arms and slid to the other-side of the couch, cornering himself and sinking into the cushions.
"In your f*cken dreams kid. He's got the grit of a marine. No one can handle that son of a b*tch."
The flashing lights of the box television sprung all throughout the dark room. Raider holding the WFWF Championship in the center of the ring, bruised and battered, with his rival downed in the ring, quenching in pain.
"Raider ain't so tough, dad, don't be so sure of it. I can take him down."
"Don't be so f*ckin' insolent." His father sent his hand crashing against the back of Dex's head, as he sprung forward, nearly falling out of the couch. His father loudly laughed and grabbed the beer again and took another swig. Some of the beer catching itself into the hair follicles of his beard. Dex gripped the back of his head but did not cry. This wasn't the first time, and it was almost as if he'd developed a resistance to pain. If a tear shed, he'd be called a b*tch and be given one much, much, worse.
"What makes him so tough than?"
"He never calls it quits. When someone gives him an ass-kicking, he sure as hell fires it back ten times worse. He doesn't run away from his fears and cry in his locked room like you do. He doesn't give up. Not like you, when the other kids play football and you don't know their names so you come b*tchin' back here to me."
"I wanna fight like you dad." He slid closer to his father, who remained planted, eyes glued to the flashing lights of the television screen. The snores of his mother taking prevalence over the volume of the television.
"You aren't meant for that. You're too damn soft. Let me see who you are.." Dex's father pushed Dex away and glanced at him for several moments, inspected all parts of his face as if he'd never seen him before.
He continued.
"A poet. Loser b*tchin' about a woman leaving him. Leech on social security and unemployment. Coming home begging more from me." Little Dexter brutally shook his head, and his face remained in spite. The clench of his fists growing in tightness.
But the WFWF was all the two had. The bond of pain, the bond of violence. The string of masochism that Dex simply cannot escape.
~
He glanced away from the couch, shaking his head as the glimmer of light sprung all throughout the house, as if he had an intent on finding something unseen.
He left the living room and followed the narrow passage way to his room. The door was cracked open, the race-car bed with scrapbooks and dated books cornering all figments of the walls.
With the darting of his flashlight he only saw the creeping figure of his child-like self fighting another person atop the bed. He had him in a head-lock, pushing him off of the bed, and holding the fictitious belt.
~
All of it was starting to become much clearer.
The moment he blinked and opened his eyes, a child with blue skin sat atop his bed. He was startled, stepped back and crashed himself into the wall to which he heard the ripping of posters behind him. The child gripped his knees and twirled his head at a ninety degree angle with a smile that went from ear to ear and covered the mass of his face.
"It's been years." Dex shook his head as he sat beside the child figure.
"You haven't forgotten my name have you?" The child spoke in a peculiar English accent.
"No Charlie I haven't."
"Good good. Let's cut to the chase. I know why you're here."
"Tell me." Dex chuckled.
"You're looking to find evidence of your father's killer. Before the investigation gets here, that is. Lucky for you this place has been searched all over by the authorities. Don't you see this tape all over here?" Charlie pointed his stubby arms all around the room.
"You f*ckin Junior, you don't know how much I hate you." He shrugged.
"Lucky for you. I've got a gift. Comes with a price though!" He placed his hands within his pamper diaper, just above his nearly absent crotch-bump.
"You got evidence?"
"Of course I do big man. Everything for my little-brother." Soon enough, Charlie somehow removed a gun from his diaper. Pressing it onto the lap of Dex.
"You did it huh? This is the only trail?"
"Yep. That's the only trace of that son of a b*tch. I'm good at what I do. The bestest. You're the bestest brother you know that!"
"You don't have to sugar-coat me Charlie. What do you want?"
"Normally I'd say I want Penny Shannon's head. But I think you've got that bud." A cigar magically popped up in his tiny hands, as he took a long deep puff, that extruded a long breeze of blue smoke - that looked as if a Smurf had shot with their soul ascending to heaven.
"Find him for me Dexter. Take him out. That's my father too." He continued.
"You never got to meet him."
"Maybe when you kill that guy I can get to where I need to go!"
"I will find him and teach him a lesson. I can promise you that. I took your place, I shouldn't be here right now."
"I need to get my little wings going! You need to kick-ass and take some names. Just like you always do!" Charlie's cigar disappeared, as he clutched his little fists, forming a fist bump with Dex. As soon as their fists met, Charlie dispersed. Leaving only the gun in Dex's lap, and the emptied silence of his child-hood room.
~
A small glimpse of a memory played out in his head. It was Dex, bedheaded, fighting his friend Johnny Hinters on the bed. They were play-fighting until inevitably someone got hurt.
Little Dexter threw Johnny off the bed. He landed hard on his back, gasping for air. Little Dexter rolled the pin-count and counted to ten.
As soon as Johnny was almost immobilized, Dex got off from him. He gripped the marker colored paper-title and held it above his head.
"And the new winner of the WFWF belt is 'Dexter The Great!'" His smile was entirely lit as he walked around, completely satisfied, as if nothing in life could ever top that moment.
~
"Dexter Kingsley, do you take Kristina Vukich to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest stated, as he stood in the middle of an altar, at a Catholic church. Fully drenched in a black, devilish tuxedo, with his bride to be in the most immaculate dress imaginable. Kristina looked as if she could have married Louis XIV.
There was this doubt. This cold sweat that permanently fell along the back of Dex.
Does she care about me? Does she only want me for my money? What if it doesn't work out and I end up splitting half of what I own to some b*tch I picked up at a club?
No. No she's not like that at all. She's everything I'd ever want.
I never thought I'd ask her in the first place.
I never thought I'd get here.
I never thought I'd move from disfigured parts of my own body with glass to being moments from marrying a girl who likes me for who I am.
Maybe I'm not the devil after all.
Maybe everything is coming together just right.
Maybe this is just God's plan.
There's a God? And I believe in him now?
I want to live in this hope for the rest of my life and I wish it will never fade away. This is where I want to be.
I do.
"I do."
"Kristina, do you take Dexter to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"
She can always say 'no.'
Maybe one of her drunk uncles showed up to the party today.
Maybe Penny Shannon has a devilish urge to scissor my fiance.
Maybe she was drunk when she said yes.
Ah man. I will miss screwing back-street whores and hitting up the black-listed clubs, and ordering my favorites straight from Vegas. That'll suck the most.
Alexis Texas knows I love her. Too bad Kristina is real.
She's not going to say it.
"I do." Kristina smiled from ear to ear.
"You may now kiss the bride." The priest urged the two together. The two kissed.
Time completely stopped. Joy was felt.
I am complete. And the devil in me is slowly dying.
This must be the place.
This is home.
~
Penny Shannon you've taken me to hell. You've shown me all of the parts of me that I wished were not possible.
I can't even comprehend now how many times I wished I could have killed you, ended you, and had everything over with. I wanted the easy way out to the world championship. But what you and I have is far greater than the weight of any belt. We are bound by blood. We are infused with two fates that are destined to do nothing but beat the hell out of each other and prove who the better person is. This industry isn't big enough to have Penny and Dex in the same ring.
A hardcore match at SuperBrawl. At the last one, upon hearing this stipulation, I would have b*tched to the brass and fought my way to a simple one on one match with a referee DQ rules and all. We can play in your element. I know that I can face the Devil in his playground and come out guns blazing, John Rambo in Vietnam, and pull off the upset that no one expected me to be able to do. Because guys like us. Guys who knew life without money, success, love, know what it's like to have nothing. I'm not supposed to be here. And every day I fight is proof that I can change what I am and force myself to be a better man.
I used to think that we can never change. God, or some mystical force, picked us out to be a certain way and we were forced to live life under that slavery. But I don't believe that anymore. I don't see myself in a mask. I don't see myself as the man who hid behind every problem that came running behind him. I can face my doubts. I can face my fears. I can try my best and assure the world that I will never go down without a fight.
Because in the end. Dex isn't the guy with a troubled childhood that he could never shake. He wasn't the guy with crippling anxiety, or even the guy who never knew what it was to love.
But Dex is the guy who never gives in. The guy who sees the world spit in his face and he does nothing but move forward and challenge everything that comes against him. I'm not going to give up, Penny Shannon owes me a hell of a match at the biggest stage in history. You pushed me to my limit. Broke me mentally, then physically, then mentally again. You made me stronger, more resilient, and better than I ever was before. And I thank you for that. This will be your last match. I will become 2-0 at SuperBrawl. I have become the legend slayer.
This is a match - not between a man and a woman, but of two men that are willing to do anything to grow their legacy and prove their worth.
Good luck.
SuperBrawl.
The squared circle, is where I'm meant to be.
The ring is the only thing I know that I will love until my heart stops, it'll love me until I'm dead.
I dont know good luck 
