Post by The Gangsta on Jun 17, 2018 22:47:53 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
The Frontier
“You are my war club, my weapon for battle. With you I shatter nations, with you I destroy kingdoms.” -Jeremiah 51:20
“The houses and run-down buildings reflect the light orange tinge of the sun into my window every morning, wakin’ me up hours before I should.
I pop open a can of Bud Light at the crack of dawn, my landlord’s J from two in the morning still loud as f*ck. The hooker I picked up from El Paso last night is asleep on the broken mattress and bed frame I stole from the curb. The covers were on the floor beside her red bra and panties with a pinch of coke stapled to the tag. $2.99 for red lingerie around here. Priceless for the p*ssy it provides, I guess.
I’m massively hung over and exhausted, the tip of my beer can bubbling over as I try to slug it back faster than I could blink. I sit down on my rusted white patio to gaze at the sun, scratching my back as I sweat in the arid 100 degree weather. 5 in the morning here feels like noon in the Sahara.
The obnoxious sunlight that pierces my room every morning forces me to come outside and gaze at it. I see it when it rises and I see it when it sets, never when it’s at it’s peak. I observe the light shades of purple and red the sunset emits and of course, the bright and unpleasant tinges of the sunrise. However, I’m always inside at noon, catching shuteye or getting high with some laced sh*t the cartel gangs around here sell. I’m always a sunrise and a sunset, never a climax.
I hear the hooker twist and turn as I move back inside from my patio.The drops of water forming outside of my can make my palms sweaty and clammy, wiping them on my underwear as I try to lay back down again. She begins to wake up, feeling my brooding presence. I turn over to my little table where my alarm clock sits to avoid a conversation. I coincidentally see at the corner of my eye the poster for my match with Kyzer at the Japan show, sitting behind a busted bookshelf. I sigh and take another gulp of my beer.
Following my rematch with Kyzer, I dropped everyone and everything I had and took the last couple of Benjamins in my account to settle somewhere I could find a new purpose that doesn’t involve brutality or physical violence. Somethin’ like an office job or hell, even a McDonald’s burger flipper or whatever the f*ck they’re called. I wanted something new, something larger than me, something I couldn’t wrap my ego around. After reading numerous novels and travel reviews, I found that there was only one thing bigger than me in the price range I was looking for.
Texas. Everything’s bigger in Texas.
When I grew up, I used to think that sh*t was a poor branding hook to get tourists to come to their stockyards and boot stores. I thought it would be like the Big Apple or the City of Angels, something that was not true whatsoever and just encouraged nasty foreigners to buy our Big Macs and large sodas. But, as usual, I was completely wrong. Everything really is bigger here. From the food to the places to the people you meet, everything is larger than life, developing this distinct cultural identity that separates itself from the rest of the country, hell, the rest of the world. It’s a smell that sticks with you wherever you go, something you truly can’t wrap your hot-headed ego around.
It explains why I’m doing so poorly. Texas is the only place I haven’t truly fit in.
I flew a one-way ticket to Dell City back in January, in hopes of conquering a frontier that was dirty, rugged, and pure. Dell City is a small town outside of El Paso that ain’t much of a city at all. About three hundred or so people live here, half of them illegals, other half batcrap psychos. I fall somewhere in between; my dad never renounced his Croatian citizenship to get me a birth certificate and I’m held together by some Scotch tape and glue. Since I’ve arrived in Dell City, I’ve made a few friends and enemies, got a job at Wal-Mart, and tried my hardest to stay away from drugs. Unfortunately, I have more enemies than friends, my wage is below the minimum, and I still burn spoons everyday at noon. The most I’ve conquered of the frontier has probably been two or so miles, the distance between my house and the bars.
I punch my alarm clock for noon, hoping the unsettling screeching sound it makes could actually work today. The hispanic hooker beside me leans up to look at me.
‘Quien diablos estes tu?’ said the hooker with her hand on my ass.
‘What?’ I reply.
I turn over and grab my Bud Light in one slow motion. I sip it and see her nipples on my chest and her hands now moved to my chest and abdomen. I honestly let myself go in that matter too. I’m not nearly as hot as I used to be.
‘Lo siento, I mean, sorry.’
She lifts her hand and covers her tits. At that moment, I realize what drew me in to picking her up outside the Ermez Inn last night: her tits. After a dozen tequila shots that was a dozen too many, I never once faltered in my quest for glorious boobs. They’re fakes of course, but c’mon, they’re bodacious.
‘Sorry for what?’
I touch her hand as she pulls away. She rubs her head, wipin’ off some foundation she had put on last night. It was completely smeared at this point, she must’ve been scratchin’ off the remaining chunks.
‘Did, did I sleep with you last night?’
‘Yea, and you gave me a packet of coke I didn’t want.’
She has this puzzled look on her face with her nipples protruding between her fingers.
‘No, no, no, I don’t do that. I wouldn’t-’
‘Yea you did.’
She had offered me drugs from the get-go, but I refused. I’ve been trying to stay away from drugs these past few weeks in anticipation of an eventual drug test at Wal-Mart. After I kindly refused, I let her into my Toyota and drove to my place guns blazin’.Yes, I was drunk driving and no, it isn’t as enforced in these parts. Cops worry more about brown-skinned people in the neighborhood rather than intoxicated cronies like me.
It’s crazy to think places on the frontier, like Dell City, still exist.
‘No, I haven’t done drogas in years.’ she says.
‘Well it certainly ain’t mine.’ I say.
She begins to get out of bed and get dressed. I move to the edge of the bed and start touching her more, letting my horniness get ahead of me. She’s hot, very hot.
‘Sorry for this.’
She takes the coke and flushes it down the toilet. I hear it clogging and spewing water as it tries to go down; intellectually- disabled person. A little bit of me died seeing how much money she was throwin’ away. That was an easy grand right there, flushed down in fear.
‘Don’t worry about it. What’s your name again?’ I ask.
‘Me?’ she asks.
‘Yea.’
‘Evelina.’
I put on some clothes and finish my beer. I wipe away some sticky residue from my fingers after touching her ass. I don’t even want to know what the f*ck that is.
‘Just take two hundreds on the table and get yourself some breakfast.’
The hundreds on my coffee table were my income for last month at Wal-Mart. Nearly $500 gone in a weekend on tequila shots, martinis, apparently coke, and a whore with amazing tits and a mysterious amount of diseases.
She begins to rush out of the apartment, thinking I’m from ICE or somethin’. She scrambles to grab the bills on the table along with some Party City makeup and a fake leather wallet. I wish I was kidding.
It was at that moment I saw the rest of my money curled up for snorting. White residue was on the table, on her fingers, and on her jeans. The b*tch made me do coke last night. I f*ckin’ did coke and I don’t remember. Jesus Christ.
‘Get better.’ she says.
Get better?
She slams the door and breaks a little piece of my lock off. I must’ve pissed her off or somethin’, maybe she wasn’t a hooker at all. No, she should have been, I wasn’t too schmizzed when I picked her up. I grab a mug and head over to my liquor cabinet, aka my oven. I pour some bourbon into the mug, the Jim Beam being the last bottle of liquor in there. It’s enough for now, but Jesus man, I don’t even have enough money for booze anymore. I toss the empty bottle to the side and look for any Xanax to ease the hangover and constant anxiety. I search in my fridge, my drawers, bookshelves, everywhere, but there’s not a single tab of it. F*ck me.
I then go to the bathroom and rinse my face. Many nasty nights of bar violence and rotting gums have made me bleed over this sink many times, staining the pale pink color with dark red. As I waft the water onto my face, paint chips peel off the sink from the dried blood. I gently turn the sink off, avoiding the annoying screeching sound it makes. The sound is as piercing as an airplane below 1000 feet, especially when you’re baked.
I look up into the dirty, browned mirror and stare at myself, every inch of me in the cornered shot. Drugs have completely scalped me of my hair, my beard is so long it’s gray and curly, and my teeth are rotting from the inside out. I glance down at my hands, shaking as I see the missing fingernails and cut up wrists. My soul is bleeding and I can’t do anything to stop it. A tear begins to roll down my left cheek as I playback the whore’s last sentence in my head: ‘Get better.’
What have I done to myself?
I rush out of the bathroom and throw sh*t everywhere, breaking drawers and glass bottles by the second. My hands and wrists cut up even more, bleeding through the crevices in my palms. I yell and cry as I break a picture of myself and my family, the only one left. It shatters next to the Jim Beam bottle, louder than anything I’ve ever broken before. I fall to my knees, ripping up what was left of my income and throwing the shreds away from me. Withdrawal, untamed chaos.
But today, today was my breaking point. I’ve told myself of how scary death is, how I have much more to live for. But, now, I’m at the point of dreaming in my sleep and having nightmares as I walk and breathe. I walk in toil, breathe in poison, and count time like reciting the alphabet over and over again. I’m sobbing now, feeling my tears drip into the pool of blood in my hands. I grab my belt, a sturdy leather strap palmed with my blood and tears. I tie it up, around my neck, squeezing until it’s in place.
Death: the greatest of all human blessings.
I walk slowly up to my chair, my resting spot. It doesn’t crack, unmoved from the weightlessness of my body. I kick it down as I squirm and choke. My face boils to blue, tears swelling with the saliva drooling out of my mouth. I can’t feel my arms or legs, squirming out of instinct for survival. My eyes move to the back of my head, veins popping out instead. The noose suddenly rips and tears, sending my body to the hardwood floor. I’m coughing and vomiting, trying to get to my feet in doing so. I feel my soul trying to punch its way out of me, but I just gave it an accidental helluva roundhouse kick. Failure, even in death.
I laid there for the rest of the day, wondering why I was still here."
Everyone puts down their glasses of water and wipe away tears from their eyes.
“That was not what I wanted to happen, but it did and I couldn’t change that. I tell you this for more than a pitiful emotional response, but rather a tale of what I’ve been up to, what I’ve done while Frank Lynn and David Brennan were outselling everyone else’s t-shirts. I’m here and still very much alive, having survived a faulty noose with veins popping out of me. My journey to the border was a quest for purpose in a life that had all but nothing of it. When I decided to call it quits, I saw heaven and hell, the duality of life. I saw God and the Devil staring at me, pulling on each of my arms to tell me where to go.” I say.
I glance at Father. I smile.
“It’s because of them I’m alive today, sharing my story.”
May 15, 2018
El Paso, Texas
Bible Study
“Powerful story Ante, truly.” said Reverend John, clapping along with the rest of the group.
I smile and say a couple of thank yous. My suicide attempt was nearly two months ago to the day and I still remember clear as day. But, thanks to everyone here, I have never felt better. I’ve been clean and sober ever since, enjoying my two jobs, and attending bible study every Thursday. For someone who was as atheist as a dog, I have never had this much faith before.
“Thank you Father. I know it’s a bit much, but it’s the reason I’m still here.”
“No, no, it was perfect. Your background is so unique and your hardships show that side of mortality we rarely see. It’s beautiful to see how far you’ve come with us.” says Rev. John.
Everyone claps again. I feel the warmth of their reactions. Mark, the guy to my right, shared a very similar experience last week. Tonight was my turn and I think my wrestling background put the spin on it that it needed. I’m not like Mark or Reverend John, I find myself to be very unique. I find myself to be the epitome of ego and how it bends men to their will through desire and cynicism. If you asked me that a few months ago, I would’ve called you a hypocrite or somethin’ along those lines.
But, here I am.
“Okay, same time next week. Benita, you’ll share your story next week, right?” says Rev. John.
Benita nods yes and everyone takes last sips of their waters. A couple munch down on their snacks; Entenmann's cookies. The dimly lit classroom gets brighter as everyone walks around and talks with each other.
“Alrighty, go spread the word of the Lord and what you have learned here tonight. May peace be with you.”
“And with your spirit.” says everyone in unison.
I begin to walk out of the room in my Polo shirt and denim jeans. Father taps me on the shoulder and signals for me to step aside to talk to him for a little. I don’t mind, in fact it’s him and Bishop Will that whipped me into shape. Not long after I was found unconscious in my apartment, my landlord found me, brought me to the hospital where they came and offered me a few prayers and bible verses. I saw it as oddly pleasant and soothing in a time where the only thing on my mind was suicide. Now, everything that’s on my mind is staying clean and being the genuinely good person I was meant to be.
“Hey, stay a little, talk to me.” says Rev. John.
“Sure, only for a bit, I got a date to catch.” I say.
It’s true. I asked this girl I met at a local restaurant to a date tonight. Her name is Pauline and she is extremely nice, genuine, and beautiful. I set up plans to go to the movies, eat some dinner at the restaurant I asked her out at, and then maybe, just maybe, go back to my place and kick it back.
“Oh really?”
“Yep. Her name’s Pauline.”
Father starts to laugh.
“That’s funny, my first date ever was with a girl named Pauline who went to my high school. She was a bit of b*tch if I’m being honest, but she was not too bad.” says Rev. John.
We both chuckle and snort a little.
Reverend John is a hearty, fat old priest who runs the Bible Study group every Thursday at the El Paso high school. God bless his soul for entering my life and showing me the holy path to freedom and self-righteousness. He truly is the best man I’ve ever met in my life, second being Bishop Will, who’s more of a realist than John. They’re godsends to me.
“Really? Haha.” I ask.
“Yup, didn’t last too long, but good luck to you pal. I think you’ll do fine.” says Rev. John.
“Thank you, haha.”
Father begins to shuffle through his pocket for something, something to show me. What is it?
“So, I’ve got somethin’ to show you, but first, I need you to recite that line from Jeremiah from last week. Remember it? What I’m gonna show ya has to do with it.” asks Rev. John.
“Is it the one with the club in battle or somethin’ like that?” I ask.
“Close, but no cigar. It’s Jeremiah 51:20, ‘you are my war club, my weapon for battle. With you I shatter nations, with you I destroy kingdoms.’ Remember, haha?”
“Sh*t, yeah I do.”
He pulls out a blank letter with my name and address on it.
“I know it’s to your address, but you’re getting renovations done so I got it shipped to the parish. Go ahead, open it.”
I rip it open, expecting a letter from someone like Elijah or James. But, I’m shocked to see the WFWF logo plastered at the top left corner of the letter. It must be my last paycheck.
“It’s about time, haha. I’ve been waiting since they laid me off for this.”
“Open the letter.” says Rev. John, grinning as he does.
I proceed to open the letter to the first words, “Dear Mr. Ante Whitner.” This is more than a paycheck, this is more than everything I’ve achieved in the past few months. As I continue to read, it transforms from an apology letter to an offer. I’ve been given one more shot at the WFWF in the form of a match with some youngblood nobody named Reina Kenshin. One final run that could determine everything.
“Wait, this is-”
“Yup, signed by Mrs. Sleater herself. I told them of your accomplishments here and how much of a reformed and devout man you’ve become and I guess they took it seriously.” chuckles Rev. John.
My gosh man. I’ve never seen something so beautiful and pure. I’ve never been given a shot at redemption, never anything gracious like this. They’re offering a raise and free airfare during travel. This is truly amazing, absolutely incredible. I’ve never felt happier.
“Wow, I can’t believe it. I don’t know what-”
“It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything. Now, go on that date with that girl and remember what we've talked about since day one.”
Redemption.
“Redemption.” I boldly say.
“Exactly. Peace be with you Ante, spread the word of redemption.”
“With you too Father, and of course.”
I leave the room with my one-way ticket back to my dream, my golden ticket at redeeming my faults and spreading it to the other lost ones that still dwell in the WFWF. The old dogs and the youngblood, the faith that is lost in all.
I unlock my car and drive down the long stretch of abandoned road between the school and my house. No speed limits, chalky yellow road paint chippin’ off at every smidge. The street’s cracked, paved last when the Cold War was still frigid. Dusty, barren plateaus, covered in dry bushes, weeds, and cacti. The more I’ve been in Texas, the more I’ve loved it. I hate the heat, but besides that, I get good vibes everytime I drive down I-10, memories of glory fading by as I reach every mile mark. I find it comical that everything is at least a half hour away from each other, but it doesn’t bother me. I like the long drives, the endless roads I drift down.
I look up at the sky, observing the setting sun. The purple and red illuminate the road ahead of me, setting on an old note and opening the door to limitless opportunity. I glance at the rosary beads on my mirror and the good book near the windshield, smiling as I approach my date with destiny.
A return to glory, they say. Redemption, I say.
In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised; not to plan my funeral before the body dies. Come the morning light, it's a see through show. What you may have heard and what you think you know. Let the sun never blind your eyes girl, let me sleep so my teeth won't grind. Hear a sound from my voice inside: redemption.
Sure to play a part, so you love the game. In truth, your lies become one and same. I could set you free, rather hear the sound. The sound of your body, breaking, as I take you down.
Reina Kenshin, the beautiful Black Rose. You remind me of my good friend Samael, someone way before your time, wandering in the sakura for his next victim. He was a mysterious and methodical man, passing in with the coming wind and leaving with the storm. You do the same, except you haven’t learned to float and drift, flying too fast near the sun instead.
You are exotic, hailing from ancient lands with a mission and purpose in mind. You punch and kick like a gladiator, fighting for his family against tyranny. “Fight me, lose, die mad about it” is more than a catchphrase to you, it's a lifestyle. It's the way you live, the way you breathe, a tormented life in all honesty. You are endlessly searching for someone, something to breed you victory.
I envy you, but the Lord says envy is one of the seven deadly sins so thus, I am rather enamored. You ARE beautiful, exotic, and above all, dangerous. You are someone perfect for my journeys into the unknown, fit for the job and fit to redeem yourself from the vindictive hellion you are. Redemption is what gave me one last spark to come back to the WFWF and I don’t know if you’re familiar with me, but I was as much of a catastrophe as Dex’s career (if you even know who Dex is).
The Bloodied Eagle is more of an omen than ever, Reina. But, I do have to say, Reina is quite the alluring title itself; “queen” they call you in Spain, “queen” they call you where I live. They call me something different now oh mighty queen: el Redentor. Bathed in white, the color of true strength, I am the Redeemer that Christ has sent down. I am beautiful, exotic, and alluring in my quest to heal those who are lost and it just so happens that you’re my first target.
You’re my first experiment, my first beautiful desire since I re-signed into the WFWF. You’re my lab rat, squirming around in pain from not knowing what I will do to you. I am still the same Ante in the ring, as violent as ever. But, ain’t Christ violent too? Didn’t we fight all of those wars in the Jordan Valley for the sake of thy Lord’s name? My little Reina, we are going on a prepossessing journey ourselves to the Jordan Valley for your bath in purity and erasing your sins. A blank slate, bathed in strength and light.
A natural athlete of extreme physique and beauty, my oh my Reina Kenshin you are in for a ride through the holy and faithful. The frontier is far and expansive for you to conquer, the Manifest Destiny bred into you from our match at Breakout will determine the course of your fate. Will the Devil lure you in or will the Lord guide you to divinity? The Holy Spirit binds me this right for your will is too weak and damaged. Your soul must be purged for a new one, a soul of self-guidance and possibility.
Continue to search your own path and you will be met with severe resistance. You will be thrown at with rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes, cast with dark magic from Satan himself. But, redemption my girl, REDEMPTION. Read my lips as we move forth with our upcoming bout, gaze at what I’ve become in stark contrast to the man in the tapes. The light has passed through my molecules into something truly spectacular, something you can become Reina. Join the light, redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord and you shall be forgiven.
Or, instead, you can fight me, lose, and die mad about it.
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace.” -Ephesians 1:7
The Frontier
“You are my war club, my weapon for battle. With you I shatter nations, with you I destroy kingdoms.” -Jeremiah 51:20
“The houses and run-down buildings reflect the light orange tinge of the sun into my window every morning, wakin’ me up hours before I should.
I pop open a can of Bud Light at the crack of dawn, my landlord’s J from two in the morning still loud as f*ck. The hooker I picked up from El Paso last night is asleep on the broken mattress and bed frame I stole from the curb. The covers were on the floor beside her red bra and panties with a pinch of coke stapled to the tag. $2.99 for red lingerie around here. Priceless for the p*ssy it provides, I guess.
I’m massively hung over and exhausted, the tip of my beer can bubbling over as I try to slug it back faster than I could blink. I sit down on my rusted white patio to gaze at the sun, scratching my back as I sweat in the arid 100 degree weather. 5 in the morning here feels like noon in the Sahara.
The obnoxious sunlight that pierces my room every morning forces me to come outside and gaze at it. I see it when it rises and I see it when it sets, never when it’s at it’s peak. I observe the light shades of purple and red the sunset emits and of course, the bright and unpleasant tinges of the sunrise. However, I’m always inside at noon, catching shuteye or getting high with some laced sh*t the cartel gangs around here sell. I’m always a sunrise and a sunset, never a climax.
I hear the hooker twist and turn as I move back inside from my patio.The drops of water forming outside of my can make my palms sweaty and clammy, wiping them on my underwear as I try to lay back down again. She begins to wake up, feeling my brooding presence. I turn over to my little table where my alarm clock sits to avoid a conversation. I coincidentally see at the corner of my eye the poster for my match with Kyzer at the Japan show, sitting behind a busted bookshelf. I sigh and take another gulp of my beer.
Following my rematch with Kyzer, I dropped everyone and everything I had and took the last couple of Benjamins in my account to settle somewhere I could find a new purpose that doesn’t involve brutality or physical violence. Somethin’ like an office job or hell, even a McDonald’s burger flipper or whatever the f*ck they’re called. I wanted something new, something larger than me, something I couldn’t wrap my ego around. After reading numerous novels and travel reviews, I found that there was only one thing bigger than me in the price range I was looking for.
Texas. Everything’s bigger in Texas.
When I grew up, I used to think that sh*t was a poor branding hook to get tourists to come to their stockyards and boot stores. I thought it would be like the Big Apple or the City of Angels, something that was not true whatsoever and just encouraged nasty foreigners to buy our Big Macs and large sodas. But, as usual, I was completely wrong. Everything really is bigger here. From the food to the places to the people you meet, everything is larger than life, developing this distinct cultural identity that separates itself from the rest of the country, hell, the rest of the world. It’s a smell that sticks with you wherever you go, something you truly can’t wrap your hot-headed ego around.
It explains why I’m doing so poorly. Texas is the only place I haven’t truly fit in.
I flew a one-way ticket to Dell City back in January, in hopes of conquering a frontier that was dirty, rugged, and pure. Dell City is a small town outside of El Paso that ain’t much of a city at all. About three hundred or so people live here, half of them illegals, other half batcrap psychos. I fall somewhere in between; my dad never renounced his Croatian citizenship to get me a birth certificate and I’m held together by some Scotch tape and glue. Since I’ve arrived in Dell City, I’ve made a few friends and enemies, got a job at Wal-Mart, and tried my hardest to stay away from drugs. Unfortunately, I have more enemies than friends, my wage is below the minimum, and I still burn spoons everyday at noon. The most I’ve conquered of the frontier has probably been two or so miles, the distance between my house and the bars.
I punch my alarm clock for noon, hoping the unsettling screeching sound it makes could actually work today. The hispanic hooker beside me leans up to look at me.
‘Quien diablos estes tu?’ said the hooker with her hand on my ass.
‘What?’ I reply.
I turn over and grab my Bud Light in one slow motion. I sip it and see her nipples on my chest and her hands now moved to my chest and abdomen. I honestly let myself go in that matter too. I’m not nearly as hot as I used to be.
‘Lo siento, I mean, sorry.’
She lifts her hand and covers her tits. At that moment, I realize what drew me in to picking her up outside the Ermez Inn last night: her tits. After a dozen tequila shots that was a dozen too many, I never once faltered in my quest for glorious boobs. They’re fakes of course, but c’mon, they’re bodacious.
‘Sorry for what?’
I touch her hand as she pulls away. She rubs her head, wipin’ off some foundation she had put on last night. It was completely smeared at this point, she must’ve been scratchin’ off the remaining chunks.
‘Did, did I sleep with you last night?’
‘Yea, and you gave me a packet of coke I didn’t want.’
She has this puzzled look on her face with her nipples protruding between her fingers.
‘No, no, no, I don’t do that. I wouldn’t-’
‘Yea you did.’
She had offered me drugs from the get-go, but I refused. I’ve been trying to stay away from drugs these past few weeks in anticipation of an eventual drug test at Wal-Mart. After I kindly refused, I let her into my Toyota and drove to my place guns blazin’.Yes, I was drunk driving and no, it isn’t as enforced in these parts. Cops worry more about brown-skinned people in the neighborhood rather than intoxicated cronies like me.
It’s crazy to think places on the frontier, like Dell City, still exist.
‘No, I haven’t done drogas in years.’ she says.
‘Well it certainly ain’t mine.’ I say.
She begins to get out of bed and get dressed. I move to the edge of the bed and start touching her more, letting my horniness get ahead of me. She’s hot, very hot.
‘Sorry for this.’
She takes the coke and flushes it down the toilet. I hear it clogging and spewing water as it tries to go down; intellectually- disabled person. A little bit of me died seeing how much money she was throwin’ away. That was an easy grand right there, flushed down in fear.
‘Don’t worry about it. What’s your name again?’ I ask.
‘Me?’ she asks.
‘Yea.’
‘Evelina.’
I put on some clothes and finish my beer. I wipe away some sticky residue from my fingers after touching her ass. I don’t even want to know what the f*ck that is.
‘Just take two hundreds on the table and get yourself some breakfast.’
The hundreds on my coffee table were my income for last month at Wal-Mart. Nearly $500 gone in a weekend on tequila shots, martinis, apparently coke, and a whore with amazing tits and a mysterious amount of diseases.
She begins to rush out of the apartment, thinking I’m from ICE or somethin’. She scrambles to grab the bills on the table along with some Party City makeup and a fake leather wallet. I wish I was kidding.
It was at that moment I saw the rest of my money curled up for snorting. White residue was on the table, on her fingers, and on her jeans. The b*tch made me do coke last night. I f*ckin’ did coke and I don’t remember. Jesus Christ.
‘Get better.’ she says.
Get better?
She slams the door and breaks a little piece of my lock off. I must’ve pissed her off or somethin’, maybe she wasn’t a hooker at all. No, she should have been, I wasn’t too schmizzed when I picked her up. I grab a mug and head over to my liquor cabinet, aka my oven. I pour some bourbon into the mug, the Jim Beam being the last bottle of liquor in there. It’s enough for now, but Jesus man, I don’t even have enough money for booze anymore. I toss the empty bottle to the side and look for any Xanax to ease the hangover and constant anxiety. I search in my fridge, my drawers, bookshelves, everywhere, but there’s not a single tab of it. F*ck me.
I then go to the bathroom and rinse my face. Many nasty nights of bar violence and rotting gums have made me bleed over this sink many times, staining the pale pink color with dark red. As I waft the water onto my face, paint chips peel off the sink from the dried blood. I gently turn the sink off, avoiding the annoying screeching sound it makes. The sound is as piercing as an airplane below 1000 feet, especially when you’re baked.
I look up into the dirty, browned mirror and stare at myself, every inch of me in the cornered shot. Drugs have completely scalped me of my hair, my beard is so long it’s gray and curly, and my teeth are rotting from the inside out. I glance down at my hands, shaking as I see the missing fingernails and cut up wrists. My soul is bleeding and I can’t do anything to stop it. A tear begins to roll down my left cheek as I playback the whore’s last sentence in my head: ‘Get better.’
What have I done to myself?
I rush out of the bathroom and throw sh*t everywhere, breaking drawers and glass bottles by the second. My hands and wrists cut up even more, bleeding through the crevices in my palms. I yell and cry as I break a picture of myself and my family, the only one left. It shatters next to the Jim Beam bottle, louder than anything I’ve ever broken before. I fall to my knees, ripping up what was left of my income and throwing the shreds away from me. Withdrawal, untamed chaos.
But today, today was my breaking point. I’ve told myself of how scary death is, how I have much more to live for. But, now, I’m at the point of dreaming in my sleep and having nightmares as I walk and breathe. I walk in toil, breathe in poison, and count time like reciting the alphabet over and over again. I’m sobbing now, feeling my tears drip into the pool of blood in my hands. I grab my belt, a sturdy leather strap palmed with my blood and tears. I tie it up, around my neck, squeezing until it’s in place.
Death: the greatest of all human blessings.
I walk slowly up to my chair, my resting spot. It doesn’t crack, unmoved from the weightlessness of my body. I kick it down as I squirm and choke. My face boils to blue, tears swelling with the saliva drooling out of my mouth. I can’t feel my arms or legs, squirming out of instinct for survival. My eyes move to the back of my head, veins popping out instead. The noose suddenly rips and tears, sending my body to the hardwood floor. I’m coughing and vomiting, trying to get to my feet in doing so. I feel my soul trying to punch its way out of me, but I just gave it an accidental helluva roundhouse kick. Failure, even in death.
I laid there for the rest of the day, wondering why I was still here."
Everyone puts down their glasses of water and wipe away tears from their eyes.
“That was not what I wanted to happen, but it did and I couldn’t change that. I tell you this for more than a pitiful emotional response, but rather a tale of what I’ve been up to, what I’ve done while Frank Lynn and David Brennan were outselling everyone else’s t-shirts. I’m here and still very much alive, having survived a faulty noose with veins popping out of me. My journey to the border was a quest for purpose in a life that had all but nothing of it. When I decided to call it quits, I saw heaven and hell, the duality of life. I saw God and the Devil staring at me, pulling on each of my arms to tell me where to go.” I say.
I glance at Father. I smile.
“It’s because of them I’m alive today, sharing my story.”
May 15, 2018
El Paso, Texas
Bible Study
“Powerful story Ante, truly.” said Reverend John, clapping along with the rest of the group.
I smile and say a couple of thank yous. My suicide attempt was nearly two months ago to the day and I still remember clear as day. But, thanks to everyone here, I have never felt better. I’ve been clean and sober ever since, enjoying my two jobs, and attending bible study every Thursday. For someone who was as atheist as a dog, I have never had this much faith before.
“Thank you Father. I know it’s a bit much, but it’s the reason I’m still here.”
“No, no, it was perfect. Your background is so unique and your hardships show that side of mortality we rarely see. It’s beautiful to see how far you’ve come with us.” says Rev. John.
Everyone claps again. I feel the warmth of their reactions. Mark, the guy to my right, shared a very similar experience last week. Tonight was my turn and I think my wrestling background put the spin on it that it needed. I’m not like Mark or Reverend John, I find myself to be very unique. I find myself to be the epitome of ego and how it bends men to their will through desire and cynicism. If you asked me that a few months ago, I would’ve called you a hypocrite or somethin’ along those lines.
But, here I am.
“Okay, same time next week. Benita, you’ll share your story next week, right?” says Rev. John.
Benita nods yes and everyone takes last sips of their waters. A couple munch down on their snacks; Entenmann's cookies. The dimly lit classroom gets brighter as everyone walks around and talks with each other.
“Alrighty, go spread the word of the Lord and what you have learned here tonight. May peace be with you.”
“And with your spirit.” says everyone in unison.
I begin to walk out of the room in my Polo shirt and denim jeans. Father taps me on the shoulder and signals for me to step aside to talk to him for a little. I don’t mind, in fact it’s him and Bishop Will that whipped me into shape. Not long after I was found unconscious in my apartment, my landlord found me, brought me to the hospital where they came and offered me a few prayers and bible verses. I saw it as oddly pleasant and soothing in a time where the only thing on my mind was suicide. Now, everything that’s on my mind is staying clean and being the genuinely good person I was meant to be.
“Hey, stay a little, talk to me.” says Rev. John.
“Sure, only for a bit, I got a date to catch.” I say.
It’s true. I asked this girl I met at a local restaurant to a date tonight. Her name is Pauline and she is extremely nice, genuine, and beautiful. I set up plans to go to the movies, eat some dinner at the restaurant I asked her out at, and then maybe, just maybe, go back to my place and kick it back.
“Oh really?”
“Yep. Her name’s Pauline.”
Father starts to laugh.
“That’s funny, my first date ever was with a girl named Pauline who went to my high school. She was a bit of b*tch if I’m being honest, but she was not too bad.” says Rev. John.
We both chuckle and snort a little.
Reverend John is a hearty, fat old priest who runs the Bible Study group every Thursday at the El Paso high school. God bless his soul for entering my life and showing me the holy path to freedom and self-righteousness. He truly is the best man I’ve ever met in my life, second being Bishop Will, who’s more of a realist than John. They’re godsends to me.
“Really? Haha.” I ask.
“Yup, didn’t last too long, but good luck to you pal. I think you’ll do fine.” says Rev. John.
“Thank you, haha.”
Father begins to shuffle through his pocket for something, something to show me. What is it?
“So, I’ve got somethin’ to show you, but first, I need you to recite that line from Jeremiah from last week. Remember it? What I’m gonna show ya has to do with it.” asks Rev. John.
“Is it the one with the club in battle or somethin’ like that?” I ask.
“Close, but no cigar. It’s Jeremiah 51:20, ‘you are my war club, my weapon for battle. With you I shatter nations, with you I destroy kingdoms.’ Remember, haha?”
“Sh*t, yeah I do.”
He pulls out a blank letter with my name and address on it.
“I know it’s to your address, but you’re getting renovations done so I got it shipped to the parish. Go ahead, open it.”
I rip it open, expecting a letter from someone like Elijah or James. But, I’m shocked to see the WFWF logo plastered at the top left corner of the letter. It must be my last paycheck.
“It’s about time, haha. I’ve been waiting since they laid me off for this.”
“Open the letter.” says Rev. John, grinning as he does.
I proceed to open the letter to the first words, “Dear Mr. Ante Whitner.” This is more than a paycheck, this is more than everything I’ve achieved in the past few months. As I continue to read, it transforms from an apology letter to an offer. I’ve been given one more shot at the WFWF in the form of a match with some youngblood nobody named Reina Kenshin. One final run that could determine everything.
“Wait, this is-”
“Yup, signed by Mrs. Sleater herself. I told them of your accomplishments here and how much of a reformed and devout man you’ve become and I guess they took it seriously.” chuckles Rev. John.
My gosh man. I’ve never seen something so beautiful and pure. I’ve never been given a shot at redemption, never anything gracious like this. They’re offering a raise and free airfare during travel. This is truly amazing, absolutely incredible. I’ve never felt happier.
“Wow, I can’t believe it. I don’t know what-”
“It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything. Now, go on that date with that girl and remember what we've talked about since day one.”
Redemption.
“Redemption.” I boldly say.
“Exactly. Peace be with you Ante, spread the word of redemption.”
“With you too Father, and of course.”
I leave the room with my one-way ticket back to my dream, my golden ticket at redeeming my faults and spreading it to the other lost ones that still dwell in the WFWF. The old dogs and the youngblood, the faith that is lost in all.
I unlock my car and drive down the long stretch of abandoned road between the school and my house. No speed limits, chalky yellow road paint chippin’ off at every smidge. The street’s cracked, paved last when the Cold War was still frigid. Dusty, barren plateaus, covered in dry bushes, weeds, and cacti. The more I’ve been in Texas, the more I’ve loved it. I hate the heat, but besides that, I get good vibes everytime I drive down I-10, memories of glory fading by as I reach every mile mark. I find it comical that everything is at least a half hour away from each other, but it doesn’t bother me. I like the long drives, the endless roads I drift down.
I look up at the sky, observing the setting sun. The purple and red illuminate the road ahead of me, setting on an old note and opening the door to limitless opportunity. I glance at the rosary beads on my mirror and the good book near the windshield, smiling as I approach my date with destiny.
A return to glory, they say. Redemption, I say.
In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised; not to plan my funeral before the body dies. Come the morning light, it's a see through show. What you may have heard and what you think you know. Let the sun never blind your eyes girl, let me sleep so my teeth won't grind. Hear a sound from my voice inside: redemption.
Sure to play a part, so you love the game. In truth, your lies become one and same. I could set you free, rather hear the sound. The sound of your body, breaking, as I take you down.
Reina Kenshin, the beautiful Black Rose. You remind me of my good friend Samael, someone way before your time, wandering in the sakura for his next victim. He was a mysterious and methodical man, passing in with the coming wind and leaving with the storm. You do the same, except you haven’t learned to float and drift, flying too fast near the sun instead.
You are exotic, hailing from ancient lands with a mission and purpose in mind. You punch and kick like a gladiator, fighting for his family against tyranny. “Fight me, lose, die mad about it” is more than a catchphrase to you, it's a lifestyle. It's the way you live, the way you breathe, a tormented life in all honesty. You are endlessly searching for someone, something to breed you victory.
I envy you, but the Lord says envy is one of the seven deadly sins so thus, I am rather enamored. You ARE beautiful, exotic, and above all, dangerous. You are someone perfect for my journeys into the unknown, fit for the job and fit to redeem yourself from the vindictive hellion you are. Redemption is what gave me one last spark to come back to the WFWF and I don’t know if you’re familiar with me, but I was as much of a catastrophe as Dex’s career (if you even know who Dex is).
The Bloodied Eagle is more of an omen than ever, Reina. But, I do have to say, Reina is quite the alluring title itself; “queen” they call you in Spain, “queen” they call you where I live. They call me something different now oh mighty queen: el Redentor. Bathed in white, the color of true strength, I am the Redeemer that Christ has sent down. I am beautiful, exotic, and alluring in my quest to heal those who are lost and it just so happens that you’re my first target.
You’re my first experiment, my first beautiful desire since I re-signed into the WFWF. You’re my lab rat, squirming around in pain from not knowing what I will do to you. I am still the same Ante in the ring, as violent as ever. But, ain’t Christ violent too? Didn’t we fight all of those wars in the Jordan Valley for the sake of thy Lord’s name? My little Reina, we are going on a prepossessing journey ourselves to the Jordan Valley for your bath in purity and erasing your sins. A blank slate, bathed in strength and light.
A natural athlete of extreme physique and beauty, my oh my Reina Kenshin you are in for a ride through the holy and faithful. The frontier is far and expansive for you to conquer, the Manifest Destiny bred into you from our match at Breakout will determine the course of your fate. Will the Devil lure you in or will the Lord guide you to divinity? The Holy Spirit binds me this right for your will is too weak and damaged. Your soul must be purged for a new one, a soul of self-guidance and possibility.
Continue to search your own path and you will be met with severe resistance. You will be thrown at with rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes, cast with dark magic from Satan himself. But, redemption my girl, REDEMPTION. Read my lips as we move forth with our upcoming bout, gaze at what I’ve become in stark contrast to the man in the tapes. The light has passed through my molecules into something truly spectacular, something you can become Reina. Join the light, redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord and you shall be forgiven.
Or, instead, you can fight me, lose, and die mad about it.
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace.” -Ephesians 1:7
I dont know good luck