Post by Thunder on Nov 11, 2019 0:06:25 GMT -5
He was in hell.
He wouldn't actually be in Hell, Michigan for another month or so. But hell had come early. It had come in the confines a 20 by 20 wrestling ring.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get in touch with the local indy promotion, get use of their ring before they run their low rent show for the most masochistic of wrestling fans. And of course it was a good idea. Five years is a long time away from the ring, he couldn't expect to go back in without a little warming up. He just didn't think it would go like this.
He leaned against the turnbuckle, waiting for the moment when he'd regain his breath and the pain in his side would stop. He used to only feel that after a match had gone nearly an hour, our after he'd finished a 10k or a marathon. This was not supposed to happen after hitting the ropes too many times.
He threw himself down on the mat back first. Have to get used to this again, he thought, before getting thrown around the ring again. He remained there on the mat, trying to figure out the question in front of him. Was this a really bad ring, or a really bad back? The answer probably laid somewhere in the middle, the same general area the pain was now radiating from.
After a few more moments of laying there, he finally dragged himself up with the help of the ropes. What the hell was he going to do now, after that kind of start?
“Hey! Long time no see!” A voice suddenly yelled out from somewhere in the distance. Michael hung his head against the turnbuckle. Getting recognized by a supposed friend was already his worst nightmare. And this was just the worst possible time for such a thing to occur. If this was out in public, he would have just pretended like he didn't hear anything. Not exactly an option here.
Michael rolled out of the ring and got his first look at the offender. The mullet with legs was slowly making his way over to the ring, dragging one leg behind him as he did so. This guy had gotten the brilliant idea to cut the sleeves off his t-shirt, possibly because he thought a farmer's tan would look good. It looked like he'd had quite the battle to get his shirt over his gut.
“How's it going, man?” You remember me, right?”
“Of course, absolutely.”
He didn't.
“I take it you're not here for a match tonight?” He asked Michael with a smirk.
“Nah, just trying to get back in the groove before my return match. You know how it goes.”
“Definitely. I'm sure you'll do well, you were always tough against me in the ring.”
Michael stared at the face of Mickey Rourke's more deformed brother, and saw no familiarity at all. For all he knew, maybe had wrestled this schmuck before. Or maybe this was just one of those guys who pretended to be a bigger star than they were. Either way, he wanted to get the hell out of here.
“Thanks, man,” Michael said. “Anyway, I gotta go. I just remembered I . . .uh . . . left something in the oven.”
He winced and walked past the guy. It was entirely possible the guy was still pursuing him, but he didn't bother to look. And it's not like he'd catch up to Michael anyway. Michael may have been moving worse, but at least he wasn't moving that bad.
God forbid I ever get like him, wrestling in slow motion and making an embarrassment of myself, he thought. And then a worse thought occurred to him.
What if that is what I'm becoming?
He stopped dead in his tracks in the parking lot. None of that seemed so far fetched all of a sudden. For the first time, he wasn't sure how much he would have when he stepped into the ring. And it would be with the whole world watching him, expecting the same guy they always knew to be there. His fans would expect it, his enemies would expect it, Frank Lynn would expect it.
His son would expect it.
No, that just couldn't happen. He could not allow himself to go out there and make an ass out of himself in front of the whole world. There was no way he could let himself make a mockery of all that he'd done on a grand stage, becoming seen as some guy who came back once too often. Even if he lost, he still had to be respectable. And how the hell was he going to do that?
The one option on the table didn't sound appealing, but it was perhaps the only one available to him. If he pulled the trigger, at least he knew he wouldn't get in trouble for it. WFWF never had a drug policy and never would. Hell, the locker room contained more pills per capita than a Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney film set. And this wouldn't be nearly as bad as what everyone else was doing.
All he needed was just something this one time, to just help his performance a little bit. If nothing else, his body would look more presentable and he might a bit more strength. And it was just for one match, not like that would do any damage.
He got into his car and made a phone call.
~ ~
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It got good reviews on Yelp."
"In relation to what?"
"Let's just go inside."
Michael stared up at the stupid sign a little big longer. HELL HOLE DINER flashed before his eyes and he let out another deep sigh. Having lost this battle, he followed Robin and Aaron into the this god forsaken hell ho--oh, never mind. The last thing he needed for the show was this headache on top of the real one he was having. Greasy junk food probably didn't bode well for helping him feel better.
The average age of the population they passed by en route to their table was dead. These people liked Ike, and probably voted for Taft too. Well, at least that was a good sign for the menu. The food wasn't bad enough to have killed them yet.
Not that the menu encouraged him much. Such delicious lazy names like "hell hole salad" and "hell of a BLT" just screamed appetizing.
"So you're telling me that this whole town's economy is built upon a bad name pun?" Michael asked.
"It would appear that way," Robin replied.
"You know, I feel like if we went to Chevy Chase, MD, not everything would be Clark Griswold themed."
"That town doesn't even have anything to do with the actor."
"I know. It just seems to me now that this is such a stupid show name to return on. How much worse could it get?"
"Weren't you once on a show called Attack of the Little Green Men?" Robin asked.
"Well yes, but . . ."
"And Attack of the Little Green Men 2, in 3D?"
"That wasn't actually in 3D, for the record."
“And the Spanish Inquisition."
"Hey, that one was cool."
Finally the waitress dragged her way over, and not a moment too soon. She looked to be about as thrilled as Michael to be there. But at least he could check out any time he wanted.
"What'll you have?" she croaked out, very likely infecting the table with second hand smoke just by virtue of breathing on them. Michael, for his part, zoned out while everyone else ordered. The vice-like grip on his head was only tightening.
God, this was not good. Why did this have to happen now, of all times. He'd done everything he could, even things that weren't quite right, now this had to bear down on him.
Just get out of here, take something and lay down. Plenty of time before the show, it'll be a-okay. Nothing to see here just a little setback and then--
"And you?" It took a moment for Michael to land back in reality and realize all eyes were on him. "You?"
"I guess, uh, I'll just have the reuben."
"And one buzzard reuben," she said, sprawling it down on her notepad.
"Excuse me, buzzard?"
"That's right."
"Is there buzzard in it?"
"No, it's just a funny name."
"If you say so. You know what, I'm not hungry."
She shook her head and walked away, the look of a person who could already feel there was going to be a bad tip coming.
"Are you alright?" Robin asked. "You seem a little on edge."
"Yeah, yeah. Just a bad headache. I'll be fine by show time."
Or so he hoped.
~ ~
The lights were so bright.
In some ways, it was a fitting dramatic way for things to end. The hero comes back, fights valiantly but falls down on his sword. Hollywood would love an ending like that. That was some real Oscar bait stuff. The only flaw was that this was his own life here. He only wanted his own Hollywood ending.
In the moment, it was hard to judge his performance. It felt like he left it all in the ring, but he would have to watch it back later to find out. For now, he just needed to get to the locker room. He hoped he could make it back before things got too bad. The head was bad enough, but now there was more going on.
He rolled out of the ring, and his stomach rumbled as he did so. Oh great. Now this was the worst of both worlds. He had to move fast before anything happened in front of everyone. But if he moved too fast, the powder keg might burst.
Just act natural, he thought. Keep on walking, don't sell a thing. Smack some hands, high five the fans, hope they don't have anything contagious that'll just make everyone worse. Keep on moving, there you go, just gotta cross the curtain and it's all good.
Finally, the threshold was crossed and Robin and Aaron were there waiting. They approached and he held up a hand to stop their path. Not safe, at least not yet. There was only thing he was getting near, the trash can. Only once he finally upchucked he stopped holding them back. Not that they wanted to approach now anyway.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine. I think I'm just dehydrated."
Or so he hoped.
~ ~
Goddamn, what the hell was that noise? It screeched into his ears over and over. Somehow it ended up pulsating in tune with the pain in his head, each screech sending another shot directly into his skull. This had to stop. He couldn't take this pain any more, or whatever the hell was no making it worse. His eyes fluttered and finally opened.
S***, the alarm.
The realization came in waves, smacking him upside the head. It was just the alarm, just the alarm. Just turn it off and get back to sleep. Nice and easy, sleep off that headache. But wait, the time. The damn time. They had to leave for the flight in an hour, or even less now. Was anything packed? He couldn't even remember now. What had he packed? Even that was in the fog at the moment.
Just get up, just gotta get up. Get moving and get moving fast.
He rolled over and saw Aaron still sleeping in the other bed. Oh, great. Even better. He wasn't even close to being ready either, and Michael knew well enough to know that Aaron would be dragging his feet. He didn't need to be fully awake to know that much.
Oh god, how had ten minutes gone by already? He was just laying there, no way that could have happened. Dear lord, he'd somehow ruminated time away, trying to just figure out which way was up. No time for that now. Gotta move and fast. Can't be stuck in Hell forever.
He shot out of bed in a flurry of movement, throwing the covers back. First step was the bathroom, just gotta at least take a piss before getting everything thrown together. No time for a shower now, no way, no how. No time left for such silly little things as that.
The bathroom was only a few steps away, but the distance seemed to get further all the time. There was that feeling again, his stomach rolling over from inside of him. And god, there was the head again.
Just get in the bathroom. It'll pass, and if not you can just chuck it all up. Just get in there, there you go, no worries at all here, it's all good now, just weather the storm.
There was the toilet, thank god for toilets, what a great invention. But why is the room spinning, rooms aren't supposed to spin, what in god's name is this. No, this is a a bad ride, stop. No more spinning, stop it stop it stop it stop stop stop
“Dad, are you alright?”
His eyes shot open, though for a moment his vision was not clear enough to make out Aaron. The blob in front of him eventually turned to an image of his son, though that only answered part of his questions. He looked around and felt the cold linoleum with his hands. His head and back leaned against the bathtub.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just felt sick for a second there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. It's all good. Do me a favor and start packing the stuff. I'll be out in a minute.”
He stayed on the floor as long as possible, trying to get his head on straight and regain his breath. Sure, sure, he'd be fine.
Or so he used to hope.
~ ~
Ah, what a nice sound.
He shook the bottle a couple more times just to hear it again. Half full, perfect. Maybe, just maybe, if he took this now, things would go well for his big moment. Granted, it hadn't really done anything. But hope springs eternal.
The child seal cracked open, and he dumped a random amount into his hand. Step right up, take a chance, who knows how many aspirin you might win. That's right, it may be your lucky day and you may win the grand prize of actually feeling okay.
"Are you ready?" Robin called out from the doorway. Michael jumped, sending his precious goods spilling onto the floor.
"Have you heard of knocking?"
"Sorry. You're still taking that stuff?"
"I've got no choice," he replied as he picked up all he lost. Not even a half a bottle any more. A pity.
"You're not feeling any better?"
"I'm fine. It's just a headache."
"It's not just a headache," she said. "This is a chronic thing at this point. And it's not the only thing going on either."
"There's nothing going on! I was just dehydrated."
"Even the next day?"
“What are you talking about?”
“Aaron told me about your little hotel thing. Don't act like it's not true.”
Damn kids, always saying the darndest things. Michael shrugged. There was thing he knew for sure, this conversation was only make his head pound more.
“Look, all I'm saying is that you really need to get this checked out if it continues. I was reading on WebMD and . . .”
“Stop right there. You know what happens from reading stuff on there. One time they had me convinced I had the clap.”
Robin winced, and then the smile began to creep across her face.
“But I didn't!”
“Sure. Could have fooled me with that last girl you dated.”
“I'll ignore that,” Michael replied, managing to crack a smile despite the hammering in his head. “You know, I was thinking about something the other day. If I was at a different time in my life, this would be a good time to really wrap up my career in a big way. It's so close to Survival of the Fittest, where I first really launched my career. But obviously that's not the way things work out now.”
“I'm glad you've come to realize that. That's not the way you used to be. Now you've changed enough that this isn't the biggest thing any more.”
“And what do I win for changing my priorities?”
“Well, by choosing door number three, you get a long stable life of happiness.”
“I was hoping to play Plinko, but I'll take it. Michael threw on his suit jacket. “It's showtime.”
~ ~
Michael lost his composure as soon as he stepped backstage. He grabbed a hold of the first item he saw, a production team laptop, and chucked straight down the hall. It shattered and bounced into an Apple Store's worst nightmare. The throw luckily missed both Aaron and Robin, who had been waiting just on the other side of the entrance ramp curtain.
“What the hell was that?” Aaron asked.
“I thought I told you not to talk like that.”
“Sorry. What the f*** was that?”
“Who knows. Some punk trying to ruin my retirement.”
Michael kept on moving, Robin and Aaron struggling to keep up with him. He kept moving until he made his way back to his locker room. Once there, the movement just continued, now pacing back and forth around the length of the room. Robin shut the door and soon as she got both her and Aaron inside along her.
“I'm so sorry,” she said. “You don't deserve to have that happen to you.”
“Damn right I didn't. Who the hell does he think he is? DevilKiller had no right to go out there and do that to me.”
“I know, I know. Maybe you can go out another time and make the announcement the way you wanted to then?”
“Are you kidding me? I can't do that now. It's over with because of him. I can't just come back after he punked me out and I wouldn't accept his challenge.”
“Can I just say something? Robin asked. She put a hand on Michael' shoulder and then pulled back. He wasn't exactly in any mood for that. “I'm proud of you for not accepting the challenge. You did what was best for you in the long run. It would have been bad and you did the right thing.”
“That's not it at all. You don't get it. I didn't accept the challenge because I've got no choice. I didn't want to stand there and look like a clown by walking away, but there was no other option. We all know that if I stepped in the ring with him, it would end horribly. I've got nothing left and it's obvious. We don't know what is going on with me, but it sure is clear I could not wrestle in this condition. I want to go out there and kick his ass six ways from Sunday, but he'd just drop me and I'd be even more embarrassed. I want to be the same man I always was, but I've got to face the facts here. Time waits for no man.”
He slumped down into a chair and pulled out his phone. It sounded like Robin was talking for a minute there, not that he noticed what she was saying. Either she eventually stopped talking altogether, or he succeeded in totally zoning out. He couldn't tell which for sure. If he was thinking more clearly, he would have known not to do what he did next. But he just couldn't help himself.
Man, DevilKiller and @thunderwfwf would have been epic. Why didn't he say yes?
Lame ass @thunderwfwf not even standing up for himself, he was always a b**** anyway
hello hi @thunderwfwf im live on cam come join me at my sexxxy show at urfreecams
I guess Frank Lynn took @thunderwfwf's balls when he took his record. Time for him to take his ball and go home again. What a surprise.
He shot back up and headed straight for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. F*** it, I'm taking the match.”
“You can't!” Robin yelled. “You just said you'll get killed out there. And you're right.”
“I'll find a way. I still have my brain. I don't know what I'll do, but I'll think of something. He's not going to get one over on me. This is my story, and I get to write the ending.”
He stormed off. This time, no one bothered to follow.
~ ~
He stared at himself in the mirror for a while. If nothing else, at least he still looked the part. He didn't know for sure how much the stuff had helped his performance in the last match, or if it would help him against DevilKiller either. But at least anyone who looked at him would still think he looked like a wrestler. Once the bell rang, that was a whole different story. How sad it was, being left to just keeping up with appearances. That was no way to go, but those were choices he didn't get to make.
He wanted to ignore the knock on the door, but he knew he couldn't do that. It could only be one person.
“Come in.”
Aaron walked in tentatively at first. Michael waved him over closer and the boy eased up the tension some. He gave him a hug, which seemed to get rid of all of the rest of it.
“Your match is up next, you know.”
“Thanks. I'm just about ready. I should be good to go.”
“Are you going to be okay out there?” Aaron asked. “Like, really.”
“Really, I'll be fine. I've thought this through and I think I can make it out there. Now, I did want to talk to you about this before I go out there. You think I'm a good guy, that I'm pretty cool, right?”
“You're definitely not cool, but you are good.”
“Thanks. Well, tonight out there it's not going to look like I'm good. I'm going to have to do a lot of things out there that look really bad. Part of that is because I'm still really mad at DevilKiller, and I would to put him in his place. But aside from that, I'm probably going to need to cheat. That part is just out of necessity, to give myself a chance to win. I'm not proud of it, but I'll have to.”
“Wouldn't it just be easier to be honest about it and let people know what's going on?”
“I suppose that all sounds good,” Michael replied. “And maybe I can say that later, but not now. I'm in too deep. Right now I just have to do whatever it takes.”
“I guess that makes sense. You think you can beat him?”
“I can. It make take every trick in the book, but I can. I used to do a lot bad things out there, and it's time to pull a lot of them out again. I may be desperate, but for DevilKiller that makes me pretty damn dangerous.”
“Hey, I thought I told you not to use that kind of language,” Aaron said with a smirk.
“You know, you're way too much like me sometimes.”
Michael started to head towards the door before Aaron stopped him.
“There is one more thing I wanted to say, dad.”
“What's that?”
“Do you promise you'll see a doctor after this match?”
“I do, I do. It's necessary and I will do it. For now, I gotta go. I'll see you afterwards.”
He walked out of the locker room and started the long walk. Yes, the doctor would be another battle. But for now he had this battle that he so desperately needed to win.
And desperate men do desperate things.
~ ~
It was all over.
I was fine with walking away, even after a loss. In a lot of ways, I was still lucky. A lot of guys in the WFWF end their careers carted off half dead. But at least I was going to walk away on my own terms, with a proper goodbye.
And then you had to ruin it.
Not only did you ruin it, DevilKiller, but you did it in the most disrespectful way possible. You should have just slapped me in the face. That would have been more dignified.
Say what you will about Frank Lynn and the way he's talked down to me, but at least he's been up front about it the whole time. He didn't try to shake my hand while he knifed me, which is exactly what you tried to do.
You threw around a whole lot of supposed compliments and nice words, like that was supposed to mean anything. Do you think I'm that stupid, DevilKiller? You must, because that's the only way I'd buy the crap you're selling.
You decided to ruin my retirement just so you could use me to make a name for yourself. And of course you had to grandstand to do it, because you knew that if you asked me in the locker room, I just would have said no. Hell, I might have even walked away and pretended not to hear you.
No, no. That wouldn't do. You needed to do it in a way that would put me on the spot. That way I'd have no choice. Real smart move, buddy. I'm thinking of sending you over to the UK. They need a sharp mind like yours to figure out the Brexit negotiations.
So why did I decide to do the match anyway? Because I'll be damned if I get shown up on my last night by some punk like you. You don't get to write the end of my story, DevilKiller. I do. I was going to walk out with my head up high, but you made me change my plans. Now I'm also going to go out with my foot on your throat.
I know you allegedly wanted to wrestle me to prove yourself, but that's not going to happen. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to beat the s*** of you, and then I'm going to leave. There's going to be no moves, no holds. I'm going to punch that stupid makeup off your face until I decide to pin you or the ref DQs me. You'll get pinned if I'm feeling charitable.
At Do or Die, you're not going to be in the ring with the legend. You're going to be in the ring with me, the man. I'm not standing here bragging about my past titles, because that doesn't matter now. It's only about one thing, and that's ending you. You got off easy when I kicked your ass five years ago. Now that won't be the case.
Oh, you don't remember that? I must admit, I didn't remember it either. It was not exactly a big thing in the grand scheme of my career. At the time, it was my second to last match. The WFWF decided to put all the Superbrawl main eventers into a tag match as partners, all against some alleged hot newcomers. And there you were, up against all of us. And you'll never guess what happened. You got pinned, DevilKiller. It wasn't your night, to say the least, up against every top contender in the company.
A lot has changed in those five years, I know. You've picked up some big wins. You've even main evented shows. That's certainly a big change from all that time then. But here's something else that's different. Five years ago, beating you was just business. I wasn't looking to humiliate you, although I could have. I wasn't looking to injure you, although I could have. Now you're not going to be so lucky.
It's too late for you to turn back now. For you, there's nothing now. No respect, no victory, no great moment. You've wished for all for it. Wish in one hand, s*** in the other and see which fills up first. And abandon all hope.
He wouldn't actually be in Hell, Michigan for another month or so. But hell had come early. It had come in the confines a 20 by 20 wrestling ring.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get in touch with the local indy promotion, get use of their ring before they run their low rent show for the most masochistic of wrestling fans. And of course it was a good idea. Five years is a long time away from the ring, he couldn't expect to go back in without a little warming up. He just didn't think it would go like this.
He leaned against the turnbuckle, waiting for the moment when he'd regain his breath and the pain in his side would stop. He used to only feel that after a match had gone nearly an hour, our after he'd finished a 10k or a marathon. This was not supposed to happen after hitting the ropes too many times.
He threw himself down on the mat back first. Have to get used to this again, he thought, before getting thrown around the ring again. He remained there on the mat, trying to figure out the question in front of him. Was this a really bad ring, or a really bad back? The answer probably laid somewhere in the middle, the same general area the pain was now radiating from.
After a few more moments of laying there, he finally dragged himself up with the help of the ropes. What the hell was he going to do now, after that kind of start?
“Hey! Long time no see!” A voice suddenly yelled out from somewhere in the distance. Michael hung his head against the turnbuckle. Getting recognized by a supposed friend was already his worst nightmare. And this was just the worst possible time for such a thing to occur. If this was out in public, he would have just pretended like he didn't hear anything. Not exactly an option here.
Michael rolled out of the ring and got his first look at the offender. The mullet with legs was slowly making his way over to the ring, dragging one leg behind him as he did so. This guy had gotten the brilliant idea to cut the sleeves off his t-shirt, possibly because he thought a farmer's tan would look good. It looked like he'd had quite the battle to get his shirt over his gut.
“How's it going, man?” You remember me, right?”
“Of course, absolutely.”
He didn't.
“I take it you're not here for a match tonight?” He asked Michael with a smirk.
“Nah, just trying to get back in the groove before my return match. You know how it goes.”
“Definitely. I'm sure you'll do well, you were always tough against me in the ring.”
Michael stared at the face of Mickey Rourke's more deformed brother, and saw no familiarity at all. For all he knew, maybe had wrestled this schmuck before. Or maybe this was just one of those guys who pretended to be a bigger star than they were. Either way, he wanted to get the hell out of here.
“Thanks, man,” Michael said. “Anyway, I gotta go. I just remembered I . . .uh . . . left something in the oven.”
He winced and walked past the guy. It was entirely possible the guy was still pursuing him, but he didn't bother to look. And it's not like he'd catch up to Michael anyway. Michael may have been moving worse, but at least he wasn't moving that bad.
God forbid I ever get like him, wrestling in slow motion and making an embarrassment of myself, he thought. And then a worse thought occurred to him.
What if that is what I'm becoming?
He stopped dead in his tracks in the parking lot. None of that seemed so far fetched all of a sudden. For the first time, he wasn't sure how much he would have when he stepped into the ring. And it would be with the whole world watching him, expecting the same guy they always knew to be there. His fans would expect it, his enemies would expect it, Frank Lynn would expect it.
His son would expect it.
No, that just couldn't happen. He could not allow himself to go out there and make an ass out of himself in front of the whole world. There was no way he could let himself make a mockery of all that he'd done on a grand stage, becoming seen as some guy who came back once too often. Even if he lost, he still had to be respectable. And how the hell was he going to do that?
The one option on the table didn't sound appealing, but it was perhaps the only one available to him. If he pulled the trigger, at least he knew he wouldn't get in trouble for it. WFWF never had a drug policy and never would. Hell, the locker room contained more pills per capita than a Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney film set. And this wouldn't be nearly as bad as what everyone else was doing.
All he needed was just something this one time, to just help his performance a little bit. If nothing else, his body would look more presentable and he might a bit more strength. And it was just for one match, not like that would do any damage.
He got into his car and made a phone call.
~ ~
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It got good reviews on Yelp."
"In relation to what?"
"Let's just go inside."
Michael stared up at the stupid sign a little big longer. HELL HOLE DINER flashed before his eyes and he let out another deep sigh. Having lost this battle, he followed Robin and Aaron into the this god forsaken hell ho--oh, never mind. The last thing he needed for the show was this headache on top of the real one he was having. Greasy junk food probably didn't bode well for helping him feel better.
The average age of the population they passed by en route to their table was dead. These people liked Ike, and probably voted for Taft too. Well, at least that was a good sign for the menu. The food wasn't bad enough to have killed them yet.
Not that the menu encouraged him much. Such delicious lazy names like "hell hole salad" and "hell of a BLT" just screamed appetizing.
"So you're telling me that this whole town's economy is built upon a bad name pun?" Michael asked.
"It would appear that way," Robin replied.
"You know, I feel like if we went to Chevy Chase, MD, not everything would be Clark Griswold themed."
"That town doesn't even have anything to do with the actor."
"I know. It just seems to me now that this is such a stupid show name to return on. How much worse could it get?"
"Weren't you once on a show called Attack of the Little Green Men?" Robin asked.
"Well yes, but . . ."
"And Attack of the Little Green Men 2, in 3D?"
"That wasn't actually in 3D, for the record."
“And the Spanish Inquisition."
"Hey, that one was cool."
Finally the waitress dragged her way over, and not a moment too soon. She looked to be about as thrilled as Michael to be there. But at least he could check out any time he wanted.
"What'll you have?" she croaked out, very likely infecting the table with second hand smoke just by virtue of breathing on them. Michael, for his part, zoned out while everyone else ordered. The vice-like grip on his head was only tightening.
God, this was not good. Why did this have to happen now, of all times. He'd done everything he could, even things that weren't quite right, now this had to bear down on him.
Just get out of here, take something and lay down. Plenty of time before the show, it'll be a-okay. Nothing to see here just a little setback and then--
"And you?" It took a moment for Michael to land back in reality and realize all eyes were on him. "You?"
"I guess, uh, I'll just have the reuben."
"And one buzzard reuben," she said, sprawling it down on her notepad.
"Excuse me, buzzard?"
"That's right."
"Is there buzzard in it?"
"No, it's just a funny name."
"If you say so. You know what, I'm not hungry."
She shook her head and walked away, the look of a person who could already feel there was going to be a bad tip coming.
"Are you alright?" Robin asked. "You seem a little on edge."
"Yeah, yeah. Just a bad headache. I'll be fine by show time."
Or so he hoped.
~ ~
The lights were so bright.
In some ways, it was a fitting dramatic way for things to end. The hero comes back, fights valiantly but falls down on his sword. Hollywood would love an ending like that. That was some real Oscar bait stuff. The only flaw was that this was his own life here. He only wanted his own Hollywood ending.
In the moment, it was hard to judge his performance. It felt like he left it all in the ring, but he would have to watch it back later to find out. For now, he just needed to get to the locker room. He hoped he could make it back before things got too bad. The head was bad enough, but now there was more going on.
He rolled out of the ring, and his stomach rumbled as he did so. Oh great. Now this was the worst of both worlds. He had to move fast before anything happened in front of everyone. But if he moved too fast, the powder keg might burst.
Just act natural, he thought. Keep on walking, don't sell a thing. Smack some hands, high five the fans, hope they don't have anything contagious that'll just make everyone worse. Keep on moving, there you go, just gotta cross the curtain and it's all good.
Finally, the threshold was crossed and Robin and Aaron were there waiting. They approached and he held up a hand to stop their path. Not safe, at least not yet. There was only thing he was getting near, the trash can. Only once he finally upchucked he stopped holding them back. Not that they wanted to approach now anyway.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine. I think I'm just dehydrated."
Or so he hoped.
~ ~
Goddamn, what the hell was that noise? It screeched into his ears over and over. Somehow it ended up pulsating in tune with the pain in his head, each screech sending another shot directly into his skull. This had to stop. He couldn't take this pain any more, or whatever the hell was no making it worse. His eyes fluttered and finally opened.
S***, the alarm.
The realization came in waves, smacking him upside the head. It was just the alarm, just the alarm. Just turn it off and get back to sleep. Nice and easy, sleep off that headache. But wait, the time. The damn time. They had to leave for the flight in an hour, or even less now. Was anything packed? He couldn't even remember now. What had he packed? Even that was in the fog at the moment.
Just get up, just gotta get up. Get moving and get moving fast.
He rolled over and saw Aaron still sleeping in the other bed. Oh, great. Even better. He wasn't even close to being ready either, and Michael knew well enough to know that Aaron would be dragging his feet. He didn't need to be fully awake to know that much.
Oh god, how had ten minutes gone by already? He was just laying there, no way that could have happened. Dear lord, he'd somehow ruminated time away, trying to just figure out which way was up. No time for that now. Gotta move and fast. Can't be stuck in Hell forever.
He shot out of bed in a flurry of movement, throwing the covers back. First step was the bathroom, just gotta at least take a piss before getting everything thrown together. No time for a shower now, no way, no how. No time left for such silly little things as that.
The bathroom was only a few steps away, but the distance seemed to get further all the time. There was that feeling again, his stomach rolling over from inside of him. And god, there was the head again.
Just get in the bathroom. It'll pass, and if not you can just chuck it all up. Just get in there, there you go, no worries at all here, it's all good now, just weather the storm.
There was the toilet, thank god for toilets, what a great invention. But why is the room spinning, rooms aren't supposed to spin, what in god's name is this. No, this is a a bad ride, stop. No more spinning, stop it stop it stop it stop stop stop
“Dad, are you alright?”
His eyes shot open, though for a moment his vision was not clear enough to make out Aaron. The blob in front of him eventually turned to an image of his son, though that only answered part of his questions. He looked around and felt the cold linoleum with his hands. His head and back leaned against the bathtub.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just felt sick for a second there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. It's all good. Do me a favor and start packing the stuff. I'll be out in a minute.”
He stayed on the floor as long as possible, trying to get his head on straight and regain his breath. Sure, sure, he'd be fine.
Or so he used to hope.
~ ~
Ah, what a nice sound.
He shook the bottle a couple more times just to hear it again. Half full, perfect. Maybe, just maybe, if he took this now, things would go well for his big moment. Granted, it hadn't really done anything. But hope springs eternal.
The child seal cracked open, and he dumped a random amount into his hand. Step right up, take a chance, who knows how many aspirin you might win. That's right, it may be your lucky day and you may win the grand prize of actually feeling okay.
"Are you ready?" Robin called out from the doorway. Michael jumped, sending his precious goods spilling onto the floor.
"Have you heard of knocking?"
"Sorry. You're still taking that stuff?"
"I've got no choice," he replied as he picked up all he lost. Not even a half a bottle any more. A pity.
"You're not feeling any better?"
"I'm fine. It's just a headache."
"It's not just a headache," she said. "This is a chronic thing at this point. And it's not the only thing going on either."
"There's nothing going on! I was just dehydrated."
"Even the next day?"
“What are you talking about?”
“Aaron told me about your little hotel thing. Don't act like it's not true.”
Damn kids, always saying the darndest things. Michael shrugged. There was thing he knew for sure, this conversation was only make his head pound more.
“Look, all I'm saying is that you really need to get this checked out if it continues. I was reading on WebMD and . . .”
“Stop right there. You know what happens from reading stuff on there. One time they had me convinced I had the clap.”
Robin winced, and then the smile began to creep across her face.
“But I didn't!”
“Sure. Could have fooled me with that last girl you dated.”
“I'll ignore that,” Michael replied, managing to crack a smile despite the hammering in his head. “You know, I was thinking about something the other day. If I was at a different time in my life, this would be a good time to really wrap up my career in a big way. It's so close to Survival of the Fittest, where I first really launched my career. But obviously that's not the way things work out now.”
“I'm glad you've come to realize that. That's not the way you used to be. Now you've changed enough that this isn't the biggest thing any more.”
“And what do I win for changing my priorities?”
“Well, by choosing door number three, you get a long stable life of happiness.”
“I was hoping to play Plinko, but I'll take it. Michael threw on his suit jacket. “It's showtime.”
~ ~
Michael lost his composure as soon as he stepped backstage. He grabbed a hold of the first item he saw, a production team laptop, and chucked straight down the hall. It shattered and bounced into an Apple Store's worst nightmare. The throw luckily missed both Aaron and Robin, who had been waiting just on the other side of the entrance ramp curtain.
“What the hell was that?” Aaron asked.
“I thought I told you not to talk like that.”
“Sorry. What the f*** was that?”
“Who knows. Some punk trying to ruin my retirement.”
Michael kept on moving, Robin and Aaron struggling to keep up with him. He kept moving until he made his way back to his locker room. Once there, the movement just continued, now pacing back and forth around the length of the room. Robin shut the door and soon as she got both her and Aaron inside along her.
“I'm so sorry,” she said. “You don't deserve to have that happen to you.”
“Damn right I didn't. Who the hell does he think he is? DevilKiller had no right to go out there and do that to me.”
“I know, I know. Maybe you can go out another time and make the announcement the way you wanted to then?”
“Are you kidding me? I can't do that now. It's over with because of him. I can't just come back after he punked me out and I wouldn't accept his challenge.”
“Can I just say something? Robin asked. She put a hand on Michael' shoulder and then pulled back. He wasn't exactly in any mood for that. “I'm proud of you for not accepting the challenge. You did what was best for you in the long run. It would have been bad and you did the right thing.”
“That's not it at all. You don't get it. I didn't accept the challenge because I've got no choice. I didn't want to stand there and look like a clown by walking away, but there was no other option. We all know that if I stepped in the ring with him, it would end horribly. I've got nothing left and it's obvious. We don't know what is going on with me, but it sure is clear I could not wrestle in this condition. I want to go out there and kick his ass six ways from Sunday, but he'd just drop me and I'd be even more embarrassed. I want to be the same man I always was, but I've got to face the facts here. Time waits for no man.”
He slumped down into a chair and pulled out his phone. It sounded like Robin was talking for a minute there, not that he noticed what she was saying. Either she eventually stopped talking altogether, or he succeeded in totally zoning out. He couldn't tell which for sure. If he was thinking more clearly, he would have known not to do what he did next. But he just couldn't help himself.
Man, DevilKiller and @thunderwfwf would have been epic. Why didn't he say yes?
Lame ass @thunderwfwf not even standing up for himself, he was always a b**** anyway
hello hi @thunderwfwf im live on cam come join me at my sexxxy show at urfreecams
I guess Frank Lynn took @thunderwfwf's balls when he took his record. Time for him to take his ball and go home again. What a surprise.
He shot back up and headed straight for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. F*** it, I'm taking the match.”
“You can't!” Robin yelled. “You just said you'll get killed out there. And you're right.”
“I'll find a way. I still have my brain. I don't know what I'll do, but I'll think of something. He's not going to get one over on me. This is my story, and I get to write the ending.”
He stormed off. This time, no one bothered to follow.
~ ~
He stared at himself in the mirror for a while. If nothing else, at least he still looked the part. He didn't know for sure how much the stuff had helped his performance in the last match, or if it would help him against DevilKiller either. But at least anyone who looked at him would still think he looked like a wrestler. Once the bell rang, that was a whole different story. How sad it was, being left to just keeping up with appearances. That was no way to go, but those were choices he didn't get to make.
He wanted to ignore the knock on the door, but he knew he couldn't do that. It could only be one person.
“Come in.”
Aaron walked in tentatively at first. Michael waved him over closer and the boy eased up the tension some. He gave him a hug, which seemed to get rid of all of the rest of it.
“Your match is up next, you know.”
“Thanks. I'm just about ready. I should be good to go.”
“Are you going to be okay out there?” Aaron asked. “Like, really.”
“Really, I'll be fine. I've thought this through and I think I can make it out there. Now, I did want to talk to you about this before I go out there. You think I'm a good guy, that I'm pretty cool, right?”
“You're definitely not cool, but you are good.”
“Thanks. Well, tonight out there it's not going to look like I'm good. I'm going to have to do a lot of things out there that look really bad. Part of that is because I'm still really mad at DevilKiller, and I would to put him in his place. But aside from that, I'm probably going to need to cheat. That part is just out of necessity, to give myself a chance to win. I'm not proud of it, but I'll have to.”
“Wouldn't it just be easier to be honest about it and let people know what's going on?”
“I suppose that all sounds good,” Michael replied. “And maybe I can say that later, but not now. I'm in too deep. Right now I just have to do whatever it takes.”
“I guess that makes sense. You think you can beat him?”
“I can. It make take every trick in the book, but I can. I used to do a lot bad things out there, and it's time to pull a lot of them out again. I may be desperate, but for DevilKiller that makes me pretty damn dangerous.”
“Hey, I thought I told you not to use that kind of language,” Aaron said with a smirk.
“You know, you're way too much like me sometimes.”
Michael started to head towards the door before Aaron stopped him.
“There is one more thing I wanted to say, dad.”
“What's that?”
“Do you promise you'll see a doctor after this match?”
“I do, I do. It's necessary and I will do it. For now, I gotta go. I'll see you afterwards.”
He walked out of the locker room and started the long walk. Yes, the doctor would be another battle. But for now he had this battle that he so desperately needed to win.
And desperate men do desperate things.
~ ~
It was all over.
I was fine with walking away, even after a loss. In a lot of ways, I was still lucky. A lot of guys in the WFWF end their careers carted off half dead. But at least I was going to walk away on my own terms, with a proper goodbye.
And then you had to ruin it.
Not only did you ruin it, DevilKiller, but you did it in the most disrespectful way possible. You should have just slapped me in the face. That would have been more dignified.
Say what you will about Frank Lynn and the way he's talked down to me, but at least he's been up front about it the whole time. He didn't try to shake my hand while he knifed me, which is exactly what you tried to do.
You threw around a whole lot of supposed compliments and nice words, like that was supposed to mean anything. Do you think I'm that stupid, DevilKiller? You must, because that's the only way I'd buy the crap you're selling.
You decided to ruin my retirement just so you could use me to make a name for yourself. And of course you had to grandstand to do it, because you knew that if you asked me in the locker room, I just would have said no. Hell, I might have even walked away and pretended not to hear you.
No, no. That wouldn't do. You needed to do it in a way that would put me on the spot. That way I'd have no choice. Real smart move, buddy. I'm thinking of sending you over to the UK. They need a sharp mind like yours to figure out the Brexit negotiations.
So why did I decide to do the match anyway? Because I'll be damned if I get shown up on my last night by some punk like you. You don't get to write the end of my story, DevilKiller. I do. I was going to walk out with my head up high, but you made me change my plans. Now I'm also going to go out with my foot on your throat.
I know you allegedly wanted to wrestle me to prove yourself, but that's not going to happen. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to beat the s*** of you, and then I'm going to leave. There's going to be no moves, no holds. I'm going to punch that stupid makeup off your face until I decide to pin you or the ref DQs me. You'll get pinned if I'm feeling charitable.
At Do or Die, you're not going to be in the ring with the legend. You're going to be in the ring with me, the man. I'm not standing here bragging about my past titles, because that doesn't matter now. It's only about one thing, and that's ending you. You got off easy when I kicked your ass five years ago. Now that won't be the case.
Oh, you don't remember that? I must admit, I didn't remember it either. It was not exactly a big thing in the grand scheme of my career. At the time, it was my second to last match. The WFWF decided to put all the Superbrawl main eventers into a tag match as partners, all against some alleged hot newcomers. And there you were, up against all of us. And you'll never guess what happened. You got pinned, DevilKiller. It wasn't your night, to say the least, up against every top contender in the company.
A lot has changed in those five years, I know. You've picked up some big wins. You've even main evented shows. That's certainly a big change from all that time then. But here's something else that's different. Five years ago, beating you was just business. I wasn't looking to humiliate you, although I could have. I wasn't looking to injure you, although I could have. Now you're not going to be so lucky.
It's too late for you to turn back now. For you, there's nothing now. No respect, no victory, no great moment. You've wished for all for it. Wish in one hand, s*** in the other and see which fills up first. And abandon all hope.