Post by Swarm on Jun 11, 2006 2:25:00 GMT -5
One building lay in wait of it’s imminent destruction, one being built from the ground up to replace. Is it unnecessary? Should society attempt to save the older building before deciding it’s fate? Should the community try harder to keep it in existence? That’s hard to say, it’s all based on opinion and emotion. The truth to it all is, reaction is honest. Reaction is when you find out what lies within the depths of the human soul. To see the reaction of decay being to destroy, it says a lot about society. It stands up and makes the clear point that society is unforgiving. Society is forgetful, and overall, society has no tolerance for failure. Intolerance lies in-between every board of wood in every rejected home, it lies on every street corner of every forgotten street; it clouds the sky of every sacrificed town. People cannot tolerate failure and decay because these are slowing. All things slowing are painful for all those impatient, but what is it to say about the other side of the coin? Is it natural to simply improve on what we already have and keep everything alive for as long as possible, never rebuilding or starting anew? Hope is an emotion nearly as dangerous as intolerance. For every intolerant cynic, there is a hopeful lover. Hoping to create while protect at the same time. To do both at the same time is impossible. Therein lies the problem. Should people be cynical and resentful towards that which is past it’s prime? Should people live with constant hope and shower the weak with protection and love? To rebuild or to improve. To keep or to create.
With those words, a sudden snap of a power switch breaks the soft spoken words of Alex Sean, engulfing the basement of what can assumed to be the older house with weak but sturdy light. We are overwhelmed. Our eyes burn and tickle from the sudden light shone upon us. Everything is blurry. The shadows bleed into the light, the light bleeds into the colors. The confusion is overwhelming.
Alex Sean: It was the very beginning of 2004 that Destroyer retired the Undisputed Championship and left the WFWF in the hands of one Dazz. A company once having seen it’s glory days only a year prior, everyone had abandoned or… *ahem* been forced to leave it. Still, the WFWF tugged along. Dazz accomplished what none thought he could; He rebuilt the WFWF from absolute destruction. He took children… children like CBT, Justin Tyme, ZMaster, and gave them chances to shine. For that, he, and of course the other men who assisted him in this, Johnny Michaels, Master of Destruction, later on ZMaster and Justa Mazing. Because of this, in the eyes of these children, those men were… legends. No, not Destroyer, my hero and the greatest wrestler ever right under me. No, not EBR, the most revolutionary star in this company’s history. No, not me, the greatest wrestler in history. They looked at Johnny Michaels, ZMaster, Justa Mazing, Dazz, these men as legends. As heroes or something. Considering Dazz is a fellow investor in the FCE and a close friend, I have nothing but good words for him, and with all due respect, he did save the WFWF from it’s imminent demise. But look at these other men. These people aren’t legends, and that’s what I’m trying to get across. Why do these people not understand that this was simply all that was left? Not the best, not the top, not the pinnacle, all that was left. Before I, EBR, Destroyer, Slayer, all of these names left, Johnny Michaels was a mid-carder facing Killer Instinct 2. Now, he’s in the Hall of Fame. How cute. Johnny Michaels is nothing more than an arrogant child who’s stubbornness and child-like behavior has cost the WFWF almost a year of progression as well as further degradation of their meaningless title. Michaels, you have the gall to call me egotistical, but yet as the owner you reign as world champion. You’re a politician. And that would be alright if you were a politician to the face. I won’t lie, I was a politician, still am. But when I’m stabbing you, I’ll stab you in the throat, not in the kidney. You’re a coward, and I can only hope one day, when you’re done sulking you’ll be able to step up and grow the nerve to fight me like a man. Of course, that’s a lot to ask for a child.
Our vision grows clear enough to notice a snort from Sean.
Alex Sean: Oh, and then there’s Master of Destruction. Mikael West’s lackey. It’s sort of befitting that by coasting at the near, sort-of, almost tip top of the kind-of mid-card you’ve been able to coast along for as long as you have, while Mikael West steps up and becomes one of the best ever and dies out within two years. It’s a shame, but hey, **** happens. Still, the fact that you make it into the Hall of Fame is disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself for even accepting the proposition. You’re an insult to the legacy of everyone who’s in there… Maybe except for Johnny Michaels, of course. You’re a rat and a phony. You’ve always been mediocre and you always will be. I just hope one day the hawks figure it out and feast on the remains of your career, because it’s surely dead already.
Alex Sean lets out a cruel cackle at Master of Destruction’s expense.
Alex Sean: Justa Mazing. If there’s anyone I dislike more than Johnny Michaels, it would have to be you. Here you stand, claiming to be a superstar. Please. You’re nothing, always will be. You’re just a punk kid who sucked up to the right people and got as far as you did, but that can only get you far enough. You want some real advice? Get out while you can. Friend, I’ve been at this game for years now. When I entered the wrestling industry, I was young, naïve, charming, and friendly. What happened? Well, like it will you, this industry ate me whole and spit me out. I’ve been beaten, spat on, rejected, fired, and hated. Hated by you, hated by fans, hated by the locker room. Nobody talks to Alex Sean. It’s taboo to be my friend. You ever wonder why? The reason is simple, child; I’m all that’s left of a time when the wrestler was everything, not the company. You can follow orders as long as you want but eventually you’ll realize that it’s about self preservation. It’s not about wins and losses, it’s about the mark you make and the name you stamp on the company and the people involved. Nobody remembers Frost, undoubtedly the greatest of all time. Why? Because he couldn’t handle the direction it was going. He knew the tide was moving in, and he had to move out. Can’t say I blame him. But because of that, because of his departure, the same way with Destroyer, I stand above him forever because I outlasted them all. I see you kid, and you have potential, but you don’t have the strength that I do. You don’t have the strength to find yourself sitting in your small apartment, alone, depressed, blackballed, shooting up heroin for a quick fix and realizing the truth as I did, and rebuilding yourself as I did, and rising to power as I did. You don’t have the strength to face the demon himself in the face and spit on his nose. You don’t have the strength to defeat the industry like I did. Because that’s what I’ve done, my friend. I defeated this industry over and over and over. And that, truly is why they hate me. So, follow my advice, you’re not strong enough, get out while you can before you die.
Our vision grows clearer, we can see the lines of Alex Sean’s frame.
Alex Sean: Oh and ZMaster, in fact, one of my opponents. Can’t forget ZMaster… not him. Hell, it’s remarkable. I could walk down the hallways of a WFWF locker room, approach every single one of them; Hypothetically speaking of course, I’d never verbally approach any of the locker room, and I could ask them who Frost is, gaining no response. I could ask the same question about Finley, about Lenore, about Destroyer, hell even about myself, and still, no response. But when I ask about ZMaster, oh he’s the best in their mind. ZMaster saved the WFWF! I mean, if a guy does that, certainly he’s worth remembering. But like I said before, he’s not worth remembering. He’s just what was left. ZMaster isn’t, wasn’t, won’t ever be the best. Not because ZMaster can’t be the best, but because he’ll never have the chance to. He never had the opportunity to grow up with such great feuds as Frost and Ice Dogg or The Shape and Destroyer. ZMaster never had the opportunity to have such wide array of promotions like SOWI, WFWF RP and Vote, and XWA. Hell, he never even had the chance to face EBR, myself, Destroyer, any of the greats of the past. For that, ZMaster, I can’t hate you. But kid, it doesn’t mean I have to respect you. I don’t respect you. I don’t respect you because you carry yourself like a legend who’s, perhaps, over the hill. You act all warred out, as if you’ve battled the greats and survived. But the truth is, ZMaster, you haven’t survived anything. You’re just an amateur. You never had to fight or compete at any sort of credible or remarkable level. Were you the best of the pack? Perhaps, but who of any reputation was even in that pack? A few stragglers and children fanboys? It’s a shame to say it because they love you around here, but ZMaster, you’re worthless. You’re worthless to this company, you’re worthless to me, you’re worthless to yourself. You may argue that your legacy has outlasted mine, but just wait. Wait, ZMaster, in three years when you’ve gotten bitter and tired of this place like I did and you leave, and wait when they forget you for some other kid. When that happens, you’ll hate him, you’ll hate this company, you’ll hate it all; You will become a fireball of bitterness and hatred, and only then will you realize how pathetic you are. You see the difference between me and you is that I am stronger and more talented or powerful than you’ll ever be. When I was forgotten and had that rage inside of me, I fought inward and vanquished the fire. By my sheer force of will and experience, I survived, and I continue to flourish. You aren’t like me, ZMaster, you will be overpowered by your hate to the brink and, inevitably, it will kill you. It will kill you like it did all those others before me who weren’t powerful enough to survive. You’ll live a bleak, lonely, worthless life. A shell of what was once just a good wrestler. I have my great matches, I have my great feuds, I have the friends along the way to hold on to. You, however, don’t because you’ve never been that good. I want you to think about that.
And Finally… Clarity comes. You could argue it took a rather long time to bring forth, but as the narrator, I can take as long as I’d like, thank you very much. Upon our first, clear sight, we see the low roof, comprised of wet floorboards. They leak with muddy water and creak with every step of the large mice calling the abandoned homes, perhaps due to the termite infestation. We get a closer look around us and surrounding Mr. Sean are what you’d expect; A washer and dryer, side by side. The once white metal now rusted over and covered in dirt, collaborating to a brown decay. On one side of the room holds a plastic box of random toys and items left over from previous renters, things such as rattles and play-mats and whatnot. On the opposite side of the small room holds it’s generators and hot water heaters and such, all rusted, all worn to the brink. The chipped, dirty stone walls hug it all tightly in, with only a small window in the upper right-hand corner shedding light onto everything. We look back at Sean, who looks to be collecting his thoughts, smoking a cigarette. He retracts the but from his lips, flicks it to the floor and steps on it’s ashes.
Alex Sean: Of course, there are also the new kids; The so-called future of the WFWF. Practically all of them are my opponents for the battle royal. Names such as Tha CBT, Immune, or Justin Tyme. These are all newcomers who are, in the eyes of many, beginning to blossom into their own stardom. I’m never one to dwell on the overly negative, but it’s just not true. I think out of all of these, the only one of these kids to even have heart is Tha CBT. You know, I actually like you. You seem like a nice enough guy, and at the same time, you’ve got attitude. You’ve got that killer instinct and drive to do something worthwhile with your career. If only, say, you had some guidance or, perhaps, the genuine skill to back it up you’d be great. I feel bad for shunning you, but I want to do it while you’re young so you don’t wind up a worthless piece of **** like Johnny Michaels. Just get out while you have the chance. Enlist in the army, paint a picture, write a movie, do something. This business is not for you. If you had come in at a better period of it’s growth, you might have stood a chance, but at this point, it’s a foregone conclusion.
Sean nods his head.
Alex Sean: But then there’s some I don’t like so much… Like Immune for instance. You know, over a year ago, I remember seeing your work and going up to you to give you advice. At the time… You were bad. I mean, real bad. You had about as much potential to succeed as… Well, everyone else, to be honest, but anyway, I wanted to help you. So I approach you, and I give you advice. And you did what? First, you cried about it, like, I heard literally cried about my comments, then almost got me fired for it. Behind my back, no-less. I had sympathy for you before, and that was proven to be a mistake. So, without pity or remorse, I’m going to say to you what everyone else is too insecure and self absorbed to bother to point out; You’re terrible. You suck. You have no talent. You speak like a twelve year old child and behave like one as well. You’ve gotten to the point you’re at now simply because there was nobody else for you to face. You’ve spent your entire, short, miserable career sucking up to the ownership and crying when people put you down rather than taking the advice that’s given to you. You’re a bitch, an arrogant, talentless little bitch. I wish I had more things to say about you, but I feel like I might develop cancer of the mouth just by speaking your name.
Alex Sean spits disgustingly at the floor.
Alex Sean: And I point out Justin Tyme because, well, it’s a tough call. I don’t like these kids or what they have to offer, but some would argue they’re all that’s left. This is the future and we just have to accept it. That’s what they’d say. And so, of course, the question arises. Should we hold on to the old, the home or the men or whichever form it may be in, or should we move on to the new, be it better or worse? The truth is, neither. We should do neither. The WFWF is at it’s breaking point. Back in the day, the people who succeeded were the best. The champions were the best for that particular title and the main eventers headlined for a reason. Because of that, the people who came in were bred by the great, and subsequently became great. Such is not the case for today. Now, bad go into bad and become worse. You have mediocre main eventers training the new kids to be mediocre. Is that how things should be? I think not. The truth is, revolution is necessary at this point. Revolution by anarchy. You ask what my means for rebuilding is? I will, brick by brick, tear the walls of the WFWF down, I will blast the foundation into oblivion, I will burn what’s left, and I will salt the earth so that nothing will ever regrow in it’s place. Instead, I will form a new foundation. No, not such as to what is standing only feet from this house I stand in, but I will rebuild in my own image. I will build what is great, what made the WFWF great in the first place. I will rebuild and cast aside any who stand in my way. Revolution comes through anarchy, once the revolution occurs, the WFWF will be whole again. And hopefully, it will be home.
Sean briskly paces past us. We turn around and see a staircase leading up. Following him, we see him watching the men rebuilding the newly crafted house standing next to the older.
Alex Sean: I remember a time when I could call the WFWF home. When I could fight the best and be the best. I remember when winning the World Title meant everything. I would kill for a time like that. And if winning the title now, merely as a stepping stone, is how I have to do it, so be it. I will. I will vanquish all of those who stand in my way. I will bring the revolution by force and rebuild what’s left into a utopia of wrestling greatness. Perhaps that will be I will be remembered. Remembered by fear… hate… love, it doesn’t matter. I will carve another notch into my legacy by what I do on these coming days, and I will leave my mark on the WFWF once and for all.
We merely stand and watch Sean as he observes the men at work on the apartment. We watch… We wait. Waiting… for the revolution.
