Post by Dex on Jan 19, 2015 17:56:17 GMT -5
The 4 R’s in Return
-Relapse-
I was transported into the hospital on the night of October, 2nd, 2014, following a vicious attack at the hands of Phillip Schneider, his attack was a testament to everything I wasn’t. Phillip Schneider was an established name, with a hallmarked career in the industry, and I was a name not yet ready for the spotlight I was entrusted to fulfill. Phillip Schneider exposed my inability to compete with him in the ring; the match was over at the instance the bell was first rung. My WFWF career was impending, held together by a loosely tied string now beginning to snap.
“Diagnosis?” My father replied with as stern look, his eyebrows arched, in a position of concern I had never quite seen before. His voice, trembled between deep and high pitched, as he attempted to maintain the composure that I was befuddled with, my entire life. Despite having a tough exterior, I had quickly learned that he was easily penetrable, by the people he loved the most, that is.
“Mr. Kingsley, after conducting a multitude of different tests, we’ve finally uncovered his injury.” The doctor spoke out, slightly muttering. In his hands, it was apparent that the contents of the beige-colored folder that he had held was important, as he gripped his hands around the file with force.
“Well, why the f*ck are you hidin’ it for?” He blurted out.
“We have, something to share with you and your son, about his future.” The doctor stated, his voice and confidence diminished by the aggressive tone my dad instituted upon him. The doctor, almost pityingly, slightly puts his hand atop my father’s shoulder.
“Go on.” My father insisted.
The man lifted his arm from my father’s shoulder, then he shrugged, accompanied by a large engulfing sigh that transpired all throughout the chilling hospital room. It was quite apparent what the news was, it seemed as though, this fate was inevitable. I knew from the second I was beaten and bloodied, that I’d hear this news, in the same commiseration that his tone had alluded to.
“Along with your son’s extreme loss of blood, that could have possibly resulted in Anemia; his X-Rays did indeed come negative.” The doctor stated, as he nervously stuttered, his nervousness elongated his speech, resulting in further tension between my father and him.
“Negative, as in?” He questioned in response, his tone deeper, his sympathetic tone eroded into nothingness, as the tension between the two beginning to become apparent.
“He’s currently suffering from.. what is known as a herniated disc, in his lower-back. When spinal discs are damaged by injury, disease or the normal wear and tear associated with aging, they may bulge out of place. This injury, may evolve into Sciatica, which is an injury of the longest nerve in the human body. Sciatica may cause, extreme pain, a burning sensation all throughout your lower back and downwards towards your legs, and weakness in occured area.”
There is a long pause between discussion. As both the doctor, and my father, are locked in a everlasting study of human interaction. The two find each other locking eyes many times, before my father finally reacts to the medical analysis.
I wasn’t good enough. I came in thinking I was the sh*t, simply because Shawn Malakai, believed in me. He told me to be so, he regarded me as the savior of the industry. Over the course of my title reign, I was knocked apart, a broken man who had known the fate of defeat many times, but still I believed and tried to live up the expectation that he had instituted upon me. I believed in Shawn Malakai’s words; for no one had believed in me previously to that moment. I felt on top of the world, loved, cherished by all, simply because I held onto the belt, that signified that I was the best. But I wasn’t. I was outshone week after week, as I was proven to be a temporary holder. My egotistical attitude began to transpire into the ring, I believed that I could have beaten Trace Demon. I believed I could have saved the company from his ownership, but I was wronged, once more I found myself in a situation in which I could not overcome. My arrogance resulted in a downward spiral of neverending negligence; in which everything I believed in, became mere words, with no regard nor meaning.
“Will he be able to compete? Cause’ I don’t really give a sh*t about your medical analysis if it don’t mean a damn thing!” My father shouted across the room as his voice trembled from wall to wall, nearly vibrating. The doctor’s brown eyes dilated, in fear, as he swallowed, formulating a response.
“Well...sir...I know how much his career means to you..and him as well. But i’m afraid, as someone who practices in the medical field...I cannot let someone with this type of injury...which could end up transpiring into something even worse....participate in a recreational activity that has already done so much harm..to his body.” The doctor murmured to my father, with great fear.
“What the f*ck makes you say that?”
“Well, his spinal injury sir, it could result in something much worse. It’s too early, far too early, to tell the complexity of his injury.”
“How much longer do you need then? We don’t have
in’ enternity for you to learn what the f*ck you’re doing. Dexter told me, he’s gonna beat the f*cker that caused all this damn bullsh*t. That b*tch boy, Trace Demon. He’s gonna be back, I ain’t gonna’ let some wingnut motherf*cker with glasses and a stethoscope tell my son he ain’t sh*t.” My father’s angst had finally exploded upon the doctor, unveiling a passion and rage that most men his age did not continue to carry. His life had been filled with regret, mistakes, that ultimately led him to the man he became today. I hadn’t seen him for years, he pushed me away during my adolescence, now I suppose, after the death of my mother, i’m the only thing he has left.
“I’m sorry sir, and I understand your concern. This type of diagnosis is very intricate, in that he needs to stay here for a while. His nerves are very delicate, and we can’t risk further injury.” The man spoke, cautiously choosing his words, as his tone converted into a much more delicate speech.
My father shockingly, agreed. It was at that point, that my father, as well as I, had known what was best for me. He willingly complied, leaving the room, his footsteps echoing across the hallway in which he came from. I hadn’t seen him, since.
--
Their are times in every mans life, when he falls into a pit of irrelevance, never to return to the same stature of importance he had once held before. Following the attack at the hands of Phillip Schneider, I soon became that man; the man I previously swore that I would never become. The exuberant intricacies of the human cognitive process had left me burdened in a sea of neverending bullsh*t. Did I make the right choice, or will I be punished for not doing so? The thought of returning to a place, a situation, in which I was brought upon a great deal of pain, left me with a thrill only found in those with masochistic mental deficiencies. I watched, as my world crumbled, apart, piece by piece, I found myself, unknowingly, desiring the very thing that I had missed the most. The WFWF.
It had soon been two months, and the neverending, tedious, rehabilitation had ended. Throughout my rehabilitation, I had learned that despite the triumph and the progression that I had made throughout the therapeutic sessions, I found myself coming short of what I had ultimately desired. The ruptured disk in my back, limited my movement; to the point where I often struggled to walk, even while gripping onto a near-by side rail, I found myself falling, regressing in a pit of angst and suppression. I often found myself wondering, if I would ever return.
-Renewal-
The perpetual motion of neverending stomps upon my spine, had reinvigorated, even in rest. At times, I often felt his hand upon my face, as if it were a phantom limb that I had long since missed. I was miserable, longing for something I knew I could never attain again. I wanted to sit atop the throne as the true king that Shawn Malakai had always believed I could become. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, any longer. I had soon begun to suppress the pain, with a lifestyle of vigor and exuberance, a lifestyle I had never known up until now.
I awoke to the same dream that had begun to plague me ever since my injury. Beside me, was a woman, who I had only recognized due to her thighs and the way she moved, her name was of no importance to me. She was the third girl this week. I met them all at parties, using the same negligent pick-up line over and over again, they always agreed, thought I was charming. While I did have fun, it brought upon how desperate for what I desired I entirely was. In the end, I was led to the same thought I had known and revered, girl after girl. Getting rid of them was the hardest part of all. At times I found myself stating, that I was going to move to Tennessee, or I’d purchase a bald cap and say I had some incurable disease that was transmitted through sex. I had used cycled those lines and actions until the point where it would no longer work, and she was the first one to recognize my failures.
“You okay baby?” She woke up, oddly, slightly stroking my hair as if she cared enough to be my mother. They were all like that. They all thought that I was a good guy, someone who cared enough to be a father, to start a family. But I wasn’t. I lived and died by the success of my one night stand ventures.
“Yeah..” I murmured.
“Was it the same dream?” While I did believe that I was a godly figure in regards to completely disregarding females, she had seen beyond that, she had been here for a week. I thought about calling the police, staging my death, anything.
“It was.” I replied, as I sighed, getting up out of my bed. She was beautiful. Her light blue eyes could peer into the darkest of souls to expose what was good in the world. Everything about her was perfect; but I wasn’t.
“The one where you return to the ring and get hurt again?”
“Yeah, that one.” I snicker, as I venture forth towards my bedside table. Atop the bedside table is a collection of alcohol, bottles arranged by how much it would suppress the annoying b*tch beside me. I choose the strongest option I have ; luckily, it was vodka. I gripped the bottle hard, as I quickly drank as much as I could. She was somewhat disgusted, though her disgust had quickly often turned into empathy.
“Dexter, you know that isn’t good for you. Alcohol can’t change anything, you were hurt Dexter, there’s still a chance you can compete.” Her level of annoyance was beginning to erode, due to my heavy ingestion of alcohol.
“Listen, i’m not trying to change the past. I know I can’t change what’s already been done…”
“Then why the f*ck do you live and die by how much alcohol you ingest, how many girls you f*ck in one night? I know you aren’t like this at all!”
“Listen, I barely know you; you don’t know sh*t about me.”
“You’re right Dexter, I don’t know sh*t about you. But I at least know enough to know what i’m seeing isn’t who you really are.”
She was right. But my mission wasn’t to change the past in the slightest, it was to neglect the past in any way, shape, and form possible. Thinking about who I was, only brought upon more pain as to who I became. I desired to look into the mirror, to see someone successful, who accomplished everything he wanted to. And for a while, I believed that I had become that man. Though, I wasn’t, I hadn’t changed in the slightest. I was disillusioned into thinking I was more than that, but I wasn’t. Phillip Schneider only revealed a man who had been that way since birth, the epitome of disappointment. I always wanted to change who I was, to forget the past and suppress my emotions. But I couldn’t any longer, I was breaking apart.
“Maybe, you’re right.” I slightly whimpered, as I began to engulf more alcohol. I begun to walk towards the living room, as I moved with the most tranquility I could muster. The echoes of my footsteps, the “taps,” brought upon memories of the pain that had been delivered, on that day, two months ago. She followed me, as she assisted me to the couch.
“Listen, why, are you still here? I don’t need your f*ckin’ services any longer.” I genuinely questioned.
“I’m here, because no one else is. I’ve seen guy after guy be just as broken as you are. I don’t want to see you end up like the rest of them.”
“Well, how do the rest of them end?”
“The same way. They all die by the bottle.”
“Everything I’ve loved has died out, and found itself trashed in the f*cking bin. I loved my job, I loved to go out there and entertain people. I loved my friends, I loved that they thought I was the f*cking sh*t. But i’m not. I got injured, I don’t know if I can safely ever go out there, let alone win the f*cking championship!”
“Dexter, I understand, I know what you’re going through.”
“I don’t give a damn if I die today, is what i’m saying. I don’t have anything to care for, nothing to live for, do you know what that’s like? To watch as everything you’ve ever loved is stricken from you, in a mere matter of minutes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to be everything I wasn’t.”
“You can still be that man, there’s nothing keeping you from doing it!”
“My f*cking spine is keeping me from it.”
“It’ll heal Dexter. You just can’t keep living this way. You’ve got everyone looking up to you, you’re a hero.”
“A hero never questions who the f*ck he is. A hero knows who he is from the start, and lives and dies to protect it and everyone he cares for. My friend, childhood friend, he died while I was away. My mentor, Shawn Malakai, is dying with cancer, and I haven’t done sh*t to be there, when he’s been there for me. I’m f*cking dying as we speak, i’m not a hero, i’m the furthest thing from it.”
“You’re a good man Dexter. I know you want to live up to expectation, I know it Dexter. But living like this is disappointing those kids, that look up to you, idolize you, they want to be you.You’re killing yourself Dexter. A new girl every night won’t change a damn thing.”
She was right. Everything about her eluded me, I couldn’t recall her name, nor could I ever recall how we met. Though, on this particular instance, she was right, and I was wrong. I had eluded everything that had brought this upon me. I couldn’t change the past. No one can.
--
-Reinvigorate-
It had been months since we’ve seen each other. Our last meeting was prior to my first World Championship defense against Trace Demon, Drakz, and fellow ally Jayson Garrett at ‘Battle at The Garden.’ I had lost the match resulting in a downward spiral in which I later lost to Joe Bishop, as well as Phillip Schneider, that kept me out of action for months. Still, I was longing to compete once more, though the thought of failure and disappointment, had become a reality that I had to admit to Shawn Malakai, the man who handed me the WFWF Championship following his win at SuperBrawl.
I entered the room in which he was staying in, a hospital room, in which he was continuing his chemotherapy treatment. While his appearance was slimmer than before, he was the same man I had become familiar with, the same man who inspired me to become more of what I was. I walked towards him, cautiously, as I was continuing to formulate my thoughts, as to what to say to him. Though, he quickly noticed heard my footsteps, he was soon alerted, but refuted his assumptions, and he welcomed me with a smile. He was lying in his blue papered, white reclined doctors bed, in which he was previously sleeping, prior to my sudden arrival. I sat beside him, on a near-by white painted, wooden bedside table.
“So, how’ve you been dealing with it all?” Shawn Malakai spoke first, his voice while expected to be of lesser tone, was not, for Shawn’s brash will still remained inside of him. At times I was afraid of Shawn, he was often, cautiously optimistic, I didn’t want my struggles to lessen his condition any further.
“Not all too well. How have you been? Treatment’s going alright?”
“Everything could be a hell of a lot worse.”
Shawn’s sentiment created a pause of silence. As if I had felt entirely entitled, considering a cancer patient was much more hopeful and positive, than a twenty six year old with a taste for alcohol, and a much lesser medical condition. Shawn then began to continue his speech, as if he had been previously awaiting me to interrupt his speech with a typical, “but you have cancer,” a notion that he was likely accustomed to by now.
Why is that? I know you were rattled out there a few times, but did it really tick you off to such extremities?” Shawn, questioned, as if he was ironically more worried over my condition, as opposed to his.
“I got my ass beat; Phillip Schneider tore me limb from limb. I’ve been out for months now.” I replied.
“I heard about that whole situation, Dex. Never knew it really hit you that hard, I know you got hurt, but life is always going to knock you down. It’s about how you get back up.”
“I’ve heard those cliches so many times, Shawn, that I’ve struggled to find any truth to them, even when I always try my best to get back up, it isn’t enough. It wasn’t just Phillip Schneider that put me down into this sh*thole. I lost, time and time again, just me holding onto that belt tarnished everything you stood for, and your legacy. I was proven, day after day, to be nothing more than an afterthought, and they were right. I still find myself in the same situation. I’ve tried to do everything, I tried matching Trace, with my own gang. I tried to show everyone that I could be much more. But I failed at that.”
There was another pause of silence.
“Is that the full story? You lost a couple of times to guys who’ve been in the scene for years, even decades, and you simply forgot everything we’ve talked about?” Shawn questioned.
“I was told that I shouldn’t return, for another year, at the least. I wanted to be able to look in the mirror, and see someone like you. A guy who gave it his best and fought tooth and nail to achieve his dreams, but in the end, I’m just an entitled b*tch with a f*cking god complex, because I never had to bust a f*cking sweat in my life.”
“Go on.”
“I went places, because Shawn Malakai was in my corner from day one. Everyone knew I wasn’t cut out for it all. I was targeted. Everyone wanted to f*ck the poster boy, and Schneider took his first chance at it, and succeeded.”
“I didn’t choose you because you were the best, Dexter. I choose you to carry my will, because I knew that you and I shared the same passion at heart. People are always going to want to f*ck you around when you’re the top dog.”
“I’ve always just wanted to be as good as you. I tried to stand for the same injustices that I knew you would stand for.”
“And you tried your damn best standing for what you believed in. You didn’t do it because I believed in those same things, you stood up against Trace, because you knew that it was the right thing to do. It was what Dexter Kingsley believed in, not what Shawn Malakai instructed you to do.”
“I let it everything I received go to my head. I was easily intimidated by Trace, I let the status symbol of being World Champion diffuse who I entirely was before holding the belt.”
“So what are you planning on doing now, that we’ve talked for a bit?” Shawn questioned.
“I’m not going out to the ring; solely to live and die by points made and told by my competitors.”
“So you’re planning on making a return, I presume.”
“I’m going to give it my all.”
--
-Retribution-
It was a near freezing evening in the Portland metropolitan area, swifts of chilling breeze circulated the area in a constant never-ending renewal of cold wind. It was here in a low-key residential park, that I and a close friend, were supposed to reunite. While our tenure as friends was far from perfect, in the end, our friendship still remained whole.
While sifting through memories and recollections of our friendship at its prime, it was then when I saw him, Jayson Garrett. Jayson and I were a tandem usually mentioned in the same breath, though, complications such as a title match kept us apart.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked.” Jayson spoke, catching his breath, as his long commute in the freezing Oregon rain was quite apparrant.
“A couple of months, some sh*t caught up to me. But i’m ready to go out, and step in that ring again.” I stated, disregarding all of the medical analysis I had previously received. I had decided that I would return, regardless of me being months early.
“No, sh*t Dexter.” He chuckled, as if he was surprised by my notion.
“Listen, I’d just like to squash all that bullsh*t that was circulating around us at Battle at the Garden. I’d like to think that i’m a changed man now, but we can’t all be so sure of who we really are, can we?”
“It’s been months man, I forgive you. Chase and I, we’ve been going at it, the both of us, back and forth after we lost the titles to the Kokaine Konspiracy. Things haven’t been the same since then, it almost seems that sh*t’s about to hit the fan between us. How’ve you been, you know, away during injury?”
“It’s been tough. Up until a few weeks ago I was still debating on whether I would even be mentally ready to enter in the ring ever again. I made some mistakes, I did some things that i’m not proud of. I’m just finally anticipating my date with destiny, my returning bout against Diamond Jack Sabbath.”
“Nobodies perfect, we’ve all made mistakes, and done things that we’re not proud of. It’s what makes us all human, you’ve got to start accepting that we’re all flawed by nature.”
“I know that, Jayson.”
“Well, Dexter, you better start acting like it.”
There is a long pause before any conversation is made, the extended period of time that the two have spoken to one another, has brought the two further apart, rather than closer than ever.
“Have you made any progress with your injury? Can you move freely?” Jayson questioned, as he reinvigorated the conversation.
“I think I’ll be fine enough, most of my absence has been keeping it relatively simple and easy, I haven’t even attempted to display any athleticism, whatsoever.”
“So you’re going in blind?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. Hell, I walked three blocks here from my hotel.”
“I’ve heard enough about that Diamond guy to know he’s the real f*ckin’ deal. It might end up being a tougher bout than you were expecting.”
“Could be. I’m ready for any challenge ahead, and Diamond is going to be the first name on my list of many names.”
“You think he’ll be an easy win?”
“I don’t think anything will be a cakewalk with my injury. But i’m ready, to return.”
--
Every man at least once in their life experiences a situation in which they deem inescapable. All throughout my life, my biggest obstacle has been adversity. Adversity is the act of misfortune, Diamond, or rather Jack, you were indeed correct in your assumption. I wasn’t handed the cards that everyone else was dealt. For in fact, we are all born and conceived in the same way, in nature, though our experiences formulate who we become. I became everything that I envisioned me becoming, because I drifted away from what shaped me. I didn’t want to conform to the idealistic view of who I should be; I became who I wanted to be, who I thought was the best for those around me. ‘Diamond’ Jack, you and I are the furthest things possible from one another. I accept my short-comings, and attempt to better myself and improve upon what caused me to fail. Jack, you hide behind this idealistic persona, that has caused you to believe that you’re so much better than you really are. But you aren’t, you’re a poorly drawn facade who relies on nothing more than what you say. Jack, I’ve seen enough guys like you to know that you won't be here again next week. You claim that you were in that ring to merely show that you were capable of standing in a WFWF branded ring. Diamond Jack, you were never able to succeed in the WFWF, and in that regard, I sympathise with you. I can quite clearly recall the amount of times I’ve seen you ‘return’ to the WFWF, only to enter into a state of irrelevance the following week. ‘Diamond’ Jack Sabbath, you claim that you know every name you spew, every face that opposes you. But you don’t. Jack, at WFWF ‘Homecoming’ in Portland, Oregon, you’ll be the one running, just as you did against Daniel Kirkbride at ‘The Clash,’ and just as you did months prior. This is my date with destiny; suffered at your expense.
Just run Jack.
Just run.
--
-Relapse-
I was transported into the hospital on the night of October, 2nd, 2014, following a vicious attack at the hands of Phillip Schneider, his attack was a testament to everything I wasn’t. Phillip Schneider was an established name, with a hallmarked career in the industry, and I was a name not yet ready for the spotlight I was entrusted to fulfill. Phillip Schneider exposed my inability to compete with him in the ring; the match was over at the instance the bell was first rung. My WFWF career was impending, held together by a loosely tied string now beginning to snap.
“Diagnosis?” My father replied with as stern look, his eyebrows arched, in a position of concern I had never quite seen before. His voice, trembled between deep and high pitched, as he attempted to maintain the composure that I was befuddled with, my entire life. Despite having a tough exterior, I had quickly learned that he was easily penetrable, by the people he loved the most, that is.
“Mr. Kingsley, after conducting a multitude of different tests, we’ve finally uncovered his injury.” The doctor spoke out, slightly muttering. In his hands, it was apparent that the contents of the beige-colored folder that he had held was important, as he gripped his hands around the file with force.
“Well, why the f*ck are you hidin’ it for?” He blurted out.
“We have, something to share with you and your son, about his future.” The doctor stated, his voice and confidence diminished by the aggressive tone my dad instituted upon him. The doctor, almost pityingly, slightly puts his hand atop my father’s shoulder.
“Go on.” My father insisted.
The man lifted his arm from my father’s shoulder, then he shrugged, accompanied by a large engulfing sigh that transpired all throughout the chilling hospital room. It was quite apparent what the news was, it seemed as though, this fate was inevitable. I knew from the second I was beaten and bloodied, that I’d hear this news, in the same commiseration that his tone had alluded to.
“Along with your son’s extreme loss of blood, that could have possibly resulted in Anemia; his X-Rays did indeed come negative.” The doctor stated, as he nervously stuttered, his nervousness elongated his speech, resulting in further tension between my father and him.
“Negative, as in?” He questioned in response, his tone deeper, his sympathetic tone eroded into nothingness, as the tension between the two beginning to become apparent.
“He’s currently suffering from.. what is known as a herniated disc, in his lower-back. When spinal discs are damaged by injury, disease or the normal wear and tear associated with aging, they may bulge out of place. This injury, may evolve into Sciatica, which is an injury of the longest nerve in the human body. Sciatica may cause, extreme pain, a burning sensation all throughout your lower back and downwards towards your legs, and weakness in occured area.”
There is a long pause between discussion. As both the doctor, and my father, are locked in a everlasting study of human interaction. The two find each other locking eyes many times, before my father finally reacts to the medical analysis.
I wasn’t good enough. I came in thinking I was the sh*t, simply because Shawn Malakai, believed in me. He told me to be so, he regarded me as the savior of the industry. Over the course of my title reign, I was knocked apart, a broken man who had known the fate of defeat many times, but still I believed and tried to live up the expectation that he had instituted upon me. I believed in Shawn Malakai’s words; for no one had believed in me previously to that moment. I felt on top of the world, loved, cherished by all, simply because I held onto the belt, that signified that I was the best. But I wasn’t. I was outshone week after week, as I was proven to be a temporary holder. My egotistical attitude began to transpire into the ring, I believed that I could have beaten Trace Demon. I believed I could have saved the company from his ownership, but I was wronged, once more I found myself in a situation in which I could not overcome. My arrogance resulted in a downward spiral of neverending negligence; in which everything I believed in, became mere words, with no regard nor meaning.
“Will he be able to compete? Cause’ I don’t really give a sh*t about your medical analysis if it don’t mean a damn thing!” My father shouted across the room as his voice trembled from wall to wall, nearly vibrating. The doctor’s brown eyes dilated, in fear, as he swallowed, formulating a response.
“Well...sir...I know how much his career means to you..and him as well. But i’m afraid, as someone who practices in the medical field...I cannot let someone with this type of injury...which could end up transpiring into something even worse....participate in a recreational activity that has already done so much harm..to his body.” The doctor murmured to my father, with great fear.
“What the f*ck makes you say that?”
“Well, his spinal injury sir, it could result in something much worse. It’s too early, far too early, to tell the complexity of his injury.”
“How much longer do you need then? We don’t have
in’ enternity for you to learn what the f*ck you’re doing. Dexter told me, he’s gonna beat the f*cker that caused all this damn bullsh*t. That b*tch boy, Trace Demon. He’s gonna be back, I ain’t gonna’ let some wingnut motherf*cker with glasses and a stethoscope tell my son he ain’t sh*t.” My father’s angst had finally exploded upon the doctor, unveiling a passion and rage that most men his age did not continue to carry. His life had been filled with regret, mistakes, that ultimately led him to the man he became today. I hadn’t seen him for years, he pushed me away during my adolescence, now I suppose, after the death of my mother, i’m the only thing he has left.“I’m sorry sir, and I understand your concern. This type of diagnosis is very intricate, in that he needs to stay here for a while. His nerves are very delicate, and we can’t risk further injury.” The man spoke, cautiously choosing his words, as his tone converted into a much more delicate speech.
My father shockingly, agreed. It was at that point, that my father, as well as I, had known what was best for me. He willingly complied, leaving the room, his footsteps echoing across the hallway in which he came from. I hadn’t seen him, since.
--
Their are times in every mans life, when he falls into a pit of irrelevance, never to return to the same stature of importance he had once held before. Following the attack at the hands of Phillip Schneider, I soon became that man; the man I previously swore that I would never become. The exuberant intricacies of the human cognitive process had left me burdened in a sea of neverending bullsh*t. Did I make the right choice, or will I be punished for not doing so? The thought of returning to a place, a situation, in which I was brought upon a great deal of pain, left me with a thrill only found in those with masochistic mental deficiencies. I watched, as my world crumbled, apart, piece by piece, I found myself, unknowingly, desiring the very thing that I had missed the most. The WFWF.
It had soon been two months, and the neverending, tedious, rehabilitation had ended. Throughout my rehabilitation, I had learned that despite the triumph and the progression that I had made throughout the therapeutic sessions, I found myself coming short of what I had ultimately desired. The ruptured disk in my back, limited my movement; to the point where I often struggled to walk, even while gripping onto a near-by side rail, I found myself falling, regressing in a pit of angst and suppression. I often found myself wondering, if I would ever return.
-Renewal-
The perpetual motion of neverending stomps upon my spine, had reinvigorated, even in rest. At times, I often felt his hand upon my face, as if it were a phantom limb that I had long since missed. I was miserable, longing for something I knew I could never attain again. I wanted to sit atop the throne as the true king that Shawn Malakai had always believed I could become. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, any longer. I had soon begun to suppress the pain, with a lifestyle of vigor and exuberance, a lifestyle I had never known up until now.
I awoke to the same dream that had begun to plague me ever since my injury. Beside me, was a woman, who I had only recognized due to her thighs and the way she moved, her name was of no importance to me. She was the third girl this week. I met them all at parties, using the same negligent pick-up line over and over again, they always agreed, thought I was charming. While I did have fun, it brought upon how desperate for what I desired I entirely was. In the end, I was led to the same thought I had known and revered, girl after girl. Getting rid of them was the hardest part of all. At times I found myself stating, that I was going to move to Tennessee, or I’d purchase a bald cap and say I had some incurable disease that was transmitted through sex. I had used cycled those lines and actions until the point where it would no longer work, and she was the first one to recognize my failures.
“You okay baby?” She woke up, oddly, slightly stroking my hair as if she cared enough to be my mother. They were all like that. They all thought that I was a good guy, someone who cared enough to be a father, to start a family. But I wasn’t. I lived and died by the success of my one night stand ventures.
“Yeah..” I murmured.
“Was it the same dream?” While I did believe that I was a godly figure in regards to completely disregarding females, she had seen beyond that, she had been here for a week. I thought about calling the police, staging my death, anything.
“It was.” I replied, as I sighed, getting up out of my bed. She was beautiful. Her light blue eyes could peer into the darkest of souls to expose what was good in the world. Everything about her was perfect; but I wasn’t.
“The one where you return to the ring and get hurt again?”
“Yeah, that one.” I snicker, as I venture forth towards my bedside table. Atop the bedside table is a collection of alcohol, bottles arranged by how much it would suppress the annoying b*tch beside me. I choose the strongest option I have ; luckily, it was vodka. I gripped the bottle hard, as I quickly drank as much as I could. She was somewhat disgusted, though her disgust had quickly often turned into empathy.
“Dexter, you know that isn’t good for you. Alcohol can’t change anything, you were hurt Dexter, there’s still a chance you can compete.” Her level of annoyance was beginning to erode, due to my heavy ingestion of alcohol.
“Listen, i’m not trying to change the past. I know I can’t change what’s already been done…”
“Then why the f*ck do you live and die by how much alcohol you ingest, how many girls you f*ck in one night? I know you aren’t like this at all!”
“Listen, I barely know you; you don’t know sh*t about me.”
“You’re right Dexter, I don’t know sh*t about you. But I at least know enough to know what i’m seeing isn’t who you really are.”
She was right. But my mission wasn’t to change the past in the slightest, it was to neglect the past in any way, shape, and form possible. Thinking about who I was, only brought upon more pain as to who I became. I desired to look into the mirror, to see someone successful, who accomplished everything he wanted to. And for a while, I believed that I had become that man. Though, I wasn’t, I hadn’t changed in the slightest. I was disillusioned into thinking I was more than that, but I wasn’t. Phillip Schneider only revealed a man who had been that way since birth, the epitome of disappointment. I always wanted to change who I was, to forget the past and suppress my emotions. But I couldn’t any longer, I was breaking apart.
“Maybe, you’re right.” I slightly whimpered, as I began to engulf more alcohol. I begun to walk towards the living room, as I moved with the most tranquility I could muster. The echoes of my footsteps, the “taps,” brought upon memories of the pain that had been delivered, on that day, two months ago. She followed me, as she assisted me to the couch.
“Listen, why, are you still here? I don’t need your f*ckin’ services any longer.” I genuinely questioned.
“I’m here, because no one else is. I’ve seen guy after guy be just as broken as you are. I don’t want to see you end up like the rest of them.”
“Well, how do the rest of them end?”
“The same way. They all die by the bottle.”
“Everything I’ve loved has died out, and found itself trashed in the f*cking bin. I loved my job, I loved to go out there and entertain people. I loved my friends, I loved that they thought I was the f*cking sh*t. But i’m not. I got injured, I don’t know if I can safely ever go out there, let alone win the f*cking championship!”
“Dexter, I understand, I know what you’re going through.”
“I don’t give a damn if I die today, is what i’m saying. I don’t have anything to care for, nothing to live for, do you know what that’s like? To watch as everything you’ve ever loved is stricken from you, in a mere matter of minutes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to be everything I wasn’t.”
“You can still be that man, there’s nothing keeping you from doing it!”
“My f*cking spine is keeping me from it.”
“It’ll heal Dexter. You just can’t keep living this way. You’ve got everyone looking up to you, you’re a hero.”
“A hero never questions who the f*ck he is. A hero knows who he is from the start, and lives and dies to protect it and everyone he cares for. My friend, childhood friend, he died while I was away. My mentor, Shawn Malakai, is dying with cancer, and I haven’t done sh*t to be there, when he’s been there for me. I’m f*cking dying as we speak, i’m not a hero, i’m the furthest thing from it.”
“You’re a good man Dexter. I know you want to live up to expectation, I know it Dexter. But living like this is disappointing those kids, that look up to you, idolize you, they want to be you.You’re killing yourself Dexter. A new girl every night won’t change a damn thing.”
She was right. Everything about her eluded me, I couldn’t recall her name, nor could I ever recall how we met. Though, on this particular instance, she was right, and I was wrong. I had eluded everything that had brought this upon me. I couldn’t change the past. No one can.
--
-Reinvigorate-
It had been months since we’ve seen each other. Our last meeting was prior to my first World Championship defense against Trace Demon, Drakz, and fellow ally Jayson Garrett at ‘Battle at The Garden.’ I had lost the match resulting in a downward spiral in which I later lost to Joe Bishop, as well as Phillip Schneider, that kept me out of action for months. Still, I was longing to compete once more, though the thought of failure and disappointment, had become a reality that I had to admit to Shawn Malakai, the man who handed me the WFWF Championship following his win at SuperBrawl.
I entered the room in which he was staying in, a hospital room, in which he was continuing his chemotherapy treatment. While his appearance was slimmer than before, he was the same man I had become familiar with, the same man who inspired me to become more of what I was. I walked towards him, cautiously, as I was continuing to formulate my thoughts, as to what to say to him. Though, he quickly noticed heard my footsteps, he was soon alerted, but refuted his assumptions, and he welcomed me with a smile. He was lying in his blue papered, white reclined doctors bed, in which he was previously sleeping, prior to my sudden arrival. I sat beside him, on a near-by white painted, wooden bedside table.
“So, how’ve you been dealing with it all?” Shawn Malakai spoke first, his voice while expected to be of lesser tone, was not, for Shawn’s brash will still remained inside of him. At times I was afraid of Shawn, he was often, cautiously optimistic, I didn’t want my struggles to lessen his condition any further.
“Not all too well. How have you been? Treatment’s going alright?”
“Everything could be a hell of a lot worse.”
Shawn’s sentiment created a pause of silence. As if I had felt entirely entitled, considering a cancer patient was much more hopeful and positive, than a twenty six year old with a taste for alcohol, and a much lesser medical condition. Shawn then began to continue his speech, as if he had been previously awaiting me to interrupt his speech with a typical, “but you have cancer,” a notion that he was likely accustomed to by now.
Why is that? I know you were rattled out there a few times, but did it really tick you off to such extremities?” Shawn, questioned, as if he was ironically more worried over my condition, as opposed to his.
“I got my ass beat; Phillip Schneider tore me limb from limb. I’ve been out for months now.” I replied.
“I heard about that whole situation, Dex. Never knew it really hit you that hard, I know you got hurt, but life is always going to knock you down. It’s about how you get back up.”
“I’ve heard those cliches so many times, Shawn, that I’ve struggled to find any truth to them, even when I always try my best to get back up, it isn’t enough. It wasn’t just Phillip Schneider that put me down into this sh*thole. I lost, time and time again, just me holding onto that belt tarnished everything you stood for, and your legacy. I was proven, day after day, to be nothing more than an afterthought, and they were right. I still find myself in the same situation. I’ve tried to do everything, I tried matching Trace, with my own gang. I tried to show everyone that I could be much more. But I failed at that.”
There was another pause of silence.
“Is that the full story? You lost a couple of times to guys who’ve been in the scene for years, even decades, and you simply forgot everything we’ve talked about?” Shawn questioned.
“I was told that I shouldn’t return, for another year, at the least. I wanted to be able to look in the mirror, and see someone like you. A guy who gave it his best and fought tooth and nail to achieve his dreams, but in the end, I’m just an entitled b*tch with a f*cking god complex, because I never had to bust a f*cking sweat in my life.”
“Go on.”
“I went places, because Shawn Malakai was in my corner from day one. Everyone knew I wasn’t cut out for it all. I was targeted. Everyone wanted to f*ck the poster boy, and Schneider took his first chance at it, and succeeded.”
“I didn’t choose you because you were the best, Dexter. I choose you to carry my will, because I knew that you and I shared the same passion at heart. People are always going to want to f*ck you around when you’re the top dog.”
“I’ve always just wanted to be as good as you. I tried to stand for the same injustices that I knew you would stand for.”
“And you tried your damn best standing for what you believed in. You didn’t do it because I believed in those same things, you stood up against Trace, because you knew that it was the right thing to do. It was what Dexter Kingsley believed in, not what Shawn Malakai instructed you to do.”
“I let it everything I received go to my head. I was easily intimidated by Trace, I let the status symbol of being World Champion diffuse who I entirely was before holding the belt.”
“So what are you planning on doing now, that we’ve talked for a bit?” Shawn questioned.
“I’m not going out to the ring; solely to live and die by points made and told by my competitors.”
“So you’re planning on making a return, I presume.”
“I’m going to give it my all.”
--
-Retribution-
It was a near freezing evening in the Portland metropolitan area, swifts of chilling breeze circulated the area in a constant never-ending renewal of cold wind. It was here in a low-key residential park, that I and a close friend, were supposed to reunite. While our tenure as friends was far from perfect, in the end, our friendship still remained whole.
While sifting through memories and recollections of our friendship at its prime, it was then when I saw him, Jayson Garrett. Jayson and I were a tandem usually mentioned in the same breath, though, complications such as a title match kept us apart.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked.” Jayson spoke, catching his breath, as his long commute in the freezing Oregon rain was quite apparrant.
“A couple of months, some sh*t caught up to me. But i’m ready to go out, and step in that ring again.” I stated, disregarding all of the medical analysis I had previously received. I had decided that I would return, regardless of me being months early.
“No, sh*t Dexter.” He chuckled, as if he was surprised by my notion.
“Listen, I’d just like to squash all that bullsh*t that was circulating around us at Battle at the Garden. I’d like to think that i’m a changed man now, but we can’t all be so sure of who we really are, can we?”
“It’s been months man, I forgive you. Chase and I, we’ve been going at it, the both of us, back and forth after we lost the titles to the Kokaine Konspiracy. Things haven’t been the same since then, it almost seems that sh*t’s about to hit the fan between us. How’ve you been, you know, away during injury?”
“It’s been tough. Up until a few weeks ago I was still debating on whether I would even be mentally ready to enter in the ring ever again. I made some mistakes, I did some things that i’m not proud of. I’m just finally anticipating my date with destiny, my returning bout against Diamond Jack Sabbath.”
“Nobodies perfect, we’ve all made mistakes, and done things that we’re not proud of. It’s what makes us all human, you’ve got to start accepting that we’re all flawed by nature.”
“I know that, Jayson.”
“Well, Dexter, you better start acting like it.”
There is a long pause before any conversation is made, the extended period of time that the two have spoken to one another, has brought the two further apart, rather than closer than ever.
“Have you made any progress with your injury? Can you move freely?” Jayson questioned, as he reinvigorated the conversation.
“I think I’ll be fine enough, most of my absence has been keeping it relatively simple and easy, I haven’t even attempted to display any athleticism, whatsoever.”
“So you’re going in blind?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. Hell, I walked three blocks here from my hotel.”
“I’ve heard enough about that Diamond guy to know he’s the real f*ckin’ deal. It might end up being a tougher bout than you were expecting.”
“Could be. I’m ready for any challenge ahead, and Diamond is going to be the first name on my list of many names.”
“You think he’ll be an easy win?”
“I don’t think anything will be a cakewalk with my injury. But i’m ready, to return.”
--
Every man at least once in their life experiences a situation in which they deem inescapable. All throughout my life, my biggest obstacle has been adversity. Adversity is the act of misfortune, Diamond, or rather Jack, you were indeed correct in your assumption. I wasn’t handed the cards that everyone else was dealt. For in fact, we are all born and conceived in the same way, in nature, though our experiences formulate who we become. I became everything that I envisioned me becoming, because I drifted away from what shaped me. I didn’t want to conform to the idealistic view of who I should be; I became who I wanted to be, who I thought was the best for those around me. ‘Diamond’ Jack, you and I are the furthest things possible from one another. I accept my short-comings, and attempt to better myself and improve upon what caused me to fail. Jack, you hide behind this idealistic persona, that has caused you to believe that you’re so much better than you really are. But you aren’t, you’re a poorly drawn facade who relies on nothing more than what you say. Jack, I’ve seen enough guys like you to know that you won't be here again next week. You claim that you were in that ring to merely show that you were capable of standing in a WFWF branded ring. Diamond Jack, you were never able to succeed in the WFWF, and in that regard, I sympathise with you. I can quite clearly recall the amount of times I’ve seen you ‘return’ to the WFWF, only to enter into a state of irrelevance the following week. ‘Diamond’ Jack Sabbath, you claim that you know every name you spew, every face that opposes you. But you don’t. Jack, at WFWF ‘Homecoming’ in Portland, Oregon, you’ll be the one running, just as you did against Daniel Kirkbride at ‘The Clash,’ and just as you did months prior. This is my date with destiny; suffered at your expense.
Just run Jack.
Just run.
--
I dont know good luck 
