Post by Lockhart on May 19, 2019 22:10:56 GMT -5
The slender, six-foot tall man had arrived earlier in the morning, and had remained posted at the heavy bag until noon, unrelenting in the way he would strike again and again. You’d almost think he had a grudge against the inanimate object, with the way the leather of the glove whipped the leather of the bag, like if it had anymore weight or momentum behind it the whole thing would come unhinged and topple on the ground in a heap.
There had been no beauty to the movement. He did not have the grace of a boxing prodigy, but he moved swiftly and with instinct. An edge to him that nobody in the gym seemed to possess at that point in time. That was what had caught the eye of Storb, who watched the figure intently.
After the man had finished another barrage of vicious punches, he approached him. Although he came in from the side, the man’s face was hidden by the black hood that bobbed up and down with him. Storb tapped him on the shoulder, gaining the attention of the young man.
‘Hey there, son. You got somethin’ against my heavy bag, or is somethin’ else on your mind?’
He was greeted with a look of indifference from a pair of dark brown eyes, followed by a shrug.
‘It’s nothin’, old man. This is how I train.’
‘By throwing all sloppy like that? You got speed kid, I’ll give you that. But I hope you aren’t planning on taking those fists into a fight anytime soon.’
‘They’ve done the job just fine for years now, I don’t think that’s gonna be changing.’
A toothy grin from Storb as he scratched the top of his head, ruffling through the wispy white strands of hair.
‘Ah, so you are a fighter. I thought so. You had that look about you. It’s a shame your technique is all off. You got a lot of potential, really. A bit of training and you’d be a force.’
He stopped to gauge the reaction of the younger man, who remained silent. Storb shrugged before continuing.
‘If you want, I can give you some pointers. You remind me of a lot of the kids I’ve worked with before, so it’s the least I could do. Always up for giving a young up and comer from Boston a few tricks of the trade, eh?’
An audible sigh from the man. Storb shuffled in an uncomfortable manner, unsure of why he was receiving such an icy response.
‘Are you sure you’re alri-’
The young man moved to square up with the heavy bag, hips rotating along with his back to generate momentum as his gloved fist barrelled forward at a frightening pace.
B O S T O N
S M A S H
The sound created by the impact had been unlike any Storb had heard since he had took up boxing over 40 years ago. The leather burst open and ripped, although the rest of the bag itself had remained somewhat intact, the sand contained within it seeped out onto the gym floor.
From all the movement required to perform the move, the hood of the man had slipped off, revealing the curly brown locks of one Ryan Lockhart. His eyes remained focused, with a killer’s intent. He did not smile or offer anything to comfort the older man, who was now rendered speechless, in awe of what he had just witnessed.
Without a hint of the cocky tone that generally accompanied Ryan, he addressed Storb.
‘That was thirty-percent.’
He ripped off his gloves, dumping them on the ground.
‘There’ll be cash on the counter.’
A camera flashes on, giving a view of Ryan sitting cross-legged on his black leather sofa in his Boston apartment. To the right of the shot, the World Title sits on a lowered glass table in front of the sofa, positively gleaming as it reflects the light coming down from the ceiling.
‘I’ll admit, I’ve been on edge lately. There’s been a lot of pent-up aggression, you see. A lot of me sitting and waiting, hoping that I’d be given the chance to get into action once more. I’d try and throw my weight around and demand it, but we’ve all seen how that shit plays out. It always ends with either Torture or Camila getting upset, and then trying to get back at me. Does it ever work out? Of course it doesn’t. But that won’t stop them from trying.’
He smiles, although it appears forced.
‘I guess what I’m trying to get at is… I take care of my business during my matches, and that’s all. I don’t care for everything that’s going on outside of that, unless it’s involving my boys. But I see you, Michael. I see what game you’re playing at. You aren’t here for emotional warfare, you aren’t here to play into my little mind games, right? That’s why you have nothing to say to me, except to be the dumb brute that you are and catch me off-guard every week.
‘Well played. Nice job. In a similar vein to Jaice… you’ve managed to capture my attention, at least for the time being. At least until we end up across from one another and the bell rings, and then that’s when the difference in levels will once again inevitably show.
‘That’s probably why I’m frustrated, Michael. The disrespect you’ve been showing these last couple of weeks? Well, let’s just say it hasn’t gone unnoticed. But, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll realize that I haven’t tried to level the score. In fact, I haven’t even raised a hand your way.
‘It’s because… this is what I wait for. This is what I save it all for.’
He claps his hands together, lips spread apart by the grin over his face.
‘Lance Walker, welcome to your final match in Action Wrestling.
‘What, you thought I was about to pull a Kidsgrove and spend my entire promo talking about some guy who is entirely irrelevant to the outcome of my match this week? Nuh-uh. That’s not how I do things around here. It just so happens that good ol’ Mikey here has been adding to this sensation I’ve been feeling… let’s call it an itch, shall we?
‘Lance, I’ll be the first to admit that these last few weeks have been difficult for me. You really have to understand, whatever happens to you next is nothing personal, not in the slightest. But I’ve had an itch, man. I haven’t been booked since Clash of Fuckin’ Champions, the same night I defended my World Title twice in one night.
‘Do you know what that’s done to me? I had to sit back and watch the entire Havoc Pay-Per-View and just wait to see who came out on top. I had to watch my friends, foes, and nutrags all compete and have a great time, while all I got was a stupid fuckin’ interview with a guy who hates me. By the way, I’m never doing that shit again. So much time wasted when I could’ve been hitting lines in a bathroom stall at some bar while I watched the match with a beer in hand.
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. What I’m saying is… three shows. Three shows I wasn’t on the card. Three shows I had to walk around in a suit and tie and put on a verbal virtuoso for these stupid fuckin’ fans who don’t seem to understand that what they’re witnessing right now is just the first damn chapter of what will soon be recognized as the lengthiest period of dominance in wrestling history.
‘Inactivity. I fuckin’ hate it. I hate sitting at home doing nothin’. I hate sitting in the locker room watching a bunch of people who aren’t fit to shine my damn belt get airtime that I should be getting in the main-event of every fuckin’ show. I worked for this, I put my body on the line for this, I showed out each and every week and squared off against the very best and beat them all…
‘And now what? I have to share my time with Michael X and have him ruin all the fun, all the drama my kicking me when I least expect it and putting me through the same fuckin’ table that seems to get broken in half every time there’s a contract signing?
‘Well, no more. I’m here now. I’m booked. It didn’t matter who was put into this spot, Lance. They were all about to meet a grisly fuckin’ finish. Unfortunately for you… it just happened to be your name across from mine.
‘So let’s get into it. The part of the promo where I tear you down from the inside out and then do it all over again and again and again until I feel like I’m finished. Don’t take any of this the wrong way… like I said, man. I’m frustrated. I’m fed-up. I’m going around hitting punching bags and shit because I’ve got nothing better to do. I’ve been chomping at the bit to get some… and goddamn I’m about to get some.’
He laughs, sounding as though he’s almost on the verge of insanity.
‘Time to put the finishing touches on what little career you have left. Alright, Lance. Let’s play ball. Former wrestler, huh? One of the best on the indie circuit? Who gives a shit. After all, there HAS to be a reason why it’s taken you so long to finally come to the big leagues, after years of hiding around and getting older, yet not getting any better. Like most, you peaked young. So why’d you never make the jump?
‘The bio says it all, really. Bland. I hope to god this Master Chef shit of yours really is just another layer to your gimmick, because I’ll be damned your dishes are unseasoned. You’re so out of touch and far gone it’s… it’s not even fair. Look at you. You’re a middle-aged indie darling with no personality. Your debut was fuckin’ shit. You had a chance to do something special at Havoc and make people remember you, but you did nothing of the sort.
‘And the fact that you’re a part-timer makes me even more sick. Do you want to know where I, your current World Champion, started on this roster?
‘That’s right, as a part-timer. As far as Action Wrestling was concerned, I was a risk. They were banking on some no-name kid to take their brand to the next level. And my god did they fuckin’ attempt to find the one. Look around you. Look at Lincoln. Look at Kemp. Look at Camila. So much young talent that have done absolutely fuckin’ nothing… but then there was the diamond in the rough.
‘There I was, just sitting there. For whatever reason though? They didn’t see me on that same level. All they offered me was a part-time contract with minimal benefits, and they wouldn’t give me anything more unless I worked for it… so that’s exactly what I did.
‘In that situation, there’s two types of people. There’s the Ryan Lockharts, and there’s the Lance Walkers.
‘Look at the path I took. I knew what I wanted. Money was what I was after. Fame, fortune. Legacy. I’m all about it. This is about me and this is about honoring my last name. Nothing else. I’m not in it for the fans or any of that good shit that people seem to get behind. I’ve always been honest about my intentions… but what makes me a better dude, and a better fighter than everyone else on this damn roster? It’s that I’ve always stayed true to it. I’ve told no bullshit. I never lied and said I was doing this for the people in the stands. This was always about me, and then when I joined #BeachKrew… it became about me and the boys. About bringing this place into an era of prosperity that would never be reached unless we pioneered it.
‘That’s who I am, Lance. I started from fuckin’ nothing and became the greatest wrestler of the Action Wrestling generation. Look at the record books and you’ll realize that everyone who has held this title has come from WCF. All of them.
‘Except one. Me.
‘I sit in my own league. The only one keeping me company in this class is myself. I have attained something that nobody other Action Wrestling Original will ever get to say, and that’s that they were the FIRST REAL ACTION WRESTLING WORLD CHAMPION.
‘I am this brand, I am everything that this place stands for. You? You’re a fuckin’ disgrace, through and through. When I look at you, I see no passion, no energy, no willingness to compete. You haven’t showed up once on the shows since you flopped at Havoc. Nothing. Not a single word from your sorry ass.
‘When is this shit going to end? You come in here with all this promise, this respectable background, these goals… and what do you accomplish? Nothing. You fade away into dust like all the rest, a forgotten piece of shit that never deserved to be here in the first place.
‘No more. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck about your history or that you were a grappler. Grapplers aren’t shit compared to fighters. Look at Dandy DiVito. Dude’s a fighter. Sure, he doesn’t hold close to anything I’m accomplished, and he probably never will… but fighter’s fight, and we do it better than the rest can.
‘I don’t wrestle, I scrap. I resort to throwing bodies around when I fuckin’ need to. But in reality? I can just hit you with my feet, knees, fists, elbows, head, whatever I need to do to get the job done. Those are the lengths I will go to. That’s why I’m the World Heavyweight Champion.
‘You? You won’t go to any lengths. You aren’t even willing to get up out of bed in the morning to proceed through your miserable existence. Getting to compete in Action Wrestling is something that only a select few people will ever get to do. Millions wish that they could do this for a living, and you’re just squandering the opportunity away like it means nothing.’
He sighs.
‘Whatever, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Maybe my words will light a fire under you, but how long will that last for? One match, maybe two? Even then, it wouldn’t be enough to take me out. Look at the type of people I’ve beaten in the past. People who have dedicated EVERYTHING they have into their career and into beating me. You aren’t anything compared to them, and you’re certainly nowhere near being a match for me.
‘Even if you were motivated by what I say, it would be fleeting. You don’t got the soul for this shit. You see broken bones and you cry. You see blood spill and you cower away. You probably got your ass handed to you one to many times on the indies and that’s why you went back to the kitchen.
‘I worry for your children, honestly. The fact that they’ve had such a slimy, uninspiring, and disgusting figure as there father and primary trainer for so many years now has me worried for their physical, mental and intellectual frameworks and abilities. Don’t worry though, Lance. You can tell them that Daddy’s really home after I’m through with you.’
A wink from the World Champion.
‘In this dire situation though, Lance… I shouldn’t be too harsh on you. After all, you are currently being thrust into a situation that is quite literally the most undesirable position any man or woman alive on the AW roster could possibly be put into.
‘A one on one with the greatest damn wrestler of their generation.
‘Believe me when I say I aim to make this your last match in Action Wrestling. Do not take this lightly. I wouldn’t dare attempt to kill someone in the ring, but your pathetic time here has made me realize that I no longer want to see you taking up any more time in my ring, even if the amount of time was already insignificantly small.
‘I have a standard to upkeep. There’s already enough disappointments running around as it is, what would it hurt to put one out of commission for a little while?’
He grins.
‘One Boston Smash is all it takes… and then The World will be put on notice once more.’
Dear Amber,
Hey. I’m not one to write a letter. But I need to get everything off my chest. Normally, I’d just bottle it all up and let everything play out, but I don’t think I can do that right now.
I’m sure it didn’t take you long to figure it out, but I’m not a good guy. Not at all. I do what I want and I take what I want, never stopping to consider how I’m hurting other people. I only realized that last part recently. I know we’ve played around a lot, tiptoeing around the fact and whatnot… but I’m not the guy for you. I mean that.
I liked you. A lot. I still do. It’s not something I’ve experienced much, and it’s weird considering how on-off we were… but it’s how I felt. I denied it for a while. It helped that I had stuff going on that I could invest into, distract myself with. I put up a wall and continued to do what I loved.
Fighting.
I guess that’s the main issue, right? I like to hurt people. I like to assert my superiority over them. When I started wrestling, I did it to have fun and make money to support the family. Now? I rarely speak to them, but I’m still having fun… for an entirely different reason.
In a recent… let’s call it a “dream” of mine, I saved you. Or I attempted to, at least. I thought someone had taken you. I did everything I could to get you back. Rage took over me. I became a different person. That’s another part of the curse of being a Lockhart, I’m told. Being irrational and swayed too heavily by emotion. I suppose I can see where the people who tell me that are coming from.
The point I’m trying to make is you and I were never going to work out. Even if I ignored everything going on around me and tried to make the effort, it wouldn’t happen. I already hurt my best friend, I don’t want to do the same to you.
I can’t lie though, I do want to change. I do. But at the same time, I don’t think I can right now. I’m at the pinnacle of my profession, I have accomplished everything an ambition-filled twenty-four year old would want to, and then some. I have more than enough… but I’m greedy.
That’s the thing with me. I never just wanted a piece, I wanted it all. And I’m going to get it.
But, I can’t help but feel I owe you something. Like I didn’t come through and give you what you needed, what you deserved. Even though our time spent together was short, we did form a connection. That’s more than I can say for most of the people I’ve met in my life. It’s always been about thrills. Highs, and more highs. With you I still got that… but there was something else there, I think.
It has to end, though. No more games, no more bullshitting. I had to come out and be honest with you. This sort of shit tears me up inside. For all the bad qualities I have, I’d like to think I still have some integrity. Some amount of honor in me, even though everyone around me would beg to differ.
So there, that’s my message. Underwhelming, I know. One year of build-up, just to get a shitty letter from a fling that had feelings for you. You can tell your friends that the “fling” in question is the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, the future Greatest of All Time, and the most interesting man you ever met…
But fuck all that shit. I’m sorry, Amber. Really. I mean that.
I’ll see you around.
There had been no beauty to the movement. He did not have the grace of a boxing prodigy, but he moved swiftly and with instinct. An edge to him that nobody in the gym seemed to possess at that point in time. That was what had caught the eye of Storb, who watched the figure intently.
After the man had finished another barrage of vicious punches, he approached him. Although he came in from the side, the man’s face was hidden by the black hood that bobbed up and down with him. Storb tapped him on the shoulder, gaining the attention of the young man.
‘Hey there, son. You got somethin’ against my heavy bag, or is somethin’ else on your mind?’
He was greeted with a look of indifference from a pair of dark brown eyes, followed by a shrug.
‘It’s nothin’, old man. This is how I train.’
‘By throwing all sloppy like that? You got speed kid, I’ll give you that. But I hope you aren’t planning on taking those fists into a fight anytime soon.’
‘They’ve done the job just fine for years now, I don’t think that’s gonna be changing.’
A toothy grin from Storb as he scratched the top of his head, ruffling through the wispy white strands of hair.
‘Ah, so you are a fighter. I thought so. You had that look about you. It’s a shame your technique is all off. You got a lot of potential, really. A bit of training and you’d be a force.’
He stopped to gauge the reaction of the younger man, who remained silent. Storb shrugged before continuing.
‘If you want, I can give you some pointers. You remind me of a lot of the kids I’ve worked with before, so it’s the least I could do. Always up for giving a young up and comer from Boston a few tricks of the trade, eh?’
An audible sigh from the man. Storb shuffled in an uncomfortable manner, unsure of why he was receiving such an icy response.
‘Are you sure you’re alri-’
The young man moved to square up with the heavy bag, hips rotating along with his back to generate momentum as his gloved fist barrelled forward at a frightening pace.
B O S T O N
S M A S H
The sound created by the impact had been unlike any Storb had heard since he had took up boxing over 40 years ago. The leather burst open and ripped, although the rest of the bag itself had remained somewhat intact, the sand contained within it seeped out onto the gym floor.
From all the movement required to perform the move, the hood of the man had slipped off, revealing the curly brown locks of one Ryan Lockhart. His eyes remained focused, with a killer’s intent. He did not smile or offer anything to comfort the older man, who was now rendered speechless, in awe of what he had just witnessed.
Without a hint of the cocky tone that generally accompanied Ryan, he addressed Storb.
‘That was thirty-percent.’
He ripped off his gloves, dumping them on the ground.
‘There’ll be cash on the counter.’
A camera flashes on, giving a view of Ryan sitting cross-legged on his black leather sofa in his Boston apartment. To the right of the shot, the World Title sits on a lowered glass table in front of the sofa, positively gleaming as it reflects the light coming down from the ceiling.
‘I’ll admit, I’ve been on edge lately. There’s been a lot of pent-up aggression, you see. A lot of me sitting and waiting, hoping that I’d be given the chance to get into action once more. I’d try and throw my weight around and demand it, but we’ve all seen how that shit plays out. It always ends with either Torture or Camila getting upset, and then trying to get back at me. Does it ever work out? Of course it doesn’t. But that won’t stop them from trying.’
He smiles, although it appears forced.
‘I guess what I’m trying to get at is… I take care of my business during my matches, and that’s all. I don’t care for everything that’s going on outside of that, unless it’s involving my boys. But I see you, Michael. I see what game you’re playing at. You aren’t here for emotional warfare, you aren’t here to play into my little mind games, right? That’s why you have nothing to say to me, except to be the dumb brute that you are and catch me off-guard every week.
‘Well played. Nice job. In a similar vein to Jaice… you’ve managed to capture my attention, at least for the time being. At least until we end up across from one another and the bell rings, and then that’s when the difference in levels will once again inevitably show.
‘That’s probably why I’m frustrated, Michael. The disrespect you’ve been showing these last couple of weeks? Well, let’s just say it hasn’t gone unnoticed. But, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll realize that I haven’t tried to level the score. In fact, I haven’t even raised a hand your way.
‘It’s because… this is what I wait for. This is what I save it all for.’
He claps his hands together, lips spread apart by the grin over his face.
‘Lance Walker, welcome to your final match in Action Wrestling.
‘What, you thought I was about to pull a Kidsgrove and spend my entire promo talking about some guy who is entirely irrelevant to the outcome of my match this week? Nuh-uh. That’s not how I do things around here. It just so happens that good ol’ Mikey here has been adding to this sensation I’ve been feeling… let’s call it an itch, shall we?
‘Lance, I’ll be the first to admit that these last few weeks have been difficult for me. You really have to understand, whatever happens to you next is nothing personal, not in the slightest. But I’ve had an itch, man. I haven’t been booked since Clash of Fuckin’ Champions, the same night I defended my World Title twice in one night.
‘Do you know what that’s done to me? I had to sit back and watch the entire Havoc Pay-Per-View and just wait to see who came out on top. I had to watch my friends, foes, and nutrags all compete and have a great time, while all I got was a stupid fuckin’ interview with a guy who hates me. By the way, I’m never doing that shit again. So much time wasted when I could’ve been hitting lines in a bathroom stall at some bar while I watched the match with a beer in hand.
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. What I’m saying is… three shows. Three shows I wasn’t on the card. Three shows I had to walk around in a suit and tie and put on a verbal virtuoso for these stupid fuckin’ fans who don’t seem to understand that what they’re witnessing right now is just the first damn chapter of what will soon be recognized as the lengthiest period of dominance in wrestling history.
‘Inactivity. I fuckin’ hate it. I hate sitting at home doing nothin’. I hate sitting in the locker room watching a bunch of people who aren’t fit to shine my damn belt get airtime that I should be getting in the main-event of every fuckin’ show. I worked for this, I put my body on the line for this, I showed out each and every week and squared off against the very best and beat them all…
‘And now what? I have to share my time with Michael X and have him ruin all the fun, all the drama my kicking me when I least expect it and putting me through the same fuckin’ table that seems to get broken in half every time there’s a contract signing?
‘Well, no more. I’m here now. I’m booked. It didn’t matter who was put into this spot, Lance. They were all about to meet a grisly fuckin’ finish. Unfortunately for you… it just happened to be your name across from mine.
‘So let’s get into it. The part of the promo where I tear you down from the inside out and then do it all over again and again and again until I feel like I’m finished. Don’t take any of this the wrong way… like I said, man. I’m frustrated. I’m fed-up. I’m going around hitting punching bags and shit because I’ve got nothing better to do. I’ve been chomping at the bit to get some… and goddamn I’m about to get some.’
He laughs, sounding as though he’s almost on the verge of insanity.
‘Time to put the finishing touches on what little career you have left. Alright, Lance. Let’s play ball. Former wrestler, huh? One of the best on the indie circuit? Who gives a shit. After all, there HAS to be a reason why it’s taken you so long to finally come to the big leagues, after years of hiding around and getting older, yet not getting any better. Like most, you peaked young. So why’d you never make the jump?
‘The bio says it all, really. Bland. I hope to god this Master Chef shit of yours really is just another layer to your gimmick, because I’ll be damned your dishes are unseasoned. You’re so out of touch and far gone it’s… it’s not even fair. Look at you. You’re a middle-aged indie darling with no personality. Your debut was fuckin’ shit. You had a chance to do something special at Havoc and make people remember you, but you did nothing of the sort.
‘And the fact that you’re a part-timer makes me even more sick. Do you want to know where I, your current World Champion, started on this roster?
‘That’s right, as a part-timer. As far as Action Wrestling was concerned, I was a risk. They were banking on some no-name kid to take their brand to the next level. And my god did they fuckin’ attempt to find the one. Look around you. Look at Lincoln. Look at Kemp. Look at Camila. So much young talent that have done absolutely fuckin’ nothing… but then there was the diamond in the rough.
‘There I was, just sitting there. For whatever reason though? They didn’t see me on that same level. All they offered me was a part-time contract with minimal benefits, and they wouldn’t give me anything more unless I worked for it… so that’s exactly what I did.
‘In that situation, there’s two types of people. There’s the Ryan Lockharts, and there’s the Lance Walkers.
‘Look at the path I took. I knew what I wanted. Money was what I was after. Fame, fortune. Legacy. I’m all about it. This is about me and this is about honoring my last name. Nothing else. I’m not in it for the fans or any of that good shit that people seem to get behind. I’ve always been honest about my intentions… but what makes me a better dude, and a better fighter than everyone else on this damn roster? It’s that I’ve always stayed true to it. I’ve told no bullshit. I never lied and said I was doing this for the people in the stands. This was always about me, and then when I joined #BeachKrew… it became about me and the boys. About bringing this place into an era of prosperity that would never be reached unless we pioneered it.
‘That’s who I am, Lance. I started from fuckin’ nothing and became the greatest wrestler of the Action Wrestling generation. Look at the record books and you’ll realize that everyone who has held this title has come from WCF. All of them.
‘Except one. Me.
‘I sit in my own league. The only one keeping me company in this class is myself. I have attained something that nobody other Action Wrestling Original will ever get to say, and that’s that they were the FIRST REAL ACTION WRESTLING WORLD CHAMPION.
‘I am this brand, I am everything that this place stands for. You? You’re a fuckin’ disgrace, through and through. When I look at you, I see no passion, no energy, no willingness to compete. You haven’t showed up once on the shows since you flopped at Havoc. Nothing. Not a single word from your sorry ass.
‘When is this shit going to end? You come in here with all this promise, this respectable background, these goals… and what do you accomplish? Nothing. You fade away into dust like all the rest, a forgotten piece of shit that never deserved to be here in the first place.
‘No more. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck about your history or that you were a grappler. Grapplers aren’t shit compared to fighters. Look at Dandy DiVito. Dude’s a fighter. Sure, he doesn’t hold close to anything I’m accomplished, and he probably never will… but fighter’s fight, and we do it better than the rest can.
‘I don’t wrestle, I scrap. I resort to throwing bodies around when I fuckin’ need to. But in reality? I can just hit you with my feet, knees, fists, elbows, head, whatever I need to do to get the job done. Those are the lengths I will go to. That’s why I’m the World Heavyweight Champion.
‘You? You won’t go to any lengths. You aren’t even willing to get up out of bed in the morning to proceed through your miserable existence. Getting to compete in Action Wrestling is something that only a select few people will ever get to do. Millions wish that they could do this for a living, and you’re just squandering the opportunity away like it means nothing.’
He sighs.
‘Whatever, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Maybe my words will light a fire under you, but how long will that last for? One match, maybe two? Even then, it wouldn’t be enough to take me out. Look at the type of people I’ve beaten in the past. People who have dedicated EVERYTHING they have into their career and into beating me. You aren’t anything compared to them, and you’re certainly nowhere near being a match for me.
‘Even if you were motivated by what I say, it would be fleeting. You don’t got the soul for this shit. You see broken bones and you cry. You see blood spill and you cower away. You probably got your ass handed to you one to many times on the indies and that’s why you went back to the kitchen.
‘I worry for your children, honestly. The fact that they’ve had such a slimy, uninspiring, and disgusting figure as there father and primary trainer for so many years now has me worried for their physical, mental and intellectual frameworks and abilities. Don’t worry though, Lance. You can tell them that Daddy’s really home after I’m through with you.’
A wink from the World Champion.
‘In this dire situation though, Lance… I shouldn’t be too harsh on you. After all, you are currently being thrust into a situation that is quite literally the most undesirable position any man or woman alive on the AW roster could possibly be put into.
‘A one on one with the greatest damn wrestler of their generation.
‘Believe me when I say I aim to make this your last match in Action Wrestling. Do not take this lightly. I wouldn’t dare attempt to kill someone in the ring, but your pathetic time here has made me realize that I no longer want to see you taking up any more time in my ring, even if the amount of time was already insignificantly small.
‘I have a standard to upkeep. There’s already enough disappointments running around as it is, what would it hurt to put one out of commission for a little while?’
He grins.
‘One Boston Smash is all it takes… and then The World will be put on notice once more.’
Dear Amber,
Hey. I’m not one to write a letter. But I need to get everything off my chest. Normally, I’d just bottle it all up and let everything play out, but I don’t think I can do that right now.
I’m sure it didn’t take you long to figure it out, but I’m not a good guy. Not at all. I do what I want and I take what I want, never stopping to consider how I’m hurting other people. I only realized that last part recently. I know we’ve played around a lot, tiptoeing around the fact and whatnot… but I’m not the guy for you. I mean that.
I liked you. A lot. I still do. It’s not something I’ve experienced much, and it’s weird considering how on-off we were… but it’s how I felt. I denied it for a while. It helped that I had stuff going on that I could invest into, distract myself with. I put up a wall and continued to do what I loved.
Fighting.
I guess that’s the main issue, right? I like to hurt people. I like to assert my superiority over them. When I started wrestling, I did it to have fun and make money to support the family. Now? I rarely speak to them, but I’m still having fun… for an entirely different reason.
In a recent… let’s call it a “dream” of mine, I saved you. Or I attempted to, at least. I thought someone had taken you. I did everything I could to get you back. Rage took over me. I became a different person. That’s another part of the curse of being a Lockhart, I’m told. Being irrational and swayed too heavily by emotion. I suppose I can see where the people who tell me that are coming from.
The point I’m trying to make is you and I were never going to work out. Even if I ignored everything going on around me and tried to make the effort, it wouldn’t happen. I already hurt my best friend, I don’t want to do the same to you.
I can’t lie though, I do want to change. I do. But at the same time, I don’t think I can right now. I’m at the pinnacle of my profession, I have accomplished everything an ambition-filled twenty-four year old would want to, and then some. I have more than enough… but I’m greedy.
That’s the thing with me. I never just wanted a piece, I wanted it all. And I’m going to get it.
But, I can’t help but feel I owe you something. Like I didn’t come through and give you what you needed, what you deserved. Even though our time spent together was short, we did form a connection. That’s more than I can say for most of the people I’ve met in my life. It’s always been about thrills. Highs, and more highs. With you I still got that… but there was something else there, I think.
It has to end, though. No more games, no more bullshitting. I had to come out and be honest with you. This sort of shit tears me up inside. For all the bad qualities I have, I’d like to think I still have some integrity. Some amount of honor in me, even though everyone around me would beg to differ.
So there, that’s my message. Underwhelming, I know. One year of build-up, just to get a shitty letter from a fling that had feelings for you. You can tell your friends that the “fling” in question is the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, the future Greatest of All Time, and the most interesting man you ever met…
But fuck all that shit. I’m sorry, Amber. Really. I mean that.
I’ll see you around.