Post by Warpig on Apr 30, 2021 10:31:57 GMT -5
What is happiness? A feeling? A chemical reaction? No. It's more than that but also both. Happiness is a feeling brought on by a chemical reaction in the brain. It's the embodiment of just feeling good. It's euphoria. It's everything everyone wants.
William Feight hadn't been happy in quite some time. He didn't have time while serving. And when he was discharged, he was too fucked up to feel happy. The past few years of his life have been nothing but pain. Both physical and mental. It was something he'd simply grown used to it. But he did feel a tinge of happiness when he won the tv title. Even though he said that he didn't care, he smiled ever so slightly when he won it. And he felt disappointed when he lost it. All that glitters is not gold, but it can still bring happiness.
It was humid out as Feight walked the streets of Memphis. As usual in spring in the deep South, storms were brewing. The humidity made being outside almost unbearable. The wind blew furiously. Rain gently pitter pattered onto the concrete sidewalks of the city, steadily getting harder.
William walked in this. Being outside in the elements was something he was used to. He had never been bothered by it and his training only solidified it.
He watched the people of the city as he walked down a particularly busy city street. Many were fans of AW and we're going home. Others were going to bars. Most just looked so damn happy. William found himself jealous. Why couldn't he feel like that? Of course he knew the answer to that question. His PTSD. But why hadn't he been able to beat it? Or at least control it?
He lit a cigarette as he walked, letting the ash fall down and burn through his white t-shirt. As he walked, he began to think about the Vietnam Vet he'd met in Jacksonville. The man was dealing with the same issues and had no where to turn. He stated that, at his age, it was too late. But for Will it wasn't. He could still get the help he needed. He only had to accept the fact that this would be a fight that would never truly end. That troubled him. If getting help wouldn't actually end his pain, why do it? No war could go on forever so why this one? Couldn't there be an end?
His thoughts drifted to his wife Jessica. She was his end. Being with her would be his end. But he was afraid. He was gripped by a fear that he'd do something. But he also thought that being with her again would ease his pain. She was his answer even when he didn't truly think she was. Hope. That's all he really had.
"Claire Hawkins. You've had a great run. Multiple time champion. Beating nearly everyone in your path. Kudos to that. Even in a business like this where people often talk themselves up while having no actual fighting skill that is impressive. But, at the same time, it's also par for the course. It just means you're better than some of the others" he said before taking a drag.
"And I'm sure you'd like to think of yourself as something different. After all. You're obviously better than some of the others. But just like them you let your mouth run. Nearly screaming at anyone who cares to listen. Trying to intimidate others. It worked with Gail. But I have to tell you. Those who constantly talk about things they've done in this business do not impress or intimidate me. Why should it? Does it matter to me that you beat Wesley? Or that you converged titles? No. Again. Why should it? Why would any of that matter? That wasn't me you faced. That was someone who couldn't walk a mile in my shoes. Much less deal with the situations I've been in. So please spare me and everyone else the history lesson. It doesn't matter. Nothing you've done to this point actually matters. There is nothing you could say you've done that will make me blink twice." He said.
He ashed the cigarette, eyeing a car full of teenagers who were a bit too loud for his taste.
"I'm sure that hurts. You're proud of your accomplishments. I can't blame you. I'm proud of mine. But they're different types. While you were winning titles, I was dragging dead bodies back to camp. While you were having wrestling matches in front of crowds, I was storming enemy positions to try and save my brothers lives. While you were listening to those fans, I was listening to bombs go off around me. Listening as bullets whizzed past my ear. And winning medals for bravery. Paying a price I will never be able to fully pay. But you go on. List everything you've done for all to hear. Some will cheer. Me? I'll roll my eyes, roll up my sleeves and do what I do. Complete the mission and take back the one thing that's made me smile. The tv title. You'll fight. Of course you will. When haven't you? And in the past that was enough. But what you have to ask yourself is will it be enough this time? Will you have the fight in you to go the distance with a man such as myself? You'll tell yourself that you do but we both know it'd be a lie. I guess all that's left to say is good luck. You'll fucking need it"
William put the cigarette out.
Fade
William Feight hadn't been happy in quite some time. He didn't have time while serving. And when he was discharged, he was too fucked up to feel happy. The past few years of his life have been nothing but pain. Both physical and mental. It was something he'd simply grown used to it. But he did feel a tinge of happiness when he won the tv title. Even though he said that he didn't care, he smiled ever so slightly when he won it. And he felt disappointed when he lost it. All that glitters is not gold, but it can still bring happiness.
It was humid out as Feight walked the streets of Memphis. As usual in spring in the deep South, storms were brewing. The humidity made being outside almost unbearable. The wind blew furiously. Rain gently pitter pattered onto the concrete sidewalks of the city, steadily getting harder.
William walked in this. Being outside in the elements was something he was used to. He had never been bothered by it and his training only solidified it.
He watched the people of the city as he walked down a particularly busy city street. Many were fans of AW and we're going home. Others were going to bars. Most just looked so damn happy. William found himself jealous. Why couldn't he feel like that? Of course he knew the answer to that question. His PTSD. But why hadn't he been able to beat it? Or at least control it?
He lit a cigarette as he walked, letting the ash fall down and burn through his white t-shirt. As he walked, he began to think about the Vietnam Vet he'd met in Jacksonville. The man was dealing with the same issues and had no where to turn. He stated that, at his age, it was too late. But for Will it wasn't. He could still get the help he needed. He only had to accept the fact that this would be a fight that would never truly end. That troubled him. If getting help wouldn't actually end his pain, why do it? No war could go on forever so why this one? Couldn't there be an end?
His thoughts drifted to his wife Jessica. She was his end. Being with her would be his end. But he was afraid. He was gripped by a fear that he'd do something. But he also thought that being with her again would ease his pain. She was his answer even when he didn't truly think she was. Hope. That's all he really had.
"Claire Hawkins. You've had a great run. Multiple time champion. Beating nearly everyone in your path. Kudos to that. Even in a business like this where people often talk themselves up while having no actual fighting skill that is impressive. But, at the same time, it's also par for the course. It just means you're better than some of the others" he said before taking a drag.
"And I'm sure you'd like to think of yourself as something different. After all. You're obviously better than some of the others. But just like them you let your mouth run. Nearly screaming at anyone who cares to listen. Trying to intimidate others. It worked with Gail. But I have to tell you. Those who constantly talk about things they've done in this business do not impress or intimidate me. Why should it? Does it matter to me that you beat Wesley? Or that you converged titles? No. Again. Why should it? Why would any of that matter? That wasn't me you faced. That was someone who couldn't walk a mile in my shoes. Much less deal with the situations I've been in. So please spare me and everyone else the history lesson. It doesn't matter. Nothing you've done to this point actually matters. There is nothing you could say you've done that will make me blink twice." He said.
He ashed the cigarette, eyeing a car full of teenagers who were a bit too loud for his taste.
"I'm sure that hurts. You're proud of your accomplishments. I can't blame you. I'm proud of mine. But they're different types. While you were winning titles, I was dragging dead bodies back to camp. While you were having wrestling matches in front of crowds, I was storming enemy positions to try and save my brothers lives. While you were listening to those fans, I was listening to bombs go off around me. Listening as bullets whizzed past my ear. And winning medals for bravery. Paying a price I will never be able to fully pay. But you go on. List everything you've done for all to hear. Some will cheer. Me? I'll roll my eyes, roll up my sleeves and do what I do. Complete the mission and take back the one thing that's made me smile. The tv title. You'll fight. Of course you will. When haven't you? And in the past that was enough. But what you have to ask yourself is will it be enough this time? Will you have the fight in you to go the distance with a man such as myself? You'll tell yourself that you do but we both know it'd be a lie. I guess all that's left to say is good luck. You'll fucking need it"
William put the cigarette out.
Fade