Post by TNT on Feb 2, 2015 7:15:33 GMT -4
Smoke billowed forth from the mouths of the industrial stacks; their hazy breath blocked the sun from view. A familiar face sat on the steps of an industrial site, his disheveled appearance left much to be desired. The years since his last appearance had been rough, that much was obvious as he gazed directly into the camera’s eye. At first glance it appeared he was paying attention to the camera but upon further examination it was obvious he was gazing past the camera into years gone past.
“They say your late 20’s is when you hit your athletic prime, you should be in peak physical condition and yet.” The pause felt awkward, almost as if he had forgotten what he was going to say. Perhaps the years of being smashed in the head with various objects trying to gain the affections of a baying crowd had taken its toll.
“Here I am, 28 years old, working a 9-5 busting my ass to please the man. At least that much hasn’t changed; I put my body through hell to appease a couple of hundred yanks at a time. Sure I got a few dollars here and there but after expenses it really doesn’t add up. Now I put my mind through hell doing menial labor to make end’s meat.”
He paused again, his usual swagger had been misplaced, in its stead slumped the demeanor of a down trodden man. A man who despite his relatively young age had seen his hopes and dreams destroyed as he remained helpless to change the path that fate had chosen for him.
“Move to America Thomas, you’ll make a killing over there. Of course you know me as Tayler Nathan Thomas, quite simply because Thomas Robinson wasn’t flashy enough to get over. They said I could be anything I wanted to be over there. The American dream, it’s nothing more than a pile of shit they feed to those destined to work menial jobs, marry average women and pop out a few bastard kids. There was no dream waiting for me, no instead I had my hand nailed to a sweat soaked ring by some psychotic clown in the name of entertainment.”
His eyes moved from the position they were seemingly fixed on and glanced down at his hand. The scar had faded nothing more than a discolored remnant of a forgotten past. He rubbed the tarnished flesh through instinct as much as anything else. Simply talking about the incident sent a searing pain to the nerves in his hand.
“Clowns, Ninja’s, guys dressed in fucking chicken suits and of course the lot of them armed to the teeth with nail guns, staple guns, katanas and every fucking thing else you can name. What is actually wrong with this fucking world, when clowns fight ninja’s in the name of sport or entertainment? Some of the people I met actually enjoyed bleeding in the ring, the sight of their own blood turned the sadistic cunt’s on. Between those guys and the fucking powers that be going out and designing more and more chaotic ways for us to fuck each other up, most people would say I’m better off clocking a shitty 9-5.”
The dinging of a bell ripped through the air, causing him to pause and look around him. Tayler pushed himself to his feet allowing the camera a full view of his outfit. There were no more flash suits or T shirts with brutal images on it. Instead his frame was adorned by a pair of worn jeans and a grey shirt; at least it had his name on it. The name Thomas was sown into the chest pocket of his shirt, the dull shades of the shirt matched his mood on a daily basis when he trudged into the factory. He took a few steps toward the camera, his movement lacked the crispness of a professional athlete instead it betrayed him and shone a light on the litany of injuries his frame had endured over the years.
“I come from Belfast, fucking bloody Belfast. A place were walking down the wrong street with the wrong name will get you shot. I have seen friends have their knee cap’s blown off because they looked at someone in the wrong way. Growing up British soldiers patrolled our streets with loaded MP 5’s shooting anyone that held any item that looked remotely like a gun. A multicoloured toy gun could get you shot; looking suspicious would put your health at risk, hell a man using a paint roller would be taking his life in his own hands by being out in the street. I have lived through all of this and yet EVPW was still the craziest most fucked up atmosphere I have ever experienced. The worst part is, deep down inside a little part of me enjoyed it, we all did.”
Tayler checks his phone browsing through his emails until he found the one that had set him on this course. He held his phone up to the camera, the screen cracked down the middle barely allowing the camera to make out the EVPW logo at the head of the email.
“Did I receive a phone call? Nope. Did any of my former buddies reach out to me? Nope. I found out about February 17th in a fucking e mail. A generic email addressed to dear sir or madam, the bastard’s couldn’t even personalize it. Now I am in no way overestimating my achievements in that fucked up place but I was the first ever man, woman or beast to capture the EVPW Television championship on two occasions. Now that fact may not be overly impressive on its own but I defeated Dominik Fucking Santiago in a brutal TLC match. No wait scratch that, the word match doesn’t quite cover what the two of us went through that night; it was a battle worthy of ending any war. Then of course there was the 2nd championship reign when I entered the hell that is the dictator’s rule’s match at Ragnarock and beat out 5 other men including Hall of famer Ryan Hughes for the strap.”
The mention of the hall of fame caused him to pause for a moment, a sly smile painted across his face.
“Of course the email was nice enough to list the updated version of the hall of fame. I gave it a glance and didn’t really give a fuck, I’d rather have the debt I owe from my medical bills paid for than have my name on some shitty wall. The fact of the matter is that EVPW and everyone affiliated with it didn’t care enough to reach out to me personally about a potential return. You can bet your ass that Desperado or Metal cunting Dragon didn’t find out about the grand reopening through a generic email. But still one thing nags me, despite all the anger and resentment I feel towards this federation and anyone associated with it, I still feel the need to return. WHY? Why would I put my body through the rigors involved in battling night after night over there in the states? I have no idea, it certainly isn’t the money, nor is it fame or women. I don’t have anything left to prove to anyone. I can honestly say I have stepped into the ring with the finest gladiators in this business and I showed that I belonged. “
A loud static filled voice boomed across the tanoy “Thomas Robinson to the foreman’s office, Thomas Robinson report to the foreman’s office.” His eyes lit up with rage, a familiar twinkle returning to his expression. His overall demeanor changed, no longer was he slouched over. For the first time in years Tayler was standing tall looking like his old self rather than the oppressed shadow that had inhabited his shell for the last few years.
“Look’s like there is going to be a vacancy in the plant, guess I better pack my bags. Concord is as good a place as any to lay my head. After all it would be rude not to at least show my face.”
The screen fades to black as the distorted static fades from ear shot.
EOT
“They say your late 20’s is when you hit your athletic prime, you should be in peak physical condition and yet.” The pause felt awkward, almost as if he had forgotten what he was going to say. Perhaps the years of being smashed in the head with various objects trying to gain the affections of a baying crowd had taken its toll.
“Here I am, 28 years old, working a 9-5 busting my ass to please the man. At least that much hasn’t changed; I put my body through hell to appease a couple of hundred yanks at a time. Sure I got a few dollars here and there but after expenses it really doesn’t add up. Now I put my mind through hell doing menial labor to make end’s meat.”
He paused again, his usual swagger had been misplaced, in its stead slumped the demeanor of a down trodden man. A man who despite his relatively young age had seen his hopes and dreams destroyed as he remained helpless to change the path that fate had chosen for him.
“Move to America Thomas, you’ll make a killing over there. Of course you know me as Tayler Nathan Thomas, quite simply because Thomas Robinson wasn’t flashy enough to get over. They said I could be anything I wanted to be over there. The American dream, it’s nothing more than a pile of shit they feed to those destined to work menial jobs, marry average women and pop out a few bastard kids. There was no dream waiting for me, no instead I had my hand nailed to a sweat soaked ring by some psychotic clown in the name of entertainment.”
His eyes moved from the position they were seemingly fixed on and glanced down at his hand. The scar had faded nothing more than a discolored remnant of a forgotten past. He rubbed the tarnished flesh through instinct as much as anything else. Simply talking about the incident sent a searing pain to the nerves in his hand.
“Clowns, Ninja’s, guys dressed in fucking chicken suits and of course the lot of them armed to the teeth with nail guns, staple guns, katanas and every fucking thing else you can name. What is actually wrong with this fucking world, when clowns fight ninja’s in the name of sport or entertainment? Some of the people I met actually enjoyed bleeding in the ring, the sight of their own blood turned the sadistic cunt’s on. Between those guys and the fucking powers that be going out and designing more and more chaotic ways for us to fuck each other up, most people would say I’m better off clocking a shitty 9-5.”
The dinging of a bell ripped through the air, causing him to pause and look around him. Tayler pushed himself to his feet allowing the camera a full view of his outfit. There were no more flash suits or T shirts with brutal images on it. Instead his frame was adorned by a pair of worn jeans and a grey shirt; at least it had his name on it. The name Thomas was sown into the chest pocket of his shirt, the dull shades of the shirt matched his mood on a daily basis when he trudged into the factory. He took a few steps toward the camera, his movement lacked the crispness of a professional athlete instead it betrayed him and shone a light on the litany of injuries his frame had endured over the years.
“I come from Belfast, fucking bloody Belfast. A place were walking down the wrong street with the wrong name will get you shot. I have seen friends have their knee cap’s blown off because they looked at someone in the wrong way. Growing up British soldiers patrolled our streets with loaded MP 5’s shooting anyone that held any item that looked remotely like a gun. A multicoloured toy gun could get you shot; looking suspicious would put your health at risk, hell a man using a paint roller would be taking his life in his own hands by being out in the street. I have lived through all of this and yet EVPW was still the craziest most fucked up atmosphere I have ever experienced. The worst part is, deep down inside a little part of me enjoyed it, we all did.”
Tayler checks his phone browsing through his emails until he found the one that had set him on this course. He held his phone up to the camera, the screen cracked down the middle barely allowing the camera to make out the EVPW logo at the head of the email.
“Did I receive a phone call? Nope. Did any of my former buddies reach out to me? Nope. I found out about February 17th in a fucking e mail. A generic email addressed to dear sir or madam, the bastard’s couldn’t even personalize it. Now I am in no way overestimating my achievements in that fucked up place but I was the first ever man, woman or beast to capture the EVPW Television championship on two occasions. Now that fact may not be overly impressive on its own but I defeated Dominik Fucking Santiago in a brutal TLC match. No wait scratch that, the word match doesn’t quite cover what the two of us went through that night; it was a battle worthy of ending any war. Then of course there was the 2nd championship reign when I entered the hell that is the dictator’s rule’s match at Ragnarock and beat out 5 other men including Hall of famer Ryan Hughes for the strap.”
The mention of the hall of fame caused him to pause for a moment, a sly smile painted across his face.
“Of course the email was nice enough to list the updated version of the hall of fame. I gave it a glance and didn’t really give a fuck, I’d rather have the debt I owe from my medical bills paid for than have my name on some shitty wall. The fact of the matter is that EVPW and everyone affiliated with it didn’t care enough to reach out to me personally about a potential return. You can bet your ass that Desperado or Metal cunting Dragon didn’t find out about the grand reopening through a generic email. But still one thing nags me, despite all the anger and resentment I feel towards this federation and anyone associated with it, I still feel the need to return. WHY? Why would I put my body through the rigors involved in battling night after night over there in the states? I have no idea, it certainly isn’t the money, nor is it fame or women. I don’t have anything left to prove to anyone. I can honestly say I have stepped into the ring with the finest gladiators in this business and I showed that I belonged. “
A loud static filled voice boomed across the tanoy “Thomas Robinson to the foreman’s office, Thomas Robinson report to the foreman’s office.” His eyes lit up with rage, a familiar twinkle returning to his expression. His overall demeanor changed, no longer was he slouched over. For the first time in years Tayler was standing tall looking like his old self rather than the oppressed shadow that had inhabited his shell for the last few years.
“Look’s like there is going to be a vacancy in the plant, guess I better pack my bags. Concord is as good a place as any to lay my head. After all it would be rude not to at least show my face.”
The screen fades to black as the distorted static fades from ear shot.
EOT
