Survival

Subject: Survival Thu Apr 26, 2012 6:19 pm

A cockroach skitters across the wall of a dingy apartment, the Philadelphia skyline sitting outside the window. A slight rain, pours across the landscape. In the distance, a police siren blares, along with many other significant cliches. A hive of drunkness and poorly done villainy, this is the home of Terry Kowalski. The destroyer of worlds sits in the stool he calls his throne, watching the 12 inch TV he calls his entertainment center. The visual scent of despair, the lines that make up what we know as vision of the downtrodden, permeate the room. Kowalski begins to speak.

I've lost a lot of matches. More than I can count. Once you get to my age, you tend to have had a lot of matches not go your way. A single misstep, a single bad call, a single rookie mistake, and the match is over. The match is over, with you being the one facing the lights. You being the one getting carried away on a stretcher. On last week's edition of Fusion, I was the one who lost. The rookie, the man with the "heart of a champion" Shane Howlett, he beat me. It wasn't entirely unexpected, I'm an old man after all. But what I didn't expect, was what I did after the match. When I nailed him over the head, when he was the one who was left looking at those lights, even though I had lost... I wasn't expecting to feel what I felt in my heart. I've done good things, bad things, I'm not a perennial good guy or bad guy. I'm simply a Destroyer, nothing more. I've felt anger and fear and loathing, I've felt love and hope and despair. But I didn't feel any of that when I snapped on Shane Howlett.

I felt... I felt nothing.

And I liked it.

You see, I've been guilty my whole life. Guilt before god, before my fellow man, and guilt towards myself. Regret, I've had a lot of it. I make mistakes, I regret them, I try to better myself. But I didn't feel that when I went at that little rookie. No, all I felt was the feeling of the mop I used to brain you slapping across your skull. I felt the reverberations of the wood slamming down onto you, I felt the vibrations of your brain slamming around inside that thick skull. I looked in your eyes, and watched the concussion take hold. Don't pretend you didn't get one, I know that look. I've had it myself a thousand times, from a thousand different sources. My left eye, is permanently glazed over due to the countless concussions I've taken.

Terry takes a Tylenol, and takes a sip of water. He stares into a mirror on the wall, into his own eye. One eye, as he said, is completely glazed over. The other, alternates between a sorry glaze and flashes of... something. Anger? Determination? Only he knows.

My whole life, I saw people doing bad things. Getting away with them. I've seen muggings, murders, robberies. I try to help, but I'm not always on time. I'm not always able. The screams I heard from that window, right there, while I was in my bed and unable to do anything... they'll haunt me for the rest of my life. I always tried to help those who needed it, those who wanted it. But now... now I find myself not caring. I don't want to do bad things, I don't want to hurt people. I'm not that kind of guy. But the time in my life, where I try my damnedest to be the hero... those times are dead now. Killed by people like Shane Howlett. Killed by people like Aidan Raider. Killed by whores like Rose London.

Those last two names... they bring up a whole hell of a lot of anger. Rose London, Aidan Raider... they're the ones. They're the ones who decided that I wasn't good enough. They were the ones, who came at me behind my back. Who derided me. Insulted me. Tried to sell me down the river, so that they wouldn't have to fear me. All they did was make me angry. Make me willing, more willing, to be a monster. The two of them have set me on a path that neither will like, and that will cost many people what they love. Their mental health, their championships, their careers. Rose London, Aidan Raider, Shane Howlett. Heh.

He pauses, and laughs lightly. A tear rolls down his face, one of happiness? Or one of sadness? He rubs it away, and continues to chuckle for several moments.

Shane... Shane you claim to have the heart of a champion. I don't blame you, I don't. You're a damn fine wrestler, and I respect the hell out of you. I'm not gonna apologize, or go on some idiotic "redemption tour" or any bull like that. All I'm gonna do, is beat the hell out of you. Pummel your face, smash your skull into the ground, pin you, yadda yadda yadda. It's the same story as it always is. I enter ring, I win match, I leave ring. No "rip out your heart, and show you what a real champion looks like" crap, I'm not that kind of guy. Just because I don't want to be a hero, doesn't mean I want to be the villain. It just means that in the ring, I'm gonna do a whole hell of a lot more to win.

Shane... I'll see you at the apocalypse.

Rose, Aidan... I'll see you in hell.

Now get out of my apartment.