Post by G-Dawg on Feb 17, 2007 21:05:15 GMT -5
A dimly lit street corner is where our scene opens up. Straight from a horror movie, the moon is shining brightly through the limbs of the trees and provides the only bit of light on the street. Houses are in lines up and down the sidewalks, and it seems as if the neighborhood is dead. That is probably only for the fact that its nearly 3 in the morning, but never the less there is one house with a faint light coming from the top window. Faint is probably the best choice of words here, it doesn’t make its way through the window, but it does its job of lighting up the room to the point of where you can see what you’re doing. Inside of that house is a man. A man who has been away from what he’s loved for nearly 2 and a half years, a man who has been torn into pieces in the wrestling ring, but is coming back for more. This man, inside of this house, on this dimly lit street, has been waiting for his moment to strike. He has been waiting for the entire 2 and a half year hiatus he’s had for the right moment to come back, and to come back with an impact. Now here he sits, inside of this empty house, at 3:00 in the morning on the day before he makes his triumphant return to the wrestling industry.
?? : Here, I sit. Training for god knows what. I’ve not touched a single weight, treadmill or dumbbell in years. I’ve not run for over a mile, I’ve not done my daily workout routine in years. Yet I come into the arena and easily beat up on a few punks who are in the ring for reasons only known to god. They’ve got no skills, and we all know they’ve got no fans. Regardless they go out there and bust their ass in attempts to put on a match for those people who in all honesty don’t give a fuck about them. Those people are waiting for the big names. They’re waiting for Johnny Mental, they’re waiting for Dark Halo, they wish for a return of a beloved superstar that they’ve not seen in years in this new company known as XVI. But in return they get jobbers and talent less pricks who come out through the curtains with beers in hand and throw them about the arena then do their best to make it through a single match without a drop of alcohol, then head back through those curtains and regardless of the outcome of that match, drink more. Its sickening really that people like Ironman are still wrestling today when people like myself have hung up their boots. These people deserve more than that, they don’t need to sit through shit like this. That’s why I’m making my return. But why Ironman you ask. Why not go for somebody who has a meaning in this company, why not go for the big names like Mental, Convict, Halo, RKO. Well for one reason, and one reason only. I have history with Ironman. Oh you might not have known who I was before, but come Valentines Day Massacre, you will know. You will see me burst through the curtains with that grin on my face that I’ve not had since I left this industry and you will see me plow through Ironman and Dickinson like they’re school children. So, Ironman, my friend, think long and hard. Think about everybody you’ve encountered in that ring and tell me if anybody sticks out in your mind. I’m sure you’ve got no memory of the past few years due to you drinking yourself to a point of no return. But when you see my face while you’re lying on the canvas, looking through the blood that has seeped into your eyes…you’ll remember. You’ll all remember. So to everybody watching, to everybody who will be in attendance, and especially to you Ironman…watch for me.
And with that the man leaves the room, but not before letting out one last chuckle and cockily letting out a ‘They’ll all remember’. The aforementioned light begins to flicker until it finally goes out, leaving the room in darkness so the scene can appropriately fade to black.
?? : Here, I sit. Training for god knows what. I’ve not touched a single weight, treadmill or dumbbell in years. I’ve not run for over a mile, I’ve not done my daily workout routine in years. Yet I come into the arena and easily beat up on a few punks who are in the ring for reasons only known to god. They’ve got no skills, and we all know they’ve got no fans. Regardless they go out there and bust their ass in attempts to put on a match for those people who in all honesty don’t give a fuck about them. Those people are waiting for the big names. They’re waiting for Johnny Mental, they’re waiting for Dark Halo, they wish for a return of a beloved superstar that they’ve not seen in years in this new company known as XVI. But in return they get jobbers and talent less pricks who come out through the curtains with beers in hand and throw them about the arena then do their best to make it through a single match without a drop of alcohol, then head back through those curtains and regardless of the outcome of that match, drink more. Its sickening really that people like Ironman are still wrestling today when people like myself have hung up their boots. These people deserve more than that, they don’t need to sit through shit like this. That’s why I’m making my return. But why Ironman you ask. Why not go for somebody who has a meaning in this company, why not go for the big names like Mental, Convict, Halo, RKO. Well for one reason, and one reason only. I have history with Ironman. Oh you might not have known who I was before, but come Valentines Day Massacre, you will know. You will see me burst through the curtains with that grin on my face that I’ve not had since I left this industry and you will see me plow through Ironman and Dickinson like they’re school children. So, Ironman, my friend, think long and hard. Think about everybody you’ve encountered in that ring and tell me if anybody sticks out in your mind. I’m sure you’ve got no memory of the past few years due to you drinking yourself to a point of no return. But when you see my face while you’re lying on the canvas, looking through the blood that has seeped into your eyes…you’ll remember. You’ll all remember. So to everybody watching, to everybody who will be in attendance, and especially to you Ironman…watch for me.
And with that the man leaves the room, but not before letting out one last chuckle and cockily letting out a ‘They’ll all remember’. The aforementioned light begins to flicker until it finally goes out, leaving the room in darkness so the scene can appropriately fade to black.
