'end of the line' Well, Lawrence, brother - our time has come. We both know it’s over, we’ve lived the dream and we’ve had our moment in the spotlight. It’s time to move on. This could have been the most eagerly anticipated title match for decades, but instead, it’s a mere formality at the top of the card. The biggest title in Project X, and neither of us have the heart to battle for it any longer. There’s only so much time we can hang on to our careers, we’re both around the 40 mark, but we both feel 60. Hell I may look good, but I feel like crap, like I would the morning after a fight. But it isn’t the morning after, I haven’t fought for weeks and I can hardly get up out of bed. My heart just isn’t in it any more. The business I used to love is now the business I love to hate. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna retire without being px:w World Champ. I was screwed out of winning the title at Hell & Back by that little girl Gabe Reno. Then I went through a hard match, beating that little girl not only to get revenge, but to get another shot at World gold. Now I have that shot, I’m not going to throw it away. What will people think of me if I leave this game and not win the most important prize in project x? They’ll think I’m a loser, a liar and quitter. I’m none of those things… Maybe a liar. But if I’m asked if I’m lying I’ll say “yeah, I’m lying. But because I said I’m lying that’s not a lie.” Or something like that. I may be going through some personal issues and the worst thing about it is that I can’t speak to anyone about it. My best friend, Czecher, has seemingly vanished. My son has run away because I’m such a jackass to him. My brother happens to hate me, and also happens to be my opponent so I can’t talk to him. I’m in a bad way. Sometimes I think I’ll call Dylan Dunn and ask him to go for some coffee but he’ll probably get the wrong idea, put on his best shirt and aftershave and slip something in my drink. I could call Cody Clark, but things have changed since I was the best man at his wedding, we found out I was his wife’s uncle, for one thing. So I have nobody to call, and nothing to do. A typical Friday night these days. Until a knock at my door awakens me from my day dream. I open to door to see standing on my porch, the man who used to be Kevin’s father, Richard. He’s standing in the pouring rain, with a beard and straggly hair. His overcoat is soaked through and he just stands looking into my eyes. “Richard. What are you doing here?” I ask him frankly. “Bill…” I can smell the alcohol on his breath, he stinks like Lefty the Hobo. “I’ve hit rock bottom.” “That’s shitty news, Richard. You’re welcome to sleep in my gutter, just make sure the neighbours don’t see you in the morning, It’ll give them a fright.” “FUCK YOU!” He points his finger right into my face and I look calmly into his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t point your finger in my face again, Dick, or I’ll snap the bastard off.” “YOU! You RUINED MY LIFE!” He shouts. “I had a family. A wonderful wife, a lovely child, a LIFE! Then you came along and took my son. MY SON! The son I RAISED for EIGHTEEN YEARS! You took him from me. And since then my wife has been having the time of her life, sleeping around like the SLUT she was when you knew her and knocked her up. You, Bill TURNBULL, are the scum of the FUCKING EARTH and I hope somebody runs you down in their car like the DOG that you are!” “Jesus, Dick, you’re pissed off your fuckin’ face. Look at you, you’re a complete wreck. Why don’t you go home, get some rest, have a bath for christ’s sake and clean your damn teeth. A shave and a hair cut wouldn’t go a miss, either.” I reach over to him and grab his arm. “How about I call your missus and get her to pick you up huh?” Before I know what’s happened, I’m laying face down on the driveway, the harsh concrete pressing against my cheek. I see when I breath, it isn’t just water that’s blown into the air, it’s my blood, dripping from the top of my head. I look up and see Richard pacing up and down my drive with half a broken bottle of Glenlivet in his hand, the other half is lying on the floor around my head, hell still in my head. I push myself up to my knees and he walks over, grabs my throat and shoves my head against the car door. He holds the broken bottle to my throat and grimaces. I feel as if the strength has come back to my arms and legs and I grab his arms with the bottle and force it away from my throat. I get to my feet and use my other hand to grab his hair and I shove his head, face first, into the car window. His head goes through with a sickening thud and he collapses to his knees, his head still in the window, his head and neck bleeding from the glass. I pull him out of the glass and throw him to the floor, the blood is pouring out of his head as he lies unconscious on my drive way. I have no idea if I’ve knocked him out or killed the fucker, all I know is, he’s in some serious trouble, and so am I. ... to be continued... back