The End of an Era

So you're leaving...
So you're on your own...
Almost again...almost again...almost again, I have...
State your reasons
So?...you're all alone...

Almost again...almost again...almost again, I have...

Sown,
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND I WILL BE FOUND
AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT I WILL BE SIGHTED

Almost again...almost again...almost again, I have...

Sown,
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

So it's over...
Now, you're on your own...
Almost again...almost again...almost again, I have...

Sown,
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND I WILL BE FOUND
AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT I WILL BE SIGHTED
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND
AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

Almost Again - Strapping Young Lad



******

The sounds entered his ears like visitors stepping across the threshold of their hosts, pushing through the boundaries and making themselves home for the time being, washing over his cheek like the gentle lapping waves of a beach, his face at first hot and dry and suddenly becoming moist and covered in a watery blanket, rolling up over his head before slinking backwards as if terrified by an unseen predator lurking in wait, reaching its limits as it backs away, leaving his face bathed in a warm glow and the feeling of that dry heat once again. He felt paralysed, unable to move a muscle no matter how hard he tried, feeling powerless and deciding to just lie still until all mobility returned, instead feeling his limbs involuntarily sliding to and fro of their own accord, not knowing how or why and instead just going with the flow and allowing it to continue. If he was blunt, the feeling of letting his body move itself uncontrollably felt nice, almost as if he was floating on air and not having to worry about expending energy needlessly. That was something he'd hated after all these years, having to shift a part of his body this way or that way, having to direct himself and think about where he had to be when he toiled and put everything he had in the battles that took place inside the ring since he first started training all those years ago. He was known as one of the industry's top psychological grapplers as well as one of the most accomplished and talented, something that only a handful of others could claim alongside him. All that time, all those years and now here he was allowing whatever force it was washing over him to control his body, make his arms and legs sway as he lay there feeling totally relaxed and calm instead of having those well defined muscles tense up and pump blood through his veins with all the force of a mighty tsunami within his body whenever he wished to raise an arm to his face or use a leg to push forwards and walk.

It seemed as if he was there for all of eternity, sands of time clinging to him as he allowed the world to pass him by while he lay there, still and dormant, not wishing to wake from this fantastical dream. Of course it must be a dream, why else would he feel so calm, so exhilarated and so unwilling to force the feeling aside to make way for reality, the same reality he'd spent his life within with its little inconsistencies, its faults and wasteful moments where life passed by without a second thought towards waiting and allowing a person to enjoy what makes the world such a wonderful, exciting and delightfully unusual place to exist. No, he'd already made his decision; he was going to stay here within this weird world where his senses were heightened so that every noise heard and every touch that came upon his skin and created such a tingly and light feeling that he hoped this fantasy realm, this dream-like state would never leave him. Never had he experienced something like this, never did he want it to disappear and evaporate into the atmosphere, this ethereal plane seeming as if it had come from nowhere just to make him feel the natural high coursing through him right now. Maybe he was in some sort of drug induced stupor? So what if he was, this feeling was amazing, far beyond his control but not as if he ever wanted to control this anyway, he enjoyed it. If it was drug related, well he'd just slipped off the wagon after a year and a half, a lot longer than most former addicts had spent clean.

The only reason he was on drugs anyway was because his partying with then-girlfriend Karla Kotero had messed him up to the point that madness was about to settle in his mind, paranoia beginning to form within him as the cocaine mixed into his bloodstream and made him dizzy and anxious. He'd been off them for a while but this feeling he had rushing through every part of his body as he felt his limbs gently swaying as if moved by some sort of unseen force was very similar. That's why he believed he'd fallen off the wagon, the sense that perhaps he'd taken just a little something and had ended up here, all of this in his mind. Or perhaps.......perhaps this wasn't a dream or the result of drugs. Perhaps this was Heaven. That golden land, the Elysium fields where souls were said to end up when leaving the mortal realm, free to wander around without being held back by such things as energy and movement, where the deceased seem to float and have no need for muscles or blood or anything else that is required for movement. Yeah, that was it, he'd somehow died and ended up here basking in this glow, his hearing empowered while his vision remained blurry and filled with nothing but white. He lay there wondering how he'd ended up in such a place, wondering how he'd died and arrived here, remembering a sort of swirling and dizziness as things disappeared from sight until even his sight seemed to be lost to him, blackness engulfing his very surroundings, creeping up on him with no warning, attacking with a grappling force that made him feel scared and bewildered. Suddenly he'd gone from that to this brightness, this relaxed feeling. He didn't want to continue dwelling on it though, mulling over the origins of this strange journey that ended in this unknown place, instead choosing to continue enjoying every moment in this strange wilderness. The peace and tranquility was overwhelming, settling in his very core and bringing even more happiness and joy.

Which was soon shattered by a sudden noise that awoke him from this serenity, aroused his senses even more and forced his body to shudder with fright even though he didn't move from his position, still wishing to remain completely relaxed in this unknown territory. The noise came again, still as unclear as the first time it broke the soft silence of the calm he'd enjoyed for so long, loud and imposing. Keep his ears on the lookout for more sudden noises, that same thing again broke out, becoming clearer with every time it was echoed around his vicinity, sounding gruff and heavy and forced and slightly temperamental. He attempted to keep himself in this relaxed state but found that with this noise repeating itself every few seconds, he was unable, feeling tense all of a sudden, the calm he'd enjoyed seeming to slip into a void and disappear for good, replaced by a shivering cold that wrapped around him tightly, suffocating him as his once relaxed face made way for a wide eyed stare, every muscle in his skull tightening, his breathing becoming more rapid and shallow while his heart began to beat faster and louder in his chest. A final time for this noise revealed to his ears that it was a male voice, the tone of voice set somewhere between forceful and angry, drowning out his feelings of relaxation once and for all.

Voice: I said get up!

The powerful tone of the voice made him do just that, first starting off with his right hand, fingers outstretched and bending, fingertips meeting something both solid yet fragile, tiny fragments of something being dragged across by his touch. His left leg moved, finding that it was bent at the knee with his foot coming near his right calf, using all the force within him as his thoughts became processed via the electricity of his brain, allowing the muscles in his leg to tighten and move, numbness causing his limb to be slower than usual thanks to the fact he had been so used to being motionless in this strange yet exhilarating place. His right hand planted itself flat on its palm, his right leg now moving as well as his left arm, one foot planted firmly with toes aainst the ground and both hands pushing himself up off his chest and stomach. It was then that he managed to get a first glimpse at something though he wasn't sure what it was, vision still filled with that brilliant blurry white as his eyes tried to get accustomed to his surroundings, first seeing a slightly tanned peach colour in a fan shape before his very eyes, focusing even more as details came to him slowly but surely, eventually finding that the fans were his hands, slender fingers spread out to support his weight as he lifted himself and remained with his chest at least off the ground. As his sight returned to him, he noticed small mounds of the ground beneath him gathered around his hands, moving one of them slightly to see a slight indentation of a hand print, tilting his head to his left and surrised to find that a gentle lapping of water rose up along the ground before retreating momentarily, almost like it were engaged in a battle, liquid taking on solid, taking a moment of solace before engaging the enemy once more.

Tilting his head even more he managed to look toward what was behind him, aghast at what appeared before his eyes. A vast ocean stretching out all the way towards the horizon, met by the sky like two neighbours sharing the very distance willingly, waves crashing far away but causing smaller siblings to appear closer to home, washing upon the shore and creating that blanket that rolled over him every few seconds that caused his limbs to sway and his body to feel as if it were gently rocking by itself with no effort from him, the warmth on the left side of his face being that of the sun in the sky visible in one corner of the atmosphere, shining down with all its might. The right side of his face felt dry, his hand brought up to touch it and finding that it was rough, scratchy, not like the left side at all, watching as something fine and microscopic fell like a waterfall, the same look and texture as the ground below while his fingertips were covered in the same substance. Rubbing his fingers together he realised he was on some sort of beach, although where he had no idea. Perhaps this was his vision of Paradise, legends telling that for some people, eternity would be covered in vast sandy beaches and perfect blue waters just like those he found himself in, those he was currently experiencing. He continued to look around, drowning not in water but in his unusual surroundings, trying to drink it all in as if he was thirsty for the knowledge of his whereabouts. In front of him, right at the background beyond the sand stood a vast greenery, leaves showing where trees and bushes made up the majority of it while portions of brown trunks lay in large clumps holding up those majestic specimens of plant life.

At that point he saw two more trunks, this time not brown but the same colour as his hands, at their summit not the green leaves that stood atop the trees in the distance but a bare torso, long matted greying hair hanging down onto the chest and shoulders while a similar looking bushy beard covered most of this person's face like its own bush, this stranger's head similar to the forest behind him. This male stared with piercing eyes, almost frowning although perhaps it seemed that way through the passages of time not being particularly kind to this man, totally unsure due to the gruffness of the voice barking at him to get up off the ground. Before the old man could bark the repeated order again, he pushed himself up further, feeling the strangeness of his muscles being motivated by his desire to not hear this old man yelling at him further. Every sinew of muscle in his legs felt strained and tight as he hauled his own body weight up onto his feet, taking the strain as sensations pulsated all around his body, a gentle throbbing as well as a dull ache appearing in both calves that made him feel almost as if the lower portions of his legs would explode and disable him from moving again, not that he'd want to, the longing to lie back down on the sandy beach being washed over by the gentle lapping of the ebbs and tides of the ocean becoming strong. He had to fight that desire and remain upright, staring this old man in the face to prove that he could comply with this simple request to rise to his feet. Feeling satisfied with himself for accomplishing this, he tried to suppress a smile, not only to avoid enraging this old man but also because he didn't want to break the absolute comfort and relaxation that had soaked all over his face so far.

Old Man: Follow me.

With that sudden and brand new order, the old man turned on his bare heels and walked away towards the forestry, away from this gentle sea and soft sand. He stared after the old man, this stranger in a foreign land that had disturbed his peace and quiet to demand he get up, wondering where he could be going and why he wished him to follow but decided quickly that he had no choice but to follow, try to discover why he requested such a thing of him. Using his legs again, this time continuously rather than just to make the effort to stand up, he followed, throwing caution to the wind even if there wasn't even a single breeze to carry caution upon its meandering across this land. Each footstep seemed dream-like, as if he were not of this world and instead floating along a glassy surface, his legs moving along with the surroundings even if it didn't feel as thought anything were happening, feeling as if he were maybe on a treadmill while everything around him was on a giant screen being tugged by someone behind him giving the impression of movement. Before he knew it however, he was amongst that lush green, every direction awash with plant life, swishing sounds and crackling as he stared after the old man, watching him move further and further away into the dense forest. He followed quickly, not caring where he was to tread and only interested in following in the old man's footsteps, keep up with him as he wandered further and further.

His vision, in a complete reversal to the blur and the unfocused stare of only moments ago, was crystal clear and of a clarity he hadn't experienced before, almost as if he could not only see his surroundings and the path with which he were following but also feel them using just his eyes, like his sight could somehow sense touch, awakening in a fashion in which he was completely unaccustomed. A moment of panic set in when he discovered that he could no longer see the old man, not through a sudden and unprovoked blindness but some other means, one in which he didn't quite fully understand. How could he? He didn't even know where he was or how he ended up here let alone whether this was some kind of fictional reality or realistic fantasy. That feeling of being alone in such a unique place he couldn't comprehend terrified him, causing that feeling of his heart beating at speed and with a pounding that seemed overly forceful and powerful even for a mighty organ such as this making him feel as if his chest were about to explode violently. A wave of fear arrived upon the shoreline of his mind, crashing like a great wave, creating the fear of drowning in abandonment, his pulse racing as his legs began to do the same, moving faster and faster at a pace in which he wasn't used to but despite the pain and agony coarsing through him and making him begin to ache all over and especially in his calves he kept on going with his shins beginning to feel stretched and tight wth no way of relieving that feeling while his chest heaved with every deep pant and throat constricting and tightening causing him to struggle to breathe as the smalls beads of sweat forming on his brow and chest allowed gentle drops that created trails along his skin helped by both gravity and his quick movements through this undergrowth.........

There he was; the old man he'd lost, standing staring at him as before with a stern look upon what parts of his face were visible. Moving closer, his breathing struggling to return to normal, resume its steady pace while his heart gently slowed, every off beat pounding out......boom BOOM boom BOOM boom BOOM........sighing loudly with every exhale. The old man just watched as he approached at a walking pace, finding himself brought ever closer with every step he took until standing directly in front of this seemingly disapproving old man. His watchful gaze shifted as he turned once again away to the opposite direction, leading the way and creating a path towards a destination that remained unknown, questions forming in the mind but too afraid of the consequences of asking, unwilling to enquire as to where they may be going also because this may still be a dream, total fantasy of which he was afraid of waking up and having this whole world disappear forever, never to return no matter how hard he may try. The old man trekked onwards, coming to a halt then raising his right hand into the air, motioning forwards with two deft flicks of his forefinger before continuing on. The sight that befell him at this moment was certainly different to what had gone before, the first signs of some sort of civilisation opening up right before his eyes, the old man leading him out of the bushes and towards a small village made up of circular stone huts with each one topped by a roof made entirely of intertwined sticks and twigs, holes in the side of each building as a way to enter and exit each one. In the very middle of this tiny civilisation stood a clearing with a fire at the very epicentre for warmth at night and for cooking food. Even though it was daylight and the sun was radiating its own warmth and light, the fire burned away on its bed of rocks and sticks.

The old man stared at him, leaving him with the impression that perhaps he should speak up, ask where they were and what they were doing there, ask who he was, why he ordered him to get up. There was still the strong desire to know how he'd even managed to appear in this strange and desolate world but as if he could read minds, the old man simply nodded, creating within him a sense of understanding and peace, of calm and stability. He moved his left arm and in one sweeping motion, directed it so that his open palm was shown, fingers pointed towards the fire in the middle of the village. Without hesitation, he complied although he wasn't sure why, feeling his legs move as he strided out there into that village, standing by the fire and feeling its heat against his legs as it rose up, giving a slightly lesser feeling of the same to his torso. Turning his head and upper body, he noticed that the old man had followed him, staring at his quizzical face for several moments before opening his mouth to answer the unspoen question running through his head.

Old Man: You arrived here through sheer coincidence, unknowingly and without requestiung your journey to commence.

The questions formed as quickly as he'd heard this, wondering how he traveled, where he was standing right now (other than the obviousness of the answer, not knowing where exactly in the world or in his dreams this location was situated) and why this happened. Almost as if they shared a telepathic bond or he could predict the future questions he felt tempted to ask, the old man responded.

Old Man: Washed up.

The two very words shocked and surprised him, causing a welling feeling of upset within his very soul. How could he be washed up? Where exactly was he to be washed up? There was no sinking ship that had him aboard, in fact he couldn't even remember ever stepping aboard a small boat but even if this old man were right then he was incapable of washing ashore. If there was an event happening that caused the tides to turn violently then he definitely wouldn't have been aboard, he would've left a long time before the ship started to sink under the waves to be lost forever as nothing but a memory. He'd always keep his head above water until he found dry land again, telling stories of the times he'd spent sailing the seas and why he'd ended up sitting recounting tales of honour, of courage and of mankind's ability to help each other out and show teamwork. Now here was this old man he'd never seen before telling him that he was washed up like he lacked a certain something when clearly, he found the strength to rise to his feet and stand tall and proud on the beach, something he wouldn't be able to do if he was too weak as this mysterious old stranger was suggesting. No, he wasn't going to believe this sheer hypothesis whatsoever. His gaze remained fixed on the weathered features of this native man, hair tangled from the time spent in the salty depths of the ocean.

Old Man: You need to start again, learn anything you may have forgotten, treat yourself as a new spark until you're able to become a roaring fire.

He nodded, somehow knowing what he meant. Even if he didn't agree with the previous comment about how he'd arrived on this strange land, he almost certainly understood what was meant now. The old man somehow wanted him to start over, learn everything he'd known or was taught all over again, try to make himself stronger for it. All of this so far had been a test, from being made to climb up from his stupor face down on the shore after so long completely still and unmoving to following the old man into the forest, using every fibre within his leg muscles to walk behind, his arms pushing aside branches and leaves, learning all about fear as he found he was alone and began to run after he'd learned to walk again. He realised that while basic motions and actions were collected in his mind as gathered memories, that's all they were at this moment in time; memories and nothing more. To fully understand his capabilities and resume them as before, he had to do what he could and follow the directions of the old man until he could perform these actions without even thinking about it. He had to run on instinct alone but as of right now, he'd forgotten how to do that. A whole new fear washed over him as he struggled to face the fact that everything he knew and used with ease, everything he performed to the delight of fans who paid to see him and others entertain them inside staged battles had to be taught to him again, everything from quick reflexes to athletic agility and even the mindset of a true combatant willing to stand up for what he believed in.

He looked back at the old man standing next to him, wondering what could be in store for him as he tried to prepare himself for whatever could be his first lesson but is suddenly taken aback when the old man snatches his wrist, causing him to jump with fear as a natural reflex, watching in horror as the old man thrusts his arm towards the fire, making him feel the heat first as a warm comfort and then gradually slipping into the more painful dimensions of his humanity. The extreme discomfort and growing pain felt on his exposed forearm renders him unable to take it any more but forced to as the old man stares at his now frightened expression, almost a wicked smile on his face as he continues to inflict this pain.

Old Man: Take it, don't allow the pain and the fear to control you, take control of it and you will be able to take control of your destiny. Learn to make the heat and the fire yours and yours alone so that it's you who can rise to the top and stake your claim as the true great you are.

Of course. Why didn't he see it like this before? This was beginning to finally make sense now, him being washed up on the shoreline with no desire to do anything except just lie there taking the elements as they washed over him until the old man had arrived as a sort of wake up call, forcing him to his feet, marching him through the wilderness and now testing him by reintroducing him to pain. Who knows what other tests he'd have to endure but the only thing he could be sure of was that whatever they were, he would welcome them with open and very hot arms.

******



I walk the line, the line I choose
I see the people in front of me
I climb the wall, the wall of news
I watch them show the tragedy

If you were me could you defend
The given right to all of man
Let's fuck the world with all its trend
They say it's all about to end

They say it's all about to end
They say, they say

There's a prison that's gone
But the fear lives on
I watch you walking on the dotted line
Maybe you don't see what's in front of me
Maybe you won't stand the test of time

For we live in sin, for we will win
I watch the President kiss his family
For we live in sin, for we will win
I watch the President fuck society

If you were me could you defend
The given right to all of man
Lets fuck the world with all its trend
They say it's all about to end

They say it's all about to end
They say, they say

I fall in love with the old times
And never mention my own mind
Lets fuck the world with all its trend
Thank God it's all about to end

They say it's all about to end
They say, they say
They say, they say
They say it's all about to end

They Say - Scars On Broadway



******

The crowds chanted and cheered, willing spectators to this gathering, looking forward to the absolute destruction of a man and wishing for it to be either long and laborious to satisfy their bloodlust and sheer sadistic tendencies or to be fast so that it could be over with before the intended victim even knew what was happening. Nobody could quite agree how they wanted it, they just expected someone to be ended right there and then before their very eyes, treating it as if it were some sort of violent game show where the audience would cheer when the loser had their game ultimately ended.

Huge swathes of them cutting through a town square, a festival of gatherers all trying to get the best view possible lest they need to remember this moment as a historic piece of information, a sight to pass down through stories and accounts through generation after generation, allowing the story to perhaps get modified or changed outright but never forgetting one or two of the more important details. Every eye was pointed squarely at the front where a large stage had been set up, wooden and creaking slightly due to the age and the amount of use it had gained over time. Man, woman and child side by side, layer after layer of humanity from the very front of the stage all the way back past a slightly distant stone clock tower giving away that it is currently mid afternoon on a clear and sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, the perfect weather for this kind of event.

A cheer began at one side of the congregation, erupting louder as more and more people joined in the hollering until everybody was vocal, staring at what the fuss was about. And then, for those at the very far left of the wooden stage, it appeared from under a stone archway to the right. A large cart, wooden in structure with huge wheels that rolled across the stone floor to create a slight rumbling sound being led by various men in black robes, one at the front wearing bright red and looking as if he was perhaps an older gentleman by the greying hair and beard and well worn face. A stern look remained on his concrete face, unmoving, unflinching and seemingly used to this sort of procession by now, walking with dignity towards the wooden stage as the cart is pulled behind him by those robe wearing men, all with short or slightly long dark hair, clean shaven or with various styles of beard or mustache adorning their faces while the crowd boos, aiming their hatred and disgust at a person seated in the cart, a filthy grey robe with torn pieces and looking tattered covering his torso while a sack cloth covers his entire head, unable to be seen as the cart eventually comes to a halt at the side of the stage. The older looking gentleman sets about climbing a set of stairs onto that stage surface in a very regal manner, sweeping across the platform before turning around dramatically to stare at the cart. Behind him, a tall, physically strong looking man wearing black pants, his torso exposed while his head is adorned by a black mask makes his way from a second set of steps, also facing the cart.

Dignified Gentleman: Bring forth the prisoner!

With a rough shove, the man in the sack cloth head gear is ushered along the cart, taken by the forearm and dragged off the edge by one of the black robed men, the prisoner unable to see and relying upon their good nature which is severely lacking, raising a cheer from the audience when the prisoner is unable to see the edge of the cart and is dragged harshly so that he falls off the edge and crumples in a heap upon the stone ground, laughs ringing out as he quickly raises a hand to the shoulder and arm he landed on, the black robed men again harsh in their treatment of him as they yank his hand away and push him up the steps, watching as he continues to trip up them, falling several times due to his inability to see where it is he's supposed to be going. On his fourth stumble, his right arm is pulled roughly behind his back as he lies with his chest leaning against the edge of the steps, left hand joining it as rope is tied tightly around the wrists to prevent him from moving them, only giving him the opportunity to move his shoulders up and down as he struggles against the rope in the hope he could escape this confinement and use his arms and hands again.

With a hand grabbing at the section of rope between his hands, a black robed man physically lists the prisoner to his feet and drags him onto the wooden stage, shoving him hard in the back so that he falls face first again at the dignified gentleman's feet, causing a raised eyebrow and a look of disdain from this gentleman, seeing the prisoner as somehow unworthy to even be in his presence. Managing to reach his knees, the prisoner has the sack cloth snatched from his head, revealing his face to the dignified gentleman as well as the baying mob watching this spectacle, boos and insults raining down upon him. The prisoner looks around with his blue eyes, his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders getting caked in eggs as they're pelted at him from all sides by the crowd. The dignified gentleman watches this with no expression on his face nor a look of concern, instead seeming to enjoy it if only the missiles wouldn't hit his robes. Eventually he turns to the crowd, raising his hands in the air.

Dignified Gentleman: Enough!

Just like that, the crowd remains still and silent, pleasing the dignified gentleman as to his power over these people. With the beginnings of a smirk, he speaks loud and clear.

Dignified Gentleman: This prisoner has committed the ultimate sin, speaking of his great fortune in battle, his many successful endeavours that have earned him many accolades but he as well as all of you know that to ignore the place given to him by our rulers and to not praise our own hand picked chosen ones is treason, punishable only by death. Now prisoner, do you wish to address these folk?

The prisoner looks up at his captors then out at the crowd, a sigh escaping his lips as he chooses to speak with what little strength he has left.

Yes, I wish to speak. I wish to speak to every single one of you here today and let you know that just because our rulers choose to rewrite history in their own ways with their own chosen heroes, it doesn't mean that you all have to blindly follow. Do you not see that those chosen by our rulers to represent this fine land have never fought solely for the people but for themselves, their own glories, making a mockery of your blind hero worship all in the name of hearing their deeds spoken of for all eternity when it is people like me, true warriors, who have achieved so much more? Unsung warriors who battled and toiled for this land, the people within it and those who rule it only to be swept aside because they did not fit with the visions of what the rulers chose as their representatives. Does it not strike you as odd how this land was crafted from an empty field into an educated town with modern tools with which to work your craft by people such as myself but that our deeds in helping make that so were pushed aside and replaced by pretenders to the point that you all now believe that this town was always here from the beginning of time? Do not live your lives under the illusions created and bestowed upon you by false prophets. If my sacrifice before you all comes to make you realise the truth just like in the days of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ when he sacrificed himself on the cross for the people he helped and protected then so be it, I will be your one true saviour so long as the truth of how this village was created is told for generations to come. I and other unsung heroes who fought for this land and built what you see around you today depend on you all recognising the true nature of how this place came to be.

Once more insults hurled at the prisoner, rotten food as well as freshly laid eggs still left over from the pelting he received as he was carted towards the stage area colliding against his body until once again, the dignified gentleman raises a hand to call a halt to this. The eggs and the insults cease almost instantaneously, all eyes upon him for what may be said next. Instead of addressing the crowd, he addresses the black robed men instead as well as the masked and imposing male behind him.

Dignified Gentleman: Get the prisoner ready, I want this over with so that I can get back to my personal affairs and away from these horrendous peasants.

As if his every whim were to be commanded, the black robed men drag the prisoner to his feet by force, holding his body weight as he attempts once again to struggle free, the large masked man taking a few steps to an area of the stage as the prisoner is forced there, his eyes catching sight of wooden posts standing tall with a rope hanging down into a noose above what looks to be a trapdoor in the stage. A final struggle wields no results, the strength of the men taking him to this place too much for this bound man as he faces the inevitable and ceases his attempts to fight against his fate, his destiny in sad demise. Forced to stand atop the trapdoor, the prisoner watches the crowd, taking note of almost every face he can spot, his vision becoming slightly blurry as his eyes welled up with tears, feeling their warmth as they snaked down his cheeks, a growing fear within him that made him feel sick to his very core. His skin began to shiver and feel cold despite the hot rays of the sun that had made him warm and forgiven within its glow only moments ago. Continuing to stare ahead, he felt the noose slipped over his head, watching as, for a split second, that deadly necktie came into view, moving downwards towards his throat. The large masked man grabbed it with both hands, adjusting it so that he felt the rope come closer to his skin, almost feeling as if he were choking already. To his left, the black robed men took a few steps back as the dignified gentleman once again acknowledged the crowd.

Dignified Gentleman: This prisoner is a heathen, sent to disrupt all of our laws and way of life with his wicked and villainous ways. His body is crafted by the Devil himself!

He took this opportunity to nod at the masked man, watching as he tore off the grey robes from the prisoner's body with one swift tug, exposing his torso to the gathering as they all created the same gas of shock all at once upon the sight of his muscular physique, completed by a set of abdominals that perhaps most of the females gathered were reminded of their washboards. Cries rung out from people declaring him as either the work of the Devil or even the Devil himself for owning such a fine specimen of manhood as this chest and stomach, even the large masked man with his mouth open in shock at the sight despite his own large and slightly muscular frame. The prisoner continued to look all around him, silent as he gave a prayer deep within himself to forgive all of these people who didn't believe he was of this Earth, to forgive him for any sins he had committed and to allow him to enter the kingdom of Heaven whereupon he may -

His train of thought was cut off by first the sound of a slam and then a wooshing noise in his ears followed by a sort of slapping noise, his eyes darting all around him as the people gathered in front of him seemed to be half obscured by wood now. In fact, the stage itself was now at chest height as he stared ahead, eyes wide as his gaze dashed in all directions, looking at the dignified gentleman who just stood with a slight look of disbelief on his face, talking gently to the large masked man so that only they and this prisoner can hear.

Dignified Gentleman: He seems to be still alive, next time make sure you get the height adjusted accordingly to a person's weight so that their neck may snap instantly and this won't take as long.

The prisoner could only listen, tears welling up in his eyes again not just from fear and upset but from the restriction around his neck causing the oxygen to drain from him. His body convulsed and struggled of its own accord as he swung casually from left to right, legs feeling light and useless as he dangled there held up off the ground by only the piece of rope around his throat that was attached to the wooden beam above. That familiar voice called out again above him.

Dignified Gentleman: Behold, the foul stench of death is upon us! Let this prisoner find his soul where he belongs in the fiery pits of Hell while we look upon him and take solace in the Lord's word!

The people and even the wooden stage right in front and around him seemed to keep fading in and out, black trying to wash over his line of vision no matter where he looked. The cheers as he hung there began to get quieter, drowned out by the ever increasing loudness of a hiss in his ears, nothing but blackness as if he'd turned blind while that noise, that ever so disparaging noise that won't leave him alone with its ever increasing volume continued for what seemed like an eternity until -

******



The end will crush the light
And sends a message
It won't please the naked eye
Without and end there is no light
To foretell, to blind you
The law of the claw reigns on and after still

When I die, I cast a shadow
And I'll rise, I cast a shadow

I'm leaving more eyes open
I close up both of mine
For the ones that chase my life
They're looking over shoulders
Let paranoia in
Spontaneously rule them

When I die, I cast a shadow
And I'll fly, I cast a shadow

Everybody get fucking up!
I cast a shadow...
I... I cast a shadow
I cast a shadow...
I... I cast a shadow

When I die, I cast a shadow
And I'll rise, I cast a shadow

I'll Cast A Shadow - Pantera



******

Here we are, NLCW camera rolling for what may be the final time in a room with white painted walls all around and black tiled flooring reflecting light and objects up onto the walls and ceiling. Glass cabinets and shelving line the walls from floor to ceiling, all clear to enable decent views of the contents placed neatly in rows all around the room from whichever direction, championship belts from various organisations and promotions over the years adorning the glass furniture. In one corner of the room where shelving and cabinets are absent stand trophies, made of mostly gold, standing tall and proud several feet high in some instances from winning tournaments in Japan and Europe with one or two representing American independent promotions. One of the tallest golden trophies has its place in the very centre of this area, a large image of a Native American taking up most of the trophy and surrounded by small golden towers along the sides with the names of opponents defeated on the way to the finals as well as the name of the person he'd defeated in the finals themselves to win such a trophy: "Enigma" Rayne Young. The tournament was something created by the winner of this magnificent trophy, the finals taking place at an event he'd personally named in honour of a truly great person who had unexpectedly passed away only months before the Whitecloud Memorial Tournament was created to give a dedication to the man who the tournament had been named after. The trophy was something he took with great pride after such a hard fought battle to earn it, the other prize being a shot at the World Heavyweight championship of that company which he turned down, citing that since he was the General Manager then he didn't deserve it, instead giving it to Doctor Ian who went on to win the belt.

That was just one accomplishment in this room that had special meaning and with which he turned down one thing purely because he wasn't all about greed or establishing himself as the very best. Sure he was named that by critics, fans and a majority of his peers in other companies over the years but one company in particular housed such ego, such arrogance that his abilities were forever pushed down and ignored een though the record books showed everything he'd earned through sheer hard work and effort. It was almost as if this room would be seen as nothing more than an illusion to some, a fairytale or a land of make believe where none of it was real despite the fact that if he wished, the cameraman could reach out a hand and physically touch a trophy or a championship belt on one of the many glass shelves or the Hall of Fame plaques hanging on the walls in golden engraved tiles set on wooden frames. In fact it seemed as though certain people in a certain company would deny the existence of the Wright Brothers just to proclaim themselves as the first to ever fly in an aircraft or pretend that it was they and not Neil Armstrong as the first to set foot on the Moon.

Slowly rotating the camera to take in all these hard earned pieces of wrestling memorabilia and items won over the years in the industry, the sight of a black leather armchair resting against a wall with framed pictures adorning the walls above and to the sides of the chair, photographs showing a certain person raising a World championship into the air in the heat of the moment after a main event match with a look of joy all over his face, another of that person with his arms around the likes of Chris Champion and Frank Merritt backstage during an event, all three of them having competed that night and showing the sort of friendliness and team work that used to define the company they competed for. Another photo shows the Fallen Angelz at their peak; Jason Stylez as World Heavyweight and Tag Team champion, next to him is Scotty Ace holding his fingers up like a gun, the far end showing Cruiserweight champion Rick Majors while Dazz is in the picture as Tag Team and Hardcore champion, the four very best in NLCW at that time 2 months before the likes of Bucky Skyler and Phil Castle debuted. One final picture shows what some may call the classic Chaos A.D. line up taken in late 2002 with Dazz, Violent A and Souless all posing as one, as a collective at a time when they all dominated several wrestling promotions all at the same time. All of these showing happy memories that came along throughout his career, this room not just about titles or material gains but also about the friendships and the memories experienced over time, the kind of things that winning matches or earning money from huge matches just can't buy. The kind of things that last forever even if all of the possessions in this room were to be lost in a fire.

The camera remains focused on that leather armchair, gazing at its emptiness until a shadow is cast and a figure steps in front of the pictures, first a pair of blue denim jeans taking up most of the screen before turning around, the person taking a seat, the cameraman focused on Dazz as he shifts in the seat to find a comfortable position with his back resting against the soft leather, a white shirt with the top few buttons undone to show a little of his tanned and chiseled pectorals, long dark hair flowing down over his shoulders while a pair of Armani sunglasses cover his eyes. His hands rest on his thighs with fingertips pressed gently against his palms while he takes a momentary pause to look all around the room, scanning every detail while the light from the camera is reflected in his sunglasses, even a slight reflection of the camera itself in them. Taking in a long breath, his chest heaves before he exhales and gently rubs at his cheek with two fingers.

Dazz: And now here I am again, in front of NLCW cameras for the first time since my last match here against Paul York for the Undisputed championship at the end of January. Some may question why I'm here, some may just be excited to see my face around here again to really care but let me explain. Be prepared for a long story though because I'm gonna take you through a journey through NLCW's 5 and a half year history. If you need to grab a drink and some snacks or take a bathroom break first then now is the time. Don't worry, I can wait.




















Ready? Then we shall begin. NLCW was around for a few months in 2003 but that's all, the real history as noted for all these years begins in early January 2004. I debuted on January 19th or thereabouts in a battle royal to crown the new PPV champion, alongside another Hall of Fame inductee who debuted in that same match by the name of Justice. Neither of us won but I went on to become the Hardcore champion, defeating Eddie September to earn it only weeks after he defeated the first NLCW Hardcore champion, Greg Hetrick I believe. It's right there in the history books if you don't believe me, it'd be a waste of time reading the "history Bucks" because honestly, that's a total lie anyway, an example of what I like to call "perceptive achieving" where somebody claims to be the first ever when actually, several people had held a championship months before said person has even debuted in the company. Not just the Hardcore title but also the Television title too, based on the fact that the first NLCW Television champion was Thane Powers as far as my memory serves me and when I debuted, the belt was up for grabs in another battle royal and then another. In fact, the person who claims to be the "first ever" NLCW Hardcore and Television champion in history actually won those belts almost a year after his debut in NLCW in March 2004 when the company already had people crowned as Hardcore or Television champions before his first match, sitting on the sidelines watching others have epic feuds and matches for those belts. You'd think people such as myself or Phil Castle or Matt "Icey" Arren or Alex Taylor or others who captured the belt would be extremely annoyed but the fact is, for those who wish to believe this "perceptive achieving" can continue to do so while those of us who know the truth just shake our heads in disbelief and get on with our lives.

Now, the biggest surprise in NLCW at the time was that somebody like me, who had debuted only 2 months before, managed to somehow get the World champion Rob Thorn to put the belt on the line against me just a week after he won it against my older half brother Jason Stylez. Then the shock when I won. The whole place was in uproar, NLCW officials were trying to calm the fans and the match was declared an epic, one of the best matches not only in NLCW but in the wrestling world. Funny how it remained as one of the best for so long but somehow...."coincidentally"....didn't make it on the shortlist for best Avulsion matches of all time. Again, "perceptive achieving".

NLCW was all about team work, helping each other out, everyone getting along and giving advice on how to improve whether you were a new signee to a veteran main event star. Kinda funny how things took a turn for the worse by the time that year ended and that's when the bullshit began. Suddenly it wasn't about "how can we improve NLCW and make our matches even better" but more about "how can I get myself in the history books as the best of all time even if I'm forcing more talented people to the bottom of the heap to keep my own position on the card safe". Just your typical egotistical bullshit that some wrestling companies have, even if NLCW's suffered that for pretty much 4 of the last 5 and a half years of its existence. No matter though, people like me who like to earn their spots can just step back in and continue where they left off after injury or needing a hiatus, right?

Wrong.

See, I win the NLCW World title a second time, give it up due to not being able to continue working for the company for various reasons yet they somehow claim I lost the belt to Sean Galen in a match I didn't even know was being booked, similar to the situation when I held the Cruiserweight title. I work for LCW, first NLCW guy willing to go down there and help those out so the talent can rise to the top and be noticed by NLCW's scouts, no credit for that at all even though I didn't want a big fuss anyway, just doing what I'm supposed to do as a top star and helping put over the younger or newer talent. Unlike some. So after a few months training and working my ass off to come back to NLCW better than ever as a former World champion who never actually lost the belt in a match, I'm told by everybody in the locker room and management that I have to start from the bottom and work my way up the ladder again. Ok, that's fine, I hadn't been around for a few months at least but what do I see? Someone who had been out of the picture for longer and had lost the belt in a match suddenly being placed directly into a World title match with no question, no "get to the back of the line" comments at all.

It's fine though, I do as I'm asked and work my ass off, impressing people, actually impressing everyone except those who matter because they're too busy catering to their handpicked heroes, allowing them to pretend they're the best of all time while the people who really are the best are ignored, forgotten and left behind, guys like myself, Chris Champion, Ethan Andrews, Rick Majors and Alex Taylor to name just a few. But that's always been the trouble with NLCW over the years, the good and talented people always have to sit back wondering why they're not getting opportunities or even retiring from in ring action because they're tired of waiting for their moment back in the sun while management fawn over the flash in the pan flavour of the month types and when those flavour of the month "wrestlers" are no longer around for whatever reasons, the talented people still don't get a chance because NLCW management is always keeping the spots for when their handpicked heroes return.

Now the thing is, I spent ages trying to work my ass off, show my talents that had earned me championships and major matches but the fact that Percy Pringle, James Rockingwell and even Dade Midvalley have all been more about kissing the ass of those unworthy to continue the NLCW tradition than utilising those of us who built this company into what it is today made me sick and showed that no matter how hard I tried to gain the respect of the locker room and the management, it would never happen. That's why I took it upon myself to go under the mask again as Delfino for the first time since the early part of my career just to see if the respect would finally come my way and guess what? It worked! How surprising and how true to what I believed was going on when I finally get people talking about my talents when I'm under a mask and competing in a style unlike what NLCW has known me for. Weird, right? I compete putting on the best matches I possibly could as myself, not a word but when I wear the mask and compete at the same level suddenly I'm one of NLCW's hottest prospects, the one to watch, hailed as the future of the company by everyone including management and those who prefer to consider themselves as top level superstars. Soon as the mask comes off however, suddenly those same people are upset, you got people coming out of retirement because they feel "jaded" by what I'd done.

Jaded? More like jealous.

I mean, lets look at it this way. I'd done the unthinkable, finally winning the American championship after years of bullshit endings just to keep me away from the belt and then when I decide that it's time to come clean, to unmask Delfino after holding the Slamfest, the Television and the Undisputed championships as him, all hell breaks loose. The only reason I put the mask on in the first place was as an experiment to see if I could get the respect I felt I deserved and when I got it and became the top guy in the company again for the third time holding all three of the main singles titles at the same time, that's when I decided to end the experiment. I couldn't see how I could take it any further so the pretense died and I unmasked, doing the right thing for the good of myself and for NLCW. That's something I've always strived for, doing what's best for this company, shame others don't feel the same. I unmasked because I had to personally and because I'd rather not mislead NLCW any more than I had. Any paychecks I collected as Delfino when I also competed on the same show as myself I paid back in full, how many others would do something like that?

What really got me is that some people felt allegedly "jaded" like me earning a title shot and winning in a hard fought, hotly contested match is somehow wrong and against the rules of professional wrestling while others continued to make a mockery of NLCW's values by insulting and laughing at achievements earned by people in this company over the years as if it was a lie or like it only matters if they hold a particular championship. If they're so in love with NLCW due to management pandering to their demands then why do they keep leaving and coming back whenever a title shot is on the line or whenever the chance to be put into a title match ahead of others more dedicated and deserving rather than sticking around week after week entertaining the fans who pay to see NLCW shows and the bosses who sign our checks at the end of each show?

So of course I unmasked, defended the Undisputed title in a match against Paul York because I could see the potential in him and the fact that he was being held down for years and not allowed to show his true potential in much the same way I was and after defeating him, I came to the realisation that I didn't need to do this any more, didn't need to live the lie and keep competing in NLCW, that I needed to take a break from this business to clear my head. I truly and genuinely loved this place but after 4 years of utter bullshit where my abilties, my talents and the fact that I was one of those who helped build this company from something that Mark Steele had as a grand scheme into a global successful company. No, I'm not taking all the credit unlike some others might, I know my place in this company and I know that people like Majors, Stylez and Andrews being here before me helped create a promotion that I was able to sign a contract to work for but the fact that I sit here as the only NLCW Original to paraphrase a cliched term still here able to compete and willing to take part in a battle royal is proof that I am exactly who I've claimed I was all these years. One of NLCW's true elite. A foundation that shared something similar with the NLCW I started working for way back in January 2004.

That's something that nobody ever talked about because nobody ever knew Mark Steele the way I did. For those not in the loop at home, let me fill you in. Mark Steele was the man who started this company, wanted it to be a balls to the wall promotion, taken to the top where the shows would involve competitive matches but the locker room would be all about everybody chipping in to help each other out. Steele enjoyed my matches, enjoyed my promos and ideas and said that my attitude in the ring is exactly the same vision he saw for NLCW and he told me that he wanted me to be one of the company's main guys. I jumped at the chance, tried to do him proud even if later owners would fail to see that and utilise people they thought might get the job done whether they ended up good for the company or not, most likely the latter. Mark Steele himself years after he stepped down as NLCW's President admitted that he hated what had become of this company and wanted to start a brand new promotion to truly be his vision, be what he hoped for NLCW but unfortunately, he was on board a plane when it crashed, killing all on board.

Really shows how much this place truly cares for those who work their asses off trying to make it the best company when even at his funeral, I was the only one from NLCW who even attended the man's funeral. At that funeral though I made the exact same promise I made him while he was still in charge of this place, the vow I mentioned time and again and that I hope to fulfill. That vow.......

Dazz takes a minute to remove his sunglasses, looking away as he holds his hand up to his face almost as if he's in mourning, taking a deep breath before looking back at the camera and continuing.

Dazz: That vow went like this. No matter what happened, whether I'd left this company or not, if the time ever came for NLCW to close its doors for good whenever that came to be then I would be the last in the ring, the last in the building and the last to switch off the lights on the NLCW legacy. I made that promise when I genuinely loved NLCW and if I'm honest, my love for this place died 4 and a half years ago when the true talents were washed aside and replaced by those only after titles to satisfy their own greed and cement themselves as greats when they can only manage such a thing by getting their hangers on to jump on the bandwagon and spread the word or vote in their droves while people like Chris Champion and Phil Castle, two guys who truly defined the World Heavyweight championship iun ever way, were left out of the running.

So why did I remain if I didn't love this place? Simple, it's a word that most that have walked through NLCW's doors just can't comprehend.

Loyalty.

Even if I didn't love this place, I still felt loyal to it to the very end, upholding that vow I made to Mark Steele and getting involved in matches not only to help bright new stars like Paul York, Robbie Venom and The Punk to have their profiles raised but also because the fans who supported me no matter what over the years wanted to see me in the place that I helped to build from the ground up alongside others. The very same reason I'm back now in this battle royal. When I walked up to Dade Midvalley after a show and handed him all of my championships, telling him of my decision to walk away and take a break, he tried to persuade me to stay but when he realised I couldn't, he understood and wished me well. I still feel bad that I left without having stayed until somebody defeated me for each championship I held but rather than wading in demanding my rightful place in a title match due to the fact I never got defeated for the Television, American or Undisputed championships, instead I'm here to defend NLCW's honour.

To say I was surprised when I got a phone call from Dade Midvalley asking me if I wanted to come back would be an understatement because honestly, considering after my first year in NLCW I was one of those consistently pushed aside and passed up on whenever a big match or title feud came along, I never thought he'd even know who I was. To put it bluntly, at first I refused because I'd just returned to a company I'd previously had a General Manager role in where a lot of the best in this business call home and despite the huge names up and down the locker room, there are no egos, everyone helps each other out, just like NLCW when it first started out. Difference is, this company is still like it almost 3 years after it opened up. The fact that I competed in a Legends match not too long before I returned as a full time member of the locker room really says a lot when NLCW treats me as little more than a glorified jobber despite all the accolades I worked hard for over the years I spent here from the beginning. Another phone call later and I gave in and agreed to compete, wanting my NLCW swansong to be something I could be proud of rather than having the memory of walking away without losing the titles to anybody.

See while others might be in the battle royal to earn a shot at the Undisputed champion, to have one last shot at glory in NLCW, my reasons for doing this are loyalty and honourable. As far as I see it, F1X seem to be a threat to NLCW and rather than stand back and allow them to enter this battle royal, win it and try to take away something that's meant a lot to me over this half decade, I wanna be the spoiler and keep that Undisputed title within the grasp of NLCW. I worked too hard gaining and defending that belt in its previous incarnations to just see another promotion snatch it away from the likes of Dominic Pericolo or Carmine Vestieri.

Yeah, that's right, I'm doing this match for NLCW, not for myself. If I win the battle royal then great, well done, I end my time in this company with a win, I keep the title shot in NLCW's grasp and I hand it to Dade Midvalley to choose whoever he feels is worthy enough to challenge the champion at When Worlds Collide while I walk away with my head held high and ending my in ring career in No Limits Championship Wrestling. Unless Midvalley wants me to be the special guest referee for that match in which I'd be glad to raise the hand of the better man that night and let someone have his night of glory but as for me, I don't want nor need the Undisputed title. I held it once, I gave it up and I'm not selfish or arrogant enough to need to be at the top of the mountain again when the desire to compete week after week isn't there. Why deny someone who actively wrestles every single week their rightful chance to challenge against one of the best in NLCW right now in Vestieri or Pericolo?

That's why I'm gonna say this just once and once only. F1X? I hope your guys really are prepared for a fight because that's exactly what you're gonna have on your hands the moment everyone steps into the ring and the bell sounds. We have the second generation Phil Castle who was a force to contend with when he was actively competing every week, now after so long away from the ring I can only imagine how much tougher he can be. You got Chris Champion, one of the greatest pure wrestlers to ever set foot in the squared circle and one of the toughest opponents I've ever had in my career and believe me, if he's coming out of retirement for this match then you know just how serious this battle royal situation really is. Jackson, another tough guy who lives to fight and fights to live, someone I've seen compete all over and who is consistently someone not to mess with. And then there's me. Trust me when I say this, even though the titles and accomplishments I've earned since NLCW began in January 2004 have been downplayed over the last few years as if they mean nothing, I've fought for their respect and prevalence against the likes of Isaac Reynolds, against Ethan Andrews, against Kristian Sailes and even against NLCW's so-called "greatest" if you're one of the brainwashed sheep, Dillon Durst. I've competed in every stipulation from ordinary singles matches to Thunderdome of Death matches just to prove myself in the sea of ignorance I've had to paddle against for so long in this company. People calling me washed up one minute then proving how hypocritical they are by then claiming I was never anything special anyway, showing that not only are they dumb enough to declare me as over the hill but that the very connotation that somebody could be washed up means they were somebody in the first place. I'm anything but washed up, in fact my best years are still ahead of me but as for right now? As long as F1X don't even come close to earning a shot at the NLCW Undisputed championship, I'd consider it job done whether I'm declared the overall winner of the match or not.

Ironic. My first ever match in NLCW was January 19th 2004 in a battle royal and now, on August 2nd 2009, my final match in NLCW will be a battle royal. Fitting, no?

And with that, Dazz smirks to himself, grinning towards the camera as we get a slow fade out to black for the final time from this great and legendary man.

The End