Shorty Jr. || Rise to Greatness

Dear Journal,
I’m about to be 19, why do I still have a journal? Seriously. Either way, I have an upcoming match at SCW’s biggest pay per view – Rise to Greatness. If you had asked me a few months ago who I thought I’d be facing at this pay per view, I’d laugh at the idea of me even being in the pay per view given my lack of participation in SCW since my loss to Damian Angel. I kind of faded away you could say. Yet I came back with intent to end some business I started a year ago, I’ve come to put the tombstone on the YoungThugz-Dynasty-Syndicate Inc. saga. Some people still wonder to this day right after I defeated Juan Ramirez at Armed and Dangerous, why I changed up. Why I became “The Saint…The Savior”? It wasn’t to save fans or other wrestlers. It was to save myself. From what? The insanity that had eaten me alive by being around people with little to no morale fiber in their bodies. I hung around that element for far too long.

When you hang around something for so long, you start to become it. Look how corrupted Hudson became while hanging around Glacier. I watch these things and wonder how I was able to make out with my identity in tact every time. I hanged around Glacier and yet I didn’t turn into a bitter asshole. I hanged around Syndicate and didn’t become a gun-totting psychopath. Rather I became delusional and crazy from these events and almost took my own life away. Maybe it’s the person I am. Instead of conforming to the people that surround me, rather it strips me down to my rawest form but never takes away the centerpiece that is me, Michael “Shorty Junior” Johnson. I will always be the second generation all-star no matter the mental games others try to play with me. Because you can’t fight destiny, you can’t fight who you are. I am who I am and none of my opponents at Rise to Greatness can take that from me.

Location: Shorty’s Gym, New York
Scenes open as the sounds of a punching bag being hit could be heard. Wearing only baggy jeans and some black slippers was MJ. Sweat pouring down him but he didn’t care. He could only hit that red punching bag and glare at it, imagining it was Silkk. Why feel this way? Silkk is just a mere man. So are Shyne and Konvict. What makes the difference between a fatal four way at a wrestling pay per view and a crazed free for all with a lot of pride on the line? Emotions. If humans had none, we would be a productive world but yet a cold and callous world. A world where we could easily help a man up just for the sake of it or just crush him cause we can. Emotions are a tricky game. With such emotions and tension in the air, it was clear the night would either make him or break him. He had clear shots as to what he wanted to do. He envisioned his hand raised by the referee as he stood over a bloody almost lifeless Silkk.

What was it a sick thought? He hoped not because he had imagined that scenario more than once in the past month. At almost every corner, he was stopped by his nemesis. In the last week or so, he has been able to keep his head above water with a few friends: Myles Warren and Shyne. MJ could only laugh to himself at the idea that Silkk and Konvict felt out numbered. The almighty Silkk who claims he could take anyone down who comes in his way has now suddenly has a plea of “well there were three of you” to his list of excuses. He used to claim, “Never say die” and Junior believed him but now he plan to lay Carrington’s dreams six feet under where they belong. Consider Junior the exterminator, if you must. Consider him the man who plans to rid SCW of these low lives. Why didn’t he get rid of TJ Arrington, Jamal Evans, and Malcolm Jones then? Not important enough.

But here are these men not only looking to ruin MJ but ruin the SCW way of life. It had to end. What better way to cross the T’s, dot the I’s, and place the period at the end of the statement then to defeat all three at Rise to Greatness? But in a sense, MJ laughed at his own hypocrisy. If there ever was a street thug, it had to have been Shyne. So you would have to believe that getting rid of thugs wasn’t the only reason MJ was tearing through people to get to rise to Greatness with momentum. It was rather mostly how Silkk treated his father. The way the man stormed into Shorty’s office and backed him into a corner and cursed down at him like a dog. Konvict was just another person in need of a beating as well. MJ despised Konvict as well, trying to play mental games with him telling him how much better Shorty was then MJ. He hated them all and hoped to pay them back. Karma couldn’t come soon enough. What about Shyne?

What about him? Nothing. Shyne was just an innocent bystander in what would be Armageddon in the ring. What reason would MJ have to possibly think badly of Shyne? Shyne was an uncle to him and his dying nephew, Calvin. He was a man who had it rough, got ahead, fell on hard times, and has made it back up again. He saved MJ’s life. MJ could only know him as a competitor, a lifesaver, and an uncle but nothing else. He had no deep root of hatred for him like he had for Silkk or even Konvict. But even with that in mind, MJ still had to look at Shyne as an opponent and not a friend at Rise to Greatness. MJ took his last exhausted swing at the punching bag and flopped down on a seat near by. MJ had reconciled a day or two after with his mother and returned home. He still wanted nothing to do with his father. To him, personally, his father took one too many chair shots to the head. Who could forgive Silkk after what he said?

It was as if God himself planned it, the door opened and it was him. Shorty stood at an impressive six foot four, a little shorter than Glacier but taller than Junior. He had on some tan Timberlands, baggy jean shorts, and a blue STREET WARRIOR shirt. MJ could only shake his head. The man is wearing one of Junior’s opponent’s shirts. Was this man retarded or just senile? MJ couldn’t figure. Shorty took off his sunglasses and placed them in his back pocket as he spotted Junior. A few people said hello to him as he passed by. He walked over and took a seat next to him. You could see the resemblance between the two, except Junior was fair skinned and had some of his mother’s features. MJ looked at his shirt in disbelief. Really? Wearing Shyne’s shirt in front of a man who had to fight him a few days from now. If only it weren’t illegal to choke another human being with the intent of crushing their windpipe…

MJ: So…what’s up?

Shorty: That’s what I’d like to know. MJ, what’s going on with you?

MJ: Let’s see…I am but a few days away from the biggest SCW pay per view. I just find out that what was supposed to be a showdown between me and Silkk has turned into an unforeseen but not completely shocking fatal four way. I have Silkk assaulting me in the last month with the help of Konvict. The man that was supposed to be in my corner, Shyne, is now going to be one of my opponents. To top it all off, I have a father who supports all three of my opponents. What can I say? My life is pretty interesting.

Shorty: What are you suggesting? That I don’t support you either?

MJ: I don’t see you waving any green flags in my direction but whatever suits you…

All of a sudden, MJ found himself gasping for air. His body hanging as his head and neck was firmly placed against the wall. Within a sudden swoop, Shorty had lifted his son (who weighs about a buck sixty) in the air and placed him against the wall with one hand while the other hand was clenched ready to land directly to his face. This was the last thing MJ needed before his match. Goddamn, he knew his father was in on it. He knew his father had backstabbed him. He saw it coming a mile away. Useless shit. If he weren’t busy fearing for his life, he would kick his father in the face and beat the shit out of him. How could this bastard, the man who he shared blood and DNA with, hold him up against a wall ready to knock his brains out? The rest of the people in the gym looked on quietly in shock at the scene. A stare off between the two had begun as Shorty searched for meaning in MJ’s eyes. MJ mustered up the little bravery he had left.

MJ: Do your worst. It still won’t protect your little friends at Rise to Greatness from the ass kicking they have coming.

Shorty: First, this isn’t a John Travolta movie. My worst hit to your head would knock you into a coma or the afterlife. Secondly, you’re the smallest competitor in your match so I’m not sure who you are referring to as little.

MJ: Screw you.

Shorty: So easy to say that when you know I don’t have the heart to put you in the hospital, isn’t it?

When he heard that, MJ looked away a bit hurt. He knew it was true and that he had treated his father badly since it was revealed Konvict was the one who attacked MJ. Shorty put MJ down. All MJ could do was look down at the ground, he was too ashamed of his actions to even look his father in the eye. Shorty looked down at MJ and lifted his head up. He could see MJ didn’t mean harm and was only reacting out of anger and possibly fear.

Shorty: Listen, I know you want to protect my legacy and build your own but lashing out at everyone including those who are by your side isn’t the way to go about it. Yes, those are my friends but you are my SON. Nothing is ever going to change that but it doesn’t mean I will talk ill of those who have stood beside me for years.

MJ: I don’t get it. Silkk turned on you. He still talks bad about you to this very day. Why do you even care if he lives or dies?

Shorty: Silkk is only human. He comes from an environment where he had to cover his own ass at all times, even when it is at the cost of those he loves. This is Silkk covering his bases. MJ, I’m happy you don’t want to be a street thug. I’m happy you know about the risks of being in that environment but to hate every single unfortunate soul who was raised in those conditions makes you no better than them. You are more open minded and better to do than them but when you choose to be as ignorant as them, they have already won the battle. You need to rise above them. There should be no other road than the high road and you know that. I’ve raised you to be a law-abiding situation and an honorable human being. If you know what Silkk is doing is wrong, why pay him back? All you had to do was bring Myles Warren as your tag team partner so you and him could wrestle those two. Now you have an unclean win hanging over your head.

And for what? Just because you wanted vengeance? The sweetest vengeance is defeating cleanly within the bells so there could be no dispute as to who the most skilled wrestler is. You know you’re talented. Skilled fighters have been in our blood for many generations. So it’s up to you. Would you rather use your brain to fight dirty or use the skills you were born with and rise to the occasion. Whether you believe it or not, you are the personification of this pay per view. You may not have won a single SCW title yet, but you have risen to unspeakable greatness. You started in this industry a boy who fought his way through matches and did well. A year has passed now and look at you; you have become a man who has fought some of the most experienced in the ring and won. You have matured and I couldn’t be any more proud of you. I just wish you would calm down and look at yourself and be proud of what you have done too.

MJ nodded. Shorty puts his arm around MJ’s shoulder. They headed towards the back of the gym to Shorty’s office. MJ took a seat nearby as Shorty took out a key out of one of his drawers. It’s a small gold-plated key. He walks toward something on the wall. It’s a box hanging on the wall with a glass window on the front, showing a pair of red boxing gloves and a lock on the side. Shorty unlocks it and opens the box. He takes out the boxing gloves and hands them to MJ. MJ looks over them and sees a signature. It was illegible but he could see the word Johnson on there. He looked up at his father with a bit of confusion. What was the point of showing him boxing gloves with an illegible signature on it? Was there suppose to be some meaning behind it? MJ hoped his father realized he didn’t plan to go into Rise to Greatness fighting Mike Tyson. Shorty looked back over at him.

Shorty: You do know whose boxing gloves those are, right?

MJ: Uh…Evander Holyfield’s?

Shorty: …

MJ: What?

Shorty: Those are your grandfathers.

MJ: Oh.

Shorty: I keep them in this office for a reason. One, when you were younger your mother didn’t want anything that would influence you to follow the boxing or wrestling profession, in the house. But most importantly, it was because every time I open this gym in the morning it reminds me.

MJ: Of what?

Shorty: Your grandfather did what he could to keep food on the plate for him and me. He was no-name low-level boxer. He was talented but didn’t have much press or glory given to him. Those were given to those rich kids coming into the boxing profession. Hyped up pieces of shit. My father worked hard, fought hard, and had a hard life but he never dare stray the path of that which was straight and narrow. A hard working, caring man who never did drugs or joined the wrong crowd. Do you know how your grandfather’s life ended?

MJ: No.

Shorty: Shot to death. Why? His brother owed him money and he went over to his house to get it, he didn’t have it. When his brother didn’t give him the money he set a deadline up for him and promised to take him to court if he didn’t cough up the money. It was a sizeable amount. So his brother set a bunch of some rough guys around the neighborhood. They murdered him then and there at the park, right in front of my eyes.

MJ: …

Shorty: Yeah.

MJ: So what happened to you?

Shorty: My grandparents raised me and I could say the event indirectly caused me to become who I am. The day I purchased a gun from some neighborhood arms dealer, the first thing I did was find my uncle. I murdered him in cold blood. I look back at that and realized that was my root. My root for the violence and chaos I caused the next couple of years. Was I arrested for that? No. I could never tell you why the police never caught me, maybe they didn’t care whether that man died or not? Maybe it was God. I don’t know but I do know was that when you were born into this world, you became my saving grace. When I saw you, I knew things had to change. Running around the street ended then and there. I became a wrestler to provide for you and your mom. I was imprisoned, I was beaten up every week, I dealt with unspeakable horrors and all I ask of you is to go out there at the pay per view and wrestle cleanly. Can you do that?

MJ: Yeah. I will.

Shorty: Good.

MJ could only look down on the gloves of his murdered grandfather. It was more than gloves, obviously. It was a legacy. A family of hard workers even if some of their work was illegal. For all he knew, his opponents could have similar stories to his father. They could have had similar hardships but like the rest of suburb America, he only looked at them with face value. Even if it’ll hard, he would have to look at his opponents for what they really are. Humans. Scenes fade