The view from up there was amazing; it served well for a prime spot for relaxation. Commonly he didn’t really relax that much, no, he wasn’t for relaxation at all. It just happened that Bianca narrowly got him to open up. They’d been dating almost four months exactly and she seemed to be working him, molding him into that dream-guy she’d been searching for. Alone to himself he let her. It was the best medication for rehabilitation, pills and drinking beside his best friend weren’t going to heal his heart or mend those romantic social skills of his.

“This place is amazing…” He heard from across the room, not paying attention much was he?

“Yeah… it is…” Snapping back to attention he acknowledged. It didn’t take much for him to turn around. Dressed to impress as always; wearing one of his friends t-shirts, with the Stardestroyer t-shirts. It was snug, cotton blend too.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My future…what it’ll shape up to be.” By the time he said that he found small hands wrapping around his waist a face pressed against his back. Body heat warming where there had been a draft earlier.

“Let me remind you who’s standing behind you every single step of the way, the beautiful, sexy and possibly only girl on the world who’d put up with you’re crap.” She grinned and he couldn’t see it he was looking at his own reflection in the window.
Finally looking back he retorted… “Is that so?” he asked rather expediently.

“Of course, duh…” she responded only giving into his advances simultaneously. Reconsidering his disposition was a must, even if she had to do it for him. She wasn’t into letting him mope about much, but his moping wasn’t anything more then him compelling his own thought process to strike him. Once he began assuming something in a thought he always sank into this deep almost zombie-like stance, one she was becoming accustomed to seeing but not like this.

To be straightforward she was becoming accustomed to a lot of things; the finer things in life for example, she remembered how they met and how he amatively plucked her form obscurity. She didn’t have a job, and she went from being nothing to being almost a “Fashion” model. Boy did she ever thank him but she didn’t like he was so private if he loved her he would’ve shared his world a little bit more confidently then he let on. It almost gave away the notion that she was welcomed, but it was a limited of time offer. One she wasn’t about to let go to waste, but wasn’t sure how it would’ve turned out in the end. She feared him in some ways, he didn’t impose that fear…granted it was out of respect then love, and love seemingly trailed and ran second sometimes.

“It’s alright though, right?” She asked confidently, not sure anything was a miss.

“Yeah I’m fine. What I do know is this situation might work out for the better, once I start wrestling again.” Wrestling wasn’t a drug, but had sure-fire signs of addiction. It was the thrill of beating one mans face in that compelled him. A smile crept on his face she saw it in his reflection beading off the window.

“Here’s an assumption for you. Do you think you’ll end up doing anything good here? Not to contradict you’re thinking or anything.” She asked, damn, she was now starting to make sense. When did she ever make any sense? There was a first time for everything.

Now he turned around looking at her his eyes displaying an emotion of confusion on top of a look of frustration, not at her, but only at himself.

“Actually I hadn’t thought that far. All this thinking is doing is making me realize how much angrier I should be...” But he said that sarcastically, wrapping an arm lower around her waist. “Anyway, I think it’s time that we go upstairs and make ourselves comfortable. You know, let’s christen the upstairs?” He smirked but stopped himself.

“How about you go get that first win and then we’ll christen it…” She left his grasp, she undid her own but it was around his waist at the time.

“Fine…but I’m going to end someone’s career if you tell me that.”

“Then do it, that’s none of my concern…maybe it’ll look cool or something?”

She smacked him in the face, calling his bluff right then and there. “Damn…” he left off with noticing how much of a bitch and cruel she could really be.

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I care, deeply, about one person. I show emotion towards one person and one person only. I could care less whoever the hell Matt Stone is... I could sit in a room and watch someone rip your girls’ pretty little arms off and snap that little pretty neck of hers then again I wouldn’t shed a tear. I would then get up and leave without blinking an eye. Why? I’m vicious, folks. I’m malicious. I’m a heartless person. You’ll find that out at Shocker (wait, did I say that right?) Wow, even the name suggests things need to be changed around here…

Matt Stone, I suppose we can consider you the first hero of many. You’re up first and you’ll fall first. As a first I hope you reconsider—you’re not always going to get everything right, again you’ll find that out at Shockers…(damn it just doesn’t stick, anyway…) For starters I need you to imagine something, imagine the end of a wrestler. The end of the journey of a wrestler, when put out the pasture, is an empty one. You suffer form conjoined muscle strains, joints crackle and pop, and you’ve got no eyebrows left from all the headlocks. You’re out of work, you’re destroyed, broken down to your basic functions and you’re secretly wanting it to end. You risk life and limb climbing back into the ring so often that when you do it’ll kill you, that neck of yours is still only thee most limber part of your body. To bad that you’ve developed that glass jaw from countless potshots you took from others, you allowed them to take them mind you.

Once you take that into consideration I want you to also take into consideration something else, that’s to envision who you’re going against. Now arguably you’d let fear set in and you wouldn’t be able to comprehend what I’m about to say…you see men go through cycles, there’s evolution from apes to mammals walking on two legs and so forth. There isn’t a sliver lining, there isn’t some secret technique to getting into heaven and you will do time for doing whatever crime you commit. It’s safe to say that even after all that smoke they might blow up your ass, you might come to realize one of many things: as I previously stated I’m a cancer. That’s the first you’ll realize and when you do it’ll be to late. I’m the captain of a ship called a legacy, and with a legacy comes both risk and reward, I’m repeating myself because I know you’ll never believe me. It might not grab your attention at first, but it’s sure to blow you’re mind. Who knows you might actually become as wise as I have over the years.

I hope you’re still listening to me, because this is the part where you lose all sensation in you’re right arm and you have a seizure. This is getting really old really quick. Here I am, former time champion, and I have to face a piece of trash. Here I am a commodity among other things and I have to face a man who probably listens to emo music, cuts his wrist and thinks he’s someone. Matt Stone you look like a man who can’t see the light of day because of how abysmal and black it is…You love surrounding yourself with everything that has to do with despair, ultimately, the despair is on you’re hands which signifies how much of your own blood will be spilled on the canvas on Monday.

Before you get on you’re high horse and think for a second you can beat me I need to know something…

How do you surpass me? You don’t. There’s a simple answer to a stupid question. Everyone can talk about how they beat so and so, and how they’re about to become the franchise of an industry they rather not give back to. Fine, but apparently you’re not gaining any attention, any fans and any self reliance. Furtherer no one wants to remember these accomplishments that you, yourself might unleash on the masses. Open you’re mouth, but do it with intelligence and then maybe someone might care. It’s probably not the first time I’ve said it, because I definitely know I said it before and it’s worth saying again. I’ll challenge any one of you to a match, I’ll win and you can go home happy. Because in your pseudo imagination you being just as talented as I’ am, that’s definitely and forever will be blasphemy.

There is no way to beat me.

You claim that this is the match that’ll make you’re career. But don’t claim it’ll make mine. I’ve already made my career and I pride myself of shutting idiots like you up, but oh my what ever will you do to back it up? What can you say makes you better than me? Your ferocious words? Is there anything about you that entitles you to even imagine aloud that you’re better then me? No please, there isn’t, now you’re forced to get over yourself. Come Monday, they’ll carry you’re ass out on a stretcher. I fully intend on injuring you just to make a statement. You’ll definitely reconsider you’re career finally when I’ve taken and wiped my boot clean of you’re blood across your dirty, and newly fucked up face. Afterward, when you open you’re mouth and you go to address me you’ll find that you can’t; on every corner there’ll be a constant reminder of you’re failure and future failure of anybody else who attempts to think that they stand a chance. I will be in your year preaching a word of salvation. You’re trying to be the hero. I protest the hero.

I’ll erase you from existence and scatter your remains against the wind. That’s not a warning, it’s a damn guarantee. I’m a problem, still a cancer.

You don’t posses a cure or a fucking solution for that matter.

 

end.