I... was dreaming, I had to... I had to be dreaming, right? It was the only way, the... the only explanation for what had happened then. I was... I was dreaming. It had seemed so real, but in the end, it wasn't, it... it was a dream. It had to be a dream.
A horrible dream, a... a dream turned sour and flipped inside out, exposing the disgusting truths locked away deep inside of it. A dream meant to scar, a dream meant to teach a dark lesson never meant to be learned, a... a nightmare, I had a nightmare, that's all.
I remember... I remember eyes wide in terror, I remember blood soaked canvas and a jaw hanging ajar as the muscles keeping it up simply ceased function all together. I remember those wide eyes, those wide, accusing eyes staring back at me... eyes once filled with life now drained of it all, because of... because of me.
He died because of me, it... it's my fault, he... oh, God, wasn't it a dream?!
There was screaming, I remember that too. Screams from the sides of the ring, screams from the crowd, screams from the referee. He was making an 'x' with his arms, he... oh, Christ, he was calling for help... what did I do?! It was a dream! A nightmare! I didn't... I didn't... no, no this can't be real...
He was as much a part of me as I was of him, the twin spirits forever locked in war-- not of good and evil, but... of determination and drive for success. We had always prided ourselves on stepping beyond each other, and while I had never hailed my accomplishments over him quite the same way he did to me, we... we had always been seen as equals. As friends and rivals meant to fight until they could no longer physically hold out against the strain.
"NO! CHRIS, DON'T DO THIS TO ME! FUCKING... CHRIS! WAKE UP! GOD DAMN IT, CHRIS, WAKE UP!!"
I remember falling to my knees, pushing everyone out of the way. The people surrounding us were screaming still, some crying just like I was... I remember grabbing Chris by his shoulders and shaking him as hard as I could. He was turning cold, his eyes slowly rolling back and his lids closing on their own. I remember screaming louder, striking his chest, desperately trying to bring life back to him.
There were hands grabbing at me, pulling me, trying to get me away from him... what did they want with him?! No! He wasn't dead, he... he can't die, he's the fucking Golden Boy of the NLCW! Chris, he... no, no no no no...
It's completely clear now. The match. The trash-talk. He and I were so confident in that ring, we... we never held back against each other, no matter what may come from us going balls out every time. He... he came for me late into the match, I had him scouted before he even knew what he was going to go for. Chris was flashy, he loved a good show, he... he was going to try and use my own move against me.
I used it first. I remember my leg having a mind of its own, my knee snapping out as I brought my foot up under his chin. I heard the cracking sound from the impact of the kick, but... I hadn't heard the second crack over the roars of the people in the stands. Chris dropped in an almost inhumane way, his body already weakened from the poison and now no longer being able to keep up with the strain of our fights.
The bones tore apart like paper, he... he fell, and he wasn't getting back up.
I remember staring into those eyes before they closed. I remember the terror in them, the pain and betrayel... I remember the blame that pierced beyond my defenses and into my heart.
The poison within him, that which was set to kill him in the end... was only the precursor to what was to come. We were meant to fight on for eternity, until we'd both gone gray and tired from old age. It was a back-and-forth war never meant to stop going, until one of us finally bit the bullet and passed on.
And, in the end... I had forced him to take that final journey, I... I won the war.
I didn't want to win the war, I... I never wanted to win the war, but...
I did it.
It wasn't a dream, was it? It... oh, God, what have I done?!