Tuesday, December 8th, 2009
3:18pm Mountain Standard Time
Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

I've lost count of what day I am on without any pills, yet I still stumble out of my car in a complete haze. The sun beats down upon my skin, and even though the temperature has dipped below fifty degrees for the first time this year I still feel like I am boiling on the inside. Even with my air conditioner on full blast, I still managed to soak the underarms of my olive green v-neck shirt with sweat. A few stray strands of hair are plastered to my forehead, with a mixture of persperation and dead skin proving to be a sticky concoction when mixed. With every step I feel more sweat begin to leak from my pores, but along with that a deep thirst now accompanies the immense hunger that originally possessed me to leave my hotel room. A deep yawn, inhaling a large amount of air into my lungs, cracks the dry skin over my lips and leaves desposits of saliva in the corners of my mouth. I lift the extended fingers of my left hand to my face, dabbing my fingertips along the areas of my lips that are throbbing the most. My eyes shoot down the bridge of my nose and see little crimson spots of blood, which are in such high numbers that they pool together on only my index and middle fingers. A cough, followed by a clearing of my throat, hocks up a wad of phlegm into the back of my throat- which I spit through my slightly parted lips, trying to clear them of the minute amounts of blood leaking through the gaps in the tender flesh. It hits the ground and I make sure to step over it with my left foot, keeping my pace steady while paying no attention to the swirling traffic that can only be attributed to holiday shoppers looking for a key parking spot.

Unabashed I walk with my head hung towards the pavement, keeping my steps one right after the other in a straight line- taking the quickest path to the line of stores. By coincidence alone I end up walking through a crosswalk marked by yellow paint on the asphalt, walking in front of a waiting car that has come to a complete stop for pedestrians. For the first time I look up and see the sidewalk of the plaza just feet away, and keep my pace steady while my hunger only grows. I kick my left leg up and place my foot on the edge of the curb, stepping up and out of the parking lot. As I do, I hear "Excuse me.." sighed from behind me, stopping me right where I stand. I have just enough time to pull my right foot out of the street when the voice gets a face to be associated with when the young man dashes out of the parking lot and steps right in front of me. "I don't mean to bother you, but you've been my favorite wrestler ever since I was eight.".

"Jesus, and how old are you now?" I counter with a bit of interest, only because of the cordial manner he approached. "I'm seventeen." he remarks completely stonefaced, more in awe than in fear. I chuckle outloud before sarcastically responding "What the hell is wrong with you?" as a smile comes across my face. He doesn't get the sarcasm, and the blank look on his face morphs into that of embarassment as his cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. "Come on kid, I'm just joking. It's nice to come outside and meet someone who isn't going to spit in my face, or throw a drink at me. Do you know how much it costs to get my clothes drycleaned?".

"No..." he bluntly fires back, still not showing any signs of a bright personality. I stand in some sort of shock staring at the kid through his thick framed glasses, not knowing how to be nice without making some sort of comical reference. Instead of trying to kick a dead horse any further, I simply ask "So, what's up? You want me to sign anything, or get a picture?" in the softest voice I can muster up. He shakes his head from side to side, quipping "No, I just wanted to say hello." without moving a muscle in his face. I'm taken aback again, and now that I see this kid is most likely done with me I start glancing around for the nearest restaurant to duck into.

Without looking him in the eyes once I state "Well it was great meeting you kid," pausing to extend my right hand out towards him. I shoot my eyes back to his face and break back into speech, "keep on supporting!" while his eyes move away from mine- and look down at my hand. Just as quick as he looked down, his eyes roll back up to mine as he strongly inquires "Can I have a hug?", followed by him lifting both of his arms out to his sides. Tucking my bottom lip between my front set of teeth, I can feel more blood leak out into my mouth- but I can only do this to stop myself from laughing out loud. His hopeful eyes stare at me with his pupils nearly disappearing due to them dialating and his tear glands producing mass amounts of tears. I turn my head sharply to the left, spitting a wad of blood and saliva to the ground as I unclench my bottom lip from my teeth. Stammering I blurt out "I uh...", not even close to forming a coherant sentence. Just then the perfect excuse hits me, as I exclaim "You should know if you're a fan of me that my back is in terrible condition. No hugs bro, just hand shakes and high fives.".

"Of course I knew that!" he yells out, as out of the corner of my eye I see a mid-aged couple holding hands slowly approach the curbside. The two stop to my right, forcing me to acknowledge their presence amongst the boy still standing emotionless in front of me. "See honey, I told you it was him." the man barks at his wife, who looks less than enthused to have been dragged over here. He turns his attention to me and asks "I heard you say something about your back, still hurting ya bub'?", as he extends his hand and lays his palm on my shoulder. Without making it obvious I pull away from him and notice the teenager finally lower his arms back to his side, giving up hope on his planned embrace. With a chuckle and a smile, both manufactured for posterity, I reiterate my earlier excuse- exhaling "Yeah, it's hurting pretty bad. I was just telling this guy about it, but it's nothing to worry about.".

"Nothing to worry about?!" the man grunts as he removes his hand from the grasp he had with his wife's, showing a bit of anger. "You're facing Draco soon, and you're not feeling sharp. Man, I bought tickets and everything- and now you're going to stink the joint up!" he continues, when his wife shoots him a stare of death like I've only seen from the eyes of Sarah Perry. "You bought tickets? We're going to my mothers for two weeks!" she shrieks at the top of her lungs, as the man's anger towards me turns to regret in regards to his holiday plans. He looks at her without anything to say, then glances back at me for a second. He says not a word to me either, then looks back at his wife- apparently prepared to respond as he clears his throat.

"It's a one in a lifetime card." he stresses, trying to cover his ass the best he can but blows it as he continues- groaning "Your mother is only ninety six. If she made it this far, she can make it for another year!". His wife actually looks as if she is about to leap out of her skin and murder him right here, which prompts him to tun his head back towards me- deciding to bring me right into the middle of his marital problems. He mumbles "Come on, Jesse. Tell her how awesome it will be!" in my direction without looking me in the eyes, putting me on the spot just moments after being pissed about my perceived injury. The goodwill I was holding inside of me starts to fade very slowly as I grow more disenchanted with my popularity in my hometown. I shift my eyes away from the husband, and look at the wife who now has her horns pointing straight at me. Fortunately, at least for the time being, I am approached from the left by a fat man holding a greasy bag of french fries- which smell so good at this moment in time that I begin salivating immensely.

"Jesse! Wheeeewww!" he sighs, coughing a few bits of fried potato from his mouth. "Didn't think I'd catch you in time! You mind signing my fry bag?" he says while extending the bag in my direction, and providing a black ballpoint pen that is now covered in a thick layer of peanut oil. Between the needs of nourishment, the pain running through my body due to having no pain killers in my system, and the people accosting me- I feel my world begin to turn upside down. My eyes dart left to right, then back from the right to left- eyeing an ever growing pack of people, which is added to with every passing second. Everyone wants something, and all their wants are impossible for me to give. I stand on shaky legs, thinking about how I got to this point of mass hysteria that has officially blocked traffic behind me.

"Jesse."

My eyes widen and an immense ringing reverbiates inside of my skull- causing an intense migrane from the base of my skull, to the crown. The sound of bells signifies a complete silence from the outside world, as I wrap myself in the entangled jungle of my mind.

"Jesse."

"What?" my mind screams, trying to break free of this mental lock I have again fallen into. Even though I can't hear a lick of sound, I catch the awkward stares I am receiving from those surrounding me as my eyes jerk back and forth in their sockets.

"Is that any way to greet your best friend?"

"Best friend?" I counter in thought, "Trust me, I've had friends before and you're nothing of the sort- whatever the hell you are."

"Exactly. You 'had' friends, which means I'm all you've got now."

I run over what is heard loud and clear, and really can't think of anything to spring back with. I let my eyes fall to the pavement under my feet as a few members of the crowd begin to leave in absolute fear of the signs of craziness I am showing. Others stand silently observing, while a select few have their cell phones out and already have begun uploading my bizarre physical actions to some video networking site.

"Hey, look around- I was wrong. I'm not all you've got. Look at the leetches sucking you dry of anything that resembles a person. You tried to be nice, didn't you? You came out here for what, a burger or a quick meal- and what happened? This one wants an autograph, that one wants you to lie for him. Do any of them care what Jesse Williams wants?"

Glancing around, the smiles and laughs around me doesn't do much to squash any questions I had to that point. Nevertheless I don't grow angry, instead I just remain numb to the world with my feet stuck to the ground as if they have been bolted there. I try as hard as possible to budge them in any direction, trying to walk away from this situation before I am forced to do something that I will seriously regret, but it proves to be no use. Standing paralyzed from the neck down, I am subjected to more subliminal banter.

"No. That is why you have to care about what you want, and only what you want. You want to protect your opponents and save them embarassment? That's weakness, Jesse- it's not sportsmanship."

Finally a thought rushes to mind, raving "You're wrong. I don't have to do anything you say." loudly in my conscious. For a moment I can almost feel all five senses returning to normal, with the crowd of spectators waning by the second.

"Oh, so when I said to hit Apollo that was of your own volition?"

I try to formulate a response in my mind, starting off with "I..." but it quickly falls flat as I realize I had no control for that moment- and confessing otherwise goes against everything I've repeated time and time again. Sweat begins to roll down the small of my back, sending chills up my spine as a cool breeze catches under my black shirt. I can see a few people whispering to one another, but I am too deep into reflection to hear anything they say.

"Let me show you what I can do. I know you're looking at these fleas trying to hook onto the underbelly of a larger animal the same way I am. Lets really give their film careers a sharp start!"

The heavy feeling of pins and needles returns to my right arm, as I involuntarily ball my fingers up into a tightly clenched fist. My eyes jolt from side to side, eyeing up the three people still holding their recording devices. As I stand in front of these people, I almost feel myself starting to black out even if my stance is unwaivering.

"Hurt them, Jesse. Hurt them worse than they could ever hurt your reputation and privacy."

Unvoluntarily, the words "I won't hurt anybody!" come skipping off of my tongue and draw me as an even more psychotic mess than those around me imagined. It is then when I notice the ones remaining all stand within striking distance. The obese man to the left wheezes with every chuckle that escapes his pouty grease covered lips. Next to him barely stands the teenager, still longing for a hug, who looks as if he will blow off into oblivion with the next gust of wind that sweeps through the plaza. Finally, a man similar in stature to myself, who I didn't see walk up, holds his cell phone sideways and gives a commentary along with his video. Eyeing them up, I can feel all the will power in my body begin to fade as I slip into the thoughts racing through my mind. I can tell they are mocking me, I know that they think they are better than me. The thing is, they're probably right- but the smug look on their faces tells me all I need to know. I raise my right arm from my hip, and lock my sights on the skinniest of the bunch. My arm coils behind my ear, but for some reason I maintain control of my anger and use my right arm to run my fingers through my hair- just so it doesn't look like I was actually going to strike someone.

"What are you doing? Destroy the-"

And just like that, the voices disappear and everything fades through a wormhole on it's way to returning to normal. Blinking my eyes for the first time in minutes refreshes them after they dried out in my stunned gaze, and I see only a handful of people still standing around. I don't think I spoke out loud, or did anything too psychotic- even though they all stare at me like I have ten heads. I part my lips as I think about explaining myself, but I give up on that and look to make a speedy exit. I turn away from the semi circle and head off of the curb, heading towards the parking lot with my head hung down towards the gravel. A smile slowly comes across my face as I think to myself "I did it, I am in control. Finally this shit is wearing off." as a sharp gust of wind swings by me.

With the wind, I hear the voices of the people behind me in conversation. "What the hell happened to him?" the overweight man groans, as the skinny teenager adjusts his fanny pack before remarking "I suppose he had a seizure or something?". The two are interrupted as the third man yells out "Who the hell was that guy? I gotta get this uploaded, bro's.", and with his words I suddenly lose control of my limbs. I feel my feet fasten to the floor as if attracted by a magnet, and my body pivots to return to the brick patio. Having no clue what is fueling my movements, I begrudgingly am forced to follow as I confront the man who asked for my name.

"'My name is reality...'"

My lips part and my voice screeches as I repeat "My name is reality..." in the same tone I heard in my head, outloud.

"'...Pleasure to meet you.'"

Staring down over the now bloody bystander, who is picking pieces of plastic and glass from his face, I remark "Pleasure to meet you." before stepping over him, and heading back to the parking lot.

I...well.

Uh, I've got...no.

I'm, uh, I'm in control. Definitely. This is just some...hang up, or some reaction to these pills. I mean, I stopped taking them about two weeks ago but they could still be in my system after my prolonged use.

Right?

And if not, they have been sitting in a box for a year, so maybe they went bad? Do pills go bad? Is it a new allergy I developed, or am I just on a near psychotic tear the moment I try to turn my life around? When I said maybe this change of heart regarding my opposition was a personality disorder, I really didn't think that was the case- but I'm coming around to the idea. Honestly I'd take that any day of the week as any explanation would fucking do, seeing as how I'm about to tear every strand of hair from my scalp in frustration and complete confusion.

The worst part is that I'm distracting myself from what is most important, and that's having a good showing when I go up against Draco in San Diego. No matter any internal conflict, I still can't get him or this impending tournament off of my mind and I am thankful for that. But the distraction set in when I realized that being mentally ready is only half the battle. Unfortunately it's hard to focus on any physical activities when my mind is busy arguing with itself over who has control. My best shot at getting on track is to trick myself into using the intensity boiling over inside my skull, and unleash it in the weeks to come before this match. If I consciously try to out do Draco, while subconsciously all I want to do is destroy- there will be some happy medium where I can be victorious, but I fear it may come by any means necessary.

Usually I'd flaunt that trait, but it goes against what I set out to do when I made my return. I didn't step back into the ring to squeak out victories, or use some cheap shot to gain an advantage. I came to impose my will upon any opponent I face, and in doing that I'd earn my wins the old fashioned way. I wouldn't try to injure people, or showboat- I'd come for the victory, and walk out with it. Maybe I can still control my actions in the ring, but to assume that would leave me open for a huge shocker if for some reason I lose my composure. Instead, I'm using the past few days as a blueprint of what to expect at Uprising, and probably for my foreseeable future. I'm trying to control myself, and I can do so to a certain point. With that, I have to establish myself in all facets of life while I can- because I don't really know where I go from here. My match with Draco will be a struggle when I know I am dying for a victory at Uprising, and it will be up to me where I draw the line when it comes to securing that win.

In addition to my professional life, I know what needs to be done personally, even if it's not what I want. I need to get out of Las Vegas, and never look back. Ever since I returned I've been completely off of my rocker, and it has done nothing but make me doubt myself, my abilities, and my mental health. I thought embracing something familiar would do wonders for me, but it has the complete opposite effect. There are too many memories, there's too much hurt and just a whole mess of emotions wrapped up in this city. If I really want to forget my past and look to the future, I need to leave this and everything else that Jesse Williams is behind me. I hate to be cliche, but what happened in Vegas for me will have to stay here, or else I can't move on. I need a fresh start to get myself back on track, because I've clearly strayed from the rails long ago. I've made up my mind, and I'm committed to leaving- but before I go, I just have a few last goodbyes to make.

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
1:53pm Mountain Standard Time
Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

"Why are you here?"

"This is where everyone I've ever lost is buried." I mumble through my clenched teeth, trying to keep them tucked behind my swollen lips as to not have them become sensitive by the freezing bursts of wind. My eyes slowly roll down in their sockets as they set upon the gravestones, which have been surrounded at their bases by mounds of orange and yellow leaves that floated down from the now bare oak tree within spitting distance of the site. With a few pops in my knee, I bring it down to the moist ground and use the cupped palm of my right hand to scoop away the dead foliage from the marble tombstones.

"That's evident, but why? Las Vegas is where you need to be, because you need to find the Jesse Williams you lost somewhere in the past six months. And if you can't, you need to establish something new for yourself. There's no better pla-"

Continuing to do a bit of landscaping, only because I feel sorrow for not visiting as often as I should. With a grunt I quip "I'm tuning you out." as my heart throbs in my chest in unison with every deep breath I take. Every bit of air I exhale puffs out into a cloud of steam, rising up towards the sky before breaking into individual wisps and evaporating. "And if I can't do that, I'm just not going to acknowledge you. Let me have this." I calmly state while looking straight down to the ground under my knee. The voice disappears and I feel back in control yet again, with the times I actually do becoming few and far between.

I turn my attention down to the six gravestones, which are all at different stages of decay. Twelve years of being left out just a football throw away from the church their funeral processions were in, the sand has worn down the edges of the older stones- which are to the left, with the latest passings lined to the right and having sustained less damage as you go down the line. One of the few trees planted in the area has left all of it's leaves in this small cemetary, which seems to be abandoned by the loved ones of those laid to rest here- myself included. My mind runs wild with thoughts, but I can't slow it down enough to settle on just one.

"I want to say something, but nothing is coming to mind." I confess with a bit of a chuckle, keeping my eyes hung low. "I look at this as if I was meeting up with you all once again- like you are standing right infront of me. And in that situation, I have no clue how to sum up how I feel towards you all.".

I start getting on a roll, but the wave of emotion almost overcomes me. I take a very deep breath, but I can feel myself slipping away into another mourning period. With tears in my eyes I moan "All I can say, which covers you all, is I am sorry." before pausing to compose myself. I clear my throat with a quick grunt, and continue on the verge of tears- stammering "I've come here before, but I've never really faced the things that I have done to you whether while you were alive, or dead. I'm sorry Keith for taking that challenge and ending your life in the ring we both loved since we could walk. I'm sorry Mom and Dad for being a complete let down in the years since you have passed, and doing all of the things you taught me not to do. Lauren, Isabella, and Caylen...I am sorry for not having you with me right now, and you are all not with me because of choices I made.".

"I've made a lot of bad choices, in fact. I've done terrible things to people, and I have to fix the past. This is my first step, even though it does nothing for me or how you all would perceive me now if you weren't gone. But what matters is I am making steps, and it isn't just for me- it's for you, and for anyone that Jesse Williams wron-" I stop myself as a deep ringing in my ears returns, nearly dropping me to the ground.

"That's it. What 'horrible' things have you done that makes you want to come talk to the memories of the people buried two yards under your feet?"

"I can't begin to list them. You're in my mind so you should know." I ponder in thought, trying to avoid listing my faults to myself yet again.

"I'm not the one who thinks you're a bad person. That's you."

"I am a bad person." I cry outloud, again muffling my words and keeping them as thoughts racing to mind. "I made advances on my godson's mother, I faked injuries to gain an edge in matches, I damn near killed Will twice and I've only cared about what is in my best interests. Long story short, I'm a bad person and I need to make up for it to those I feel I have wronged."

"So, let me get this straight. You're a bad person because you fell in love, tried to outsmart your opponents, went to any measures to defeat the people who truly challenged you and looked out for el numero uno?"

Without responding in thought or words, I consciously confirm everything with a short nod.

"Well, that's ridiculous. You're trying to make yourself the victim, and you're punishing yourself for being who you are."

Seethingly I mull a response over in thought, "That's the thing, I'm not the victim. All I have to do is look behind me to see the people who I have damaged. Hell, I work under The Phoenix in NLW and every time I look at him I can only see the images burnt into my mind when I lost control. And that was just the first instance." as my patience for my own mental misgivings nears its breaking point. My chin drops to my chest and my eyes close, trying to slow the rush of varying feelings as they push me to the edge of my emotional cliff with deep breaths. It doesn't do the trick, which sends me into one of my many vices as I tuck my left hand into the pocket of my jeans and pull from it a pack of cigarettes- which I don't completely remove. Instead I flip the top open while the actual carton remains pressed against my thigh by the lining of the pocket, and pull a single cigarette from it. With my left hand I bring the filter of the cigarette to my lips, making sure it is placed firmly between both, before I fold the top of the pack closed and slide it back down into concealment. I use both of my hands to pat the various pockets of my clothing down, trying to find the lighter I know I brought with me from the Dodge Challenger. After tapping the pocket on the right breast of my hoodie, I find the lighter and pull it from the cotton fabric. Ducked downbehind the gravestones I am provided a sheild to any wind that may estinguish the flame I produce with a flick of my thumb upon the lighter- as I quickly bring it to the tip of the tobacco, and light it while inhaling sharply.

"Do you really think that The Phoenix wants to forgive you? And even if he did, don't you think he has some voice either in his head or on his sidelines telling him how stupid it would be to trust in you? Would you trust in yourself?"

That answer is obvious, and shuts my conscious mind down for a moment as I return the lighter to the pocket from which it came, and I exhale a cloud of carcinogens above my head. I stand back up to both feet, keeping the cigarette between my lips, and only then do I reach down and brush the few blades of grass from the right pant leg of my jeans- trying to give myself sometime to process my own reflection. Once my pants are cleaned to satisfaction, I tuck both of my hands into the pockets of my black hooded sweatshirt and keep my eyes focused on the names carved in stones jutting from the ground. My father's, mother's, brother's, former fiancee's and two unborn children all lined up in a perfect line, five wide. It's a regular family reunion everytime I visit, with the gravesites really multiplying at an alarming rate which has prevented me for securing a plot of my own- since impending doom goes with me wherever I go. Standing completely still I try to go through the motions of disputing the claims made, but when it comes down to it I know that Will probably has had dreams of what he will do to me the next time he got me one on one. I can't deny it because if someone put me through the hell that I put him through, I'd wait a thousand lifetimes to extract revenge. With the position he was in, where he didn't look like he could return, compared to where he is now that he is back competing in the ring- I'd say I'm lined up in his crosshairs. If I was laid up in a hospital with little hope of coming back to my profession, then was granted clearance to return- I would do terrible things to the person who wronged me, regardless of any remorse they showed after the fact. Keeping that in mind I know explaining my actions won't do any good, because telling him that I went the extra mile because I felt challenged wouldn't be the complete truth. I wanted to hurt him, and I still don't know why. I know that if I approach him, or try to make it up to him, it will most likely be rejected- but that won't stop me from trying to do the right thing. And that coupled with my other transgressions, I doubt I can ever even out the balance beam when it comes to karma but at least I'm not going into my reform with high hopes of success. I come back to reality without any change in mind when it comes to my approach in the coming months, as the cold air gets to me for the first time since I arrived. A shiver runs up my spine and shifts my stance so most of my weight is on my right leg, but only for a moment as I balance my weight evenly on both feet. I glance down to the cigarette which has nearly put itself out, but it is brought back to life with a deep drag as about a half inch of ash falls from the cherry of the stoge. Just as I start to calm myself down, I am reintroduced right into my struggle that I so desperately need to resolve.

"You can go ahead and try to fix the past, but it will get you nowhere. I know who you are, and so does every single person you've ever encountered in your twenty nine years on this earth. The only person who is holding out hope for a reformed Jesse Williams, is you."

I exhale the smoke through both nostrils, brushing off the voice and trying to ignore him as I said I would. With the index and middle fingers of my left hand, I remove the cigarette from my lips and immediately remark "It's time for me to go now. I don't think I'm going to be back here for a long time, not until I get my life straightened out. Las Vegas isn't for me, and it never was." to the graves. I step back through the broken wooden gate, lifting my eyes up from the ground and glancing at my fathers car sitting next to the church at the edge of the cliff. I walk off, leaving it at that, and moving off along the dying patches of grass surrounding the graves.

"Jesse."

Even though it pains me immensely, I block out the voice the best I can as I stomp a straight path towards the Challenger. My eyes shift down to my cigarette, still pinched between my fingers for the moment until I flick it to the last bits of grass as it transitions into an orange sand, and eventually into solid rock.

"You're going to listen to me, Jesse. No bother in fighting it."

With every step the mental wear and tear really begins to take hold of me, as purple and yellow spots return to my line of sight. Tunnel vision consumes my sight, as I try keeping the car in the middle of the incredibly disorientating hallucinations. My pace remains the same, but the straight line I intended to walk has turned into a zig zag across the cracked rocks- with the toes of my sneakers catching on the jagged boulders as I drag my feet forward.

"Okay, Jesse. You win."

And then it stops. In a flash I feel completely normal as my eyes adjust to the bright afternoon sun, and I shift my shoulders to face the Challenger- which is now about one third of the distance from where I stood at the cemetary. As if nothing happened I walk completely pain free towards the car, sliding my left hand into the hoodie pocket that holds the rusty keys I removed from the lockbox- starting this whole painkiller, hallucination, psychotic...thing, with me. When I pull them from the pocket, I keep the mass of them in my palm while isolating the largest key of the bunch with my thumb. Without trying my pace picks up as I grow closer, just wanting to get out of here as quick as possible. When I reach the car, I round behind the trunk and approach the driver's side with my right arm held out towards the handle. I grasp it into my palm and pop it open, then quickly drop down to my rear on the leather seats- laying my right foot on the floormats, but keeping my left outside for the time being.

"You win. I give up on you. You want to leave Las Vegas, you'll leave here with nothing left to your name. Remember, this was your choice."

In one moment, every muscle in my body tenses up as if I am having seizure but no other signs of it are shown. I remain conscious, and oddly I feel every single sensation throughout my body- with my left leg still hanging out of the open drivers side door. To my shock, my right hand involuntarily picks the set of keys from my left and sticks the largest into the ignition. The car is started, completely against my will as fear runs through my veins. Struggling to regain control over my body, I scream "What the hell are you doing!" as my left arm remains almost fastened to my side.

"Finishing this."

My right arm shakes violently as my full efforts go into trying to keep it away from the transmission stick, but it slowly rises even though I use whatever will I have left. The car is jerked into drive by the palm of my right hand, and my right knee kicks out- slamming the sole of my foot upon the gas pedal. The car speeds up to about twenty miles per hour, with the cliff approaching at such an alarming rate I barely even notice my left calf being slammed in the drivers side door as it crashes back from the take off of the car. Everything slows down as the edge of the cliff blends in with the rest of the boulders in the valley below, and only sky and mountains can be seen through the windshield. I close my eyes and a flash of white light blinks inside of my eyelids, when suddenly I feel my body almost being ripped out of the open door. I crash into the door and slam upon my left side on the rocks, with my body tumbling over and over again until I slide to a stop just ten feet from the edge.

My muscles relax and the many scrapes, bruises and rock rash burn deep down into my bones as I hear a huge crash just over the cliff. In horror I look back over my shoulder, only seeing treadmarks upon the thin layer of sand leading right off the edge. I can't muster up words, whether outloud or in thought, I just stare in such a large amount of pain that I don't even want to move.

"Your fathers car, and the keys you took from the lockbox were examples of you holding on to the past. Now Las Vegas means nothing to you, and you can move on."

I lay my head down on the rocks, not even close to passing out even though I wish I would so I could escape reality. I let everything sink in, from where I have to go from here to how injured I just made myself by hitting solid rock after diving from a moving vehicle. Many things come to mind, but nothing of the sort that would warrant the voice to chip in..

"You're welcome."