Welcome to FWrestling.com!

You've come to the longest running fantasy wrestling website. Since 1994, we've been hosting top quality fantasy wrestling and e-wrestling content.

NWL Combat: Arlo Ferrall vs. Sam "Ice Cold" Iceshon

Status
Not open for further replies.
J

James

Guest
New Kid in Town.

There's talk on the street, it sounds so familiar.
Great expectations, everybody's watching you.
People you meet they all seem to know you,
even your old friends treat you like you're something new.


I woke up in the morning and my eyes hurt. If I had been a cowboy, Billy the Kid would have out classed me any day. I knew what it was like to live on the edge and be out of control. Wild. It gave me a rush. Those days were gone. That was the hardest part to admit to myself. That it was finally over. I’d have to collect my cards and live to play another day. That day seemed so distant from me now. I never thought I’d be the kind of the guy to ever be in this position. Life had taken me out back and gave me an abrupt **** You.

You ever think about those empires that were supposed to be untouchable? Nothing can ever last. Change is one big ****ing antagonist. I use to believe in dreams, the stars and even my boyish fantasies. It’s all clever bull****. Reality hadn’t been my fondest ally and I hated to be left out in the dark. I had a brief taste of my fantasy. It took my senses away and my breath followed like Pavlov’s dog.

I found myself looking for answers that were right in front of me. The dull sound of the snowing televison screen brought me back to earth. I hadn’t known comfort in so long. I found myself looking in the mirror day after day to see if I was really alive. I hadn’t felt anything real in so long. The liquor numbed the pain. I felt a big hole right in the middle of myself. I could never drink enough, sleep enough or inflict enough pain to myself to fill it up. So I walk alone everyday in my meager existence, forever seeking retribution. For what you may ask? Being born.

I could see my reflection in the shards of glass on the floor. I had broken the mirror a few days earlier in one of my drunken rages. Life was one big sleazy ****er and I kept getting ****ed every single day. I had so many opportunities in my life to accomplish great things and capture every one of my dreams. It wasn’t until that first night I walked out in the street and no one knew who I was, that I knew that I had screwed up everything. I had taken all the wrong turns and found myself at dead bottom once again. Relief came though in a shape of a phone call though. Medina wanted me to appear on televison this week and I had managed to smooth talk him into a full deal on trial basis. I had to clean up my act. Polish the old shoes. I was on center stage once again.

I arose from my sitting place on the edge of the stained mattress. My head hung low, staring as a cockroach scurried over the top of my foot. Pain. I felt it overwhelming my insides. How in the world was I going to get in shape for NWL? I was wrestling already. I didn’t know if I had it in my to do it, but like I had learned so many times before. Life doesn’t wait for anyone. I knew a chance like this wouldn’t come everyday. I was determined to make the best of it.

My legs felt weary as I stumbled to my feet. My dirty fingers curled into my palms, forming harden fists. I was so tired of being so utterly pathetic. It was beginning to piss me off. You know that excruciating moment just before the dream is lost forever? I could feel it. It was on the very tip of my tongue. On the nape of my neck, haunting my very being. Oh. I guess it was a conscience. I never had that annoying thing before.

With what little resolve I had left, I managed to muster up enough energy to make it to the bathroom. My hands sunk into the cool water in the sink. Regeneration felt possible. I pushed my hands up, allowing the droplets of clean water to brush my rough face. The faded clothing that clung to my body was beginning to tear and I was in desperate need of a shave. It felt like I had a thousand things to do and not an ounce of energy to do any of them. Exhaustion knew no bounds.

I was never one for comedy and I couldn’t portray the tough guy image. I was somewhere in the middle. Stuck. I had been stuck for what it seemed a life time. My only consolation was that some day this pain and torment had to go away. It had been a constant companion for so long. My foot crushed that lucky cockroach, green juices squirted hopelessly from the insect as I merely brushed the bottom of my foot on the dirty brown carpet. This room had long lost it’s luster. Everything in the establishment felt used and dirty. Including me.

People always reach the top. Someone has to be the lucky one. NWL was just another step to rebuild. Forge another useless legacy. People always admire the person who can beat them. It’s basically a unwritten law. Everyone loved the winner and nobody loved the losers. Not even the losers. It’s easy to let yourself slip. I was a firm believer in that. My mind had went AWOL so long ago that I could even remember what it felt like to be witty. My brain was slush. A pumping vessel that had been beaten down by the hardships and liquor. My body heaved underneath the pressure and I nearly collapsed in the sink. Yeah. I’m pretty hopeless.

I awoke an hour later. My pathetic body clung to the rotten sink as I finally slunk down to my bottom. The tile was littered with garbage and cracks. It was definitely fit for the rats. Feet came back to me and I found myself standing once more. I could only stare in the mirror. My face dripping with sweat as I pushed away in defeat. Remember when I told you that people always side with a winner? I was no exception to that rule. Yeah. That’s right ladies and gentlemen. News flash. I’m a hypocrite. You know what the difference between you and I? I can admit it.

I guess we’re all philosophers in some sense. We perceive things differently and that’s what makes each of us unique. Minutes wasted by and my pity party was coming to an end. The tapes of this Iceman came in the mail today. What fun we were going to have analyzing him. He was just another no name loser with a cliche nickname. You know the type. Nothing to worry about.

My body fell in a heap on the bed. The worn springs giving out a shriek of agony. This entire place had seen happier times. My hands neatly found their way behind my head and I couldn’t fight the temptation, my heavy lids soon fell. I could always look at this ‘Iceman’ later. He wasn’t too important to me anyway. I was still Arlo Ferrall after all. Wrestling was in my genes. My mind drifted to a better time and I found myself smiling in my sleep like the stupid mother****er I was.

Flash

Sam Iceshon is not a iceman. He's just a mindless grunt with a cliche nickname. You can give yourself a pretty little nickname, but at the end of the day? You're still Sam Iceshon. You're still a untalented little nuisance.

I don't really care how many insults that you try to retort in your meager defense. It's useless. Resistance is just as useless in this little game. Sammy can try his hardest, but Sammy will fail always.

I'm not a prophet and I'm not trying to preach to you, Iceshon. I'm just trying to get a fact over with you. You shouldn't even bother coming to New York. It's just not worth everything that I'm going to give you. Make no mistake Sammy? I will totally demolish every little shard of dignity that you had left. That probably isn't a lot anyway, now is it?

I want you to give it all you have. I want to take this as far as I can, Iceshon. I want you to come to New York with that head held up and those hopes so high. I want you to desperately attempt to beat me. I need to feel that familiar rush of the ring. I need to prove to myself that I can still go. Sam? You're just a little pawn in this chess game. How does that make you feel?

Pretty crappy, I'd imagine.

I want you to get a lot of rest. You can work that mouth off of yours as well? I'm ready to catch some flak by you. Be sure to be witty though? I do what a little intelligence from you Icey.

I'll see you soon. Real soon.


I've been asked what do I want? What does Arlo Ferrall want from NWL?

What I want by Arlo Ferrall.

Cheap sex.

Cheap liquor.

For the sun to rise.

My dignity.

And Pain.


There's talk on the street, it's there to remind you
that it doesn't really matter which side you're on.
You're walking away and they're talking behind you.
They will never forget you till somebody new comes along.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.

About FWrestling

FWrestling.com was founded in 1994 to promote a community of fantasy wrestling fans and leagues. Since then, we've hosted dozens of leagues and special events, and thousands of users. Come join and prove you're "Even Better Than The Real Thing."

Add Your League

If you want to help grow the community of fantasy wrestling creators, consider hosting your league here on FW. You gain access to message boards, Discord, your own web space and the ability to post pages here on FW. To discuss, message "Chad" here on FW Central.

What Is FW?

Take a look at some old articles that are still relevant regarding what fantasy wrestling is and where it came from.
  • Link: "What is FW?"
  • Top