Post by Deleted on Dec 8, 2013 1:04:24 GMT -5
“It is the curse of an addict to chase the thing that destroys them” -Shane Hawley
The large gym beneath Waylon Cash's property is dark. There is no light except for the single spot that shines down on the wrestling ring in the middle of the room. On one side, Waylon sits cross legged, staring at a picture he has taped to the second rope. The camera pans around to see that it is a picture of the WCF world championship. His eyes are locked on the image, as if he doesn't even notice the camera that is now aimed at his face. After a few minutes, he breaks his trance like state, and begins speaking.
Waylon:I feel like Wile E. fuckin' Coyote. I got one goal, and every time I feel like I'm gettin' close, my rocket skates blow up. All I want in the world is that WCF Championship. I run, and reach, and fight, and every time I'm about to get my shot, another road block pops up. Scott wants me to focus on the tag team titles, or D-Day wants to shut down S-PAC, or somethin'. Of course, this week I'm busy with a bunch of assholes I shouldn't even have to touch. At Slam, I'm gonna waste my time beatin' the shit outta Night Rider, Denide D'evil and Tasha Lavondyss. Last week we beat Fly, Orbit and Purse, now we're down in the middle of the card dealin' with this shit. I ain't sure I got any idea what the hell the management in this place is thinkin' anymore.
Waylon sets his eyes back on the picture, and sits perfectly still. It is as if he is trying to create the title out of nothing with his mind. After a few moments, Waylon rips the picture off the rope, and holds it up to the camera.
Waylon:You see this?! This is what I want! This is what I deserve, and I'll be god damned if I'm gonna get held back anymore. I'm the best wrestler in this company, and my team sells more merchandise than any of the other assholes you got on the roster, 'cept for maybe Fly and Orbit. The point is, I AM the fuckin' main event. You don't gotta look no further for your top star, and I'm gonna prove it. This week, S-PAC is gonna make our opponents look like a bunch of bumbling jackasses, and the next Sunday I get the second greatest win of my life... I end the career of Donald Deruty. I ain't gonna talk too much about that right now, but let's just say I'm pretty excited. I can't worry about that now though. I got a six man tag match... if you can call it that. The other team's got maybe half a man on it, at best.
Waylon chuckles to himself, as he slides the picture of the title into his back pocket.
Waylon:I don't mean to dismiss y'all. Tasha, you're a helluva rookie. You're gonna be somethin' big some day, but it ain't gonna be at my expense. Right now, you ain't shit to me, and I'm gonna show everybody why. I'm gonna take everything you don't know, and use it to beat the ever lovin' crap outta you. I got fifteen years experience, and I'm gonna draw on every second of it this week. You gotta understand Tasha, this ain't about you. This is about me, and my title. This is about showin' the morons who run this place that they're leavin' money on the table by not givin' me a shot at the title. This is about provin' to the whole world that Waylon Cash is the single greatest wrestler alive today. Unfortunately, I gotta do it with the broken bones of an up and comin' superstar like you.
Waylon stands to his feet, and sort of wanders around the ring for a second, before leaning on the ropes. He gives the camera a wry smirk, before continuing his speech.
Waylon:As far as the other two Make-A-Wish kids you're teamed with... I've been there done that, and it ain't that excitin' of a trip. Let's start with Night Rider. Strong like bull, smart like tractor. You're dumber than toast, boy. Of course, I think the same thing about anyone who agrees to face me more than once. Second of all, that name is a mess. Unless you start drivin' a car that talks in Mr. Feeny's voice, I don't get it. You're just a walkin' disaster. You can be a tough guy all you want, but if I can out think you between the ropes, it's just a matter of time before I beat you. You know what that's like, don't you? I've beat your ass before, and I'll be happy to do it again brother. Maybe you'll learn somethin' this time... I doubt it, but maybe.
Waylon lets out a laugh, before pushing himself off of the ropes. He throws a few punches at the air, and dances around the canvas. He continues shadow boxing, as he delivers the next part of his speech.
Waylon:I guess that brings us to Denise... or it would if I had anything to say. Denise ain't nothin' anyone's gonna remember ten seconds after she's gone, and that ain't gonna change this week. You ain't gonna make your name off my back, I can guarantee that. Denise... maybe on a weird, off Sunday when you were at your best, you could weasel your way to a singles win over me, but if you think you and your group of buddies has what it takes to beat S-PAC... well then you're just god damn delusional.
Waylon pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, and slides the filter into his mouth. He fails to light it, before another diatribe comes from his lips.
Waylon:It ain't just about me. S-PAC is the best team this sport has ever seen, and we're at the top of our game. The fact that we're stuck in the middle of the card somewhere is an insult to pro wrestlin' itself. We ain't happy about it, and we're gonna take it all out on you. We're gonna show the fans that we deserve to be in the main event every single week... somethin' anyone with half a brain already knew. Look, the bottom line is that you guys ain't even in our league. You're half the team S-PAC is, and there ain't a hope in hell of you dumbasses stumblin' into a win. We're at our peak. And you buncha wrestlin' school rejects ain't gonna be the ones that beat us.
Waylon pulls his silver Zippo from its spot in the front pocket of his jeans, and opens it with a flick of his fingers. He runs it along his leg, bringing a flickering flame to the blackened wick. He turns the end of his cigarette orange, before extinguishing his lighter. Smoke curls upward into the darkness, as the camera fades to black.
____ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _
Waylon Cash lays back in his hammock, basking in the glow of the Georgia sun as it sets in the distance. His hat rests over his face, as gentle snoring comes from behind it. He is shaken awake by the hand of Scott Savage, which almost knocks him off of his perch.
Waylon:Jesus Scott! A little warning! I'm sleepin' over concrete here.
Scott:You haven't thought of putting your hammock out in the yard... you know... over grass?
Waylon:There ain't two good enough trees close enough toge- what do you want, Scott?
Scott:I looked over your promo. You need to redo it.
Waylon:Oh, fuck you... why?
Scott:You can't just brush off the team like that. You have to talk more about them. You sound like you aren't even thinking about your match.
Waylon:That's because I ain't! I ain't thinkin' about my match. I can't think about anything but that god damn title.
Scott:You have got to knock that off. If you go into your match with Deruty with that attitude, you are going to end up screwing everyone. Not just yourself. You need to get it together.
Waylon sits up in the hammock, but doesn't stand. He tilts his hat back on his head before speaking.
Waylon:You don't get it. I need that belt. I need to hold it again... just to feel it. It's all I think about. I can't even get away from it when I'm dreamin'. Every day I watch that little shitwich Jonny Fly holdin' my belt, I die a little bit.
Scott:You couldn't possibly be a little more dramatic?
Waylon:I don't expect you to understand. I just need you to make it happen.
Scott:Fine, but first you must focus on the task at hand. We have a big match this week, and you have perhaps the biggest match of your career at One. You can not afford to forsake the present for the future. Understand?
Waylon stares down at the ground for a moment, before looking up at Scott.
Waylon:Yeah, I got it... but I ain't re-shootin'. It goes out like it is. You know why? Because fuck those people.
Waylon hops out of his hammock, and begins walking over to his purple Lincoln. Scott looks on like he might argue more, but decides to let him go. Cash quickly climbs into the driver's side, and brings the engine roaring to life with a twist of his hand. He flies down the long driveway, and out onto the country road. Trees and fields speed by in a blur, as he grips the steering wheel. It isn't long before he makes his way into the city, and rolls to a stop in front of a run down brick building. He jumps out of the car, and steps up the rickety steps. He knocks on the heavy metal door, and waits for a few moments. Eventually, it swings open, to reveal a large, dark skinned man.
Waylon:Rock! Good to see you back. I didn't like that other guy.
The bodyguard chuckles, as Waylon steps into the living room, and takes a seat on the threadbare couch. Soon, Jeremy Risner walks in and has a seat next to him.
Jeremy:Hey brother. How we doin'?
Waylon:I been better, but I'm still on the right side of the grass.
Jeremy:I hear that. So what can I do for ya?
Waylon:I got kind of a weird request. My girls got my money locked up right now, so I was wodnerin' if you could front me just a little bit to help me get through.
Jeremy:Come on Waylon. You know I don't do that. If I did it for anyone, it'd be you, but this is a cash only business.
Waylon's hand trembles slightly, as he feels a pang of withdrawal shoot through him.
Waylon:You know I'm good for it.
Jeremy:It ain't about that. I just don't do it.
Waylon:Look man, I need it! Just help me out here!
Jeremy:You need to calm down brother.
Waylon grabs the drug dealer by the shirt.
Waylon:Don't fuckin' tell me to calm down!
Cash lets go when he feels a pair of powerful hands grab him from behind, and slam him back against the wall. He is now face to face with the man's bodyguard. It isn't but a split second before Waylon feels a fist collide hard with his jaw. He this the ground, as he feels blood slowly fill his mouth. He spits it on the ground, and immediately gets kicked in the ribs. All the air rushes from his lungs. Jeremy gets up from the couch, and walks over to Waylon.
Jeremy:I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend. You let it get away from you, just like everyone else who says they're not addicted. Now you're banned. Get the fuck outta my house.
Waylon doesn't have time to protest, before he is lifted roughly, and tossed out the front door. He tumbles down the steps, and lays at the bottom for a moment, gasping for air while blood drips from his busted lip. Once he catches his breath, the wrestler rises up off the ground, dusts himself off, and walks past his car, into the city. He makes his way along the sidewalk, wandering without purpose. He walks until the sky is black, and speckled with stars. Once he sees that it is night time, he walks back to his car, and slowly drives home. As he pulls around the corner, he sees that Scott and Roxxanne are both waiting atop the concrete foundation. Their eyes shoot to the car simultaneously, but only Roxxanne takes off running across the grass. Waylon isn't even out of the car before she begins yelling at him.
Roxxy:Where the hell did you go?! I swear to God if you-
Cash looks up, and Roxxanne stops as soon as she sees the dried blood caked on his jaw.
Roxxy:Jesus Christ! What happened?
Waylon:Nothin' worth talkin' about. Let's head on inside.
She wraps her arm around his waist, and leads him toward the foundation. Waylon tries his best, but he can not ignore the glare from Scott, piercing his soul.
Scott:Yes... It's best we go inside...
The large gym beneath Waylon Cash's property is dark. There is no light except for the single spot that shines down on the wrestling ring in the middle of the room. On one side, Waylon sits cross legged, staring at a picture he has taped to the second rope. The camera pans around to see that it is a picture of the WCF world championship. His eyes are locked on the image, as if he doesn't even notice the camera that is now aimed at his face. After a few minutes, he breaks his trance like state, and begins speaking.
Waylon:I feel like Wile E. fuckin' Coyote. I got one goal, and every time I feel like I'm gettin' close, my rocket skates blow up. All I want in the world is that WCF Championship. I run, and reach, and fight, and every time I'm about to get my shot, another road block pops up. Scott wants me to focus on the tag team titles, or D-Day wants to shut down S-PAC, or somethin'. Of course, this week I'm busy with a bunch of assholes I shouldn't even have to touch. At Slam, I'm gonna waste my time beatin' the shit outta Night Rider, Denide D'evil and Tasha Lavondyss. Last week we beat Fly, Orbit and Purse, now we're down in the middle of the card dealin' with this shit. I ain't sure I got any idea what the hell the management in this place is thinkin' anymore.
Waylon sets his eyes back on the picture, and sits perfectly still. It is as if he is trying to create the title out of nothing with his mind. After a few moments, Waylon rips the picture off the rope, and holds it up to the camera.
Waylon:You see this?! This is what I want! This is what I deserve, and I'll be god damned if I'm gonna get held back anymore. I'm the best wrestler in this company, and my team sells more merchandise than any of the other assholes you got on the roster, 'cept for maybe Fly and Orbit. The point is, I AM the fuckin' main event. You don't gotta look no further for your top star, and I'm gonna prove it. This week, S-PAC is gonna make our opponents look like a bunch of bumbling jackasses, and the next Sunday I get the second greatest win of my life... I end the career of Donald Deruty. I ain't gonna talk too much about that right now, but let's just say I'm pretty excited. I can't worry about that now though. I got a six man tag match... if you can call it that. The other team's got maybe half a man on it, at best.
Waylon chuckles to himself, as he slides the picture of the title into his back pocket.
Waylon:I don't mean to dismiss y'all. Tasha, you're a helluva rookie. You're gonna be somethin' big some day, but it ain't gonna be at my expense. Right now, you ain't shit to me, and I'm gonna show everybody why. I'm gonna take everything you don't know, and use it to beat the ever lovin' crap outta you. I got fifteen years experience, and I'm gonna draw on every second of it this week. You gotta understand Tasha, this ain't about you. This is about me, and my title. This is about showin' the morons who run this place that they're leavin' money on the table by not givin' me a shot at the title. This is about provin' to the whole world that Waylon Cash is the single greatest wrestler alive today. Unfortunately, I gotta do it with the broken bones of an up and comin' superstar like you.
Waylon stands to his feet, and sort of wanders around the ring for a second, before leaning on the ropes. He gives the camera a wry smirk, before continuing his speech.
Waylon:As far as the other two Make-A-Wish kids you're teamed with... I've been there done that, and it ain't that excitin' of a trip. Let's start with Night Rider. Strong like bull, smart like tractor. You're dumber than toast, boy. Of course, I think the same thing about anyone who agrees to face me more than once. Second of all, that name is a mess. Unless you start drivin' a car that talks in Mr. Feeny's voice, I don't get it. You're just a walkin' disaster. You can be a tough guy all you want, but if I can out think you between the ropes, it's just a matter of time before I beat you. You know what that's like, don't you? I've beat your ass before, and I'll be happy to do it again brother. Maybe you'll learn somethin' this time... I doubt it, but maybe.
Waylon lets out a laugh, before pushing himself off of the ropes. He throws a few punches at the air, and dances around the canvas. He continues shadow boxing, as he delivers the next part of his speech.
Waylon:I guess that brings us to Denise... or it would if I had anything to say. Denise ain't nothin' anyone's gonna remember ten seconds after she's gone, and that ain't gonna change this week. You ain't gonna make your name off my back, I can guarantee that. Denise... maybe on a weird, off Sunday when you were at your best, you could weasel your way to a singles win over me, but if you think you and your group of buddies has what it takes to beat S-PAC... well then you're just god damn delusional.
Waylon pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, and slides the filter into his mouth. He fails to light it, before another diatribe comes from his lips.
Waylon:It ain't just about me. S-PAC is the best team this sport has ever seen, and we're at the top of our game. The fact that we're stuck in the middle of the card somewhere is an insult to pro wrestlin' itself. We ain't happy about it, and we're gonna take it all out on you. We're gonna show the fans that we deserve to be in the main event every single week... somethin' anyone with half a brain already knew. Look, the bottom line is that you guys ain't even in our league. You're half the team S-PAC is, and there ain't a hope in hell of you dumbasses stumblin' into a win. We're at our peak. And you buncha wrestlin' school rejects ain't gonna be the ones that beat us.
Waylon pulls his silver Zippo from its spot in the front pocket of his jeans, and opens it with a flick of his fingers. He runs it along his leg, bringing a flickering flame to the blackened wick. He turns the end of his cigarette orange, before extinguishing his lighter. Smoke curls upward into the darkness, as the camera fades to black.
____ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _
Waylon Cash lays back in his hammock, basking in the glow of the Georgia sun as it sets in the distance. His hat rests over his face, as gentle snoring comes from behind it. He is shaken awake by the hand of Scott Savage, which almost knocks him off of his perch.
Waylon:Jesus Scott! A little warning! I'm sleepin' over concrete here.
Scott:You haven't thought of putting your hammock out in the yard... you know... over grass?
Waylon:There ain't two good enough trees close enough toge- what do you want, Scott?
Scott:I looked over your promo. You need to redo it.
Waylon:Oh, fuck you... why?
Scott:You can't just brush off the team like that. You have to talk more about them. You sound like you aren't even thinking about your match.
Waylon:That's because I ain't! I ain't thinkin' about my match. I can't think about anything but that god damn title.
Scott:You have got to knock that off. If you go into your match with Deruty with that attitude, you are going to end up screwing everyone. Not just yourself. You need to get it together.
Waylon sits up in the hammock, but doesn't stand. He tilts his hat back on his head before speaking.
Waylon:You don't get it. I need that belt. I need to hold it again... just to feel it. It's all I think about. I can't even get away from it when I'm dreamin'. Every day I watch that little shitwich Jonny Fly holdin' my belt, I die a little bit.
Scott:You couldn't possibly be a little more dramatic?
Waylon:I don't expect you to understand. I just need you to make it happen.
Scott:Fine, but first you must focus on the task at hand. We have a big match this week, and you have perhaps the biggest match of your career at One. You can not afford to forsake the present for the future. Understand?
Waylon stares down at the ground for a moment, before looking up at Scott.
Waylon:Yeah, I got it... but I ain't re-shootin'. It goes out like it is. You know why? Because fuck those people.
Waylon hops out of his hammock, and begins walking over to his purple Lincoln. Scott looks on like he might argue more, but decides to let him go. Cash quickly climbs into the driver's side, and brings the engine roaring to life with a twist of his hand. He flies down the long driveway, and out onto the country road. Trees and fields speed by in a blur, as he grips the steering wheel. It isn't long before he makes his way into the city, and rolls to a stop in front of a run down brick building. He jumps out of the car, and steps up the rickety steps. He knocks on the heavy metal door, and waits for a few moments. Eventually, it swings open, to reveal a large, dark skinned man.
Waylon:Rock! Good to see you back. I didn't like that other guy.
The bodyguard chuckles, as Waylon steps into the living room, and takes a seat on the threadbare couch. Soon, Jeremy Risner walks in and has a seat next to him.
Jeremy:Hey brother. How we doin'?
Waylon:I been better, but I'm still on the right side of the grass.
Jeremy:I hear that. So what can I do for ya?
Waylon:I got kind of a weird request. My girls got my money locked up right now, so I was wodnerin' if you could front me just a little bit to help me get through.
Jeremy:Come on Waylon. You know I don't do that. If I did it for anyone, it'd be you, but this is a cash only business.
Waylon's hand trembles slightly, as he feels a pang of withdrawal shoot through him.
Waylon:You know I'm good for it.
Jeremy:It ain't about that. I just don't do it.
Waylon:Look man, I need it! Just help me out here!
Jeremy:You need to calm down brother.
Waylon grabs the drug dealer by the shirt.
Waylon:Don't fuckin' tell me to calm down!
Cash lets go when he feels a pair of powerful hands grab him from behind, and slam him back against the wall. He is now face to face with the man's bodyguard. It isn't but a split second before Waylon feels a fist collide hard with his jaw. He this the ground, as he feels blood slowly fill his mouth. He spits it on the ground, and immediately gets kicked in the ribs. All the air rushes from his lungs. Jeremy gets up from the couch, and walks over to Waylon.
Jeremy:I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend. You let it get away from you, just like everyone else who says they're not addicted. Now you're banned. Get the fuck outta my house.
Waylon doesn't have time to protest, before he is lifted roughly, and tossed out the front door. He tumbles down the steps, and lays at the bottom for a moment, gasping for air while blood drips from his busted lip. Once he catches his breath, the wrestler rises up off the ground, dusts himself off, and walks past his car, into the city. He makes his way along the sidewalk, wandering without purpose. He walks until the sky is black, and speckled with stars. Once he sees that it is night time, he walks back to his car, and slowly drives home. As he pulls around the corner, he sees that Scott and Roxxanne are both waiting atop the concrete foundation. Their eyes shoot to the car simultaneously, but only Roxxanne takes off running across the grass. Waylon isn't even out of the car before she begins yelling at him.
Roxxy:Where the hell did you go?! I swear to God if you-
Cash looks up, and Roxxanne stops as soon as she sees the dried blood caked on his jaw.
Roxxy:Jesus Christ! What happened?
Waylon:Nothin' worth talkin' about. Let's head on inside.
She wraps her arm around his waist, and leads him toward the foundation. Waylon tries his best, but he can not ignore the glare from Scott, piercing his soul.
Scott:Yes... It's best we go inside...
