- End of it All -
Where I’ve been can be directly contributed to who I’ve become and the pain I’ve been forced to endure has only made me stronger. The obstacles I’ve had to overcome have only made me that much more bitter and vindictive and the abandonment that I’ve endured makes me feel that much more anti-social. The emptiness of my soul leaves me remorseless and the betrayal has turned me into the cold and callous individual that stands before you, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
There are those of us who live the rags to riches story, overcoming obstacles and financial trouble and there are those of us who are just born for this.
I was neither.
This all began on April 8th, 1999, I was in the process of celebrating my eighteenth birthday and if I remember right I was a couple shots of whiskey away from absolute euphoria. My left hand was tightly wrapped around the bottle of Canadian Club and my right hand shook as it clung to the shot glass. I was still underage as it was outlined by Canadian law, but that wasn’t an issue for me at the time. There was something about spending your birthday alone that just made you numb. The sound of rain drops pelting off the window was the only sound that would interrupt my session of personal self-loathing. I’d slipped further into depression than ever before and although I didn’t believe in organized religion I prayed for a savior. I’d hoped that someone could help me, because I couldn’t help myself.
I stumbled from my mattress as I tried to cross the room, the bottle of whiskey still in my hand, but now sending droplets to the floor. All I could do was chuckle at my own misfortune before taking a swig from the bottle. A bottle of Coca Cola rested on the night stand, still unopened, as I’d decided to bypass the mixing process this evening. Who was I kidding anyways? All mixing would do was subdue my overall desire and that was to get completely inebriated. I’d become consumed by the bottle and I couldn’t find a reason to remove my lips from its spout. It had gotten to the point where I was only happy when I drank, but I was unhappy that I was drinking.
Alcoholism ran rampant in my family although it wasn’t something we’d usually talked about. Even at the tender age of ten I knew that my grandfather didn’t succumb to old age, I knew he passed due to his love of the bottle. My father was the same way and even though I hadn’t seen him in years I knew in my heart that he was still addicted to the nectar of the Gods. Beer, wine, whiskey or rum it didn’t matter to my family as long as it had an alcohol content of five percent or above we were game. Maybe it was because it made us feel warm inside, but it was probably because it made us feel less dead. Alcohol gave us that undeserved sense of self confidence and it gave us that sense of self worth. I can assure you that you have no idea how much that feeling means to those who feel worthless.
It wasn’t that I had to be alone on this evening, but I guess I’d chosen to. Up until a few months ago I’d had a core group of friends who I’d done virtually everything with. There were about eight of us, but my drinking had come between us, amongst other things of course. Ironically my drinking was one of the key deterrents to our friendship, but they were the ones who’d introduced me to this life altering liquid. It had begun in their parent’s basements, a beer here or a shot there, but after Chelsea had managed to acquire a fake identification card it was all down hill from there. It began as I started to exclude myself from sports and public get-togethers and it escalated again as I’d un-enrolled myself from school. I continued down this path of self-destruction despite my friends failed attempts to reason with me.
Who were they to judge me? They were the ones that knowingly brought this into my life and I’d be damned if I’d let them take it from me. Before I began to drink I was consumed by my own personal vanity, I cared far too much about how my hair fell in my face or about the clothes that I wore. Now my good looks were a thing of the past, I now had a scruffy teenage beard and my hair was longer than it had been in years. Along with my looks exited my personal possessions, I’d quickly learned that to feed my urge to drink I could sell my belongings for a quicker return than any job would provide me. Sure, a career would provide me with a paycheck every two weeks for the rest of my life, but I didn’t have two weeks. I needed alcohol and I needed it now.
The clap of thunder interrupted my train of thought and the cure for that was another swig of whiskey. I’d pulled the bottle to my lips without hesitation and I threw it back. The taste didn’t even bother me anymore as I’d been reduced to nothing. I could feel the burning in my throat and that unsettled feel in my stomach, again the only cure was more alcohol. I fired back another shot without even wavering for a second, but one wasn’t enough, so I shot back another and another. I’d finally reached the point of no return, I was intoxicated beyond belief and my heart ached. As luck would have it the only time I could feel was when I drank and when I felt I wanted drink.
I felt my hand shaking softly and then a tremor shot through my body sending the bottle to the floor. Many would have seen this as a sign, but to me it was a waste of alcohol. I was so dependant that I shot to the floor, completely oblivious to the shards of glass and I began to drink. I could see the blood seeping through my fingers as I pressed my palms hard against the floor, but I couldn’t feel the shooting pain. I watched as my faded blue jeans turned red as my knees pushed against the hardwood flooring. I didn’t care. I tried to suck up as much alcohol as humanly possible and as I lay against the floor licking the ground like a dog, I didn’t feel shame. If this was how I’d sustain life, then well this is what had to be done.
I finally stopped as I felt a piece of glass slice through my lower lip, but not until I couldn’t taste the alcohol any longer. Now all I could taste was the distinct and unforgettable flavor of my own blood. I finally pulled myself to my feet, which was a struggle in its own right and with the slick and slippery floor I was sent sprawling to my bed. The glass was piercing through my socks and all I could do was sit back as the white began to stain red. At this point I was far to wasted to even care, so all I did was lay there and laugh. I’d finally reached the breaking point. I could see the edge and I’d already started falling. I was free falling without a chute and I couldn’t have cared less. My life was on the downward spiral that my horoscope had predicted and there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. It was like I was having an out of body experience and that’s when it happened.
Another clap of thunder erupted through the silence and the phone rang. I was completely oblivious, but somehow I summoned the strength to inch towards the phone taking a peak at the receiver. “Lobby Calling” the call was coming from inside the building and more appropriately the lobby. Someone had rung me through the buzz code and immediately a thousand faces ran through my head. Who in their right mind would be visiting this late? I guess it was my birthday and it could be just about anyone. I pressed my finger against the ‘9’ button and I could hear the beeping and the sound of the door being pulled from its latching.
All I could do was imagine who’d be on the other side of that door once it opened. Would that person be a friend or foe? At this point I actually had begun to regret not asking the questions that ran through my head when the phone rang in the first place. I’d managed to pull my socks from my feet as I sat on the edge of the bed and lucky enough that glass had come out with them. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Three powerful slams of a fist against my door and by the sounds of things those powerful hands weren’t accompanied by good intentions.
I’d pushed myself to my feet using the bed frame and began the fifteen foot walk which was sure to be treacherous. My feet ached as I stumbled from side-to-side using my hands to brace myself against the wall as I fell back and forth. A trail of bloody footprints followed closely behind, while I left streaks of blood along the walls. I finally reached the door and lowered my eye the peephole. My vision was not only impeded by my intoxicated state, but by the fact that there was a finger pressed tightly against the peep. On most nights I’m sure that I’d of refused to open the door, but my mind wasn’t exactly as sharp as a tack.
“Who is it?” I shouted through the door my thumb and forefinger pressed against the deadbolt. I knew full well that opening the door could very well be a mistake, but what’s one more? I looked around the apartment, the stains of blood and the broken bottle of whiskey and all I could say to myself was “Here’s to another.”
I turned the deadbolt to the left and placed my fingertips against the door knob.
“Whose there?” I screamed again. My fingers closed over the doorknob as I turned it slowly and it was at that moment that he burst through the door slamming it behind him. Before I could even register what was happening he had his hand over my mouth and his other arm pressed against my throat. I could feel my tippy toes dangling off the ground and all I could see were his cold dark eyes.
“Be quiet and I’ll put you down,” he said softly. I’d already begun reminiscing over all the wasted chances in my life and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’d nodded my head up and down bobbing back and forth as the air continued to slip from my lungs. I could feel the balls of my feet slowly making contact with the floor again and I could also feel the pool of blood that had fallen in the mere seconds that I’d been hoisted off my feet.
“Who are you?” I managed to choke out once again as I fell to a crumbled heap no the floor, “what do you want with me?”
“Joshua,” he started slowly as he leaned to the floor pulling me back to my feet. He pulled me towards the kitchen and again a trail of blood followed. To say that he was aggressive would have been an understatement as my legs bobbed to-and-fro. The man threw me to the floor as we’d entered the kitchen and as I fell to all four I could see the blood still oozing from the gashes in both my hands and knees. He grabbed one of the wooden chairs and he flung it from the table, while motioning for me to take a seat. I managed to wrap my fingers around the base of the chair and I pulled myself forward centimeter by centimeter. At this point even to consider pulling myself to my feet was out of the question so I just rest myself back first against the chair leg.
“Who…” my voice had been relegated to a squeak as I began to sober up and struggle through the pain.
“Get in the chair,” he boosted his voice almost shaking the tiny kitchen, “get off your ass and get in the fucking chair!”
“But,” I exclaimed, my argument extremely weak considering the magnitude of this situation. He was rummaging through the kitchen cabinets when I’d exercised my first sign of resistance and he was noticeably bothered by this. He turned abruptly grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me onto the chair. A grimace of discomfort crossed my face and my voice grew noticeably sarcastic as I turned towards him, “thanks.”
“Shut up,” he snarled as he pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet above the sink. He again began to search the cabinets this time pulling out a container of instant coffee and an old fashioned teakettle. He slammed the kettle into the sink and turned the tap filling the kettle before crashing it down hard against the stove. He turned the knob on the stove all the way to the left until it reached maximum temperature. He grabbed the coffee, twisted the lid off and poured it by eye into the empty cup. As the water boiled we remained completely silent until he turned and begun to scream, “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE? ARE YOU COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS TO THE FACT THAT YOU’RE GIVING UP EVERYTHING?”
“Excuse…”
“SHUT UP!” he bellowed in all likelihood waking up the entire apartment. He turned to the stove, pulled off the kettle and poured the water into the cup before firing it across the table towards me, “drink that!”
“Can at least have some sugar?” I asked, still being too young and naďve to realize this wasn’t the time or place to ask such questions.
“You want sugar? You want some fucking sugar?” he asked chuckling sarcastically, “why don’t you march into the bedroom and suck some of that whiskey off the floor and Irish up this coffee? How does that sound? You know, you’re an absolute disgrace not only to your family, but to yourself. You have so much potential and you just piss it away.”
“Who are you?” I muttered through gritted teeth, “who are you to think you can come in here and lay your hands on me?”
“Who am I?” he chuckled again pulling out the chair on the opposite side of the table before sitting down. He looked me over head to toe and all he did was laugh, “you don’t need to worry about that, because Joshua you’re going down a one-way street and at the end rests a future you aren’t ready to comprehend. You’re eighteen years old and you’re already a borderline alcoholic, what’s next? Cocaine? Heroin? Ecstasy? For fuck sakes kid, you’re on a pathway to destruction.”
“Who are you?” I asked again this time there was a sense of desperation in my voice. I tried to scramble and find my words, but there was nothing else there, so I muttered it again, “who are you?”
“Josh,” he said calmly taking his hand and running it through his hair, “before you jump into anything I want you to realize something…I’ve been watching you. I’ve been following your every move and I’ve waited for this opportunity. You need to realize your full potential and I’m here to help you do that. Josh you’ve prayed your whole life for salvation for someone to offer you love and understanding and I’m doing just that.”
“But…”
“Josh,” he boosted, his fingers clenched and the vein in his forehead bulging, “the options are black and white there’s no grey. You either say yes and you come with me tonight or you say no and you’ll live your entire life wondering what could have been. You have to remember after everything you’ve been through, your parents disowning you and your friends abandoning you, well I’m still here. I’m still here and I’m offering you everything that they couldn’t, I’m offering your salvation from your sins and freedom from the vices that bind you to this life of pain and sacrifice.”
“I don’t believe it…”
“You don’t believe what?” he was visibly agitated at my failure to admit defeat at this point and to prove his point he lunged forward and slapped me across the face, “you don’t believe that you’re marching down the path that will not only lead you to drug abuse, but will confine you to a life of crime, brief prison stints and will be followed by an early drug overdose by the age of twenty-eight? You honestly think for a second that I’d waste my time on someone who may actually be able to save themselves, no Josh, I only deal with the weakest of willed individuals. Those who feel so lonely in their lives that they don’t see a point in fixing those problems, Josh you’re that person. You’re the guy that won’t be saved after today and you have to ask yourself that meaningful question, is your pride worth more than your life? That’s what you have to ask yourself because I can’t answer that question for you.”
“Fine,” tears began to swell up in my eyes as the realization begun to sink in. We were all going to die, but my death was going to be sooner than most at this rate. Like he’d said I was on a collision course with cocaine addiction and alcoholism. I was standing at the crossroads and to my left was the life I’ve been living and to the right was the life I’d always wanted. The only problem is when I look to my left the road slopes downwards and the walk appears much easier, but to my right I’m met by mountains and valleys that I’ll have to overcome. It ultimately comes down to work ethic, do I take the road less travelled or do I fall into my niche and continue on the road of mediocrity and failure.
“I’ll go.”
“You’ll go?” he replied a look of shock placed across his face.
“Yes…” I paused swallowing hard, “I’ll go.”
“I can ensure you that’s for the best,” he was visibly astounded by my response maybe it wasn’t the answer he’d expected or maybe it was an answer he’d never heard before, but the look on his face would lead me to believe that he was impressed by my decision. To me this was the first good choice I’d made in months and even if I was putting my life in the hands of a complete stranger what was the worst that could happen? Worst case scenario I end up face down in a ditch somewhere, but if I didn’t accept his help I’d of been there regardless.
He pulled a blindfold from his pocket and he tied it around my head fully shielding my eyes. Wherever we were going I knew I wasn’t supposed to know how to get there or how to get back if I ever left. At the time I was completely oblivious to what was happening to me, but I’d never felt as vulnerable in my left and I had no choice but to oblige his every request. It was my life, but it was under his control. He would come to be affectionately known to all of us as ‘The Keeper’ and it was he that saved my life.
LIGHTS!
CAMERA!
ACTION!
The camera was again set-up in the tiny confessional booth and since the last time I used it I’d grown extremely accustom to working it. I knew where the buttons were and I knew exactly when and where I wanted it placed. I’d even managed to learn the mystic wonders of the always popular star swipe. The bandages on my forehead were stained with blood and a tiny trickle ran from beneath the cloth and down my forehead, between my eyes before falling onto my lips. I was excited to say the least, for once the opposition had retaliated in the war that I’d been convinced was going to be pathetically one-sided.
“Finally all the chips are on the table and we’ve both laid down our hands,” I wiped my lips clean as I let out a chuckle, “we’re both all in and we’re about to turn over the river card, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve already got four of a kind and you’re stuck with an ace high. Last week was the defining moment for your career Mr. Jason and I’m proud to say that you deserve a round of applause. Last week you managed to prove to the entire world what we already knew. The truth is Steve you are alone and the fact is you even had to pay for anyone to give you the time of day. You had to pay for reinforcements because no one was stupid enough to march into battle alongside of you. Steve last week provided me with the most gratifying feeling of all, last week showed just how pathetic and meek you truly are. You aren’t some stray dog though that someone brought in from the rain and I don’t have to rub your nose in the soiled mess that you’ve left on floor, because you’ve already gotten the message. You’ve obviously realized there’s strength in numbers, but all I can ask is what happens when the money runs out? What happens when you can no longer afford the services of the Royal Cartel? At that juncture Steve you’re back at square one, you’ll be completely alone and at my mercy. It’ll be a reoccurring feeling week after week until finally your body can endure no more and like every figure of praise and admiration you’ll be exploited for what you truly are, and that’s a fraud.”
My eyes were focused on the camera as the bandage began to soak up the blood and growing increasingly upset by it I just reach to my forehead and pull the bandage throwing it to the ground.
“Last week,” I started my teeth grinding together, “I fell victim to a sneak attack and I’ve got no one to hold accountable but myself. Steve you managed to pull the wool over my eyes just long enough to not only slip through the cracks, but you managed to put a bunch of stitches in my skull. I guess I had it coming and I’m actually glad to see you have some sense of self-respect remaining because I was beginning to question your manhood altogether. Steve last week you chose to enlist the help of the Royal Cartel and that’s all well in good, but this week it begins again. This week I guarantee I will singlehandedly prove to the world why I am the Platinum Champion. Last week was the dawn of a new age or so they proclaimed last week signified the first sign of resistance by anyone other than yourself and sadly this week may very well be their crucifixion.
I chuckled softly as a trickle of blood fell from my open wound and fell into my eye.
“Dante Gleason Poole…” I paused again chuckling, “so you’ve decided that you’re going to bypass the initiation stage and assert yourself as a force to be reckoned with here in Platinum Dynasty Wrestling. You’ve asserted yourself as the leader of the Royal Cartel and you even perceive yourself as a faction that could even rival the power that is The Pantheon, unfortunately you’ve chosen to live in a pipedream. You’ve decided that you’d rather dream in Technicolor and that’s all well and good. What you’ve failed to take into account though is the vast differences between the two of us, Dante you have to realize that if you’re a junior, I’m a senior. If you’re a piece of lettuce, I’m the entire salad and if you’re a gigabyte I’m a terabyte. Let me cut out the metaphorical bullshit for a second and let me give you the idiots guide to what I just said. Dante, you aren’t in my league and you never will be. Dante you’re a kid marching into a man’s ring and if you’re not careful this will look like nothing short of a massacre as I tear you a new asshole. Not only will you find yourself defeated, but you’ll find yourself decimated. Dante I’m not here to play games with anyone and I’m not going to take the easy way out. I’m not going to prance around like a fucking fairy bitching and complaining about your full name, because come Disclosure it won’t even matter. Your name won’t mean a goddamn thing to anyone in the entire arena, because people only remember the victors. No one remembers the name of the victim, but the artists name goes down in the history books never to be forgotten. Don’t get me wrong Dante I admire your ambition, but you may have committed a false start and under the statute of the Pantheon that is punishable by death.”
I pulled my sleeve out and wiped my forehead in a move that immediately stained my blue shirt crimson red. The blood in my forehead hadn’t stopped seeping through the wound since Disclosure and despite everyone’s recommendation I’d refused regular medical attention.
“Dante,” again I continued my voice raspy and full of hate, “you have to realize that there is nothing you can do to me that will ever stop me from coming. There is absolutely nothing you can do that will even remotely bother me, for all I care you can drag me to the mat and rub salt and vinegar in my open wounds and all it’ll do is entice me to come that much harder. But there’s something about you that makes you slightly different than the others, maybe it’s your determination or maybe it’s your lack of respect or morals, but maybe it’s so much more than that. Maybe I see a little bit of myself deep inside of you and maybe that’s what I hate the most. Maybe what bothers me more than anything is I sit back, flick on my television set and all I hear is some stupid English prick trying to cling to what makes me who I am. Dante everyone knows that you’re no messiah, you’re nothing more than a mortal man that may have read a few books, but the fact of the matter is you can’t see anything. You live a life based on delusions of grandeur and you act like you can see everyone’s imperfections, but what you’re missing are your own. Dante you and the Royal Cartel put your own greed above your self-respect, pride and most of all your own safety and for someone who claims to view individual’s shortcomings, well you really dropped the ball there. It’s quite obvious Dante that I’m often imitated, but never duplicated. You’re that shortcut on the desktop that masks it’s self as the real deal once you’ve renamed the file and hidden its extension, but Dante if it smells like lemon and tastes like lemon it still might be imitation lemon.”
I smirked at the camera still a little disgusted in everything around me, to say that I couldn’t stand Dante Poole would be an oversight, because in actuality he couldn’t have meant less to me.
“Dante,” my voice was calm and conservatory, “you have to realize that I’m not going out there to maim you because I dislike you, but I do intend to hurt you. I intend on if nothing else going out there and ripping you limb from limb and for no other reason than to prove to Steve Jason that you don’t cross The Pantheon. Don’t get me wrong I’m not looking beyond you, but I will have one eye on the entranceway waiting for Mr. Jason to make his way to the ringside area. Don’t get me wrong before you come out and start bitching and complaining about The Pantheon I can guarantee you like I’ve done to everyone else in the past they will not be ringside and I hope the same for the Royal Cartel. I also understand the other end of the spectrum, if you choose to have them ringside then so bet it, but you can’t avoid the inevitable. You can’t overcome the odds that are stacked against you and you can’t surpass your limitations set forth by your god given abilities. Dante you came to PDW and you had these hopes and dreams of maybe amounting to something and after a great start to your career you find yourself with a typical one and oh record, but that changes this week. We’re going to chalk one up for the good guys and we’ll throw one into the loss column for the Royal Cartel because if you’re the best they’ve got, well then fact of the matter is that they have no hope.”
I paused and take a soft breath.
“Dante Gleason Poole, what you have to realize is I save people not much different from yourself on a daily basis. I offer a hand to people whose self-esteem is so low as your own, people who walk the street and strip away their layers to the highest bidder and you are no different. Dante, you’re nothing more than a cheap prostitute, prancing around with your pants around your fucking ankles and someone’s dick in your mouth. How does it feel to know that a briefcase full of money is the sole dictator of your life? Does it wash away the pain because you just might not feel pretty? You can lay in the shower for hours on end letting the cold water coat your body, but the fact remains that you won’t wash away the pain and illusion you’ve created. Just because a briefcase full of money might help you sleep at night it won’t be enough to save your soul. All I can say is this, prostitution is a crime and The Pantheon we won’t stand for it. We are your judge, your jury and we will be your executioner.”
I broke out in a soft laughter before looking up at the camera one last time.
“Dante what you have to realize is that this week you won’t want your protégé to be watching because everything you’ve taught him will go out the window and you’ll be struggling not to win, but to survive. You can hear the sounds of bullets flying through the air and you can see the casualties as they line the battlefield. Dante this isn’t a simple match to me, this is war and this is everything I’ve been trained for. This is what I’ve fought my whole life to achieve. This is the ultimate battle of good versus evil and right versus wrong. What you’ve neglected to realize is I’m playing for keeps at this juncture and watching you squirm as I lock my arms around your throat will be the most gratifying feeling in the world. There’s no one out there that can save you, not Tatiana, Randal or even Steve Jason. Dante this week will revolve solely around the two of us inside that ring and only one of us can come out on top and that one individual is inevitably me. You search for salvation and you pray for a savior, when the times seem darkest that’s when you find ‘Your Messiah’. Remember Dante, I am the past. I am the present. I am the future. I AM FOREVER.”
CUT!
Everything you’ve ever fought for or worked for is personified in the single moment when desperation collides with preparation, in that moment if we can be perfect, even for a second, then victory will inevitable be ours.
