Post by Steve Awesome on Dec 26, 2021 23:38:02 GMT -5
The following series originally "aired" in 2014.
He was unceremoniously tossed flat on his face.
Directly out of the front door of the hotel and landed face first on the concrete. It hurt. A lot. It almost knocked him out, which may have been better, instead it left him dazed and confused. Everything was quiet and he could hardly see at first and everything seemed warped and not as it should. He switched over to his back and when he looked up he saw people running away from him as if he were a monster. Like if he were to get someone in his clutches he would rip there heads off and drink from there necks. Some gathered at a safe distance and mocked him. Snapping pictures with there cell phones and making fun of him through Cheshire cat grins. The guards were shouting obscenities and pointing away from the door.
As a wrestler he's been hit in the head a lot. He's been knocked in a daze like that a lot. So naturally he was able to shake off the daze after a few moments. He staggered up to his feet and more people became frightened and took steps backward. He wanted to try to explain who he was, to make them remember, but for some reason he didn't think they wanted to listen. So he did the next best thing. He turned and ran away.
He ran down the street through the mid day. The people passing by stopping in fear, pulling the scared children in close. He couldn't figure out why they were doing this, all he could do was think of one thing in all his confusion. Go to his promoter. Eric Russo. He knew what to do when things went bad. So he ran there.
“Eric.....Eric.....Eric......”
He said as he paced back and forth. An older man in glasses and slicked back hair sat behind a desk and listened intently. Cliff stops mid pace and turns and looks at Eric. His brown eyes showcasing a look of pure panic.
“The fans went sour, man.”
He goes back to pacing again, running his fingerless gloved hands through his unkempt brown hair.
“Earlier today at the hotel.....I just wanted a room, and the people just lost there minds. They hated me, they were frightened of me, as if I would hurt them....”
Cliff couldn't even fathom that thought in his mind. In fact it actually hurt his feelings. He loved the fans. He loved performing for them, he loved entertaining them, and he loved that they loved him. To see them just turn on him like that for no reason, it was like seeing your family turn on you.
“It was like......”
He walks toward the desk and puts his hands on the top and leaned forward so that he was face to face with Eric. The reflection in Eric's glasses was the wild fear in Cliffs eyes.
“....like they had never heard of me before.....”
And the thought of that scared Cliff. He tries to laugh and smile through it but it was really only a half smile.
“That's crazy talk right Eric?”
He laughs again and attempts to rationalize it out loud.
“I mean.....I'm the Crusher right? A wrestling icon. I wouldn't even be a wrestling icon without the fans so of course they know who I am. Those people I saw today.....they just....must of been different or something....yeah....”
He smiles and starts breathing a little slower now. Maybe this will be okay?
“I'm Cliff Clinton, and your Eric Russo, right?”
But Eric doesn't say anything. He just stands there staring at Cliff. A daunting figure when your looking at him from a seated position. Eric looks up at Cliff as he searched for some kind of satisfaction.
“Right?”
“I-I-I....don't know.....”
Suddenly Cliff's shoulders became heavy again.
“What? What do you mean you don't know?”
Cliff leans onto the desk again, eclipsing the light in the room with his massive frame.
“I mean.....”
Now Eric starts to panic and starts spilling out information.
“.....My name isn't Eric Russo it's Joe Peters and I run an apartment complex not a wrestling company. And I have no idea who you are.”
Cliff takes a few steps back in disbelief. He places his hand on his chest and he could feel his heart racing a mile a minute. He looks around the room and notices all the obvious signs that it was an apartment leasing office. Cliff also notices the lap top sitting on the desk and he quickly grabs it and googles himself.
No results.
He googles his full stage name. Cliff “The Crusher” Clinton.
No results.
He tries “Crusher-Steria”.
Still no results. Cliff just stares at the screen and all the things google thought he might have be trying to say. He just stares at it but says nothing. What can you say? Its hard to put into words how you feel about your entire legacy seemingly disappearing. So he says nothing. After a few moments Joe Peters finally speaks up.
“So are you going to kill me or beat me up or something?”
Cliff slowly turns his head and looks at Joe.
“...no...”
The sound of defeat in his voice lingered in the air.
He gets up and walks out the door.
Promo from 2014
Cliff stared out the window of an abandoned cabin he happened to find in the woods one day and made his home. He had the bare essentials, an old mat to sleep on, and a roof over his head. Everything else about the place was less then desirable.
“For the past few years I have been the equivalent of scum.”
He turns away from the window and turns and looks at the camera in front of him. A perk of now being employed with IWF.
“Every time anybody got the chance they would do something to try and hurt me. Mentally and physically. They would throw garbage at me, animal shit, gangs would line up and try to fight me and usually win and leave me broken and then they would steal what little I had afterward. All because they didn't understand me. All because they didn't know who or what I was and that really scared them.”
He shrugs his shoulders as he rubs his own shoulder and looks down.
“I don't really blame them too much. I don't really understand me and that scares me too. But my logical empathy for the human race can only take me so far. I've reached that point long ago. Throughout this Hell on Earth I've been forced to live in I've developed a very deep.....”
He steps forward towards the camera.
“...passionate..”
He starts to glare into the camera as he steps even further.
“...in....tense....”
His fists clench together and you can hear the leather stretching itself trying to keep up.
“....bitter hatred for a lot of mankind.”
He points into the camera.
“However.....you are hard to hate.”
He points his finger at the camera and actually smiles a bit.
“See you get me Kyle Mason. You understand me. You can almost relate to me. You can see inside this old twisted soul of mine and know that I'm hurt and longing for something more.”
He starts to laugh.
“Your full of it Kyle.”
He laughs again.
“You think you know me? You think you can just hop on the internet and truly understand who or what Cliff Clinton is and what he goes through? Well I got news for you Kyle....you can't. Trust me I tried. You see the life I live.....is Hell. You can't just sum up this torture in a few words and relate it to your little “oh my gosh butterflies im in love” little life and think it fits neatly in a little box.”
His twisted smile fades into a menacing snarl.
“You think it's that simple kid? You think you've had it that hard? Your just like all the rest Kyle. Like Mephisto last week. Just some punk kid. A punk kid who thinks he's suffered because his daddy doesnt like what he does and he has trouble with girls. Oh my goodness gracious, you must have so much to talk about Kyle come....”
He pats his shoulder and extends his arms and motions for Kyle to hug him.
“Come tell Cliff allllll about it.”
“I've lost everything. Gone without a trace. Everything is gone. My whole past. Forced to start new in a new world with all the memories of the old one still fresh in my head.”
He stared into the camera. You could see the rings under his eyes. The sadness in his eyes and the wear and tear in his skin.
“You could never understand me, Kyle.....”
He holds up a finger.
“But there is one good redeeming quality about you, Kyle. Your a fighter and apparently a good one. That's good Kyle. Because I've been looking for one lately. You did get one thing right about me.....I use these matches lately to blow off steam. Get rid of some stress that's really been bugging me lately. Try to ease this tension that brews up inside of me. Last week Mephisto did nothing for me so I hope your as good as you say you are. Because if you aren't Kyle then i'm going to take you up on your offer and leave you destroyed inside the middle of the ring and continue on with my day.....
“...but if you are......then please Kyle.....knock me out. Put me down for the count and out of my misery. Hit me so hard the people in the back rows feel it. Knock my teeth out, punch my lights out, put me to sleep, please.....do your worse......show me what you know about WAR Kyle......so that maybe I can finally get a little peace.”
He puts his hand on the camera.
How could this be? What is happening? How can everything he knows be gone but somehow he still knows it? How can these memories be so vivid if they don't exist? What the hell happened the night before? Why can't he remember?
“ARGH....SO MANY QUESTIONS!”
He shouted and punched a wall in some ally he wandered into. He needed some kind of clue. He needed something to point him in the right direction so he decided to retrace his steps. All the way back to the back alley of the hotel where he woke up earlier today. And as he turned the corner he realized that he was there. The same two dumpsters, the same glass bottles and the same rancid garbage smell. He quickly started surveying the area.
“There's got to be something here.”
He hoped he would find something. Anything, one small shred of hope laying somewhere in this alley because if he didn't....well then he would be lost with nothing. Eventually he does find something, the same homeless guy with the same bread loaf bag shoes. He smiles and waves.
“Hey there friend.....things didn't go over to well in there.”
Cliff ignores him and continues to look around.
“Probably shouldn't pretend to be famous if you aren't really famous buddy. It's going to get you tossed out on your ass....or for your case your face....an awful lot.”
But Cliff keeps searching for anything that can help him and the homeless guy cant help but pick up on this.
“Looking for something?”
Cliff answers his question by continuing his frantic search.
“Maybe it's this backpack?”
The homeless guy holds up a regular looking back pack that Cliff was to preoccupied to see earlier. He hands it to Cliff who immediately puts it on the ground and drops to his knees to unzip it.
“You left it here this morning.”
Cliff slowly reaches his hand inside the backpack. This was it. This had to be the thing he was looking for, some kind of answer. He feels around inside the backpack and....
“nothing.”
He just lowered his head. Even though he should be crippled with panic and probably eventually he would be but right now he just felt heavy. Perhaps it was the calm before the storm.
“Well thanks anyway.....oh...”
Cliff reaches behind him and pulls out a wallet. The same wallet that some scared guy in the hotel through at him when he ran away. Cliff wasn't a thief so he figured may as well pay it forward, and hands it to the homeless guy in front of him.
“...here's the money I said I'd give you. Hush, hush.”
Cliff puts his finger on his lips ironically and goes back to being sad. The homeless man really appreciated that gesture. Even if all there was inside was thirty bucks and a small quote about being confident. He wanted to say thanks but instead he said something different.
“Hey there is a front pocket.”
Cliff looks up and then down at the back pack he spins it around and sure enough there was a front pocket. He unzips it and reaches inside and he pulls out picture in a small frame. He turns it around and its a picture of a blonde woman with blue eyes and two small daughters perhaps eight and four. Cliff stared at the picture and small tear formed in his eye. This was it. This was hope.
“My family.”
Cliff just smiled and within that moment he felt safe. Until he was shaken from that moment by sounds coming from not to far away. Foot steps and voices. Cliff and his friend duck around a corner. A manager of the hotel came snooping around the alley. He spoke to another person on speaker phone.
“You said he....”
“Claimed to be some famous pro wrestler or something. I tossed him out on his face though. It was probably nothing. Some bum who had too much to drink.”
“No. It's a good thing you called. What did he say his name was?”
“Cliff Clinton?"
“It's very imperative that we find him, alive.”
“You guys cops?”
“Something like that. I will send over a few men to have a look around.”
Cliff Clinton looks up at the Homeless man and they both knew that didn't sound very good.
“Follow me.”
The Homeless man said.
So Cliff gathered his things and he did.