Time Does Favors For No One
May 14, 2017 10:43:21 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001) like this
Post by ForeverKuroi on May 14, 2017 10:43:21 GMT -5
NOTE: This was made a while ago. I found it and thought I could use this as a benchmark of me rubbing away my rust before I RP more.
Time does favors for no one. Kuroi still walks the Earth, but as a shell of his former self. His hair has begun to grey. He now sports a hefty beard that would make most people believe he’s homeless and they wouldn’t be too far off. He lives in a one bedroom apartment and makes a fraction of what he made at the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. Time has not been kind to Kuroi.
It’s been over eight years. Eight years since the XHF closed. I thought it was just a moment. The professional wrestling industry has its highs and lows, sure, but this? I never expected to go over eight years without a job. Eight years without stepping out on top of a stage overlooking the masses of tens of thousands of people raising signs while I raise hell. Those fat slobs and disgusting creatures who only wished to embody a fraction of the speed, the power, the command that I control. It was a high that was I’ve nearly learned to live without. It was a drug that I could even be seen to sober from.
But you’re never really sober from professional wrestling. You can’t just walk into a TGI Fridays for a drink, see a wrestling match and act like it means nothing to you - not when you’ve spent years in there. Not when you know what it’s like to shed your blood, sweat and tears upon the results of a match that you’ve obsessed over. Not when you’ve spent nights being able to fall asleep, knowing that you lost your match. I remember asking myself if I gave another ounce of energy, if I was able to jerk my shoulders off the canvas, I could perhaps give myself the chance, the opportunity to recover long enough to pull out a victory.
Sometimes I ask myself if I should try again. Sometimes I feel like I should put myself out there. Then I remember when they closed the doors to the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. I remember going to some of the minor feds. I remember not lasting long there. The fed-heads over there didn’t quite like how I’ve worked over there. They tell me I hit too hard. They tell me I cause injuries. They tell me I need to lay off of them and show some patience. Some mercy. I had no idea that I’ve stepped into high school wrestling - the world where you get in trouble for trivial bullshit like ‘unnecessary roughness’ and ‘unsportsmanlike conduct.’ I was told that I was unhirable. I’ve been all but blacklisted in all of professional wrestling.
Sometimes I ask myself if that’s why the XHF closed down. The world’s changing. Freaks can call themselves the opposite gender and go into the other bathroom. We have safe spaces for when ink on paper scares us. For when letters and words scar us, we run with our tails between our legs. Then again, maybe this is the world that exists when I no longer impose my rule of law. I’ve demanded the best of my opponents and thus, the best out of what happens in the ring. I’ve demanded my opponents purge themselves of everything that makes them weak. For my opponents, I’d point out their drinking, their drug abuse. I’ve even kidnapped someone’s girlfriend because I saw her as a weakness. At first, I didn’t quite understand why he was upset when I was clearly trying to make him, mold him into a beast of destruction. Now I believe I understand why, and it took empathy to make this all possible.’
“Hey, Kuroi! Are you day-dreaming or what?” Kuroi’s boss yelled past the slammed open door and through the kitchen. “This is the week of Christmas parties and football! These pizzas aren’t going to make themselves!”
Kuroi grit his teeth as he forced himself to hold his tongue. “These pizzas will be put in the oven in just a minute.” He began preparing the dough.
It is only because of this shitty situation I’m put in have I realized what it’s like to be inferior. The first time I’ve eaten fast food, having to stop by between road trips, I’ve nearly puked. My magnificent physique wanted to purge it like it’s been suffering from alcohol poisoning. Now, it’s quite used to it. It’s accepted the poison. I understand that women can also act like the poison within your body if you accept them as your equals in such a capacity.
But can I even go back? I’m well into my forties My body has grown stiff. It makes me wonder how those I’ve competed with in the past are doing. I’ve not seen many of them on television. Is MGK still being an arrogant pain in the ass, content with his mediocrity? Is Mongo still lugging his fat ass, bragging about being the dictator of a fallen empire? Or what about AJ Phoenix? Is he still doing… whatever the fuck he usually does?
“But these are thoughts for another time. For now, I have to keep off this asshole’s bad side.”
The door slammed open. “What the fuck have you said about me, Kuroi?”
“Nothing… sir.”
“That’s fucking right, nothing. Now get back to work!”
Fade out.
Time does favors for no one. Kuroi still walks the Earth, but as a shell of his former self. His hair has begun to grey. He now sports a hefty beard that would make most people believe he’s homeless and they wouldn’t be too far off. He lives in a one bedroom apartment and makes a fraction of what he made at the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. Time has not been kind to Kuroi.
It’s been over eight years. Eight years since the XHF closed. I thought it was just a moment. The professional wrestling industry has its highs and lows, sure, but this? I never expected to go over eight years without a job. Eight years without stepping out on top of a stage overlooking the masses of tens of thousands of people raising signs while I raise hell. Those fat slobs and disgusting creatures who only wished to embody a fraction of the speed, the power, the command that I control. It was a high that was I’ve nearly learned to live without. It was a drug that I could even be seen to sober from.
But you’re never really sober from professional wrestling. You can’t just walk into a TGI Fridays for a drink, see a wrestling match and act like it means nothing to you - not when you’ve spent years in there. Not when you know what it’s like to shed your blood, sweat and tears upon the results of a match that you’ve obsessed over. Not when you’ve spent nights being able to fall asleep, knowing that you lost your match. I remember asking myself if I gave another ounce of energy, if I was able to jerk my shoulders off the canvas, I could perhaps give myself the chance, the opportunity to recover long enough to pull out a victory.
Sometimes I ask myself if I should try again. Sometimes I feel like I should put myself out there. Then I remember when they closed the doors to the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. I remember going to some of the minor feds. I remember not lasting long there. The fed-heads over there didn’t quite like how I’ve worked over there. They tell me I hit too hard. They tell me I cause injuries. They tell me I need to lay off of them and show some patience. Some mercy. I had no idea that I’ve stepped into high school wrestling - the world where you get in trouble for trivial bullshit like ‘unnecessary roughness’ and ‘unsportsmanlike conduct.’ I was told that I was unhirable. I’ve been all but blacklisted in all of professional wrestling.
Sometimes I ask myself if that’s why the XHF closed down. The world’s changing. Freaks can call themselves the opposite gender and go into the other bathroom. We have safe spaces for when ink on paper scares us. For when letters and words scar us, we run with our tails between our legs. Then again, maybe this is the world that exists when I no longer impose my rule of law. I’ve demanded the best of my opponents and thus, the best out of what happens in the ring. I’ve demanded my opponents purge themselves of everything that makes them weak. For my opponents, I’d point out their drinking, their drug abuse. I’ve even kidnapped someone’s girlfriend because I saw her as a weakness. At first, I didn’t quite understand why he was upset when I was clearly trying to make him, mold him into a beast of destruction. Now I believe I understand why, and it took empathy to make this all possible.’
“Hey, Kuroi! Are you day-dreaming or what?” Kuroi’s boss yelled past the slammed open door and through the kitchen. “This is the week of Christmas parties and football! These pizzas aren’t going to make themselves!”
Kuroi grit his teeth as he forced himself to hold his tongue. “These pizzas will be put in the oven in just a minute.” He began preparing the dough.
It is only because of this shitty situation I’m put in have I realized what it’s like to be inferior. The first time I’ve eaten fast food, having to stop by between road trips, I’ve nearly puked. My magnificent physique wanted to purge it like it’s been suffering from alcohol poisoning. Now, it’s quite used to it. It’s accepted the poison. I understand that women can also act like the poison within your body if you accept them as your equals in such a capacity.
But can I even go back? I’m well into my forties My body has grown stiff. It makes me wonder how those I’ve competed with in the past are doing. I’ve not seen many of them on television. Is MGK still being an arrogant pain in the ass, content with his mediocrity? Is Mongo still lugging his fat ass, bragging about being the dictator of a fallen empire? Or what about AJ Phoenix? Is he still doing… whatever the fuck he usually does?
“But these are thoughts for another time. For now, I have to keep off this asshole’s bad side.”
The door slammed open. “What the fuck have you said about me, Kuroi?”
“Nothing… sir.”
“That’s fucking right, nothing. Now get back to work!”
Fade out.
