Post by fowler on Jul 11, 2021 13:51:59 GMT -5
The sound was faint, but familiar, comforting at first but becoming more and more irritating as it became louder and louder.
“It’s coming home…”
Pause
“It’s coming home….”
Pause
Billy Fowler suddenly found himself in a white, open space. The sound of The Lightning Seeds football anthem “Three Lions on the shirt” was now obnoxiously loud and there was something a bit off about it. He turned to see two familiar faces.
There in front of him was Frank Windsor and Rob Riot, singing the sing as loudly as they could whilst swaying side to side as if they had drunk a whole keg of Carlsberg. Suddenly the white space behind them was stripped, first horizontally and then vertically with a red line, forming the English flag.
Fowler: “What the hell is going on?”
Windsor: “It’s coming home!”
Fowler: “What?”
Billy had to shout over the music to be heard.
Riot: “It’s coming home!!!”
Fowler: “The Football?”
Windsor”….No….”
As that No left Frank’s mouth the mood changed. The Piano came to an abrupt stop and the room turned dark. Windsor and Riot let out crooked smiles as the approached Fowler like characters from a horror film.
Fowler: “Guys…what’s coming home?”
Rob Riot leant in close his face barely visible in the darkness.
Riot: “Wrestling.”
Fowler stepped away from him, shock across his face.
Fowler: “No…Not that.”
Windsor: “WRESTLING!”
Fowler: “No….”
Billy turned to run but the other Bastards pursued him chanting the word Wrestling over and over like children bullying a child in a playground until Billy let out one last blood curdling NO!
Next thing he was sat upright in bed, sweat dripping from his body. It was a dream, or a nightmare.
He climbed out of his queen size bed and headed towards the window. With the press of a button the blinds began to lift, revealing the spectacular view of London and the river Thames at night.
The thought of leaving the serenity of this to go back to wrestling filled Fowler with a sense of dread, but he had seen the arrival of the GSP and the return of the Bastards and knew it wouldn’t be long before the phone started to ring.
He walked over to a nearby table and lifted a heavy crystal decanter filled with Jura single malt whiskey and poured himself a large glass. He lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath of the rich aroma. He took a smooth sip, the fiery warm hitting his throat as it slipped down to his belly.
Fowler: “Ah… why would I ever go back there, to that life?”
Riot: “Because you were born for it.”
Fowler dropped the glass in pure shock and terror. He spun around and scanned the room for Rob Riot but he was nowhere to be seen.
Fowler: “Rob…are you hiding in my apartment you bastard?”
There was no reply so Fowler continued his search out into the hallway, turning on lights as he went.
Fowler: “I’m not coming back Rob, I’m done. I’m happy here, really genuinely happy. There isn’t anything for me in wrestling.”
Riot: “What about friends…family?”
Fowler stopped. Deep down that was the one thing he had missing from his life, the feeling of having the two men who had become his best friends through the most bizarre of circumstances by his side, causing chaos.
Fowler: “Where are you Rob?”
Riot: “Oh I’m not there. I’m already in Canada…”
Fowler: “Canada?”
Riot: “Yeah that’s where you’ll find Northern Pro Wrestling my friend.”
Fowler: “How are you talking to me then?”
Riot: “Well I had some gentlemen install a new CCTV system in your apartment so I could keep an eye on your mood and communicate when the time came.
Before you ask Frank got a key cut to clear out your apartment after he became convinced you were dead, but then bottled it when you obviously in the apartment making noise when he came around to clear it.”
Fowler shook his head in disbelief. This was the sort of shit that he hadn’t missed.
Fowler: “Rob, there is now way I’m going to get to Canada and find somewhere to stay. Plus I have no gear…”
Riot: “All sorted my brother. Taxi will be with you in two hours, flight straight here. I’ve fixed us a place to stay and I’ve got you some brand new Bastards attire.”
Fowler stopped. He looked down at his hands. Rough, rugged, and scarred hands that tell a story of past glories. He clenched his fists and smiled. A warm familiar feeling overcame him. The sense of the unknown, of adventure and gold covered leather.
Fowler: “See you soon… you bastard.”
“It’s coming home…”
Pause
“It’s coming home….”
Pause
Billy Fowler suddenly found himself in a white, open space. The sound of The Lightning Seeds football anthem “Three Lions on the shirt” was now obnoxiously loud and there was something a bit off about it. He turned to see two familiar faces.
There in front of him was Frank Windsor and Rob Riot, singing the sing as loudly as they could whilst swaying side to side as if they had drunk a whole keg of Carlsberg. Suddenly the white space behind them was stripped, first horizontally and then vertically with a red line, forming the English flag.
Fowler: “What the hell is going on?”
Windsor: “It’s coming home!”
Fowler: “What?”
Billy had to shout over the music to be heard.
Riot: “It’s coming home!!!”
Fowler: “The Football?”
Windsor”….No….”
As that No left Frank’s mouth the mood changed. The Piano came to an abrupt stop and the room turned dark. Windsor and Riot let out crooked smiles as the approached Fowler like characters from a horror film.
Fowler: “Guys…what’s coming home?”
Rob Riot leant in close his face barely visible in the darkness.
Riot: “Wrestling.”
Fowler stepped away from him, shock across his face.
Fowler: “No…Not that.”
Windsor: “WRESTLING!”
Fowler: “No….”
Billy turned to run but the other Bastards pursued him chanting the word Wrestling over and over like children bullying a child in a playground until Billy let out one last blood curdling NO!
Next thing he was sat upright in bed, sweat dripping from his body. It was a dream, or a nightmare.
He climbed out of his queen size bed and headed towards the window. With the press of a button the blinds began to lift, revealing the spectacular view of London and the river Thames at night.
The thought of leaving the serenity of this to go back to wrestling filled Fowler with a sense of dread, but he had seen the arrival of the GSP and the return of the Bastards and knew it wouldn’t be long before the phone started to ring.
He walked over to a nearby table and lifted a heavy crystal decanter filled with Jura single malt whiskey and poured himself a large glass. He lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath of the rich aroma. He took a smooth sip, the fiery warm hitting his throat as it slipped down to his belly.
Fowler: “Ah… why would I ever go back there, to that life?”
Riot: “Because you were born for it.”
Fowler dropped the glass in pure shock and terror. He spun around and scanned the room for Rob Riot but he was nowhere to be seen.
Fowler: “Rob…are you hiding in my apartment you bastard?”
There was no reply so Fowler continued his search out into the hallway, turning on lights as he went.
Fowler: “I’m not coming back Rob, I’m done. I’m happy here, really genuinely happy. There isn’t anything for me in wrestling.”
Riot: “What about friends…family?”
Fowler stopped. Deep down that was the one thing he had missing from his life, the feeling of having the two men who had become his best friends through the most bizarre of circumstances by his side, causing chaos.
Fowler: “Where are you Rob?”
Riot: “Oh I’m not there. I’m already in Canada…”
Fowler: “Canada?”
Riot: “Yeah that’s where you’ll find Northern Pro Wrestling my friend.”
Fowler: “How are you talking to me then?”
Riot: “Well I had some gentlemen install a new CCTV system in your apartment so I could keep an eye on your mood and communicate when the time came.
Before you ask Frank got a key cut to clear out your apartment after he became convinced you were dead, but then bottled it when you obviously in the apartment making noise when he came around to clear it.”
Fowler shook his head in disbelief. This was the sort of shit that he hadn’t missed.
Fowler: “Rob, there is now way I’m going to get to Canada and find somewhere to stay. Plus I have no gear…”
Riot: “All sorted my brother. Taxi will be with you in two hours, flight straight here. I’ve fixed us a place to stay and I’ve got you some brand new Bastards attire.”
Fowler stopped. He looked down at his hands. Rough, rugged, and scarred hands that tell a story of past glories. He clenched his fists and smiled. A warm familiar feeling overcame him. The sense of the unknown, of adventure and gold covered leather.
Fowler: “See you soon… you bastard.”
