Living In Hell (ASW/Showcase)
Jun 5, 2017 18:36:03 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by strangerdanger on Jun 5, 2017 18:36:03 GMT -5
He opens the small door to the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. For a moment, he is surprised. Even after all these years, MGK has still never gotten quite used to the plentiful assortment of medications that's been forced to take.
Vicodin... that one's for the pain. After all the years of riding to the arena in fast cars and limousines, only to leave in ambulances, the beatings and injuries had indeed taken their toll. If there was some sort of YELP network for reviewing hospitals, MGK could probably have made a career out of sharing his experiences, given that he's been to hundreds of different hospitals, not just in the United States, but all over the world. Hell, given this day and age, maybe there was such a thing. But he had no interest at this point. And besides, he couldn't possibly think of a reason why he'd want to relive all those moments of laying in hospital beds, waiting for the doctor to walk in and tell him whether or not he would ever be able to wrestle, or even walk, again.
MGK takes out three vicodin, and places them on the counter. He places the bottle back into the cabinet, and reaches for another.
Klonopin... that one's for the anxiety. A few years after the XHF closed down, he'd suffered a very public meltdown in front of family, friends, and fans alike. He tried to remember when the panic attacks had originally begun. Maybe it was during his run in the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. He couldn't know for sure, because he had been on and off, abusing serious drugs for years during that time. Half the time he was so numb, he could barely feel anything. Either way, the attacks increased in urgency as well as consistency shortly after he had thought his career had ended. One day he woke up, and the fame, the glitz, the glamor, the celebrity, all of it was gone. His ex-girlfriend, who was still around at the time, had tried over and over to pull him out of his rut. But without the need to compete, he simply felt worthless. At that time, not even her love or compassion could stop him from the downward spiral that he was on. Nothing could stop him from injecting poison into his body, day in, and day out, patiently waiting for the day to come where he simply wouldn't wake up from one of his stupors. But once MGK lost her... well, there was nothing left to separate him from the rage, the anger, the guilt, the depression, and that ever familiar lack of self worth.
MGK glances at the klonopin bottle, and then places it back in the cabinet. No need to calm the anxiety today. If anything, it's a benefit to him, and to what he must prepare for. He doesn't need to be calm... he needs to be angry. His eyes sweep the rest of the cabinet.
Neurotin. This one is what they called a "mood stabilizer". It was supposed to keep his moods... well, more stable... more consistent. His erratic behavior may have made him a colorful and interesting character in the XHF, but in the real world, it made him a liability. As crazy as it may sound, society typically frowns upon the idea that in one moment, you could be smiling, autographing a DVD for a fan... and in a split second, snap and start punching that same fan in the face simply for asking you if you're enjoying your retirement. No, that wouldn't do. And if MGK wanted to stay out of jail the mood stabilizer was essential to preventing these kinds of outbursts. Another "pro", you may suppose, depending on your fondness of drugs, is that the neurotin also potentiates other drugs, such as vicodin and alcohol, especially when taken in high doses.
There would be no alcohol today, but regardless, MGK pours out a full handful of neurotin, and sets them next to the vicodin pills on the counter.
Seroquel... an anti-psychotic. Also used to help one sleep. And it's true, MGK has never really slept well, not in years. This medication helped him with that, and he didn't even mind the fact that it caused him to wake up every morning feeling like a zombie. Without his drive to compete, he was perfectly fine with the cloudy, lazy feeling that this drug gave him. But again... now was not the time for sleep.
He didn't bother to take that one. His eyes scan the rest of the pill bottles that sit neatly before him in the medicine cabinet. Half a dozen different types of antidepressants, multiple bottles of other painkillers akin to vicodin, such as oxycodone and percocet. He has no use for these, not today. Slamming the cabinet shut, he snatches the handful of pills he has laid out on the counter, and throws them into his mouth, chewing them up as he fills a glass of water in the sink. After washing the pills down with the water, MGK sets down the glass, and looks up into the mirror.
"So, this is it. This is what I've become. After all those years of hard work. At the end of the day, the 'Undisputed Icon' has been reduced to a man past his prime, standing alone, in a bathroom, in an empty house... swallowing pills just so he could attempt to function in the same ways that he used to. Just so he could walk around on his own two legs without feeling the pain in his back and legs. Somewhere down the line, I went from being a man who had everything... to a man with nothing..."
MGK looks down into the sink and shakes his head, embarrassed for himself.
"This is FUCKING PATHETIC!"
He looks up again, and suddenly an unbridled rage flickers in his eyes. He winds up, and punches the mirror, putting a hole through the small cabinet door and causing glass shards to fly all over the counter. As blood drips from his hands, he shakes his head, and mumbles to himself out loud.
"This is not who you are. This is who you became. You had to know that one day, it would come to this. The fame, the excitement, the competition... that shit never lasts forever. Not for anyone, even you. But to STAND HERE in your own bathroom, bleeding like a stuck pig while you piss and moan and feel sorry for yourself. This is not YOU. This never WAS you. So what, the buisness took your health away from you. So what, drugs took Carli away from you forever. So what... are you going to sit here, and let someone take your pride away from you, too? Reduce yourself from the most egotistical, heartless, violent son of a bitch to ever step in a wrestling ring... to a sniveling little BITCH? No... fuck that... FUCK...THAT."
Snatching a towel from the rack behind him, MGK wraps his bloody hand up, and storms out of the bathroom, not bothering to acknowledge to the mess that he made.
It's a cloudy day. One of those days where the humidity is nearly high enough to suffocate you, and it feels like it could start raining at any moment. No sunshine, no blue skies, just gray clouds. If days had names, this one would be called Misery.
MGK is kneeling down in front of a tombstone, in the center of a cemetery. Wearing a black suit, and brandishing a gauze bandage wrapped around the hand he had cut earlier, he places his hands on the tombstone, and shakes his head sadly.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be better for you. I couldn't be the person that you wanted me to be. Even at my worst, you believed in me like nobody else ever could, and I never understood why. Not until you left. You know, it's pretty fucked up that it took losing you to fully understand. You never cared if I was an asshole in public, or on TV. You didn't care if my actions caused us to hire extra security at the hotels we would stay in. You didn't even care that my career led to a situation, where a psychotic monster kidnapped you, just to get to me. If I've got this all figured out now, then the only thing I ever did that you couldn't bear to stand... was destroy myself."
MGK's jew clenches as he closes his eyes.
"You wanted me to evolve into a man who could enjoy the spoils of his work. Enjoy the money and the comfortable lifestyle that my career afforded me. And the worst irony of it all, is that without you, I simply can't. Yet I was the one who drove you away... you couldn't bear to watch me destroy myself anymore, you couldn't bear to watch me sink into that hole, that darkest night, and in escaping my shitty influence, that's exactly what happened to you. And it's all my fault. I am so... so, sorry."
"Maybe if I had the forsight to see this all before it happened, I could have tried harder. I could have prevented all of this, if only I had listened to you. Like always, you were right, and I was wrong. It didn't matter if I got in the ring and ended some poor bastards career, as long as that poor bastard wasn't me. It didn't matter what lows I sank to, just as long as I could go to sleep at night with that sense of satisfaction that I could still sit on top of the world, right next to you."
Wiping a tear from his eye, MGK lets out a sigh, and slowly shakes his head.
"Well, that's all gone now. Maybe this is my punishment. To be here, now, while you're gone, it doesn't seem fair, because it isn't fair to you. It isn't right. This is not how things were supposed to be. I guess all that I can do, now, is live in the hell that I created for myself. But I will make one promise to you. It won't be anything like the promises I used to tell you... that some day, we'd be married with kids and a family, that everything would be okay. No. I can't promise that now, not in this lifetime. But I can promise you that I will never, EVER, show the same kind of weakness that started this nightmare. I will NEVER doubt myself again. I will NOT go quietly into the night, I will NOT allow myself to be consumed with self-pity or self-loathing. I will be the man that you fell in love with all those years ago. Not for the right reasons, not for the wrong reasons, but simply for WHO I AM. If you can hear me, if you can see me from some distant world, hopefully far better than this one, I want you to see that I am no longer shackled by my insecurities. No. I am free."
"The rage and the sadness of losing you, that will never leave me. But neither will my pride. And neither will you. I love you. Thanks for listening."
Rising up, MGK wipes a few more tears away from his face.
"Goodbye for today. I'll see you again soon."
Turning, MGK begins to walk away. At this moment, finally, it begins to rain.
It's night time now. He sits in his personal gym, aka, his basement. Covered in sweat, he is seated on a workout bench, breathing heavilly. The look in his eyes tells a story of anger, regret, and self-assurance.
"You know something Doc, there was something else you were right about. Things haven't been that great for me, ever since the XHF closed its doors all those years ago. And despite what you may think of me, despite the massive ego that I've always had, most of the inner pain that I have endured, has had nothing to do with not being famous anymore. Hell, I am RELIEVED that in 2017, I can walk down the street without being recognized at this point. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but it does get old after awhile, signing free autographs and being forced to relive your glory days through praise and acclaim of fans. It gets REALLY fucking old to listen to a kid run up to you and say "Hey, aren't you that wrestler? Man, you USED to be awesome!"
"Why the FUCK would I miss hearing that? 'You used to be awesome... you used to be great... I used to look up to you.' No Doc, I would much rather be unrecognizable, than be recognized as some mother fucking HAS-BEEN... but I guess, as a direct result of poking my head out after all these years, I'll have to get used to hearing shit like that all over again, won't I?"
"Does it sting my pride a little bit? Why, sure. You know me well enough, that if I told you it didn't, you'd know right away I was lying. But I'm not going to lie to you, Doc. I have nothing to gain from telling lies."
MGK slowly begins to unwrap the tape from his hands, along with the gauze from the cut he sustained that morning, punching his bathroom mirror. He squeezes his hand tightly, and a little bit of blood drips out from the wound, which was already beginning to heal, before he screwed it all up.
"So here's the truth, Doc. You haven't disappointed me by voicing your disrespect. Not yet. To be quite honest, and I may be wrong about this, but the ONLY thing you could ever do to disappoint me, is to step into the ring with me, and phone-in a performance that would disgrace your career. And that wouldn't just disappoint me... it would EMBARRASS me. To look back, and know that the one guy, that one 'special' and 'exceptional' guy that I could never BEAT, had been reduced to a sniveling junkie who threw all his money away, and then came crawling back to Mongo, BEGGING for more money than what you are actually worth... THAT would be a disappointment, buddy. So I'll say this now... tread carefully, and make sure that you are up to this fight, because while you haven't disappointed me yet, you are inching dangerously close to that fucking line right now."
"To you, showing respect seems to be some kind of weakness. It almost sounds like you equate respect with being a 'lesser-than'. And that's your prerogative. Fact of the matter is, I DO respect you. Did I ever ONCE say I respected you because of your enlightening and progressive outlook on life? Did I EVER say that I respected you because of your fucking opinions? No. I RESPECT you, because I had no choice."
"I respect you because of the way you physically DESTROYED me in the past. We've gone through car windshields together, we've gone off of ladders and through ring canvases. There isn't much that we haven't done to each other in the name of violence. And yet, any time a winner COULD be declared, it was always you. I respect that. The beatings you gave me, the violence you inflicted, the lengths you were willing to go through to make a point... THAT is what I've always respected."
MGK, almost amused, in a slightly psychotic way, gazes over the cut on his hand, and grins.
"Now you wanna hear what I DON'T respect? Doesn't quite matter whether you do or not, because I'm gonna let you know right now. I don't respect you as a person, Doc. Hell, I don't even CARE about you as a person, or anyone else for that matter."
"Here's a little more truth for you, 'Boyhood Dream', I don't even REMEMBER attacking your sister. I don't REMEMBER causing her to have a miscarriage, destroying the life of an unborn child that could have been her son or daughter, and your niece or nephew. To you, that was one of the most traumatic days in your life. To your sister, that was a day that she will never, EVER forget, probably the worst day of her life. To me... it was a Tuesday."
Letting out a bit of a chilling laugh, MGK shrugs his shoulders.
"Now that we opened this can of worms called truth, I'll be honest about something else. I don't even remember your sisters name. What was it?"
MGK snaps his fingers sarcastically, as if trying to remember.
"Tanya? Tammy? Tiffany? Theressa? No, no... Tony, Timmy, Tyler, Taylor, Todd, T-Bag, no, no, that's not it. None of those are it. She was a pretty big deal back in the day, right? In the same way that Red Fusion was a big deal back in the day, I guess. You'll have to forgive me for my poor memory, but then again, I don't need to remind you what long-term drug use does to one's ability to...recollect. I'm not trying to be an asshole, honest, old friend. It's just that sometimes you have to get rid of some of the smaller... less significant memories, like ruining your pregnant sister's life... in order to make room for bigger, more important memories, like being a two-time XHF Champion. Am I right?"
For the first time in years, we are now beginning to see the nastier and more heartless version of MGK once again. The same man who did so many unspeakable acts, such as mercilessly beating his best friend in front of his daughter. It could be the fact that he has stopped taking his medication... or it could be the fact that he's always been the same heartless monster, all along.
"You know something, for a few years now, I've been trying to ask myself, 'how could I have been a better man before?' Maybe it's just the kind of thing that comes along when you start to get older. I'm sure you can relate, Doc. Well, what I failed to realize, I guess, is that I never NEEDED to be a better man. I was always the best kind of man there is, a man who doesn't allow sentiment and personal feelings get in the way of doing what I need to do to get the job done. The only time I ever felt I could have been BETTER... was when I would step into the ring with you."
"That's it, don't you see? That's what's been missing! The only time I could have EVER been better... was when I was going up the 'Boyhood Dream' himself. The legendary Doc. Every other time, I was ALWAYS the best. Hardcore Champion... United States Champion... X Crown Champion... two-time XHF Champion... over, and over, and over again, NOTHING BUT NET. How else could I have been able to fund a reckless drug habit for YEARS without so much as dipping into my personal savings? Royalties from DVDs, massive pay-outs on Pay Per View performances, all those plentiful bonuses I had received just for having a 'W' next to my name in match results. Unlike you, I got paid more because I GAVE more to the business. I got paid more money, Doc, because unlike you, I was WORTH EVERY PENNY."
"But we've already established that this isn't about money. At least, it's not about money for me. I've got enough money to last me two lifetimes. If I didn't have enough money to squander away a big chunk on drugs, I wouldn't have done it. And since I have no family, at least no LIVING family that I CARE about to leave it to... when I die, all that money that I didn't spend... Heh... I'll demand to be BURIED WITH IT. Because that's the kind of person I am, Doc."
"Make no mistake, I'm not here to help you. I'm not here to boost your ego. I'm certainly not here to be your friend, despite whatever misguided ideas you have about the meaning of the word respect, and how it may differ from liking, or even giving a shit, about somebody. I'm not here to shower you in compliments about respect. Respect was a tool I used to make a point. Obviously, it shouldn't come as any sort of shock to me that you were too stubborn to understand that, so I guess we're going to need to try something else."
"What really baffles me, is that you've got this misconception that I don't know exactly what kind of person I've always been. Over the past few years, there's been doubt, sure. There's been that creeping feeling that maybe I wasn't a great guy, and that I should do something about that. There's been some regret, I guess, but regret never accomplished anything. I have no USE for regret. I blame the medications for my flickering moments of sentiment, because as you know, old friend, I'm not too keen on GIVING A SHIT about accepting responsibility for any of my actions. You don't beat up a pregnant woman and go on the rest of your life thinking you're NOT an asshole, Doc. Come on, man, you're smarter than that."
"I've already referred to myself as a monster... I've already publicly admitted that I WELCOME my demons. It's something that even after all these years, I have the ability to thrive on."
"But I guess I should be thanking you. Thank you, Doc, for acknowledging me for who I am. Thank you for not disappointing me... yet. And most of all, thank you for stating the obvious. Because no matter who wins this match, the love of my life will still be dead, buried six feet under, due to my irresponsible nature, my reckless lifestyle, my damning existence. I get to live the rest of my life knowing that it was my fault, that I drove her away, and that it was ALL MY FAULT. And no matter who wins this match, that unborn baby that your sister lost all those years ago will still be dead. That one was all my fault too, but as I've already pointed out, it doesn't bother me NEARLY as much as it should."
"Nothing is going to bring them back, Doc. Nothing is going to change the fact that you and I were always destined to be where we are, right now, living in HELL."
"I guess the only question I have left for you, old friend, is after I put the last nail in your coffin, and finally, once and for all, PROVE that I am the GREATEST in ring performer this industry has ever seen... will you still be experiencing in hell on earth, among the living? Or will you be burning in the hell below us for all of eternity? Makes no difference to me, 'Dream'. Because HELL is where I feel most at home."
Dropping the tape and gauze from his hands to the floor, MGK stands up. Wiping some sweat from his forhead with his tattoo-covered forarm, MGK walks exits the room, sneering, as our scene fades out.
Vicodin... that one's for the pain. After all the years of riding to the arena in fast cars and limousines, only to leave in ambulances, the beatings and injuries had indeed taken their toll. If there was some sort of YELP network for reviewing hospitals, MGK could probably have made a career out of sharing his experiences, given that he's been to hundreds of different hospitals, not just in the United States, but all over the world. Hell, given this day and age, maybe there was such a thing. But he had no interest at this point. And besides, he couldn't possibly think of a reason why he'd want to relive all those moments of laying in hospital beds, waiting for the doctor to walk in and tell him whether or not he would ever be able to wrestle, or even walk, again.
MGK takes out three vicodin, and places them on the counter. He places the bottle back into the cabinet, and reaches for another.
Klonopin... that one's for the anxiety. A few years after the XHF closed down, he'd suffered a very public meltdown in front of family, friends, and fans alike. He tried to remember when the panic attacks had originally begun. Maybe it was during his run in the Xtreme Hardcore Federation. He couldn't know for sure, because he had been on and off, abusing serious drugs for years during that time. Half the time he was so numb, he could barely feel anything. Either way, the attacks increased in urgency as well as consistency shortly after he had thought his career had ended. One day he woke up, and the fame, the glitz, the glamor, the celebrity, all of it was gone. His ex-girlfriend, who was still around at the time, had tried over and over to pull him out of his rut. But without the need to compete, he simply felt worthless. At that time, not even her love or compassion could stop him from the downward spiral that he was on. Nothing could stop him from injecting poison into his body, day in, and day out, patiently waiting for the day to come where he simply wouldn't wake up from one of his stupors. But once MGK lost her... well, there was nothing left to separate him from the rage, the anger, the guilt, the depression, and that ever familiar lack of self worth.
MGK glances at the klonopin bottle, and then places it back in the cabinet. No need to calm the anxiety today. If anything, it's a benefit to him, and to what he must prepare for. He doesn't need to be calm... he needs to be angry. His eyes sweep the rest of the cabinet.
Neurotin. This one is what they called a "mood stabilizer". It was supposed to keep his moods... well, more stable... more consistent. His erratic behavior may have made him a colorful and interesting character in the XHF, but in the real world, it made him a liability. As crazy as it may sound, society typically frowns upon the idea that in one moment, you could be smiling, autographing a DVD for a fan... and in a split second, snap and start punching that same fan in the face simply for asking you if you're enjoying your retirement. No, that wouldn't do. And if MGK wanted to stay out of jail the mood stabilizer was essential to preventing these kinds of outbursts. Another "pro", you may suppose, depending on your fondness of drugs, is that the neurotin also potentiates other drugs, such as vicodin and alcohol, especially when taken in high doses.
There would be no alcohol today, but regardless, MGK pours out a full handful of neurotin, and sets them next to the vicodin pills on the counter.
Seroquel... an anti-psychotic. Also used to help one sleep. And it's true, MGK has never really slept well, not in years. This medication helped him with that, and he didn't even mind the fact that it caused him to wake up every morning feeling like a zombie. Without his drive to compete, he was perfectly fine with the cloudy, lazy feeling that this drug gave him. But again... now was not the time for sleep.
He didn't bother to take that one. His eyes scan the rest of the pill bottles that sit neatly before him in the medicine cabinet. Half a dozen different types of antidepressants, multiple bottles of other painkillers akin to vicodin, such as oxycodone and percocet. He has no use for these, not today. Slamming the cabinet shut, he snatches the handful of pills he has laid out on the counter, and throws them into his mouth, chewing them up as he fills a glass of water in the sink. After washing the pills down with the water, MGK sets down the glass, and looks up into the mirror.
"So, this is it. This is what I've become. After all those years of hard work. At the end of the day, the 'Undisputed Icon' has been reduced to a man past his prime, standing alone, in a bathroom, in an empty house... swallowing pills just so he could attempt to function in the same ways that he used to. Just so he could walk around on his own two legs without feeling the pain in his back and legs. Somewhere down the line, I went from being a man who had everything... to a man with nothing..."
MGK looks down into the sink and shakes his head, embarrassed for himself.
"This is FUCKING PATHETIC!"
He looks up again, and suddenly an unbridled rage flickers in his eyes. He winds up, and punches the mirror, putting a hole through the small cabinet door and causing glass shards to fly all over the counter. As blood drips from his hands, he shakes his head, and mumbles to himself out loud.
"This is not who you are. This is who you became. You had to know that one day, it would come to this. The fame, the excitement, the competition... that shit never lasts forever. Not for anyone, even you. But to STAND HERE in your own bathroom, bleeding like a stuck pig while you piss and moan and feel sorry for yourself. This is not YOU. This never WAS you. So what, the buisness took your health away from you. So what, drugs took Carli away from you forever. So what... are you going to sit here, and let someone take your pride away from you, too? Reduce yourself from the most egotistical, heartless, violent son of a bitch to ever step in a wrestling ring... to a sniveling little BITCH? No... fuck that... FUCK...THAT."
Snatching a towel from the rack behind him, MGK wraps his bloody hand up, and storms out of the bathroom, not bothering to acknowledge to the mess that he made.
It's a cloudy day. One of those days where the humidity is nearly high enough to suffocate you, and it feels like it could start raining at any moment. No sunshine, no blue skies, just gray clouds. If days had names, this one would be called Misery.
MGK is kneeling down in front of a tombstone, in the center of a cemetery. Wearing a black suit, and brandishing a gauze bandage wrapped around the hand he had cut earlier, he places his hands on the tombstone, and shakes his head sadly.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be better for you. I couldn't be the person that you wanted me to be. Even at my worst, you believed in me like nobody else ever could, and I never understood why. Not until you left. You know, it's pretty fucked up that it took losing you to fully understand. You never cared if I was an asshole in public, or on TV. You didn't care if my actions caused us to hire extra security at the hotels we would stay in. You didn't even care that my career led to a situation, where a psychotic monster kidnapped you, just to get to me. If I've got this all figured out now, then the only thing I ever did that you couldn't bear to stand... was destroy myself."
MGK's jew clenches as he closes his eyes.
"You wanted me to evolve into a man who could enjoy the spoils of his work. Enjoy the money and the comfortable lifestyle that my career afforded me. And the worst irony of it all, is that without you, I simply can't. Yet I was the one who drove you away... you couldn't bear to watch me destroy myself anymore, you couldn't bear to watch me sink into that hole, that darkest night, and in escaping my shitty influence, that's exactly what happened to you. And it's all my fault. I am so... so, sorry."
"Maybe if I had the forsight to see this all before it happened, I could have tried harder. I could have prevented all of this, if only I had listened to you. Like always, you were right, and I was wrong. It didn't matter if I got in the ring and ended some poor bastards career, as long as that poor bastard wasn't me. It didn't matter what lows I sank to, just as long as I could go to sleep at night with that sense of satisfaction that I could still sit on top of the world, right next to you."
Wiping a tear from his eye, MGK lets out a sigh, and slowly shakes his head.
"Well, that's all gone now. Maybe this is my punishment. To be here, now, while you're gone, it doesn't seem fair, because it isn't fair to you. It isn't right. This is not how things were supposed to be. I guess all that I can do, now, is live in the hell that I created for myself. But I will make one promise to you. It won't be anything like the promises I used to tell you... that some day, we'd be married with kids and a family, that everything would be okay. No. I can't promise that now, not in this lifetime. But I can promise you that I will never, EVER, show the same kind of weakness that started this nightmare. I will NEVER doubt myself again. I will NOT go quietly into the night, I will NOT allow myself to be consumed with self-pity or self-loathing. I will be the man that you fell in love with all those years ago. Not for the right reasons, not for the wrong reasons, but simply for WHO I AM. If you can hear me, if you can see me from some distant world, hopefully far better than this one, I want you to see that I am no longer shackled by my insecurities. No. I am free."
"The rage and the sadness of losing you, that will never leave me. But neither will my pride. And neither will you. I love you. Thanks for listening."
Rising up, MGK wipes a few more tears away from his face.
"Goodbye for today. I'll see you again soon."
Turning, MGK begins to walk away. At this moment, finally, it begins to rain.
It's night time now. He sits in his personal gym, aka, his basement. Covered in sweat, he is seated on a workout bench, breathing heavilly. The look in his eyes tells a story of anger, regret, and self-assurance.
"You know something Doc, there was something else you were right about. Things haven't been that great for me, ever since the XHF closed its doors all those years ago. And despite what you may think of me, despite the massive ego that I've always had, most of the inner pain that I have endured, has had nothing to do with not being famous anymore. Hell, I am RELIEVED that in 2017, I can walk down the street without being recognized at this point. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but it does get old after awhile, signing free autographs and being forced to relive your glory days through praise and acclaim of fans. It gets REALLY fucking old to listen to a kid run up to you and say "Hey, aren't you that wrestler? Man, you USED to be awesome!"
"Why the FUCK would I miss hearing that? 'You used to be awesome... you used to be great... I used to look up to you.' No Doc, I would much rather be unrecognizable, than be recognized as some mother fucking HAS-BEEN... but I guess, as a direct result of poking my head out after all these years, I'll have to get used to hearing shit like that all over again, won't I?"
"Does it sting my pride a little bit? Why, sure. You know me well enough, that if I told you it didn't, you'd know right away I was lying. But I'm not going to lie to you, Doc. I have nothing to gain from telling lies."
MGK slowly begins to unwrap the tape from his hands, along with the gauze from the cut he sustained that morning, punching his bathroom mirror. He squeezes his hand tightly, and a little bit of blood drips out from the wound, which was already beginning to heal, before he screwed it all up.
"So here's the truth, Doc. You haven't disappointed me by voicing your disrespect. Not yet. To be quite honest, and I may be wrong about this, but the ONLY thing you could ever do to disappoint me, is to step into the ring with me, and phone-in a performance that would disgrace your career. And that wouldn't just disappoint me... it would EMBARRASS me. To look back, and know that the one guy, that one 'special' and 'exceptional' guy that I could never BEAT, had been reduced to a sniveling junkie who threw all his money away, and then came crawling back to Mongo, BEGGING for more money than what you are actually worth... THAT would be a disappointment, buddy. So I'll say this now... tread carefully, and make sure that you are up to this fight, because while you haven't disappointed me yet, you are inching dangerously close to that fucking line right now."
"To you, showing respect seems to be some kind of weakness. It almost sounds like you equate respect with being a 'lesser-than'. And that's your prerogative. Fact of the matter is, I DO respect you. Did I ever ONCE say I respected you because of your enlightening and progressive outlook on life? Did I EVER say that I respected you because of your fucking opinions? No. I RESPECT you, because I had no choice."
"I respect you because of the way you physically DESTROYED me in the past. We've gone through car windshields together, we've gone off of ladders and through ring canvases. There isn't much that we haven't done to each other in the name of violence. And yet, any time a winner COULD be declared, it was always you. I respect that. The beatings you gave me, the violence you inflicted, the lengths you were willing to go through to make a point... THAT is what I've always respected."
MGK, almost amused, in a slightly psychotic way, gazes over the cut on his hand, and grins.
"Now you wanna hear what I DON'T respect? Doesn't quite matter whether you do or not, because I'm gonna let you know right now. I don't respect you as a person, Doc. Hell, I don't even CARE about you as a person, or anyone else for that matter."
"Here's a little more truth for you, 'Boyhood Dream', I don't even REMEMBER attacking your sister. I don't REMEMBER causing her to have a miscarriage, destroying the life of an unborn child that could have been her son or daughter, and your niece or nephew. To you, that was one of the most traumatic days in your life. To your sister, that was a day that she will never, EVER forget, probably the worst day of her life. To me... it was a Tuesday."
Letting out a bit of a chilling laugh, MGK shrugs his shoulders.
"Now that we opened this can of worms called truth, I'll be honest about something else. I don't even remember your sisters name. What was it?"
MGK snaps his fingers sarcastically, as if trying to remember.
"Tanya? Tammy? Tiffany? Theressa? No, no... Tony, Timmy, Tyler, Taylor, Todd, T-Bag, no, no, that's not it. None of those are it. She was a pretty big deal back in the day, right? In the same way that Red Fusion was a big deal back in the day, I guess. You'll have to forgive me for my poor memory, but then again, I don't need to remind you what long-term drug use does to one's ability to...recollect. I'm not trying to be an asshole, honest, old friend. It's just that sometimes you have to get rid of some of the smaller... less significant memories, like ruining your pregnant sister's life... in order to make room for bigger, more important memories, like being a two-time XHF Champion. Am I right?"
For the first time in years, we are now beginning to see the nastier and more heartless version of MGK once again. The same man who did so many unspeakable acts, such as mercilessly beating his best friend in front of his daughter. It could be the fact that he has stopped taking his medication... or it could be the fact that he's always been the same heartless monster, all along.
"You know something, for a few years now, I've been trying to ask myself, 'how could I have been a better man before?' Maybe it's just the kind of thing that comes along when you start to get older. I'm sure you can relate, Doc. Well, what I failed to realize, I guess, is that I never NEEDED to be a better man. I was always the best kind of man there is, a man who doesn't allow sentiment and personal feelings get in the way of doing what I need to do to get the job done. The only time I ever felt I could have been BETTER... was when I would step into the ring with you."
"That's it, don't you see? That's what's been missing! The only time I could have EVER been better... was when I was going up the 'Boyhood Dream' himself. The legendary Doc. Every other time, I was ALWAYS the best. Hardcore Champion... United States Champion... X Crown Champion... two-time XHF Champion... over, and over, and over again, NOTHING BUT NET. How else could I have been able to fund a reckless drug habit for YEARS without so much as dipping into my personal savings? Royalties from DVDs, massive pay-outs on Pay Per View performances, all those plentiful bonuses I had received just for having a 'W' next to my name in match results. Unlike you, I got paid more because I GAVE more to the business. I got paid more money, Doc, because unlike you, I was WORTH EVERY PENNY."
"But we've already established that this isn't about money. At least, it's not about money for me. I've got enough money to last me two lifetimes. If I didn't have enough money to squander away a big chunk on drugs, I wouldn't have done it. And since I have no family, at least no LIVING family that I CARE about to leave it to... when I die, all that money that I didn't spend... Heh... I'll demand to be BURIED WITH IT. Because that's the kind of person I am, Doc."
"Make no mistake, I'm not here to help you. I'm not here to boost your ego. I'm certainly not here to be your friend, despite whatever misguided ideas you have about the meaning of the word respect, and how it may differ from liking, or even giving a shit, about somebody. I'm not here to shower you in compliments about respect. Respect was a tool I used to make a point. Obviously, it shouldn't come as any sort of shock to me that you were too stubborn to understand that, so I guess we're going to need to try something else."
"What really baffles me, is that you've got this misconception that I don't know exactly what kind of person I've always been. Over the past few years, there's been doubt, sure. There's been that creeping feeling that maybe I wasn't a great guy, and that I should do something about that. There's been some regret, I guess, but regret never accomplished anything. I have no USE for regret. I blame the medications for my flickering moments of sentiment, because as you know, old friend, I'm not too keen on GIVING A SHIT about accepting responsibility for any of my actions. You don't beat up a pregnant woman and go on the rest of your life thinking you're NOT an asshole, Doc. Come on, man, you're smarter than that."
"I've already referred to myself as a monster... I've already publicly admitted that I WELCOME my demons. It's something that even after all these years, I have the ability to thrive on."
"But I guess I should be thanking you. Thank you, Doc, for acknowledging me for who I am. Thank you for not disappointing me... yet. And most of all, thank you for stating the obvious. Because no matter who wins this match, the love of my life will still be dead, buried six feet under, due to my irresponsible nature, my reckless lifestyle, my damning existence. I get to live the rest of my life knowing that it was my fault, that I drove her away, and that it was ALL MY FAULT. And no matter who wins this match, that unborn baby that your sister lost all those years ago will still be dead. That one was all my fault too, but as I've already pointed out, it doesn't bother me NEARLY as much as it should."
"Nothing is going to bring them back, Doc. Nothing is going to change the fact that you and I were always destined to be where we are, right now, living in HELL."
"I guess the only question I have left for you, old friend, is after I put the last nail in your coffin, and finally, once and for all, PROVE that I am the GREATEST in ring performer this industry has ever seen... will you still be experiencing in hell on earth, among the living? Or will you be burning in the hell below us for all of eternity? Makes no difference to me, 'Dream'. Because HELL is where I feel most at home."
Dropping the tape and gauze from his hands to the floor, MGK stands up. Wiping some sweat from his forhead with his tattoo-covered forarm, MGK walks exits the room, sneering, as our scene fades out.
