Post by Sam Sawyer on Apr 20, 2024 22:14:26 GMT -5
Standing across the apron from Sam, Mitchell takes a quick step towards them, twists, and rockets his boot towards their chest. Sam snatches his boot out of the air and wraps his ankle in a tight grip, ready to push him backwards. They let him go. Mitchell stares back at them. For a few seconds he doesn't move, then he tries to surprise them with a sudden superkick to the face. They slip their head towards the ring and his boot flies past. Mitchell keeps his balance on the apron while Sam hooks the top rope with their left arm. They visualize tripping him up with a stiff kick to the bottom of his shin. Sam lets go of the rope, then promptly does the same thing again as another kick immediately whizzes past. They wait... then catch another chest kick. Then jump over a shin kick. Then duck and block a superkick, using both hands to barricade the blow, then violently shove him backwards using the strength of their forearms. Mitchell's side hits the apron and he falls off it onto a mat on the floor.
He climbs back up and once again locks eyes with Sam. Sam dodges a superkick. Then Mitchell leaves his feet and leaps towards Sam with a shotgun dropkick. Sam jolts to the side and clings on to the top rope. Mitchell's right boot plummets into their ribs but the ropes keep them upright. After landing on the apron, Mitchell gets back to his feet. Superkick, dodged. He waits... superkick, dodged. Quick superkick, caught. Quick chest kick, caught. Quick superkick, hits. The hard shot jars their vision before they can grab the rope. They lose their footing and fall off the apron.
Sam takes Mitchell's hand and lets him help them to their feet.
Mitchell: Want a break?
Sam shakes their head, but Mitchell keeps a hold of their hand.
Mitchell: Sam... you look like shit.
Mitchell smiles gently. Sam glares at him, forcing their eyelids as far back as they can go and bringing him into sharp focus.
Sam: Come on.
Mitchell lets their hand go but doesn't move.
Mitchell: You're gonna injure yourself.
Sam: I know my body.
Sam dares Mitchell to defy them, an icy cruelty in their eyes. They want to hurt him.
Mitchell: Okay...
He lowers his eyes, but when he raises them he looks frustrated and not so meek.
Mitchell: Can you give me two minutes?
Sam nods. They're pleased with the result, but then he gives them a small apologetic smile.
While Sam stretches their legs, Mitchell leans on the apron, both avoiding the other's eyes. Mitchell's body is covered in thin strips of bright red rash; the kendo stick marks still fresh. He let Sam practice on him without complaint. Sam lets out a labored sigh and looks away.
After two minutes, they both get back up on the apron. Sam survived around thirty shots before that last superkick: far from their best. This time they only make it to around twenty before another superkick to the face knocks them to the floor.
Mitchell helps them up again.
Mitchell: Please go to bed, Sam.
Sam: I can't.
They look at him with dead eyes, no conviction in their voice.
Mitchell: Yeah you can. Come on.
He smiles. He's probably right, Sam thinks. Although they can barely think straight.
Sam: Just for an hour.
A little dejected, Mitchell nods his head.
Mitchell: Cool.
Sam takes their phone from the other side of the post and leaves with haste.
. . .
When their alarm goes off, they sit up. They force their heavy eyes to stay open. As comfortable as the bed should feel, it barely registers with them. They hate every single minute they've wasted. But something in the cold silence of the storage room holds them in place.
They see themselves losing again. They see their feet hitting the floor. They see what could be their final chance at earning His love, gone. Every time they see this, it's just as powerful as the last. It used to make them angry, but now... something is telling them to accept it.
They tell their students they'll be back soon, then leave the gym.
They haven't been outside since they got back from Minnesota over a week ago. They look at the strip mall parking lot and the overcast sky, and take a breath of air. They wait as if it will all somehow tell them how they really feel. For a few minutes they just stand there, eyes closed and hands in their hoodie's pockets. There are a couple of revving cars and talking people in the distance. Sam lets the sounds wash over them like a gentle wave. They try not to think of anything. Daring themselves to turn their back on all of their plans, they let their mind breathe.
Occasionally, they can feel Him holding their hand. Or maybe it's just a wish that He is. Either way, He's telling them to let go. He loves them... and He knows they'll be happy if they let Him go. They can live a good life. They can reunite with their friends, and their adoptive family, and make a new family. They don't need to prove their love for Him with pain. He knows they love him, and He will love them, always.
Sam opens their eyes and looks again at the strip mall. As they do their eyes grow colder and more stubborn. The sun has come out a little, but no matter how beautiful the day is, or could be, it's all just so... Earth. Sam doesn't care about all those people the voice tried to remind them about. They don't even care about their mother. Maybe if it was what He wanted, they would want it too. But the voice must be fake. He would never tell them to abandon pain. Pain is a good thing. It has already helped them so much.
They take their hands out of their pockets and grip their left with their right. It feels cold even though it isn't. They're so lonely they can feel it on their skin.
They should go back inside. They can worry about whether to accept it or not after the Rumble.
The Rumble.
The stupid Rumble.
They know they shouldn't, but they start walking away. Away from the gym, spite motivating every footstep. If finding Him again depends on the result of a match, then maybe they're never meant to find Him. Or maybe they'll find some other way. They take a deep breath to try to calm themselves. Eventually they end up on the sidewalk of the wide boulevard beyond the strip mall. The sky is now completely unobstructed in all directions. They keep walking and try not to think.
The gentle, almost silent wind starts to clear their head. They no longer feel half asleep. The world seems to slow down and become more real. But no matter how far they walk, the memory of His presence completely consumes them.
They're going to give the Rumble everything. Of course they are. They tell themselves they'll turn around soon, but they keep going for now, feeling like the walk is helping. Maybe they'll come back stronger. Maybe the strength building and the muscle memory will become more deeply rooted. They wonder if it was Him that told them to go outside. In their sleep. Their heart sinks.
They don't want to wonder. They want to know.
They sigh, looking to the sky for an answer. Words that beg and plead float in and out of their head. They refuse to commit to them. They refuse to talk to Him. He deserves much more.
The X*Crown may seem out of reach, but at least it's something they can hold in their hands. It's something they at least have some control over. If they win it, they would rank higher than Poena and Jack Diamond, His two favorite children. The world of wrestling has felt so trivial to them at times, but if they could do that, He would have to give them some of His attention again, wouldn't He?
In search of the X*Crown, they've been training over twenty hours a day. As much as they feel their body breaking, they just have to. How could they possibly forgive themselves if they lost the Rumble knowing they could have done more? The thought of dying without ever having felt His touch, without ever having heard His voice, it's more than they can bear.
They imagine Him calling them. Encouraging them. Beckoning them home. They want to be where they belong.
They turn back when the afternoon air starts to make them feel sick. As they walk back to the gym, they tell themselves to have faith, and try to feel stoic and mature. Doubts still rack their mind but they feel a renewed, quiet determination. To prove their worth to Him, they need to be their best self. They need to be the Sam He knows they are, not the Sam they always seem to feel like.
As the sky starts to dim a little, they turn their mind to the promo. Over the past few weeks, they've tried sporadically to figure out what to say with no luck. They don't really want to think about it now either. Though at some point they'll have to. They're not going to let the XHF seal their fate for them before they even step in the ring. Put out something lame and they risk being given a low number, or even replaced. Who knows? They sigh in irritation. Having pointless words and plans running through your head when you should be focusing on what really matters is so fucking dick.
They have to be at their best. They know they may never get another chance to find Him. Jack is too protected, too out of reach. There might be stricter entry requirements for the Rumble next year. There might not even be one. Even if Sam wins the X*Crown in the future, it might not mean anything by then. Poena might have ascended to heights surpassing the XHF, wrestling, fighting, everything. Their religion might have moved on, far beyond the things Sam is good at. This is the time to do it. If they don't, they might lose Him forever.
. . .
A kendo stick is held out in front of us. Its center is damp and discolored and the dark red extends out towards the tip. The smears of dank, grimy crimson seem to be genuine fresh blood.
“You might know Him as Poena's God.”
Sam's voice comes from off-screen. The stick angles upwards and Sam walks into the shot, holding it in their right hand. They turn their cold eyes from the blood to the camera.
“Not The Dread Lord. Not The Blood God.”
They speak in a calm, vacant tone.
“My God.”
Standing alone in a small, undecorated room, they look at us for a while in silence. The room has no windows and contains nothing but a few dust-covered cardboard boxes, stacked against the wall, and an unmade bed. Sam keeps the kendo stick solid and steady in the air.
“He teaches us to heal ourselves with pain. Pain makes us stronger. And better people. I am a better person now... because of pain.”
Despite their formal demeanor, there's a slight lightness and innocence in their voice. The stick looms large over them.
“I don't expect anyone to believe me. They call me and Poena crazy. I thought it was crazy before too. I get it. It's just... it's the Rumble. A lot of you won't know who I am. ... This is who I am.”
They look at the kendo stick, then back to the camera.
“Maybe some of you will find Him someday.”
They flash a very brief smile. As they pause for a moment, they narrow their eyes in regret.
“Or maybe not. Thanks to Jack Diamond.”
Jack's name has a gloomy bitterness to it.
“It's Jack... Jack who can bring our religion to life. Out of the shadows. He told me. God told me. It was my job to make Jack suffer for his betrayal. It was the only... the only thing keeping me close to God. My only responsibility. I failed.”
They take the kendo stick in both hands and look sullenly across it into the distance. The movement seemed almost involuntary, as if they haven't gotten the failure out of their system. Instead of swinging it, they eventually let it drop to the floor, still gripping it with their right hand.
“I thought I could make it up to Him by winning the Rumble. Maybe... if I have the X*Crown, people will listen to me. Poena's gone too far for anyone to trust him again. Jack might never come over to us. If I win... maybe I could be His special one.”
Sam looks through the lens, seeming to be talking only to themselves. They're oblivious or indifferent to how pitiful they appear.
“Or at least be with Him again.”
Without moving them, their eyes start to focus.
“Nobody better do anything to try to stop me. 'Cause you think I'm crazy. Or dangerous. Or 'cause I'm not a woman. That's not a threat, really... it's a plea, for mercy. I wouldn't blame you. I'd do whatever it took too. I'd do anything I could if I thought it would help... help the people I love, or defeat evil, or do good for the world. But this is... my one chance. Let me have it. So Kasper, or anyone else who might target me... don't. Fight me like you'll fight everyone else. That's all I want.”
They look down at the kendo stick, their expression cool and neutral.
“Please.”
They look back up.
“If only you knew... He loves you all so much. He hates evil as much as you all do. Or more.”
They give a small scornful smirk.
“You know who we should team up to eliminate? Aiden Merric and Dinosaur Bones. That's true evil. If one of them won, it would undo pretty much all the progress we've made for our planet. Maybe we should get the Mr. Blobby guy too. Yeah.”
They frown.
“Some of you should really think about helping me. Donzig? Fox?”
Their eyes glint with urgency.
“I'd appreciate it. Both of you... care. I think? If you could just put aside your need for personal glory, or need for forgiveness, and focus on making a difference to the world. You both have a lot of making up to do to Him, for what it's worth. I don't expect much. Just get rid of the real evil, and maybe have my back. It would benefit all three of us. Then, of course... go ahead and try to win.”
Their tone remains composed and respectful. They relax their stare a little.
“If anybody else wants to help too, He would be grateful.”
They gaze at the floor for a few seconds before looking into the camera again.
“Then there's you, Random... you're probably not my biggest fan. I don't know what Poena's doing, or how far he'll go, but whatever he does it's only 'cause he wants to please our God. I don't know Poena, but I know Him. He probably wants to help you, or see you realize your potential. Poena... and me, I guess... are bad examples. We should be representing Him so much better. But we're not insane. I'm just... weak... and selfish. And I can't even imagine the pressure Poena is under being His Vessel. He is real. And good. Trust me.”
Their face tightens a little as if to smile, but they remain solemn. After a pause, they hold the kendo stick back up in the air and stare at it. When they turn back to the camera, their expression is a little more intense.
“So... what else is there to say? I've spread His word. I've begged for your understanding... or your help. That's all I actually want to do. Maybe the Network were expecting something else... something less pathetic. Maybe I should tell you why I want to win again or something. Why it means... everything to me. But I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of words. Every time I got a chance to try and plan this out, I'd rather just... forget about it. Go back to work, or sleep. Maybe it's 'cause... 'cause of what words remind me of. Lies. Broken promises. Broken vows. They keep reminding me that I'm probably going to fail Him. So I'm not gonna say anything else, except to beg one more time.”
They look into the camera accusingly, as if we might steal something from them. The stick wavers a little.
“XHF... don't screw me. Have some... compassion. And my opponents, the same to you. Don't gang up on me like I'm some kind of Poena copycat. I don't want to hurt any of you. I do want to win...”
They brush the middle of the stick with their left hand.
“But I won't do anything more than most of you would do. As far as I would go for His love, I wouldn't go against His wishes like that. Believe it or not, He loves you.”
They stare at us, making an effort to steady the stick, then the video cuts.
He climbs back up and once again locks eyes with Sam. Sam dodges a superkick. Then Mitchell leaves his feet and leaps towards Sam with a shotgun dropkick. Sam jolts to the side and clings on to the top rope. Mitchell's right boot plummets into their ribs but the ropes keep them upright. After landing on the apron, Mitchell gets back to his feet. Superkick, dodged. He waits... superkick, dodged. Quick superkick, caught. Quick chest kick, caught. Quick superkick, hits. The hard shot jars their vision before they can grab the rope. They lose their footing and fall off the apron.
Sam takes Mitchell's hand and lets him help them to their feet.
Mitchell: Want a break?
Sam shakes their head, but Mitchell keeps a hold of their hand.
Mitchell: Sam... you look like shit.
Mitchell smiles gently. Sam glares at him, forcing their eyelids as far back as they can go and bringing him into sharp focus.
Sam: Come on.
Mitchell lets their hand go but doesn't move.
Mitchell: You're gonna injure yourself.
Sam: I know my body.
Sam dares Mitchell to defy them, an icy cruelty in their eyes. They want to hurt him.
Mitchell: Okay...
He lowers his eyes, but when he raises them he looks frustrated and not so meek.
Mitchell: Can you give me two minutes?
Sam nods. They're pleased with the result, but then he gives them a small apologetic smile.
While Sam stretches their legs, Mitchell leans on the apron, both avoiding the other's eyes. Mitchell's body is covered in thin strips of bright red rash; the kendo stick marks still fresh. He let Sam practice on him without complaint. Sam lets out a labored sigh and looks away.
After two minutes, they both get back up on the apron. Sam survived around thirty shots before that last superkick: far from their best. This time they only make it to around twenty before another superkick to the face knocks them to the floor.
Mitchell helps them up again.
Mitchell: Please go to bed, Sam.
Sam: I can't.
They look at him with dead eyes, no conviction in their voice.
Mitchell: Yeah you can. Come on.
He smiles. He's probably right, Sam thinks. Although they can barely think straight.
Sam: Just for an hour.
A little dejected, Mitchell nods his head.
Mitchell: Cool.
Sam takes their phone from the other side of the post and leaves with haste.
. . .
When their alarm goes off, they sit up. They force their heavy eyes to stay open. As comfortable as the bed should feel, it barely registers with them. They hate every single minute they've wasted. But something in the cold silence of the storage room holds them in place.
They see themselves losing again. They see their feet hitting the floor. They see what could be their final chance at earning His love, gone. Every time they see this, it's just as powerful as the last. It used to make them angry, but now... something is telling them to accept it.
They tell their students they'll be back soon, then leave the gym.
They haven't been outside since they got back from Minnesota over a week ago. They look at the strip mall parking lot and the overcast sky, and take a breath of air. They wait as if it will all somehow tell them how they really feel. For a few minutes they just stand there, eyes closed and hands in their hoodie's pockets. There are a couple of revving cars and talking people in the distance. Sam lets the sounds wash over them like a gentle wave. They try not to think of anything. Daring themselves to turn their back on all of their plans, they let their mind breathe.
Occasionally, they can feel Him holding their hand. Or maybe it's just a wish that He is. Either way, He's telling them to let go. He loves them... and He knows they'll be happy if they let Him go. They can live a good life. They can reunite with their friends, and their adoptive family, and make a new family. They don't need to prove their love for Him with pain. He knows they love him, and He will love them, always.
Sam opens their eyes and looks again at the strip mall. As they do their eyes grow colder and more stubborn. The sun has come out a little, but no matter how beautiful the day is, or could be, it's all just so... Earth. Sam doesn't care about all those people the voice tried to remind them about. They don't even care about their mother. Maybe if it was what He wanted, they would want it too. But the voice must be fake. He would never tell them to abandon pain. Pain is a good thing. It has already helped them so much.
They take their hands out of their pockets and grip their left with their right. It feels cold even though it isn't. They're so lonely they can feel it on their skin.
They should go back inside. They can worry about whether to accept it or not after the Rumble.
The Rumble.
The stupid Rumble.
They know they shouldn't, but they start walking away. Away from the gym, spite motivating every footstep. If finding Him again depends on the result of a match, then maybe they're never meant to find Him. Or maybe they'll find some other way. They take a deep breath to try to calm themselves. Eventually they end up on the sidewalk of the wide boulevard beyond the strip mall. The sky is now completely unobstructed in all directions. They keep walking and try not to think.
The gentle, almost silent wind starts to clear their head. They no longer feel half asleep. The world seems to slow down and become more real. But no matter how far they walk, the memory of His presence completely consumes them.
They're going to give the Rumble everything. Of course they are. They tell themselves they'll turn around soon, but they keep going for now, feeling like the walk is helping. Maybe they'll come back stronger. Maybe the strength building and the muscle memory will become more deeply rooted. They wonder if it was Him that told them to go outside. In their sleep. Their heart sinks.
They don't want to wonder. They want to know.
They sigh, looking to the sky for an answer. Words that beg and plead float in and out of their head. They refuse to commit to them. They refuse to talk to Him. He deserves much more.
The X*Crown may seem out of reach, but at least it's something they can hold in their hands. It's something they at least have some control over. If they win it, they would rank higher than Poena and Jack Diamond, His two favorite children. The world of wrestling has felt so trivial to them at times, but if they could do that, He would have to give them some of His attention again, wouldn't He?
In search of the X*Crown, they've been training over twenty hours a day. As much as they feel their body breaking, they just have to. How could they possibly forgive themselves if they lost the Rumble knowing they could have done more? The thought of dying without ever having felt His touch, without ever having heard His voice, it's more than they can bear.
They imagine Him calling them. Encouraging them. Beckoning them home. They want to be where they belong.
They turn back when the afternoon air starts to make them feel sick. As they walk back to the gym, they tell themselves to have faith, and try to feel stoic and mature. Doubts still rack their mind but they feel a renewed, quiet determination. To prove their worth to Him, they need to be their best self. They need to be the Sam He knows they are, not the Sam they always seem to feel like.
As the sky starts to dim a little, they turn their mind to the promo. Over the past few weeks, they've tried sporadically to figure out what to say with no luck. They don't really want to think about it now either. Though at some point they'll have to. They're not going to let the XHF seal their fate for them before they even step in the ring. Put out something lame and they risk being given a low number, or even replaced. Who knows? They sigh in irritation. Having pointless words and plans running through your head when you should be focusing on what really matters is so fucking dick.
They have to be at their best. They know they may never get another chance to find Him. Jack is too protected, too out of reach. There might be stricter entry requirements for the Rumble next year. There might not even be one. Even if Sam wins the X*Crown in the future, it might not mean anything by then. Poena might have ascended to heights surpassing the XHF, wrestling, fighting, everything. Their religion might have moved on, far beyond the things Sam is good at. This is the time to do it. If they don't, they might lose Him forever.
. . .
A kendo stick is held out in front of us. Its center is damp and discolored and the dark red extends out towards the tip. The smears of dank, grimy crimson seem to be genuine fresh blood.
“You might know Him as Poena's God.”
Sam's voice comes from off-screen. The stick angles upwards and Sam walks into the shot, holding it in their right hand. They turn their cold eyes from the blood to the camera.
“Not The Dread Lord. Not The Blood God.”
They speak in a calm, vacant tone.
“My God.”
Standing alone in a small, undecorated room, they look at us for a while in silence. The room has no windows and contains nothing but a few dust-covered cardboard boxes, stacked against the wall, and an unmade bed. Sam keeps the kendo stick solid and steady in the air.
“He teaches us to heal ourselves with pain. Pain makes us stronger. And better people. I am a better person now... because of pain.”
Despite their formal demeanor, there's a slight lightness and innocence in their voice. The stick looms large over them.
“I don't expect anyone to believe me. They call me and Poena crazy. I thought it was crazy before too. I get it. It's just... it's the Rumble. A lot of you won't know who I am. ... This is who I am.”
They look at the kendo stick, then back to the camera.
“Maybe some of you will find Him someday.”
They flash a very brief smile. As they pause for a moment, they narrow their eyes in regret.
“Or maybe not. Thanks to Jack Diamond.”
Jack's name has a gloomy bitterness to it.
“It's Jack... Jack who can bring our religion to life. Out of the shadows. He told me. God told me. It was my job to make Jack suffer for his betrayal. It was the only... the only thing keeping me close to God. My only responsibility. I failed.”
They take the kendo stick in both hands and look sullenly across it into the distance. The movement seemed almost involuntary, as if they haven't gotten the failure out of their system. Instead of swinging it, they eventually let it drop to the floor, still gripping it with their right hand.
“I thought I could make it up to Him by winning the Rumble. Maybe... if I have the X*Crown, people will listen to me. Poena's gone too far for anyone to trust him again. Jack might never come over to us. If I win... maybe I could be His special one.”
Sam looks through the lens, seeming to be talking only to themselves. They're oblivious or indifferent to how pitiful they appear.
“Or at least be with Him again.”
Without moving them, their eyes start to focus.
“Nobody better do anything to try to stop me. 'Cause you think I'm crazy. Or dangerous. Or 'cause I'm not a woman. That's not a threat, really... it's a plea, for mercy. I wouldn't blame you. I'd do whatever it took too. I'd do anything I could if I thought it would help... help the people I love, or defeat evil, or do good for the world. But this is... my one chance. Let me have it. So Kasper, or anyone else who might target me... don't. Fight me like you'll fight everyone else. That's all I want.”
They look down at the kendo stick, their expression cool and neutral.
“Please.”
They look back up.
“If only you knew... He loves you all so much. He hates evil as much as you all do. Or more.”
They give a small scornful smirk.
“You know who we should team up to eliminate? Aiden Merric and Dinosaur Bones. That's true evil. If one of them won, it would undo pretty much all the progress we've made for our planet. Maybe we should get the Mr. Blobby guy too. Yeah.”
They frown.
“Some of you should really think about helping me. Donzig? Fox?”
Their eyes glint with urgency.
“I'd appreciate it. Both of you... care. I think? If you could just put aside your need for personal glory, or need for forgiveness, and focus on making a difference to the world. You both have a lot of making up to do to Him, for what it's worth. I don't expect much. Just get rid of the real evil, and maybe have my back. It would benefit all three of us. Then, of course... go ahead and try to win.”
Their tone remains composed and respectful. They relax their stare a little.
“If anybody else wants to help too, He would be grateful.”
They gaze at the floor for a few seconds before looking into the camera again.
“Then there's you, Random... you're probably not my biggest fan. I don't know what Poena's doing, or how far he'll go, but whatever he does it's only 'cause he wants to please our God. I don't know Poena, but I know Him. He probably wants to help you, or see you realize your potential. Poena... and me, I guess... are bad examples. We should be representing Him so much better. But we're not insane. I'm just... weak... and selfish. And I can't even imagine the pressure Poena is under being His Vessel. He is real. And good. Trust me.”
Their face tightens a little as if to smile, but they remain solemn. After a pause, they hold the kendo stick back up in the air and stare at it. When they turn back to the camera, their expression is a little more intense.
“So... what else is there to say? I've spread His word. I've begged for your understanding... or your help. That's all I actually want to do. Maybe the Network were expecting something else... something less pathetic. Maybe I should tell you why I want to win again or something. Why it means... everything to me. But I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of words. Every time I got a chance to try and plan this out, I'd rather just... forget about it. Go back to work, or sleep. Maybe it's 'cause... 'cause of what words remind me of. Lies. Broken promises. Broken vows. They keep reminding me that I'm probably going to fail Him. So I'm not gonna say anything else, except to beg one more time.”
They look into the camera accusingly, as if we might steal something from them. The stick wavers a little.
“XHF... don't screw me. Have some... compassion. And my opponents, the same to you. Don't gang up on me like I'm some kind of Poena copycat. I don't want to hurt any of you. I do want to win...”
They brush the middle of the stick with their left hand.
“But I won't do anything more than most of you would do. As far as I would go for His love, I wouldn't go against His wishes like that. Believe it or not, He loves you.”
They stare at us, making an effort to steady the stick, then the video cuts.