continued from Chapter One Prt. 2...

Once the nasty brown water had passed, I had splashed myself in the face rubbing my eyes like they were coated with eye boogers, you know the mucus, oils, skin, and combination of other debris that builds up. Not really coated most likely, just a small collection in the corner of each of my eyes, sweat still dripping down my armpits and down my ribs. The sweat caused me to squirm like a little girl as it passed each of my ribs slowly, causing more sweat to drip from my hair and nose to the cement bathroom floor. I was such a pathetic slob for a young teenager, so dorky, weak, scared, and unable to stand on my own two feet.

Smash!

Smash!

Smash!

In real life it was just one smash, the smashing of our motel door slamming into the inside wall and I instantly knew Mother was home early, why? She was probably wasted; I slowly grasped the rusted sink nozzle and twisted it toward the off direction, before I had reached. Gorilla-sized hands and ironically almost gorilla colored gripped me up from around my neck. No, it hadn’t been Mother, it was Uncle Samuel, who happened to be extremely pissed about my mother being late. Except, that time for some reason he was taking it out on me. The large African American man straight from the Congo threw me from the sink, through the shower curtain into the wall. Luckily the tub had broken my fall and possibly a couple ribs.

My eyes instantly squinted almost closed and you guessed it the tears began flowing, what a fucking pussy I had been, but really what thirteen-year-old boy possibly younger wouldn’t cry? My breaths grew heavy and painful, that’s why I mentioned something about the possible broken ribs. Just as I had thought the worst was over, the feeling of German bratwurst sized fingers wrapped around the top of my skull and lifted me straight up in the air in one swift pull and yank. Yes, my legs were kicking like a little puppy lifted up by its scruff by its master or mother. My arms did happen to flail for a few moments attempting to fight off the angry thug, maybe I was such a pussy as I had remembered.

After exhausting myself with my failed attempt at getting free, four large knuckles slam into my face; Uncle Samuel chuckled as he backhanded me. My vision had gone blurry and I almost completely went unconscious, my heart was still fighting strong, with every hard and fast pump, my fists would fly barely grazing Uncle Samuel. His arms and hands still hold me suspended in the air, when suddenly out of the corner of my eyes, my mother came to try and help me, and she wasn’t much of any help. Oh no, I recall, she was a major help, her coming into the bathroom, forced Uncle Samuel to turn his attention to her and off of me, while he turned to face her and the entrance, his grip on my collar loosened up.

Quickly my head turned and I had sunk my teeth into the wrist and partial forearm of Uncle Samuel who instantly let out a loud grunt with water in his eyes. He was in pain and furious anger; he released me from his grasp, falling about two feet before I had hit the bathroom linoleum with my bare feet. Knowing at the time if I didn’t react fast he would retaliate like a rabid bear looking for her cubs, so I grabbed the can of Brute spray deodorant I insisted we have since I was becoming a man. Never once did I even use it before then, but I was sure fucking glad that I had it. Using the can of Brute as mace, I sprayed a large stream of it, straight into Uncle Samuel’s eyes, he let out a loud woman like, shriek, from the burning sensation it had left, along with a few choice words for myself and mother.

Uncle Samuel: “You stupid fucking cunt, when my sight gets better I am going to kill you and your bastard son!”

Bastard. For some reason the word had triggered my already broken soul, without a single hesitation I reached into my mother’s pockets. I had retrieved her crack lighter, at the time my pudgy face smiled, something I hadn’t don’t since I was a toddler, not much to be happy about with the childhood I had. It was time, time for myself to finally stand up to all the bullies at school, all the hate for not knowing my father, and all the hell my own mother had put me through. My teenage self was going to take a stand, which he had not given a single fuck or thought on what I was about to do. My hand with the lighter raised in front of Uncle Samuel who had still been rubbing his eyes from the burning sensation of the brute.

Remembering laughter exiting my mouth as I sprayed the brute once again right into the flame of mother’s crack lighter, sending a spiraling flame right into Uncle Samuel’s hand covered face. I remember him letting out an even rougher and frightened scream than the one from just the brute, the brute fire tornado had taken his screech to a new level. A noise no PIMP should ever make, yet he had, as soon as the fire stream faded, I quickly pressed the top button again, releasing another fire tornado. That time, Uncle Samuels furry jacket goes up in flames while still on the back of his torso, I just kept repeating the process, fire splurge after fire splurge until Uncle Samuel was darker than he was before, a charbroiled brother.

My mother had already lost her shit by then, tears running down her face, letting out wet sobs of disbelief, how could he pathetic little boy, be such a ruthless, and violent boy? Uncle Samuel had fallen to his knees, his face almost melted completely off of the bone, myself, well I was still continuing to spray fire blast after fire blast until Uncle Samuel fell over. His bare skull smashing on the side of the toilet bowl, at this point, my breathing had turned into a heavy pant. I wasn’t able to feel my arms anymore, but for the first time, I wasn’t afraid anymore. The smile of a young boy getting everything he wanted for Christmas was etched into my face, but it wasn’t Christmas, it was finding happiness in finally standing up for myself.

My mother’s dollar store make-up smeared across her scabbed up face, from all the meth I would soon find out she had smoked and snorted. Yeah, my mother wasn’t just a whore, she was a two-bit crack head, dick sucking for meth whore, and the worst thing about it is I would come to find out she has some fucked up clown fetish, I FUCKING HATE CLOWNS!

Tidbits Mother: “What the hell baby, that isn’t who you are, what kind of monster are you?”

Slowly I turned to my mother with a smile on my face, dropping the can of brute knowing Uncle Samuel would never be bothering us every again or anyone else for that matter. That coward of a man would no longer be able to manipulate the weak or abuse the innocent ever again because now he was basically burnt pudding. Grabbed my mother by the chin I slowly wiped some of the tears from her eyelids and cheeks. My eyes closed for a brief moment, before opening them wide, found my arm had risen to the air and my hand spinning before slicing through the air back downwards and toward my mother. The back of my hand connected with her left cheek, sending her to the floor like a rag doll. There wasn’t a single sign of emotion pouring from my face, not a smile, nothing, my eyes blank with loneliness, my head soaked in hatred, how in the world could she call me the Monster?

Child Tidbits: “Mother, how dare you Mother, call me a Monster? I’m finally not a coward, I have finally stood up for myself and now that makes me a monster? Well, then a monster I will fucking be!”

Losing my shit I had begun to stomp on my mother’s ribs, not even bothered by her cries and pleas for mercy, I remember my leg just rising and slamming back down. Stomping her torso over and over, leaving my tread marks from my shoes worn into her blouse and bruised into her ribs. Almost hearing the snap and crackle of multiple ribs, I had suddenly stopped only to look in the mirror and admire what I had become. Was this the man I would be for now on? If so at that moment I was completely content with being a monster that wouldn’t be bothered by the action of taking another man’s life!

The End.
______________________________

Fade In...

Yeah, that is right, I won the ladders match, some may say it was only because Chris Chaos had to get involved, well I say it doesn’t fucking matter how I still won! We are backstage in the locker room after Savage went off the air, Father Slathe and myself. Father Slathe seems to be in a very happy mood with at least me, on our way back to our locker room, he didn’t have the most pleasant things to say about the XWF staff, Chris Chaos, Robbie Bourbon, Bobby Blackcoat, and even Savages GM Mr. Kato. Inside our locker room, Father Slathe just paces around tossing loose objects and cursing under his breath, meanwhile, I remove my tops and my bottoms.

Taking a seat on a small wooden stool that stands about knee high, wearing my mask, a pair of black compression shorts, and a pair of socks. My ribs are purple and black, bruised from my ladders match, slowly I begin to press my fingers into the soft spongy tissue of my bruised skin where the blood has collected underneath from the multitude of impact they absorbed. I suppose some of the damage could have been from my second match, which I won by winning my first, a shot at the Heart Championship, against a well, what seemed to be a beat down Mr. Bourbon, apparently an expert at playing possum. Meaning I was literally beating the piss right out of his body and out of nowhere the brood of a fellah just rolls me up in a small package...

Holding what seems to feel like a rotten knot almost dead center of my bruised ribs, most people would let out a sigh of pain, myself, I just stare off into an abyss. The knot soon spasms out and I pull my fingers back out of my ribs about three to four inches, I begin inspecting my body for more cuts, bruises, or any other damages I may have obtained during my bouts that should be treated. Nothing, really just some minor cuts and scrapes I chuckle a little but not too loud, Father still seems to have his panties in a bunch. So I just rise to my feet and begin to put my clothes back on hoping that I would not end up doing something wrong and receive the blunt of his anger. Quickly after fully dressing back into the wardrobe, I had wrestled in, I slowly walk over to the proximity of Father Slathe; looking for his approval I bow my head.

He pats my head in approval of my performance out in the ring, a brief smile formed on his face as well, I slightly smile under my mask. As quick as the smile formed it faded and was replaced with a scowl from hell as he grabs a stool much like the one I was sitting on earlier and throws it through the air. Tumbling and rotating completing flips until it connects with the concrete wall in front of Father Slathe and myself, the wall of our locker room that luckily had no closet, locker, or mirror space, ironically the only one in the room. The wooden stool breaks and splinters apart like a baseball bat swung by Russell Edwards full strength on a toddlers dome. Large, medium, small and even splinter size pieces scatter about the floor next to the wall.

My head drops in disappointment, my eyes closing slowly, yet as tight as a virgin pussy practicing kegel exercises. The thought of the cage, the cold floor, the rusted iron bars, my old raggedy Cot, the smell of the damp mildewed air, and my bug infested wool blanket. Truly I did not believe my performance was not of to what Father Slathe had in mind, I won the ladder match, what more could he of asked for, he never once mentioned Mr. Bourbon or how he would want me to destroy him as well and I did that, it isn’t my fault these veterans already have confident and stern built relationships with the staff and XWF officials. Everyone could have clearly seen how fast the three count was!

Father Slathe turns his attention toward me, trying to force a smile since all his hatred is because of other things and nothing that I had done wrong out on Savage, which I would soon find out.

Father Slathe: “Sorry my son if my anger has scared you, you made me proud out there and I knew you would, it is not your fault that this new management in XWF has no idea how to run a proper wrestling show. Mr. Tidbits you did everything I could have asked for, you grabbed the cigarettes and won your debut match, it is not your fault, that incompetent moron, the XWF calls a general manager, decides to waste your win by throwing you in an unexpected Heart Championship? Who the hell does he believe he is? Waste my son’s talent on some half ass thought out and poorly thrown together match for a title that obviously has no respect, I mean, we are brand new here and we are already worthy of such SHIT.

Mr. Kato, I very well hope you are paying attention since we have not yet had the honor to speak face to face and well lay down guidelines and rules. You see Mr. Kato, The Truth will not tolerate another unprovoked smack to the face, we did not come here for your pathetic titles, rankings, or fans. We simply came here to spread our word, spread violence, and show the men and women of the world, they don’t have to lather everything up in pussification gel. We are here to stop the type of shit that has been happening around the world just like what took place on Savage. Don’t worry though boss, our anger isn’t completely aimed at you.

No, as a matter of fact, we still hold the majority of our anger toward the punk that seems to have Mr. Kato’s cock in his mouth twenty-four seven. Bobby Blackcoat, Chris Chaos if you are listening somewhere out there, I’d run, because well you just made the best of best friends in the one they call Bobby Blackcoat. I swear he is worse than the last eighteen-year-old virgin catholic girl I had the pleasure of deflowering when it comes to clinginess and whining. I know it isn’t very pleasing. Anywho, Bobby Blackcoat, you just keep out of our business for now on and keep that damn tongue in your mouth if you feel the urge to say anything, I mean anything. Even a positive remark about Mr. Tidbits, The Truth, or myself we will have to find you and make sure the next time we part ways is the LAST!

You probably have a few physical problems from the ladder match, not too much, though I did ask Mr. Tidbits not to demonstrate too much brute force or wittiness inside the ring. Don’t want to explode as soon as we start to shine, or at least get recognized for the talents, which Mr. Tidbits possesses. In all honesty, if I took the reigns completely off of Mr. Tidbits, none of the men in that match would have been walking out on their own. Every single one of you would have been taken out by professional EMT’s even Mr. Tidbits himself, he may not be able to feel pain, it still physically occurs. Doesn’t matter anymore, my son did as I asked, not his fault XWF has their head in their asses!

Now there are two more men that I would like to discuss, first, the XWF Universal Champion Chris Chaos, hey pal, I understand you had some rough edges that you and Mr. Kato couldn’t smooth out. Well, what the hell did that have to do with my son’s debut match? Yeah, he won, but now it leaves the competition to try and actually put the win on the fact, that you can’t handle your emotions like a disciplined toddler, running around the arena throwing a temper tantrum because he doesn’t get his way! Grow up, child! Quit being such a whine ass and take your lumps of sugar with a smile and a thank you, you pathetic excuse of a man! Don’t worry we won’t be coming for your precious right away, I don’t want to see you lose it and shove that title up your own ass like that kid who didn’t get what he wanted on YouTube.

Finally, we have Robbie Bourbon, the Heart Champion, I really hope you don’t honestly believe you beat my son Mr. Tidbits, you didn’t that was a fluke, the official made the three count in a second. Thanks for showing us that you are a very skilled man at playing possum, now we know next time if we are to meet you in the square circle, to not let up, even when you are no longer breathing. Truth be told Mr. Bourbon, you royally screwed yourself, sir, because now we won’t go for the win against you until you are dead! I know this really isn’t your fault either; you had no clue Mr. Kato was going to pull a fast one on us and make such a foolish match at the end of the night. You did perceive my son’s mind, by making him believe you were out of it, for that, we must issue you four lashes, claim your lashes like a man and it shall all pass.

Dear Lord, I had almost forgotten about one last man, Thomas Nixon, no he had no part in creating the anger that is surging through my body, no not one bit, but he seems to be the only man in my son’s next match with a mouth. Obviously the fact that he should be more focused on Warfare than the man my son has already beat, Mr. McBride. So we take that as if you see us as nothing but a single ant that you will just squash no effort exerted. Mr. Nixon, with every fiber of my soul, I inform you that is not how it will go down. Mr. Tidbits isn’t just one ant, he is the whole damn farm, he is all the earth’s colonies combined and he is coming to spread terror, reek havoc, and destroy all his foes! That includes Killjoy and yourself chump, keep daydreaming about Michael McBride child. Soon you will join him in the defeated column. (Turning my attention back to Mr. Tidbits).

Sorry son, I allowed my anger to consume me, I almost forgot about your match come Wednesday at Warfare, so please begin training, and once I take care of everything here we will head home.”

The last few words were exactly the words I was waiting to hear.

Fade Out.