(directly continued from this last rp -http://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=28330 )

Hours pass. They feel like days. Every fiber of my being is telling me to move, to get away from this lifeless body before anyone finds out what I did. But I can’t do it. My eyes are heavy and my legs quiver as I attempt to extend them. Nothing. She was gone, and she took my will to go on right along with her. Wherever she was now, was a better place than this. And that little piece of me that went with her must be the only part of me capable of feeling anything.

If I weren’t so numb, I would be laughing at the pathetic spectacle I had become. Cold, soiled, and clutching a corpse. What a fucking joke.

My eyes grow heavier. I can’t sleep, but oh God how I want to. My head drops for a moment, but with a groan I muster what strength I have and slam it back up against the wall. The pain floods through my skull and my eyes fling wide open. That actually felt...good? What the fuck? I vigorously shake my head in an attempt to shake the cobwebs.

I feel something drip from my nose. I don’t need to see it to know it’s my blood.

My head shakes harder. I feel something run down from my other nostril. I can’t stop the shaking. Now I can see it, the tiny swatches of crimson showing me what this alley would look like with a fresh coat of blood. My goddamn head won’t stop shaking. It slams against the wall again. And again. And again.

I-I-I-I-I...fall? Yes, ground. Hardert.O thinkandto see. s.o.m.u. Ch bloo.d.

My eyes finally close.

Finally some goddamn sleep.


I awaken to a bright light. Am I dead? Is that that tunnel to heaven that everyone says they see? Can’t be, I don’t deserve to go there. Somebody made a mistake. But here I am on my way to the pearly gates. I’d be more excited if I didn’t already know she wouldn’t be waiting for me. Shit, that’s right. She won’t be here. No, no, no, I need to go back. They can’t take me, I need to see her again. Give me the flames, the pitchforks, whatever. But I need to see her again and I’ll never get another chance.

And then I heard that voice. It was an auditory rape, and I felt violated. I opened my eyes to see the smug little face of JT Washington, flopping around like a fish out of water, struggling for air. I didn’t care how I got there. I didn’t care that the handcuff around my wrist was too goddamn tight. All I cared about was finding the goddamn off button, because somehow losing the love of my life was nowhere near as horrible as being forced to lay in front of the television while JT’s poor excuse for a promo assaulted my senses. The sheer ineffectuality of it was palpable: I could literally taste how bad this stupid motherfucker’s words twisted and stumbled over each other.

I wanted to write him off as just the symptom of a larger problem: XWF’s constantly underachieving management team. When I arrived, it was a joke at best, and yet somehow they’ve only managed to make themselves worse. It’s impossible to tell who the owners of the fucking company are anymore. Is it Vinnie Lane? Is it The Kings? Whoever it is, they’re doing a terrible goddamn job. JT Washington might literally be nothing more than a cluster of parastitic brain cells hijacking the body of a female-to-male transgendered teenager, masquerading as a competent general manager. But yet they let this evolutionary anomaly in front of the cameras and pretend like he was capable of standing in the ring with me. That poor, delusional piece of shit. He actually thinks he’s smarter than I.

I wonder if flies feel the same way when they’re caught in a spider web? Because that’s exactly where we’re at. I’ve been goading management into a match for weeks, trashing them at every turn and giving lackluster effort in the ring. I knew that if I projected weakness enough, one of the cowards that run the XWF would get overconfident and attempt to take me down himself. Congratulations JT, you flew right into my web. And all that rolling around with Cadryn and talking like you can beat me, is nothing more than the annoying buzzing sounds of captured prey trying to escape the inevitable.

It’s not going to happen, JT. My fangs are sharp and I know just where to strike. I can’t promise it’ll be quick, or that it’ll be painless. But it will be messy, and you won’t be able to do anything more than watch in paralyzed fear as I dismember you at my leisure. A lot of good all them book smarts will do for your then, eh JT? Maybe you can use the Pythagorean theorem to calculate exactly how fucked you are.

That big ol’ brain of yours isn’t your strength, Einstein, it’s your biggest weakness. You know you don’t belong in that ring, you all but admitted it to me. But Mr. Brain had other ideas, didn’t he? He saw the tapes, he gauged the effort, and he said “Hey JT! I know you don’t belong in that ring but John Blaq hasn’t done anything. You can beat him and make a name for yourself.” Your brain set you up for failure, and now you’re walking head first into a trap with a smile on your face and not a single clue of what’s waiting for you.

I rattle the handcuff around my wrist in an attempt to loosen it. No luck. I can tell the Washington promo is coming to an end because it’s somehow gotten even worse; clearly fatigue set in and JT just started to mail in it. He needed the extra training anyway, he’ll never last against me. A nurse walks into the room and seems startled when she realizes I’m awake. I try to smile at her but I’m sure it came out as more of a grimace, because she immediately turned around and left. No sooner did the door shut did it swing back open.

A man in a cheap looking suit and the most dreadful moustache walks in with a shit eating grin on his face. He pulls a chair up next to me and sits himself down without so much as asking for permission. Little rude if you ask me.

“Mr. Blaq, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to talk to you about your ex-girlfriend Cynthia.”

“What about her?”

“She was dead in your arms when we found you. Do you really need to ask that question?”

Shit. Maybe heaven wouldn’t have been so bad afterall.

G-rated XWF megastar.