Two men I’ve modeled my life after…

Bill Shakespeare.

And Roger Moore.

Now, there are a lot of people that might say these men are models of creativity or sexuality or horribly British teeth.

Personally, I can only confirm the last one. I’ve never actually seen-slash-read-slash-pleasured-myself-to either of their works.

But the reason I have a soft spot in my heart for ‘Wild’ Billy and More Moore, as they’re called by their fans.

Is that they both made it because they knew the key to success was stealing.

Shakespeare didn’t give a rat’s a(PPENDIX) that Christy Marlowe wrote those plays before him.

And Old Roger ‘The Dodger’ Moore knew that if he didn’t break George Lazenby’s neck with his bare hands and a hotel lamp, he’d never get the role of a lifetime, making sweet Double-Oh-Seven Royalties and humping his co-stars.

‘Losers whine about the rules. Winners go home and f(ROLIC WITH) the prom queen.’

That’s a quote.

I didn’t say it first.

But it’s my quote.

I stole it.

I’m not being that subtle here, but I’m worried you’re not following along.

Do you understand what I’m getting at here, kiddo?

Because, deep down, as much as I pretend this is for everyone, for every XWF superstar to understand how the world works and how painfully doomed they were from the star against a man who doesn’t follow their rules…

All this? It’s for you, my boy.

It’s for my golden child. The beautiful boy with talent that I plan on beating into shape, on tormenting into taking the throne.

I’m passing down a legacy here. A fat inheritance of genius and ruthlessness. A blank check to the bank of Hatred and Infamy. And I’ll be damned if you let it go to waste because of some subconscious moral code resting in the back of your dense skull.

Success by any means necessary, boy.

Theft.

A lack of recognition, respect or even acknowledgement of other people's property.

Intellectual...

Or otherwise.

See, that's the other reason why I started this little mission for enlightenment.

I want to break some of those action figures the kids love so much.

I want to show to show those people that think a slip of paper with a section number printed on it and a walk to a chair that matches that section number gives them a right to...

…

Heheh...

I'm getting ahead of myself...

Let me start this one from the beginning...

***
Waves of water rush back and forth.

A seemingly endless cycle...

The natural beauty of an infinite current, simultaneously pulling and pushing our world into an unstopping, natural homeostasis. Our ecosystem... Wondrously tranquil ocean sounds echo, the cawing of seagulls, the bubbling of seafoam…

And then…

Silence.

…The waves… slow…

...

The camera carefully zooms out...

The torrent of water, building into a storm...

Has been contained in a plastic tub...

The clear tub rests on a table, water still splashing back and forth as the remnants of an energy input slowly pull the water back to rest. Just to the right of the tub, a CD player, equipped with ‘Ocean Sounds, Jungle Noises, Steve Davids Promos and Other Things to Put Your Child to Sleep.’ The stop button recently pressed down…

Stagnancy....

A hand reaches out… And pulls the CD player off the table…

After disappearing below, after the click of a small device being placed gingerly, delicately on the concrete floor, it returns to the surface…

At the edge of the tub, the hand rests...

The camera pans over....

Mark Flynn.

Mark...

Well…You know who he is by now.

Flynn's eyes are wide open. He clinches the side of the tub like a lifeline.

His teeth grit. His mouth curls angrily....

Suddenly, his hand slowly pushes forward...

And the waves resume...

His hand pulls backward...

And the waves recede...

He continues this cycle...

"Life…"

Flynn calls out quietly... Partially exhausted. This exercise has taken quite a toll on his arms...

"Or at least the life as we know it... as XWF superstars... Some believe is a naturally occurring system..."

The water slaps against the side of the wall with a crash, just as begins crawling down the opposite side...

“And as such… operates under complex but observable and comprehendible protocol… Heuristics, if you will.”

Just as the water reaches the top of the wall, gravity and a yank backwards floods the other side…

"The strong conquer the weak…”

Flynn’s fist slams his personal pond forward…

“The bold and the noble rise to the top…”

And with a subsequent pull, The pool is forced backward…

“Cheaters never win…”

The pool…

Flynn doesn’t pull the pool back…

The tub…Teetering on the edge of the table…

Flynn holds the tub there… inching it over the edge just a couple inches… Just so it begins to slide off…

Flynn… then turns to the camera.

“Hey, Steve-O.”

“We’ve never met personally and to be honest, it’s probably because these internet dating videos you keep sending to XWF aren’t really revving my motor.”

Flynn’s hand slips from the top of the tub… And carefully slides down to grip the base…

The water naturally climbs up the side… Without stopping… The ebb and flow has been replaced by a slow… rise…s

“Honestly, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s someone stealing my game and doing it poorly.”

“And if you’re going to try and steal my whole ‘crazy person who’s really good at talking’ thing, could you at least be good at talking?”

“Or at least cover the constant meandering words in your promos with white noise so at least I know you’re trying to put me to sleep? Seriously, did you spend your last promo on Warfare reading every possible definition of the word ‘Legend’? I might appreciate it if you were intentionally awful, but you just legitimately don’t know how this works…”

Flynn’s hand creep back to the top… and slowly eases off pressure…

One end of the tub… naturally rises…

The water creeps, seeps, deepens, the floor thirsty… Eager to descend…

Flynn stops…

And pulls the tub back to balance. A loud rubber squeak echoes as the water swishes back and forth into stability.

Flynn stares into the camera a moment…

A moment longer…

…

And then disappears stage right…

A moment of darkness…

Of silence…

A loud metal clang…

A dragging screech like nails on a chalkboard…

Flynn returns from off stage, dragging a metal chair behind him, the scrape of metal on concrete a howling…

Flynn unfolds the chair.

And takes a seat.

He rests a moment, his fists opening and closing, his eyes closing, swallowing down a venomous bile within…

His eyes open.

“Steve. Let’s avoid the meaningless back and forth about how boring you are to watch, listen to, interact with by the water cooler, train with, raise as a child, teach as a student, give STI results to…”

“We all know you’re not interesting or stimulating in the slightest. It’s been hit every week for the last three months. Been there, done that.”

Flynn clicks his teeth together… And leans closer to the camera.

“Instead, let me address a continuing theme in your pieces…”

“Nature…”

“An adherence, almost a reverence, for a natural order. A overly simplistic understanding of the universe and your role within it.”

“In which every operand within the bounds of this system operates with a limited means of interacting within this environment.”

“Losers lose is what you told Chris Legend last week.”

“All men fall is what you bellowed out not but a few weeks ago…”

“You hurt people.”

“Etcetra.”

“The overwhelming methodology of every available party within this system is almost pre-determined. There is no avoiding certain, inevitable fates. Given inputs and conditions, the output is always the same.”

Flynn taps the side of his head.

“But… there’s something missing to your theory…An element you never address in your messages…”

Flynn…

Smiles…

He bursts out of the chair! His hands slip under the table itself…

And he heaves the thing’s legs into the air.

The tub flies through the air… And crashes… The weight of the water compounding on a singular point of impact crushes the plastic and the container bursts.

The system implodes in on itself… And ceases to exist. Water cascades down the broken edges of the tub before pooling into an entirely different form…

Flynn pauses a moment.

He carefully drops the table’s legs back to the floor…

And eases himself back into the chair.

He leans back toward the camera.

“Unpredictability, Davids… Chaos, Davids…”

“Chaos is the thing you don’t understand.”

“Chaos is the reason after two weeks here, the nobody who lost five matches in a row on his way out is right back in the main event. Chaos is the reason I’ve found a way while getting back into shape of pinning the XWF Television Champion and XWF US Champion… An adherence to chaos. A worship of chaos. An ability to fry the system from within and introduce extraneous variables on a whim. To not be the best in the ring, but know how to operate in the moment, playing these sad sacks against each other, weakening, waiting for the right moment, and shocking the world…”

“And while you’ve desperately tried to impress in your rivalry against jokers who fail to put up a decent fight.”

“Way to beat up Peter Gilmour and Chris Legend by the way. You’ve found a way to get paid doing what your counterpart teaching them when they were kids down by the Special Education School got arrested for.”

“For a psychopath, you’re dependent on order, Davids. There’s no unpredictable element from your end going into this fight. You’re going to come out with the same fight you come out with every week and whether or not it’s going to be enough? You have no control over that. You’re not good enough to have any control over that.”

“Whether or not you succeed? Is dependent entirely on whether or not the chump they put you against to try to make you look impressive actually can bring something of merit to the table. If they can, they beat you every time. If they can’t, if they beat themselves with incompetence, if they’re a mental reject, you can squeak out a win just by being passable.”

“Do you understand how sad that is?”

“Do you realize how pathetic your career is? Having no real say on whether or not you can get the job done in that ring?”

“And the reason for it, Stevie? You can’t impress. You don’t surprise.”

“You pump out the same thing week after week. You’re consistent. But… You don’t delve. You don’t risk. No one’s ever looked at what you’re saying and been blown away by originality or even amused by creativity.”

“You’re a coward deep down… The same loser you label your opponents as, week after week after week. ”

Flynn grins as he taps his nose.

“And as much as you want to be Mark Flynn, as much as you’ve been rubbing the names in your autograph book and praying that some of the talent in that book could rub off on you, as much as you wish you could set the world on fire, in that ring, on that mic, in this universe? … It’s not in the cards, kid.”

“I HAVE impressed. I AM the best in the XWF. And I AM keeping this Wild Card spot.”

Flynn grins, the yellow on his teeth dripping with saliva…

“This is where some might say ‘Prove me wrong…’ But I’d prefer if you keeled over and died. If you finally did something unexpected and intelligent. And not show up tonight.”

Flynn touches his forehead… And salutes.

“Because if you show up. I’m going to do the right thing.”

“And put the shambling, decaying zombie out of his misery.”

Flynn smiles…

He reaches under the chair…

And turns back on the CD.

The peaceful sounds of the ocean, the waves on the beach…

“Nighty night, Davids… It’ll all be over soon…”