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Joachim Bright · (06-15-2018)

Somewhere in Tampa, Florida....

**~~WAKING~~**

A hot sun casts humid aspersions down on the two young men circling each other in the ring. The gym they are in speaks truth to legacies of amateur and pro boxers, fighters, and grapplers, even as the paint chips away and the eaves sag.

The larger of the young men, a dark skinned boy with close cropped hair and a sleeveless t-shirt already laden with sweat, throws out a couple of blows. Fast and hard enough to mean business, but not so vicious that this sparring session is fixing to turn ugly.

Joachim Bright bobs and weaves around the strikes. His reflexes are sharp, but he still almost misses the rising knee threatening his midsection. He barely avoids that, slapping a block out to turn the blow away as he aims a strike at his opponent's suddenly open flank. His sparring partner corrects against the blow and feints with another kick, with Joachim again goes to block, leaving him open for a backhand slap that reddens his ear and leaves him with a slight ring. Joachim, about to sputter out a remark about the landed blow, distracts himself from the follow-up sweep that drops him unceremoniously on his back.

Joachim lays prone for a moment, massaging the angry sting from his ear. Dick.... But the cadence is playful in it's reproach. Joachim smirks as the other young man stands over him.

You'll thank me later when those psychopaths aren't eating you alive.

That smile. Melt.

Joachim just looks up at him from the floor for a moment, drawing a nervous laugh from his partner and a glance turned bashfully away. You gonna get up?

You gonna help me up?

The other boy extends a hand to Joachim, and Joachim takes it, allowing himself to be pulled up to a standing position and into a deep kiss. Joachim winds his arms around the small of his back, returning the kiss until he's breathless and forced to draw back.

So are we doing this again?

Joachim gives a squeeze, trying to pull him in deeper into himself, turn two into one. With a confidence he doesn't quite feel, he responds simply. Yes.

He dives in again.

**~~IN DREAMS~~**

It came as it always did. Olive green stall doors, one hanging loosely off it's hinge. Tepid off white cinder blocks. A sink with a deepening lime stain marring the porcelain. It even looked of ill repute, which didn't make Joachim feel any better about this. He fired off a text to Joanna, with strict instructions that if he did not send another within 45 minutes she was to call the cops and send them to the attached address. He'd risk copping to prostitution if it meant not dying.

A middle aged man passed through the door, which whined plaintively with his passage. Something about his bearing immediately sent a cold needle of trepidation running up his spine. Something that instantly screamed “he's done this before”. It was more comforting when they were nervous, or first timers, or had a sense of how much they had to lose. That was missing with this one. And he was used to getting what he wanted.

Hey, uh, how are-

85 bucks?

Joachim winces. Yeah, that's what we discussed. Is there anything you want me..

Please don't talk.

A deepening worry. An anxious spike. Joachim just nods as the John starts to unfasten his buckle. He swallows the lump in his throat, clutching his hand into a fist to conceal the quivering. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

It's just, it's very important that you don't talk. It takes me out, you understand? He slips the last leg out of his pants. Joachim nods numbly again. Okay, you're a good boy. I can tell. Please lean over the sink.

Joachim immediately puts his hand to his back pocket, reassuring himself the phone was there. Wh-what?

The man gestures towards the sink. Please lean over it.

Joachim looks at the sink. He shakes his head “no” before he can stop himself. That's not what we agreed....it's not what....

The man looks at him over the rim of his glasses, which somehow only serves to make him look more menacing. I will give you $120.

I don't do that.

The man scowls deeply, and looks away. He rubs the bridge of his nose, pushing the glasses up. The subtle change in the way the light hits him now exaggerate the deep crevices in his skin. Lean over it please. It was a command.

Joachim approached the man, taking a half step towards the sink as though hes going to comply before abruptly moving to dart past him. The man is quicker than expected despite a body that looked unused to any sort of rigor. A hand closes around his forearm and Joachim goes to pull away but the man holds fast, bringing his free hand up to try to close around Joachim's throat. That couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. Joachim kicks out a leg, burying his sneaker in the mans knee cap. The man cries out, stumbling forward and Joachim turns away before his face impacts on the side of the sink with a reverberating crack of skull. Backing towards the door, Joachim's breath devolves into a shudder, his stomach kicking back and forth as his breathing quickens and his heart hammers. He allows himself one look, just one, because he reasons the man might still be conscious.

But it's all blood. And he runs. Out of the bathroom into what should be a park, but it's not. It never is. He emerges in the statue garden. An army of bold white guardians, some winged, some sporting legionnaire’s armor. They each start to bleed from phantom wounds, crimson running freely down their chiseled forms.

And then the sobbing. A gentle moan at first, slowly building into an ever more plaintive wail. In lock step with the chilling sound, coils of razor wire start to appear on the sides of the dream, as though what Joachim is seeing is a portrait slowly being devoured by it. The wire encroaches quicker and quicker on his reality, threatening to drown him in barbs and steel. The statues continue to bleed, causing small rivers to form at their bases that reach out towards the worn soles of his shoes like arms grabbing at him from the shores of hell.

Joachim screams as the razor wire takes hold of him, and in a flash, that second...she appears. Just as she always does right before the end.

His Razor Mother.

**~~WAKING~~**

Joachim comes to, his heart hammering and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His head is on Taye's chest. He takes solace in knowing that he didn't waken him during the nightmare. Joachim's eyes go to the gentle buzz of his cell phone. He picks it up, reads the text and scowls. He shoots one last look back at Taye and resists the urge to risk waking him with a peck on the forehead before pulling on some pants and a t-shirt and heading downstairs to do his job.

A little later....

Yes, we're going to do this as I walk to the store. Are we rolling?

An affirmative nod from the camera guy.

Okay. Hmmmm.

Joachim presses the button for the signal at the crosswalk and turns to the camera like he's going to say something, but then the light flashes “walk” and he starts to walk across the street. The camera guy jostles after him, muttering something under his breath as he follows.

Did you say something?

Yeah, I said this is a little unconventional. Liar.

Joachim stops once they are safely across, the vibrant Tampa sun causing him to squint as he wheels back around towards the camera. Look, I'm not used to this level of intrusion into my life. The whole “reality show” element of wrestling isn't something that's caught up to me yet, so you'll have to bear with me. He looks around a bit, scrunching his face up in thought. So how do people do these?

What do you mean? You've never seen a promo before?

I have. I....just, like, how do you just launch into a tirade against another human being, ya know?

Not everyone does it that way. Some people are funny.

Joachim mulls this over. He taps his foot, still looking at a loss for words.

Just be yourself, I guess.

Joachim looks up at the camera, whispering ”be yourself” to himself. He looks over his shoulder down the street and gestures for the camera to follow.

As you can see Nathan I'm not your typical “rahr, mean guy”, puffing out my chest and telling you all about how I'm gonna murder you into next Tuesday. It's tough for me to channel those feelings. I need a reason to be upset, and typically words won't do that to me. I've had so many insults tossed my way it's just white noise, ya know?

If you want me to tell you a bit about myself I will. I grew up in the foster care system until I was 13, when I ran away because I was sick of being a ward of the state. I flitted around the country for a while, making my way on my own which yes, included quite a bit of homelessness and doing things I'm not proud of. I made lots of friends though. People in circumstances similar to mine. We formed a support network of sorts for each other. I still keep in contact with the ones who haven't dropped away. And I plan on using some of the money I make here in the XWF to help them out.

I figure by this point I'm pretty much screaming “easy win”. I know I don't fit the mold here. The people here are nuts and I've had more than one person tell me I'm not going to make it. You may even be wondering why the hell I'm bothering. I don't mind telling you that either.

My father is The Engineer.

Joachim rounds a corner and the camera follows.

He found me some months back. I wanted nothing to do with him but he basically kidnapped me and brought me back with him. I think in his own twisted way he wanted us to be a family. Or he didn't want me free to make trouble for him. I dunno. He's a hard person to read and most of what he says is lies. But despite all that, I thought maybe I could help fix him, make him see the humanity in himself and try to be a decent person. I do that, I try to fix people.

I quickly learned there is no fixing my father. He's broken beyond repair. We're here.

Joachim steps up into a little bodega and the camera follows him in. He passes down the narrow aisles (which the camera operator has some difficulty with), to the back coolers where he withdraws some orange juice. He continues talking as he does so.

So why am I still here? It's a question I've asked myself a lot. Mostly it's to help my friends. I know there is some serious money to be made here. Horrific violence sells, I suppose. But I think part of it is that I just want to challenge myself too. I...I've been through a lot....

He passes down another aisle, grabbing an energy bar off the shelf. He arrives at the front counter. The Arab clerk shoots a questioning glance at the camera, but nonetheless rings up the purchase. Joachim takes some wadded bills out of his back pocket, counts them out, and places them on the counter.

....and I think I've gotten accustomed to overcoming challenges.

The groceries get bagged and Joachim nods at the clerk, pulls the bag off the counter and heads back out into the street. But once outside, he's stopped. He looks thoughtful.

Tell me about yourself Nathan. Let's drop all the pretense of who's gonna beat who, the name calling, all that shit. Just tell me who you are. Maybe we can be chill. Or at least not hate each other. Wouldn't that be an interesting change of pace around here? You know where to find me.

Joachim brushes past the camera guy at a quickened pace.

Is that it?!

That's it!

The camera guy can be heard grumbling again as the shot abruptly ends.

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