A BEACH
SOMEWHERE
YESTERDAY
THE MORNING
ANYTHING ELSE?

Do you know what it feels like to realize that your priorities were out of order this entire time? It’s soul crushing. I spent more than a decade chasing the fame and fortune associated with excelling in this industry. I spent my career trying to build a legacy and an empire to leave behind, as if stacking my tower higher than everyone else’s would make me happy when I laid my head down at night. I wanted the name “Raven” to carry weight with all of you. I wanted to be praised and my name to be whispered with respect.

Like I said; my priorities were out of order.

Peace.

Serenity.

Nirvana.

I’ve undervalued them my whole life. I was so tunnel visioned on what I thought mattered in the business that I didn’t even realize how much I actually craved them. Not until the last few months at least…

The sun rays beam down on my face, the sand warm between my toes as I stroll casually down the beach and study the horizon. The ocean looks calm, a welcome breeze whistling through the palm leaves above my head. Birds chirp, music to my ears, and the fire I built before dinner is still crackling a few years away. This place has become heaven for me, a haven away from humanity that I never imagined I would reach. I’ve spent months here without the paparazzi chasing me through airports and the XWF roster hurling verbal grenades my way… and the world kept turning. The company didn’t collapse in on itself.

It hurts to know you’re not as needed as you thought you might be, but it’s liberating too. It led me here.

BETSY: Is everything OK?

Her voice startles me. She’s been the only other person here with me, but on occasion I can still forget that I’m not alone. I turn to face her with a smile, nodding my head.

RAVEN: Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?

BETSY: I don’t know. You seemed distant. It looked like you were struggling with something.

It’s tough to slip much past her. She’s too smart and she’s been around me for too long.

RAVEN: I got an offer.

She knows exactly what I’m talking about, but she pretends she doesn’t. She looks off down the beach, brushing her blonde hair out of her eyes and clenching her jaw.

BETSY: A business deal, right? Someone wants to buy the gym, or the Frost, or-

RAVEN: XWF. A match.

She scoffs, but she doesn’t say anything. She turns and heads slowly back towards the cabana, ducking inside and out of the sun. I follow her, treading carefully. She doesn’t seem angry when I get inside but there’s an edge to her demeanour, and a rigidness to her posture.

BETSY: Why did we come here? Why have we spent the last few months avoiding the rest of the industry if you were going to run right back to it as soon as they asked?

RAVEN: We needed to get away.

BETSY: YOU needed to get away. YOU told me this was what you wanted. Isolation, time for just the two of us, a chance to reset.

I nod my head in agreement.

RAVEN: I know.

BETSY: So why are we even having this conversation right now? What’s changed?

I shrug, and stare down at the sand.

RAVEN: I don’t know.

She sighs. We sit in silence for a long while, the sound of waves lapping at the shore outside the only sound. She sighs again.

BETSY: So what did you tell them?

RAVEN: That I’d think about it, and that I’d talk to you.

She nods her head slowly, but looks up at me with a knowing glint in her eyes.

BETSY: You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?

Like I said, it’s tough to slip much past her. She’s too smart and she’s been me too long. She stands up and takes a deep breath, the tension falling from her body with the exhale. She steps over to me and wraps her arms tight around my neck, leaning in to rest her head on my chest.

BETSY: I have to ask, are you sure about this? Leaving this beach and climbing back into all of that, that’s really what you want?

I didn’t think so for a while, but I’m starting to believe it again. I asked you all a question earlier. Do you know what it’s like to realize that your priorities were out of order this whole time?

Soul crushing.

I never should have left. I shouldn’t be here on this beach right now.

RAVEN: I have to do it.

She sighs deeply, then nods her head.

BETSY: I’ll book us a flight...

She’s amazing.

BETSY: … and I’ll charge it to Theo’s account.

Truly amazing.

---

This is ridiculously unfair.

I’ve been calling Fuzz a cunt since 2008, and I was crucified for it! “That language is inexcusable, Raven!” and “That homicidal maniac Fuzz is actually a very nice man!”... but somehow Noah does it more than a decade later, and goes over harder than a plastic Adirondack chair when Barney Green sits down? Why? Because he got twitter banned a few times for it and made himself some sort of modern day martyr? Who gives a shit? Noah swagger jacked my gimmick of cunt-calling the hypodermic hitman that is Shawn “Fuzz” Warstein! I demand justice! I demand compensation! What do I have to show for being such an innovator in the industry? I get to beat up an idiot on the undercard in Australia.

Ugh, I’ve heard the saying that the man that breaks down the door takes the most bullets… but this is borderline embarrassing.

It honestly feels like Fuzz is holding some sort of grudge against me or something, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. I mean, I vouched for him to the rest of the staff while he was losing undercard matches and shaking off the ring rust all those months ago! I was the one that nominated him for the Hall of Legends! I wished him a Merry Christmas and I let him send me all the goofy ass .GIFs he wants to on Twitter!

I’m here, out of my bi-annual retirement, to bring some name recognition and credibility to a card that features Boris and Doktor Trust and a special needs kid fighting a fucking car.

HELL! THIS ENTIRE EVENT IS HAPPENING BECAUSE FUZZ BEAT MY TAG TEAM PARTNER AT LETHAL LOTTERY!

I should be the one that’s pissed! I should be the one with an axe to grind and vengeful thoughts, right? I’ve been perfectly tolerant, perfectly accepting, perfectly willing to let Fuzz have his run in the sun… I wasn’t going to make a big deal about ANY of it. But what has Fuzz done now that he has an ounce of power? Double booked he and his “son” in title matches, put my boy Centurion in a dress, and booked me against some Kiwi fuck that gives his opponents tee shirts because he can’t sell one to a fan in the merch shop if his career was at stake.

Thanks Warstein, you frail skinny tweak.

Where’s the give and take? Where’s the slightest of gestures, now that you finally had the chance? I guess I was the moron from expecting anything different. I’ll eat that one.

Cuntfest shouldn’t exist. This show should have been Big Shanks. It should have been the reunion of the Suicide Kings and the introduction of one of the greatest tag teams of all time to this new generation… but you fucked that up… and you booked me against this goddamn mouth breathing dummy, for whom I need to write a promo out in crayon for him to understand, and Big Shank is nowhere to be found…

… or is he?

You know what’s hilarious? This whole thing was supposed to be a joke. Tongue in cheek, poking fun at a fellow legend and former stablemate before his big night. I thought it would be cute to give a few minutes of my promotional time to it, give everyone a sound byte or two, and give Fuzz a reason to flip me off at the show… but it was never supposed to be serious.

I was never supposed to get heated.

I was never supposed to start making plans.

Hilarious, right?

---

I try to fall asleep on the flight. Usually it’s no problem. I’ve done hundreds of these flights, thousands maybe… but this one feels different. There’s a tension in the cabin, but that’s probably just me. I can’t figure out why.

Betsy is sleeping in the seat next to me. I want to wake her, and to talk about this whole thing again. I don’t. It was unfair of me to ask her to come with me already, I may as well let her get some rest before the inevitable shit show that is a Fuzz and Noah helmed show.

I have no idea what I’m walking into. I don’t know the state of the company anymore, not like I did. Is Soldier actually gone? Is Chris Page still somehow a Universal contender? Is Peter Gilmour still employed? All this and more needed to be addressed. What was happening with the Apex Prophecy? Was Lacklan axly still a thing? Was Engineer trying to swing a threesome with the Themis’ on twitter? So many questions to answer… most importantly, had they found anyone better than me yet?

No. Of course not. That one was foolish.

The scene abruptly ends, because it was really only supposed to break up some other segments anyways. Thanks for reading kids.

---

Alright, Mastermind… you son of a bitch…

I almost made it through this entire thing without saying your name, but here we are and I’ve failed. It’s nothing personal, dude. I just think your name is stupid, and not “slightly silly” stupid, like “Ghost Tank” stupid. I don’t want to say it. Everytime I do, I feel a gurgle in my stomach and my soul dies a little bit. Your name sounds like a Netflix Original Series, but not one of the good ones, one of the two star rated ones that everyone has scrolled past at least two dozen times while looking for something to fingerbang their chick to.

Like I said, dude, it’s nothing personal.

I just think you’re stupid also.

Yes, you. Not just the name. Not just the tee shirts you send out to whoever you beat, and which I will most certainly not be receiving. You, as a man, on a molecular level… have shit for brains.

I hear you asked for this. I hear you came looking for me. That is Grade-A bonafide shit, son. You wanted to see how you’d do against a Legend? Seriously? You’re 43-75 all time, my man, you’re not going to do fucking well!

“Uh, actually Raven, I’m 43-67 because I have 8 technicals and-”

SHUT THE FUCK UP! You’re not helping disprove the idea that you’re a fucking moron! If you have anywhere near 70 losses, I don’t need you to split hairs about whether or not you were the person pinned. You know what’s crazy about my 116 wins? In every single one of them I’m the person that put down somebody like you, that thought they were ready for someone like me.

Technical that, you fucking imbecile.

For every time you failed to climb out of the midcard against people like Noah Jackson or Big D or Ned Kaye, I have climbed to the top of the mountain over people like Steve Jason or Aidan Collins or Cyren. For every time you’ve won an Xtreme title and cherished it as your prized possession, I’ve won one and used it as a fucking doorstop.

No really, I’ve used one as a doorstop… and a coaster.

All of these reasons, and dozens more, are why I think your chromosomal count is off. You spend so much time calculating your own stats from 2014 that you forgot people expect you to do something new, to justify requests for a match like this… right now you’re so far below most of us, you can’t read the “blow me” we write on the soles of our boots.

This is what you wanted pal? To see how you stacked up with me?

How do you think you’re doing so far? Holding your own? Making mama and pop pop proud? Living your dream?

You’re getting dog walked up and down the gold coast. You’re getting worked like a twelve hour shift, and dunked on like a seven foot rim. I’m not converting that last one to metric for you either, because I’m a cold blooded savage. This is just the beginning, my friend, just warming up the silver tongue to lacerate you with verbal barbs over the next week… I’m going to drag you into water so deep that you won’t be able to see the sun above the surface anymore.

Get ready. You asked for Raven, you asked for the Legend… and you’re about to get the hottest thing to hit Australia since-

Oh shit.

My bad.

I love koalas.

Fear the Raven… Forevermore!