No man has ever made it 140 days with this bad boy around their shoulder.

The frame was filled by the television championship. Oddly enough, the belt was flipped 90 degrees, as if being held on it’s side.

This right here?

Charlie’s calloused right hand taps the golden plate a few times. His nails are stained with a red hue. A fine collection of dust, dirt and dried blood has made a residence underneath his untrimmed fingernails. The scabbing wounds from a trail of thumbtacks are littered around his hand.

This is a death wish.

And boy, do I want to die.

But I just can’t seem to do it. My body won’t let me!

The camera pans out slowly as Charlie launches into another vicodin-driven tirade. The champion is dressed in an all black suit. A golden tie and a blue pocket square are the only hints of color on the outfit. The television championship belt is slung over his left shoulder. The gray drape hanging behind the champion is emblazoned with the XWF logo.

I try, week after week! I throw my body at the strongest, fiercest, most SAVAGE beasts to ever roam this flat earth. But I never fall! Chairshot after chairshot, thumbtack after thumbtack, blow after blow...my knees just.won’t.BUCKLE!

No matter how much I bleed or how many teeth come flying out of my gab, I never see the stars or those legendary tweety birds! I’ll never know their beauty. My bones are too strong. My body is too toned. My D-N-A is too immaculate. I try to meet death’s sweet embrace day after day, night after night….yet it never comes.

I am cursed.

Cursed to roam this earth on my own. Cursed to fight battles that can not be lost. Cursed to endure each and every morsel of suffering this world has to offer with no reprieve.

Charlie looks to the ground dejectedly, sighing softly as he shakes his head from side to side.

I AM CURSED! My life is MEANINGLESS, but still it will not END! I have NOTHING! No children. No family. No wife. NOTHING!

Charlie regains his composure slowly, rubbing his chest with his right hand as he breathes in and out, counting to ten inside of his mind.

I...I need this belt.

Charlie lifts his head as he turns to gaze down upon his life’s foremost accomplishment. He starts rubbing the nameplate on the belt with his fingers as if it were a nipple.

I need you so much, baby.

I’m dressed for you, aren’t I, baby?

Charlie takes his hand off the championship nameplate for a few brief seconds as he gestures at his fancy black attire.

I’m ready for my funeral, honey.

Ready for all those bad boys and bad girls you’re going to send after me. Ready for every headhunter, golddigger, and legend that you’re going to sprinkle along my path.

I’m ready for the fatal blow. Ready for that one strike that just lands so viciously that I never get up again. Ready for those final seconds to come and go. Ready to move on.

Will you help me, baby? Help put me out of my misery?

Charlie stands at attentive silence for a few moments. He begins to nod his head and grunt affirmatively.

Oh thank you, baby.

Charlie kisses the championship belt, placing a soft peck in the center of the championship plate.

Who do you have for me, sweetie? Who will be my undertaker?

Charlie waits patiently for a few moments; then, his jaw drops.

JOHNNY LEGEND?!?! HE CAN’T DO IT!

Charlie’s expression morphs into horrified shock as he listens to the belt’s justification.

That’s absurd! Am I just wasting my time with you? Johnny can’t get it done! Oh, how I wish he could! But his body is as broken as his feeble mind. He quits. He gives in to the pain. He folds under pressure. He’s not the one!

Charlie listens patiently to the belt’s response, but his brow furrows and his lips curl into a frown as the belt makes the unpersuasive case for a Johnny Legend championship run.

What are you talking about?! I’ve won ten matches in the same time that he’s picked up two! I literally just beat him! He lost his last title match to the very same man that I destroyed! Johnny doesn’t have the juice. He doesn’t have IT!

Charlie shook his head horizontally. Dandruff fell out of his dirty brown hair as it rocked from side to side. He brought his right hand up to his skull, dragging it down his face as he screamed into his palm.

GOOOODDD DAAMMNNN IT!

Charlie claws at his face before flinging his arm to the side. A few strands of blood trickle down his bruised face as he scoffs in disgust. He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as he tries to regain his composure. He opens his eyes a dozen or so seconds later. The champion stares straight into the camera as it pans in on his bleeding face.

I am forever trapped. There is no one who could ever end my misery. My blood runs cold and my heart barely beats, but still the breath will not leave my smoke-riddled lungs. No man, woman, or monster can put me down!

I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be your little clown, be your little minstrel! I don’t want to terrify your kids as I walk down the ramp! I don’t want to shatter the dreams and bones of the up and coming stars!

BUT I HAVE TO!

I have to weave a trail of destruction so daunting that my name becomes legend. I HAVE TO maim and dismember all those who come before me. I have to leave their bodies so scarred and disfigured that they become unrecognizable to their own children! How else…..

How else would I find the one?

The one who can bring me peace. Bring me closure. Put me to rest. Make me pay for all the wrong I have done!

Each day that I am forced to go on living in this prison of a world is a day too long. Each day I grow more convinced of the necessity of finding the one: each day, I grow more convinced that I never will. Perhaps, they don’t exist….

But if they’re out there, I’ve not fought them yet! And Johnny, we’ve already fought! You probably don’t remember it, but come next Saturday night I’ll knock the sense right back into your shriveled brain stem one Steubenville Screwdriver at a time!

You don’t got the chops to go toe to toe with me, boy! You don’t got the balls to stand mono E mono with me, JACK! You oughta just lay down quick when we meet again, get back home in one piece so you can go play with your pussy!


Charlie breathes heavily, clearly wearing out his lungs as he rages on. As Charlie waits a few moment to catch his breath, a calmer demeanor washes over him. A wild fantasy begins to run through his mind.

But maybe in another world...you could be the one. You could be the one to put my lights out. To save me from the drudgery of life. Save me from myself…...save me from those sleepless nights where the same memories run through my mind hour after hour….

In our dreams, Johnny....you will be the last man standing. In our dreams.

EARLIER THAT DAY

The overworked postal carrier slid the envelope through the slot in the door of the old brick home standing tall at 2617 chestnut street. Traces of the carrier’s sweat flew through the air as the envelope landed on the leopard print rug tucked neatly inside the entryway. The postal server walked away from the front door, coughing bloody phlegm into their hand before wiping the sweat off of their brow.

Charlie leapt out of his chair as he saw the white envelope slip through the crack in the door. He was dressed as fine as he had ever been, a black suit covering him from shoulder to toe. He had a nice, new, pair of jet black dress shoes. His fine shoes were still unscuffed and still not drenched in Charlie’s foot stank.

Charlie thought the judgement would come today. He had been told by the courts it would take at least four days for the news to arrive at his doorstep. Charlie knew this meant it would take five days, and low and behold, he was right.

After winning his television championship, Charlie fired his piss poor lawyer to defend himself in family court. He had brought a claim forward to Judge McNeilly, requesting supervised visitation rights for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Charlie had a ‘rock solid’ legal strategy that he claimed his lawyer was ‘too pussy’ to implement. Charlie had attached a video clip of his win over Thunder Knuckles to his legal claim, as well as an abundance of photographic proof that Charlie was, in fact, the newly crowned champion of the television division. That will surely convince the courts, right?

At least Charlie had the good sense to attach a photocopy of the massive bonus check he received for barely being able to roll up Thunder Knuckles. Little did the courts know that Charlie had already burned through his entire check: with a sensible purchase of a three bedroom home, and a ‘little bit’ of meth just to keep him going.

Of course, Charlie had also paid for his new home to be partially furnished in preparation for the return of his family. His children would each have their own room, dresser, and bed. He would share his room with Connie, or perhaps cast her out to the couch if she was being a bitch.

Charlie reached down for the envelope, picking it up with an excited smile and an optimistic mind. He stood in the entryway as he ripped the envelope apart from the bottom corner, as if he had never seen someone open an envelope before. He pulled the judge’s decision out from the envelope as he let the envelope fall back to the floor.

He unfolded the document and scanned through the single paragraph written by Judge McNeilly with his glossy brown eyes.

“Wai...wha-..”

Charlie trailed off, unable to speak, or even think, as he processed the judge’s decision. As it turns out, being a wrestling champion who got paid fat stacks doesn’t have any bearing or impact on the longevity of the court’s protection orders and custodial decisions. Charlie dropped the paper as a blank expression washed across his grizzled face. A few moments passed before Charlie let out a soft, defeated sigh.

Charlie opened his front door and walked through it a changed man. His gaze shifted to the right as he walked onto his doorstep. The obnoxious noise of middle school boys served as a temporary distraction. Charlie saw three young boys, all acne-riddled and wearing B.O.B. hoodies, spray painting pink dicks on the neighbor’s home. A stray cat, fifteen or so paces away from the kids, was walking to it’s baby’s nest with confidence as a dead mouse lay still inside it’s mouth. The blood from the kill stained the cat’s white fur. The children, demented and cruel creatures themselves, began to give chase to the cat.

Charlie turned away uncaringly as he proceeded to make his way to his garage. Usually the site of malevolent children unleashing havok would give Charlie the giggles, but not today. Charlie squatted down as he reached for the garage door handle. He pulled the door up before stepping inside and pulling it right back down. Charlie took a few paces forward as he reached up for the ceiling light, turning it on with the simple tug of a string.

The garage was clean and organized. The back wall was covered in a gray drape emblazoned with the XWF logo. A high quality camera and light were placed a few paces away from the tapestry. Charlie’s championship belt lay upright on top of a coffee table placed near a small black sofa. A bottle of lotion and kleenexes were seated alongside the belt, as was a small bag of meth and the corresponding needle. An orange pill bottle lay on the floor underneath the black sofa.

Charlie walked towards the coffee table. Everything he had ever wanted was right there waiting for him. Or was it? Charlie felt off. He felt different. He felt awful. Guilt ridden, remorseful, filled with the images of his wife and children cowering in fear each night that Charlie had accidentally taken one too many crack rocks.

For the first time in a long time, Charlie felt empty. He felt hopeless. He felt like everything he had been working towards was a mistake, a failure, an idiotic decision pushed along by liquor and drugs.

Was it worth it?

That was the question Charlie lingered on as he prepared his drugs for consumption. Maybe they’d numb the pain. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, Charlie knew there were not sunnier days waiting for him on the other side of the rainbow.

For the first time in his life, Charlie felt ashamed.