She had climbed the 284 steps and now stood 164 feet above one of the busiest streets in the developed world. The hustle-and-bustle of big city life went on below her as car after car passed under the massive structure. The Arc de Triomphe, a symbol of modern-day Paris: A symbol of hope, of freedom, of tragedy, of remembrance.

It was all too fitting.

The tour Eiffel sat just stones throw in the distance, but it felt like continents away. She had never been to Paris, despite all of her exploits throughout what she liked to believe was an illustrious career, and she found Europe’s largest city….overwhelming.

It all came together for her. All came to a head. For years she suppressed her thoughts and feeling, she had bit her tongue and rolled with whatever life threw at her. She felt as though she had no choice–that she was trapped in a monotonous cycle of pain and hardship followed by success and celebration only to lead to more pain and hardship. She truly questioned if she would ever again be happy.

She had participated in this event before. She never thought much of it. It was just another date on the calendar in her world, another chance to hurt someone, another paycheck for doing so. When she had her breakdown, it was the worst moment of her life. She had truly been broken, shattered into thousands of pieces, and had no clear path to put herself back together.  She accepted that this was who she had become.

Like her or hate her, SHE hated HER, so why should your opinion make a difference?

She stepped closer the edge. The air was thinner up here, and there was a slight breeze that wasn’t felt by those patrons on the ground, many of whom were now inevitably looking up at her.

She had tiptoed through life, always on the periphery of happiness, teetering precariously. The decision brought her peace.

It was not impulsive, but rather long contemplated. It quelled the voices.

But when looking upwards, the uninitiated passerby would see only the billowing nightgown, a strange flightless bird moving wordlessly, determinedly towards death.

This was her last stand, her last hurrah. She would call their bluff now while attempting to call her own. She would make them step off their soapbox and understand the meaning behind the name of this show…….

Would they let someone do this on live television? Pay Per View or not.

Leap of Faith would be defining for her, because it could be the final time she ever took that leap–one that started eight years ago and she’d been falling from ever since–and she would finally make her landing.

Would it be on a bed of flowers or the unforgiving concrete below?

She took another step, her converse pressing on the stone below her.




Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, and history doesn’t lie. Sitting beneath this massive structure was the Champs-Élysées. One of the loveliest avenues in the world and a cultural hub of anything-art. One of the most recognizable and famous strips of road in the world—was once a murky swamp used by butchers and tanners for their waste.

It all depends on how you look at things, how you peel back the layers and sift through the meaty insides. People want to take something for what it is–what their perception of it is–but nobody ever wants to go a little further.

She was almost at the edge now. A horn from a close-call fender bender blared below her, almost deafening to those in the immediate vicinity but nothing more than a wave of background fuzz to her. She stood, looking over the city and recalled her words she said to Chris all those years ago.

“I want to retire in Paris.”

“If we’re lucky enough, we’ll die there.”

A lot had changed since she uttered those words. His career in wrestling was over, and hers was barreling like a freight train down a track leading to glory, but the wall at the very end was getting closer by the millisecond.

She stepped again, the edge of her toes hanging off the edge now.

She closed her eyes and smiled, recalling just a few hours earlier at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower. Standing at the base looking up, she can truly say that never appreciated its size. The legs are as far apart as your average town plaza and the metal is dull. She reached out to touch it, cold of course. But then what was she expecting? Even something she was excited about turned out to be less than she’d imagined.

Imagination is for fools.

She opened her eyes.

Half of her foot was over the edge of the Arc now. What did she have left?

She looked over at the massive cultural icon that she would scale the entirety of, fighting off five other people that hated her. Chris did something similar in the elimination chamber all those years ago, and the best moment of his life and career has been the biggest burden he’s ever bore.

Is this what she had to look forward to?

With a deep breath a smile crossed her face. Her eyes grazed over the LED sign promoting the XWF and their signature event, sitting at the base of the structure upon which she currently teetered.

“I love you.”

She stepped……..



“Would someone PLEASE tell me how booking works here? I know I’m a little off my rocker but are these names picked out of a hat? Does a monkey choose which name he likes most? Do they let an infant pick the competitors based on colors? I won my match to get a guaranteed spot in this shindig, and Bobbie did as well. Isiah King did what Isiah King does and choked when a match matters most, and Dionysus is the Webster’s definition of a flake. Dolly? Okay. I get it. Ya’ll have been in Dolly's business like Summer’s Eve lately, so maybe it makes sense? Ned Kaye, the golden boy with the Karen hair. Okay, he’s your favorite shark-bait for big name matches because he has the fall back of being the company’s top ass-kisser, and those at the top here love nothing more than a good pucker up.

The ‘King of the Midcarders’ has a Universal Title shot?

I don’t get it, I truly don’t. Is the roster that small? That weak?

Or maybe, finally, fans will understand that someone here doesn’t know what the fuck their doing.

I digress.

All I can worry about is who I have to dispatch, no use barking up dead trees. So, Leap of Faith is upon us again! Winner to get a briefcase. Funny, a couple years ago I woulda thought that this was winning it the hard way. After my X-title run, I don’t think that anymore. That title has been a joke since they took it off me, but we all know that that briefcase shoulda been mine. Mark Flynn shoulda been mine. So now, I get to put Corey Smith in my sights, because…..let's be honest, I am coming away with that briefcase. This is my match to win, my momentum to try to slow down, and my destiny to shape. It’s been eight years….eight long years of unmitigated bullshit.

My time is now.

It’s safe to say we are sick of the same people winning all the time. Bobbie Bourbon, whose had quite a bit of success lately despite looking like an albino Chernobyl radish, is probably the most blah competitor in this match. “Creativity” aside, the idea of Bourbon winning and getting a briefcase to cash in, AGAIN, will bring on an eye-roll of volcanic proportions. Nobody cares anymore. He was funny once, now he’s just the same tired act over and over. He’s gonna say what he’s gonna say about me, and that’s fine and dandy, but it's nothing that hasn’t been said before.

Homework assignment: Listen to Roberto’s promo(s) when they come out. Pour some liquor. Take a shot every time you hear him say something about me that he already has said in a new way, and see how drunk you get.

He has gotten by on masking the same unoriginal insults with original ways of dishing them out, plus he is big and physical in the ring. People fear him based on lore alone. There is nothing to fear about the Bobster, unless you have thin skin. Sticks and Stones, Bobbie. I can’t wait to see the look on your fat fucking face when you see me on top of that tower, grabbing that opportunity that your arrogant derriere probably already assume has your name on it.

You know what they say about assumptions?

Speaking of assumptions. People ASSUME that I am coming into this match gunning for Dolly Waters. Our recent history would say that. Truth be told, Dolly Waters never really mattered much to me. Still doesn’t. Years went by and we always went down different paths, stayed in our own lanes, made our own legacies. It’s nice to see her still doing this, but Dolly is far from someone I would consider a threat. Dolly has improved, I’ll give her that. She is so much better now than she was, but a failed reign as TV Champ and a lackluster Shove It with a disappointing turnout has smoldered that flame a bit. Truth be told, since I am just full of that on this fine evening, Dolly was only TV champion because I allowed her to be. I mailed it in. I’ll admit. I was burnt out. Tired of the BS, tired of the politics, tired of being the villain when all I tried to do was become my own hero, for once. Tried to right the ship. Tried to get back to some semblance of “normal”. I was leaving, and I knew it. The X-title debacle took a lot out of me, and I just didn’t care anymore. It’s nice to know Dolly was just as useless as I thought she was. I am glad to see that she took that notoriety and ran with it. I am glad to see she took her 15 minutes and stretched into a solid 20.

Hate to say it, but, your time is up.

So Dolly, thank you. Thank you for giving me a reason to explore newer, greener pastures, and to spread my pink-tipped wings and fly to somewhere that actually values me.

So Dolly, you’re welcome. You’re welcome for this. I DM’d you my cashapp, check your twitter.

Isaiah King? The man whose side I am the deeply embedded thorn in. The man who has never beaten me. The man who got famous for losing to me. The man who wants to be me, to have what I have so badly that he ripped off my gimmick the moment I left. The old gimmick, at that! My X-title run made you who you are, and now I get to come back and kick your chiclets down your throat for having the audacity to even believe you belong on the same show as me, much less the same match. You have never been anything but a disappointment since the moment you stepped foot in here and I am not sure why anyone would think any different about this match. Should I apologize for putting Goth on the shelf and encasing you in a legacy of failure?

I’m sorry. 

Sorry that you suck as much as you do.


Nedrick? Last time we had any words, you ended your segment about me with “Do better”. Touching. Really. A tearjerker. A real soul searching, reflecting statement. I have one retort, if you don’t mind. I take your “do better” and raise you a “Do something.” All I hear is Ned Kaye this and Ned Kaye that, but I never SEE Ned Kaye anything. Maybe I am blind? I doubt it, though. Ned Kaye gets pushed to the moon but hasn’t figured out gravity yet. One of the biggest names on this roster with some of the least actual accomplishments. Tell me, please, the last time Ned Kaye was ‘Main Event’, when he was ‘Box-office’, when Ned Kaye did anything but take up oxygen. So Ned, keep doing what you’re doing, because apparently it’s working. Keep strutting your stuff with that ‘About to blow a truck driver at a Motel 6 for $20 and a half a pack of cigarettes’ haircut and receiving those handjobs back-pats and atta boy!’s for doing literally Barney Green levels of nothing.

Ned, you’re one of those kids that walk around shirtless with AND1 shorts/shoes in the suburbs with a basketball and a poptart waiting for the bus. The problem is, that bus will always come. It will always come, and you will never learn because of it.

This is the first time in my career that I truly have nothing to lose. I don’t win the briefcase? Okay. I had it in my grasp last time and it was yanked away from me. No title? One less thing to worry about. Sitting back watching the XWF slowly suffocate with the same people at the top for the last five years while other companies development new talent, new stars, new rivalries……gucci. This truly is a Leap of Faith because if I fall off that tower and don’t get the job done, I move on to the other opportunities where I can re-build the legacy you all have tried so hard to destroy.

BUT IF I WIN……

Oh but if I win.

I cash in on Corey’s whiney man-baby ass and become Universal Champion.

Imagine a world with Jenny Myst on top. Close your eyes and picture it.

Horrified? Good.

My advice, don’t let me win that briefcase.

Shouldn’t be too hard, amirite?”