Post by Dallas Bonham on Oct 27, 2013 14:23:09 GMT -5
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, MAN," Houston screamed at me from the top of his lungs in the dressing room after I walked out on that fucking loser they paired me with. I could understand why he was so upset. The guy put a lot of fucking work into all this, but he needed to understand that this was my fucking show. I called the shots.
I was sitting on one of the shitty, cold metal chairs EOV so kindly provided us low card guys. The assholes that Criscoed themselves up like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey before going out to lose on the untelevised under card. We had a small table set up, too, with cold cuts and juice boxes. Oh yeah, they spent big money on our shared dressing room.
"What," I answered nonchalantly.
"You threw the fucking match!"
"That fucking freak said he had it. What did you want me to do, beg him to let me win the fucking match for him?"
"This is the kind of shit that you used to pull, Dally. You want to be a loser all your life?"
"I didn't lose. He did."
Houston shook his head out of frustration. I think it was more my attitude that pissed him off than the actual fact I threw the match. Whatever. I could've taken both those twats by myself, but that top hat wearing tool deserved what he got.
"It's fine, Houston. This is my career. I choose who I wrestle with, who I wrestle against and when I lose or win. If you ever book me in a tag match without my consent again I'll do the same damn thing."
"But Dalla...."
"But Dallas nothing. When you get out there and put your body on the line you can decide who you go up against. Until then shut the fuck up and book me as I see fit."
That one smarted.
"Now book me against that tool for the next card. I want to hand him his second loss."
A few days later
The first frost had come. The air was cold and damp like it should be in the fall. In the mornings I could see my breath as I smoked my first cancer stick of each day, watching the haze of smoke billowing against the backdrop of the sunrise. It was quiet outside the trailer, the only noise that of the last birds preparing to head south. The deer I had been stalking for the past few weeks were getting more and more used to my presence. It wouldn't be long before it was time to hunt them down. I felt bad setting them up like that, but we all had to eat. This was the circle of life. The smarter and faster beast always won.
I was out in the garden when Kimosabe arrived. There was always much work to be done. Yesterday I had pulled all my tomatoes and peppers, hot and sweet alike. I would make a salsa with them like Pop used to do when we were kids. It was the way of this land- had been for generations. You used everything you could around you to survive the elements.
"Afternoon Kimosabe," I said as I set down the hand tiller. It was a hell of a job with this thing and Houston kept tying to get me to borrow his roto-tiller. He'd grown soft over the years of living in suburbia. Used to be a wild man and now he wasn't much more than a flabby tie.
Kimosabe bowed to me. The guy came from a culture I didn't understand, but I respected it greatly.
"Hi Mr. Dallas. You work hard. Something your country has lost."
"Hard work never killed a man."
"Actually yes, it has Mr. Dallas. In my country there is a term for death by work. Karoshi."
"Well, I'll be damned. And y'all even named it," I said as I put the tiller down and wiped the sweat that was growing on my brow. Kimosabe set up his camera right outside the garden plot. It sat firm atop the dry soil. It had been weeks since it rained and I was feeling as dried up as the fall leaves that laid upon the ground lazily. They made a mish mash of colors. Pop always loved October. Said the trees looked like God dropped gumballs all over us. I never knew what the fuck that meant.
"Mr. Dallas, last week you walk out on partner. This week you fight him. Thoughts?"
"I think he's a fucking weirdo that couldn't fight his way out of the Special Olympics. He's a god awful, ugly freak that's going to get his teeth kicked down his throat this Wednesday night. I walked out on him because he's just like all the others: weak. It was to prove that without me he couldn't hold his weight. Before I left that match we were clearly kicking ass, or I was, rather. Then this motherfucker has the nerve to yell at me? No way. I'm no one's whipping boy. And you see what happened the moment I left the ring? He got spanked."
"Dallas this match part of tournament for EOV Hybrid Title. You want to win title?"
"The what?"
"Hybrid Championship Title."
I searched through my overalls for my pack of cigarettes. The overalls were much like me, stained and dirty. Once I found them I sparked a match of the back heel of my faded snake skin cowboy boots and put it to the end of the unfiltered cigarette. The tip roared into a fiery bliss before dying down to a soft ember.
"Yeah, well ok. I haven't thought much about titles at this point. Those things never really mattered much to me. I don't do this for fortune or fame or money. That's what people who have a job do. This is about the fight for me. God made me to fight."
I took a deep drag of the stoagie and let it linger in my lungs before blowing the excess smoke out through my nose.
"God made man. We all know that. Even the agnostic understands that there's something bigger than all of us at work here. Some precise, immutable law. So for the majority of us, we understand it to be God and we understand we were made in his image. Some men were made to motivate the world with their eloquent speech, some men to lead the nations with their fearless courage and some men to shape the future with their thimble minds. I'm of a different breed."
"A breed made manifest to be warriors. I was made to fight. My bones don't break, my skin doesn't tear and my will won't be shaken under the pressure of any man. Men have tried and men have failed to bring me down. Even ten years in prison, solitary and completely alone, could not shatter me. No, I came out all the better for it. So what did God make Alexies Valence to do? That's a good question."
I snorted and spit.
"Obviously, by his show of complete lack of competence last week, he made him to lose. Another stepping stone for men like me. Men made to go to war. I throw myself completely into ever fight I enter. No man has walked away from me victorious. And I promise you this fucking loser won't be the first."
"Alexies, heed my word: you will not walk away from the ring Wednesday. I will bite, claw, punch and kick and pull and push to walk away victorious. All that matters to me is the crackling sound of bones breaking underneath my force. I live to hear the gurgle a man makes as I squeeze my hands around his throat with all my might. This is what I was made to do."
Short, sweet and to the point like Pop taught me to be. It wasn't some fancy interview with a million useless words just to playcater to the fans out there watching. It was honest and raw and real and me. Nothing else needed to be said.
"Now get the fuck out of here, Kimosabe. I got work to do."
