CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
His entrance music played as he burst through the curtain. He hated that music. He felt better now. He'd started shaking backstage. He wasn't sure why. It had happened a few times since that match with Killer Constable three weeks ago where he'd been dropped on his head. Maybe it would go away. He couldn't afford an injury right now. He had more momentum now than at any point previously. It was a make or break period for his career. He couldn't stop thinking about that. He was employed be the biggest wrestling company in the world. He was 33. If he didn't become a star now he never would. He'd be nothing for the rest of his life. He had to make every match count.
He was pleased by the crowd reaction as he came out, but he still wanted more. He always wanted more. He should be getting the kind of reactions Dean Sexton was getting...and Dean was ten years younger than him.
He hated that he'd become obsessed with the aging process, but it was hard not to be. 33 and what did he have to show for it? He'd done well in the smaller companies, but it had taken him this long to make it big and he was still just a lower card performer. He HAD to make it big. What was the point of his life otherwise? It couldn't all be for nothing.
He rolled into the ring. His opponent, Mountain Mike, jumped him right away as they'd planned. He was alarmed that he could feel the shaking again, as Mountain Mike slammed him down hard. Damn it. He made his comeback and the crowd were into it. He got fired up. He knew the agents were watching. There was a buzz about him. He had to do something spectacular.
He threw Mountain Mike to the floor. He was supposed to leap over the top onto him. A nice move, but not big enough. He hit the ropes. He'd seen the move performed a thousand times...by other wrestlers. But he could do it. Mountain Mike looked confused, he wasn't supposed to be running. Mike would figure it out...
He dived through the ropes, twisting in mid-air 360 degrees as he did. He hit hard.
He shaked afterwards. Oh God. His neck. What a fool he'd been. He'd be...he could be paralysed. It was all over. His life was over, it may as well be, if he couldn't wrestle anymore. But he pulled himself up. He could feel his legs! His arms! He was fine! So why was the referee making the signal to the back that somoene was injured?
He remembered Mountain Mike. He was lying there, limp. Their heads had hit. It hadn't hurt. How could it have hurt Mike?
"OH GOD, HE HIT HIS HEAD SO HARD ON THE CONCRET!" a fan yelled.
"It's all fake, he'll be fine," said another.
Mountain Mike never walked again.
He was pleased by the crowd reaction as he came out, but he still wanted more. He always wanted more. He should be getting the kind of reactions Dean Sexton was getting...and Dean was ten years younger than him.
He hated that he'd become obsessed with the aging process, but it was hard not to be. 33 and what did he have to show for it? He'd done well in the smaller companies, but it had taken him this long to make it big and he was still just a lower card performer. He HAD to make it big. What was the point of his life otherwise? It couldn't all be for nothing.
He rolled into the ring. His opponent, Mountain Mike, jumped him right away as they'd planned. He was alarmed that he could feel the shaking again, as Mountain Mike slammed him down hard. Damn it. He made his comeback and the crowd were into it. He got fired up. He knew the agents were watching. There was a buzz about him. He had to do something spectacular.
He threw Mountain Mike to the floor. He was supposed to leap over the top onto him. A nice move, but not big enough. He hit the ropes. He'd seen the move performed a thousand times...by other wrestlers. But he could do it. Mountain Mike looked confused, he wasn't supposed to be running. Mike would figure it out...
He dived through the ropes, twisting in mid-air 360 degrees as he did. He hit hard.
He shaked afterwards. Oh God. His neck. What a fool he'd been. He'd be...he could be paralysed. It was all over. His life was over, it may as well be, if he couldn't wrestle anymore. But he pulled himself up. He could feel his legs! His arms! He was fine! So why was the referee making the signal to the back that somoene was injured?
He remembered Mountain Mike. He was lying there, limp. Their heads had hit. It hadn't hurt. How could it have hurt Mike?
"OH GOD, HE HIT HIS HEAD SO HARD ON THE CONCRET!" a fan yelled.
"It's all fake, he'll be fine," said another.
Mountain Mike never walked again.
