Post by: Chris Crimson on June 21, 2014, 10:38:15 AM
“In the planning stage of a book, don't plan the ending. It has to be earned by all that will go before it.”
― Rose Tremain
I felt the sunset more than I witnessed it.
That was at least what I told myself, as the warmth of the largest sun in the solar system drifted carefully out of my sight. Of course, this happens over a period as I sat and concentrated my thoughts about my future. This was the time of strife for my career, and for the first time in a long time, I could not quite picture the future. The orange and yellow rays of sunshine faded, leaving me all alone in one of my favorite spots in the world. Hell – I just came here to fish, clear my head, and plan the next step.
The next step.
What all seemed like a ride that was too short, my livelihood became threatened by the constant change of the business I placed myself in years ago. It was beginning to make me a bitter man, cold inside; dark, much like the character that I played on television. Funny thing was, from time to time I would ask myself who I really was – the man in the mirror. Once you start pretending to be someone else, sometimes you start to slip and lose yourself.
I was not quite lost.
Life goes on, with or without the memories of friends and enemies alike. Past opportunities are squandered in the shadow of what could have been – an inevitable ending. This was much more than just wrestling to me; a career I chose long ago to fulfil my endless childhood dream. It was a daring and dangerous tunnel of never ending back and forth. A battle of tug of war if you will, and I always found myself on the side with less people – alone.
Solitude can be a deadly prison.
Paying dues and moving on was the natural order of things. The natural way to deal with the inception of a new opportunity, a light in the darkness and ultimately another chapter to a story. My book had just begun, and I was not anywhere near done. Not even close, and as I look ahead in the distance all I can see is green grass. Be it much taller, or even shorter some may ask – yet I only see the color.
Green was my favorite color for a reason.
Much like wind swayed blades of grass in a fresh cut lawn; Mother Nature never seemed unimpressive – especially when you grew up near the ocean. The natural movement of the ocean soothed my mind just as the lights died down – I remained alone. A trademark grin, a smirk, or even just a smile would be enough for me to remember the good times, and hell – even times that were to come. The squared circle called for me, for its true keeper.
Your Favorite Shade of Red.
Truth be told, I was meant to do this – meant for a second chance. Ironically, this second chance meant the most, personally; it had to count. I had to make it count, and there was not anyone else in the entire world that could rebound like me. I was the legitimate and much like the harsh words I had spoken a little over a month ago to an enemy – my shadow consumed everything. There was no escape, and hiding was not an option. Paying dues was all that stood in front of me, and what was figuratively mine already.
Opportunity was mine.
There were no breaks, no vacations, and no time off. The six-sided squared circle called for Your Favorite Shade of Red, and I had every intention to right the wrongs. That statement echoed deep within, and no matter how many times I attempted to shake it – it was real. Second chance to right the wrongs, and do what is right. What is right, some may ask – it was very simple. All I had to do was be I, and be what they expected. It was time to shatter some dreams, my way of course, the way it has intended to be – causing the most pain.
There was no other.
Where others used words and phrases to beat their foes, my tactic was much different and it had proved to be successful. I changed, shapeshifted if you will – only to form the nightmares of those who oppose. Clever, yet deadly – my strategy was unchallenged among what people deemed the community. My smirk never wore off, because no matter how many doubted; the truth shined through much like those rays of sunshine before they faded altogether. My light indeed lit the darkest of rooms, even when there was no hope, no path, or no clear route.
I make my own roads.
Much like a carpenter with a piece of wood, I was an artisan destined to create; a man perfecting his art. My smile shined through and pierced those who stood by, pretending to not acknowledge who I was, what I had done, or hell – even what I would do. It was more than enough to fuel a regular man, yet it did not faze me at all. I already knew I was at the top of the mountain, and no fictitious accolade fit around my waist. No crown fit the way it should.
No throne necessary.
What I turned to that made me who I was what I had become – it was a weapon. An idea that was manufactured to harm, and yet while just meaningless words they seemed – mine took shape. My formed terror and cut down any man or woman. I always told everyone I had unparalleled aim, yet I never shot for the torso.
I aimed for the head.
The distant sounds of the Atlantic Ocean crashed against a lonesome pier that had a stalwart stance against the raging seas – the cry of seagulls in the sky as the birds flew about. The sun had died slowly, just in time for the figure of a man to appear to be sitting upon a bench, all by himself with a fishing rod in his hand. Obviously, this was not just any spot, but a special spot to one man. While the shot became rather clear, none other than Your Favorite Shade of Red sat ready to embrace the end of a day amidst the sunset on the horizon. A rush of cold air bellowed across the sea and along the pier, blowing random particles of trash around that littered the area – a lonesome light had flickered on just as the sun faded.
“You know it’s usually routine to state the obvious – to say the same old crap everyone else would in my position. We can be very honest and say I am a slave to the business, and this is just match; a notch on the belt. However, you know the difference between someone like me and those other people? Well, it’s never that easy to just explain, is it?”
A single flicker of light was witnessed from the hands of Your Favorite Shade of Red, as a cigarette came to life in the hands of the wrestler with a simple motion. Strands of strawberry blonde hair were pushed aside with the simple brush of his own free hand, as the other meticulously yielded the cigarette in the other. The emerald green eyes of Chris Crimson remained on the Atlantic Ocean, and away from the camera that shot the angle.
“I must’ve slipped into a real circus, or maybe I am helping the unfortunate. When I say unfortunate, I meant those who deem me worthy of opening a card – wrestling an enhancement talent, and overall shafting me. That is what I should say, but there is just much more to really tack on. I understand the game though, and respect is not earned in every corner of the world all at once. You have to fight for that respect, earn it and prove yourself. You know what I think about that?”
With a small grin slithering across the face of Your Favorite Shade of Red, the wrestler took a small hit of the cigarette to accompany his growing attitude. The glow of the lit item shed more light on the overall relaxed expression upon Crimson’s face, although Chris would simply shrug his shoulders as if he were talking to someone right beside him.
“Sin City Wrestling is in over its head, that’s what I think. Vince Peterson is wrestling the match of his career, and that is not a direct shot at all because it is the truth. I won’t shower everyone with the obvious facts, or come off as super egotistic – nobody likes that. Therefore, I will cut that short, and leave it to everyone’s imagination. You do have one of those, don’t you?”
A brief pause ensued, as Chris Crimson knocked a bit of the ashes from the lit cigarette free, tiny ignited speckles falling onto the old wood of the pier he sat on. The wrestler’s eyes remained on the ocean ahead, as the overall picture started to get darker and that cigarette seemed to be useful in deciphering the individual who held it. Your Favorite Shade of Red continued after a moment.
“My imagination runs wild, and yet even when I decide to enter the six-sided squared circle, it’s just another task. Vince Peterson – another guy, wrestler, entertainer, or whatever he decides to brand himself. Peterson, you are the embodiment of what is deemed as the normal in this business – because these days subpar is considered top shelf. Nevertheless, make no mistake about it, cliché wrestler; you will be staring at the real deal come Climax Control. Whether it be Arizona or Nevada, location does not really matter, Vince. You lose in every capacity – hell, you lost when they booked you.”
“I could run my mouth and be that guy, that competitor and that loud mouth. To express myself in the quintessence of what most achieve to be in the squared circle, Vince. I could easily tell you that I could literally take anything I wanted to. Ah – so now I may have your attention, because you may be thinking, “What does he even mean?” – So let me enlighten you: Fairy tale accolades excite the weak, and I do not need them to prove what tier I am on. While simple men and women like yourself may or may not strive for championships, awards, and recognition, I’ll continue to do what I do best and that’s steal the entire show.”
Chris Crimson began to talk with his hands briskly; the cigarette remained intact between his right index finger and ring finger tightly. Without much hesitation, the wrestler continued without breaking his vocal stride.
“You see, Peterson, I set the new standard and everyone else just can’t keep up. There is just not enough oxygen for the feeble and the slow, so don’t enter a race you can’t finish. Everyone expects a call out list, a firm warning to the entire promotion, or even snide demands to walk if I do not get my way. I am just not like the others though, Vince – I do it the right way. I earn my shots, I earn my keep, and I earn the respect that is given to me. Whether people like to rightfully give it to me or not, that respect is given in passing because I either beat them or leave them wishing they could do what I do all the time. So maybe you haven’t heard of me, or maybe you haven’t heard of where I came from. I don’t need to bring up the past, Vince. I don’t need to send idle threats to an entire promotion. My presence is the real threat, if you haven’t already picked up on that, and if the respect isn’t offered – I take it.”
Your Favorite Shade of Red looked around slowly, smashing the end of the lit cigarette against the bench he sat on. The cylinder of cancer had been extinguished completely and Crimson seemed to talk with his hands once again, continuing.
“And this? All this is just child’s play, Peterson. This is minor league effort from the soon to be greatest wrestler in the business, regardless of what naysayer’s may or may not believe. I swing for the fence, and so far, everyone else has fell by the waist side in an effort to overcome what most would assume is just another character in the business. It is quite the opposite, Vince – and even if you are not really the person I would prefer to wrestle on Sunday, you will do just fine because messages are better sent with examples. I have been batting one thousand since I decided to make a difference, Vince. What have you done?”
There was no one to answer, obviously.
“Don’t answer that question, because nobody is listening.”
“While there are many questions to be answered, and few that actually matter – don’t make the mistake of assuming you’ll be taken lightly. Because my overall demeanor doesn’t change until the stakes get high, and there is more reward to reap from a true effort. So being realistic, Vince – you are not interesting. You don’t motivate Chris Crimson, because my half effort can smoke you in every aspect, without me even thinking twice about it.”
“So no, Vince – you won’t see me call out a champion like everyone else does that walks through that door. You won’t see me do the regular and climb a mountain. I am already there, and have been for a while. Good thing I brought these binoculars with me, but they cannot seem to spot a Vince Peterson anywhere. Looks like I will just wait here for you, but I don’t expect your arrival. All I expect is for you to do your job, and lose. Do what you were meant to do when you were booked against Chris Crimson, and take the fall.”
“As much as I wanted to keep this brief and simple, there’s always just so much to explain to everyone, Vince. I hope you watch this; I really do – multiple times, even. Get the message, and heed my subtle warning because no stone is left unturned in my effort to vanquish the fakes from this business. You are just the inevitable target that has been chosen to stand in my way. It is okay, and to be very honest, it happens. It happens to the unfortunate, and I know deep down you want no part of me. Nobody does, and rightfully so. They’re all right to feel that way.”
Your Favorite Shade of Red brushed the long hair from the right side of his face out of the way, tucking most of it behind his ear while producing a sinister grin. Both eyes of Chris Crimson made contact with the camera that continued to shoot the scene, with the darkness almost clouding what would show a very enthralled face of a wrestler that was more than confident.
“So thanks for the being the exemplar, Vince Peterson. Thanks for showing up, if you do – but don’t expect to walk away with what you may take for granted. I speak of your dignity, because I don’t play for honor – I play for keeps. I play to win and while a history lesson would be an insult to Sin City Wrestling, let us just say I am known for being what everyone wishes they were. Your piece of mind from wrestling Your Favorite Shade of Red is rather simple, it is the opportunity to be a stepping stone in something far greater – a new journey for yours truly. Everyone pays his or her dues, Vince. Consider mine paid.”