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Messages - Chris Crimson
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« on: July 18, 2014, 07:37:17 PM »
Finally – the slow turning wheel has come to a halt; full circle, stopped because time is up.
I thought long and hard the last two weeks. I took the time to mull over the details of my situation, my upcoming match and I could only think about one thing. Getting it over with, getting past the date on my calendar and setting my sights on something different.
Why you ask? Why would someone, as grandeur as Chris Crimson not care about a random booked match for a middle tier championship?
Because at the end of the day I literally have nothing more to prove to anyone, especially the business, and especially people like Jericho Hill, Steve Ramone, and Vince Peterson.
Therefore, while back and forth banter is what they want, they simply won’t get it. This puppet won’t dance this time.
However, it won’t stop me from doing my diligent duty of dissecting the obvious, and by obvious I mean the painfully apparent abomination to wrestling that would be my so-called competition for Into The What? That’s just what I do best, and it’s what everyone wants to see in the first place, so why don’t we cut all this shit short and get to the point.
Vince Peterson – a person who I beat while basically wearing a blindfold – somehow ends up with a shot just like Your Favorite Shade of Red. Interesting choice, but what’s more interesting than an overplayed gimmick that result in everyone just being confused, rather than entertained. Vince, you are trying a little too hard – it is obvious – so you should resort to being just one Vince Peterson, instead of multiple versions. I lost count of how many there are of you, because watching you cut a promo is like sitting through a spelling bee for children with turrets.
I am sure you’ll have a hard time chewing on that bitter truth, but I am hoping you decide to swallow it, because you need a vicious reality check.
Nevertheless, what is your real role here in Sin City Wrestling, Vince? Is it match filler, or just straight up jobber – I am having a hard time understanding, because you just seem to pop up randomly on cards. Kind of like me, but the difference between you and I is that I make this look easy, while you just make people cringe or fall asleep.
The biggest joke here isn’t even your refreshing skill set, Vince; it is the fact that you’re still somehow wrestling someone like myself. You should be mopping floors.
While I would love to break you down piece by piece, Vince – you do it yourself every time you talk – or cut a promo, or whatever you call that. I’ll let you continue to wear yourself thin, because while you walk into this match with the same subpar effort I see everywhere else, I am quite sure you’ll impress those who need to be impressed, which speaks volumes itself.
In addition, that’s me just being honest, so don’t think I am some low life bad guy for no reason, it is what it is, and people like you, Vince Peterson, are a dime a dozen. I just didn’t think Sin City Wrestling would call up the Rent-A-Jobber services again for their supercard.
Although I have to admit, my favorite part of the last two weeks was sitting through the personality train wreck that is Steve Ramone.
OK – Fearless One – you’re embarrassing to even listen to, and the only person you’d impress is a deaf person locked in a basement. While I genuinely applaud your effort – you were consistent – throwing a bunch of nothing at the wall and watching what sticks doesn’t make a champion, or even a wrestler for that matter. Where did you even come from, Steve? Between your lackluster projections of being something worth paying attention and the cheesy approach you apply, I really can’t decide what’s better to pick apart.
You just seem like you’re fit for yogurt commercials, rather than wrestling.
You are too damn easy to make fun of Ramone, and the reason why is you remind me of a cardboard box. You’re essentially a prop, static and full of no life. I cannot feel anything you say, Steve. There is no “oomph†in it whatsoever. You have zero talent, in every facet of this business, but don’t even try to ring the burial bell on me too soon. I don’t need a shovel to toss dirt on you, because you do it yourself, just like Vince. You two are meant for each other, in the ring of course, because watching you idiots attempt what I can do with minimal effort is essentially, pathetic.
Nevertheless – great job on showing up – great job on showing your face, but make no mistake about it: If I want to, I could crush you.
I simply have that ability. I have acquired it over time, and it truly is something to be in awe of. Your Favorite Shade of Red is a master of the game, regardless if you acknowledge that or not; I can always decide my own fate.
Moreover, as far as Jericho Hill goes, let us just say I am grateful to not be subjected to whatever that person would have brewed up. I don’t think I could have handled it, because Vince and Steve certainly set the tone for mediocrity.
However, if I walk out a contender, you can expect to see something that actually has meaning. Because it is a guarantee, a lock if it happens, and they might as well serve the championship to me on a silver platter.
Because I am essentially a trigger waiting to be pulled, Steve – Vince – Jericho. Your Favorite Shade of Red can only function when those around him motivate him to do the best he can, to aspire to become better, to show everyone else how this is really meant to be done. I just don’t get that treatment here, and don’t get me wrong; this isn’t sour grapes. I am the last guy to ever complain, but don’t expect gold jewelry when I was given rusty scraps to work with.
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« on: July 04, 2014, 03:14:54 AM »
“You can tell the greatness of a man by what makes him angry.â€
-Abraham Lincoln
Much how the Earth’s own moon controls the waves of the ocean, I considered myself to have the same presence; the gravitational pull, the control, the significance of having importance. Not everyone looks up at the moon when it is full, basking in the night sky among the stars. My analogy, which could easily sail over the heads of many, could only be defined as being bigger than everyone else – the one thing in the sky that mattered. Control was always key; it was essential – too important for anyone to truly fathom, to comprehend. Some days when I looked up into the night sky, full moon or not, it reminded me of the desire that I had to show everyone that I was the brightest object in the sky. The light in the darkness, exceptional, unparalleled to others and untouchable by the common individual.
As I compared myself to my lifelong friend in the heavens, my own digits danced along the surface of my favorite tool of all. Creating art inside the squared circle was simple work; too easy, as most that yielded above average skills could do so. Therefore, inspiration came from other avenues, whether it be looking into the dark skies above the Atlantic Ocean, or possibly seeking any other new opportunity. Tunes that ravished my soul, energizing me to be at my best; seek the quality that everyone is accustomed to – it was never an easy task. However, I was always silent, subtle, and deadly. I was the hunter of hunters, the apex predator – the last of a breed.
The journey to become unequaled and recognized was just that, a journey, and sometimes it seemed futile. As if I was looking up a wall that I had climbed for years, and what seemed forever could ultimately be so. There was no end in sight, even as my thoughts wandered my own consciousness to explore new ideas, new ways to get a message across – to become unforgettable. My favorite instrument helped me achieve this, to a certain extent of course, but my skills in creating music were very meager compared to my ability to combine words of malicious intent. Initially, you would think I was a loner by how I acted, but naturally, I was a people person. Nevertheless, those who watched me would never know. They would never figure it out.
So there I was, miles away and destined to meet a man in a desolate region; a location I had never been to before. My fingers pranced down the keys ever so softly, creating a dreary reluctance that my mind had become familiar to. Just a man – nothing more, nothing less – yet to some I had become an entity myself, a shadow – a shade. Alienation was the first step to brilliance, and even if I never saw my name in lights or anywhere of irrelevant importance, I knew my name would never be forgotten in time. Never forgotten by those who met me face to face. The squared circle was a ruthless one, unlike my dear wooden instrument, which would forgive if I made a mistake. Luckily, for me, I rarely made mistakes, and if I did, well – they looked purposeful.
Waves crashing upon the shoreline was a sound I had become accustomed to, and rightfully so, you never forget home. It was a far distance to travel to meet a man who seemed to lack respect for others – for what was right. Integrity was a dying trait, a word that had become buried by the men and women who wanted to rip my rightful spot away from me. It fueled me, day by day, and even grueling men who would shout and threaten looked foolish compared to Your Favorite Shade of Red. The grin on my face spoke volumes; told the tale because I was indeed in control, as usual. My gravitational pull was futile to escape from, impossible really, because it was unmatched. Maybe I did have more in common with the pie in the sky after all.
Yet I sat here, pondering the thoughts of how to address a foe, an enemy. Melodramatic sequences flourished in my abode as I excelled in my favorite hobby, my one true escape from the world of gritty wrestling. My emerald green eyes sought my faithful cloak and hat, sitting upon its rest near my very own door. Ah – it was something to resurrect memories for sure, yet I knew my alter attire would be dawned again, one day, once more – when the time was right. The debonair smile sold my inner peace to my peers, whether it was here where I was most comfortable, or out there amongst the warriors of the ring. Thoughts of wrestling a stout opponent in the desert ignited a passion that I lusted for. Competition was humid by nature, hard to breathe when you were not subjected to it before, but I had been here numerous times.
As I continued to play, my very own dreadful gaze wandered – searching – seeking the next move on the checkered board of strategy upon my wooden instrument. Playing myself in such a trivial game was dramatic enough, but it was an old habit I did to free my mind of the inevitable task – finding a weakness in my foe. The bewildered look would catch any off guard, as rightfully so, as I shot my glare towards the device that had been setup the entire time. As if I was caught off guard initially, my smile cemented – I played games of trickery well. With fingers continuing to prance along black and white keys with swift fluidity, it had come to me just in time. The words I had been searching for all along.
“Oh, why – hello! It is I, Your Favorite Shade of Red again.†Chris Crimson shot a daunting look after the wrestler had seemingly just noticed his new audience abound.
“Don’t let the fear you have resonate, because I can hear the whispers of your inadequacy. It chimes so true; righteous in fact, just like everyone else. Such a flame in the dark, secluded by what is and what could be – all alone. I just happen to be that brief stir of wind that always wins, always finds a way – extinguishing the flame.†Once again, Your Favorite Shade of Red held true with his debonair, yet somewhat tawdry grin that had slithered across his face since the beginning. The wrestler’s voice invoked attention, nonetheless.
“You must mistake me for a simple man, TJ Codiar. A simple opponent – just another wrestling match for you, another attempt at whatever you are attempting to chase or achieve.†Crimson paused with a slight thought, his fingers racing upon the keys of his instrument with speed and accuracy, “Whether it be glory, a fictitious status within a promotion, or even everyone’s delight – a championship belt. Whatever your intentions, I can assure you they must chime well within your own heart – your desire for them must be what drives you to thrive in this industry. To you, I am just a man of flesh and bone. I am in your squared circle, an intruder, and there is only one way out. You beat me – one, two, three or you make me tap.†As if Chris could implore any other option, but there was only one true result he wanted to indulge in. One outcome he searched for, while the wrestler remained and calm to the sounds of his own music.
“How is it they say? Tap or snap?†What was once wry, turned devilish – the grin of a man shining with confidence. The wrestler followed up his grimy exposure with a quick, but meaningful chuckle at his own expression.
“I like the sound of that, TJ. I like the sound of your every intention to bring me down, to beat me, and to ultimately give it your all. Because this is what I live off of – the energy of others to win, to succeed. I am the proverbial brick wall in your way, TJ Codiar. Yet whatever I really say holds no weight for you, and you know why? You just do not know who I am, but maybe you should. Maybe, just maybe, you should learn to pay attention.†Your Favorite Shade of Red tilted his head to the side, as if he was initiating another thought process, “Don’t confuse my words with what you may want to hear, either, Codair. What you want to hear is that I am here to beat you, to embarrass you, to break you – inside the wrestling ring of course, but my message is not that easy. It isn’t written in crayon, like yours.†Yet another chuckle hurled forth from Chris Crimson seemed to almost ignite a tiny smile, as if you knew the wrestler had that one up his sleeve all along. The music continued to play at the disposal of the careful and diligent hands of Your Favorite Shade of Red.
“Consider me an artist, TJ. I have a skill, and that skill is beyond most, whether or not they want to acknowledge it or not. I do not make any lists, any statistics or favorites. I am who I am – Your Favorite Shade of Red, in truest form, TJ. I don’t need a history lesson to know you were actively seeking to play in the big leagues with yours truly – something you wouldn’t be able to handle – but let’s cut to the chase, because I can already assume that I have lost you. Intelligence doesn’t seem to be your forte.†With a glance down towards the checkered game board that had been laid out, it was as if Chris Crimson was attempting to reach a certain point, or make something very clear. Nevertheless, the grappler remained as usual while sitting on that bench in his loft.
“This is the life I chose, TJ Codiar. Is it what you decided to choose as well? I don’t believe you did, because some men and women were born for this – to thrive in this. Do you really thrive? Do you want what I want? You know what I see when I look at you? Trick question, I don’t even look at you, because you’re too far down on the food chain to be seen. Save yourself the raging banter about how you will break this, or how you will break that. The only thing you’ll be breaking come Sunday are the hopes of all the Chris Crimson doubters as they watch me defeat a man that takes the low road to town every trip he takes. You’re so far below the subpar standard these days that it’s hardly believable that I was once again wasted on the card to wrestle someone like you.†As if Crimson had abysmal disappointment, the wrestler almost scoffed, yet kept his cool all the while rolling his eyes towards his viewers. You could sense frustration of the sorts, but it was obviously fueling his desire to achieve what he wanted most.
“Alas, I don’t call the shots, TJ. I merely play the game, and maybe dues must be paid, still. Unfortunately, that will always exist, and I will have to fight my way to where I want to be. Like all things in life, it’s rather inevitable to get by without earning your spot, or is it? So many others seem to do it in our business, yet here I am, proving myself on a constant basis. And while we both wrestle a similar style, Codair, we are nothing alike inside that squared circle.†The wry grin recovered, etching itself across the face of the intimidating wrestler as his fingers dashed across the keys rapidly, creating tones in sequence that would be of an amateur.
“Nobody is impressed with what you’ve done, or what you may accomplish, TJ. Nobody needs to know, just as much as they don’t need to know about my past. It’s gone and over with, and on the horizon is Climax Control; Sunday Night – the night you learn who Your Favorite Shade of Red is. It is a great opportunity for you to come up short, just shy of everyone’s weird prognosis that you could even come close to defeating me.†Crimson vocalized this with great expression, as both eyes of the wrestler narrowed towards the audience, “It not even close, or remotely fathomable, Codiar – so save yourself a few of those rants you go on, because hitting rewind and play is getting a little old.†Another roll of the eyes by Your Favorite Shade of Red truly gave birth to what seemed to be an aggressive attitude stirring up.
“So besides the fact that you’ve worn out the wheels on your own wagon, it’s fairly obvious you’re the next tiny hurdle for yours truly – whatever may come next. You see, I don’t need to look ahead, so to speak, because I simply live week by week. My focus dwells on you and you only, Codiar. Beating you is the only option, and even if you are a low tier player, I don’t mind easily taking out the trash to prove a point to “managementâ€, concerning whatever false opportunities they would like to churn up. Because I don’t play for fairy tale endings, and I definitely don’t want any freebies – I earn my shots, and I earn my keep. So whatever accusation of being a contender you may think you are, let me reassure you – you don’t fit the bill.†With a brief pause of his hands, the music ceased quickly as the wrestler remain still, yet eyes focused on his audience. The eyebrow of Your Favorite Shade of Red cocked ever so slightly up, his left one that is, to signify an arousing question on the horizon.
“But are you what I would consider “light dutyâ€, TJ?†The eyebrow of Crimson lowered, as eyes focused on the keys of his dear instrument in front of him, “Not necessarily, because everyone gets the same treatment from me, and that is honestly what most people deserve." With those words muttered, Chris Crimson raised his glare back up to his audience fittingly in time, “Most people deserve nothing, much like you, TJ. You are just another person in the business, Codiar – another prick thinking he can bully those who are superior, but your tactics don’t stick here. Your methods aren’t good enough this week, because Chris Crimson plays for keeps, buddy. That means when you lose to me, you never forget, and you go back to your rightful spot at the bottom.†The last word of that statement seemed to almost echo throughout whatever corridor Crimson sat in, holding true significance that the wrestler indeed was very vicious and aggressive.
“Since you’ll be picking up the pieces to your self-esteem after you loss – what if I move forward, Codiar? You might think I have a genuine interest in what some of these idiots have to offer, but you couldn’t be further from the truth, because opportunities are a dime a dozen in this business – you should know that by now. Don’t try to turn this into me disrespecting Sin City Wrestling, because my fate ultimately relies on who pulls the triggers in the back. You could somehow refer to me as a franchise player, TJ. Someone that could do what many cannot, especially you – to carry a company on its shoulders. I have that ability, Codair. You, sir – you do not, and it is painfully obvious.†With a silly grin on his face after the last sentenced being pronounced, Chris Crimson’s hands began to go back to work by dashing to the left and to the right. Beautiful notes accompanied a very serious look from Your Favorite Shade of Red.
“Because the lesser evil is right in front of you, staring you in the face and you probably don’t realize it. Hell – it would be rather easy for me to dig up your own past, to dig up the relics of your memories with just a few words, but I play a much deadlier game, TJ. I am like Houdini, because what you see is certainly, what you never seem to get.†This expression seemed to blossom on the wrestlers face, inducing self-praise while Crimson cocked a funny grin for a moment, “Cornered I have been, but I always seem to escape just in time for it to mean the most. I hope that made you smile but the reality is this: nobody will be smiling Sunday. I barely smile, and it is only when I am beating those who deserve to be beaten, TJ. That is one check mark you prove to hold significant to. You deserve to lose. You deserve to get served, and while that rhyme was clever – make no mistake about it – I am not playing games with you and everyone you are associated with.†Dreadful tones rang over the large instrument, as Crimson focused his gaze upon his audience once more with a now expressionless face.
“That’s where this leads, Codiar, because it’s rather easy to judge a man on the individuals he affiliates with. Where do we really start, because I could talk all day about how you are associated with losers. Do yourself a favor and read between the lines, asshole – don’t think I haven’t beaten your friends, because I have. Don’t think those who haven’t been beaten won’t be, because they will. It is JUST a matter of time and their time is just around the corner. Time runs out, and so does bullshit – because the real deal remains forever, and you’re looking at it.†Both eyebrows of the wrestler raised with expression, as if everyone knew what he had spoken of already. As if Chris Crimson had proven it before, but was definitely willing to prove it again.
“Nobody sitting ringside in the entire world could save you from my grasp on Sunday, Codair. Not even all those yes men you seem to have befriended. Oh, but Your Favorite Shade of Red pays good attention to social media – very much so. I see everything, and I have already spotted your own weakness. I mean, besides the fact that you’re already not that great, you decide to be friends with others who are at that level. Is it because you feel better in a herd of mediocrity, Codair? Are you that type of a big bad wrestler? You’re barely a man, because real men walk their own path – you’ve just been following others, and it will be my upmost pleasure to put you down in front of everyone.â€
“And don’t believe all the naysayers either, Codair. I am ten times as good as any credit they would like to cough up, but that is where the line is truly drawn to begin with. The line is drawn on integrity, and since you have shown zero in the past – we can go ahead and chalk you up as just another wannabe. Just a fake, a phony, just like all your friends, but the best part is that you are a much easier target.†Strong emphasis on the last statement seemed to carry over quite well, “This predator likes the bigger prey, Codair. I have made it a point to go after the large prey; the ones that matter – but some people need to be put in their spot to begin with – even if they are a small fish. You fit that bill, and I certainly will be making you into the biggest example one could be.†The Cheshire grin found its way back onto the face of Your Favorite Shade of Red.
“Now – whether or not that impresses someone else, or someone in the back, I could care less. As I said, no accolade is large enough for me, and as far as I am concerned, the so-called champions of Sin City Wrestling prove to be elegant on paper and rather disappointing in person. Nevertheless, you’ve got your shot, TJ. Your one opportunity at the real champion of this business, but I don’t have a title around my waist. Not like I would need one either, but take a second and think of what it would be like if I did. Gosh – that sounds like the word reigning, right. I thought so.†The wrestler, who remain calm, gave a stern, yet very daring glance but you got the impression his intentions were dwindling down slowly. A slow wane it was, spiraling out of sight and out of mind.
“So while companies far and wide may or may not have been asking you for your so-called talents, once upon a time, of course – I was beating everyone there was to beat. I wasn’t begging for a spot, because people make that spot appear for me. Your Favorite Shade of Red is the hottest wrestling property today, and me just saying that surpasses any irrelevant accomplishment you have garnered for yourself – it is sad but true. I can go anywhere, and I can wrestle anyone, but here you are, TJ. Another basic player pitting his luck against the real deal, but I will be a sport about it. I’ll make it look good, and you won’t be embarrassed any more than you already are when you watch this. I suppose I caught you by surprise. Maybe you didn’t expect this, and yet you thirsted for something a little easier to swallow.â€
“Oh, did I go there? I think I did, TJ. Didn’t you get the memo, phony? I am the hardest drink of them all, and you won’t get back up from taking a shot of this. Maybe you should stick to abusing substances, which I have heard is rather easy to do without any genuine skill – you will be perfect! The rumor is you’re accustomed to that, or at least you’ve confessed to it, so why not go back to doing it. Just imagine sitting at home instead of wrestling someone like me. Seems much easier. Imagine that for a second, because I’ll sit here and wait.â€
Chris Crimson abruptly terminated his intention to create stirring and insightful music, almost as if it were simply protest – the wrestler had an expressionless look on his face. With a few quick looks down to his own wrist, as if he were eyeing his wristwatch itself, you got the impression Crimson was playing games indeed. Nevertheless, the wrestler sat for a moment before his voice returned.
“Right, as if I would give you the time of day. Time is up, old man – figuratively, and literally. I am beyond tired of painting a picture for you, so let’s break it down real easy.†The instrument remained quiet, as Chris Crimson seemed to explore the silence with his own words, not accompanied by his own creations.
“There will always be room for you in a promotion when I am around, TJ. Just like how everyone else seems to coexist with Your Favorite Shade of Red – below me. So huff and puff my friend – well, you aren’t my friend, but go ahead with your usual story. I am sure you will be raging out once again, so much I may fall asleep if I ever decide to tune in to whatever you decide to throw together. But what matters most is the squared circle, Codair, because as good as I talk the talk – I surely do something even better – I walk the walk.†As if a smile would like to spawn on the face of Your Favorite Shade of Red, the grappler held it back with ease. A very serious demeanor seemed to overhaul the entire scenery as Crimson had a stern look on his face.
“So it’s your move, TJ. The ball is in your court, and I don’t think you dare drive to the rim while I am standing in front of you. You are just too short to contend with me – again, both figuratively and literally – but do you understand what I am trying to profess to you? Its game over, whether you concoct the best available for someone of your status, it pales in comparison to the pure gold I amount to in and outside of the ring.†The wrestler eyed the checkered board upon his instrument, as if he were closing in on an opportunity, “So from time to time the knight may have to beat a pawn, eventually he will see the end of the board, and nobody will be left. You’re the chosen pawn this week, so let us play, but please remember: I said it before, and I will say it again – I play for keeps. Good luck, TJ – you need it.†With a slight tilt of his head towards his audience, Chris Crimson simply notified the ending of his special message with a resonating grin.
3
« 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.”
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