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“In my opinion, a person who can shine can shine no matter where he goes. Those who don’t shine, don’t shine anywhere.” - Tetsuya Naito
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A clip plays of “Godly” Ken Davison fighting an opponent on top of some scaffolding surrounded by some railings. Ken is covered in blood and leaning against the railing. He’s trying to regain his bearings, but there is one other issue, he is handcuffed to a pole next to him. There is a bright flash of light as a flare gun goes off, striking Ken in the side and searing his flesh. He falls to the ground with so much force the pole he is handcuffed to comes loose, freeing him. Blood is spilling from the wound and there are scorch marks along his rib cage. The opponent, busy trying to reload the flare gun, doesn’t realize that Ken has freed himself. In a last ditch effort, Ken lunges at his opponent, but sails underneath a surprisingly graceful somersault. The man turns around and tackles Ken, causing them both to spill over the rail and to a web constructed by razor wire beneath them.
{RECORD SCRATCH}
{FREEZE FRAME}
“Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got into this situation,” Davison’s voice says. “The honest answer is, I don’t know, either. I didn’t ask for the match, much less a day after competing in the first round of the Blast From The Past Tournament. Yet, there I was standing in Gnaw Bone, Indiana in the middle of a Circus Death Match. What the hell is a ‘Circus Death Match?’ you may ask. I asked the same thing. It would seem as though it is a scaffold match where the objective is to throw your opponent off of some scaffolding and onto webbing made from razor wire down below.”
“I suppose that’s part of the problem with this business, promoters will put you in any kind of match they want to. Then there is my problem… I won’t back down.”
The video unfreezes and the two men crash down onto the awaiting razor wire, with Ken landing first. Both he and his opponent lie there, almost motionless. If not for the heaving of their chests, one might think they were dead. The bell rings and the announcer states the name of the winner. Though distorted, it is obvious enough that it was not the name of Ken Davison that was called. A pair of paramedic teams in their pristine blue scrubs rush down with stretchers. While Ken’s opponent is loaded onto the stretcher, you can see the smile on his face as he laughs. Davison’s reaction is much different. Davison waves off the medical team, leaving a pool of viscous crimson around him. He stands up under his own power and simply glares at his adversary, the mob roaring in approval. The video fades out with a close up of Davison’s sanguine visage and turns to Ken laying in a hospital bed. You can see the stitches in his head and one of his eyes is completely black from the damage. Despite this, he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.
“I may have lost the match, but I got the last laugh. As I watched one man loaded onto a stretcher, I knew what I had to do. I had to stand up. I had to stand up for my wife… for my family… I had to stand up for Courtney Pierce. Now, I know the audience watching at home is probably wondering why, at that moment, was I thinking about Courtney Pierce. It is because I had to make sure that my partner, and everyone else left in the Blast From the Past tournament, would believe.”
Davison sits up, hanging his legs over the side of the hospital bed and standing up.
“One thing I have learned is that you cannot hide from the truth, but it sure as hell can hide from you.”
Davison paces back and forth, allowing the words to simmer, to marinate, to resonate with anyone listening. You can see him wincing in pain, though he is trying his best to hide it.
“They say the artist is the one who uses lies to tell the truth. One thing’s for sure: It’s impossible to tell the whole truth, especially when you are talking about yourself. Sometimes the lie is in the omission. Sometimes the lie is in the spin. But there is always an element of fiction, because the talking is not the thing itself - the gap between the word and the moment is always too wide. How honest can you be with yourself? How does it feel to tell the truth?”
Davison pauses, sitting back down on the hospital bed and groaning as the burns and cuts react to moving around.
“I suppose the real question here is this: How possible is it to see yourself clearly through your own supremely biased eyes? However you choose to use this opportunity, think about “the truth” before you speak. At least then, you might know if you’re lying or not.”
Ken holds up a few sheets of notebook paper that had a moment ago been sitting on the table next to him. Though the words aren’t clear, there’s quite a few areas where you can see things heavily crossed out.
“Handwriting is like a fingerprint, a singing voice, a footstep: unique. Each person’s handwriting style betrays as much in and of itself as in the intention as the intention with which it is used. You give yourself away when you take pen to paper. In the age of infinite and instant reproduction only the unique is still beautiful. Ever wonder if our descendants will read our Facebook timelines? Save something for the real world, which remains, after all, the only place where we can really be ourselves. Write something beautiful by hand and you can be sure it will last for eternity. Even these scars will heal and one day fade. When I die, they will decompose like the rest of my body. But my words, they may just last forever.”
“That is why, prior to recording this, I wrote down my words, my truth. I do this with every promo because I want my children to know who I am. I want my students.to be able to tell their students about the man who trained them. When they see my words, when they learn about who I am, each and every one of those words will be the Kendamned truth.”
He puts the pages down back on the table and the camera catches a glimpse of the blood covered pad on the back of his hospital bed. He then reaches back and rubs the back of his neck, like that’s actually going to relieve any of the pain. He has refused pain medicine, as he has always done. Pain medication was just another lie, tricking the body into feeling better than it had any right to be.
“I’ve talked about the truth around here before, and I feel it needs to be repeated. The truth of the matter is Courtney Pierce is one of the elite talents in this tournament. I am one of the elite talents in this tournament. Joe Montessori or what his name is, even he is one of the elite talents in this tournament. Zoey Lukas… well… she’s Zoey Lukas. But that doesn’t change a damned thing to me. Joe Montague, you have a reputation much like Peter Vaughn did coming into our match. Though no one can actually say your last name everybody knows the name jaymont. Just like last week, I'm not going to worry about Zoe Lucas. I am not going to sit here and pretend that I have to worry about anything but your side of the coin.Be that as it may, you need to realize one thing about myself and Court, it's the thrill of the hunt, we're going to kill you for sport. The only reason you are here is because you want another accolade. you want another trophy to put on your mantle. Courtney and I have bled for this company. We have given everything we have for this company.We didn't just Waltz here off the street because we smelled an opportunity. We started at the bottom and we scratched and clawed and climbed the proverbial ladder rung by Kendamned rung. you know that is the truth. everyone knows that is the truth.”
“The question I have to ask myself is do I have the ability to beat someone with the track record, the reputation, the ego of Joe Marinara.There is no question that you do have the ability to back all of those things up. When climax control is over, only one of us will walk away from that match knowing that we are the very best. Of course, I fully expect you to blame your partner if you should happen to fall short. That's what men like you do. they don't confront the truth, they place the blame.Those things don't matter to me. they should matter to you. This should be something that fills you with trepidation. it should Eat You Alive deep down inside. it should make you wake up in a cold sweat, make you have nightmares, because you realize that as good as you are, the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison, is just better.”
The blood pressure monitor next to Ken begins going off. He reaches over to shut it off, knowing the nurses will take forever to get to the room.
“With your arrogance, a lot of people are going to believe this match is a personal matter. maybe it is for you. Maybe it is for Zoe. I can feel fairly confident when I say that for Courtney Pierce and I this is simply a business transaction. don't get me wrong, I've never liked you. but you and I, we've never crossed paths. to see you ranting and raving about something as simple as your name, it makes you Look like a joke. It makes you look unprofessional. it makes me realize that while your reputation as an athlete, as a wrestler proceeds you, your reputation as a baby back bitch has not. The truth is that I was winning world championships when you were still wrestling for crowds of 100 people in high school gyms. you may think you have all the tools, all the assets, to defeat me. I've knocked down men just as big as you, just as strong as you, and definitely a lot smarter than you.Courtney Pierce and I are not looking to make our names at someone else's expense, like Zoe is. we're not looking to climb the ladder in Sin City wrestling. We have been the top of the ladder. We have been the Pinnacle of this company. We are the ones who set the example. We proved that in our first round match and we are going to prove it again against you too.”
Ken stops again, imagining JMont’s reaction in his head.
“I am going to do whatever is needed to ensure my victory. If you doubt me, ask anyone who knows me. I am simply one of a kind. the fact that I'm going into this match less than 2 weeks after going through all of this…” Ken turns around and all of the wounds on his back can be seen through the back of his gown. ”That should tell you everything you need to know about me as a person. See you on Sunday, Joe.”
At that point, whomever is recording cuts the feeds off and Ken just lies back down on his bed, exhausted. He passed out and enters some kind of pain induced nightmare. In his dream state, he lays across the horrible orange and brown fabric of a couch seemingly found at an estate sale of a couple who hadn’t bought new furniture since 1974. With his arm resting on the arm rest, he is surprisingly comfortable. The walls are covered in a wainscoting, similar in look to the wood paneling you would see on the side of an old Station Wagon or an Atari 2600. It is exactly as Ken remembers his grandparent’s house back on Vernon Street from when he was a kid. It was one of the few safe havens he had from his mother’s mental hubris. In between moves, it would always seem as though that would end up back in Rockland. When his father left, when they were between moves, when his mother just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, find a job… this was the closest thing he had to a permanent home.
In his surreal, absurd, bizarre, crazy, fanciful, fantastic dreamworld, Ken still felt anxious, despite the odd familiarity of the room. He lays, arms across his chest, fingers interlocked but refusing to hold still. Ken keeps looking up at the ceiling while he is speaking.
“You have to understand something. I don’t understand how I can fly across the world, win a World Championship in another country, then a few months later drop three matches in a row I didn't even drop two matches in a row last year.”
The truth of the matter is that Ken wasn’t upset about losing three matches in a row. In fact, those were all singles matches against quality opponents.
“It’s like I can’t buy a win here. I won that match against Finn then the new year hits and I can't win shit. I wish Kyra was around. I feel like not having her on the road has made a difference. That makes sense, I suppose. Kyra and I can beat anyone that the put in front of us. By myself, I am nothing.”
“That’s cuz you ain’t good enough for my mommy!”
Ken sits up, snapped fully into this unreal reality by the voice of his stepdaughter Adina. He rubs his eyes, confused. Adina looks at Ken with a look of anger which is like a miniature version of her mother’s.
“You win cuz Mama helps you. You’re not good. My daddy won all his matches by himself. You ain’t good like my daddy is.”
“What the fuck?” Ken says aloud. He places his head in his hands, covering his eyes. The words sting like a scorpion’s tail and feel just as venomous.
“You aren’t worthy to be a champion.”
Looking back at the chair, Adina has been replaced by Mac Bane, the man that had inderectly taken Ken's Sin City Wrestling World Championship from him.
“You aren’t good enough to be a World Champion. You took advantage of me, took advantage of our friendship and you took advantage of what is going on with my wife. That is the only reason you beat me. You knew I was vulnerable and stabbed me in the back. You are not my brother. You’re a Goddamned small, petty, jealous, little man. That's why you won't be good enough to win Blast From the Past, either.”
“I’m not a snake,” Ken pleads to this reality displaced apparition. “I challenged you, face to face, man to man. I showed you respect, damnit!”
Ken turns away from Mac, clutching at his non-existent hair in frustration.
“I love listening to lies when I know the truth.”
“Of course you…” Ken spins around. He finishes his sentence, but slowly, shocked at the sight of Chloe Hawkhurst sitting where Mac had be a moment before. “...know… the… truth.”
“The truth is that you will never be a real father.”
Another voice, another venom entering his consciousness. At least in his dreams, he remembered that his wife was pregnant with his child. The words still felt like another flare gun to the ribs.
“You are a horrible person. No amount of good will ever make up for the things you have done. Just because you adopted Adina and took me in doesn’t make you a father. God killed your fiance because you don’t deserve to have children. Kyra should leave your ass before she gives birth so you'll never be around that kid.”
The words are sharp, cutting like a knife. At the same time, they ring true to Ken. He looks around the room frantically, looking for somewhere, anywhere to run. The four walls have no doors, no windows. If Freddy Krueger wanted him dead, this would be the time and the place to do it. Ken falls to his knees, sobbing. He doesn’t have any words. The walls close in around him, the lights darken, the room moves with his emotions, representing how he feels in this dream state. He cannot leave. He cannot escape. He cannot wake up. Face down on the ground, he curls up into the fetal position
“Know your worth, Ken.”
Ken is once again snapped back to this false reality. This time, he does not hear Adina, Mac or Chloe tearing him down. He hears his departed fiance, Crystal. He looks up, and through the magic of some stressed induced fever dream, sees her now sitting in the same chair.
“A bottle of water can be fifty cents at the supermarket, two dollars at the gym, three dollars at movies and six dollars on a plane. Nothing has changed its value but its place. If you feel like you are nothing, maybe you’re in the wrong place.”
As she speaks, the lights come up slowly, the walls seem to slide backwards into their original place. Even the decor changes, morphing from 1970’s chic to 2020 modern. The clean white walls, black molding and window frames that have suddenly appeared, allowing a bright moonlight through them.
“I’m doing the best I can. I only wanted to make you proud, to do your memory justice. That was always my place.”
“It’s not your place anymore, Ken. This is…”
Instead of the sudden disappearances Ken has experienced so far, Crystal slowly dissipates, replaced by Kyra who appears in the chair, comfortably sitting with her legs crossed, eating a banana and making aggressive eye contact with Ken.
“I told you not to do that, it’s distracting,” Ken deadpans while trying to dry his eyes. He can’t. Where there were tears of frustration and sadness, there are now tears of joy. “Even in my dreams you do this shit to mess with me. What the fuck?”
“You know you like it,” dream Kyra coos seductively. Ken looks over at her baby bump and his face literally glows.
“I do,” Ken says, still collecting himself. “But, is THIS the time?”
It was a dream. Kyra would say anything Ken’s imagination told her to. Ken was somewhat unaware of this fact, even though he realized it was a dream.
“You need to stop doubting yourself. Carl Jung said: “We are not what happened to us, we are what we wish to become.”
Ken realized that had to be his subconscious talking. For all of her positives, quoting Jung was not one of them.
“Listen, asshole. I don't care who you are, where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me.”
“Backstreet Boys? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Kyra smiles.
“With everything we have been through, I’m not going to let you talk shit about yourself. Now , wake the fuck up.”
The room seems to fade away, almost dissolving around him.
“Ken! Wake up, dammit!”
“Huh?” Ken groans, somewhere in between sleep and reality. “What?”
“You were talking in your sleep. Something about the…” there is a confused pause on Kyra’s part. “Backstreet Boys?”
Ken sits up, quickly putting the pieces of the puzzle together.
“I’m a good man. Right? You still think I'm doing alright even though I'm not home as much?”
“Of course, other than this deathmatch bullshit, you are. Why would you ask?”
“Adina likes me? She's not mad that I'm gone?”
“She adores you! Sometimes I think the little shit loves you more than she loves me.”
“And Chloe?”
“It's been rough at times, aside from her absolutely loving the hell out of Adina. But, since you made her a trainer at the school, I think she's showing a lot of maturity.”
“What about Mac?”
“What's with all the rapid fire questions? You want to tell me where this is coming from?”
“I just had THAT dream again. Adina was telling me how you're carrying me, then Mac was telling me I stabbed him in the back, the Chloe popped up and told me I wouldn't ever be a real father, and,” Kyra puts her finger up the Ken's mouth, interrupting what could have become the world's longest run on sentence.
“We've told you, it's just a dream. They don't really feel that way.” Kyra straddles Ken, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. Ken groans as Kyra remembers her man was recently fileted like a fish. “Sorry.”
“And then there was the Crystal part, where said my place is with you. Why the hell do I need constant reassurance, even in my dreams?”
“I don't know, but you need to rest up. If there's no signs of infection, they're going to let you come home tomorrow. Do you want me to call the office and see if they will postpone your World Title match with my sister?”
Ken smiles. taking the time to really appreciate his wife.
“Hell no. I'm not going to back out of Blast From the Past, either. Sin City has been too good to me. Besides, I've got people that believe in me.”[/color]
