Post by thefeelgood on Mar 11, 2013 21:12:14 GMT -5
As I wake in my bed, I slowly open my eyes. The bright morning sun is painful, and I can't bear it. Rolling over to get away...ugh. My hips. My back. My legs and my neck. My everything hurts. It's been four days. I should not hurt like this anymore. I'm twenty one years old and I feel like I'm eighty. But, what a hell of a match. The roar of the crowd after every fall. The gasps every time one of us flew through the air. The noise every time one of us got hit with that sickening thud of flesh on flesh. It truly was incredible.
There's movement downstairs. I wonder if Brittany is home. I should get up and go see her. But the pain...the pain just won't go away. As I roll over and look at my alarm clock, it reads eight forty nine. I have to get up. Where's my mask? Feeling around without moving too much...television remote...air conditioner remote...glasses...fan....ah. Mask. I hate this thing. It's so uncomfortable. But, that's what happens when you break your right orbital and nose and then refuse surgery to correct it. You get to wear ugly masks. I wonder if Brittany took my second one and decorated it. It's supposed to look like I'm a member of Hollywood Undead so I can be part of their show when they come through next month.
Pulling the mask o...SHIT...that hurt. You'd think I wouldn't put that much pressure across my nose by now. I fucking know better. Mask on. Straps tight. Face is protected. Pulling the covers back and sitting upright, I'm only in boxers. The dresser seems so far away, the ceiling fan so loud. But I need to get up, there's more rustling downstairs than I thought I heard before. Shuffling my feet across the hardwood floor, shit that's cold. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants ins't fun but I manage. As I stand back up and look at myself in the mirror...the bruises, the cuts, the face...I get chills. That was the best match of my life. Ladder match for the title. My first title shot ever. Against two of the biggest names in the company. I was the underdog. Half their size, a tenth their experience. I held my own. Yeah, they beat me. Yeah, I didn't get in many shots. I got my hand on the leather three times. All three times, they double teamed me. They saw me as a threat. And god damnit, were they right...
.:Hardy snaps awake in his seat, thrust back to reality as if he was day dreaming. There's no mask on his face, his hair is slicked back and he's in a suit. Sitting in an office. It takes him a minute to catch his breath and recognize his surroundings. The ringing in his ears is deafening. He looks across the desk at a man in a shirt that's not entirely buttoned up with a gold chain around his neck. He's holding out a pen. The name plate on the desk reads Isreal Reed:.
Israel Reed: Do we have a deal, Mister Hardy?
.:Hardy reaches out and takes the pen. He signs the contract and slides the contract back to Isreal still in the clipboard. Both men smile and shake hands:.
I'll see you at Disorder, Mister Hardy.
Please. Just Hardy.
.:Hardy stands from the chair and walks out of the office. As he walks down the hall and passes the talent of Prestige Wrestling, he gets nothing but side glances and dirty looks. There's a guy dressed as Santa Claus, a guy who looks like he would be better off in MMA, and a guy that needs to shave his beard and get a damn haircut. He rounds the corner and almost runs into a female. They both stop just in time but get very close. She's a beautiful Latina lady, very stacked on the top side and with gorgeous long, wavy black hair. Hardy can't help but smile when he sees her and she returns a small shy, yet intrigued smirk:.
Excuse me, miss. My apologies.
.:Hardy steps out of the way and the two go on their original paths. The camera stays in front of Hardy, who is ringing his hands in front of himself with a huge smile on his face while we see the beautiful girl in the background turn and look at Hardy. As if he can feel her looking at him once again, he chuckles and looks directly into the camera:.
See you at Disorder.
.:Hardy continues to walk as the camera stops and as he walks out of frame, the scene fades to black:.
There's movement downstairs. I wonder if Brittany is home. I should get up and go see her. But the pain...the pain just won't go away. As I roll over and look at my alarm clock, it reads eight forty nine. I have to get up. Where's my mask? Feeling around without moving too much...television remote...air conditioner remote...glasses...fan....ah. Mask. I hate this thing. It's so uncomfortable. But, that's what happens when you break your right orbital and nose and then refuse surgery to correct it. You get to wear ugly masks. I wonder if Brittany took my second one and decorated it. It's supposed to look like I'm a member of Hollywood Undead so I can be part of their show when they come through next month.
Pulling the mask o...SHIT...that hurt. You'd think I wouldn't put that much pressure across my nose by now. I fucking know better. Mask on. Straps tight. Face is protected. Pulling the covers back and sitting upright, I'm only in boxers. The dresser seems so far away, the ceiling fan so loud. But I need to get up, there's more rustling downstairs than I thought I heard before. Shuffling my feet across the hardwood floor, shit that's cold. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants ins't fun but I manage. As I stand back up and look at myself in the mirror...the bruises, the cuts, the face...I get chills. That was the best match of my life. Ladder match for the title. My first title shot ever. Against two of the biggest names in the company. I was the underdog. Half their size, a tenth their experience. I held my own. Yeah, they beat me. Yeah, I didn't get in many shots. I got my hand on the leather three times. All three times, they double teamed me. They saw me as a threat. And god damnit, were they right...
.:Hardy snaps awake in his seat, thrust back to reality as if he was day dreaming. There's no mask on his face, his hair is slicked back and he's in a suit. Sitting in an office. It takes him a minute to catch his breath and recognize his surroundings. The ringing in his ears is deafening. He looks across the desk at a man in a shirt that's not entirely buttoned up with a gold chain around his neck. He's holding out a pen. The name plate on the desk reads Isreal Reed:.
Israel Reed: Do we have a deal, Mister Hardy?
.:Hardy reaches out and takes the pen. He signs the contract and slides the contract back to Isreal still in the clipboard. Both men smile and shake hands:.
I'll see you at Disorder, Mister Hardy.
Please. Just Hardy.
.:Hardy stands from the chair and walks out of the office. As he walks down the hall and passes the talent of Prestige Wrestling, he gets nothing but side glances and dirty looks. There's a guy dressed as Santa Claus, a guy who looks like he would be better off in MMA, and a guy that needs to shave his beard and get a damn haircut. He rounds the corner and almost runs into a female. They both stop just in time but get very close. She's a beautiful Latina lady, very stacked on the top side and with gorgeous long, wavy black hair. Hardy can't help but smile when he sees her and she returns a small shy, yet intrigued smirk:.
Excuse me, miss. My apologies.
.:Hardy steps out of the way and the two go on their original paths. The camera stays in front of Hardy, who is ringing his hands in front of himself with a huge smile on his face while we see the beautiful girl in the background turn and look at Hardy. As if he can feel her looking at him once again, he chuckles and looks directly into the camera:.
See you at Disorder.
.:Hardy continues to walk as the camera stops and as he walks out of frame, the scene fades to black:.