Post by LJ Andrews on Jul 11, 2006 13:17:01 GMT -5
A small sense of satisfaction, yeah that is it, fills the air. LJ Andrews sits silently by himself, darkness cloaking the arena around him as he thinks about the night that will unfold some 48 hours from now. As he does he feels some sort of satisfaction about the position he is in. He feels like things are on the right path, but just as he thinks that he soon comes to another realization that this is all too volatile to take for granted. His been on the other side. He’s been to a Lockdown where you don’t have the freedom to leave. Where lockdown was more of a curse than a name. So, while satisfaction comes from knowing his fate, aggression comes from knowing his infamy. It’s a double edged sword, but someone has to wield it.
Worker: Excuse me sir, we are about to close up the building.
How much longer do I have?
Worker: Well, if you are going to be here for a bit longer I can give you the keys and you can lock the place up when you’re done.
No. My work is done here. I’ll be out in a second.
Worker: You sure? It’s really not a problem.
Yeah, I’m sure.
Options. For so long LJ had taken them for granted. He wastefully used up choice after choice like it was a Ric Flair title run, knowing that no matter how much he fucked it up, there was bound to be another. But finally the choices caught up with him. Caught up with him in a big way in fact, landing him with three years of only one choice. Don’t drop the soap. Luckily he managed to make the right choice every day he was confined into Lockdown, or more accurately he was lucky that he was the biggest man on the yard and didn’t have to worry about becoming another inmate horror story. These thoughts bring The Real Deal back to reality with a crash, a bang and thud. He looks out into front of him, staring into nothing, his hands clasped as he sits hunched over a little, his elbows resting uncomfortably on his knees. As the moments move on sound ceases to exist, except the ever so slight breathing of LJ. This didn’t concern him, because this was a monster he had conquered long ago. Silence was an ally to him now, and that made him even more dangerous than he used to be.
I haven’t gotten the silent treatment since I was in 7th grade. Some little bitch was mad because I got her out in dodge ball. Like it was my fault she got hit in the face. If she hadn’t played, I wouldn’t have had to peg her. Talk about foreshadowing. He we are years later and again I’ve got some little bitch giving me the silent treatment. EZ, it didn’t work back then, and it won’t work now. Do you think a man who’s been locked in solitary confinement for a total of 95 hours in his life really is going to crack because you don’t want to talk to him? Silence is a weapon to me now EZ. It’s the assassin’s best friend, and the victim’s worst enemy. Silence means there is no help. Silence means no one can hear you scream. So play the silent treatment all you want, because it makes my job a lot easier.
Andrews stands and starts moving over towards the exit of the building, noticeably a little less on edge than the last time we saw him. For a man he lived a majority of his life wondering if he would be the victim of gang violence, and the rest of it wondering if he would be the cause of it, this new found freedom was tantalizing suspicious. Walking freely from cells and prisons, LJ wondered about his brothers. About Lucky Sevens. Snakeyes. Profitz. The rest of 187 Inc. No, they were not related by family. But they were Blood brothers all the same. Hopefully they didn’t need his help lately. Hopefully they had turned their lives around from the young gang warriors they all had strived so naively to be.
Hopefully, they were alive.
Life is full of mysterious detours, some leading to the gas station when you’re running on E. Many more leading to the road work ahead sign when you are late for a meeting. Yet no matter the circumstance, everyone occupying the road of life is moving. Each moving towards their own destination; that place in which they seek. They all move like drones as they travel to meet their goal.
The camera pans around and is looking at LJ side on as he lifts his head up and turns towards it slightly as if choreographed before hand.
You see, Hybrid Wrestling Federation is no different than the road of life. Each member aimlessly masquerading around like puppets, their strings being pulled by Sean Hudson. You’ve got my Team “Captain”, BomberJake: HWF World Heavyweight Champion. I suppose I should congratulate him on the accomplishment and be proud he’s on my side. But I think I’ll save my cheers until after he wins our team some points this week. There’s Sean Rage, Mr. Two Chances. For a man with about as much wrestling ability as Paris Hilton has singing ability, we’ve sure seen his name in a lot of title matches. His fault? Hardly. He doesn’t control his fate, just like no one else here does. So I’ll blame the establishment for that. He too is part of this team I am on for Omega Trials. Lucky for him, he’s with me and BomberJake.
LJ shakes his head as he thinks about Rage.
But I can’t complain about the cards I’ve been dealt. After all, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. In my life I’ve learned that sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. And I got very lucky I wasn’t stuck on a team with our pompous princess Summer McCoy. The UN-Limited X Champion. UN-Limited??? Her in ring repertoire reminds me of a white girls vocabulary on that fake music channel MTV. {mocking} OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GOD!!!! But, if her team was supposed to be “the next best challenge” to ours, it’d take a lot more than getting an eBay’d version of The Real Deal to do the job. And by that, I am referring to you Deshaun. You were wrongly tabbed OTB’s resident “gangsta”, and yet you never showed up to handle any of your business in the ring. Tsk Tsk, you know better. You’re giving us real street slayers a bad name.
Andrews pulls his hands out of his pocket and crosses his arms in front of him. He looks out over the landscape ahead of him as he continues.
So, consider this the first strike of the Omega Trials. Because I’m challenging the two of you, Blonde Bimbo and No Show Negro over there, to a tag team match next week on Lockdown, against me and BomberJake. If you are supposed to be the big challenge, then I plan on getting you out of the way early. I’m sure BomberJake will have no problem with this, and I KNOW President Hudson wouldn’t be stupid enough to not make this match. So it falls in your hands. Not because you deserve it. But because you happened to be the first bump in the road of LJ Andrews.
Andrews uncrosses his arms and lowers himself down, sitting on the hood of his car with his feet dangle just over the edge.
See, I’m not like the rest of you. My whole life people have been trying to pass me along like a puppet. Trying to make me dance to their beat, do their bidding, sing their song. I cut those strings a long time ago, and I don’t plan on retying myself for Hudson or anyone else in HWF. If HWF is to be my road of life, then all signs are pointing straight ahead towards three people. One I have mentioned. The biggest bitch of the west, EZ Punk. Wait. Shhhh. You hear that?? That’s the sound of EZ too scared to talk to me. Eerie, I know. But for his formality, there are two men battling that night that are trying to pave their own road in HWF. Deamon Cohln and Willie Bard, pay careful attention to what I say to each of you. Bard, the newbie initiator. Quite an impressive run in OTB, save for your one chance at the gold. This is your chance to prove you aren’t the HWF’s Peyton Manning. To prove you can handle the pressure. Will you step up to the plate in the 9th like A-Rod, or like a true superstar? Knowing you…you’ll choke.
Andrews looks up into the air, thinking for a moment. Overhead clouds seem to be stalling their movement just above this location. Perhaps it was time to get inside to avoid the rain.
Then there’s you, Deamon Cohln. One of the few men I respect in this fed. You show up, do your job, and leave. Occasionally, you interfere where you shouldn’t. Often, you perform as big a game as you talk. Yet, you too flopped in your lone title shot in OTB. Not that it was entirely your fault, but the fact remains that BomberJake walked out with the title instead of you. Now you too have a shot at redemption, against the aforementioned Willie Bard. Surely you can lay claim to the belt that you admittedly don’t give two shits about, can’t you? If not for the title itself, then as a message that one fluke doesn’t define a career. Knowing you….you’ll fail again.
A serious, hate filled look appears on the face of the LJ as he rises to his feet slowly and cautiously. Once on his feet he moves over to the door of his car, opening it quickly and placing a foot inside, but not completely disappearing under its tinted shadow just yet. He speaks, probably for the last time tonight. He turns his head and looks into the near by camera.
So who wins then? Me. Because no matter which one of you claims the United States title first, you only win at making yourself a marked man. Much like I will dispose of the Mime impersonator EZ Punk just 48 hours from now on Lockdown, I will claim the prize that makes me what everyone knows I already am: The Best of the United States. We all travel on the road of life, and some, like me, have taken the wrong turn more than once. But now I’m back on the right path, where everything I have wanted can finally become a reality. And one thing we all know:
You Can't Stop Reality...From being REAL.
[/color][/center]Worker: Excuse me sir, we are about to close up the building.
How much longer do I have?
Worker: Well, if you are going to be here for a bit longer I can give you the keys and you can lock the place up when you’re done.
No. My work is done here. I’ll be out in a second.
Worker: You sure? It’s really not a problem.
Yeah, I’m sure.
Options. For so long LJ had taken them for granted. He wastefully used up choice after choice like it was a Ric Flair title run, knowing that no matter how much he fucked it up, there was bound to be another. But finally the choices caught up with him. Caught up with him in a big way in fact, landing him with three years of only one choice. Don’t drop the soap. Luckily he managed to make the right choice every day he was confined into Lockdown, or more accurately he was lucky that he was the biggest man on the yard and didn’t have to worry about becoming another inmate horror story. These thoughts bring The Real Deal back to reality with a crash, a bang and thud. He looks out into front of him, staring into nothing, his hands clasped as he sits hunched over a little, his elbows resting uncomfortably on his knees. As the moments move on sound ceases to exist, except the ever so slight breathing of LJ. This didn’t concern him, because this was a monster he had conquered long ago. Silence was an ally to him now, and that made him even more dangerous than he used to be.
I haven’t gotten the silent treatment since I was in 7th grade. Some little bitch was mad because I got her out in dodge ball. Like it was my fault she got hit in the face. If she hadn’t played, I wouldn’t have had to peg her. Talk about foreshadowing. He we are years later and again I’ve got some little bitch giving me the silent treatment. EZ, it didn’t work back then, and it won’t work now. Do you think a man who’s been locked in solitary confinement for a total of 95 hours in his life really is going to crack because you don’t want to talk to him? Silence is a weapon to me now EZ. It’s the assassin’s best friend, and the victim’s worst enemy. Silence means there is no help. Silence means no one can hear you scream. So play the silent treatment all you want, because it makes my job a lot easier.
Andrews stands and starts moving over towards the exit of the building, noticeably a little less on edge than the last time we saw him. For a man he lived a majority of his life wondering if he would be the victim of gang violence, and the rest of it wondering if he would be the cause of it, this new found freedom was tantalizing suspicious. Walking freely from cells and prisons, LJ wondered about his brothers. About Lucky Sevens. Snakeyes. Profitz. The rest of 187 Inc. No, they were not related by family. But they were Blood brothers all the same. Hopefully they didn’t need his help lately. Hopefully they had turned their lives around from the young gang warriors they all had strived so naively to be.
Hopefully, they were alive.
Life is full of mysterious detours, some leading to the gas station when you’re running on E. Many more leading to the road work ahead sign when you are late for a meeting. Yet no matter the circumstance, everyone occupying the road of life is moving. Each moving towards their own destination; that place in which they seek. They all move like drones as they travel to meet their goal.
The camera pans around and is looking at LJ side on as he lifts his head up and turns towards it slightly as if choreographed before hand.
You see, Hybrid Wrestling Federation is no different than the road of life. Each member aimlessly masquerading around like puppets, their strings being pulled by Sean Hudson. You’ve got my Team “Captain”, BomberJake: HWF World Heavyweight Champion. I suppose I should congratulate him on the accomplishment and be proud he’s on my side. But I think I’ll save my cheers until after he wins our team some points this week. There’s Sean Rage, Mr. Two Chances. For a man with about as much wrestling ability as Paris Hilton has singing ability, we’ve sure seen his name in a lot of title matches. His fault? Hardly. He doesn’t control his fate, just like no one else here does. So I’ll blame the establishment for that. He too is part of this team I am on for Omega Trials. Lucky for him, he’s with me and BomberJake.
LJ shakes his head as he thinks about Rage.
But I can’t complain about the cards I’ve been dealt. After all, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. In my life I’ve learned that sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. And I got very lucky I wasn’t stuck on a team with our pompous princess Summer McCoy. The UN-Limited X Champion. UN-Limited??? Her in ring repertoire reminds me of a white girls vocabulary on that fake music channel MTV. {mocking} OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GOD!!!! But, if her team was supposed to be “the next best challenge” to ours, it’d take a lot more than getting an eBay’d version of The Real Deal to do the job. And by that, I am referring to you Deshaun. You were wrongly tabbed OTB’s resident “gangsta”, and yet you never showed up to handle any of your business in the ring. Tsk Tsk, you know better. You’re giving us real street slayers a bad name.
Andrews pulls his hands out of his pocket and crosses his arms in front of him. He looks out over the landscape ahead of him as he continues.
So, consider this the first strike of the Omega Trials. Because I’m challenging the two of you, Blonde Bimbo and No Show Negro over there, to a tag team match next week on Lockdown, against me and BomberJake. If you are supposed to be the big challenge, then I plan on getting you out of the way early. I’m sure BomberJake will have no problem with this, and I KNOW President Hudson wouldn’t be stupid enough to not make this match. So it falls in your hands. Not because you deserve it. But because you happened to be the first bump in the road of LJ Andrews.
Andrews uncrosses his arms and lowers himself down, sitting on the hood of his car with his feet dangle just over the edge.
See, I’m not like the rest of you. My whole life people have been trying to pass me along like a puppet. Trying to make me dance to their beat, do their bidding, sing their song. I cut those strings a long time ago, and I don’t plan on retying myself for Hudson or anyone else in HWF. If HWF is to be my road of life, then all signs are pointing straight ahead towards three people. One I have mentioned. The biggest bitch of the west, EZ Punk. Wait. Shhhh. You hear that?? That’s the sound of EZ too scared to talk to me. Eerie, I know. But for his formality, there are two men battling that night that are trying to pave their own road in HWF. Deamon Cohln and Willie Bard, pay careful attention to what I say to each of you. Bard, the newbie initiator. Quite an impressive run in OTB, save for your one chance at the gold. This is your chance to prove you aren’t the HWF’s Peyton Manning. To prove you can handle the pressure. Will you step up to the plate in the 9th like A-Rod, or like a true superstar? Knowing you…you’ll choke.
Andrews looks up into the air, thinking for a moment. Overhead clouds seem to be stalling their movement just above this location. Perhaps it was time to get inside to avoid the rain.
Then there’s you, Deamon Cohln. One of the few men I respect in this fed. You show up, do your job, and leave. Occasionally, you interfere where you shouldn’t. Often, you perform as big a game as you talk. Yet, you too flopped in your lone title shot in OTB. Not that it was entirely your fault, but the fact remains that BomberJake walked out with the title instead of you. Now you too have a shot at redemption, against the aforementioned Willie Bard. Surely you can lay claim to the belt that you admittedly don’t give two shits about, can’t you? If not for the title itself, then as a message that one fluke doesn’t define a career. Knowing you….you’ll fail again.
A serious, hate filled look appears on the face of the LJ as he rises to his feet slowly and cautiously. Once on his feet he moves over to the door of his car, opening it quickly and placing a foot inside, but not completely disappearing under its tinted shadow just yet. He speaks, probably for the last time tonight. He turns his head and looks into the near by camera.
So who wins then? Me. Because no matter which one of you claims the United States title first, you only win at making yourself a marked man. Much like I will dispose of the Mime impersonator EZ Punk just 48 hours from now on Lockdown, I will claim the prize that makes me what everyone knows I already am: The Best of the United States. We all travel on the road of life, and some, like me, have taken the wrong turn more than once. But now I’m back on the right path, where everything I have wanted can finally become a reality. And one thing we all know:
You Can't Stop Reality...From being REAL.
