(Originally written in February 2008)
The End of
Nowhere: January 30, 2008
Last time he had come so close,
literally just mere moments away from hoisting his third-ever championship belt. One of his opponents had been neutralized and
the other was firmly in his grasp, the Blaze of Glory locked in. By all rights, he should have had the title
won…until someone not even in the match had to interject themselves.
Fate, it seems, is not without a
sense of irony. For while the other
opponent got to take revenge on the man who cost him, if not her as well, the
Anarchy X championship, he was relegated to wrestling someone who had been
knocked out of the Path of Destiny tournament, denied even now the chance at
revenge.
But he would wait. Waiting had become something he was quite
proficient at. Both the man who had cost
him the title--as well as the man who won the title--would be dealt with down
the road.
In the meantime, he had the
smaller and faster Charles Minister to deal with. Luckily, he came prepared to train for his
opponent, and opened the carrier that he had brought with him into his domain. A moment later, two blurs-one white, one
brown-flew out of the carrier with a cacophony of sound and clucking.
Yes, that’s right…he was going
to chase chickens. It sounds asinine,
and it likely is. But he couldn't change
who he was and how he trained.
In this barren land he called a
second home, he had come to discover that sometimes, having state-of-the-art
exercise equipment just wasn’t good enough.
Sometimes you have to go back to basics…and let’s face it, that would
have been enough a week ago if not for outside interference.
Giving the birds a few seconds
head-start, he took off after them, trying to outrun and outguess their
movements in order to capture them. He
likened the unpredictability of the birds to that of his opponent in just over
a week’s time at Uprising in Minneapolis. If he could catch a chicken, he shouldn’t
have too many problems catching someone of Minister’s size. It took about ten minutes before he finally
corralled one of the birds and gently put it back inside the carrier.
As he turned back, trying to get
a bead on the second chicken, he reached down to his hip and hit the “play”
button on his music player. The sounds
of “The Instinct,” the main theme from the video game “Killer Instinct” filled
his head as he let conscious thought go.
Some time later-he couldn’t be exactly
sure how long it was-he came back into conscious thought as the second chicken
was put back into the carrier. Glancing
up at the sky, he estimated the time to be around three in the afternoon. Just enough time to run a circuit around the
edge of the End of Nowhere before returning home to pack, get through airport
security, and catch his 11:15 red-eye from BWI-Thurgood Marshall airport to Minneapolis, by way of Chicago-O’Hare.
As he ran, he cast his gaze over
some of the "highlights" (and the term is used loosely) in this End
of Nowhere. Five minutes' jog to the
east from his cabin was the wind valley that has been mentioned before. Through the valley, another ten minutes'
travel, was the lone trickle of a stream that he drew his water from while in
this barren land. Five minutes beyond
that was the border of the End of Nowhere, where it began to grow vegetation
and become someone else's property.
Turning to the north, he picked up the stream once again as it crossed
his northern property border, and about a quarter mile further along was the
pile of stones he uses for the "rock and roll" exercise.
A short distance away, the land
abruptly ended in a sixty-five-foot cliff facing to the west. There was many a day where he would sit at this
point and watch the sun sink into the western horizon, yet today would not be
one of those days; there was still too much to be done. Now at the western edge of the End of
Nowhere, he turned to run south, passing by a small rock formation that he
refused to have anything to do with, and had done so for the last year. Even now, he would not allow himself to
linger on the thoughts for more than a split-second, as the wounds were still
too raw for his liking.
Another ten minutes' jog brought
him to another area he frequented, as he came to a hill-infested area near the
southwest corner of the End of Nowhere.
Inside one of these hills was a small burrow where he kept a small
supply of non-perishable food for his extended stays. It would not be necessary this trip, but it
was a precaution he took regardless.
After making certain everything was still secure, he turned to run
south, back towards his cabin and the familiar surroundings.
In the distance, he could hear
the occasional vehicle pass by on state highway 22, which was the closest major
highway to the End of Nowhere (and was itself about three miles away). A few minutes later, he passed his personal
vehicle that he parked out of sight of the access road, and was hidden from all
but the most astute observer. He then
turned north, heading back to his cabin, refusing to enter the southeast
portion of the End of Nowhere--again, the memories and wounds were too raw for
him to face at the moment. He had to
lock up the cabin before he could leave, anyway...thus the return trip made
more sense, his other rationale be damned.
After a ninety-minute jog, he
was back inside his beat-up mongrel of a Ford truck as he returned to his other
place of residence in Baltimore. Packing only what he would need for the next
week, he was at the airport by nine, and airborne on time. But there would be no rest for him upon
arriving at Minneapolis, however…there was still
some training to be done.
February 1,
2008: Minneapolis,
6:18 a.m. local time
The fact that it was around 20
degrees Fahrenheit outside at this time of morning didn’t deter him as he left
his economy hotel room to take a very early morning jog. A bit of conditioning in and around the city
was the last bit of training he wanted before facing Charles in just over a
week’s time. If he could acclimate
himself to the surrounding environment (temperature, altitude, and so forth),
he thought that it would be one less thing that could work against him come
Uprising and his match against Minister.
His travels lasted over two
hours, as he returned to the hotel at just after 8:30. A quick change of clothes later, he was off
to the arena where Uprising would be held.
He had been informed by NLW staff that they needed him to record a quick
blurb to promote the upcoming Uprising, so it made sense to him to take care of
things early. Arriving a short time
later, he was escorted to the interview area and told that when he was ready to
go ahead and begin speaking. He nodded
once, closed his eyes for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, and then spoke
quietly, yet full of emotion.
“It is often said that in times
of strife, the true nature of a person becomes known. The gears of war force people into roles that
otherwise they would not accept, and in doing so often become heroes for a new
generation. I do not claim to be a hero
of any type…yet even I am appalled at the actions and the implications of such
in regards to Charles Minister.
“The Third Reich of Germany was,
in many peoples’ opinion, quite possibly the most heinous society we have seen
in our time upon this Earth. So to find
a man, some sixty years later who embraces the tenements of that society and
flaunts it in front of all to see is reprehensible, in my opinion. Charles Minister, I will not promise a
solution to the problem that is your presence in NLW; a dictator I am not.
“What I will promise is that on
February 10th, you WILL be giving your salute as you extend your arm
and tap the mat once...twice...three times because you cannot stand the pain of
the Blaze of Glory. That, I
promise. You have been warned."
With that, he stormed away from
the interview station, not even bothering to give his trademark line. Without saying as much as a word to anyone,
he walked out of the arena, and stopped dead in his tracks.
Before him, sitting at an idle
near one of the rear exits of the arena, was a dark red Pontiac Sunfire. And sitting behind the wheel, staring at him,
was a woman he knew all too well. Before
he could say anything, she put the car in gear and drove away. In that instant, all of the work he had done
to return to wrestling was in danger of being all for naught.
It was her
that convinced him to have the End of Nowhere, to focus there for his big
matches (and later all of his matches).
It was her who held the faith that he could be one of
the best if given a chance, despite the irregularity of his wrestling style at
his size. And it was her who left him for another, thirty-six hours shy of their
wedding.
All of this passed through his
mind in an instant before the name came back to him, threatening to consume his
very sanity....
Brandy.
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