Holy Plot ... Hole ... Twist ... Batm --*sigh*

[=Q=]

Crazy, boy ...

You know something?

The absurdity ...

... the irony ...

... the CRAZINESS ...

.... it’s not lost on me.

Haven’t you heard? This is the UNDERGROUND. The Underground, Q. You don’t belong there! It’s full of fighting and weapons and blood and anger and ... rawr! Flailing arms and stuff. What the h-e-double hockey sticks is this guy doing anywhere near that kind of craziness? He’s all about peace and love, some high-falootin’ ideal of non-violence and turning the other cheek or some such.

Truth be told? Yes. I have absolutely adorable and pinch-able cheeks; my Grammy told me so before. And to answer your second question: no. No, sirs and madams ... you cannot touch them. We’re wrestle-talking. And that’s serious, so we have to be serious. It’s serious because The Single Letter Superstar is scheduled to take up arms against Tyrone Smith for the (*gasp*) Underground Title. And you know, from the outside looking in? I can see where it might look ill-advised. Nay, insane even.

Face facts, Q: The Underground is the baddest of the bad. The most blood-thirsty, angry and overlooked members of the Pure Class Wrestling roster. Left to their own devices, a playground for those who can’t get a fair shake from the rest of the world. Whether it be through someone hits too hard. Or is difficult to work with. Doesn’t play nice with others. And yet, I’ve managed to find myself smack dab (no, you’ll not see me do that Dab dance thing. It looks silly; if I need to sneeze then you can say I dabbed when I cover my face. I guess that’s what I’m dabbing: a booger.) in the middle of a warzone against the only person who may be as universally loved and believed in as I am in Tyrone Smith.

... and you’re absolutely right.

... crazy, boy ...

It IS crazy. Crazy that I am in the finals for an accolade that seems sooooo ... antithetical to what I appear to be. Crazy that I’m against a guy who everyone is rooting for. Cripes, -I’m- rooting for the guy! I’M rooting for him. I mean, he’s been an absolute MAINSTAY with this company for years upon years upon YEARS and aside from a few chances to really show people his potential ... he always seems to get overlooked. It’s no wonder that everyone you hear placing their bets are saying the same thing. ‘Q can absolutely win it, but gosh darn it Crazy Boy deserves it. GET ‘EM CEE-BEE!’

First things first, I feel it appropriate to clarify something before we go any further.

The Underground is a de-militarized zone. Absolutely. Come and go as you please, leave bodies and bones in your wake, walk out under your own power if you can. I get that. As far as me belonging there? Well ... no one ever said life was going to be easy. No one EVER said that the path is one devoid of obstacles or hurdles. You can look at the Underground, if you will, from MY point of view ... as a metaphor. A metaphor for LIFE. (OooOOOooooh. Metaphysics. Trippy, bruh.) It’s not always easy. People and places and situations aren’t always the most sQueaky clean. They’re not always ready-to-bake, no-muss/no-fuss with a 90 day money back guarantee. You’re gonna have PROBLEMS. The question is: how do you DEAL with them?

Do you give in and let the tide take you over? Let the water rush over your head and drown you? Sweep you away in that current of Red and pray that you can stay alive long enough to see fresh air again someday when the Haze lifts from your eyes? Or ... do you hunker down? Do you sit there and swim AGAINST it, fight it and shout at the top of your lungs: 'Mr. Anger, sir ... I’m not going to listen to you today!’ Well Mr. Anger, sir ... Mr. Crazy ... I’m not gonna dooooooo what everyone THINKS I oughta do.

I’m gonna do things my way. The way that -I- believe is right. The way that -I- know that they’ve ALWAYS needed to be done. The way that it should ALWAYS be done. And I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure that Tyrone ... he’s not gonna do things the same way that I do. He’s gonna come in, guns blazing and eager to knock me off so he can get what he finally and RIGHTFULLY deserves. He’s gonna win and I’m gonna lose.

Or ...

... I’m gonna win and HE’S gonna lose. And really?

In that case, the people may still decide that I lose.

***

‘ ... you’re Crazy, boy.’

‘Seen a lot of things in my time on God’s green Earth, but that’s gotta take the cake.’

He doesn’t bother looking back at the man following a dozen paces behind him. Knapsack slung loosely over his shoulder, the sun’s rays kiss the bare skin where available. The pale skin having been replaced months ago by a healthy tan, you’d be hard pressed to recognize him. Maybe that’s why the man didn’t seem to reconcile the crazy with the man he’s keeping pace with.

‘Dunno if I’d call it crazy, mister...’

The man stops walking, the sound of threadbare shoes on the asphalt decreasing in volume by exactly one pair as he turns to glance over his shoulder. ‘You’re kiddin’ me, right? Goll-durn nuttiest thing I ever saw! And here you are, calm as a cucumber! What ... who exactly ARE you, feller?’ Q smiles softly to himself, the man unable to see from behind. It’s only here that Q stops. Not to look behind, not to introduce himself nor to offer some long-winded expository monologue. Just for a brief respite ... a glance at the sun beaming over his head. Miles from anywhere and anyone at all.

‘I’m nobody, mister. Just a zero. But maybe, just maybe ... zero’s where the story starts.’

A sly grin spreading over his face, Q nods and begins to walk again ... the older gentlemen against trying to catch. Surely, with questions on the tip of his tongue ...

... with only one man left to answer them. One man ...

... and that’s not the one laying in the road behind them.