Post by danellis on May 21, 2006 11:17:18 GMT -5
The Gates Have Opened.
The rusted gates at the entrance to PCW slide open with ease, allowing me to step onto my new grazing patch.
The gates rust even further, like I was an onslaught of water, oxygenating with the iron, causing it to erode on a rapid timeline. The previously slightly recognisable name, Kyle Time, has been rubbed into extinction.
The gates creek in agony as I push past them. Kyle Time was brushed away just as the cool, hardly existent breeze pushes past me. It makes no damages. It makes no dents. It only goes past and disappears again.
I, on the other hand, am different. I have announced my arrival in Pure Class Wrestling with more impact than a spring’s day breeze. A hell of a lot more impact. In fact, I would go as far as to say my arrival is matched by a meteor crashing into the crust of the Earth, leaving only carnage in it’s wake.
Yeah. I like that. That sounds good. That sounds true.
These gates have allowed a burst of energy to enter, like a collapsing star, engulfing the small planets in its mass of burning anger. These gates have opened the way for a surge of unstoppable water to flow through and drown every living thing. These gates have allowed me to enter.
The Floodgates Have Opened.
The wave are crashing through the land, destroying the objects that are not fixed to the ground, swallowing up lonely bystanders, ripping the land apart. I am riding the wave, like a causal surfer, enjoying the view.
The wall or hurtling, destructive rage screams towards the tall standing tree of the North American Championship. Non Compos Mentis sits on the very top branches, looking down from his high peak, watching me flooding at him with a lack of fear. He sits admiring the view also, not expecting much to happen. He believes that this wave is not big enough to reach him. He believes that his wave is not strong enough to knock him off. What he doesn’t realise is that this wave is gathering speed with every second. It is accelerating non-uniformly. Each second the acceleration increases. With each second that passes the height of the wave grows. It began with a brushing of the sandy surfaces of the calm beach, not it is tidal. It is still increasing in size. It is now towering over the little tree and the even smaller Non Compos Mentis. Still, Mentis does not realise that this wave is way more powerful that he ever imagined. He does not realise that he made a fatal error in disregarding this wave as a cool back and forth wave, covering your toes with each pull. He still doesn’t realise that this wave is too big for him to handle. He looks up above his head, the wave not cutting out the sunlight, creating a darkened shadow across his head. Still, he doesn’t realise. He smiles a cocky smile as the wave descends upon him. Still, he doesn’t realise. He thinks he cannot be knocked off. Still, he doesn’t realise.
The wave crashes into him and he is flung back immediately by the sheer force. The concrete brick hits him in the face, in the chest, in the stomach, in the balls. It hits him on his upper back, his lower back and his arse. The wave engulfs him before spitting back him out again on the floor.
The wave carries on, not losing any speed, not losing any furiousness. It passes straight past Mentis and moves onto to the next thing or person to trample. The wave leaves a path or destruction in its wake. The numerous dirty animals, lay on the ground, panting heavily to try and recover. The dirtiest of all animals lies there amongst them. Non Compos Mentis, his head looking up into the centre of the tree he once used to occupy, breaths heavily. He is battered. He is broken. All he can do is lie and think to himself. All he can do now is realise. He made a big mistake. He made a fatal error. He didn’t realise that wave was called Dan Ellis.
…
…
…
…
…
…
It’s Sunday and I usually spend this free time going for a long run before sitting down and watching old wrestling tapes, and new ones for my next opponents. I can afford not to use that luxury today. Today, I am relaxing, preparing form my big encounter tonight. The last few weeks have all been leading up this day, this event, Collision Course. I have trained and trained until my veins were finding it hard to pump the blood back to my heart. I have watched enough tapes of Non Compos Mentis and of Kyle Time to know them like my own reflection.
I know exactly how to counter every move in Non Compos Mentis’ arsenal. I know what combinations he uses. Which move follows which. He has a set game plan and he never deviates from it. He only has one style and only one plan. There isn’t a plan B because Mentis doesn’t know what is after A. He is a one trick pony, and we all know that donkey’s are only liked when trotting around a beach with a kid on it’s back. When that donkey cannot carry that child anymore, when that donkey becomes two weak, when the child becomes too heavy, that donkey buckles. NCM will buckle under my weight.
I have seen Kyle Time in action. Impressive for someone as fake as she is. I have seen the tapes time and time again. Rewind after rewind. Memorizing each move. Memorizing each counter. Memorizing where she pauses. Memorizing where her weaknesses are. I have you implanted in my brain Kylie. Although, it doesn’t take much brainpower. You don’t exactly have an arsenal of moves do you?
Today, I don’t have to worry about watching the tapes. That is covered. All I want to do today is relax and wait for the moment I step into the ring with Mentis and Time.
I pull up outside my dad’s house. It’s a house that I would love to own. The beautiful architecture, the columns and horizontal beams and the white stonewash finish the bricks. A perfect suburban family home. My dad has done well for himself after being in debt over year ago. The PCW are paying him well.
Today my dad has invited me over for a Sunday meal with the rest of the family. Just the environment I need to be in to calm me down and take my mind off things.
I knock on the door and my mother answers with a huge smile of happiness.
“Daniel” She says through her gleaming grin before clutching me in an embrace. She holds on tightly to me, having not seen me for the best part of a week. My mother does get rather emotional at the slightest thing.
“Come in. Come in. I’m just cooking dinner, it should be ready soon.”
I wipe my feet on the door mat and close the grand front door shut. I talk through the hallway with my mother.
“What is for dinner then?”
“You’re favourite. Turbot, honeyed parsnip mash and fresh green beans. I remember when you were about 13 and you taught me how to make parsnip mash. You always were a good little cook.”
The compulsory mothers words to make me feel special.
“Go through to the lounge. Your father and Rick are both in there.”
She darts off towards the kitchen as I make my way into the lounge. There, on the large maroon leather couches, sat across from one another are indeed my father, on the right and my brother, Richard, or as I like to call him, Dick, on the left. I enter through the arched entrance and both catch a glimpse of me.
“Ah, Dan. How are you?” My dad gets to his feet and comes across to me, capturing me in a manly hug.
“I’m alright Dad. You?”
“I’m great son, I’m great.” He releases me and I go across to Rick. We’ve never really been close brothers. We don’t involve ourselves with brotherly hugging, just a handshake will do.
“Dick” I nod to say hello. He refuses to shake my hand.
“Hey. I keep telling you. Don’t call me that.”
Oh man. I remember when I used to call him Dick when I was in my early teens. He never liked it then and always made a huge deal about it, often falling out with me for days on end if I mentioned it. I always mentioned it just so I didn’t have to talk to him.
“Oh bloody hell Rick. You really are still the grumpy bastard that I know and love.”
I’ve upset him. He takes his seat back on the couch and his frown tells the whole story.
“Look what you’ve done now, Dan.” My father gives me a telling off, just like when we were kids. I was always the troublemaker. Just because I was the one how loved wrestling and used to dive on Ricky every chance I got. He would be sat on the couch, like he is now, and I would climb onto the arm of the couch and fly off, landing a Dynamite Kid flying head butt on him. I used to put the reverse heel lock on him, just enough for him to cry out in pain. I let out a little giggle to myself.
“I didn’t do anything. It’s him. He’s the grumpy one.”
“Both you, stop it and get along. I’m going to set the table. Behave yourselves.”
He leaves Rick and me alone in the room. I take the seat that my father had left free and look across at Rick.
“So, how is the Law going?”
Rick has wanted to be a lawyer since he was in his teens. He chose to go to University and do a degree whereas I decided to follow my dream of being a wrestler. I could have been an architect. I wanted to be architect. I could have packed the wrestling in to become one and I very nearly did. However, when dad got back into wrestling with Golden Canvas Grappling, I couldn’t leave it. Rick studied law at the University of Manchester before we all moved over to America when dad started up GCG. Rick is now in the middle of a law course at Harvard. Smart-ass bastard.
“Pretty well.”
“Can I ask a question? Can I sue someone for being a grumpy bastard?”
“Shut up”
“Just a question.”
“Shut up Dan.”
“Alright fine.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes before my father comes back in.
“Thank god. I thought I was going to walk back in and see ornaments flying around the room. Come on. Dinner is ready.”
The three of us walk out of the lounge and into the dining room where we all take our places. My mother walks in from the kitchen with hot plates of food and places it front of us.
“It smells beautiful mum.” My brother sucks up, although it does smell lovely.
“Remember Rick, this is my original recipe.”
“Every bloody time we eat this you say that. I don’t care whether it’s your recipe or not.”
“Just saying.”
“Well don’t.”
“Calm down both of you.”
“Just because the only thing you can cook is a sausage roll.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Yeah it is. But they are bloody good sausage rolls.”
“Both of you. Be quiet and eat.”
My father breaks up the slagging match and both of us turn quiet. I took into my mothers beautiful cooking and we sit there in relative silence, only passing comments to talk about tonight’s big match.
“So Dan, do you think you’re going to win tonight?”
“Yeah. I know Non Compos Mentis and Kyle Time like the back of my hand.”
“Don’t be so confident. You have to be cautious.”
“Nah. I’m going on the attack tonight. I think I’ll have more success with attacking Mentis than allowing him to come after me.”
“Fair enough.”
“Although. If I do win, if I get any success in Pure Class Wrestling, people are going to be talking about you’re involvement.”
“What do you mean son?”
“Well, you work backstage at PCW. People might start thinking you have a hand in me winning matches and championships.”
“Son, I know you too well. You only do something if it is a challenge. You want to do this by yourself and I know that. All I did was recommend you to Luis Malave. Now it’s all up to you.”
…
…
…
…
…
…
I finish off the meal and stay for a little while to talk strategy with my dad, while my brother stays silent, not speaking throughout the whole meal. Once the time reaches 6pm I get my coat and say bye to my mother and Rick, before telling my father I’ll see him later.
“See you at the show, Dad”
I leave and jump into my car and speed off to go win the North American Championship.
The rusted gates at the entrance to PCW slide open with ease, allowing me to step onto my new grazing patch.
The gates rust even further, like I was an onslaught of water, oxygenating with the iron, causing it to erode on a rapid timeline. The previously slightly recognisable name, Kyle Time, has been rubbed into extinction.
The gates creek in agony as I push past them. Kyle Time was brushed away just as the cool, hardly existent breeze pushes past me. It makes no damages. It makes no dents. It only goes past and disappears again.
I, on the other hand, am different. I have announced my arrival in Pure Class Wrestling with more impact than a spring’s day breeze. A hell of a lot more impact. In fact, I would go as far as to say my arrival is matched by a meteor crashing into the crust of the Earth, leaving only carnage in it’s wake.
Yeah. I like that. That sounds good. That sounds true.
These gates have allowed a burst of energy to enter, like a collapsing star, engulfing the small planets in its mass of burning anger. These gates have opened the way for a surge of unstoppable water to flow through and drown every living thing. These gates have allowed me to enter.
The Floodgates Have Opened.
The wave are crashing through the land, destroying the objects that are not fixed to the ground, swallowing up lonely bystanders, ripping the land apart. I am riding the wave, like a causal surfer, enjoying the view.
The wall or hurtling, destructive rage screams towards the tall standing tree of the North American Championship. Non Compos Mentis sits on the very top branches, looking down from his high peak, watching me flooding at him with a lack of fear. He sits admiring the view also, not expecting much to happen. He believes that this wave is not big enough to reach him. He believes that his wave is not strong enough to knock him off. What he doesn’t realise is that this wave is gathering speed with every second. It is accelerating non-uniformly. Each second the acceleration increases. With each second that passes the height of the wave grows. It began with a brushing of the sandy surfaces of the calm beach, not it is tidal. It is still increasing in size. It is now towering over the little tree and the even smaller Non Compos Mentis. Still, Mentis does not realise that this wave is way more powerful that he ever imagined. He does not realise that he made a fatal error in disregarding this wave as a cool back and forth wave, covering your toes with each pull. He still doesn’t realise that this wave is too big for him to handle. He looks up above his head, the wave not cutting out the sunlight, creating a darkened shadow across his head. Still, he doesn’t realise. He smiles a cocky smile as the wave descends upon him. Still, he doesn’t realise. He thinks he cannot be knocked off. Still, he doesn’t realise.
The wave crashes into him and he is flung back immediately by the sheer force. The concrete brick hits him in the face, in the chest, in the stomach, in the balls. It hits him on his upper back, his lower back and his arse. The wave engulfs him before spitting back him out again on the floor.
The wave carries on, not losing any speed, not losing any furiousness. It passes straight past Mentis and moves onto to the next thing or person to trample. The wave leaves a path or destruction in its wake. The numerous dirty animals, lay on the ground, panting heavily to try and recover. The dirtiest of all animals lies there amongst them. Non Compos Mentis, his head looking up into the centre of the tree he once used to occupy, breaths heavily. He is battered. He is broken. All he can do is lie and think to himself. All he can do now is realise. He made a big mistake. He made a fatal error. He didn’t realise that wave was called Dan Ellis.
…
…
…
…
…
…
It’s Sunday and I usually spend this free time going for a long run before sitting down and watching old wrestling tapes, and new ones for my next opponents. I can afford not to use that luxury today. Today, I am relaxing, preparing form my big encounter tonight. The last few weeks have all been leading up this day, this event, Collision Course. I have trained and trained until my veins were finding it hard to pump the blood back to my heart. I have watched enough tapes of Non Compos Mentis and of Kyle Time to know them like my own reflection.
I know exactly how to counter every move in Non Compos Mentis’ arsenal. I know what combinations he uses. Which move follows which. He has a set game plan and he never deviates from it. He only has one style and only one plan. There isn’t a plan B because Mentis doesn’t know what is after A. He is a one trick pony, and we all know that donkey’s are only liked when trotting around a beach with a kid on it’s back. When that donkey cannot carry that child anymore, when that donkey becomes two weak, when the child becomes too heavy, that donkey buckles. NCM will buckle under my weight.
I have seen Kyle Time in action. Impressive for someone as fake as she is. I have seen the tapes time and time again. Rewind after rewind. Memorizing each move. Memorizing each counter. Memorizing where she pauses. Memorizing where her weaknesses are. I have you implanted in my brain Kylie. Although, it doesn’t take much brainpower. You don’t exactly have an arsenal of moves do you?
Today, I don’t have to worry about watching the tapes. That is covered. All I want to do today is relax and wait for the moment I step into the ring with Mentis and Time.
I pull up outside my dad’s house. It’s a house that I would love to own. The beautiful architecture, the columns and horizontal beams and the white stonewash finish the bricks. A perfect suburban family home. My dad has done well for himself after being in debt over year ago. The PCW are paying him well.
Today my dad has invited me over for a Sunday meal with the rest of the family. Just the environment I need to be in to calm me down and take my mind off things.
I knock on the door and my mother answers with a huge smile of happiness.
“Daniel” She says through her gleaming grin before clutching me in an embrace. She holds on tightly to me, having not seen me for the best part of a week. My mother does get rather emotional at the slightest thing.
“Come in. Come in. I’m just cooking dinner, it should be ready soon.”
I wipe my feet on the door mat and close the grand front door shut. I talk through the hallway with my mother.
“What is for dinner then?”
“You’re favourite. Turbot, honeyed parsnip mash and fresh green beans. I remember when you were about 13 and you taught me how to make parsnip mash. You always were a good little cook.”
The compulsory mothers words to make me feel special.
“Go through to the lounge. Your father and Rick are both in there.”
She darts off towards the kitchen as I make my way into the lounge. There, on the large maroon leather couches, sat across from one another are indeed my father, on the right and my brother, Richard, or as I like to call him, Dick, on the left. I enter through the arched entrance and both catch a glimpse of me.
“Ah, Dan. How are you?” My dad gets to his feet and comes across to me, capturing me in a manly hug.
“I’m alright Dad. You?”
“I’m great son, I’m great.” He releases me and I go across to Rick. We’ve never really been close brothers. We don’t involve ourselves with brotherly hugging, just a handshake will do.
“Dick” I nod to say hello. He refuses to shake my hand.
“Hey. I keep telling you. Don’t call me that.”
Oh man. I remember when I used to call him Dick when I was in my early teens. He never liked it then and always made a huge deal about it, often falling out with me for days on end if I mentioned it. I always mentioned it just so I didn’t have to talk to him.
“Oh bloody hell Rick. You really are still the grumpy bastard that I know and love.”
I’ve upset him. He takes his seat back on the couch and his frown tells the whole story.
“Look what you’ve done now, Dan.” My father gives me a telling off, just like when we were kids. I was always the troublemaker. Just because I was the one how loved wrestling and used to dive on Ricky every chance I got. He would be sat on the couch, like he is now, and I would climb onto the arm of the couch and fly off, landing a Dynamite Kid flying head butt on him. I used to put the reverse heel lock on him, just enough for him to cry out in pain. I let out a little giggle to myself.
“I didn’t do anything. It’s him. He’s the grumpy one.”
“Both you, stop it and get along. I’m going to set the table. Behave yourselves.”
He leaves Rick and me alone in the room. I take the seat that my father had left free and look across at Rick.
“So, how is the Law going?”
Rick has wanted to be a lawyer since he was in his teens. He chose to go to University and do a degree whereas I decided to follow my dream of being a wrestler. I could have been an architect. I wanted to be architect. I could have packed the wrestling in to become one and I very nearly did. However, when dad got back into wrestling with Golden Canvas Grappling, I couldn’t leave it. Rick studied law at the University of Manchester before we all moved over to America when dad started up GCG. Rick is now in the middle of a law course at Harvard. Smart-ass bastard.
“Pretty well.”
“Can I ask a question? Can I sue someone for being a grumpy bastard?”
“Shut up”
“Just a question.”
“Shut up Dan.”
“Alright fine.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes before my father comes back in.
“Thank god. I thought I was going to walk back in and see ornaments flying around the room. Come on. Dinner is ready.”
The three of us walk out of the lounge and into the dining room where we all take our places. My mother walks in from the kitchen with hot plates of food and places it front of us.
“It smells beautiful mum.” My brother sucks up, although it does smell lovely.
“Remember Rick, this is my original recipe.”
“Every bloody time we eat this you say that. I don’t care whether it’s your recipe or not.”
“Just saying.”
“Well don’t.”
“Calm down both of you.”
“Just because the only thing you can cook is a sausage roll.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Yeah it is. But they are bloody good sausage rolls.”
“Both of you. Be quiet and eat.”
My father breaks up the slagging match and both of us turn quiet. I took into my mothers beautiful cooking and we sit there in relative silence, only passing comments to talk about tonight’s big match.
“So Dan, do you think you’re going to win tonight?”
“Yeah. I know Non Compos Mentis and Kyle Time like the back of my hand.”
“Don’t be so confident. You have to be cautious.”
“Nah. I’m going on the attack tonight. I think I’ll have more success with attacking Mentis than allowing him to come after me.”
“Fair enough.”
“Although. If I do win, if I get any success in Pure Class Wrestling, people are going to be talking about you’re involvement.”
“What do you mean son?”
“Well, you work backstage at PCW. People might start thinking you have a hand in me winning matches and championships.”
“Son, I know you too well. You only do something if it is a challenge. You want to do this by yourself and I know that. All I did was recommend you to Luis Malave. Now it’s all up to you.”
…
…
…
…
…
…
I finish off the meal and stay for a little while to talk strategy with my dad, while my brother stays silent, not speaking throughout the whole meal. Once the time reaches 6pm I get my coat and say bye to my mother and Rick, before telling my father I’ll see him later.
“See you at the show, Dad”
I leave and jump into my car and speed off to go win the North American Championship.