Building Upon Ashes Pt 1

Darkness fills the screen, slowly the darkness begins to be shoved out of the picture. The outlining of a long dark oak table is seen sitting in an empty room. Slowly the room turns from pitch black to now only shadows that fill the area. Sitting on the table are three items, all of which have no correlation with the other. One is an old torn newspaper. The ink on the newspaper date back to 2000. April 18th 2000 to be exact. The next item beside it is a Glock 26, commonly known as the “Baby Glock”. Its magazine is seen loaded inside of the firearm, but it is unknown if it is loaded. The final item is a small tape recorder. The tape recorder seems to already been rewound or has nothing on it.

Quickly the camera pans closer to the table sitting in the empty dark room that seems to only be lit by a small office lamp or light source that emits the same small amount of light. Once the camera gets to the front of the table, a hand comes from out of the picture and reaches down towards the table. Although within the grasps of the fingers are a liquor bottle, with the label ripped off of the glass.

The camera pans towards the ceiling as the liquor bottle follows, the liquid flowing slowly out from the bottom of the bottle showing the action of drinking. Then after a few seconds it pans back down to the table and the man places the liquor upon the table. He reaches towards the gun first but then redirections his attention towards the tape recorder. His fingers grasp the corners of the tape recorder as the shot goes black. The picture is covered by a black film but the sound is still clear as the click of the tape recorder echoes.

“The world is an unfair, un-opportunistic, and an unbearable place. As soon as we are born into the world we are already seen or labelled as something or someone. Our future is based upon our past, or to be realistic our parents’, uncle’s, grandparents’, hell even cousin’s past. The world immediately labels us even before we are able to show it what we can really do. Is this a world that we all want to live in? Is labels the way that we want to judge ourselves or even our futures? More importantly, are the labels that are given to us accurate?

My name is Asher Bradley, and my label was that I was going to turn out to be nothing but scum that sits upon the bottom of the Earth. My father was a body guard, not a secret service kind of body guard, but one for a low life drug dealer. He would come home every day with alcohol on his breath and some kind of substance upon his clothes, whether it be of blood, puke, or maybe just the stench of hard drugs. Although his job was related to an illegal business my father still made good money, whether they wanted to pay him it or not. My father was a large man six foot five, two hundred and fifty pounds. He was not ripped, he was not fat, and he was a solid built man that would force people to stare.

Tiffany was a bitch of a woman that I was forced to call my mom. When I was only a baby my mother and father got in a fight and it apparently did not end well. No one quite knows what happened, but did anyone care? No because to the public’s eye she was nothing but a slut that made money by stripping down in front of low life drug dealers. Whether or not she was murdered is beside the case, but no matter what my dad must have had a thing for strippers. Long story short Tiffany was a new hole for my dad’s dick, so of course he asked her to marry him. She said yes so she could stop living off the streets and start leeching off of someone else’s finances.

Anyway the moral of the story is, my life was a bitch! My label was that I was going to be nothing but a drug dealer, a bouncer, or a gangster as the kids enjoyed to call them. My history was based around the illegal drug trade and things related to it. My father and mother never would have met if it wasn’t for a batch of methamphetamine. Hell they probably even were high on hard drugs the night I was conceived. Drugs, alcohol, guns, and murder run through my veins! Ever since the day I was born I have been surrounded by those four things, and I was raised to take over the trade…”

The picture of an old basketball court slowly crawls into the picture as the chain link nets and metal backboards emphasize the income of the surrounding neighborhoods. The outlines of the basketball courts are drawn with white chalk, and the outer court lines are surrounded by brick homes. Seen on the far court is a small game with eight different kids, all between the ages of ten to fifteen. Although the camera doesn’t focus on the game going on, instead it focuses upon a lonely child on the near end of the courts. The young boy is bouncing a brand new basketball, there is not an ounce of dirt on it. The sound of the tape recorder echoes throughout the neighborhood.

“My childhood was nothing but disappointment and abandonment. I would be promised with new things but then once I was given them I was left alone to do with them what I pleased, but what I really wanted was someone to share it with. My happiness was always bought from my father’s money, new toys, basketballs, shoes, but once I was given them I was left alone. Never was something given to me so that we could do something together or even just be around together. Gifts would appear out of nowhere like it was Christmas all year round, but without the bright wrapping and tissue paper.

All I really wanted was someone to share my things with. My classmates would always tell me that their parents told them to stay away from me because of my father. They would say that my family was nothing but trouble and that people that mess with my father tend to get hurt, just like he did to my mom. I didn’t believe it until I finally learned the truth about what happened to my mom when I could not find a trace of any history of my mother. No pictures, jewelry, nothing. Everything was destroyed and because of that son of a bitch I was forced to suffer through one of the hardest times of my life…”

“Hey taint-breath, what you got there?” says a young boy walking up from behind the young Asher. Asher does not respond to the child, instead he continues to bounces his basketball attempting to ignore the child. “I’m talkin’ to you drugee!” yells the boy as he walks up to Asher, the boy an entire head taller than the young Asher.

“Leave me alone.” whispers Asher under his breath as he continues to bounce his new ball. “No, how about I take your new ball instead? You see, unlike you, shrimp, I actually have friends to play it with. Now why don’t you hand it over before I take it from you!” demands the older boy towards Asher.

Slowly Asher turns around to the boy after picking up the ball. He holds the ball in his hands and extends his arms. As the boy reaches for the ball Asher kicks at the boy’s shins and turns and runs away towards an alley way. “You little shit!” yells the boy as he pursues Asher. The boys playing the game behind him stop and follow Asher and the boy expecting to see the beat down.

Asher turns as many corners as he can in an attempt to confused and lose his pursuer but the boy is just too fast and he catches Asher quickly. The boy grabs Asher’s waist and tackles him to the ground. He then jumps on top of Asher and snatches the ball away from him. “Why you runnin’? Did you really think you could outrun me? Your nothing but a little runt that takes drugs all day!” taunts the boy as he continues to run the river dry with his insults.

The young Asher begins to fight back but the boy stands up and begins to kick his stomach. Large breaths of air leaves Asher’s mouth as he is kicked repeatedly.

“The gifts were nothing but a curse put on me by my father. He knew that everyone in the neighborhood would drool upon the money he was making even if it was through an illegal source, no one was going to rat my father out. No one wanted to admit it but drugs ruled my part of town, everyone wanted to buy it but no one wanted to be associated with the ones who were selling it. My neighborhood would shun us from everything behind our backs, but once my father was there in person everything was fine.

I looked up to my dad in a sense, not because of his character but because of his stature and physique. When I was a young child being beating to bloody pulps, I thought about the day that I would be big and tall like my father. When that day came I would then get my revenge on all of the kids that did me wrong. I didn’t care how old or how young they would be, if they caused me harm then they had a quarrel with me.

For years I waited and waited for my vendettas to be fulfilled. Months went by, then years and then finally nearly a decade and I never grew to even six foot. My physique was not tree-like as my father’s was, it was exactly the opposite. I looked like a grape vine, my arms and legs were wiry and thin. I wish that I would have known that I would never grow to be my father’s size. If I would have known that then I would have kept running and now looked back…”

“You like that you little shit? Huh?” asks the boy continuously kicking upon Asher. Blood slowly begins to run from his mouth as he spits up a little bit after every kick. Once the blood becomes noticeable to the attacker the boy stops and turns away from the now beaten Asher.

Asher looks up at the crowd of boys watching from afar, they don’t do a thing to help him. Not even after he is beaten is he helped to his feet or is anyone told about the beating. He is only left there to rot as they slowly walk off and Asher’s eyes slowly fall back towards the cold rain soaked concrete beneath his curled body.

“After years of beatings I found that I have a strong tolerance for pain, well I was forced to have a strong tolerance for pain. Initially the fear that I had was that these beatings would forever live in my mind, and I would never live past those days. As I would get beaten my entire body would stiffen up and I would freeze, the fear of being beaten time and time again scared the living shit out of me. I think that the fear of not being able to stand back up but instead being laid back six feet under was my ultimate fear. I was scared that one day would be my last, that I would not live my life and get my revenge, but quickly I found that revenge would not taste so sweet.

I am no longer the old Asher Bradley from Chicago, Illinois, he was nothing but a pathetic piece of shit that literally took shit from anyone and everyone. He did not stand up for himself, he did nothing to stop the torture instead he did nothing but take it like a little shit! Asher Bradley from Las Vegas, Nevada, takes shit from no one."

A soaring view of the bright neon lights of the Las Vegas strip is seen gleaming and shining upon the night of the camera’s view. The skyscraping buildings tower over everything around them. The camera slowly zooms out from the sight of the bright lights as it moves down towards the concrete sidewalk in front of the building. Once the camera reaches the sidewalk and the sea of walking pedestrians it starts to pan up and down the street. It does not zoom in on one individual, it continues to pan from one side of the other like it is looking for a certain individual. Finally after a few moments of panning a man wearing a black leather jacket emerges from the back of the crowd. He walks straight through the busy stream of people but no one pays attention to him and continue on their merry way.

“So many of these people don’t even notice me. I am a shadow to them, hell I walked right in fucking front of them and none of them stopped to acknowledge my presence. But isn’t that how the world works? People have their own agendas, people don’t give a shit about others unless it is within their best interest to care about them. If an individual is going to work they don’t give a shit about a man in an old Chevy Camaro, they only give a shit about the Camaro itself. Although once the Camaro break checks your car, sending you thousands of dollars in car repairs then you give a shit about the man behind the wheel.

When an individual goes to work he doesn’t give a shit about his co-workers unless they are in his division, work for him, or is in his/her way of getting to the top of their department. Their personal thoughts on the individual is null until either that person becomes a dependent or is their competition. Although all of these people have to have proved themselves as a competitor or have to prove that it is in their best interest to be working for them. No one gives a shit about their competition until it is proven that they are a challenge and that they can indeed take their job, or in my case beat the living shit out of them.”

Asher Bradley turns around and grabs the jacket of another man’s sleeve. The man looks at Asher with disgust. “Do you know who I am?” asks Asher with almost a robotic tone in his voice. The stranger pulls his sleeve away and continues to walk down the street without even give a thought of replying to Asher.

“That is what I am talking about! No one gives a shit who a random stranger is until they realize that he is a threat. You see people continue to talk about their lives with their friends and the good things in life until they realize that they have a challenge ahead of them. Then once they confirm that they have competition then it is time to nut up or shut up. Much like that man, my competitors will be the same way this week at our debut at UCI.

One of my competitors has already started to talk about the UCI World Championship being around his waist, but you see he doesn’t give a shit about his competitors…yet. His banter is childish but it does support my meaning behind all of this. The statements that Kyle “The Child” Cameron has stated on twitter has be hilarious but is not surprising to the least. His antics are nothing but that of a thirteen year old yelling at the top of his lungs at his mom that he is going to be something someday. He may still shit his pants and suck on his thumb but god damn it mom someday he is going to have that UCI World Championship belt around his waist! Which the thought of that is quite humorous if I do say so myself.

This little brat’s focus is towards nothing but getting his dick wet it seems as he tends to enjoy bragging about events that we don’t even give a shit about. Here in UCI, this is wrestling and dick sizes or its resume doesn’t matter once we get in that squared circle. I don’t even know how you got your little ass into the UCI, maybe you paid your way into it, maybe you used your connections, or maybe the talent staff just felt bad for a little brat who cried once he was turned down, but honestly it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. You see Kyle the only thing that matters to me is that no matter how you got there, now you’re going to be in that ring with me on Sunday night. It doesn’t matter what happened, how you got here or who you paid off. All that matters is beating your little Justin Bieber persona of thinking that your tough shit Kyle when you’re really not. You think that you are but you’re not, because you have not done shit to deserve the respect that you think that you deserve or the respect that you’re going to want this Sunday night.”

Asher walks towards the camera and picks it up. “Get the fuck out of here, I got this.” Says Asher as he begins to walk down the sidewalk. “Mr. Bradley, that’s UCI property…” yells the cameraman that is left standing with a bare stand. Asher zooms in on a man with a business suit on as he walks, the vision not focused and the camera shaky.

“This man has a goal to one day become a millionaire, well I am assuming but I think it is pretty accurate. He walks with a strut, his shoulders broad and he does not make eye contact with anyone that passes or walks by him. His physique tells me that he is fit, so he needs to care about his physical appearance and his neatly combed over hair tells me that he is likely from a wealthy family. The job that he always wanted is to finally get away from his families shadow, he is a man that wants to write his own history, but he doesn’t quite know how he is going to do it yet. Although there is one thing that is on his mind and that is that he is ready to crush or make connections with anyone who can get him to the top of that stepping stool. He wants to make it to the top and he is willing to befriend or steam roll anyone that gets in his way of doing so.”

Asher then moves his focus towards a new person. This time a woman, who is dressed in a black slutty skirt and a white see through blouse with a pink bra underneath.

“Interesting, you see this woman is more than likely a money whore. Her profession is not one that her parents would necessarily be proud of. She may be stripping for her rent, or she could even be giving away her entire body to the highest bidder but no matter what she definitely is looking for anyone who will give her the biggest dollar amount. You can tell that she is always on the lookout for “Mr. Right”. Even if “Mr. Right” is just an empty body with a large wad of cash in his pocket. You see her goal in life at one time was maybe to become a veterinarian, doctor, or hell maybe even a dentist. Although maybe she wasn’t quite smart enough to make it through all the college years and struggles. Maybe she was seen as only looks in people’s eyes so she ultimately decided to accept the public’s opinion of her and make a living with what the world thought of her. A pretty face.

You see I just did something that everyone did and that was label the people around me, especially the individuals who people don’t know personally. People are taught that your first impression better be your best impression because if not then there is no way in hell that you will be able to effect what that person thinks of you afterwards. Which is true, no matter if I become best friends with this slut of a woman or this blue-collar businessman I will always see them as the same person that I just described to you. Everyone has a history to their name but the mystery is what it is and how it affects you, but there is one man that I seem to not find out much about while doing my investigating.

This man does not have a last name to him, he only stands by one seven letter word and that is “Michael”. He does not have a history anywhere, fuck he just showed up to the UCI and no one knows where the fuck he came from. I have heard that he is a little fucked up in the head and thinks he is Marty McFly or some shit. He has a different reality from the reality that he knows and that he thinks that the entire UCI is just a dream? Sounds like this fucker doesn’t need to be in wrestling tights it sounds like he needs to be strapped into a god damn straight jacket.

It sounds like Michael needs to be focusing more on finding a doctor for his mental issues rather than preparing for a wrestling match. No matter his mental status if he is in that ring then he is going to be in the way of my goal and that is to have that UCI World Championship around my waist. You see I am not going to underestimate my opponents like everyone else in the UCI World Championship Tourney. I am going to go in the match ready to face off against individuals that are prepared to win this match whether they choose to overlook my abilities or not. If they do then they will soon find that I am going to be a challenge to them and that competition is not knocking at their door, but their competition is going to come on and knock their door down. You see unlike the real world Michael, I am not a coworker to you. I am your competition, you can enter your dream world whenever you like, but Sunday the reality will be that every punch, every kick, every slam, and every gunshot will be felt.

Sunday will not be a dream, Sunday I am out for blood and you better be ready because I have too loaded guns and they are both pointed at you and Kyle “The Child” Cameron. If you are mentally sane enough to understand this than that is great, this is your warning to come prepared, but if not then damn I pray for you. I expect nothing from Kyle, I don’t expect him to even respond to my comments, and instead I expect him to talk about his dick and how he loves to compensate for the size of it some more. But I expect you to hear me out Michael, this weekend at Overload you will be overwhelmed and if you’re not already in a hospital my Sunday. I am going to put you in one myself. You are looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, and I rarely miss Michael.”

Asher stops in the middle of the street, everyone still walks down the sidewalk minding their business. His arm leads down to his pocket where Asher then pulls out a Glock 26. The crowd sees him pull it out and they all scatter as screams can be heard echoing throughout the video.

“I am a threat to them now so they all run in fear of me, and Sunday I will prove to the rest of the UCI why I am a threat to them to. You see the judgement of my trigger finger is biased for no one. So run and hide UCI because every last one of you has a target on your backs!”

The scene goes black.

“My future and history has already been written for me here and it’s time for me to finally end it. I am tired of being pushed around and seen as nothing but a drug dealer. I am no longer going to be labeled a freak or a squirt. It is time for me to move past everything and to start a new future for myself. The Asher Bradley of old is dead and gone, the Asher Bradley of new is now here to stay. It is time for me to write my own history and to make a mark in the world, one headshot at a time…”

The arm reaches down towards the Glock 26 and is pointed down at the table. It then moves towards the newspaper as the index finger pulls the trigger. Immediately the scene goes black but the sound of the rotating tape recorder continues to turn.

“Now it’s time to blow some motherfucking heads off!”