SPIRALING

Years of terrible memories came back to me in an instant when I saw the UCI Reunion card. Those fuckers. I should've known they'd stick me in a match for the embarrassment of a belt a month after I distanced myself from it. To even have it be the only "title" match on the card...I have so many emotions about this, and none of them are good.

This doesn't even begin to mention the process of researching people for this match. Naturally for Kuno and Umeji, I had to give them a Google or two. Claire I know from being in AW, but these two weeaboo chucklefucks are another story. These two reigned during the time when I began to actively distance myself from this shithole of a company. Everything important they ever did was after I was gone. But naturally, a lot of my searches brought me to the official UCI website.

I tried very, VERY hard not to find anything pertaining to me. I wanted nothing that reminded me of what I used to be. I was not the man...no, I was not that CHILD anymore. That fucking LOSER that came into UCI at age 17 and made a fool of himself. Everything I've done since then has been to distance myself from that cursed year. 2016 was the year the downward spiral began.

Whoever invented autoplay is a fucking loser.

Before I could click away, my first promo, a take on the show Cribs, began to play before my eyes. And I saw him. That...IDIOT who lied about his age to get into this business, pimping out a house he doesn't even own to make himself look "dope."

Oh god, did I actually talk like that?! I know that I did, but was it that bad?! Every new word that comes out of my mouth makes me want to rip my ears off and go deaf so I don't ever have to hear the sound of my own voice again.

I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up from where I was sitting and kicked the laptop screen as hard as I fucking could.

I went to grab my bat. The answer to all of my problems. I began to demolish the laptop into tiny pieces.

I screamed at no one until my voice went away. The laptop was destroyed beyond repair. This must be what it feels like to kill yourself.

He was spot on. I was a mess for the entirety of 2017. Thrown out of my home in Lafayette, wandering as a vagabond, my life had no purpose to it. One day, via pure happenstance, I discovered this group of people, called themselves "The Rats." A group of dissatisfied young people like me, exorcising their self-hatred via violence. I already knew plenty about violence, one had to only take a look at the UCI network to see that. But respect, now that was something not a damn soul was gonna give me. No one except this man, Kirkland.

Kirkland was almost my age, perhaps older. He sat in a wooden rocking chair, rocking back and forth. The creaks were quite noticeable in the sterile, plain room we found ourselves in. He was surrounded by people, all my age or even younger. These were the members of the gang I was interested in joining, and before us laid a rival gang member, tied up and squirming. Noises were coming from his mouth, but the gag muffled them to the point of inaudibility. His eyes screamed fear.

He beckoned one of his underlings to come over. In the boy's hands was a metal, dented baseball bat. The underling handed it over to Kirkland.

The bat exchanged hands a second time, from his to mine. I held it and could already feel the immeasurable power this tool, this WEAPON gave me.

He chuckled, while the rival began screaming even more.

I nodded, and approached the victim. I ungagged him, and his words were loud and clear.

A hard kick to the ribs stopped his soliloquy dead in it's tracks. Kicking was one of the only solid forms of offense during my time as a wrestler, it was good to see that was still the case. As he squealed in misery, I felt nothing for this man, nothing except pity and anger. Oh, what a unique experience to see a man in the final moments before the end of his life.

I took the bat and whacked him with it. In that one moment, I felt like a god. An angry, pissed-off-at-the-world god. And everything felt right.

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I now found myself in ye fuckin' olde UCI Warehouse. God, what a shithole this place was, I had almost forgotten. I sat on the top turnbuckle of the ring, ready as I was ever going to be for the reunion.