COMING OUT OF MY CAGE AND I'VE BEEN DOING JUST FINE

Dot’s Diner. Quaint little piece of Americana in the corner of a mid-western state. This is where the tried and true folk, the hard working ground roots of what this country runs on continually weave in and out. Locally owned, exceptionally crafted, if there’s one thing you’re getting here, it’s service with a smile. Plus a hearty breakfast.

The well-kempt man sits in the far right booth, away from the other patrons. It’s true, he doesn’t like crowds. The man across from him, however, as he plays with the syrup tray, could care less how many people are inside. Messy hair, tattered clothes, a completely irrational look, even for a place like this that can attract the occasional drifter.

“Pfft,” the chaotic man rumbles, continuing to search through the syrup flavours. “Blackberry, strawberry…”

A pause as he narrows on the label.

“Toffee salted caramel?”

The man raises his head, looking around with a cocked eyebrow.

“What kind of puke is this?”

Ugh. The well-kempt man lowers his head and with it, his shoulders. It’s almost like he’s trying to bleed into the marble countertop in front of him, hoping everyone else is too busy paying attention to their own company, than his.

“Dude, could you- could you pipe down a little?” The well-kempt man begs. Meanwhile, the chaotic one moves his eyes away from the syrup tray, -pretty sure he saw ‘apple molasses’ in there and had to suppress gagging- and up to his counterpart. He witnesses his partner embarrassingly trying to keep a low profile.

This time, the chaotic man gags.

“Oh dude, grow some fucking girth to your pathetic excuse for a penis,” he states, only an octave lower than when he announced his displeasure towards toffee salted caramel. “I told you, Jonathan-Christopher, when you’re riding with me, which you definitely fucking are now, bud. …When you’re riding with me, I let it fly. Deal with it.”

The well-kempt man, now known as Jonathan-Christopher, slowly pulls himself from up and off the table. It helps, too, he’s realized his surroundings aren’t paying attention to their discussion. Thank god.

“Go easy on me, Jeesh,” Jonathan-Christopher replies, glancing towards the syrup. “You didn’t even order pancakes.”

The chaotic one grins.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, too,” he clues in, totally remembering. “You’re eating for the both of us!”

JCH rolls his eyes.

“Of course I am.”

The two of them sit in silence. Well, it’s awkward silence for Jonathan-Christopher, while the chaotic one, complete with his what looks to be a battered and bloodied white undershirt, glistens through the bursting sunlight. He could care less what they talk about, or if they talk at all. He merely smiles at JCH, showing off those ruthlessly cracked teeth. Like he had been in a fight. A fight for his life.

How did they even get here? What did they do last night? Hall can’t recall. Most of it’s a blur until some breadcrumbs will eventually fall into his head later on. Breakfast will help.

“So…” JCH starts but can’t finish.

“So…” The chaotic man says sarcastically.

Hall scratches the back of his head.

“What’s the plan?”

Stunned. The chaotic one shakes in disappointment, a look on his face suggesting now he’s embarrassed to be here.

“The plan?” He can barely squeak it out, he’s so disgusted. “Good fucking god, dude. I’ve told you the plan a ton of times but you’re too scared to go do it yet, so that’s why I’m sticking around.”

Right, Hall remembers. It’s too late to stop the lecture, though.

“The plan is you confidently walk back into Lindsay Troy’s office and you ask that woman to book you. Doesn’t matter who. You tell her you’re ‘healed’ and you want a match. Someone new, someone old, who gives a rotting limp dick fuck. You start showing up again, your name gets in everyone’s mouth and you begin this new path. You’re a former UNIVERSAL CHAMPION, it’s not like you’re some plug. Make your statement. That’s the plan. For the three-hundred-and-tenth time, that is the plan.”

The chaotic man jets his eyes over to the syrup tray.

“Or do you just wanna watch me guzzle this shit? I could pour it on my wad, too. Buddy, I bet it could make great lube for Dor-”

“Jesus! Stop, okay!?” Jonathan-Christopher Hall low-key snaps at the man across from him.

Yet the chaotic one simply shrugs. His eyes dart around the diner, knowing full well JCH was loud enough others could’ve looked over but still quiet enough there’s a chance no one did, either.

Jonathan-Christopher doesn’t want to find out. He buries his head in his hands and then the table again as the chaotic one leans forward and plays with JCH’s hair.

“Better not do that, dude,” he mentions. “You’re drawing more attention to us.”

Hall picks himself up and starts cooling down. Honestly, it’s not that hard of a plan, eh? Walk into PRIME, ask for a match, start wrestling. Jonathan-Christopher’s healed. He’s got a real relationship, too. Vickie is long, long gone. It is a fresh start. He can build his career the way he wants-

“Who are you talking to?” An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice asks, as Jonathan-Christopher looks to his left. There, a boy no older than maybe seven or eight stands in front of their table, looking directly at the reasonably tattered and disheveled former Universal Champion.

“Who are you talking to?” The boy repeats, he’s very confused.

At first, Jonathan-Christopher surveys the diner, trying to see if anyone else is paying attention to the kid’s question. “Who am I talking to?” JC moans as the boy continues to fixate on him. “Hmmmmmmm, who am I talking to-”

The deep red veins in Hall’s eyes start popping out. The chaotic one could intervene.

But won’t. : )

“How about YOU FUCK OFF AND GO SUCK YOUR MOTHERS TEETS!” He snaps, standing from his table and pointing the kid back to where he came from. Of course, this scares the boy straight, he’s already vanished from sight as Jonathan-Christopher sits back down, collapsing his head into his hands again and throwing it all on the table.

Total fail. Everyone is looking now.

…

The chaotic man claps.

“Bravo. Absolutely bravo! That was awesome!” The chaotic one is not sarcastic in his feedback despite JCH being thoroughly embarrassed.

“Can I tell you something?” The chaotic man asks rhetorically before leaning forward and smirking. “Brother, I am ocean wet.”

More clapping. He’s so proud. By now, Jonathan-Christopher wants to die. Thankfully, the diner has gone back to its own business, but no doubt they will be getting timely glances for as long as they remain.

Breakfast hasn’t even been delivered yet.

“What the hell did I get myself into?” JCH mumbles to himself, finally lifting his head from the table and looking at the chaotic one. “I thought you’re supposed to help me. Now suddenly I’m popping off with your rageful instincts.”

The chaotic man can’t wipe that grin off.

“Listen, JC,” he begins, recognizing he has Hall’s attention. “You did a great thing when you killed Christopher once and for all. Yes, I am the polarizing opposite of that simp-ass loser. But my role here is to balance you out, you’re not supposed to be me. I am a figment of your imagination. I am what you think being a REAL MAN is. The complete opposite of a simp. Therefore, I pull you allll the way in the other direction, in the hope you land somewhere in the middle. Capiche?”

JCH has listened to this explanation before. He doesn’t get it.

“Normal. Relaxed. Cool.” Jonathan mentions, poking his head from the table to survey the diner. “Like if you can hit that perfect balance between my voice and the one you killed, we should be sitting here and no one would have an idea you’re at the table by yourself.”

Hall nods ever-so-slightly, knowing breakfast has gone to shit.

“Chin high,” Jonathan smirks, as he locates the kid who visited them a few minutes ago. The boy is crying in his mother’s lap as she occasionally looks over with scolding glances. “You’re just starting the story.”

Jonathan gives the kid and his mother the finger. Grabs his dick as a friendly gesture, too. Of course, they can’t see him.

The figment lights a cigar.

“Now, look alive. Waitress is coming over with our breakfast and she is fiiiiiiiiine.”

Cough.

“Also, if you use any of this fruity syrup I will piss in your coffee…”

—

MR. BRIGHTSIDE A REAL love story A LEGIT friendship Open up my eager eyyyyyyes

—

THE GIRL

He arrives at home. There’s no yelling or screaming, only peace and tranquility. No games to be played inside these walls, unless they are actual games - on Mondays they play Trivial Pursuit, Wednesdays it’s Monopoly. Before he sees her, he doesn’t have to brace himself. He doesn’t have to ask what fire he’s gonna put out next.

There was always something.

He came home too early. Too late. Too tired. Too negative. Too positive. On and on we go. It was the never ending list.

Now?

“Hi, I love you,” he hears her peep from the kitchen. He obviously replies with those same words. It’s amazing, really. A world he never knew until recently. So different from the one before it. The wrestling world will remain the same, this he knows. Full of games, politics and nonsense. Fires he WILL have to put out. But he has enough patience for one erratic environment. After all, nobody would expect anything less when a bunch of acrobatic carnies get together.

“I have your ice bath ready,” she mentions, as he closes the front door and sirens run on behind him. Guess it’s erratic out there, too.

“We should move,” she adds, drawing attention to the noises outside but he shakes his head, entering the kitchen.

“We can stay, I like it here.”

Truth is she doesn’t have a lot of money; he doesn’t really care. He’s due to sign a new PRIME contract in December, a singular one. No valet, manager or “wife” a part of it. He will have more than enough funds for both of them.

She smiles warmly in response and they quickly embrace. She’s been sober for well over a year now, they’ve been together for more than eight months and known each other for nearly two years.

Time flies when you’re happy.

“I’ll take that ice bath, thanks,” he says, moving towards the hall.

“Gym tomorrow?” She inquires.

“Yeah.”

“With Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so glad you two worked it out.”

“Yeah.”

It’s nice he isn’t forced to speak for hours as he enters the bathroom. Everything is organized and then some. Ice bath is perfect.

He smiles… countless time in his previous marriage was spent fighting a war within his home. A 24 hour wrestling match outside the ring. Now, he barely even knows how to fill the pages of his personal life.

He dips into his ice bath and closes his eyes.

From now on, he will have no more distractions.

—

THE GUY

“Forty-four…”

RUAAAHHH!

“Fourty-five…”

RUAAAHHH!

“Fourty-six…”

RUAAAHHH!

“Fourty-se-v-en….”

RUAAAHHH!

“Fourty-eiiiiiiii-”

No. This is where it ends. So damn close to fifty reps but he just couldn’t do it.

“No sweat, brother,” Dan Celetti stops counting, grabs the barbell and places it on the stand. Dan Celetti is a good man with bro-like energy, a guy Jonathan-Christopher never should’ve let go. Of course back then, JC wasn’t thinking straight. He came clean to Dan a couple months ago and Dan, being the good-hearted dude that he is, immediately forgave Hall. It’s something JCH is still trying to understand. This… forgiveness they speak of, foreign to his marriage. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for weeks.

It hasn’t. Celetti is the same guy he was before JCH went out of his way and messed up their friendship.

“Thanks for the workout, man,” Jonathan-Christopher rises from the bench, extending his right arm for a smack-grab+pull-in.

“Anytime, brother,” Celetti replies.

Another area in JCH’s life going flawlessly.

—

THE NEW GUY

Tentatively, yet with purpose. Jonathan-Christopher checks the app to make sure the directions are right. This is where he was told to place the pin but no one is here yet.

Dark. Not a soul around. Empty parking lot. Jonathan-Christopher didn’t expect any different. Still, however, he expected this man to be punctual.

clump… clump… clump…

Finally, he hears footsteps. The methodical crunching of gravel beneath the man’s feet. As Jonathan-Christopher looks left, he sees the silhouette. As menacing as ever. A hollow-like figure, practically bone thin yet muscular, taking up an enormous amount of space, too.

Clump, clump, clump…

The footsteps draw closer.

“There’s still time to go back,” the voice in JCH’s head mentions. No, this isn’t Jonathan. This is a full, conscious thought from the former Universal Champion.

JCH looks down at the manilla folder in his hands, stuffed with papers.

Clump, clump, clump.

The silhouette is even darker than the night sky and yet Hall is certain the man wears white. Jonathan-Christopher swears he hears cackling.

Or humming.

Both?

There’s no going back. Hall remains committed to this new direction. After all, the only distractions that remain in his life are the ones he will find in wrestling.

So here’s step #1 in that direction.

Clump, clump, clump.

Yeah, he could’ve gone back to the communist giant but that would’ve been easy. Sure, he tried to find God a few years ago but the church never returned his calls. He once even tried to pay the leGendary whore but that was funneling money into an open fire.

CLUMP, CLUMP, CLUMP.

This. This is the answer. The next evolution, the real evolution in the Jonathan-Christopher Hall journey.

CLUMP. CLUMP.

Silence.

The man arrives, stopping mere inches away. That wide, toothy grin. He is dressed in white after all but he still blends into the sky. Most others would be terrified standing directly across from him and make no mistake, Jonathan-Christopher is relatively frightened.

He just knows it’s the right thing to do.

“Here,” he hands the folder over as the man’s boney hands open it to the pages he so desires. “Application’s all there.”

“Good… good… good…” the man grumbles on repeat, proudly looking through the information. Jonathan-Christopher and him have done business before, a couple of times. This, however, is a full commitment to do more than odd jobs.

“You start next w̴̡̲͉͗̓͗e̴͕̘̚͜ȇ̶̪̤̿͌͝ķ̶̟̬̜́̓͝.”

His red eye glistens under the night sky and then he walks away.

That easy.

CLUMP, CLUMP, CLUMP.

Jonathan slowly pokes his head out from behind JCH as they both watch the man vanish into the night.

Clump, clump, clump…

“Now you have a voice that’s living and breathing…” Jonathan begins, mesmerized by witnessing the blackheart in the flesh.

Clump, clump, clump…

“I want you to listen to everything he says, he’s been through it all. Death, torment, misery… he will know how to navigate your new direction.”

Truth be told, JC thought he was doing just fine already. However, Jonathan was adamant. While peace in Hall’s personal life is one thing.

It’s not exactly what the wrestling world requires.

—

THE DREAM?

That eight-year-old boy inside that painstaking house.

He stands in the living room amidst a sea of empty beer bottles and crushed pizza boxes. He hasn’t gone back to these memories for some time. Three years, perhaps.

Nevertheless, the young Jonathan-Christopher stands in silence, looking at the sofa and the figure who lies on top of it. She hasn’t moved in hours. Pale face, clammy hands. It doesn’t look like she’s taken a breath, either. How much of that white powder did she inhale this time?

Oh, he’s tried to wake her. He spent what felt like an eternity on top of her, shaking her, screaming “MOM!” into her face.

No answer.

Not even a flinch.

The sound of sirens grow audible. Louder and louder. Help is on the way.

Did he make the phone call? He isn’t sure.

He looks down at his empty hands and then up at her.

A terror sweeps over him.

What if they find out what really happened?

—

THE GOODBYE

Can you hear me, Vickie? It’s me, Jonathan-Christopher.

I don’t know what you’ve recently been doing and I don’t really care. I looked back at the last time I tried to separate myself from you and I didn’t really accomplish it, did I? Your name was all I uttered. You consistently dominated my thoughts.

Allow me to make a promise, right here, right now.

This is a goodbye letter. This is the last time you will ever be the predominant focus of my journey.

You left me, for well over a year now and you seem legitimately happy with the other man. Perhaps it wasn’t your narcissistic personality seeping through our marriage, it was honestly me. You asked me to lead; I couldn’t. You told me be strong; I crumbled. By now I thought you would have left the egg man too, letting your own poisonous, sour yolk seep into his veins. But you’re still together.

It really was me.

Our whole relationship revolved around wanting to make peace and now I see you actually have it. That’s all I ever wanted, Vickie. There is no bitterness. No broken heart, not anymore. I have someone. Someone good. Someone who loves me and has unlocked a whole new world.

Too Hallmarky, huh? I’m sorry, I don’t mean it to sound so… cringeworthy.

From here on, we move on. Will your name come up sometimes? How can it not? But you will no longer be the focal point of what drives me. I am not out to prove you wrong; I’m not trying to win you back.

I am simply forging my own path.

Kinda scary, isn’t it? Kinda cool, too. The character I was supposed to be in this story revolved around you. Most would argue you overshadowed me.

No. No, it wasn’t an argument. That’s fact. You overshadowed me. You were more entertaining. More dimensional than I ever could’ve dreamt.

Look at me now, Vickie. I’ve only put pen to paper on the first chapter… the first paragraph of what I can do on my own. From here on out, if I spend another minute discussing you in great detail, know that I have thoroughly failed. If I fixate on you further, I should and will immediately walk away from PRIME Wrestling entirely and never show my face again. I am not you. You are not me.

You are someone else’s creation now.

Will I be enough on my own? Can I create an interesting solo journey?

Answers to questions we’re gonna find out. I know you’ll do fine. You’ll be a thorn in PRIME’s side until the day Lindsay Troy decides she doesn’t want to do this anymore.

I can hear her vomiting at the thought and we’re not even talking about toffee salted caramel.

But rest easy PRIMATES, I am the light; I have a newfound life. I am a beacon of peace, truth and honesty. This is going to be a real love story where I build legitimate friendships. For instance, look at my next opponent, Daihm. Hails from Scotland. Nice country, I hear. I’d love to live there one day. I’m his first match. What kind of journey will he forge? Will he, too, fall in love? Will he one day become a world champion? Can he also beat Cecilworth Farthington at Colossus?

Ah, the blissful glee of ignorance, in its purist form. I wish Daihm nothing but success.

And to you, Vickie Hall. Goodbye. You can keep my last name if you’d like but know that I am no longer bound to your shackles. I am free to roam where I please. For years I desired to finish the story- your story, but I realized that story was written in stone a long time ago. You were the author and I could never live up to such an impossible narrative.

Now, I write my own book. By the way, the goal is never to finish. It’s to adapt, edit and expand. Sure, I’ll have growing pains. Yet for the author who enters his universe open-minded, he will never be bound to the page.

May we bend and turn with each paragraph. May we blossom and burst with chapters anew.

Our story, I say, is over. And mine has only begun.

Chapter 1, Page 1.

Without you, is this book going to leave readers wanting more? Or will I provide an extremely boring context?

Guess it’s just up to me now.

The story that was meant to be written, finally comes to f̸r̵u̸i̴t̶i̴o̵n̷.