You cant Hide Death

It was time to figure out more about my brother. With a black lab-top in my lap; I type away at the computer. My words a minute weren’t too impressive; especially as most people these days would rather type there feelings than express them verbally, perhaps it was the anonymity and false sense of security behind their keyboards. Many online posters claimed that I was the worst wrestler alive; and that I wouldn’t stand a chance against Chuck Matthews when our date approached, god bless the internet.

I searched his name; his real name, that really isn’t any of your business. Game-over is what I had always called him, and that’s all that really mattered. A few wikipedia articles popped up, and while his information wasn’t extensive as mine was, an article of interest had popped up. There it told the story of my brother’s incident, I had skimmed the article, for what it’s worth, I already knew the story, but then a name of interest popped up…

“Tyler Hart”

I clicked his name, and the web portal through me to another website. Annoying pop ups filtered the screen, clicking the X; it was quite clear, I need no Viagra. Ashley Madison sounded pretty enticing, but I had no wife to cheat on anyways. After avoiding the pop-ups, the article finally loaded on the LCD screen, the headline immediately grabbing my eyes, pulling them from its sockets.

“2006’S TYLER HART INJURY ON GAME-OVER ROOT OF CAUSE; TYLER HART UNDER THE INLUFENCE OF ALCOHOL LEAD TO RECKLESS ACTIONS”

The injury that put my brother out of commission for years was caused by a fucking drunk! My heart beat kicked up; the memories of the shit hole he had been forced to live in because of his injury, and his refusal to accept my help nearly was all because of some moron who didn’t have enough self reserve to fight back his craving for “just another drink” for “Just another stunt”

This sent rage through my veins. This was the type of behavior Death Angel himself condones, the whole next big stunt, from the flames, to the unmasking Death Angels stint here in the NLWF can be summed up as one big gimmick after another.

I scrolled down ready to leave a 50 page write up about how big of a piece of shit Tyler Hart was, before I saw an advertisement for a blog of his, apologizing from what he had done. I leaned back in my own misery, trying to fight back from breaking my lab top, and shoving the apology up his ass. Tyler Hart however, as no different from Death Angel. Actors with no ambitions in life; whom also put others in danger with ill-preformed wrestling maneuvers. It was quite clear; why I was in risk of dying…

…My brother knows this story all to well.

Still, I think back to the day when I visited his hospital room, long before I even had a wrestling career. His body bandaged up, held up in a full body cast. I still remember him telling me…

“Forgiveness is the only way”

And so, I shut the lab-top. Revenge hasn’t gotten me anywhere, as of late. I held back on my emotions, just like I had done seeing him laying the way he did in that hospital bed, for not a damn good reason at all. I strummed up enough strength to pick up the phone, and give my brother another call, even if it meant he wouldn’t listen long enough to hear it.

..:: Frank Hart ::..
“Look, game…I just want to tell you, I forgive you”

..:: Tyler Hart ::..
“I know”

A voice intercepted, he picked up cutting of the message on the answering machine.

I smiled.

--

..:: Frank Hart ::..
Overlooking you? Bitch please you know damn well you caught a lucky break at War Games. You know damn well it should have been Shadow Demon standing as Universal champion. Your votes were more tainted then American Idol’s.

His eyes remain transfixed on the camera; rain dripping down his face. Thrusting the shovel into the ground, he grunts tossing out a pile of dirt. He repeats this process all the while, still delivering his message.

..:: Frank Hart ::..
You have the same problem Chuck Matthews had last week, every time you open your mouth you do nothing but contradict yourself…over and over again…

You was handed the Universal championship, you didn’t earn that spot. You caught a good gimmick handed to you by Silva and you weaseled it into a Universal championship. Just like the No Limit Championship, you was handed that championship as well. For crying out load did you ever earn anything here Death Angel?

His eyes are as sharp as ever, his words trying to cut wholes through his nemesis, but even he knows Death Angel doesn’t have any skin left. The man is running on his last wheel, breathing his last breath, no heart, no soul, just soon to be scattered bones. Thrusting his modern day sword, he continues to carve a whole into the earth, his destination still unknown.

..:: Frank Hart ::..
Didn’t think so. So for you to stand there and try to belittle me and my accomplishments is just plain stupid. Scratch that, it’s a form of career suicide. Because unlike yourself Death, I earned EVERYTHING! I was handed NOTHING! I had to fight ten times harder after Tails left my ass. I had to face Mexican Samurai and Keith Cunningham just to be crowned the North American Championship, and lets not forget the hell I went through just to become No Limit champion. Can you honestly give me one match where you had to work for a damn victory? I already exposed your win at War Games to be nothing more then tainted!

But by all means, keep talking. Keep feeding me everything I need to succeed. I need something to hate to keep me happy. To keep me focused, to keep me motivated. You can bring me these emotions. You Death Angel, love fooling the entire world. As long as I hate you, as long as Chuck hates you, you remain in the spotlight.

Death Angel, don’t bullshit me. You crave the light just as much as I do. It took you an offer, a handshake, a midcard push at Legacy dangling in-front of your face before you lifted your head and wrapped your lips around the offer. For someone who isn’t craving the spotlight, that sure is one juggernaut brand to take on. Its why you’ve been passed between Brand to brand more times then Britney Spears at the local trailer park! It’s why you were one of the founding fathers of the Asylum. You need the attention. Your not some emo kid, you’re the total opposite, your not hiding from society, you want to be the center of everything.

Covered in dirt, grime and mud; the rain storms down upon him, washing away most of the earth’s filth. Tossing the shovel to the side, he looks down into the grave he had dug up. Turning to the side, it is then discovered that a second grave had actually been dug. Throwing his hands in the air, he closes his eyes.

..:: Frank Hart ::..
You sold your honor, respect, and loyalty to Havoc for a shot at representing something. You didn’t just shake hands with the devil; you rolled over and sucked his dick! See, I maybe a piece of shit, but I’m not a piece of shit for a lousy price. I’m a piece of shit, because I stay true to myself. I cannot be bought out; I don’t even have a soul to sell.

Death, let’s cut the bullshit. You can grab your sharpest pen; you will draw no sympathy from me. All along, you’ve painted me as the bad guy. As if I am damaged goods, whom skipped out on morale cleansing, pissing in the holy water just for kicks, but we know as well as you do that beyond your hidden persona, your slut wife who was passed around like a damn chairty, and the struggling family man you appear to be; you have that same nothingness flowing through your veins that I have. It’ll only take one freak accident with that bitch of yours involved, to send your entire life spiraling down; after all I know the rotations better than anyone.

..:: Frank Hart ::..
You’re as a broken man as I am. You are a splitting image of me. There is no other person on this planet, that is more alike to me then you are. Yet, rather accepting this; you paint yourself over with colors that eventually will wash away. To hide your pain, you wear a mask. You surround yourself by good men and women, because acceptance from those ignorant sheep is the only thing that keeps you and me different. Where’s Havoc now? You’ve ditched him, left him in the lurch; Havoc was better off that way. Even while he never won a match with mentioning, he was twice the man you are, even while dickless.

He lowers his head; shaking it in pity. Frank walks over to the smaller grave; spitting down upon it, looking back at the camera

..:: Frank Hart ::..
You know where we are tonight, Death. The grave yard in which Sarah lays ‘’in peace’’. Let me ask you something, Death. Why is this fair? Why can Sarah, your wife rest in pace, after what you did to her? Why is it that she can shut her eyes, and escape this world, yet here you are, plaguing my ring. You call this shit fucking justice?

…Yet I forgive you.

Well, D.A. you liberal piece of shit. I hope you can forgive ME for what I am I going to do on our special night. Your plan will backfire. I didn’t get this far to lose when all the chips are on the line, to lose when it most matters. Death Angel, after our night, you will LAY with the people whom you whine about the most. You will lay with your Wife, six feet under, where the lot of you belongs.

So there’s only one question…

We span out to see Frank raising a the muddy shovel in the air; two gaping wholes beside him, and with that, a smile

..:: Frank Hart ::..
Who do you want to be buried with? Your Wife or your unborn son?

Take your time; choose wisely.

..:: END ::..