11-12-2018, 03:53 PM
EPISODE 7
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The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell
I’ve been down this road before.
The miles of concrete split by a single yellow line stretch out for miles into the darkness, and I just keep driving hoping to see the end of it. I get lost in the darkness ahead of me.
I glance away from the road for a moment to search my phone’s music player and hit shuffle. The bluetooth connection sends the chorus of Whitesnake’s ‘Here I Go Again’ through the car speakers and I exhale and shut the car stereo off.
Too on the nose.
It’s me and the darkness, and the steady hum of the Ford Focus’ engine. I know, it’s not glamorous, but I’m not exactly upper tier in the SCW talent pool. Performances like mine of late don’t exactly net you bonus pay enough to even rent a Lamborghini. I’m slowly becoming the thing I set out not to be: middle of the road, mediocre, common, just like anyone else, nobody you pay attention to, good enough for B-List status.
I should be a champion. It should have been me facing Selena Frost, not Owen Cruze. It should have been me. I’ve earned this. I’ve come farther faster and I’m still nowhere I want to be.
Why does it seem like even when I win I lose?
I got signed. I started over. Right at the bottom. I signed the contract of my life with the company I dreamed of working for since I first started eight years ago. And here I am, three months in, still at the bottom, no further along than when I started.
Cracks are beginning to show.
The cell phone buzzes on the car seat and I look at the screen. It’s Shannon, my son’s guardian and carer while I’m on the road.
I don’t have time for that, right now.
I’ve got bigger fish to fry. The road in front of me unfurls, winds and curls. It’s endless.
What if I drove the car off the road, into the ditch, or over the cliffs to my right?
Would anyone notice I were missing?
Would SCW care, or would they replace me with another low to mid card talent with the same face and loads more potential?
The officer at the side of the road waves his arm to direct traffic past the flaming wreckage of the accident I’m considering making. Move along, nothing to see here, folks.
She’s done.
My fingers grip the steering wheel and I press my foot down on the pedal, my eyes peering into the darkness in front of me determined to keep going.
It’s just that I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.
I met this guy, out of the blue. Jack Hugg. Said he used to wrestle. Said he was familiar with SCW. Said he liked what he saw in me. And then, after one loss, he walked away. Told me I wasn’t what he was looking for. Rejected. By some guy already scraping the bottom of the barrel. He approached me, I didn’t call him up and tell him to scout my performances. I’ve been managing my own career just fine, thank you very much.
But I’m not.
Am I?
The engine revs and purrs at a steady buck twenty threatening to inch up to one thirty as my foot presses down on the pedal.
One veer to the right and steel crashes through guardrail and the car free-falls, a senton bomb into the water below. Crash and burn.
Slayter McKinney’s career and life come to an end in poetic fashion no one cares to turn into a poem.
The phone on the seat buzzes again.
“Dammit.” I growl and flip the screen over so I don’t have to see it.
My son’s Dylan. He’s 8 verging on 9. Shannon took him to the doctor in my stead. I need to work my way through this.
I’ve got a career to resuscitate.
I’ve done it before, you know?
Look at me now.
The engine hums, as my foot depresses the pedal.
Okay, that’s depressing.
No. No don’t think on the past. Only the present and where I’m headed. The darkness in front of me. The road that I’ve yet to travel.
The Ford picks up gas yet again.
Scarlet Grey. That’s who is in front of me.
Not Jack Hugg. Some old guy who walked out of my life as quickly as he’d come. Who cares? That rejection is nothing. Nothing compared to missing out on Selena Frost. I beat Konrad Raab. I could’ve gotten past Owen Cruze. I could’ve taken Selena Frost.
But there’s always a next time.
All I’ve got to do is get through Scarlet Grey.
My mind’s an encyclopedia of Scarlet Grey right now.
I can tell you anything off the top of my head. I’ve been watching her tape, reading her bio, looking ahead.
She’s six foot. No kicks to the head unless I want to take that risk. Beware the foreign object. She’s not averse to its use. You got this, Slayter. You got this.
Slay, queen, slay.
My foot hits the gas as I take a winding turn and feel my heart soar. It’s either over or it keeps going. One wrong turn.
Move along, folks, nothing to see here.
I decide.
The phone buzzes and I angrily lift it to glare at the screen to see what I already know: Shannon is texting. As I hold it the phone starts to ring. She’s calling me now. I hit the phone’s off, and let it slump back down to the seat and press the pedal down to its limit.
I don’t want to go back there, to being the single mother with child. I had a job, you know? A stupid job. Grocery clerk. Worked evenings doing retail sales at a department store. Left me dead inside.
I don’t want to be just momma Slayter. I want to be Selena Frost. I want to be Sienna Swan. I want to be bigger than the both of them put together. I deserve that.
I sweated through years of nothingness and emptiness. I didn’t do it to be at the bottom rung of this ladder. I won’t stay here. I can’t stay here. It’s too important.
The phone rings again.
“Fuck off, Shannon!” I growl and feel my feet easing up off the pedal. The tires kick up dust as I let the vehicle veer onto the shoulder and come to a full stop.
“Nine times out of Ten I’m there for Dylan,” I blurt to myself, to the Shannon that’s not here. “Nine times out of ten, Shannon. All I ask is for one fucking minute’s worth of peace to clear my head. This is important.’’ There’s no one here, but by now the words are flowing and my mouth is ranting, and the words are sprawling out in front of me like the endless highway. “My career, which I’ve put on hold for that damn kid, is important. I am important. I need this. I need it. Dylan, and you, and whatever’s so GOD DAMN important can wait for just one. Fucking. Second.”
My fingers are squeezing the soft rubber grip of the steering wheel and I’m staring out into the night, and the car’s not moving anymore. Just idling. Only my mouth is moving now. It’s like I’ve put on the gas. This needs to spill out.
“All his life it’s been about him. This is my time. It’s about ME. I have worked my ass, Shannon. You think I want this? To be stuck here? In one place. Watching the line move ahead of me. People I could have beaten. And I didn’t. It’s been eight years, and I finally come back to this and it’s like I keep standing in one damn place! I’m through putting my life on hold for that fucking kid!”
Deep breath.
Another.
And another.
Calmly now, I lift the cell phone up to my face, and wince at the brightness of the screen before beginning to tap out a message to Shannon.
And I set the phone down on the seat and think of myself as I pull back on to the road and keep driving. Just a little longer. I need to clear my head. I’ve got a big match coming up.
Scarlet Grey. I know everything there is to know about Scarlet Grey.
Come Breakdown?
I’ll prove it by keeping her shoulders down on the canvas for three taps of a referee’s hand on the mat.
The miles of concrete split by a single yellow line stretch out for miles into the darkness, and I just keep driving hoping to see the end of it. I get lost in the darkness ahead of me.
I glance away from the road for a moment to search my phone’s music player and hit shuffle. The bluetooth connection sends the chorus of Whitesnake’s ‘Here I Go Again’ through the car speakers and I exhale and shut the car stereo off.
Too on the nose.
It’s me and the darkness, and the steady hum of the Ford Focus’ engine. I know, it’s not glamorous, but I’m not exactly upper tier in the SCW talent pool. Performances like mine of late don’t exactly net you bonus pay enough to even rent a Lamborghini. I’m slowly becoming the thing I set out not to be: middle of the road, mediocre, common, just like anyone else, nobody you pay attention to, good enough for B-List status.
I should be a champion. It should have been me facing Selena Frost, not Owen Cruze. It should have been me. I’ve earned this. I’ve come farther faster and I’m still nowhere I want to be.
Why does it seem like even when I win I lose?
I got signed. I started over. Right at the bottom. I signed the contract of my life with the company I dreamed of working for since I first started eight years ago. And here I am, three months in, still at the bottom, no further along than when I started.
Cracks are beginning to show.
The cell phone buzzes on the car seat and I look at the screen. It’s Shannon, my son’s guardian and carer while I’m on the road.
I don’t have time for that, right now.
I’ve got bigger fish to fry. The road in front of me unfurls, winds and curls. It’s endless.
What if I drove the car off the road, into the ditch, or over the cliffs to my right?
Would anyone notice I were missing?
Would SCW care, or would they replace me with another low to mid card talent with the same face and loads more potential?
The officer at the side of the road waves his arm to direct traffic past the flaming wreckage of the accident I’m considering making. Move along, nothing to see here, folks.
She’s done.
My fingers grip the steering wheel and I press my foot down on the pedal, my eyes peering into the darkness in front of me determined to keep going.
It’s just that I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.
I met this guy, out of the blue. Jack Hugg. Said he used to wrestle. Said he was familiar with SCW. Said he liked what he saw in me. And then, after one loss, he walked away. Told me I wasn’t what he was looking for. Rejected. By some guy already scraping the bottom of the barrel. He approached me, I didn’t call him up and tell him to scout my performances. I’ve been managing my own career just fine, thank you very much.
But I’m not.
Am I?
The engine revs and purrs at a steady buck twenty threatening to inch up to one thirty as my foot presses down on the pedal.
One veer to the right and steel crashes through guardrail and the car free-falls, a senton bomb into the water below. Crash and burn.
Slayter McKinney’s career and life come to an end in poetic fashion no one cares to turn into a poem.
The phone on the seat buzzes again.
“Dammit.” I growl and flip the screen over so I don’t have to see it.
My son’s Dylan. He’s 8 verging on 9. Shannon took him to the doctor in my stead. I need to work my way through this.
I’ve got a career to resuscitate.
I’ve done it before, you know?
Look at me now.
The engine hums, as my foot depresses the pedal.
Okay, that’s depressing.
No. No don’t think on the past. Only the present and where I’m headed. The darkness in front of me. The road that I’ve yet to travel.
The Ford picks up gas yet again.
Scarlet Grey. That’s who is in front of me.
Not Jack Hugg. Some old guy who walked out of my life as quickly as he’d come. Who cares? That rejection is nothing. Nothing compared to missing out on Selena Frost. I beat Konrad Raab. I could’ve gotten past Owen Cruze. I could’ve taken Selena Frost.
But there’s always a next time.
All I’ve got to do is get through Scarlet Grey.
My mind’s an encyclopedia of Scarlet Grey right now.
I can tell you anything off the top of my head. I’ve been watching her tape, reading her bio, looking ahead.
She’s six foot. No kicks to the head unless I want to take that risk. Beware the foreign object. She’s not averse to its use. You got this, Slayter. You got this.
Slay, queen, slay.
My foot hits the gas as I take a winding turn and feel my heart soar. It’s either over or it keeps going. One wrong turn.
Move along, folks, nothing to see here.
I decide.
The phone buzzes and I angrily lift it to glare at the screen to see what I already know: Shannon is texting. As I hold it the phone starts to ring. She’s calling me now. I hit the phone’s off, and let it slump back down to the seat and press the pedal down to its limit.
I don’t want to go back there, to being the single mother with child. I had a job, you know? A stupid job. Grocery clerk. Worked evenings doing retail sales at a department store. Left me dead inside.
I don’t want to be just momma Slayter. I want to be Selena Frost. I want to be Sienna Swan. I want to be bigger than the both of them put together. I deserve that.
I sweated through years of nothingness and emptiness. I didn’t do it to be at the bottom rung of this ladder. I won’t stay here. I can’t stay here. It’s too important.
The phone rings again.
“Fuck off, Shannon!” I growl and feel my feet easing up off the pedal. The tires kick up dust as I let the vehicle veer onto the shoulder and come to a full stop.
“Nine times out of Ten I’m there for Dylan,” I blurt to myself, to the Shannon that’s not here. “Nine times out of ten, Shannon. All I ask is for one fucking minute’s worth of peace to clear my head. This is important.’’ There’s no one here, but by now the words are flowing and my mouth is ranting, and the words are sprawling out in front of me like the endless highway. “My career, which I’ve put on hold for that damn kid, is important. I am important. I need this. I need it. Dylan, and you, and whatever’s so GOD DAMN important can wait for just one. Fucking. Second.”
My fingers are squeezing the soft rubber grip of the steering wheel and I’m staring out into the night, and the car’s not moving anymore. Just idling. Only my mouth is moving now. It’s like I’ve put on the gas. This needs to spill out.
“All his life it’s been about him. This is my time. It’s about ME. I have worked my ass, Shannon. You think I want this? To be stuck here? In one place. Watching the line move ahead of me. People I could have beaten. And I didn’t. It’s been eight years, and I finally come back to this and it’s like I keep standing in one damn place! I’m through putting my life on hold for that fucking kid!”
Deep breath.
Another.
And another.
Calmly now, I lift the cell phone up to my face, and wince at the brightness of the screen before beginning to tap out a message to Shannon.
Sorry. Out of Range for service. Heading home now. Hope everything went well for Dylan at the Doctor’s office.
And I set the phone down on the seat and think of myself as I pull back on to the road and keep driving. Just a little longer. I need to clear my head. I’ve got a big match coming up.
Scarlet Grey. I know everything there is to know about Scarlet Grey.
Come Breakdown?
I’ll prove it by keeping her shoulders down on the canvas for three taps of a referee’s hand on the mat.
![[Image: gbrocLu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/gbrocLu.png)