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Author Topic: Brian, Neil and The Universe  (Read 651 times)

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Brian, Neil and The Universe
« on: October 15, 2016, 04:51:01 AM »
What are you supposed to do after you defeat Jair Hopkins? My pussy still aches and while the swelling has gone, there is a shadowed blue. If the worst I got is a bruised mound like the start of some joke I’ve heard a million times before, then I suppose coming out with the victory in the end is worth that. Also, let’s not forget your passive aggressive tweets about being a loser, J-Hop, but we’ll graze over that bit.

I don’t know what else I could’ve done to get your swinging at me with all you had. I mention heartbreak, Anthony Bailey and your suicide attempt – I get an easy pin and an easy win. We can go ahead and say that Dakota had a hand in it, as if he’s already tucked deeply within your mind like Herpes on a Tommy Knox, but we both know I had it won as soon as I stepped into the ring.

As soon as you saw the last promo I dropped against you. You’re right; you should be done, but that’s as far as my opinion goes on that.

With that said, with this being your second loss as champion to prove that you’re not cut out for a belt, I can’t wait to see how boring your match against Dakota is. Dakota, another hit or miss piece of talent we have on our roster. Both of you, Main Event at Fright Night like some long drawn out yawn at a church sitting.

It’s not going to be interesting and as for who wins it? I don’t care. I have my belt, I have a list of things left to prove as I cement myself as one of the best champions to hold this gold. I have a long term plan and it started as soon as I broke the window of some Canadian home months ago.

I’m not going to fucking be part of this dull group filled with people who have no goals for what they hold in their possession. I’m not going to be Chris Madison, just riding out a title reign until I leave. I’m not going to be the “power couple” tag champions who lean on each other with a façade of trust. And I’m not going to be you, losing to lesser individuals and showing just how weak a champion is.

I’m going to be kicking ass, even when my lungs are ready to give out. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. Go big or go home is how its been from the moment I walked into Adrenaline and I haven’t lost a match yet and I sure as hell am not going to lose against Lyza Reyes come Fright Night.

Sharing a headline with something that is going to be an absolute bloodbath as people scratch and claw for the kill in order to get a chance at a belt that barely matters anymore, Lyza and I are going to steal the show. Well, I'm going to steal the show.

I’ve waited weeks to face Lyza; always thinking it was coming before someone else reared their head into my sights to distract me from the fact that I need to clean up the mess that Genie made. Lyza is a hole in the belt I hold, left by a dumb bitch before I could reclaim it.

I’m going to fill that hole, and polish off my gold with the victory and maybe if the planets align and the universe decides it, I’ll take Lyza off of the list of elite talents and show everyone just how overrated she is.


Lyza Reyes is a pretty little thing. The kind of girl to tilt her head slightly when asking a question; whispered, but loud enough for only you to hear. Lyza is a smirk, the shake of a head in disappointment at the behavior of others and a collection of irrelevant slang words learned from nights of isolation on the internet. 

She’s too clever for her own good, too willing to go with what comes her way and handle it. Every joke and observation is centered around current events that makes Persephone realize that she’s been sitting under a rock for the better part of a year.

To be so aware and so aloof, to be so friendly and without many close – the whispered question being “what are you doing here?” as she stares at you with eyes that sparkle past the dull darkness and makes you believe that Lyza Reyes holds the universe in her small frame.

The same universe that she decorated Persephone’s locker room in the image of, the night that she defeated Jair Hopkins. “You’ve been everywhere, except here,” is truthful and innocent in its phrasing. Persephone never has stood within the center of the universe or felt at one with it. She’s more fearful of what it holds, of what it plans, and her heart beat out of her chest at the sight left for her.

Looking back, Lyza meant well, but Persephone – staring at her own wide eyes within a reflection, snapped in a panic and it amounted to a fight between her and Lyza. A fight that had been broken up, and had Persephone drag her feet back to the locker room regardless. The lights turned on with the mystique of the universe suddenly gone.

Somehow, nothing seems as intimidating in the light and the ever expanding planes of reality and the thought of aliens escaped her as she wiped the astronaut helmet lining away from the mirror. Irrationality had led her to throw her fists. Irrationality left her terrified at the sticker stars that glowed in the dark within the closet of her childhood.

“You getting nervous?” Lyza had asked her in slight condescension mixed with a false sense of worry. Persephone was absolutely nervous when faced with the realization that the universe is larger than anything she experiences ever will be, with the possibility that herself and everyone she knows is insignificant when looking at the bigger picture.

When looking at the galaxy, such a small part of the suffocating darkness, she’s nervous that no circles actually exist and she’s just justifying everything she’s ever been through with beginnings and ends. She’s nervous that everyone she talks to matters just as little as she does. With the exploration of how dissociation brings her into nihilistic tendencies, such a philosophy is something she would rather have not applied to those around her, or even herself at the end of the day.

“You feel something warm running down your legs right now?”

She felt the weight of something running down her spine uncomfortably. Her locker room was as good as it ever was going to be, so she had stopped and sat there for a while; the UFOs she can’t reach looming over her head with alien shaped balloons accompanying them. Glow sticks at her feet, her chest tightens with the idea that Lyza doesn’t matter.

“You getting nervous?” Joseph asks, snapping Persephone back into the present. On the television in front of them, is Mysterious Skin. She had come running to him after a disagreement with Cashe. Tired and annoyed, he had thrown on a movie. Joseph, understanding Persephone’s uneasiness when considering the universe and its possibilities and wanting her to overcome it before her match, chose the movie because of its alien subject. However, on and off in paying attention to the film, she doesn’t quite remember how they ended up with Neil clutching his arm, bloodied face on the subway.

“What happened?” She questions lowly, wondering why she didn’t just go to a hotel to escape Cashe’s lack of sobriety from a corner dealer. Maybe, in a way, despite his need to constantly fill her head with a defense and teach her something to help her keep focus to the point of it being mentally hurtful, she finds Joseph to be a safe haven.

However, what a hypocrite she is, leaving Cashe in the middle of the night because of drugs when she can’t remember the last time she talked to him without an ounce of something within her body.

“He got raped,” Joseph explains and Persephone frowns, throwing her legs on Joseph to get more comfortable upon the couch. She doesn’t understand how any of this relates to the universe, or how it will set her mind straight in preparation for her match.

“There’s a possibility, a slight chance, that we are all insignificant,” Persephone suddenly says as Neil strips off his clothes painfully on the screen once he finally gets home to an unaware and sleeping friend. “The thought of that applying to Lyza really bothers me. That the universe thinks so little of her when she thinks so highly of it.”

“Why does that bother you?” And Persephone doesn’t hate Lyza. Cashe swearing marriage to her and Lyza, at some point, clinging to Thirteen, whom Persephone had no patience for, doesn’t make her enjoy Lyza’s demeanor any less. Her opinion on the girl's career, however, is another story.

“Imagine finding out you’re nothing in a place you think is filled with beauty and mystery and everything. It’s not a fair idea. It’s really fucking sad, if you think about it,” and Lyza deserves better, she doesn’t add. Ruthless, brought along with her rat Sweetums not too far away in a cage upon a surface, lies on her lap in a snuggle for comfort.

“Okay,” Joseph thinks for a moment, mulling over his words before shrugging. “Now is not the time to think about this, Persephone. You have a match with Lyza, not a eulogy to write about the death of her ideals. And you know what? Little secret: we’re all insignificant to the universe. It’s what’s happening down here, on earth; what you do here counts.”

Neil smells at a shirt that she’s not sure belongs to him, but rather belongs to Brian, she believes. Brian, who is out there trying to find the truth about aliens, which he thinks abducted him as a child. 

“That’s a little depressing,” Persephone mumbles as she looks ahead at the screen, thinking to watch the movie once again later and give all her attention to it.

“Maybe, but trust me when I say there’s nothing for you out there.”

Lyza is much more enthusiastic, Persephone guesses. She imagines sitting down with the woman, as if they hadn’t fought, as if nothing happened, and speaking with her about everything that the universe might hold for them. Persephone remembers, lying down in a jail cell within the Bronx with Genie sitting on the bench, proclaiming out loud how she wished for Lyza’s company and observations.

Now, Persephone’s stuck facing a contender named during Genie’s reign. She’s left to fix a failure that had nothing to do with her.

The movie ends: Brian’s mind had twisted his experienced rape as a child until he believed he was abducted by aliens. The nosebleeds, the wet bed. All of it, the result of something a little closer to the dirt of this world and nothing beyond it.

“All you fucking losers worry about things that have nothing to do with you and you fall back like idiots,” Genie had told her back in that cell when the subject of the universe came up. Persephone takes a deep breath and decides to let the universe roll off of her shoulders for now.


Since this match was thrown into the air, I’ve had people telling me just how great it was going to be. How Lyza Reyes was going to test me and push me to my limits. I’ve had people, I’ve had fucking Cashe, warn me not to get arrogant over my win against Jair Hopkins because Lyza Reyes isn’t a joke.

I’m just going to put it out there that Cashe has, many times, exclaimed his fantasy of marrying Lyza, so his opinion on the subject doesn’t matter. As for everyone else, I feel as if they’re sticking more to a memory of what Lyza once was, and not how she currently is.

Lyza Reyes has never done anything of note within her entire 4CW career, except for her win against Genie. Here’s the thing, I’ve beaten Genie and I would’ve beaten her at Ante Up without a fucking problem had I been in the right state of mind. However, you wound’t know anything about that, would you, Lyza?

You weren’t fucking there at Ante Up. I can only imagine it was because you were ashamed of failing out of getting that contendership after Hopkins pinned you for the win in a qualifying match that also contained Brian Hollywood. You just couldn’t cut it. An opportunity presented itself and you fucking choked against a guy who I made my bitch last week.

I can’t even say that I believe you were close. Where are your notable wins? Against a nobody named Lola and Maddox Lucien? Dead and gone, respectfully – just like the company where you really made a name for yourself, but we’ll get into that next time. Let’s worry about 4CW and how you’ve done nothing fucking impressive so far.

Early on, you lost to Tara Davidson. Not going to take anything away from her at all because that’s the love of my life, but I’ve literally pissed on her fucking face in order to assert my dominance. I was in her head before I even uttered a word and you barely grazed her with your opinion on plastic surgery and you cheering for the little guys born without an ass.

Thanks for those pictures, though. Love watching a promo only to have a random image pop up in the middle of it for no fucking reason as if we need a visual for something that is already fucking visual.

Point is, Tara had history before you; her list of weaknesses just continues to grow and was existent when you faced her one on one, but you didn’t even look past an online bio on some fucking website to figure that out, huh? Surprised you even knew she called herself The Red Queen, or is that on her bio? I don't know. I haven't looked at it.

What’s even funnier is that you lost to her again down the road in a tag match where your partner was that fucking transitioning estrogen project Thirteen. Thirteen, being a fucking man, I’m surprised you guys didn’t have the upper hand of her strength or the ability to scare away anyone with her face.

Thirteen, being of bigger hype than she was able to deliver, I’m baffled you even wasted your time and went on that road trip with her just to fucking scissor and see where you guys can go together career wise.

Get this, though, Tara wasn’t even tagged with the person she works with best in that match. She was tagged with Kat Stevenson, or Kat Jones now, whatever the fuck. She was married, remember that shit? Messy and wild. Regardless, that fucking pasty bricked face bitch was her fucking partner. Tara was essentially carrying that ugly slut on her back with weights on her feet, and you two dumb cunts couldn’t pull out the win?

Please, Lyza. Please explain to me what you have done in 4CW that fucking matters at all? Beat Alexander Hayes in an under card bout while I’ve been either headlining or in the main event?

We can talk about Lauryn Wolfe, because I feel like it’s about time that I’ve talked about Lauryn Wolfe. I think Lauryn Wolfe is talented as fuck and promising this early on in her career. I don’t know what I’ve done other than kick ass and verbally slice throats, but she nearly looks up to me.

Can’t imagine why. Lauryn Wolfe is able to dismantle an opponent with ease. Her attitude is indifferent and sarcastic, she’s reckless enough on her own and she could fucking fight like a dog. Lauryn is the type to look you in the eyes and tell you a hard truth about yourself, hurt you deep.

We’re a coin with identical side, but she’s a little cuter. While there’s no need in comparison to her, she finds me to be an amazing talent.

She’s someone who sees me as a role model, someone who calls me a fucking queen without me having to give that name to myself like every other bitch in this industry; someone who calls me fucking “mom” beat the shit out of you.

Marqueef Jr, a slight image of myself, who strives to be as great as me, destroyed you. Yet, you honestly believe you can step up to me and try to get a win over the real thing? Fuck out of here.

Lauryn even pinned you, even though Niobe Martin was chilling in that match too, wasn’t she?

How did you become the weaker link in a match that contained Niobe Martin? Do you want to talk about that, how you’re a fucking fool and how someone aiming to be as vicious as me raped your ass right in the middle of the ring?

Or would you rather talk about your little Ultra group with Thirteen and Sonny Lee? Sonny Lee, for all the talent he possessed, fell off the face of the earth and Thirteen, happy that someone gave her any sort of attention, fell right along within him. You were left in the dust of a little group of ridiculously inconstant and anticlimactic individuals. What was the gimmick again?

Always expecting something great from them only to have them fall short?

That’s all you’ve ever done in 4CW; come so close to something, and then immediately fail. You’ve impressed people for some fucking reason and, honestly, the numbers and the facts doesn’t tell me why. Or course, most of them want to fuck you, and I’m sure a lot of them remember you from a time ago. 

But do most of them even pay attention to how little you’ve done? To how unimpressive you’ve actually been? If we’re hanging onto the name of a Lyza that was champion in a company with a headstone now, I think it’s time we scattered the dust and realize that you’re actually fucking nothing of worth.

I haven’t even mentioned everywhere else you’ve decided to place your annoying presence within. You’re dull, there’s no drive, there’s no motivation within you. What are your plans, what are you going to fucking do with the rest of your career, Lyza? Because I doubt sucking BB’s dick is a good game plan.

You don’t deserve this chance. I’ve worked hard to maintain this title, to fix the reputation ruined by everyone who came before me. Genie’s failure is not my own, your success against her is not a win against me. That happened during a time when this title was in irresponsible hands, but it’s back home.

It’s where it belongs.

I’m not going to let your take it without clawing your fucking eyes out first, without fighting with every single bone in my body until they're crushed to dust. No way you’re going to leave with the title only to lose it to some fucking fool three weeks later because you’re as talented as the little squad you used to roll with.

I’m sure the universe has plans for you, Lyza. I’m sure you can keep floating by in time and space waiting for the movement to shift until something comes your way. I’m not a fucking idiot, though. I’m not going to fall back and wait for a meteor shower to crash upon the earth before I start running.

I have Fate in my hands and it’s going to fucking stay there as I bend it to my will. I’m my own fucking universe, I’m the goddamn meteor shower, killer of dinosaurs, and you’re just metallic debris floating through space; remembering the time you were sent out when an entire nation thought you were going to do something great.

But, hey, those are just my two cents. Throw it into the fountain outside of the next science museum you visit.