Post by Deleted on May 10, 2015 20:22:34 GMT -6
LIFE IS CRUEL: “DEAL WITH THE DEVIL”
Everylasting Symphony lyrics:
Do you see my face,
Looking at you in the mirror,
What's happend to you
YOU HAVE SEEM TO HAVE AGEDDD!
You use to be, sooo free
what has taken your soul
Please, send me deliverence
free your body, free your soul
Let my heart be free.
Gravedigger’s Journal:
Sunday-May 10, 2015
"There's a lot of people you'll meet in this business who tend to judge you based on work, what you've done, and how you've handled it. These types of people watch your every move, your every word, and they don't so much as blink for a fucking second. These people are critics, assholes with no life or purpose, just a job to simply stick their fat fucking noses where it doesn't belong! The critics are right though, I am a monster...I am a nobody. I’m nobody they fucking wanna be because they’re all fucking scared of me! Scared of who I am, what I've done, and what I can do, scared of what I’m not afraid to do…or how far I’ll go to get it.
Last week I simply did the one thing I set out to do, and I did it with no help, no payment under the table, no ass-kissing, and no cheating tactics of any kind. I simply walked out there, kicked Nacho's ass to the near point of death-and walked out without a fucking scratch. Now this week on Ignite, I will do it all over again, I will go out and kick some chick that is named Nikita Romanova’s ass to near death in a ladder match, and walk out as the new TA Champion.
On May 19th, I'll go out there and get all of the critics’s attention. On the next Ignite, I will send them back a message of criticism of my own.
I'm done trying to get approval from my boss, my peers, and the whole fucking world that sits and watches this shit. I'm done waiting for my 'push' in the company, or another weekly match with that cock-sucking, thick-headed, piss-ant Nacho, or anyone else at his level. No. Fucking. More! It's time I start making some rules of my own, and if it means crippling anyone who steps in my way male or female...then let the fucking dishing of hospital visits begin.
I just hope the whole world is ready for this..."
Three and a half hours of sitting on a flight that was utterly boring and nauseating, fifteen minutes of being crammed in a cab, and two minutes of arguing with his road agent over the phone seemed like an eternity. An energy drink or two, a bag of chips, and a Snickers bar were the only thing his body was running on, not quite the meal for a big athlete. Climbing the stairs of yet another hotel reservation after several hours of traveling, his body was beginning to lose control. Focus wearing thin, which came quite obvious when he tried the key to the wrong hotel room several times over. Finally getting into his own room and dropping the luggage, he wobbles towards the single-queen size bed and collapses on the covers. Without so much as even getting a breath to feel a sigh of relief, those weary eyes grow heavy before his body falls asleep.
Hours pass, yet he remains motionless on top of the covers of his hotel suite "human-pillow" in quite a state of sleep. Fingertips twitch every few minutes, and his body tends to roll. A small stream of sweat slowly runs down his forehead, as an audible groan escapes his cold trembling lips.
"Look at you...running the same cycle of your life every day, doing the same old habits, hating the same old people. You remind me of someone who has no direction in their life, someone without a future. Yet still here you are living every single day on through as if it didn't matter, you know that's bad for your health. Especially those cigarettes, you know those things will eventually kill you one day right? Shit just look at yourself, you're like a drone programmed to move about, torturing and punishing everything it touches. You're like the barbarian thirsty for blood and set on only one thing, total world-wide annihilation. Though, I can't really argue with the fact I do enjoy the sound of that idea-it just feels like there is something missing in your life. Hmm...what could it be, perhaps a wife, kids, a big home, a mansion full of money, no...that doesn't quite suit you. Oh, that's right now I remember...you need yourself the NEW World Heavyweight Championship, don't you?
Well you and I both know that is certainly no easy task, I mean look at the stiff line of competition you have? Don't you think it would be much easier just to find Al, and Austen, and stab them in the dark? Nah, after all where would the fun in that be, no bloodbath fist-fight, no meeting of the minds, no chaos at all what so ever. That just sounds plain dull and boring if you ask me, but what if we were to work our way up to their level. Get their attention, no we'll have to wait on that joyous occasion after all we're in it for the long haul. No first we'll have to slaughter our way up the food chain, and work our way to the pick of the litter. First, we can have ourselves some fun and start making someone's life...a living fucking hell by beating that beautiful broad Nikita Romanova’s ass, and become the NEW Trans-Atlantic Champion."
Suddenly snapping upright out of his bed he gasps, face covered in sweat clear down to his grizzly-beard covered chin. Looking a little shook-up he glances around his dark hotel room, wondering as if someone had been talking to him in his sleep. Appearing to have found no one he brushes the palms of his hands down his face, trying to snap himself out of it as he breathes a sigh of relief.
"C'mon Digger get your fucking head together man.."
Moving towards the bathroom he flips the light switch and turns the hot water fosset on, splashing some water in his face to wake himself up. Dapping a small hand towel against his face he exits the bathroom and moves to the door, stepping out into the hallway of the large, luxurious hotel. Looking around it almost appeared a little quiet for such a hotel to be so desolate, moving towards the lobby sporting an "NEW" t-shirt. Moving around the corner he glances to the front desk, seeing no staff or desk service attendants available. Shrugging slightly to himself perking a brow he moves on towards the bar lounge, a fancy decorated and well-lit bar near the nightclub area.
The bar area too seemed to be unoccupied until Digger caught sight of a man seated at the bar, a slim man with fairly pale skin, short black colored hair slicked back, and a crimson and black suit. Carefully moving towards the bar while cautiously watching the man from the corner of his eye, Digger casually steps up to the bar. Gently bouncing his right hand along the edge of the bar, Digger glances around as if waiting for service from a bartender. The man seated at the very far end of the bar sat under a dim light that tended to flicker, keeping his focus on a glass of red champagne in front of him. Holding the glass in his right hand firmly between his thumb, index finger, and pinky with a smirk, while humming an unclear melody to himself. The clean shaven appearance of his face gave off the "business" type vibe but more of a "personal" business than public. Making no notion or acknowledgement of Digger's presence the man continued about his business, while Digger stood impatiently.
"Yo! You got any service back there?"
Digger shouts over the counter behind the bar hoping a tender may have been busy, busting dishes in the back perhaps. Yet he didn't seem to get an answer until finally, someone decided to speak up...
"I can assure you can stand there and shout all you want, no one will be serving anything behind there tonight."
The man seated at the far end of the bar mutters in a rough, quiet tone, a slight delicate accent stemming from his voice. As he continues to stir the ice cubes in his glass around with a straw, having not even turned his attention towards Digger yet.
"Yeah, and that little glass you got there came from where, exactly?"
Digger glances at the glass with a nod, appearing to have somewhat of a smart tone in his voice. A little irritated he's going through all of this just to get himself a drink, rather than simply place an order and have one ready in seconds.
"Why this is simply something I cooked up myself dear boy, I can assure you..."
Digger perks a brow somewhat puzzled, and leans on his elbow against the edge of the bar.
"Really, and who might you be exactly-the head of the bartender academy or something?"
The man smiles and slowly raises his glass sipping a little champagne to himself, before flicking his snake-like tongue against his lips. Turning carefully towards Digger now revealing a light-blue, cold piercing gaze from his eyes he sends a nod. Fixed upon Digger who glares back at him in silence, as the man raises his glass.
"My name is Lucas-abbreviated of course...I never had much taste for my full name anyway, and you are?"
The man's voice echoes around the room as he suddenly appears inches in front of Digger now to Digger's surprise, extending a hand for a formal handshake.
"Dennis Anderson, but people call me Digger, short for Gravedigger...you might have seen me on television before, I don't know...you don't look like much of a tv guy."
Digger extends his arm to shake the man's hand, firmly gripping the man's hand to a cold shock. The fingertips were smooth, yet his grip was cold as ice itself just to touch. Digger freezes in place for a moment in reaction to the handshake, glancing down at the man's hand as he let's go. The man simply flashes a dark smirk and sips his glass of champagne once more, leaning back in his stool carefully with ease.
"Digger huh..."
The man chuckles audibly to himself.
"Well Digger, what would you say if I were to tell you I know who you are and I know everything there is to know about your life. Your job, your past, your old "friends", even your own parents...?"
Digger slightly squints his eyes a little and smirks for a moment remaining quiet, then smirks a little once more.
"I'd tell you to stay on your meds and check yourself into the psych ward before that champagne there does any more damage to your head. Here, the drink is on me-you have yourself a good night mister uh...Lucas."
Digger grumbles, pulling a wadded ten-dollar bill from his jean pocket and setting it along the bar, giving the man a polite nod turning away. The man known as "Lucas" chuckles and sips his glass of champagne once more, watching Digger turn away.
"I can make all that pain you feel every morning go away, Digger. I can make every dream you've ever had come true, and just maybe I can answer that question you ask yourself every morning."
Digger pauses in his footsteps and slowly turns, peering over his shoulder back at Lucas who remains still at the bar sipping his glass.
"I'm listening..."
Digger mutters across the room while remaining still.
"Well to start off with, how does becoming the New Edge Wrestling Trans-Atlantic Champion, sound?"
Lucas grumbles leaning against the bar with a somewhat of a convincing grin, as Digger turns his head looking down in thought. Nodding slowly for a moment as he thinks on it and looks back to Lucas, who sits patiently placing an ice cube in his hand that seems to freeze almost instantly.
"What's the catch?"
Digger answers.
"You just sign the dotted line on this little piece of paper here, we call it a day fair and square and seal the deal…savvy?"
Lucas grumbles sliding the piece of paper which suddenly appears moving out from under his hand, holding out a small black ink pen towards Digger. Digger remains still for a matter of moments before turning around, slowly moving back towards the bar as he takes the pen.
"Who are you...really..."
Digger pauses perking a brow as he glances to Lucas, who chuckles quietly in a deep tone and smiles.
"I think you know..."
Digger clicks the pen to open the ink pointed-edge and 'accidently' cuts the tip of his thumb open, firmly pressing against the cap as a small drop of blood spills on the paper.
"Ah shit, the damn thing cut me..."
Digger grumbles tending his thumb after signing his name along the dotted line, as Lucas rolls the paper up and places it inside his coat pocket.
"That's quite alright I assure you, Gravedigger-no need to worry...everything will suite your needs soon enough. You'll most certainly be hearing from me again soon."
Lucas grins.
"So does this make you like my travel agent now or something?"
Digger asks, holding his split open thumb while looking back to Lucas who walks slowly towards the door. Turning back to Digger with the same dark, convincing grin...
"You might say that, a pleasure doing business with you...'Gravedigger'."
Lucas gives a slight wink before exiting the bar area, as Digger stands still in the silent bar wondering about the state of his future.
[ To be continued... ]
"Don't walk in here thinking you've got all the angles figured out, all the questions answered, and every possible outcome in this competition figured out. Because if you do I can promise you-you'll be more than terribly sorry, you'll be wishing you never set foot in that ring. Things aren't the way they used to be in case you didn't notice, and neither am I bitch. I'm a new kind of problem you're facing, but the fact is-I’m the bigger dog now with the meaner bark and the killer bite."
"If there's one mind-numbing, ear-bleeding, mouth-flapping, ass-kissing, cock-sucking, back-stabbing, high-roading, credit-stealing piece of shit on the face of this earth-it's name is Nikita Romanova. Nikita Romanova is a beautiful bimbo who just shy of her debut and was approved, no HANDED something men or women three to five times her level were never given. She didn't fight for it nor did she work for it, she didn't compete for it, and she sure as hell didn't DESERVE it. You haven't done a damn THING to earn the spot you currently stand in, a match for a championship. I know it, Jesus knows it, Jesse Styles knows it, they know it, and YOU know it..."
"You see just to prove to you and everyone else how desperate our beloved leader was when he started this company, he had to turn to YOU for the Main-Event picture. YOU, who accomplished nothing as of yet here in NEW. There has NEVER been ANYONE who has signed with ANY company in the history of this business who was simply HANDED the main-event type match for their first match. You can go on about your future reign of becoming the NEW Trans-Atlantic championship you tainted all you want Nikita, but all that of that bullshit is just a dream. Your fuckin nightmare is about to begin."
"Feeling scared yet, Nakita...'cause I'm just getting warmed up."
Pauses.
"You know what your problem is, you don't have it-you don't even CARRY a TENTH of what it takes to be champion. You don't have the focus, strength, pride, motivation, presence, endurance, skill or the PASSION to be champion. Instead you've ran around with your hand-outs and your ass-kissing, leading nothing but a simple semi-short, fairly green, spineless, half-hearted, brown-nosing career. Con-gratu-fucking-lations lady, give yourself a good ol kick in the ass."
Chuckles.
"Nikita, you don’t understand what it MEANS to work hard and EARN your shots and pay your dues. You don’t know what it feels like to support, build, and protect your own foundation of a career by being handed over scraps from the CAREER you’ve chosen. These people don't pay their HARD EARNED money to sit and watch someone waltz around with a title, and simply brag about shit they sure as hell haven't done. They pay their money to see guys paying their dues, kicking ass every night, bleeding their hearts out, breaking their bodies and earning their shots just to put on a memorable show. I could give a flying shit less about those "fans" every night, they pay to come see me-I don't pay to put on a fucking show for them."
"Sure I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for them-but those people didn't MAKE Gravedigger Nikita, I made Gravedigger by stepping out there every night through that curtain. I made Gravedigger by doing everything in my body; just to see to it the other guy couldn't stand by the time the match was over. I made Gravedigger by looking out for nobody but my fucking self, and carving a fucking path into the history books doing it that way. The difference between people like you and I is; you've been running on handouts and a small fire that’s already started to die out; I’m living off of everything I've EARNED, and fighting with a cold-fucking heart that refuses to quit and die out. You want to go ahead and sit there and talk some shit, go ahead—take me to hell and back and I'll smile and call it home. The hell I'll bring you to will be nothing like the hell you can imagine, a place where I hold no limits, no boundaries, an endless amount of pain I can endure."
Smirks.
"The only guarantee these people have watching you is they are to be guaranteed to have you simply sit down in-front of the camera and break any if all format of your little written transcript, as soon as people with a quarter of a fucking brain cell realize it your grammar is completely fucked up. You’re nothing more than a shit-eating, fake little opportunist. You’ve climbed to the top by scheming, lying and manipulating EVERYTHING before you. Taking people’s HARD-EARNED work, their devoted time and patience, and twisting it all around until you were satisfied you could play it off...."
"So we'll walk into that ring on the next Ignite, and we'll see who's really EARNED their spot to be here. We'll dance, we'll bruise, we'll bleed, and we'll fucking tear each other apart as long as it takes. So I tell you what Nikita, at Ignite I'm going to tear my fucking way right through you, I'm going to climb to the top of that ladder, and I'm going to EARN that championship. One way, or another...sleep well bitch, cause after the next Ignite you just might be in for a fucking dirt-nap."
[ Fade. ]
FLY,FLY,FLY away to go to the Heavens
HEAVENSSSS
Feel a cloud beneath your feet
look around, then it hits your soul,
your spirit is no where to be found.
Your a damaged little girl
with eyes of a child , feel my pain
you wimpy little girl
you wimply little girl