HWA Message Board: Dreams and Goals

Begin scene.

Your locker room, minutes after Ringmaster has concluded.

At present, you’re sat on the floor, back against the wall and still attired in your wrestling gear. You’ve been in this position now for a good 20 minutes or so, though in your state of mind, perhaps it’s been longer, perhaps it’s been less, you’ve not been looking at the time.

There is no sound, bar that of your breathing and the muffled sounds coming from outside of the room. What does make it through the walls is muted and at the lower end of your register, so much that it was white noise at best.

Right now, how are you? To get to the third round, to lose to Sean Parker, to see someone else stand at the top of the mountain in Stu-E Price.

You’re crushed.

Utterly crushed.

You’d held Sean’s hand aloft, bearing no ill-will to him personally. A flicker of pride, even you could admit that in your current state towards him for his efforts.

But from the moment you’d walked backstage, that had fallen by the wayside.

Your shoulders slump further and you slowly, almost painfully even, run a hand through the sweat coating your brow still and up into your hair, slicking it back even as some strands rebel against this and struck stubbornly upright.

‘Next year…’

That thought dies a death as swiftly as it arrived.

No, right now, you were going to wallow, to suffer, to obsess over Ringmaster.

You were going to take time for yourself and luxuriate in this, right?

A shudder ripples through you as you exhale in a ragged manner, almost forcing the air out of your lungs as if you were purging yourself.

The wall across from you would have a hole bored through it by now if your stare had any supernatural power behind it. The stillness of the room, the quiet and calm surrounding you was at odds with the raging tornado contained within you.

Of course you’d watched the finale, the last round… that goal that had been a fingernail away. It was a grotesque effort in self flagellation… who had received the bigger beating, the two men in the ring, or you, the man on the outside watching?

Your shoulder ached from that turnbuckle impact.

Your head is ringing still from the elbows that Sean had thrown at the final hurdle.

Your breath still catches at the memory of Professor Hoff strangling you.

And then your chest still feels like an elephant is sitting on it, from the ministrations of Jesse and Legion at the night’s beginning.

And then out with that, the absolute rage that you have flooding your veins at the thought of her going anywhere near your wife and unborn child.

Before you know it, you’re practically hyperventilating, the tunnel vision blocking out all but the one particular brick that you’ve been staring at and your fists curling.

The silence of the room is slowly broken, your ears twitching, straining to make out what it is.

It takes a few moments for you to register that you’re the cause of it, the sound of your right fist methodically pounding into the concrete floor of your room. It’s akin to a sack of potatoes being dropped from height.

You’re not taken aback by this realization, more curious, morbidly even, by the sight of it. The adrenaline spiking through you numbing you to what will soon start to hurt.

Raising the hand up, bloodied, rivulets starting to slowly meander down, under your glove, trickling through the hair on your forearm…

You unclench your hand.

‘God it hurts.’

A small voice at the back of your mind pipes up to consider the throbbing ache in your hand the physical manifestation of how you’re feeling.

A far louder voice scoffs entirely at that premise.

Underneath those, far more chillingly, is the one that’s promising that you’ll put Erica… Dreammaster… whoever she claims to be, whoever she wants to act out as… it doesn’t matter, you’ll put them down.

Your hand clenches again, causing both another spike of pain to flare and another rivulet of blood to course its way down the paths already created by the earlier flow.

Once more your eyes track the movement, engrossed in both it and the thoughts that are taking shape in your mind.

A plan of attack.

Your priorities.

Your dreams and goals.

Ringmaster will be there next year.

No. Correction.

Ringmaster will be yours next year.

Price is older than you, age isn’t a factor, so another year won’t hurt…

You clench tighter, as if to punctuate that point, causing your eyes to widen and shivers to roll up your back at the sensations.

Right now, as always, your wife Vanessa is your priority.

A gentle nodding of the head at that, unnecessary, as you’d never doubt yourself on that point, but you find yourself doing it anyway.

You would do everything in your power to see her bring your child into the world. So with one door closing, for now, it was time to focus on the main path you were treading together.

That meant dealing with her.

You smile, in spite of the pain.

She may not be the driver anymore, but she’d invited whatever it was in. Maniac wasn’t going to do what was needed, he’d just enable her further, cover for her, distract from her.

You’d do what you’d done to her late last year all over again. She would not be putting Vanessa or your unborn child in any danger.

Dreams and goals? For you, yes. For Erica. The nightmare was just about to begin.

A loud commotion from outside snaps you from your reverie, causing you to glance around the room, coming back to your senses.

Your hand drops to the ground, causing you to wince in pain as it impacts the concrete none too gently.

Up on the screen, still muted, is the final concluding minutes of Ringmaster, with the backstage interviews taking place.

You remember where you are now, who you are even…

You’re Hans von Richtoven, the Baron. You need to be magnanimous in defeat, you need to congratulate the victor of the evening.

Your eye line drifts from the screen down to your right hand. But not like this, not right now.

’Shower first, change and then find Price’s locker room. Share a drink, toast his success.’

Your lips tighten at the next thought.

’Then phone my wife, tell her I love her. Then, then I’ll deal with DreamMaster’.

Another nod of the head, it’s settled.

You groan audibly as you get to your feet, the impact of the evening’s matches causing you to almost hobble to the shower.

The thought that sustains you is that you’ll be visiting so much worse on DreamMaster before long.

End scene.