HWA Message Board: The journey isn’t over…

Road to Ruin, right before the main event…

“You can do this, Sean. You know you can. You earned this, no one can say you didn’t. Not Price, not Maniac, or Hans or Lunatik or any of those f***ing naysayers online. YOU did this the hard way and you’re here because it’s where you f***ing belong.”

A combination of the roar of the hot North Carolina crowd in the Spectrum Centre was nothing but background noise to Sean Parker at this point, a muffled echo that may as well have been a hundred miles away. As he stood near the back of the stage area of the arena, in his ring gear.

“You go out there, you leave it all in the ring, you give both of them no f***ing quarter, you leave nothing to chance. No more second place finishes, Sean; it’s time to climb to the top of the ladder. This is YOUR moment. YOUR time. Go and f***ing smash it”

“Sean…”

Sean then thought he could hear a faint voice speak his name, like a faint whisper becoming lost in the wind. A beautiful note carrying through the wind.

“Sean, hey, Sean….”

There it was again, clearer this time.

“Sean, you ok?”

And again. It was clear as day now. The sweet, soft soothing melody of Michelle Learner’s beautiful voice snapped Sean from his internal pep talk.

(Sean): Hmm?

Sean’s muddled response showed that he was still slightly lost in his own thoughts. Michelle looked at him, a slight look of concern on her face as she rested her hand on Sean’s forearm, rubbing it softly with her thumb.

(Michelle): You ok?

Sean didn’t answer straightaway, taking a long, deep breath in through his nose, thinking about the journey he’d taken to get to this point. Lying in that hospital bed all those years ago when the realisation had set in he couldn’t walk. The first steps he took again two years later. Returning to the ring. Spearheading Butch and Wisdom’s vision for HWA for the next eight years and almost scuppering any chance of redemption at the Reunion Show when he attacked AC James. Going to hell and back again against Fallen for what he did to Michelle. His knee surgery. And Ring Master. His mind’s eye then shot away. He exhaled again before looking at Michelle and nodded assuredly.

(Sean): Yeah… I’m good.

Hearing Michelle’s soothing voice helped to cut through all the noise, pulling Sean out of his own head, grounding him. Michelle turned to him, her stare holding Sean in place. The hand that had been rubbing his forearm now reached up, cradling his cheek, the same thumb now making the same caressing motions across the stubble of his beard.

(Michelle): No matter what happens out there…

Her angelic voice was soft yet steady, the perfect juxtaposition.

(Michelle): …I’m proud of you, Sean, ok? I always have been. And I love you.

Sean felt his chest tighten at her words, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and kissed Michelle, their lips connecting softly for just a few moments before Sean broke away.

(Sean): I love you too.

Sean’s response was encased in a whisper, his voice just for the two of them. Michelle gave me a small nod…that quiet, unspoken connection between them saying everything that didn’t need to be said out loud. Sean took another deep breath and reached back behind him, pulling the hood of his ring-walk waistcoat over his head, the material settling snugly around his face. As it veered diagonally towards the front, it fell into a sharp, distinctive point, the edges curving just enough to give a sleek predatory shape, like the beak of an eagle, creating a shadow that concealed the top half of Sean’s face. Seconds later, a member of the ring crew with a headset on approached.

(Ring Crew Member): We’re ready for you, Sean, it’s time.

Sean subtly turned his head towards the ring crew member ever so slightly, an affirming nod letting him know he understood. He turned his head back to Michelle, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He inhaled deeply once again, feeling his heartbeat thud in his ears as he attempted to steady himself.

Here we f***ing go, Sean.

This was it. Sean glanced back at Michelle one last time, as she gently lifted her hand to offer him a wave of encouragement. Sean threw her a sly air kiss, his expression remaining stoic, the hood of his ring walk attire still casting an ominous shadow over the top half of his face. He disappeared through the curtain, ready to make history.

Forty-five minutes later…

The celebrations had subsided. The adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off yet but Sean’s joints were already starting to feel it. He didn’t care though as he sat alone in the dimly lit locker room, the harsh fluorescent lights casting an artificial glow over the championship belt resting on his lap. Was this real? Did he actually just do that? Achieve his childhood dream?

Yes, you f***ing did.

The roar of the crowd was still ringing in his ears, though it was distant now, like a fading echo. His hands trembled slightly as he ran his fingers over the cold, polished gold of the belt’s face plate, tracing the intricate engravings that spelled out “World Heavyweight Champion”.

At that moment, Sean asked myself… was it all worth it? The heartbreaks of all the nearly-there’s and shortcomings. Every tear of frustration he’d shed, every droplet of blood he’d spilled, seemingly in vain, every bead of sweat that had sploshed onto the canvas… was it all worth the feeling of euphoria he should have felt in that exact moment?

Sean found himself at a loss. No answer forthcoming. He stared at the belt, the weight of it felt… wrong. It wasn’t the physical weight, it was something deeper than that. The kind of weight that pressed down on your chest, that made it hard to breathe, to focus, to think. He should have been on top of the world, on cloud nine, untouchable, ready to eat nails and take on the world. But no… Something felt wrong… suddenly, the championship belt in Sean’s hands disappeared into a plume of smoke. He snapped back to reality as the roar of the imaginary crowd faded into silence, replaced by the faint hum of the locker room light above him. He was still sitting there, sweat dripping down his brow, clutching his knee pad like it was a lifeline. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The World Championship. His moment. It was gone, ripped away before it ever truly belonged to him. He swallowed hard as the realisation clawed at his gut, a heavy weight settling in his chest. The moment replayed in his mind like a broken record. He had it won. He had taken Price out of the equation and had Hans dead to rights. And then it happened. The bell ringing too early, the crowd exploding prematurely, the referee’s hand not even touching the mat for three.

It wasn’t his fault. He had Starlight Kid to thank for that blunder. She’d rung the bell, whether out of excitement or a nervous mistake, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he’d done it. Sean could still see Stu-E Price and Ric Flair on the ramp, both strutting like drunken peacocks, arms flailing as if mocking him. Flair with his stupid grin, Price with his ridiculous swagger; it was practically seared into his mind’s eye.

Sean found himself involuntarily clenching his fists at the thought of it, his nails digging into his palms. One more second, one clean count from the referee, and it would’ve been over. He could almost feel the weight of the championship belt in his hands, the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears as they hailed him as the rightful victor.

Instead, he was left with nothing but bitter frustration and the mocking memory of their struts. Flair’s voice echoed in his mind: “WOOOOOO! Better luck next time, kid!”
Sean had wanted to punch him square in the jaw right then and there, but he hadn’t. The moment had slipped through his fingers, just like the match. Sean stands up and slams the bases of his fists into an adjacent locker along with a deafening…

(Sean): F*CK!!!!

Suddenly there’s a gentle knock on the door and a familiar just as gentle voice could be heard.
(Michelle): Sean?

The door isn't answered, but she knows he's inside. Dare she enter, or should leave him to his thoughts, let him open up first? She chose dare and timidly turned the door handle. Sean was standing next to the locker looking like he just ran over a dog.

(Michelle): Can I come in? We'll, I'm already in, that's silly...I mean...

What did she mean, she was blabbering, she was nervous, she was saddened for him, she was afraid a little looking over seeing a dent in the locker and his fist still clenched. She came closer, taking his hand and bringing it up to her face stroking his bruised knuckles.

(Michelle): Sean, your hand!
She couldn't help the way her eyes looked, she knew they had that pitiful look no one wants to see. She tried to divert her gaze and nestled in closer to him, putting her head on his chest. She didn't care how sweaty he was.

(Michelle): I'm sorry!

Sean didn’t even hesitate his next move as he wrapped his arms around Michelle’s waist and buried his head into her shoulder. He was angry, furious, upset and every other emotion under the sun but Michelle was the centre of his universe and everything about her was a calming influence. Her hair, her touch, her smell, her mere presence.

His voice was muffled as his face was nuzzled into Michelle’s neck and shoulder.

(Sean): No… I’m sorry…

She kept her face next to his chest, feeling and hearing his heart race.

(Michelle): You don't have anything to be sorry for. What you just did out there, the match you put on and despite the outcome...the grace you showed poor Starlight. Even Jesus wept, Sean, you have every right to feel.

Sean puffed his cheeks out.

(Sean): I want to be angry, Shell… I want to be furious, I want to curse, to scream in her face, to tell her she ruined my dreams, but what good would that do anybody? Where do I go from here?

(Michelle): You have every right to be upset, no one would argue that but it was just a horrible mistake. If you could see her, she's still back there crying. She feels worse about it herself than anyone could make her.

Michelle sighed, pulling her head from his chest and looking him in the eyes. Her darling little blues like a cool glass of water.

(Michelle): You fight another day. It's not a matter of if, but when you win that title, you know that deep down, I think everyone knows it. God has big plans for you, Sean Parker, but he does things in his own time. I have faith in the lord and I have faith in you.

She gave him a sweet smile and brushed his cheek. Sean couldn’t help but smile back. In spite of all the anger, the emotion, the hurt he was feeling in his chest, Michelle was his anchor, his journey back to reality. He leaned and gave her a loving kiss.

(Sean): I love you so much, Michelle Learner.

(Michelle): I Love you to Sean Parker.

She returned his kiss, with a sweet and gentle one of her own before she pulled away from him and headed to the door still holding his hand, only breaking when their fingertips stretched apart. She opened the door and looked back at him.

(Michelle): Pick me up for the conference?

Sean nodded, blowing her a kiss.

(Sean): You bet.

Michelle made one last kissing noise in Sean’s direction before leaving the locker room. As soon as she was gone, Sean sunk back into a seated position, slouched against the locker he’d just dented, the back of his head resting against and he stared up at the ceiling.

(Sean): No more wallowing, Parker. Get your shit together.

A moment later another knock on the door could be heard. This time, the head of a young intern peeked around the corner of it.

(Intern): Excuse me, Mr Parker? It’s your slot for the press conference, they’re waiting for you.

(Sean): I’ll be there in a minute.

As the door closed, Sean stood to his feet, puffing his cheeks out again and exhaling loudly. He then put on his best gracious loser face and made his way out of his locker room and towards the conference room as the scene faded to black.