panix04
02-20-2007, 09:15 AM
Inspired by the guy who posted his story for school, i thought i would share a story i have written. Writing short stories is a hobby of mine and despite my abysmal gramatical skills i think they are an OK read, so feel free to pass judgment, but please excuse the ripped off wrestling names, the profanity and the creative license on the 1970's wrestling scene - all 3 were neccasary!
So, here I am the final hour approaches and the only people I have for company are the tall man holding the keys and his two escorts. He doesn’t look me in the eye as he places the key in the door and turns it. He doesn’t want too. Perhaps he’s scared? I guess that would be justified. If I was in his position, being faced with someone who had performed the act that I had, I guess I would be scared too. After a few moments pass his words tell me what his lack of eye contact hadn’t.
“You disgust me” he said his voice filled with contempt.
I don’t reply.
“You deserve everything you get”
His words chill me to the bone. But he’s wrong. I don’t deserve what I’m about to get. I’m just a man who was pushed too far. Every person has a breaking point, a limit to the pressures they can withstand and on that hot and sweaty august night back in ‘73 my threshold was crossed.
I had been training hard the weeks before it happened, sure all the guys at work went to the gym but I had really stepped things up of late, I had too as well. The wrestling business is a tough one to be a part of, especially when you are an Italian American working in Memphis trying to make a life for the kid you love and the woman you married. I unlocked the front door of our terraced apartment brown paint flaked to the floor as the door swung open to reveal the familiar yellow walls and stained white carpet. I was hot and sweaty from the pounding I had taken at the dojo. That’s the place we trained, a small gym on the outskirts of the city. Its also were we held our smaller weekly shows. But this week was different we had a potentially huge event approaching an inter-promotional card between two of the hottest wrestling federations in Memphis and I was going to be on the card. Rumour had it that there were going to be a film crew there. This could launch my career; finally I could get my family out of the dilapidated sweatbox we had been residing in since we moved here to escape the torrid environment the Bronx had to offer. Despite this huge event on the horizon there was only one thing on my mind as I bounded up the creaky stairs to the room that we rented. Being able to see my beautiful wife. I had skipped the autograph session arranged for me and the other wrestlers in order to surprise her, sure it would cost me a few dollars but it would be worth it when I got to see the look on her face. Besides which, in a weeks time I was going to be famous and money would never be an issue for me again. At least that was my way of looking at the situation. I had no idea just how accurate my thesis would turn out to be.
I whistled the tune to ‘get back’ by the beetles as I pulled open the door to our room. If I had known it was the last happy moment of my life I might well have made a better selection, but how was I too know? Maybe I could have read the signs? There was no smell emanating from the room for starters. Whenever I arrived home I could smell the pungent aroma of various herbs being cooked juxtaposed with the sound of water boiling as pasta cooked, but not tonight. I smelt nothing and all I heard was a faint rocking sound as I peered through the doorway to see the scene that would change my life’s direction forever.
“What the **** are you doing?” I yelled. Not a glib or articulate choice of words I’ll admit but they were the ones I chose. None of the three people in the room answered so I decided to speak again.
“What the **** is going on?” Again I wasn’t exactly painting a verbal masterpiece but at least it elicited some kind of response.
“I can explain Frank” Alice replied trying to gain some composure whilst struggling frantically to cover her nudity, she paused for a second but I had tired of waiting for an explanation from her and within a second I had made my move I darted across the room and grabbed the well-built naked Italian who lay next to my wife by his throat.
“You were my ****ing tag team partner” I yelled not at all concerned that another mans penis was pushed against my knee.
“Why the **** did you do this? I trusted you with my life night after night. We were like brothers!” he didn’t answer, in retrospect it was probably because my left hand had cut off his ability to breath let alone speak. However his silence incensed me, he owed me words. So I set to taking them from him. My repeated punches where accompanied by two sounds the first the sound of fist meeting nose and cartilage breaking the second came from the third person in the room, it was crying. I wanted to go hug my daughter but rage took over as I pummelled his face with punch after punch. I thought I might kill him right there and then until a sobbing cry bought me to my senses.
“daddy, I love you”
I stopped punching and threw Carlo’s limp head backwards towards the large puddle of blood that had engulfed the bedspread like a bloody volcano had erupted and scarred the virgin sheet for all to see. I lay there straddling a battered, bloody naked man and for only the second time in the thirty years I cried. Not because I had found my wife screwing my best friend. Sure that hurt, but what pushed me to tears was seeing my angel weep. The bastard had made me scare my precious Maria.
Most of the next few days were a blur to me. It was an emotional train wreck, various arguments between Alice and I, interspersed with me trying to find a room so I didn’t have to sleep on the streets. Sure the weather was good at that time of year but the country was in the middle of an economic depression and crime was rife. I ended up sharing a room for a few days with a middle aged Hispanic wrestler who went by the moniker of Guerrero. He was very short with brown tousled hair and had a genuine lust for life. Under normal circumstances we might well have gone on to be good friends but I was wedged deep beneath a cloud of depression and had no time for his kind hearted gestures. It was during these few days staying at Guerrero’s that I received a call that would change mine and Carlo’s lives forever. It was Scott Foley. He was the head booker for MWA or Memphis Wrestling Alliance.
“Hey there Frank, I heard about you and Carlo, that’s too bad man.” He said in his familiar Texan drawl
“These things happen, I just want to forget about it” I replied.
“Listen Frank, I’ve got some news for you. I explained the situation with you and Carlo to Kent and he wants too change your match at the superbrawl”
This was a huge relief for me and I wanted him to know what it meant to me.
“Excellent” I exclaimed “I was really worried about what was going to happen”
“Sorry frank, there’s more.” He said cutting me off.
“There was a guy from the press at the hospital who took some pictures of Carlo’s face. You did a real number on him Frank! and those pictures have generated some real heat. Unfortunately Kent wants put you two in a non-disqualification match. He thinks it will be huge, what do you say? Can you work with him Frank? I’m telling you this could be your big break”
“I’ll do it” I said putting my professional reputation before my pride “but there’s a condition Scott.”
“Sure thing Frank, what is it?”
“There’s no way that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get a pin-fall on me”
“You got it” he said and with that the match was set.
As it Happened Kent was spot on, the match was huge despite it not being the main event all the hype was aimed at our bout. A real life grudge match. Now I am not going to underestimate your intelligence here, wrestling is not a legitimate sport, the winners and losers are without fail predetermined and some of the more intricate matches are carefully choreographed beforehand. Scott decided he wanted a back and forth match between us with a risky ending. The plan was to have Carlo on the concrete floor outside with me on the ring apron I was then supposed to perform a high impact move on him for the win.
So the big night arrived and expectation was high as I sat in the steam filled locker room staring at the clothes hangars. Images drifted through my head as I listened to the crowd cheering the current match that was unfolding for their entertainment. I was out next, but I had not seen Carlo to discuss the match. Kent, who was the owner of the company, was of the opinion that keeping the workers separated before a show added to the spontaneity. I was nervous as hell as the guitar chords hit and my theme music began. It was a disco/rock take on the Italian national anthem. The fans used to hate this song it was part of what had made me such an effective heel. But on this night they cheered, they wanted to see me take vengeance on my backstabbing ex-partner but no-one ever expected things to transpire the way they did on that night, not even me.
There I was standing on the worn canvas in the centre of the ring, flashbulbs going off all around me and then I saw him peep hesitantly through the curtain at the other end of long straight entrance ramp, his greasy thick black hair pulled back in to a tight ponytail. I took the few steps to the edge of ring grabbed hold of the ring rope and leant outwards yelling obscenities at the greasy Italian bastard. I can’t remember what I said. All I recall is that it got him fired up as he charged the ring. We started throwing punches before the bell had even rung. Two left hooks from Carlo, one of which caught me on the chin. I was reeling from the force of the last punch but I succeeded in cutting him off, blocking his tirade with a swift movement of my right forearm and I managed to throw a couple of jabs of my own. But before we could go any further security and the referee intervened to calm our tempers. You see wrestling was put across as a legitimate sport back then. There were ring announcements, weigh ins the whole shebang, sure it was all just theatrics but the events played out much like a boxing contest. So we returned to our respective corners. The weight announcements were made and the bell rang signalling the beginning of the contest. I made my way to the centre of the ring to confront my nemesis. There we stood face to face I stared into his piercing blue eyes where I saw the blackness of his soul.
Starting matches had always been challenging for me. I usually let my opponent put me in a hold to get the ball rolling but tonight was different. There was a palpable tension as we stared each other down in that ring, neither of us even flinched, an eerie silence transcended the large hall which was broken when Carlo spoke.
“I ****ed your wife”
I was angry but I didn’t move it wasn’t the time for it.
“I ate that ***** like it was ice cream”
Still no comeback,
“Your daughter wanted to join in as well” he snarled. That was it. BAM a right to the Carlo’s temple and the match began. The crowd were whipped into a frenzy as I peppered him with punches. I swear I have never heard a crowd roar as loud as they did that night in all my 10 years in the business. The atmosphere grew as the match progressed; every person engrossed as we traded blows, every wrestling hold was applauded as if it were the Titans taking the super bowl. The crowd were rapturous but nothing could prepare them for the ending we had planned. Carlo tossed me over the top rope to the cold concrete floor next to ring. My arm throbbed as it clashed with the floor but im sure it looked good on the cameras so the pain was of little consequence to me. Carlo climbed between the ropes and stood upon the ring apron. He readied himself for a high flying move which would surely be the nail in my coffin. But then BAM a steel chair to the sternum foiled his plan. I crossed myself for good luck as my next move would be risky not just for Carlo but me as well. The Suplex is quite a common but complicated wrestling manoeuvre comprising of taking your opponents head under you arm. Lifting there body in to the air and dropping backwards. This puts both your back and there’s at risk but if done correctly is quite an impress move, however when done from the ring apron to the concrete floor it becomes a show stopping move.
As I Clambered up to the apron the crowd grew silent they where hooked on the story we were telling and they knew it was about to reach its climax. I heard a loud unified gasping as I placed his head beneath my arm in preparation for the biggest victory of my career. I paused briefly to savour the atmosphere. I had envisioned this moment earlier in the locker room and was about to see it unfold in reality in front of thousands of people, then something un-expected happened I heard Carlo whisper,
“she ain’t even yours” and then darkness.
I can honestly admit that I have been knocked unconscious several times in my career but none felt as surreal as this. I opened my eyes briefly and I saw the steel chair that I had used earlier but who had hit me with it? My eyes looked toward the ring were I saw through the haze Carlo’s arm being raised in victory by the referee but who was that next to him. My focus returned and in an instant I recognised the sultry figure of my wife. It had been her who had knocked me out with the chair and cost me my dignity. I had lost almost everything to him but something still puzzled me. The last words he had spoken, “she ain’t even yours” what could those four words have meant? I looked around ringside at the screaming fans and focused my sight on one of them. It was the same person who had been in the room with Carlo and my wife just last week, it was my daughter her thick black hair held tight in a pony tail. She was embroiled in the moment and was cheering like she had done so many times at my matches but again something was amiss and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then I noticed the shirt she was wearing. It was a Carlo “Piasant” tee-shirt his face mocking me staring at me from the chest of my sweet innocent baby girl. It was not unusual for Maria to wear this tee-shirt, she loved her ‘uncle Carlo’ but then I noticed something else, staring at the image of Carlo and the face of Maria. I had never seen the uncanny resemblance before. At that point his words made sense. She wasn’t even mine.
I would love to be able to claim what happened next was blind rage but I knew exactly what I was doing as my hand grasped firmly around the blue steel tubing that made up the leg of the chair. I rolled incognito under the bottom of the three ring ropes into the ring behind my former best friend and my wife. I lifted the chair high above my head and with all the strength I could muster from my bruised and battered body I bought it down on Carlo’s skull. BANG the sound of steel on skull as he fell to the ground like a feather drifting slowly to its resting place.
“OOOHHHHHH” was the crowd’s response still thinking it was all part of the story. My wife tried to run but I grabbed her hair and pushed her to the ground. She wasn’t going to escape my wrath, not this time. As she struggled back to a vertical base I readied the chair, I knew what I had to do BANG this time the sound of chair against face, which virtually exploded upon impact. The referee had bailed hurriedly out of the ring he wanted no part of this psychotic Italian. Carlo was beginning to regain consciousness after the blow I had given him he grabbed hold of my body trying to claw himself to his feet like a squirrel climbing a tree, it would be the last time he ever stood. I threw my chair to the canvas it skidded slightly due to the blood that had appeared, but was still more or less where I wanted it. I placed Carlos head between my legs and fell backwards in a sitting motion onto the chair. “EEEUUUURRRRR” that was the sound of thousands of people realising something had gone horribly wrong. I turned and looked at the bloody mess that had once been my friend I knew for sure he wasn’t getting back up. At least I thought I did. Suddenly his hand shot defiantly in the air “YEEEAAAHHH!” the crowd cheered. Why are they cheering him? Did he also own them? As well as everything else I had held dear? Well I wasn’t going to have him steal my thunder I took my trusty foldaway chair in my hand and unfolded it I placed Carlos head in side of it and laid him back on the canvas I made my way to the corner post and scowled at that treacherous bitch Maria, who was now in tears. I ascended to the top rope and paused at the top. Time seemed to stand still as I assessed the situation I glanced at the aisle and saw several armed police rushing towards me I knew they would be upon me in seconds I had to act now if I was going to exact my revenge. Did he deserve it? I thought through in my head all that he’d taken from me, my wife, my home, my career, my pride and my daughter. I looked across at what was once mine and saw her pathetic face crying as I screamed,
“I loved you Maria”
and with that I flew majestically through the air hitting my target with power and precision I returned to my feet and in the split second before the bullet hit me I had chance to look at the bloody remains of Carlos “paisant” Dennucci. He was done.
My attorney said I should plead insanity. I didn’t do that. I told the jury the truth. My mind was crystal clear the whole time. He broke my heart, so I broke his spine. An eye for an eye. There was no sympathy for my plight amongst the jury and I was consequently sentenced to receive the electric chair for my indiscretions. So here I am now, being led up the long corridor to the last chair I will ever sit in. As I enter the room and see the angry faces of the Denucci family I stare across at the chair that will inevitably end my life. I smile at the irony, I ended his life with a chair and so my life would also end this way. Truth be told my life ended months ago when I realised what the words “she aint even yours” meant. That was the day I died.
So, here I am the final hour approaches and the only people I have for company are the tall man holding the keys and his two escorts. He doesn’t look me in the eye as he places the key in the door and turns it. He doesn’t want too. Perhaps he’s scared? I guess that would be justified. If I was in his position, being faced with someone who had performed the act that I had, I guess I would be scared too. After a few moments pass his words tell me what his lack of eye contact hadn’t.
“You disgust me” he said his voice filled with contempt.
I don’t reply.
“You deserve everything you get”
His words chill me to the bone. But he’s wrong. I don’t deserve what I’m about to get. I’m just a man who was pushed too far. Every person has a breaking point, a limit to the pressures they can withstand and on that hot and sweaty august night back in ‘73 my threshold was crossed.
I had been training hard the weeks before it happened, sure all the guys at work went to the gym but I had really stepped things up of late, I had too as well. The wrestling business is a tough one to be a part of, especially when you are an Italian American working in Memphis trying to make a life for the kid you love and the woman you married. I unlocked the front door of our terraced apartment brown paint flaked to the floor as the door swung open to reveal the familiar yellow walls and stained white carpet. I was hot and sweaty from the pounding I had taken at the dojo. That’s the place we trained, a small gym on the outskirts of the city. Its also were we held our smaller weekly shows. But this week was different we had a potentially huge event approaching an inter-promotional card between two of the hottest wrestling federations in Memphis and I was going to be on the card. Rumour had it that there were going to be a film crew there. This could launch my career; finally I could get my family out of the dilapidated sweatbox we had been residing in since we moved here to escape the torrid environment the Bronx had to offer. Despite this huge event on the horizon there was only one thing on my mind as I bounded up the creaky stairs to the room that we rented. Being able to see my beautiful wife. I had skipped the autograph session arranged for me and the other wrestlers in order to surprise her, sure it would cost me a few dollars but it would be worth it when I got to see the look on her face. Besides which, in a weeks time I was going to be famous and money would never be an issue for me again. At least that was my way of looking at the situation. I had no idea just how accurate my thesis would turn out to be.
I whistled the tune to ‘get back’ by the beetles as I pulled open the door to our room. If I had known it was the last happy moment of my life I might well have made a better selection, but how was I too know? Maybe I could have read the signs? There was no smell emanating from the room for starters. Whenever I arrived home I could smell the pungent aroma of various herbs being cooked juxtaposed with the sound of water boiling as pasta cooked, but not tonight. I smelt nothing and all I heard was a faint rocking sound as I peered through the doorway to see the scene that would change my life’s direction forever.
“What the **** are you doing?” I yelled. Not a glib or articulate choice of words I’ll admit but they were the ones I chose. None of the three people in the room answered so I decided to speak again.
“What the **** is going on?” Again I wasn’t exactly painting a verbal masterpiece but at least it elicited some kind of response.
“I can explain Frank” Alice replied trying to gain some composure whilst struggling frantically to cover her nudity, she paused for a second but I had tired of waiting for an explanation from her and within a second I had made my move I darted across the room and grabbed the well-built naked Italian who lay next to my wife by his throat.
“You were my ****ing tag team partner” I yelled not at all concerned that another mans penis was pushed against my knee.
“Why the **** did you do this? I trusted you with my life night after night. We were like brothers!” he didn’t answer, in retrospect it was probably because my left hand had cut off his ability to breath let alone speak. However his silence incensed me, he owed me words. So I set to taking them from him. My repeated punches where accompanied by two sounds the first the sound of fist meeting nose and cartilage breaking the second came from the third person in the room, it was crying. I wanted to go hug my daughter but rage took over as I pummelled his face with punch after punch. I thought I might kill him right there and then until a sobbing cry bought me to my senses.
“daddy, I love you”
I stopped punching and threw Carlo’s limp head backwards towards the large puddle of blood that had engulfed the bedspread like a bloody volcano had erupted and scarred the virgin sheet for all to see. I lay there straddling a battered, bloody naked man and for only the second time in the thirty years I cried. Not because I had found my wife screwing my best friend. Sure that hurt, but what pushed me to tears was seeing my angel weep. The bastard had made me scare my precious Maria.
Most of the next few days were a blur to me. It was an emotional train wreck, various arguments between Alice and I, interspersed with me trying to find a room so I didn’t have to sleep on the streets. Sure the weather was good at that time of year but the country was in the middle of an economic depression and crime was rife. I ended up sharing a room for a few days with a middle aged Hispanic wrestler who went by the moniker of Guerrero. He was very short with brown tousled hair and had a genuine lust for life. Under normal circumstances we might well have gone on to be good friends but I was wedged deep beneath a cloud of depression and had no time for his kind hearted gestures. It was during these few days staying at Guerrero’s that I received a call that would change mine and Carlo’s lives forever. It was Scott Foley. He was the head booker for MWA or Memphis Wrestling Alliance.
“Hey there Frank, I heard about you and Carlo, that’s too bad man.” He said in his familiar Texan drawl
“These things happen, I just want to forget about it” I replied.
“Listen Frank, I’ve got some news for you. I explained the situation with you and Carlo to Kent and he wants too change your match at the superbrawl”
This was a huge relief for me and I wanted him to know what it meant to me.
“Excellent” I exclaimed “I was really worried about what was going to happen”
“Sorry frank, there’s more.” He said cutting me off.
“There was a guy from the press at the hospital who took some pictures of Carlo’s face. You did a real number on him Frank! and those pictures have generated some real heat. Unfortunately Kent wants put you two in a non-disqualification match. He thinks it will be huge, what do you say? Can you work with him Frank? I’m telling you this could be your big break”
“I’ll do it” I said putting my professional reputation before my pride “but there’s a condition Scott.”
“Sure thing Frank, what is it?”
“There’s no way that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get a pin-fall on me”
“You got it” he said and with that the match was set.
As it Happened Kent was spot on, the match was huge despite it not being the main event all the hype was aimed at our bout. A real life grudge match. Now I am not going to underestimate your intelligence here, wrestling is not a legitimate sport, the winners and losers are without fail predetermined and some of the more intricate matches are carefully choreographed beforehand. Scott decided he wanted a back and forth match between us with a risky ending. The plan was to have Carlo on the concrete floor outside with me on the ring apron I was then supposed to perform a high impact move on him for the win.
So the big night arrived and expectation was high as I sat in the steam filled locker room staring at the clothes hangars. Images drifted through my head as I listened to the crowd cheering the current match that was unfolding for their entertainment. I was out next, but I had not seen Carlo to discuss the match. Kent, who was the owner of the company, was of the opinion that keeping the workers separated before a show added to the spontaneity. I was nervous as hell as the guitar chords hit and my theme music began. It was a disco/rock take on the Italian national anthem. The fans used to hate this song it was part of what had made me such an effective heel. But on this night they cheered, they wanted to see me take vengeance on my backstabbing ex-partner but no-one ever expected things to transpire the way they did on that night, not even me.
There I was standing on the worn canvas in the centre of the ring, flashbulbs going off all around me and then I saw him peep hesitantly through the curtain at the other end of long straight entrance ramp, his greasy thick black hair pulled back in to a tight ponytail. I took the few steps to the edge of ring grabbed hold of the ring rope and leant outwards yelling obscenities at the greasy Italian bastard. I can’t remember what I said. All I recall is that it got him fired up as he charged the ring. We started throwing punches before the bell had even rung. Two left hooks from Carlo, one of which caught me on the chin. I was reeling from the force of the last punch but I succeeded in cutting him off, blocking his tirade with a swift movement of my right forearm and I managed to throw a couple of jabs of my own. But before we could go any further security and the referee intervened to calm our tempers. You see wrestling was put across as a legitimate sport back then. There were ring announcements, weigh ins the whole shebang, sure it was all just theatrics but the events played out much like a boxing contest. So we returned to our respective corners. The weight announcements were made and the bell rang signalling the beginning of the contest. I made my way to the centre of the ring to confront my nemesis. There we stood face to face I stared into his piercing blue eyes where I saw the blackness of his soul.
Starting matches had always been challenging for me. I usually let my opponent put me in a hold to get the ball rolling but tonight was different. There was a palpable tension as we stared each other down in that ring, neither of us even flinched, an eerie silence transcended the large hall which was broken when Carlo spoke.
“I ****ed your wife”
I was angry but I didn’t move it wasn’t the time for it.
“I ate that ***** like it was ice cream”
Still no comeback,
“Your daughter wanted to join in as well” he snarled. That was it. BAM a right to the Carlo’s temple and the match began. The crowd were whipped into a frenzy as I peppered him with punches. I swear I have never heard a crowd roar as loud as they did that night in all my 10 years in the business. The atmosphere grew as the match progressed; every person engrossed as we traded blows, every wrestling hold was applauded as if it were the Titans taking the super bowl. The crowd were rapturous but nothing could prepare them for the ending we had planned. Carlo tossed me over the top rope to the cold concrete floor next to ring. My arm throbbed as it clashed with the floor but im sure it looked good on the cameras so the pain was of little consequence to me. Carlo climbed between the ropes and stood upon the ring apron. He readied himself for a high flying move which would surely be the nail in my coffin. But then BAM a steel chair to the sternum foiled his plan. I crossed myself for good luck as my next move would be risky not just for Carlo but me as well. The Suplex is quite a common but complicated wrestling manoeuvre comprising of taking your opponents head under you arm. Lifting there body in to the air and dropping backwards. This puts both your back and there’s at risk but if done correctly is quite an impress move, however when done from the ring apron to the concrete floor it becomes a show stopping move.
As I Clambered up to the apron the crowd grew silent they where hooked on the story we were telling and they knew it was about to reach its climax. I heard a loud unified gasping as I placed his head beneath my arm in preparation for the biggest victory of my career. I paused briefly to savour the atmosphere. I had envisioned this moment earlier in the locker room and was about to see it unfold in reality in front of thousands of people, then something un-expected happened I heard Carlo whisper,
“she ain’t even yours” and then darkness.
I can honestly admit that I have been knocked unconscious several times in my career but none felt as surreal as this. I opened my eyes briefly and I saw the steel chair that I had used earlier but who had hit me with it? My eyes looked toward the ring were I saw through the haze Carlo’s arm being raised in victory by the referee but who was that next to him. My focus returned and in an instant I recognised the sultry figure of my wife. It had been her who had knocked me out with the chair and cost me my dignity. I had lost almost everything to him but something still puzzled me. The last words he had spoken, “she ain’t even yours” what could those four words have meant? I looked around ringside at the screaming fans and focused my sight on one of them. It was the same person who had been in the room with Carlo and my wife just last week, it was my daughter her thick black hair held tight in a pony tail. She was embroiled in the moment and was cheering like she had done so many times at my matches but again something was amiss and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then I noticed the shirt she was wearing. It was a Carlo “Piasant” tee-shirt his face mocking me staring at me from the chest of my sweet innocent baby girl. It was not unusual for Maria to wear this tee-shirt, she loved her ‘uncle Carlo’ but then I noticed something else, staring at the image of Carlo and the face of Maria. I had never seen the uncanny resemblance before. At that point his words made sense. She wasn’t even mine.
I would love to be able to claim what happened next was blind rage but I knew exactly what I was doing as my hand grasped firmly around the blue steel tubing that made up the leg of the chair. I rolled incognito under the bottom of the three ring ropes into the ring behind my former best friend and my wife. I lifted the chair high above my head and with all the strength I could muster from my bruised and battered body I bought it down on Carlo’s skull. BANG the sound of steel on skull as he fell to the ground like a feather drifting slowly to its resting place.
“OOOHHHHHH” was the crowd’s response still thinking it was all part of the story. My wife tried to run but I grabbed her hair and pushed her to the ground. She wasn’t going to escape my wrath, not this time. As she struggled back to a vertical base I readied the chair, I knew what I had to do BANG this time the sound of chair against face, which virtually exploded upon impact. The referee had bailed hurriedly out of the ring he wanted no part of this psychotic Italian. Carlo was beginning to regain consciousness after the blow I had given him he grabbed hold of my body trying to claw himself to his feet like a squirrel climbing a tree, it would be the last time he ever stood. I threw my chair to the canvas it skidded slightly due to the blood that had appeared, but was still more or less where I wanted it. I placed Carlos head between my legs and fell backwards in a sitting motion onto the chair. “EEEUUUURRRRR” that was the sound of thousands of people realising something had gone horribly wrong. I turned and looked at the bloody mess that had once been my friend I knew for sure he wasn’t getting back up. At least I thought I did. Suddenly his hand shot defiantly in the air “YEEEAAAHHH!” the crowd cheered. Why are they cheering him? Did he also own them? As well as everything else I had held dear? Well I wasn’t going to have him steal my thunder I took my trusty foldaway chair in my hand and unfolded it I placed Carlos head in side of it and laid him back on the canvas I made my way to the corner post and scowled at that treacherous bitch Maria, who was now in tears. I ascended to the top rope and paused at the top. Time seemed to stand still as I assessed the situation I glanced at the aisle and saw several armed police rushing towards me I knew they would be upon me in seconds I had to act now if I was going to exact my revenge. Did he deserve it? I thought through in my head all that he’d taken from me, my wife, my home, my career, my pride and my daughter. I looked across at what was once mine and saw her pathetic face crying as I screamed,
“I loved you Maria”
and with that I flew majestically through the air hitting my target with power and precision I returned to my feet and in the split second before the bullet hit me I had chance to look at the bloody remains of Carlos “paisant” Dennucci. He was done.
My attorney said I should plead insanity. I didn’t do that. I told the jury the truth. My mind was crystal clear the whole time. He broke my heart, so I broke his spine. An eye for an eye. There was no sympathy for my plight amongst the jury and I was consequently sentenced to receive the electric chair for my indiscretions. So here I am now, being led up the long corridor to the last chair I will ever sit in. As I enter the room and see the angry faces of the Denucci family I stare across at the chair that will inevitably end my life. I smile at the irony, I ended his life with a chair and so my life would also end this way. Truth be told my life ended months ago when I realised what the words “she aint even yours” meant. That was the day I died.