Post by Ryan Blaze on Oct 13, 2011 4:36:31 GMT
Ryan Blaze slumped down on his couch at his small apartment in the bright and sunny state of Cali. While he had a small bachelors pad in Georgia, where he spent the majority of the year, he also made regular monthly payments toward his 2 bedroom crib in California. He would often fly home to his place in Los Angeles during the year in order to clear his head, get his life back on track and most importantly to him- catch up on some desperately needed ZZZ's.
He looked at the leather ottoman in front of him where he had placed his small suitcase containing his wrestling gear. HERO? He wasn't a hero, nobody took that seriously. Nobody wanted help. Everyone was a perfect being in their own eyes. Ryan, a man who has witnessed more in his career than most could boast, was completely shot down from the roster and labeled a joke. You'd think that today's youth would look forward to getting the chance to communicate with TNB's veterans. To wrestle them to compare their talent. No, they wanted to rid TNB of it's past... and they did a good job of getting Ryan out of there.
Ryan Blaze was no hero.
He swings his feet up onto the couch and lays back, resting his head on one of the decorative pillows. He closed his eyes. He let his mind wander into the little dark corners of the warped and twisted corridors that was his brain. He let his mind take over, and instead of thinking with a level head like he was trained to by psychologists, started toying with ideas that any regular individual would never even DREAM of thinking about. Thoughts and plans that an ordinary person wouldn't be able to wrap their minds around. Not only were they complex thoughts, but they were dirty, disgusting, vile thoughts. The voices of his past started to whisper at him. The voices of a fallen king crying to be returned to his throne. The voices of an untrusted ruler of light slipping into the darkness...
His eyes snapped open. He could only stare blankly at the ceiling fan above him, spinning slowly giving off the slightest breeze. With each swift rotation of the fan blades, a small amount of dust sprinkled down onto Ryan. The dust was making him feel plugged up and the last thing he wanted was to plug his thoughts up in his brain. He had to think positively.
Fuck.
Ryan sat up quickly, and made his way over to the kitchen area of his apartment. He opened the fridge. Beers, beer, more beer, whiskey, rum, beer, one vodka cooler. Healthy life style he had here. Of course, as he had opened the fridge it only then dawned on him that his healthy foods were at his Georgia bachelor pad. His fruits and vegetables. His 24 packs of water. His protein shakes and multivitamins. His Omega 3 capsules. All of it, missing. He could only guess what was in the cupboards here... Probably potato chips and a hidden syringe behind a large tub of 'Skippy' peanut butter.
So much for making a snack to get his mind off of...his mind.
He walks out of there, wanting nothing to do with anything in there. He'd hit up a local grocery store sometime this afternoon and restock his home away from home. He makes his way through the living room, and out onto the balcony. It was early morning, probably about 5 or 6. He hadn't looked at the clock in roughly an hour or so, and he arrived back at the apartment, back in California at 4 am.
RB stares out at the rising sun coming from behind all the large buildings in downtown Los Angeles. The red sun made him think of his past, too. The blood he had spilled. The enemies he had slaughtered in the ring. His lovely sister. His caring father. Both of which fell to him.
He sat down on a chair on his balcony, reaches into his pocket and retrieves his pack of smokes. Pulling a single cigarette from the pack, he places the filter between his lips and returns his cigarettes back to his chest pocket. He takes a long and deep drag, enjoying every lasting second of it. He hadn't smoked in awhile, he was trying to quit... but he needed this one. It was calling to him, he needed this one last one.
You shouldn't smoke. It's terrible for your health.[/b]
I shouldn't smoke. It's terrible for my health.
Ryan had just told himself not to do something, and then agreed with that very command without even realizing. He put out the cigarette, returned to the inside of his apartment, and sat back down on the couch. He reached for his bag, grabbing at the zipper and pulling the closed compartment open. He snags a hold of his notebook and flips it open to the first page. He smiles, almost ready to laugh. He had purchased this book 6 months ago and hadn't even touched it.
Well, I'm calling it quits. I'm fucking done with wrestling. Done with that bullshit. Done with all those fuckwads in the ring, done with the retarded management that couldn't manage a fucking daycare, and done with those fucking blood sucking fans. I'm done, I quit, I fucking retire.
With that in mind, I need to still get some cash flow... So I should write... People love reading washed up assholes write shit.
FUCK TNB.
He leaned back, and flipped open the book. He grabbed a pen, and began to jot down some ideas...
OOC DISCLAIMER: Don't start shit with me, it's a story, I have no problems with TNB, Karl, you guys, or "the fans". Enjoy
Any questions, you know my MSN or how to PM me.
He looked at the leather ottoman in front of him where he had placed his small suitcase containing his wrestling gear. HERO? He wasn't a hero, nobody took that seriously. Nobody wanted help. Everyone was a perfect being in their own eyes. Ryan, a man who has witnessed more in his career than most could boast, was completely shot down from the roster and labeled a joke. You'd think that today's youth would look forward to getting the chance to communicate with TNB's veterans. To wrestle them to compare their talent. No, they wanted to rid TNB of it's past... and they did a good job of getting Ryan out of there.
Ryan Blaze was no hero.
He swings his feet up onto the couch and lays back, resting his head on one of the decorative pillows. He closed his eyes. He let his mind wander into the little dark corners of the warped and twisted corridors that was his brain. He let his mind take over, and instead of thinking with a level head like he was trained to by psychologists, started toying with ideas that any regular individual would never even DREAM of thinking about. Thoughts and plans that an ordinary person wouldn't be able to wrap their minds around. Not only were they complex thoughts, but they were dirty, disgusting, vile thoughts. The voices of his past started to whisper at him. The voices of a fallen king crying to be returned to his throne. The voices of an untrusted ruler of light slipping into the darkness...
His eyes snapped open. He could only stare blankly at the ceiling fan above him, spinning slowly giving off the slightest breeze. With each swift rotation of the fan blades, a small amount of dust sprinkled down onto Ryan. The dust was making him feel plugged up and the last thing he wanted was to plug his thoughts up in his brain. He had to think positively.
Fuck.
Ryan sat up quickly, and made his way over to the kitchen area of his apartment. He opened the fridge. Beers, beer, more beer, whiskey, rum, beer, one vodka cooler. Healthy life style he had here. Of course, as he had opened the fridge it only then dawned on him that his healthy foods were at his Georgia bachelor pad. His fruits and vegetables. His 24 packs of water. His protein shakes and multivitamins. His Omega 3 capsules. All of it, missing. He could only guess what was in the cupboards here... Probably potato chips and a hidden syringe behind a large tub of 'Skippy' peanut butter.
So much for making a snack to get his mind off of...his mind.
He walks out of there, wanting nothing to do with anything in there. He'd hit up a local grocery store sometime this afternoon and restock his home away from home. He makes his way through the living room, and out onto the balcony. It was early morning, probably about 5 or 6. He hadn't looked at the clock in roughly an hour or so, and he arrived back at the apartment, back in California at 4 am.
RB stares out at the rising sun coming from behind all the large buildings in downtown Los Angeles. The red sun made him think of his past, too. The blood he had spilled. The enemies he had slaughtered in the ring. His lovely sister. His caring father. Both of which fell to him.
He sat down on a chair on his balcony, reaches into his pocket and retrieves his pack of smokes. Pulling a single cigarette from the pack, he places the filter between his lips and returns his cigarettes back to his chest pocket. He takes a long and deep drag, enjoying every lasting second of it. He hadn't smoked in awhile, he was trying to quit... but he needed this one. It was calling to him, he needed this one last one.
You shouldn't smoke. It's terrible for your health.[/b]
I shouldn't smoke. It's terrible for my health.
Ryan had just told himself not to do something, and then agreed with that very command without even realizing. He put out the cigarette, returned to the inside of his apartment, and sat back down on the couch. He reached for his bag, grabbing at the zipper and pulling the closed compartment open. He snags a hold of his notebook and flips it open to the first page. He smiles, almost ready to laugh. He had purchased this book 6 months ago and hadn't even touched it.
Well, I'm calling it quits. I'm fucking done with wrestling. Done with that bullshit. Done with all those fuckwads in the ring, done with the retarded management that couldn't manage a fucking daycare, and done with those fucking blood sucking fans. I'm done, I quit, I fucking retire.
With that in mind, I need to still get some cash flow... So I should write... People love reading washed up assholes write shit.
FUCK TNB.
He leaned back, and flipped open the book. He grabbed a pen, and began to jot down some ideas...
OOC DISCLAIMER: Don't start shit with me, it's a story, I have no problems with TNB, Karl, you guys, or "the fans". Enjoy
Any questions, you know my MSN or how to PM me.