Post by Ryan Blaze on Dec 26, 2011 15:08:40 GMT
PILLOW PUNCH
For some reason, Ryan had been waking up every morning now for the past few months with a quick, hard punch to the pillow. It was his strange way of telling the world, "Yeah, I'm awake. I'm starting my day. Do something about it." It's not like anyone knew, anyways, because Ryan lived alone. It had just became a routine that he had started to follow.
Weeks had past. Weeks had past since he called it quits. Knowing damn well he didn't have to do interviews anymore, he hadn't maintained his features. Knowing he didn't have to show up to work, he stopped cutting his hair like a stylish prick. He stopped fashioning his facial hair into a thin chinstrap with a goatee and mustache combo, like a giant douche. He just became natural. Ryan had kept up his daily physical activities and his nutrition because he genuinely enjoyed that, but his fashion took a plummet. He never cared about how he personally looked, but he cared about how people saw him. He didn't want to look homeless in front of millions. Now that he had no job, he had no worries in the world. He stopped giving a fuck about the little details.
He pounced out of bed, dressed only in a pair of Adidas track pants. He reaches down to his thighs, pressing his balled up knuckles against the three lines on his pants. The result is a vicious series of cracks. This was another bad habit. Every morning, after showing his pillow who was boss, he followed it up with cracking his knuckles.
You'd think next he'd bite his nails or something.
He walks from his room, to the hallway, and then to his kitchen. He opens the door to his condo, and walks out to the hallway. One of the benefits of living in one of the nice buildings in Atlanta was the faculty that worked there. Each floor had it's own mailbox station. Typical apartments there was one large one in the lobby, but here there was one per floor. Convenient. He opens his up with the key he had conveniently in his pocket, and retrieves his mail. As he looks through his stuff on the way back, he notices some interesting stuff. Such as the prices on 32" LCD TVs. Damn.
He reaches his condo again and sits at one of the stools for his island. Ryan looks through each piece of mail. Bill, bill, flyer with TVs on sail, bill, flyer, flyer, and one hand written message. He frowns slightly as he opens up the envelope that held the message. He pulls out a piece of paper and begins reading..
Ryan frowns again. This was odd. And something interesting. He crumpled the paper into a tight ball, and crammed it into one of the pockets of his track pants. He hurries off to the bedroom to get ready, hastily spreading deodorant under his armpits, tossing on an old black V-neck, and covering up with a nice thick olive green military styled jacket. With both hands, Blaze runs his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He grabs a black toque and covers his mane. He runs back to the door, grabs some shoes, and he's off.
Time to possibly get help.
For some reason, Ryan had been waking up every morning now for the past few months with a quick, hard punch to the pillow. It was his strange way of telling the world, "Yeah, I'm awake. I'm starting my day. Do something about it." It's not like anyone knew, anyways, because Ryan lived alone. It had just became a routine that he had started to follow.
Weeks had past. Weeks had past since he called it quits. Knowing damn well he didn't have to do interviews anymore, he hadn't maintained his features. Knowing he didn't have to show up to work, he stopped cutting his hair like a stylish prick. He stopped fashioning his facial hair into a thin chinstrap with a goatee and mustache combo, like a giant douche. He just became natural. Ryan had kept up his daily physical activities and his nutrition because he genuinely enjoyed that, but his fashion took a plummet. He never cared about how he personally looked, but he cared about how people saw him. He didn't want to look homeless in front of millions. Now that he had no job, he had no worries in the world. He stopped giving a fuck about the little details.
He pounced out of bed, dressed only in a pair of Adidas track pants. He reaches down to his thighs, pressing his balled up knuckles against the three lines on his pants. The result is a vicious series of cracks. This was another bad habit. Every morning, after showing his pillow who was boss, he followed it up with cracking his knuckles.
You'd think next he'd bite his nails or something.
He walks from his room, to the hallway, and then to his kitchen. He opens the door to his condo, and walks out to the hallway. One of the benefits of living in one of the nice buildings in Atlanta was the faculty that worked there. Each floor had it's own mailbox station. Typical apartments there was one large one in the lobby, but here there was one per floor. Convenient. He opens his up with the key he had conveniently in his pocket, and retrieves his mail. As he looks through his stuff on the way back, he notices some interesting stuff. Such as the prices on 32" LCD TVs. Damn.
He reaches his condo again and sits at one of the stools for his island. Ryan looks through each piece of mail. Bill, bill, flyer with TVs on sail, bill, flyer, flyer, and one hand written message. He frowns slightly as he opens up the envelope that held the message. He pulls out a piece of paper and begins reading..
Dear Mr. Ronald Zlabe,
I have received word of the little 'problems' you have been suffering through for the past few years. I have been researching something along similar lines for many years now, and I feel as if I might have some answers to some of your questions. I'd love to be able to help you through a few sessions together.
I know this comes as a random event in your life. We have never met, we have never talked, you've never even got a glance of me before. I know who you are through TNB wrestling before the name change to I:W. I've worked with the medical team there for years, specializing in the effects on the brain from physical abuse for multiple years. I'm not an obsessed fan. If you're uncomfortable, you don't have to come. I'd be upset if you didn't, but this is your life, and your decision.
The directions are written on the back.
I know this comes as a random event in your life. We have never met, we have never talked, you've never even got a glance of me before. I know who you are through TNB wrestling before the name change to I:W. I've worked with the medical team there for years, specializing in the effects on the brain from physical abuse for multiple years. I'm not an obsessed fan. If you're uncomfortable, you don't have to come. I'd be upset if you didn't, but this is your life, and your decision.
The directions are written on the back.
Sincerely,
Dr. William Johnathon Haggerty
[/color][/right]Dr. William Johnathon Haggerty
Ryan frowns again. This was odd. And something interesting. He crumpled the paper into a tight ball, and crammed it into one of the pockets of his track pants. He hurries off to the bedroom to get ready, hastily spreading deodorant under his armpits, tossing on an old black V-neck, and covering up with a nice thick olive green military styled jacket. With both hands, Blaze runs his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He grabs a black toque and covers his mane. He runs back to the door, grabs some shoes, and he's off.
Time to possibly get help.