Post by Los Sicarios on Apr 21, 2022 12:58:12 GMT
March 2022.
The compact living space that DJ and his mother and his stepfather occupied was mostly filled with laughter and joy. Tonight, however, it was laden with dread. The three sat on their respective chairs, molded and shaped in their favorite sitting position. DJ’s mom, Jenn, sat on her side, her feet resting comfortably on the couch. DJ sat forward, leaning his forearms on his knees to support his body. Both DJ and his mother watched the television intently.
It became a regular thing. The three sat in front of the television, watching any channel that broadcasted professional wrestling. Jenn’s husband would politely stay out of the way and on his phone whenever her and DJ talked business. Jenn would mention her observations to DJ and DJ would silently listen, taking it all in.
But tonight, tonight was different.
“The winner of this match and the first CU:LT NEW WORLD CHAMPION… DONNIE HOPKINS!”
They watched as a man hoisted up a title over his head as Stacy King and Bill Foote praised him for his accomplishment. The match was every bit as brutal as a company like CU:LT would have showcased. A three-way match which pit Donnie against a young up-and-comer and a ring-vet. Donnie was able to find a way to get out of his own head and actually deliver on this night - one of the most important nights of his life. On the screen, Donnie had a face of elation. He achieved something that he has never been able to achieve before - a company’s world championship.
In his 22 years of life, this was the happiest Donovan Hopkins, Jr. has ever seen his piece-of-shit father.
He couldn’t dare look at his mom. He knew tears were streaming down her face. He knew the mixed emotions she was feeling. She’s happy for him, but she also despised the fact that felt that way. Seeing her go through these feelings was rougher than watching the man who’s never acknowledged him as a son on television.
Jenn noticed her son seething and tried to calm herself down. “Pendejo is closer to 54 than 44,” she muttered. “Mentiroso.” She took her focus away from the man who ruined everything and turned her attention to the boy who gave her everything. She knew he had the rest of his future ahead of him but it was always going to be Donnie that would hold him back. “He’s just one person, m’ijo. Don’t…. Don’t let him get to you like this.”
DJ’s stepfather stood up unexpectedly and headed to the bedroom. It caused DJ to look in his direction, which made him lock eyes with his mother. The tears were drying as she tried to put on a smile for him, as she’s had for years now. He’s learned everything from her, despite him getting along with his stepdad it was his mother who taught him how to be a man.
While his real father was out there trying to grasp every ounce of relevance he can get, his mom was left alone to carry the burden of being a parent. DJ didn’t make her life easy, that’s for sure, but he loved her. He understood what she had to do, the sacrifices she made for his sake. It wasn’t easy for her, but she did it. And now, a few years into this business, DJ knew that there was a chance for redemption.
He stood up from his chair and sat next to his mother. She put her head on his shoulder as they stared at the television - Donnie smoking his cigar while holding his shiny new belt. "Don’t worry, ma…. When I get my chance… I swear to God I’m gonna kill that motherfucker."
—--------
Now.
The funeral home smelled like grief, flowers, and embalming fluid.
There was a somber tone in the viewing room, as there usually is whenever this area was occupied. The soft music played loud enough to cover up the silent sniffles and quiet murmurs from those in attendance. About a dozen men and women sat staggered as each one went up to the casket to pay their respects. There was a picture of the person next to the casket. The picture was full of life. The person, not so much.
“Sir...”
Donnie stood a few feet away waiting his turn, his sunglasses covering his face. He was sure no one would recognize him. They never do. He was always the one who kept the recognizable safe - whether it was pushing some wrestling mark away or knocking someone’s teeth down their throat for crossing the boss. He was always the right-hand man… Not anymore. At CU:LT, he was the man.
The New World Champion.
“Sir...”
Donnie watched as the older lady shuffled away. From the looks of things, she wasn’t ready for them to go away. So quickly. So suddenly. She was devastated by the fact that this person could never share a laugh, a cry, an embrace ever again. Donnie approached the casket and peered down. He noticed that they were at peace, dressed in their Sunday best. They were pale, despite the mortician’s best efforts, this was not how they looked in the living. It was an interpretation of their face while living - a farce.
Promoters used to look at Donnie as a farce. He was always the tough guy who backed the main attraction. The workhorse. The muscle. They interpreted his role as the guy who would never be at the top but would be sacrificed to those who were well on their way.
“Sir, please.”
Donnie looked at the open casket. The mahogany caught his eye, but he also noticed the pleasant white interior. He noticed the handles for the pallbearers and wondered if there were enough people that cared about him to lift him and carry him to his final destination. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar.
“Mr. Hopkins!”
The man sounded firm - strong. It brought a chuckle out of Donnie as he continued to ignore his beckons. He looked at the dead body in front of him as murmurs grew behind him. He placed the cigar inside the casket and bowed his head for a moment. He turned around and finally acknowledged the man.
“This one looks too fuckin’ small for my big ass,” he blurted. Those in attendance look on in shock. Donnie looks at another person in the front row, probably their significant other. He chuckles. “But I guess it won’t matter if I’m dead, right?” He heads towards the exit with the Funeral Director rushing behind him. “What other boxes you got in here?”
Donnie walked hurriedly down the hall as the director trailed behind him. “Mr. Hopkins, what do you think you’re doing!?” He was appalled by the fact that Donnie was going to light up inside the viewing room. He didn’t expect Donnie to invite himself to the viewing. He knew he had a lot to answer for once his meeting with Donnie was done.
Donnie turns to face the director, who nearly crashes into him. Annoyed, Donnie answers, “If I’m going to be buried alive, I’d prefer to pick the fucking box I’m in. I already told you this, asshole. Now be respectful, this is a tough process for anyone to go through.”
“But what do y-”
“What’s with all the fucking questions, man!? I came here with the questions and the asshole wants to ask me questions? I’m the fucking customer, shithead! I highly doubt some dead-ass bitch is gonna get me the fucking coffin I deserve. Do you know what I do, brother?”
“I’m not sur–”
“I’m a pro wrestler. Been one for over twenty years. I could fucking retire right now from the business and not a fucking soul would give a shit about me,” Donnie lifted a finger, as if he recalled something. “I take that back. That kid, English. He probably cares what happens to me. I’m the champion of that company, ya know? I’m the piece of shit that represents the company’s top prize. That’s right, me! Donnie fuckin’ Danger himself. The guy who no one ever believed in is the fucking champion of CU:LT.”
“Oh,” sighed the man. There seemed to be a sense of relief that came over him. “So you’re part of a cult. I think it all makes sense now…”
“Combat Unlimited: Lethal Trials, ya dumb fuck. Why the hell would I join a god damn cult!? Do I look like I would blindly follow some fucking hippie ass mother fucker because he loves chasing waterfalls? The rivers and lakes? Fuck that. Only God I believe in put me on this earth to be a fucking pain in the ass to every motherfucker who tries to cross me or the people I care about. Nah, CU:LT put me up against some fucking misfit ass bitch and another old fart who realized he was in way over his head. Lo and behold, Donnie Hopkins ends up becoming a world fucking champion. Can you believe that?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re saying to me right now…”
“I don’t give a shit if you or don’t, asshole. I’m paying for your time right?”
“Actually, you’re n-”
“The next thing English does after I finally achieve the one fucking thing I’ve been trying to do since I got into this business? He puts me up against some psycho freak named Jane Doe. She beat this other try-hard in a number one contender match and now I gotta face her in a Buried Alive match in Guyana. Guyana! How the fuck are we gonna ship my casket to Guyana?”
“Well we have some packages we can look at–”
“I’m flying to Guyana to get my ass buried alive, man. Pro wrestling, I tell ya! This Jane chick. She’s crazy, man. A real-life horror story. Samara in the flesh, ya know? I watched the tape and now I got a few days before she crawls out that television and buries my ass,” he chuckled. He pulled out another cigar and the funeral director started to speak. Donnie looked at him and dared him to speak, but he chose not to. Donnie simply put the cigar in his mouth and continued. “I ain’t afraid to die. I mean, shit, I’m here, ain’t I? I’ve lived a life. Was it the best? Did I enjoy my time amongst the living? Was I the best at my job? The best person I could be?”
“Hell fucking no.”
“But you ask around about good ol’ Donnie Danger and you’ll find that I’m a persistent motherfucker. I’m loyal to anyone who offers the most amount. And just recently, I’ve been able to carry around a belt that just proves that I’m the best god damn wrestler in the company. And I intend to hold that title for a long time, brother. I’ve been in this fucking business too long for the wrestling gods to take this away from me, too. And say they decide to rear their ugly head and take what rightfully belongs to me? Then I’ll gladly die doing so, because there is abso-fucking-lutely no reason for me to continue living if I can no longer be called champion. You think scary goth girl is gonna intimidate me? I’ve been through some shit, man. Jane Doe is just another one in my fucking way.”
“She wants my title? She’s gonna have to fucking kill me.”
“And if I’m buried alive, I better have the best fucking type of coffin. Which brings this allllll back to you, bub. So you gonna show me some more coffins or do I have to wait till I get to Guyana to finally get someone to help me out?”
The man looked at Donnie. He was confused, distraught. Donnie was barking loudly in a place known for its quiet reverence. There was nothing he could’ve done to stop this diatribe - this talk that the funeral director had to endure while patrons watched helplessly.
Donnie sighs. He realized that the questions were falling on deaf ears. CU:LT was an intriguing company, ranging from technical wizards to asshole-faced women… but it was his company. The brand with the misfits and unappreciated. The ones who were looked over. Mislabeled. He took pride in being the man who carried CU:LT on his back and he’d be damned if someone like Jane Doe took that away from him. They continued down the hall and entered an exhibition room full of caskets.
“I got a lot on my fucking plate, I’ll admit that. You won’t understand. You’re stuck here, day in and day out. The same boring nine to five, seeing the same sad, pathetic faces. I get it. But you and I? We ain’t that much different. We both deal with death every single minute of our lives. Mortality is just something we’re used to. I- I ain’t afraid of dying,” he repeated. Not so much for the man, but for himself.
“But if I’m being buried alive…”
Donnie looked down at the casket and realized there were no handles from the inside.
“...I’m going out in style.”