The springtime sun reigns tyrannically over the state of South Carolina. It is as if Old Man Winter had done the Sun some terrible wrong by overstaying his welcome this year, and now the Sun has not only killed him, but made sure to burn him to ash along with everything he has touched. Somewhere in South Carolina birds are chirping, flowers are blooming, young lovers are stealing their first furtive glances across lines of desks in classrooms which long to be emptied, and all that stupid shit associated with Spring. But not here in Myrtle Beach. The sand reflects the sun in the bright white-hot passion of seasoned bedmates. Springbreakers and early vacationers crowd this stretch of coast that was only a few weeks ago deserted. In the Sea Captain hotel, in the penthouse suite, Ichabod watches the lusty children with disgust as they frolick in their various states of undress across what he has come to consider his land. Ichabod snatches the curtain shut and walks to a desk that is lined with pictures. Pictures of Selena, Wicked D, Reverend, and Tim Gorder. Ichabod is beyond putting the pictures away, for everytime he does so, the pictures are set back up in the mornings when he awakes. He is beyond understanding why this chapter of his life has taken on a personality of its own, and has made an obstinate and stubborn refusal to be closed. Ichabod wonders what Selena would think if she knew there was a picture of her on his desk, radiating what he once considered beauty, and now only contempt. This bizarre cycle of drifting in and out of consciousness while this other rules his life has begun to take a toll on him, and he believes he was right in sacrificing his career for one glorious moment and some much needed rest, rest in the form of behind the scenes work.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Ichabod had gotten up early a week ago and headed to Zill towers to plead a case to Smoke Dawg about keeping the federation up and running. He'd climbed the stairs slowly, wanting to postpone this meeting with his former rival as long as possible. When he'd entered the office, he'd found it empty, with only a postcard sitting on the desk. It was from Myrtle Beach, SC, and Smokey had signed it. Ichabod was just beginning to relish the irony when he'd spun out into one of his headaches.
When he'd come to again, he'd been standing at the very bottom of the stairs, in the basement, with blood on his hands. A small moan had issued forth from the boiler, but Ichabod had fled back up the stairs, unwilling to find out what he'd done. As he'd taken the steps two for two, a thought had suddenly come into his head, along with weariness and exhaustion. He'd slowed his pace and walked the entire distance back up to Smoke Dawg's office, the office who's door had only had "President Darren" partially removed with a razor. Ichabod gazed at it before entering, noticing that only "President D--" remained. He'd nodded and entered then, and walked right up to where Smokey would be sitting, had he been doing his job. He'd turned the chair around and hesitated only a moment before taking the seat and closing his eyes. Then he'd truly felt what it was to be on top of the WoW. Ichabod had reached into a filing drawer and pulled out a list of phone numbers and contacts for the people who worked for WoW. He proceeded to call them back to work, and then he opened up Smokey's laptop. The password came up, but Ichabod already knew what it was. It was the thorn in Smoke Dawgs side. Quickly typing, Ichabod had entered "Wafer" Now accessing the mainframe of the WoW schedule, Ichabod pulled up a screen which would shortly be emailed to all the members of the WoW staff, Wrestlers and Crew alike. It was the card for this following Monday. Promising himself he'd fill in the rest later, Ichabod merely added a match to the Main Event slot. Justin Payne vs. Ichabod for the world title. Ichabod would finally achieve his dream... and then, he would retire as a WoW wrestler, and run the show for a little while.
-----------------------------------------
Now Ichabod sat in front of his desk, musing over the events to come. It had to be a hardcore match, of course. The infinitisimal insult dealt to Payne and Ichabod two years ago had never been paid for. It was a title match, Ichabod's first, and Payne was the Hardcore Champion. They'd both fought a bloody battle that lasted God knows how long. The interim president at that time was Smoke Dawg, and he'd signed the match, giving both men their opportunity to make history. And history they made. After punishing each other all over the arena, Ichabod had finally beaten Payne, but it was a victory that Ichabod would never gloat over, for two reasons.
First of all, Payne had belonged to the rival stable, ORS, and Ichabod was pure Revelation. This match bridged a gap of hate between the two groups, and Payne was the first man in that stable that Ichabod gained any respect for and from. Payne had made a mark on Ichabod, a mark that stood until this day. It was just the sort of impression Ichabod had needed to go from a silly boy with no direction to a man that would forever more hold some sort of championship.
The other reason Ichabod had for not gloating was simple and disgusting. The president, the real president, Chris Conner had returned the very next day and declared the entire show null and void. The new champion stood defeated by some false form of pride from Conner. Ichabod turned the title back over to Payne and never again faced the Song and Dance Man in the ring.
Since then, Ichabod has always gone back to that day when he ran across Paynes path. The image of his victory in not only the match, but the field of respect, coupled with his resentment of having to give up his first, if not soured, title before he'd even adjusted to its weight on his shoulder was a constant reminder of his inability to fully prove himself to the first man he'd been given the chance to do so.
But now, sitting here in front of a blank wall, stared at by all these faces from the past that the "other" Ichabod insisted on having displayed, Ichabod could feel the approach of fate. The perfect beginning and end to his career will finally know each other in one week. Both men have gone their separate ways since "The Monday that Never Happened" and both have come a long way to meet one another again. Ichabod feels sure that he will win, his strategy has changed, his skills have changed, and his attitude and want of success have changed. He knows that Payne has changed as well, but Payne still has a long road ahead of him in WoW. This is the end of Ichabod's road, and both men should know that Ichabod is going to fight with everything he has, everything he is, everything he should have been up until now. This is the final battle in a long scarred road of suffering, and Ichabod plans to go on to higher things with this memory burning in his tortured mind as his last and most glorious victory. But win or lose, this moment will be glorious for both men. An unsettled rivalry will now come to its climax, and this time, there is no one who will believe it didn't happen. This time, the entire length of the match will be burned deep into the minds of everyone who watches, and anyone who hears about it. This time... This time...
|
