Post by Donnie Harris on Jul 6, 2024 21:01:08 GMT -5
-It’s the 4th of July, Independence Day. It was on this day in 1776 that the Declaration of Independence was otherwise prepared and ratified, in defiance over the rule of British law over the American peoples. Of course, many times over, that document, and by the same merit the Constitution, has been trodden upon and torn up in the face of domestic injustice, allowing big business to trample the little guy. Yadda yadda, the American Dream is corrupt as fuck, y’all.
Donnie hated holidays like this, as it ate into his training time. He had 10 days to be satisfied enough with his training to face Clyde Newton, not SYNN, for the EPW World Heavyweight championship title. The fact that these hoops were put in place, set in his way, clogging his path to glory and victory: it was infuriating. It was also extremely unfair. First, Newton tries to lay the belt down, get away from the real threat (as much as fucking Davenport would never stop fucking TALKING ABOUT IT!), try to disturb the championship lineage even more than it already has.
Donnie Harris was not going to let that bullshit happen. He was already used to being overlooked, constantly being tested, constantly being checked and inspected and everything. Hell, he was even being asked for extra piss tests, as if Britlyn wanted to check on more than his testosterone levels.
The mental and emotional exhaustion was more painful than the physical drawbacks, and Donnie pushed himself through it all. The rest period was over, anyway, so he had to focus on his next phases of training, and he was in the cardio and what he called the “heavy metal” phases, where he would dedicate his time between running the ropes and working the weights.
Again, the holiday, having closed basically everything down, took some of the wind out of his sails, and, between flirting and conversing, Donnie was pretty distracted. He did slice out a chunk of time in order to get some running in, but did the Florida heat ever suck! If it wasn’t for the gas stations open along the way, Donnie didn’t think he’d have enough hydration to keep on going, but, considering this was where Gatorade started, the Eliminator had plenty of fluids to force into his body. The humidity was just like that.
Plus no one batted an eye when he took a piss against a tree at a public park: too much Gatorade during his few hours of running.-
-But the day after, the 5th, was a godsend: back to the gym, back to pumping all the weight he needed to, and back to feeling exhausted. Hearing the plates clanging together was soothing, especially as he worked the major muscle groups all in one day. His chest was burning, his legs were jelly and his arms went from lifting hundreds of pounds to barely ounces.
It felt great, and the soak in the tub back at the hotel was therapy in and of itself, especially with the cold water, as much as it hurt. It was the reward for his efforts and his training, but the greatest reward in the wrestling business, as a professional wrestler, was close at hand:
EPW’s World Heavyweight Championship.
Clyde tried to run, to escape, to take the world title’s lineage with him, but he was not the lineal champion. Sadly, and Donnie knew this better than anyone, the lineage of the EPW World Title wasn’t through Clyde Newton.
It was going through BRADDOCK.
The man who tried to get in the way, the man who was actively making a return; the man who Donnie had defeated just last week on Danger with Toxik: BRADDOCK was the lineal champion, and, to hold that distinction, Donnie would have to beat him after beating Newton at Revival.
But no, Donnie, you need to stop, he thought to himself as he began to consider what came after. There is no sense in trying to predict the future without confronting the present.
Donnie had to focus on the present, the now, the training he was embroiled in; it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t win the world title. Facing BRADDOCK wouldn’t matter without defeating Clyde Newton first.
Nothing. Else. Matters.
Nothing else until the deed is done and the match is won: Donnie used this mantra as he rested his weary body, making sure to get a good meal in to help recover from the exhaustion of his day. Between being a gentleman on Twitter and stuffing his face with a high-protein meal, Donnie had every right and reason to feel good.
But he didn’t. Sure, he felt better, but he wasn’t good. Not yet, anyway: nothing else mattered until that deed was done; not until the match was won.-
-However, it never hurts to impart a bit of wisdom to a new friend, and that’s exactly what happened today. Donnie had a group of people, all women and all attractive (hoo boy), hit one of the gyms in Tampa, and he basically rented the gym, and a boxing ring, for the day in order to provide a space for Robbyn Helmsley to get a whole load of stress off.
Losing is not fun, and Donnie knew a thing or two about resetting the routine to regain lost focus, and, bruised body and battered face aside, the Eliminator stood his ground and made her tap: rear naked choke. It was unfortunate that she, as another pro wrestler, didn’t have the strength in technical prowess on the mat, as he had her cinched and locked up tight in less than a minute after letting the fight stay on the feet for about 10 or so. She was good; he wanted to make sure she could be great.
However, Donnie gave her the exact treatment he planned to give Clyde, the same treatment he laid out for BRADDOCK, SYNN, Je$TyR, Ally Calaway, and anyone else he has faced or will face:
No mercy, no quarter; nothing but the best.
He didn’t let up and he didn’t care how hard he threw his punches and kicks, and it didn’t matter to him if she refused to tap and he would have to feel her go limp in his arms; that’s how serious the sport is to Donnie Harris, and it didn’t matter if it was a crowd of 500,000 or a group of five. Robbyn needed to see it, Ruby needed to see it; Tatum, who he was going to face in Florida Wrestling Prestige in his first match there, needed to see it; Rachel got to see... plenty.
Donnie couldn’t remember the last time he had that much fun in a gym, actually being able to spar. Normally he would go himself, beat on the bags or pump some iron, then he’d look for an empty space with gym mats or a spongy section of floor and start going through his warmups for takedowns, etc. It bothered him to have no one to do that with, but it seemed that Robbyn was game to learn a thing or two.
But none of it would matter. Not the time sparring with Robbyn, not the time spent making new friends among a bevy of beautiful women, not the moment that Rachel’s eyes locked to his and that flutter he hadn’t felt in years came back: the world title, EPW’s top prize and the one championship that has eluded him multiple times against multiple opponents, was in view and Donnie was not going to let anyone take him away from that goal, to distract him from that singular focus.
Donnie Harris kept his head down and body calm, even as this beautiful petite femme fatale held him...-
-Donnie woke up after a deep sleep, the alarm on his phone shut off. Against him, a barrier of thin pillows lay between him and where his arms were: around the form of a beautiful woman. He would have pinched himself to see if he was still, in fact, dreaming, but the soft scent of the blonde’s hair, the feel of the satin against her silky skin, and the warmth of her body against the pillows, radiating into him, shook him from the blissful reverie that he hid behind. Even then, the coolness of the pillows taking form to her warm curves, his breath gently moving her hair as she continued to sleep, the relaxation that gripped him and locked him into place as his body continued to soften and stiffen with every breath that he took in, laced with the soft scent of her...
Donnie gently pulled his arm away, leaned over the small wall of hotel pillows and pressed a gentle kiss, not a simple peck but a full and contemplative smooch, to Rachel’s cheek as he rose from the mattress. A big stretch to the ceiling and a reach to his toes helped the blood rush into the rest of his body, the little bit of alcohol still coursing through him, subdued by the food and green smoothie that had since left his system. Even as he got changed, with her still sleeping peacefully in the bed, Donnie did and said nothing to disturb her. It was as if this was the most comfortable sleep she had in a very long time; he certainly felt the same, not since Sarah anyway.
But Sarah was long gone, out of his mind and out of his heart. There was no room for someone like her anymore; as much as he respected and still cared for her, with all he would ever have for her, no one told him life was going to be this way.
Donnie always kept a spare key card in the hotel room, wherever he went, since there was no true intrinsic value to it; also because Donnie sometimes took the original with him so he didn’t lose any money having both by accident. Hotels hate that.
This time, he felt differently, and he placed the spare card on top of Rachel’s phone. He didn’t touch it, didn’t check it; he just left the card. Hell, depending on how well Revival went, he would want to celebrate, and he found someone worth celebrating with, especially if he wanted to celebrate it with someone special.
However, win or lose, Donnie felt comfortable and confident that this would be something that could help him get past anything.
But it was too soon to tell, so, after he left the hotel room with his gym gear, Donnie slowed his heart rate, calmed his mind, and he most importantly reminded himself that he had more important things to do before he could let himself become attached to another person.
Right now, his career is more important than the pursuit of love, as painful as an idea that was to bear.-
-Chains and a chain link fence, hanging instruments of violence and chaos, a sealed structure full of malice and its related intent: Donnie Harris, dressed in his full Wick-esque attire, paced the ring within the Asylum cage, the site of Donnie’s most recent loss and where BRADDOCK decided to re-introduce himself to the EPW faithful. As Donnie walked around the ring, the polished black shoes sinking ever so slightly into the padded canvas, the Eliminator scanned the vicinity: the chain links against a vantablack backdrop, the singular spotlight upon the ring and Donnie.
Another short lap, as the silence begins to rip into the psyche of anyone listening, Donnie stops in front of the toy he had brought with him to the Asylum two Dangers ago: the kendo stick. He takes it down, immediately showing his prowess with the weapon as he fluidly and cohesively moves it through the air.-
)Donnie Harris(
I never got to enjoy this enough in my match against Je$TyR, but, considering the interruption that BRADDOCK and Chevelle provided, I guess I can swallow the loss, since I was able to make it up by putting that stupid boy down in the middle of the ring. I especially enjoyed the face paint; I never understood this gimmicky crap, but there was something... liberating... about having the coverage, the mask; hell, I am keeping that mask I had made. Again, it was freeing to have something on my face, even if people knew it was me. The longer I remain in professional wrestling, the more I understand what gimmicks are to people: they become the lifeblood of the character, even the character itself. Gimmicks strengthen who you are in the ring, add personality, promote the person behind the costume; it’s amazing to think about now.
-Donnie rests the point of the kendo stick against the canvas after a small flourishing motion. He leans into it like a walking stick, sighing.-
)Donnie Harris(
For these past two years, I have played an anti-gimmick: all business, little pleasure, total annihilation. However, I’ve had to deal with people like Je$TyR, like Alex Davenport, especially like SYNN: people that have dedicated themselves to a style based around a character, be they rich, insane or possessed, or even a combination of the three. I have managed to surpass many of my peers and contemporaries, a little or a lot at a time: OCW Most Improved and invited back for their Cursed Countdown; PWA’s Streaming Service Championship that has since been stolen from me by Alexander Davenport in a weird double-pin situation; EPW Anarchy Championship; #1 contender for the EPW World Title.
-Donnie wrings the kendo stick as he brings the business end back into his hand, cracking the bamboo with the sheer force of his hands’ action upon the dried material. Then again, bamboo is a very strong plant when dried...-
)Donnie Harris(
Britlyn is doing me a huge favor, something that I’m sure she’s going to try collecting upon in the future, but she managed to lock Clyde Newton into this match when he tried to run like the bitch he is. It’s probably why Davenport won, and it’s definitely why he tried to run with his tail between his legs and the EPW World Heavyweight Championship stashed away somewhere. No, that isn’t going to happen, you mother fucker. You are NOT running away with my World Title!
-With a heave and a roar, Donnie popped the kendo stick into splinters, throwing the two biggest pieces to his left and right. His breathing becomes heavy and ragged, as if he was breathing fire.-
)Donnie Harris(
Newton, you’ve been hiding from me, ducking me, slipping out of my fucking grasp, ever since you faced Easton Alexander to clear up the vacancy with BRADDOCK’s absence. EPW Revival is where you have been locked, by contract, and thank God you have the respect to follow the letter of the law to protect your precious assets, into facing me, and you can come up with all the damn excuses you want to try running away from me again, but not even a count out is going to protect your ass this time. I’m going to make you fucking suffer for trying to get away from me again. I’m going to take my time destroying you before sending you off to Hollywood, a broken, hollowed FORMER champion. Let’s see you secure a role then.
-Donnie walks over to the ropes and grips the top, his knuckles turning white with the tension placed on the covered cables. His breathing was not calming down, in any way.-
)Donnie Harris(
You would dishonor EPW by running away. You would discredit the world I’ve made all my own, by trying to steal the top prize, my goal, my zenith, before I get a true opportunity to sit upon the throne. I’m going to make you pay. I’m going to make sure you understand, make sure you can feel all the pain and anguish I’ve been feeling, leading up to this point. And then, after putting you down, where you belong, I’ll be the guy... no. I’ll be The Man. I will be the one standing taller, set higher, than anyone else in this business. I will be EPW World Heavyweight Champion. I will be the one that everyone is gunning for: the role model, the mentor, the target, the leader, the one that everyone can see but cannot touch because I am THAT DAMN GOOD AT WHAT I DO!
-Donnie’s frustration continues to climb as his grip on the ropes tighten, before he rips himself off of them, kicking one of the larger splinters out of his way. He rebounds off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, grabbing a sledgehammer from the hooks around the ring, where the weapons were still hanging, and he immediately brings the hammer down, hard, puncturing through the canvas. He draws the head out of the hole, and he starts to take it to the ring, falling to his knees after five more rage-fueled strikes, tearing away the canvas to widen the hole more and more, revealing nothing more than a bubbling hole of blackness.
Staring into the void, the Eliminator picked the sledgehammer back up, breathing heavily, sweat rolling from his hairline down past his nose, akin to a tear, by his right eye. He drops the hammer into the ink, and it doesn’t even make a splash.-
)Donnie Harris(
I have done everything I have needed to do, in order to prepare for this test. I have worked myself, mind, body and soul, until my muscles screamed, my spirit wept in weakness and my brain became like mush, but I stand; I am here, prepared for whatever combat I must face, prepared to do everything I must to defeat you, Newton. I will stand atop the ranks of the EPW. I will be the next World Heavyweight Champion, and there will be no darkness in this world, real or imaginary, to hide me when I step into the light, holding high and wearing the EPW World Heavyweight Championship around my waist. See you in a week, and bring my belt with you.
-Donnie steps forward and falls into the black hole, being swallowed by the darkness as the rest of the scene fades into the same black.-
Donnie hated holidays like this, as it ate into his training time. He had 10 days to be satisfied enough with his training to face Clyde Newton, not SYNN, for the EPW World Heavyweight championship title. The fact that these hoops were put in place, set in his way, clogging his path to glory and victory: it was infuriating. It was also extremely unfair. First, Newton tries to lay the belt down, get away from the real threat (as much as fucking Davenport would never stop fucking TALKING ABOUT IT!), try to disturb the championship lineage even more than it already has.
Donnie Harris was not going to let that bullshit happen. He was already used to being overlooked, constantly being tested, constantly being checked and inspected and everything. Hell, he was even being asked for extra piss tests, as if Britlyn wanted to check on more than his testosterone levels.
The mental and emotional exhaustion was more painful than the physical drawbacks, and Donnie pushed himself through it all. The rest period was over, anyway, so he had to focus on his next phases of training, and he was in the cardio and what he called the “heavy metal” phases, where he would dedicate his time between running the ropes and working the weights.
Again, the holiday, having closed basically everything down, took some of the wind out of his sails, and, between flirting and conversing, Donnie was pretty distracted. He did slice out a chunk of time in order to get some running in, but did the Florida heat ever suck! If it wasn’t for the gas stations open along the way, Donnie didn’t think he’d have enough hydration to keep on going, but, considering this was where Gatorade started, the Eliminator had plenty of fluids to force into his body. The humidity was just like that.
Plus no one batted an eye when he took a piss against a tree at a public park: too much Gatorade during his few hours of running.-
-But the day after, the 5th, was a godsend: back to the gym, back to pumping all the weight he needed to, and back to feeling exhausted. Hearing the plates clanging together was soothing, especially as he worked the major muscle groups all in one day. His chest was burning, his legs were jelly and his arms went from lifting hundreds of pounds to barely ounces.
It felt great, and the soak in the tub back at the hotel was therapy in and of itself, especially with the cold water, as much as it hurt. It was the reward for his efforts and his training, but the greatest reward in the wrestling business, as a professional wrestler, was close at hand:
EPW’s World Heavyweight Championship.
Clyde tried to run, to escape, to take the world title’s lineage with him, but he was not the lineal champion. Sadly, and Donnie knew this better than anyone, the lineage of the EPW World Title wasn’t through Clyde Newton.
It was going through BRADDOCK.
The man who tried to get in the way, the man who was actively making a return; the man who Donnie had defeated just last week on Danger with Toxik: BRADDOCK was the lineal champion, and, to hold that distinction, Donnie would have to beat him after beating Newton at Revival.
But no, Donnie, you need to stop, he thought to himself as he began to consider what came after. There is no sense in trying to predict the future without confronting the present.
Donnie had to focus on the present, the now, the training he was embroiled in; it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t win the world title. Facing BRADDOCK wouldn’t matter without defeating Clyde Newton first.
Nothing. Else. Matters.
Nothing else until the deed is done and the match is won: Donnie used this mantra as he rested his weary body, making sure to get a good meal in to help recover from the exhaustion of his day. Between being a gentleman on Twitter and stuffing his face with a high-protein meal, Donnie had every right and reason to feel good.
But he didn’t. Sure, he felt better, but he wasn’t good. Not yet, anyway: nothing else mattered until that deed was done; not until the match was won.-
-However, it never hurts to impart a bit of wisdom to a new friend, and that’s exactly what happened today. Donnie had a group of people, all women and all attractive (hoo boy), hit one of the gyms in Tampa, and he basically rented the gym, and a boxing ring, for the day in order to provide a space for Robbyn Helmsley to get a whole load of stress off.
Losing is not fun, and Donnie knew a thing or two about resetting the routine to regain lost focus, and, bruised body and battered face aside, the Eliminator stood his ground and made her tap: rear naked choke. It was unfortunate that she, as another pro wrestler, didn’t have the strength in technical prowess on the mat, as he had her cinched and locked up tight in less than a minute after letting the fight stay on the feet for about 10 or so. She was good; he wanted to make sure she could be great.
However, Donnie gave her the exact treatment he planned to give Clyde, the same treatment he laid out for BRADDOCK, SYNN, Je$TyR, Ally Calaway, and anyone else he has faced or will face:
No mercy, no quarter; nothing but the best.
He didn’t let up and he didn’t care how hard he threw his punches and kicks, and it didn’t matter to him if she refused to tap and he would have to feel her go limp in his arms; that’s how serious the sport is to Donnie Harris, and it didn’t matter if it was a crowd of 500,000 or a group of five. Robbyn needed to see it, Ruby needed to see it; Tatum, who he was going to face in Florida Wrestling Prestige in his first match there, needed to see it; Rachel got to see... plenty.
Donnie couldn’t remember the last time he had that much fun in a gym, actually being able to spar. Normally he would go himself, beat on the bags or pump some iron, then he’d look for an empty space with gym mats or a spongy section of floor and start going through his warmups for takedowns, etc. It bothered him to have no one to do that with, but it seemed that Robbyn was game to learn a thing or two.
But none of it would matter. Not the time sparring with Robbyn, not the time spent making new friends among a bevy of beautiful women, not the moment that Rachel’s eyes locked to his and that flutter he hadn’t felt in years came back: the world title, EPW’s top prize and the one championship that has eluded him multiple times against multiple opponents, was in view and Donnie was not going to let anyone take him away from that goal, to distract him from that singular focus.
Donnie Harris kept his head down and body calm, even as this beautiful petite femme fatale held him...-
-Donnie woke up after a deep sleep, the alarm on his phone shut off. Against him, a barrier of thin pillows lay between him and where his arms were: around the form of a beautiful woman. He would have pinched himself to see if he was still, in fact, dreaming, but the soft scent of the blonde’s hair, the feel of the satin against her silky skin, and the warmth of her body against the pillows, radiating into him, shook him from the blissful reverie that he hid behind. Even then, the coolness of the pillows taking form to her warm curves, his breath gently moving her hair as she continued to sleep, the relaxation that gripped him and locked him into place as his body continued to soften and stiffen with every breath that he took in, laced with the soft scent of her...
Donnie gently pulled his arm away, leaned over the small wall of hotel pillows and pressed a gentle kiss, not a simple peck but a full and contemplative smooch, to Rachel’s cheek as he rose from the mattress. A big stretch to the ceiling and a reach to his toes helped the blood rush into the rest of his body, the little bit of alcohol still coursing through him, subdued by the food and green smoothie that had since left his system. Even as he got changed, with her still sleeping peacefully in the bed, Donnie did and said nothing to disturb her. It was as if this was the most comfortable sleep she had in a very long time; he certainly felt the same, not since Sarah anyway.
But Sarah was long gone, out of his mind and out of his heart. There was no room for someone like her anymore; as much as he respected and still cared for her, with all he would ever have for her, no one told him life was going to be this way.
Donnie always kept a spare key card in the hotel room, wherever he went, since there was no true intrinsic value to it; also because Donnie sometimes took the original with him so he didn’t lose any money having both by accident. Hotels hate that.
This time, he felt differently, and he placed the spare card on top of Rachel’s phone. He didn’t touch it, didn’t check it; he just left the card. Hell, depending on how well Revival went, he would want to celebrate, and he found someone worth celebrating with, especially if he wanted to celebrate it with someone special.
However, win or lose, Donnie felt comfortable and confident that this would be something that could help him get past anything.
But it was too soon to tell, so, after he left the hotel room with his gym gear, Donnie slowed his heart rate, calmed his mind, and he most importantly reminded himself that he had more important things to do before he could let himself become attached to another person.
Right now, his career is more important than the pursuit of love, as painful as an idea that was to bear.-
-Chains and a chain link fence, hanging instruments of violence and chaos, a sealed structure full of malice and its related intent: Donnie Harris, dressed in his full Wick-esque attire, paced the ring within the Asylum cage, the site of Donnie’s most recent loss and where BRADDOCK decided to re-introduce himself to the EPW faithful. As Donnie walked around the ring, the polished black shoes sinking ever so slightly into the padded canvas, the Eliminator scanned the vicinity: the chain links against a vantablack backdrop, the singular spotlight upon the ring and Donnie.
Another short lap, as the silence begins to rip into the psyche of anyone listening, Donnie stops in front of the toy he had brought with him to the Asylum two Dangers ago: the kendo stick. He takes it down, immediately showing his prowess with the weapon as he fluidly and cohesively moves it through the air.-
)Donnie Harris(
I never got to enjoy this enough in my match against Je$TyR, but, considering the interruption that BRADDOCK and Chevelle provided, I guess I can swallow the loss, since I was able to make it up by putting that stupid boy down in the middle of the ring. I especially enjoyed the face paint; I never understood this gimmicky crap, but there was something... liberating... about having the coverage, the mask; hell, I am keeping that mask I had made. Again, it was freeing to have something on my face, even if people knew it was me. The longer I remain in professional wrestling, the more I understand what gimmicks are to people: they become the lifeblood of the character, even the character itself. Gimmicks strengthen who you are in the ring, add personality, promote the person behind the costume; it’s amazing to think about now.
-Donnie rests the point of the kendo stick against the canvas after a small flourishing motion. He leans into it like a walking stick, sighing.-
)Donnie Harris(
For these past two years, I have played an anti-gimmick: all business, little pleasure, total annihilation. However, I’ve had to deal with people like Je$TyR, like Alex Davenport, especially like SYNN: people that have dedicated themselves to a style based around a character, be they rich, insane or possessed, or even a combination of the three. I have managed to surpass many of my peers and contemporaries, a little or a lot at a time: OCW Most Improved and invited back for their Cursed Countdown; PWA’s Streaming Service Championship that has since been stolen from me by Alexander Davenport in a weird double-pin situation; EPW Anarchy Championship; #1 contender for the EPW World Title.
-Donnie wrings the kendo stick as he brings the business end back into his hand, cracking the bamboo with the sheer force of his hands’ action upon the dried material. Then again, bamboo is a very strong plant when dried...-
)Donnie Harris(
Britlyn is doing me a huge favor, something that I’m sure she’s going to try collecting upon in the future, but she managed to lock Clyde Newton into this match when he tried to run like the bitch he is. It’s probably why Davenport won, and it’s definitely why he tried to run with his tail between his legs and the EPW World Heavyweight Championship stashed away somewhere. No, that isn’t going to happen, you mother fucker. You are NOT running away with my World Title!
-With a heave and a roar, Donnie popped the kendo stick into splinters, throwing the two biggest pieces to his left and right. His breathing becomes heavy and ragged, as if he was breathing fire.-
)Donnie Harris(
Newton, you’ve been hiding from me, ducking me, slipping out of my fucking grasp, ever since you faced Easton Alexander to clear up the vacancy with BRADDOCK’s absence. EPW Revival is where you have been locked, by contract, and thank God you have the respect to follow the letter of the law to protect your precious assets, into facing me, and you can come up with all the damn excuses you want to try running away from me again, but not even a count out is going to protect your ass this time. I’m going to make you fucking suffer for trying to get away from me again. I’m going to take my time destroying you before sending you off to Hollywood, a broken, hollowed FORMER champion. Let’s see you secure a role then.
-Donnie walks over to the ropes and grips the top, his knuckles turning white with the tension placed on the covered cables. His breathing was not calming down, in any way.-
)Donnie Harris(
You would dishonor EPW by running away. You would discredit the world I’ve made all my own, by trying to steal the top prize, my goal, my zenith, before I get a true opportunity to sit upon the throne. I’m going to make you pay. I’m going to make sure you understand, make sure you can feel all the pain and anguish I’ve been feeling, leading up to this point. And then, after putting you down, where you belong, I’ll be the guy... no. I’ll be The Man. I will be the one standing taller, set higher, than anyone else in this business. I will be EPW World Heavyweight Champion. I will be the one that everyone is gunning for: the role model, the mentor, the target, the leader, the one that everyone can see but cannot touch because I am THAT DAMN GOOD AT WHAT I DO!
-Donnie’s frustration continues to climb as his grip on the ropes tighten, before he rips himself off of them, kicking one of the larger splinters out of his way. He rebounds off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, grabbing a sledgehammer from the hooks around the ring, where the weapons were still hanging, and he immediately brings the hammer down, hard, puncturing through the canvas. He draws the head out of the hole, and he starts to take it to the ring, falling to his knees after five more rage-fueled strikes, tearing away the canvas to widen the hole more and more, revealing nothing more than a bubbling hole of blackness.
Staring into the void, the Eliminator picked the sledgehammer back up, breathing heavily, sweat rolling from his hairline down past his nose, akin to a tear, by his right eye. He drops the hammer into the ink, and it doesn’t even make a splash.-
)Donnie Harris(
I have done everything I have needed to do, in order to prepare for this test. I have worked myself, mind, body and soul, until my muscles screamed, my spirit wept in weakness and my brain became like mush, but I stand; I am here, prepared for whatever combat I must face, prepared to do everything I must to defeat you, Newton. I will stand atop the ranks of the EPW. I will be the next World Heavyweight Champion, and there will be no darkness in this world, real or imaginary, to hide me when I step into the light, holding high and wearing the EPW World Heavyweight Championship around my waist. See you in a week, and bring my belt with you.
-Donnie steps forward and falls into the black hole, being swallowed by the darkness as the rest of the scene fades into the same black.-