There's No Easy Way Out | 006

[Kelson Hewitt]

The sun shined it’s warmth over Kelso Hewitt last week after going through hell against three of OCW’s finest competitors. He was hurt, kidnapped, and left for dead, yet somehow made it out of the first main event in this hell hole of an island. After the match, he snuck out from the crowd’s view, avoiding anyone. He had no time for “congratulations”, no time to bask in his victory… he had a mission on his hands. To find whoever was responsible for hurting him, and to make them pay. After minutes of searching through the jungle, he felt a bubbling heat burn within his stomach. It was the anger, the pain of being led astray.

“Come out! Face me!”

He shouted with all of his might, yet there was no reply from the shadows. Only silence.

“I’m right HERE! You want a piece of me? You want to tear me limb from limb? THIS IS THE TIME AND PLACE TO DO IT!”

It felt good. Real good to let that aggression out. He would never find himself talking to another wrestler like this… but whoever this was, they deserved every ounce of hatred in Kelson’s body. They deserved to be beaten down for their crime. Yet, they hid. They hid from the justice they awaited them. Kelson was that justice. As he marched over towards some bushes, he kicked at them, swatting at them with his hands, and grunting from the exhaustion he felt. One final kick, and he felt his body trip, falling back first on the muddy dirt beneath him. While the sun kept shining on him, the rain that assisted him in his match made him pay for his anger. He huffed, swallowing a dry gulp. His eyes shut hard, trying to avoid the sun, but something in the way overtook the reflection.

“I’m here.”

Like a shotgun, Kelson’s eyes shot wide open, only to face a man… or what resembled one, holding a machete to his throat.

“What do you want?”

The man, his face was painted white, hiding any signs of who he may truly be, as the long black strands of hair covered his face.

“Was it not you who summoned me, Kelson?”

The son of a bitch even knew his name.

“I see… even when alone, you feel the need to be a hero. No lights, no camera… just your own self-satisfying ego-trip. Let me get you in on a little secret…”

The figure took the machete away from Kelson’s throat and strolled to the side, looking up above at the leaves.

“There’s no photographers here in the jungle. There are no citizens… there is only a man fighting to survive a war… a war within himself.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you fucking psycho?”

A rare swear out of the mouth of The Man Of Steel, but given the circumstance, he should be forgiven. He stood up, holding his fists up ready for a fight, but the figure kept his guard down, smirking at Kelson. He twirled the blade around in his hand, looking at it’s silver exterior with wonder.

“You're fighting the greatest battle no one can ever see. A battle within yourself. Face it, the goody-two-shoes act? You're gettin' sick of it, aren't you? Aren’t you tired of “turning the other cheek”, hero? Aren’t you tired of being embarrassed in front of millions each week, showing respect to cheaters? People you deem… UNWORTHY, to be in the ring with you? What do you even gain from it? An ass beating? All of that effort, all of those promises you make to people who don't care about you... and you wind up with nothing. Nothing but a main event slot to make the real game changers look good. Are you content with that? Being everyone's whipping boy?”

Whoever this was, they knew everything about Kelson’s career. At that moment, Kelson swung a mighty punch at the figure only for them to dodge. It felt as if a burning pot of water fell on the back of his knee, causing him to yelp in pain. The stranger looked content, kneeling down to Kelson’s level to keep eye contact.

“It must be tiring… oh so tiring to try and be something you’re not. I know what you are… you are no hero. Look at what you’ve tried to do for these ingrats… what difference have you made in this business? Who’s lives have you changed for the better?”

“I’ve… I’ve done all that I could.”

Kelson felt exhausted. Dehydrated. He chalked it down to just seeing things… but this pain, this figure, it was very real to him.

“Your best isn’t good enough. You’re going to be eaten alive. You stand alone at the beginning of this mountain known as the OCW. I know what it is you want… I know how it kills you to try and uphold this symbol of justice… but you will break. You'll give into your wildest desires of tearing everyone apart who even THINKS of standing in your way! You are not destined to be these people’s savior… you will never be anything more than second fiddle to those who are willing to do whatever it takes to be the best, unless you tear off the cape. The Man Of Steel, must die.”

Violently, Kelson shook his head, shutting his eyes, hoping for this all to end.

“You’re wrong, YOU’RE WRONG! I’m doing what no one else is willing to do! I’m not going to be like anyone else but ME! It’s what has gotten me to where I am… so many times I’ve convinced myself not to break any rules, so many times I’ve tried to avoid being disrespectful, but it’s been worth it. The lows have shown me how sweet the highs are in this company. I owe it to myself, I owe it to EVERYONE who has devoted themselves to my journey to stay true to myself! I don’t know who, or what the hell you think you are, but you’re nothing! You have no control over me! I’ll beat Bob Grenier into the ground a third time, I’ll make up for my loss against Strader, and I’ll do it MY WAY IN THE SAME NIGHT! You hear me, you sack of SHIT? I'LL DO IT, FUCKIN' CAPE AND ALL!”

His eyes opened.

“YOU’RE NOTHING!”

Like a phantom, the figure was gone. Kelson’s eyes only stared at a bunch of bushes, causing him to blink a couple of times. His bottom lip quivered slightly, from a mix of anger and guilt. Guilt that he would let someone like that speak to him in such a manner. He knew so much, it was as if he’d followed Kelson to the island just to give him this lesson. A lesson in pain. Everything had happened so fast, he didn’t realize that in his hand was a machete… the same machete held by the attack. He looked at it, scared, confused, and unsure of what to make of it. He dropped it without a thought, but the pain in his leg was intense. He felt agony unlike any other member of the OCW roster ever could right now, as he stood up, gasping for air, trying to silence his scream, until a tired huff escaped his throat, confirming he could stand. With his eyes half opened, he wobbled forward, dragging his body forward just as he did last week.

It’s just another day at work… but a vacation, preferably not on an island, was needed.