Post by Aidan Carlisle on Oct 5, 2016 5:56:01 GMT
Futility was inviting someone over for dinner. Reality was a Lean Cuisine.
Do not remove film.
That was just it, wasn't it? Always be what was expected. Always be contained. Always hide beneath that smooth surface so that you didn't make a mess. The reality, the things that were inside, no one wanted to see those when they weren't perfect. All they wanted to see was the final product.
They wanted to see the fight in the ring. They didn't want to see the hours upon hours of training every week. They didn't want to see the meal regimens and carefully tracked macronutrients. They didn't want to see the selective training to prepare for each different opponent.
I'm faster than Declan Black. That's my greatest advantage in this match. He's slow, lumbering. I can run circles around him all day. That's where I have to get him the most.
Vent at corner.
You had to let out just enough heat to keep from exploding. Enough to catch people's interest, to make them wonder, make them want to watch. This had been building since Livewire #1.
Declan Black has a grudge, something to prove. He thinks I was trying to injure him on top of that cage. He thinks that Coup de Grâce was personal. I had no idea about his neck, I was just doing what I do. I wouldn't have changed a thing if I did, though.
It's been simmering now. We've sniped back and forth. The fans want to see this. They want to see the man that came in third place go up against the EOW Heavyweight Champion. One slightly different move and it could have been Declan's face up there next to mine on the website. Instead of mine? Nah, but next to mine.
Still, everyone wants to see if he has what it takes to beat me. He's feeling that pressure.
Microwave on High 2 ½ minutes.
Pressure. It never ended. When you were Champion there was the pressure to stay Champion. When you weren't there was the pressure to rise through the ranks and prove yourself. There was no rest for the wicked. There was just no rest for anyone at all.
I'm so tired of the pressure. The pressure to break records. The pressure to prove that I can hold my own no matter where I go. The pressure to keep track of all the targets on my back.
Peel back film and stir.
That release when it all came together. The bell wound sound, the audience would scream, and the whole world would come down to two people between twelve ropes and four ring posts.
Declan Black is the superior grappler and technician here. He knows how to use submissions, and worse, he knows how to get out of them. But I can hit him harder. Put it together with the speed. Dart in, hit him so hard he forgets his own mother, and get back out again.
Do it again, and again, and again. I can take more than Declan Black can, significantly more. I can come back from the effects of a match far better than he can too, and I can outlast him. I have to pick my shots, make them count, and tire him out until he can't go anymore.
He's patient and he's smart. He'll know what I'm doing, but that doesn't mean he can change it. All it means is he'll have to watch his own defeat and won't be able to stop it.
Replace film, microwave 2 more minutes.
Then it would be all over, and it won't have been enough.
It's never enough. Every fight just leaves me wanting another. After I put away Declan Black, I'm just going to be looking to the next guy, whether it's in Boardwalk or in EOW.
Contents will be hot.
That is it. That is me. I live for the fight. I go from one to the next to the next. I fight with everyone in my personal life between fighting with whoever I step into the ring with. I don't understand rest, I don't enjoy peace. I only know destruction.
Aidan stared down at the cheese ravioli in its little black plastic tray and felt her eyes start to burn. The dam was straining again. But just before it could overflow her phone screen lit up. She smiled, she shoved the meal off the counter into the garbage can, and she headed to answer the door.
Do not remove film.
That was just it, wasn't it? Always be what was expected. Always be contained. Always hide beneath that smooth surface so that you didn't make a mess. The reality, the things that were inside, no one wanted to see those when they weren't perfect. All they wanted to see was the final product.
They wanted to see the fight in the ring. They didn't want to see the hours upon hours of training every week. They didn't want to see the meal regimens and carefully tracked macronutrients. They didn't want to see the selective training to prepare for each different opponent.
I'm faster than Declan Black. That's my greatest advantage in this match. He's slow, lumbering. I can run circles around him all day. That's where I have to get him the most.
Vent at corner.
You had to let out just enough heat to keep from exploding. Enough to catch people's interest, to make them wonder, make them want to watch. This had been building since Livewire #1.
Declan Black has a grudge, something to prove. He thinks I was trying to injure him on top of that cage. He thinks that Coup de Grâce was personal. I had no idea about his neck, I was just doing what I do. I wouldn't have changed a thing if I did, though.
It's been simmering now. We've sniped back and forth. The fans want to see this. They want to see the man that came in third place go up against the EOW Heavyweight Champion. One slightly different move and it could have been Declan's face up there next to mine on the website. Instead of mine? Nah, but next to mine.
Still, everyone wants to see if he has what it takes to beat me. He's feeling that pressure.
Microwave on High 2 ½ minutes.
Pressure. It never ended. When you were Champion there was the pressure to stay Champion. When you weren't there was the pressure to rise through the ranks and prove yourself. There was no rest for the wicked. There was just no rest for anyone at all.
I'm so tired of the pressure. The pressure to break records. The pressure to prove that I can hold my own no matter where I go. The pressure to keep track of all the targets on my back.
Peel back film and stir.
That release when it all came together. The bell wound sound, the audience would scream, and the whole world would come down to two people between twelve ropes and four ring posts.
Declan Black is the superior grappler and technician here. He knows how to use submissions, and worse, he knows how to get out of them. But I can hit him harder. Put it together with the speed. Dart in, hit him so hard he forgets his own mother, and get back out again.
Do it again, and again, and again. I can take more than Declan Black can, significantly more. I can come back from the effects of a match far better than he can too, and I can outlast him. I have to pick my shots, make them count, and tire him out until he can't go anymore.
He's patient and he's smart. He'll know what I'm doing, but that doesn't mean he can change it. All it means is he'll have to watch his own defeat and won't be able to stop it.
Replace film, microwave 2 more minutes.
Then it would be all over, and it won't have been enough.
It's never enough. Every fight just leaves me wanting another. After I put away Declan Black, I'm just going to be looking to the next guy, whether it's in Boardwalk or in EOW.
Contents will be hot.
That is it. That is me. I live for the fight. I go from one to the next to the next. I fight with everyone in my personal life between fighting with whoever I step into the ring with. I don't understand rest, I don't enjoy peace. I only know destruction.
Aidan stared down at the cheese ravioli in its little black plastic tray and felt her eyes start to burn. The dam was straining again. But just before it could overflow her phone screen lit up. She smiled, she shoved the meal off the counter into the garbage can, and she headed to answer the door.
