Post by Everybody Hates Jenny Myst on Jun 29, 2023 17:29:33 GMT -5
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The ECG machine carried its eerie beep down the quiet corridors of the WGWF Memorial Hospital, bouncing off the walls like sonar in the ocean depths. Her converse high tops produced a faint thud on the tile floor, and with each passing step the beep got more pronounced. Room after room, empty, but that beeping was coming from somewhere.
Her straw slurped as the last remnant of slushie wasn’t long for this world, and her pink airpods were getting low on battery. Her steps turned into skips, as she passed by more empty rooms, her shadow dancing in front of her in the ultra-fluorescent lighting.
“The brightest flame casts the darkest shadow.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
She never cared much for books without pictures. Just didn’t see the purpose.
When the beeping felt like it was right on top of her she stopped. It was coming from a dark room to her right. She finished her slushie and tossed it in the garbage as she entered, with the familiar swish of the clear plastic inhabiting the inside.
She made her way, slowly through the dark, to a bed on the far corner of the room. It was near a window, but the shades were drawn. The silhouette of a person was in the bed, and the only lights were coming from the bedside monitors…..
BEEEP
BEEP
BEEEEEEEEEEPPP
Reaching slowly, her hand cutting through the darkness like it was punching through molasses, she could hear the faint breathing of the person in the bed.
Reaching, almost onto her tip toes, and………….
LIGHTS ON.
She was nose to nose with Jim.
Jim had always been a bad boy, running with the rough crowds. Years of booze and drugs had done a number on him. Bike rallys, sleezy hookers, cartons of cigarettes. Jim was a man of simple tastes, but stubborn. Never would he listen when people told him he was hurting himself. He would just give a middle finger and go on about his way.
Jim was a guy she used to work with, but didn’t know. He left after a workplace argument with their boss and several other co-workers (nobody really liked Jim, they just tolerated him), and she had lost touch until now. He was in rough shape, a breathing tube in his mouth and his skin was pale and chalky. She had finally tracked him down, after all these years. She never disliked him (one of the few), but he made it clear on several occasions he didn’t like her. Then again, he didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him. Humility was never his strong suit.
His eyes were closed, and she couldn’t feel his breath because of the oxygen in his nose…..but he apparently felt hers. His eyes opened.
“HIYA JIM!”
He couldn’t speak, but his eyes went wider than before.
He knew.
“Sucks to see like this, bud. Life support. Sheesh. I always thought it would be something cool, like a grenade exploding inside of a Jell-O factory or something…..maybe a Vespa off a cliff or getting kicked by a Rhino…..you had a knack for getting yourself in some wild shit.”
His eyes closed again, then reopened.
“Not surprised you did it to yourself, though.”
His tattoos were fading. Shriveling reminders of the life he once lived, and the crowds he was shunned from.
XWF
UWF
TPW
Poor guy. He came here, of all places, to die.
“You’re gonna be okay, bud.” She rubbed his arm, running her hand up it to his face.
“I’m gonna get you outta here……”
Her hand reached behind his head, snatching his pillow. In a quick movement, she pressed it over his face.
The beeping stopped, and became one solid line.
She smiled, knowing she had just done her old friend a favor.
She had to go. His purple skinned mistress would be visiting soon.
Boy was she in for a surprise.
*giggle*
“So this is where it ends, huh Jim? This is where you’ve decided to drag your ragged carcass to die under the hot sun, to let these vultures pick away at the scraps of what once was? But what is 'once was'? You latching onto the teet of your peers and riding their success to the bank? It’s sad to see you here, like this, Jim. It’s sad to see that you’ve kept up the façade this long. Well, I am here now, and Chris Chaos is on his way. You’ve run from us for too long, and now, well, your fate is signed, sealed and delivered. It’s been a long eight years, Jim. A long grueling almost-decade of building a legacy to live off of, constantly adapting to the ever changing landscape of this game we play. It almost became too much. That olympic sized pool of toxic sludge known as the XWF almost killed my livelihood, and they did everything they could to kill Chris’s. He decided to take the high road, to throw up that middle finger and sit back with his feet up in his beachfront condo, watching their slow descent into a messy suicide. I have had to weave past the bullets, cut down the rope, stitch up the wounds, set the broken bones and check myself into countless hours of rigorous therapy, but I leave that place as one of their most decorated champions in history. I have had to change everything about myself, and find an inner monster that I never knew I had. It got to the point where I didn’t even know who I truly was, for a while. When you knew me I was nothing more than a champion’s valet with fake tits and a bitchy attitude. I was greener than liquid spinach inside the ring, but was able to make something out of literally nothing. Now, I am at my peak, the very best I’ve ever been, and ready to explore new horizons and expand my resume.
Who do I see?
Jim Caedus. The very same Jim Caedus, mind you. No depth, no dexterity, no layers. Just the same dumb redneck with steroid muscles speaking bible belt slang even though he hails from California. Nothing but a man behind a bandanna mask who puffs his chest out and expects us to be afraid of him because he decides to raise his voice when he feels threatened. The same man he’s always been. The same man who joined XWF because he saw Chris Chaos setting the world on fire, and he wanted to be part of it. The same man who bounces from company to company because when his peers inevitably get tired of his tough guy schtick and call him out, he would rather throw a hissy fit and leave than settle his issues like the man he claims he is. How many places have you ruined now, Jimbo? How many have you gotten blackballed from until you settled on the one owned by a man who made you famous by kicking your ass every chance he got? Oh, you think I’ve forgotten? Chris Page and Jim Caedus made XWF somewhat watchable in the early days, and your inability to keep him down is what made you a star. The loveable loser you are today. The story of stories. But not all stories have a happy ending, do they?
The name Jenny Myst transcends the wrestling landscape. Love me or hate me, people know me. We’re the same that way, Jim, except I am not sure anyone truly loves you. Even Lycana is only riding in your sidecar because it’s the safety blanket she’s become accustomed to. She doesn’t love you, Jim, she needs you. She failed in the ‘Left Hand’ when Goat Boy decided to push Geri Miller as his top female star, leaving Lycana on the shelf with the rest of the discarded toys. What does that say about how good she really is? You even extended that barbeque stained olive branch to Robert Main, and pulled him out of the nursing home. You’re putting together the frat house again, Jim, because you’ve never done well on an island. Jim Caedus, the shit talker of all shit talkers, who turned his tampax inside out and left because he couldn’t verbally out-joust Charlie fucking Nickels.
You’re pathetic, Jim. You always have been. You refuse to change because you’re afraid that people might view you as weak or vulnerable. We all remember playboy Jimmy with the slicked back hair that walked around on a leash by the Sugay Sisters. Hell, maybe you’re right about that Jim. Change doesn’t work for you.
But this does?
You’ve never played well with others. It’s a worst-kept secret than Lycana being born with an X chromosome. Hell even you and Main split eventually when APEX crumbled like a brittle cookie and you blamed it on Robert Main, not your own jealousy of his success (which, may I had, exponentially trumped yours. Robert Main WAS Apex, you were just wrapping paper covering the real gift).
You’ve been surprisingly quiet for a man who loves to bump his gums. What’s the matter, whore got your tongue? Tisk, Tisk, Lycana. Bad girl. You need her in this match because when I pin her shoulders to the mat and beat her 1-2-3, you can tell the entire world in your mumbling broken English that although it was a win, Jenny Myst didn’t beat you. You need her like you need everyone else, Jim. Your entire career has been shaped around other people creating your excuses. Remember Bruce Blingsteen?
Me? I’ve done it alone. When Chaos left, I was in shark infested waters without my chain metal bikini. I have had to sink or swim, and unlike you, I chose to swim. I’ve weathered the storm, and I’ve come out stronger because of it. You can say whatever it is you need to say about me, Jim. Push your chest out, put a little base in that voice. Yell to the heavens about Jenny Myst but then, when you’ve gotten it out of your system, really sit down and reflect. Does anyone even listen anymore? Does anyone even care? Or do the collective masses roll their eyes every time you grab a mic because they know they are in for the same uncreative bullshit you’ve been spewing from your dicktrap for the last 10 years? Sit down and reflect, Jim, and understand that the world isn’t out to get you but maybe….juuuuuuuust maybe, you are the problem.
But you won’t. You’ll huff and you’ll puff and you’ll take your ball and go home when you fail, yet again, to blow the house down. You won’t reflect, Jim, because you’d rather stare into the sun than into a mirror. Cut off your nose to spite your face.
Don't worry, Jim. I'll do it for ya. Just how you like it. Just like everyone always has.
You’re on life support, Jim. You’ve done everything you could, battled hard, surrounded yourself with the only people you thought gave a squirt of piss, but this cancer is just too strong. You need something that the CCP team of doctors cannot provide. You need that pillow over your face, to flatline on the monitor, and to finally be put out of this misery you call ‘life’. Jenny Myst is here, and here to stay. Your Highness of Violence is going to get together with Ms. Strader and be the long awaited solution the worlds Jim Caedus problem. Some call me an angel, some call me a devil.
July 3rd, you can call me your executioner.
You’re welcome.”