Post by dom on Feb 2, 2017 22:23:01 GMT -5
Finding solace in a sanctuary is a blissful experience few men find in life.
Some find their solace through chemical stimulation that alters their minds.
Others run to a higher power to look for not only solace, but answers.
Dom faces a foe who appears to have all the answers.
And another who seeks them through guidance of someone he holds close.
Dom learned at a young age not to seek answers, because they find you instead.
As the day of his championship chance approaches Dom seeks forgiveness.
Forgiveness not for what he’s done – but what he’s about to do.
The bell tolls above and echoes through the hollowed sanctuary of worship as the sun sits it’s highest at noon. Dom sits at the end of a church pew and stares up at the bearded savior hung on the crucifix. The artist perfectly reflecting the pain in the statues eyes on the day he was made a martyr stares deeply into each soul that walks through those doors.
Dom’s hands are folded in his lap as his eyes dart around the room admiring the rest of the art spread from the stained glass windows to the sculpted detail of the wood. His heart races in his chest as if he’s about to attempt a personal record in his home gym due to the uneasy feelings churches always gave him. His mother was never big on church, only requiring his attendance on the major holidays. The idea of looking to a higher power for guidance was one he often found in other works of fiction.
“I’m not sure why I’m here. As I finished training this morning I still held the same amount of anxiousness running through my veins. A deep hatred that seems to have found residency in my head drives this anxiousness; and in order to combat these feelings I needed silence. A silence that cannot be found in my residence or in my home gym – these bells sure don’t help.”
A brief attempt at humor, much like last time we saw him, attempts to ease his feelings.
“Truth is, I feel as if I was supposed to come here to apologize. Apologize to AWE, apologize to Owen, and most importantly apologize to myself. I cannot promise that the words of Stoker have not affected me mentally. He makes me hate, and I don’t like hate. I like competition. I like proving myself, but the time has come for more and I need those who support me to understand this. Understand that the Dom DiBona you may see in Indianapolis isn’t who I am; instead it’s who I have to be. The greatest of heroes and the most extraordinary humans have had to go to lengths to achieve what they have not had before – but just like the deep sea diver who grabs the treasure I’ll come back to the surface with the most prized possession. And when I do I’ll make sure that I make Stoker eat every word that he has spoken. Every time he’s told me I’m irrelevant or just another victim of his I read through those baseless claims for what they truly are.”
He points to the camera then taps the side of his head while keeping his eyes locked forward on the cross.
“They’re words that you may say Stoker, but they’re backed with fear. Fear that I am the exact opposite of what you say. Relevance isn’t decided by you just because you hold the Paramount Championship. Relevance is every fan in that crowd chanting my name when I spoke from the heart. Relevance is the pop that erupts every time my music hits and fathers share their goosebumps with their sons. That energy, that passion, that fire is what I’m bringing with me to that ring. Not greed. So quit projecting. Stop projecting your issues and mental instability onto your opponents in a failed psychological experiment.”
Finally looking into the camera, Dom smiles. A different smile than what we’ve seen – but the same smile shown last time Dom spoke in his gym. A smile that tells more words than a picture does.
“You think I can’t play mind games Stoker? You want me to mentally crawl into a ball and sacrifice myself to some sociopath who holds himself higher than his actual place in this industry? Who do you think you are to judge me? I sit on this wooden bench in front of a crucifix where men are judged by who or what they do and I won’t allow this holy house judge me – I sure as hell won’t let you. The complexes I live with in my life must be nothing compared to the ones that drive you. I’m driven to fight for honor and respect that seems lost in this world – you’re right. But what do you fight for? That’s rhetorical – I already know. You fight for the scared little kid in mommy’s make up bag dressing his face up because kids call him a freak.”
Struggling to hold back a laugh, he rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.
“If you want to do name-calling, bud. I’m down. You seem to be as good at throwing insults as your girl is at swinging a bat. You may hit a couple times, but you’re never going to deliver the final blow. I’ve come to terms that my feelings aren’t exactly pure for our final meeting. I guess that’s what has led me here. Wondering if somehow, someway the people will understand why I did what I’ve done. I’ve lived long enough on this planet to understand that your heroes will let you down. I’ve let the people of AWE down already, but you won’t let me down will you? I mean, you haven’t yet. You’ve come with the same played out spew of shit..”
A quick glance to the cross and a shrug
“Sorry for the language, but I digress. You attack my character the same way you did last time. Do I live in a world of puppies and sunshine? Sure. I live in a world of positivity and reflect that in my daily routine. But, what’s your character? Scary ominous bag of gas that has read a couple of philosophy books? Maybe scoured the internet for some personality tests? Tell me, which member of the band Slipknot did the myspace survey tell you that you are? On second thought I don’t care. This industry, much like nature, has a food chain. The assholes sit on top of this food chain and spit off one liners and try to break down their opponents with over analytical observations paired with swear words. How quaint. Below them are the pretty faces, thank you for telling me I’m pretty by the way. Much like every other person who you’ve told that to I’m going to ignore it and possibly alert the authorities.”
A snap of his fingers echoes through the church sarcastically
“Off topic again. Where was I? Food chain? Right. The pretty faces sit under the assholes and tell people how ugly they are and all the way at the bottom of the food chain are people like me. The rabbits. Hopping through the world ready to be picked off by the prey at the top – but funny thing about us positively hopping rabbits is that we get REAL sick of the shit going on at the top of the food chain and eventually we strike back. After seeing those like us being picked off time after time we re-evaluate our approach and we attack. Suddenly the food chain is picked up and dropped on his head. All the diagrams break apart and the borders break leaving room for positivity to climb it’s way to the top of the food chain. Then it happens. A new sheriff in town who fights for those like him. Not separately and full of ego and lust.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve evaluated the approach and I realize that I must do things that I said I wouldn’t. I have to put aside my positivity, puppies, and sunshine and step into the dark ominous world of hate making sure to look behind me along the way to know that there is a way back out when I’m done with my time here.”
Standing to his feet, Dom gives once last glance at the man on the cross and makes his way down the middle of the ruby red carpeted church to the doors before exiting to the sunlight that hits him in the face. His eyes squinted he points to the sun.
“Jokes on me, I guess Stoker. I thought maybe I could tell myself that everyone will forgive me if I went to a place where people seek forgiveness. The difference between me, and everyone else, is I believe in people the same way I believe in myself. I believe in second chances for those who fail – and fortunately so does AWE management and that’s why you’ll find yourself across the ring from me. Dom DiBona. The same physical body you beat to a bloody pulp. The same body you had left for dead inside that locker room in my home state – but mentally you will not recognize your opponent. You won’t look into wide doe eyes and realize that the moment may be bigger than he is. You’ll see what you’ve created with your words and your cowardice actions.”
The lone car in the parking lot is a large, lifted pick up truck. Approaching the bed of the truck Dom hops up on the side and reaches in before falling back down to the pavement with an American Flag in hand and drapes it over his shoulders.
“The people in this country are flawed. We are gun toting, prayer saying, bullet spraying sons o’ bitches. We can come to terms with that, but we don’t project our own weaknesses onto those who we oppose. We accept them and grow dynamically. Soldiers built on honor and respect find themselves in positions where they must make a decision. Kill or be killed at all costs. The cost of winning in Indianapolis will be one that I will pay for mentally and emotionally. But you will pay in blood. You will pay with your soul. I will send you crawling back to whatever Edgar Allan Poe book you fell out of and when you come back you can come for the champ. He’ll be the one with this flag draped over his shoulders and a championship belt strapped across his waist. And when you come don’t project. Don’t project your lust or desire for your acceptance of being anti-establishment. You’re a transparent fragile piece of crystal awaiting the perfect impact before you crack. Your eager greed or gluttony of wanting to be the immortalized as the Omega of the Paramount Division.”
“In the end, the sloth projects his depression upon the world so the next time you decide to project – find a screen and make a movie. Maybe you’ll find the mindless audience or whatever it is that you are looking for. In the meantime I will tell you what you have found. You have found the one thing that you hate the most and even the citizens of Whoville broke down the Grinch for what he truly was. An ugly, sad, anti-social begging for acceptance. So what’s going to happen when I expose you for the anti-hero you wish you were? Again, rhetorical. So whether it’s you or Owen, know this. I’ve come to terms with what happens in Indy. Your blood spills at the hands of the goody two-shoes gladiator who has gone a bit mad. Take that back to your books and break it down – just make sure you stand back while I Take the Day.
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