- Event: Chaos 007
Clay stood outside the front door. The automatic doors stood open until the timer had reached the time limit. He let the flowers he held in one of his colossal hands slide down his body to his side. His thoughts raced, the anxiety that had built in his chest caused his pulse to race. A young lady in a set of medical scrubs hurried by The Behemoth without even taking a second glance. He took a deep breath and composed himself for a moment. His brain ran on overdrive as he stood in silent contemplation.
Was this worth it?
Would this help?
How could this help?
Is this what he needed?
He’d promised himself he’d take the next step. The next step in his life, the next step in his personal relationships. But to truly take the next step you need to be at peace. Peace was a term Clay had rarely found himself using. He was a modern day gladiator. He was made for confrontations that could be solved by finding a violent end. Blood splatter, sweat, tears, that’s the world The Monster from Plainview lived in. This… the world of the regular people… it flummoxed The Behemoth. Violence was forbidden here, it was looked down upon. Just as foriegn as their world was to Clay, his world was equally as foriegn to them.
He took another deep breath as the door cycled closed again. At this point the motion sensor detected Clay as part of the landscape. He hadn’t so much as flinched in minutes, the humidity in Houston caused the sweat to run down the side of his face from under his cowboy hat. His blue and white checkered button up was becoming unkempt. For once his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wanted to look presentable. He wanted to impress, no he needed to impress her. This time a man with short hair wearing the same teal scrubs walked past him on his left. Almost bumping into him as he stepped through the automatic doors.
Clay stood, waiting for them to close again. He looked down at his feet, inside his new black cowboy boots he could see his distorted reflection staring back at him.
“Sometimes you have to put your left foot in front of your right foot, and just keep going.”
The words of Robert Byrd played through The Behemoth’s head. He adjusted the collar on his shirt and finally stepped forward through the automatic doors, just as they were about to close again. Instead of closing, they opened wide. As he stepped through the doorway the air curtain sent a wave of cool air that almost blew his black cowboy hat off of his head. He paused for a moment and collected his bearings in the entryway. In front of him sat a squat woman, she almost resembled a toad. She looked at him from over the top of the rim of her silver wire rimmed glasses.
“Can I help you?”
Clay took a deep breath, the question felt like it hung in the air for a completely uncomfortable amount of time. Clay fumbled with the piece of paper he held in his left hand, opposite of the bright pink flowers. He read the name on the small slip one more time, and looked up at the woman. He swallowed and finally blurted out his answer.
“…I’m here to see Rose Thompson…” The woman looked down at her paperwork, she reached for a green clipboard with a sign-in sheet on it. She looked up at Clay from the desk, looking him over.
“Relation?”
Clay smiled, how were you supposed to say this to someone? What if they called her and asked her? What if this was all a terrible idea? Why couldn’t he just let the ninety year old woman rest? Why did he have to do this? Clay scribbled his name on the sign in sheet.
“I’m her grandson…”
“Oh that’s nice. Must be your cousin or your sister already here. Big day?” The lady asked as she gestured to the flowers. She signed off on her documentation and slid a visitors badge across to Clay. Clay hastily took the badge and placed it on his shirt.
“Which way?” Clay asked. The woman looked up at him confused for a moment, but he quickly covered his tracks. “Sorry, I hate nursing homes, never been here ta see her… big day like ya said…”
“Oh, down the hallway here on the left, make a right at the end, room 131, two doors from the nurses station.” Clay tipped his cap to the woman before getting buzzed through the doorway to his left. Did that woman say his cousin was already here?
“Shit… Shit… Shit…” The Behemoth mumbled under his breath as he carefully shuffled down the hallway. The anxiety in his chest sank, he imagined himself meeting an old lady who would be happy to meet her long lost grandson. She’d hopefully forget about twenty minutes later. That would have been easy, no explaining. Mission accomplished. But now? Someone else in the room, someone to explain himself too?
“Fuck.”
———————————-
He stood outside room one-thirty one as long as he could without drawing suspicion. He had even decided to walk past the room and sneak a peek through the open doorway. He stopped at the empty nurses station. He looked around, the bathroom had to be close by. A short auburn haired woman walked up behind him.
“Looking for the bathroom handsome?”
Clay turned towards her and smiled. He nodded his head as she pointed across the hallway. He nodded his head, thanking her and walked into the bathroom. He headed for the white sink and started running the cold water. He placed the flowers and his hat on the rim behind the faucett and scooped some water up into his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, he looked ridiculous. A giant man, standing over a tiny sink splashing cold water across his face. He took a deep breath, he had come this far, he had to finish the journey. He had to finish the goal. He had to walk into that room.
More determined than ever he walked to the paper towel dispenser and wiped his face and neck free of the cold water and cold sweat. He picked the flowers up and put his hat back on, adjusting himself in the mirror. He walked out into the hallway, he beelined to door one-thirty one and once again paused outside of the open doorway. He listened for a moment.
“Gram, you should have seen the guy standing in the hallway. Boy was he a look…” Clay knocked on the door interrupting the conversation as he stepped into the doorway. The elderly woman looked at the younger one and smiled ear to ear and nodded behind her. She turned around and her face turned beat red.
“I’m here to see Rose Thompson,” Clay said as he awkwardly presented the flowers. The old woman pulled herself up from her chair, grabbing her walker. She smirked at her daughter and plodded forward using the walker to hold herself up.
“Mom, sit down. Steve must have sent you some flowers,” the woman stated. She knew the old woman wasn’t going to listen, so she went to the vase beside her mothers bed. Clay entered the room, covering about three fourths of it with a few strides so the woman didn’t have to walk further than she already had. He held the flowers out to her.
“Naa, these are from me Mam,” Clay presented the flowers to the woman who reached out and grabbed them with a grin on her face. She winked at Clay turning around with the flowers and headed towards her vase.
“I told ya I had some secret admirers around here Cindy,” Rose exclaimed with a cackle. The younger woman smiled while rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She smirked at Clay and mouthed the words ‘Thank you.’ Clay took a deep breath, if only she knew what he was going to say next.
“Rose?” Clay questioned. The old woman turned around still absolutely beaming. Her dentures were brighter than any teeth Clay had ever seen. He took a deep breath and looked into the old woman’s pale green eyes. This was the hardest part. He’d made it this far, he couldn’t walk away now.
“I’m yer grandson.”
Her face went from joyous laughter to deadly serious. She pushed the walker to the side and came across the room almost as quickly as Clay had. She stopped in front of The Behemoth, staring up at Clay’s face. Her frail, boney hand reached up and pushed his beard back almost behind his head. A tear rolled down her cheek and she wrapped her arms around Clay’s enormous torso and squeezed as hard as she could. The younger woman with the vase turned toward Clay, her eyes wide.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for forty-one years…” she said through small sobs that were buried inside The Behemoth’s chest. He couldn’t do anything besides lean down and wrap his own arms around her. A single solitary tear rolled down his cheek.
“So have I.”
———————————-
Five months. That’s how long I went without a loss Brian. Five entire months. That’s how long I fought my way through this roster Brian. That’s how long I smashed my big meaty mits through each and every man that stood in my way. That’s how long I claimed to be unstoppable. Since March To Glory nobody had put my shoulders on the mat fairly. It had happened twice since then, but Lee Best had used every trick in the book to get them there.
He knew I was unstoppable.
And then I got stopped. You know a lot about getting stopped, right? You know all about it. You know all about this fucking feeling in the pit of my fucking stomach, right? You’ve fucking lived with it for what? A year? Two? Just like me, you were once unstoppable. You had the entire fucking world in the palm of your hand. You were the champion of the entire god damned world. You were it. And now here you are. A two time World Heavyweight Champion, rendered to an afterthought on a roster.
I won’t become you Brian. I can’t become you. I’ve ridden a high since I walked through these doors back in January 2020. Every event I stamped my mark on, every pay-per-view. I made sure my name was in the headlines after the show. From March To Glory when I smashed Lindsay Troy in the head with a chair, all the way to Dead or Alive when I beat the fuck out of some OCW garbage with a bullrope.
I was the energizer bunny, I kept fucking going Brian. I was a hell unleashed on the face of High Octane Wrestling. I went to war with Hall of Famers without batting an eye. I slid right in, I took The Gold Standard to his fucking limits. I went to war with Mike Best. I smashed Jace Parker Davidson like he was a 12 pack of Natty at a college party.
And now it’s you.
After all of this time, I finally get to see how I measure up against you. I get to put your name in the fucking lights, one more time. I get to make sure your name comes across the headlines one more time. I get to be the one that drags you back into the consciousness of every fucking member of this god damned roster.
And you’re desperate for it. Just as desperate as I am to not become you, you want that relevance back. You want the admiration back, you want the pats on the shoulder, you want people looking for you in the back. You want to be the fucking man again Brian. I watch your interviews, I see your promos. I watch your filthy mongrel mouth water in expectation. You want someone to care, you need someone to fucking care.
Hello Brian. I’m Clay. I fucking care.
I care enough to not become anything like the sorry sack of shit of a human being you’ve let yourself become. I care enough not to be forced into ‘stuck together’ desperate tag teams. I care enough to never be the first match on the fucking card. I care enough not to ever be back in this fucking position.
I care so much Brian, that I’m going to drag you kicking and fucking screaming back into the headlines. I’m going to grab you by your stupid brown and silver hair, and beat the living fuck out of you at Chaos. I’m going to punish you for your apathy. I’m going to hurt you for your transgressions. ‘Cause just like every other dipshit on this roster, you’re going to try to make your name relevant again off of planting my shoulders to the mat. Just like that hopped up hillbilly Frank Dylan James, I’m going to give you what you got coming to ya. I’m going to beat you pillar to fucking post at Chaos. I’m going to take the piss poor attempt at 007 out back and knock the zeros off until he’s down for a 7 count.
I told you at War Games I wanted to see you make something of yourself again. I had faith in you Brian, I gave you an opportunity. I gave you a chance to become great again, I gave you the chance to stop Jeffrey James Roberts. I put you in the position, I expected you to reach inside and find that two time world champion. I expected you to dig down deep, way down deep, and find that little extra special something. I expected you to bring your fucking best and take down that dog of a human being.
Instead you curled up and fucking died.
You got smashed as the man was walking out the door. You got crushed before that moron could even make it to War Games. Let me put that into perspective for you, your opponent in the match fucking beat you, and he didn’t even make it to War Games. What kind of fucking man are you Brian? What kind of fucking champion are you? Where’s the fire Brian? WHERE IS IT!?
You frustrate me, borderline infuriate me. Each and every week in that ring we see the glimpses, the flashes, the moments that once made you a great wrestler here in High Octane Wrestling. But they are fleeting, it’s like watching a washed up wide receiver. Every once in a while he runs that perfect route, comes out of that cut wide open, looks like he finally has his chance to make a big play again.
And then he drops the ball.
That’s your entire career this era summed up Brian. Each and every week you show the glimpses and the flashes of potential, but you can’t find the fucking fire. You can’t find the fucking drive. You can’t take your fucking opponents seriously. Look at me. I’ve made that mistake once, and now I’m treating this like it’s my last fucking match ever. I’ve warped my own perspective to make you out to be the most deadly man in the world, I’ve told myself time and time again that you have some imaginary chip on your shoulder. That you’re furious I fed you to the wolves. That you have retribution on my mind.
That you’re going to bring everything to bear against me. That you’re going to push yourself to the absolute limit, because I fucking wronged you. Because that’s what I’d do Brian, I’d be pushing myself every fucking second. I’d be wrapped up in it, I’d warp the entire narrative around it until I believed it. It’d become my mantra, it’d become my fucking battle cry. I’d be in that ring thinking of the disrespect someone showed me. Clay Byrd. I should be the only name on the tip of your tongue. I robbed you of the chance to compete in War Games.
But you know the truth, it’s too ingrained inside your head. You know you’re a fucking loser. That’s all you are now, and that’s all you ever fucking will be. So I’ll look for those glimpses of greatness, I’ll get out the magnifying glass and pretend that Brian fucking Hollywood former two time World Heavyweight Champion is marching down the aisle to fight me, instead of the little pussy ass bitch I’m going to absolutely destroy in the middle of the High Octane ring.
Enjoy your one fucking chance Brain, because I’m never coming back to this fucking spot again. I’m never letting someone make their fucking name in High Octane off of my shoulders again. I’m never going to let you sniff that relevancy you want so much. I’m going to smash my way through you like you’re a wet paper bag.
And the only way you’ll be relevant again is when people read your obituary on Monday.
See you at Chaos.